Ovid — Metamorphoses · Art of Love
Works in this volume — 2
Metamorphoses
Contents — 15 sections
Book 1
My soul is wrought to sing of forms transformed to bodies new and strange! Immortal Gods inspire my heart, for ye have changed yourselves and all things you have changed! Oh lead my song in smooth and measured strains, from olden days when earth began to this completed time! Before the ocean and the earth appeared— before the skies had overspread them all— the face of Nature in a vast expanse was naught but Chaos uniformly waste. It was a rude and undeveloped mass, that nothing made except a ponderous weight;
and all discordant elements confused, were there congested in a shapeless heap. As yet the sun afforded earth no light, nor did the moon renew her crescent horns; the earth was not suspended in the air exactly balanced by her heavy weight. Not far along the margin of the shores had Amphitrite stretched her lengthened arms,— for all the land was mixed with sea and air. The land was soft, the sea unfit to sail, the atmosphere opaque, to naught was given a proper form, in everything was strife,
and all was mingled in a seething mass— with hot the cold parts strove, and wet with dry and soft with hard, and weight with empty void. But God, or kindly Nature, ended strife— he cut the land from skies, the sea from land, the heavens ethereal from material air; and when were all evolved from that dark mass he bound the fractious parts in tranquil peace. The fiery element of convex heaven leaped from the mass devoid of dragging weight, and chose the summit arch to which the air as next in quality was next in place.
The earth more dense attracted grosser parts and moved by gravity sank underneath; and last of all the wide surrounding waves in deeper channels rolled around the globe. And when this God —which one is yet unknown— had carved asunder that discordant mass, had thus reduced it to its elements, that every part should equally combine, when time began He rounded out the earth and moulded it to form a mighty globe. Then poured He forth the deeps and gave command that they should billow in the rapid winds,
that they should compass every shore of earth. he also added fountains, pools and lakes, and bound with shelving banks the slanting streams, which partly are absorbed and partly join the boundless ocean. Thus received amid the wide expanse of uncontrolled waves, they beat the shores instead of crooked banks. At His command the boundless plains extend, the valleys are depressed, the woods are clothed in green, the stony mountains rise. And as the heavens are intersected on the right by two broad zones, by two that cut the left,
and by a fifth consumed with ardent heat, with such a number did the careful God mark off the compassed weight, and thus the earth received as many climes.—Such heat consumes the middle zone that none may dwell therein; and two extremes are covered with deep snow; and two are placed betwixt the hot and cold, which mixed together give a temperate clime; and over all the atmosphere suspends with weight proportioned to the fiery sky, exactly as the weight of earth compares with weight of water.
And He ordered mist to gather in the air and spread the clouds. He fixed the thunders that disturb our souls, and brought the lightning on destructive winds that also waft the cold. Nor did the great Artificer permit these mighty winds to blow unbounded in the pathless skies, but each discordant brother fixed in space, although His power can scarce restrain their rage to rend the universe. At His command to far Aurora, Eurus took his way, to Nabath, Persia, and that mountain range
first gilded by the dawn; and Zephyr's flight was towards the evening star and peaceful shores, warm with the setting sun; and Boreas invaded Scythia and the northern snows; and Auster wafted to the distant south where clouds and rain encompass his abode.— and over these He fixed the liquid sky, devoid of weight and free from earthly dross. And scarcely had He separated these and fixed their certain bounds, when all the stars, which long were pressed and hidden in the mass, began to gleam out from the plains of heaven,
and traversed, with the Gods, bright ether fields: and lest some part might be bereft of life the gleaming waves were filled with twinkling fish; the earth was covered with wild animals; the agitated air was filled with birds. But one more perfect and more sanctified, a being capable of lofty thought, intelligent to rule, was wanting still man was created! Did the Unknown God designing then a better world make man of seed divine? or did Prometheus take the new soil of earth (that still contained
some godly element of Heaven's Life) and use it to create the race of man; first mingling it with water of new streams; so that his new creation, upright man, was made in image of commanding Gods? On earth the brute creation bends its gaze, but man was given a lofty countenance and was commanded to behold the skies; and with an upright face may view the stars:— and so it was that shapeless clay put on the form of man till then unknown to earth. First was the Golden Age. Then rectitude
spontaneous in the heart prevailed, and faith. Avengers were not seen, for laws unframed were all unknown and needless. Punishment and fear of penalties existed not. No harsh decrees were fixed on brazen plates. No suppliant multitude the countenance of Justice feared, averting, for they dwelt without a judge in peace. Descended not the steeps, shorn from its height, the lofty pine, cleaving the trackless waves of alien shores, nor distant realms were known to wandering men. The towns were not entrenched for time of war;
they had no brazen trumpets, straight, nor horns of curving brass, nor helmets, shields nor swords. There was no thought of martial pomp —secure a happy multitude enjoyed repose. Then of her own accord the earth produced a store of every fruit. The harrow touched her not, nor did the plowshare wound her fields. And man content with given food, and none compelling, gathered arbute fruits and wild strawberries on the mountain sides, and ripe blackberries clinging to the bush, and corners and sweet acorns on the ground,
down fallen from the spreading tree of Jove. Eternal Spring! Soft breathing zephyrs soothed and warmly cherished buds and blooms, produced without a seed. The valleys though unplowed gave many fruits; the fields though not renewed white glistened with the heavy bearded wheat: rivers flowed milk and nectar, and the trees, the very oak trees, then gave honey of themselves. When Saturn had been banished into night and all the world was ruled by Jove supreme, the Silver Age, though not so good as gold but still surpassing yellow brass, prevailed.
Jove first reduced to years the Primal Spring, by him divided into periods four, unequal,—summer, autumn, winter, spring.— then glowed with tawny heat the parched air, or pendent icicles in winter froze and man stopped crouching in crude caverns, while he built his homes of tree rods, bark entwined. Then were the cereals planted in long rows, and bullocks groaned beneath the heavy yoke. The third Age followed, called The Age of Bronze, when cruel people were inclined to arms but not to impious crimes. And last of all
the ruthless and hard Age of Iron prevailed, from which malignant vein great evil sprung; and modesty and faith and truth took flight, and in their stead deceits and snares and frauds and violence and wicked love of gain, succeeded.—Then the sailor spread his sails to winds unknown, and keels that long had stood on lofty mountains pierced uncharted waves. Surveyors anxious marked with metes and bounds the lands, created free as light and air: nor need the rich ground furnish only crops, and give due nourishment by right required,—
they penetrated to the bowels of earth and dug up wealth, bad cause of all our ills,— rich ores which long ago the earth had hid and deep removed to gloomy Stygian caves: and soon destructive iron and harmful gold were brought to light; and War, which uses both, came forth and shook with sanguinary grip his clashing arms. Rapacity broke forth— the guest was not protected from his host, the father in law from his own son in law; even brothers seldom could abide in peace. The husband threatened to destroy his wife,
and she her husband: horrid step dames mixed the deadly henbane: eager sons inquired their fathers, ages. Piety was slain: and last of all the virgin deity, Astraea vanished from the blood-stained earth. And lest ethereal heights should long remain less troubled than the earth, the throne of Heaven was threatened by the Giants; and they piled mountain on mountain to the lofty stars. But Jove, omnipotent, shot thunderbolts through Mount Olympus, and he overturned from Ossa huge, enormous Pelion.
And while these dreadful bodies lay overwhelmed in their tremendous bulk, (so fame reports) the Earth was reeking with the copious blood of her gigantic sons; and thus replete with moisture she infused the steaming gore with life renewed. So that a monument of such ferocious stock should be retained, she made that offspring in the shape of man; but this new race alike despised the Gods, and by the greed of savage slaughter proved a sanguinary birth. When, from his throne
supreme, the Son of Saturn viewed their deeds, he deeply groaned: and calling to his mind the loathsome feast Lycaon had prepared, a recent deed not common to report, his soul conceived great anger —worthy Jove— and he convened a council. No delay detained the chosen Gods. When skies are clear a path is well defined on high, which men, because so white, have named the Milky Way. It makes a passage for the deities and leads to mansions of the Thunder God,
to Jove's imperial home. On either side of its wide way the noble Gods are seen, inferior Gods in other parts abide, but there the potent and renowned of Heaven have fixed their homes.—It is a glorious place, our most audacious verse might designate the “Palace of High Heaven.” When the Gods were seated, therefore, in its marble halls the King of all above the throng sat high, and leaning on his ivory scepter, thrice, and once again he shook his awful locks, wherewith he moved the earth, and seas and stars,—
and thus indignantly began to speak; “The time when serpent footed giants strove to fix their hundred arms on captive Heaven, not more than this event could cause alarm for my dominion of the universe. Although it was a savage enemy, yet warred we with a single source derived of one. Now must I utterly destroy this mortal race wherever Nereus roars around the world. Yea, by the Infernal Streams that glide through Stygian groves beneath the world, I swear it. Every method has been tried.
The knife must cut immedicable wounds, lest maladies infect untainted parts. “Beneath my sway are demi gods and fauns, nymphs, rustic deities, sylvans of the hills, satyrs;—all these, unworthy Heaven's abodes, we should at least permit to dwell on earth which we to them bequeathed. What think ye, Gods, is safety theirs when I, your sovereign lord, the Thunder-bolt Controller, am ensnared by fierce Lycaon?” Ardent in their wrath, the astonished Gods demand revenge overtake this miscreant; he who dared commit such crimes.
'Twas even thus when raged that impious band to blot the Roman name in sacred blood of Caesar, sudden apprehensive fears of ruin absolute astonished man, and all the world convulsed. Nor is the love thy people bear to thee, Augustus, less than these displayed to Jupiter whose voice and gesture all the murmuring host restrained: and as indignant clamour ceased, suppressed by regnant majesty, Jove once again broke the deep silence with imperial words; “Dismiss your cares; he paid the penalty
however all the crime and punishment now learn from this:—An infamous report of this unholy age had reached my ears, and wishing it were false, I sloped my course from high Olympus, and—although a God— disguised in human form I viewed the world. It would delay us to recount the crimes unnumbered, for reports were less than truth. “I traversed Maenalus where fearful dens abound, over Lycaeus, wintry slopes of pine tree groves, across Cyllene steep; and as the twilight warned of night's approach,
I stopped in that Arcadian tyrant's realms and entered his inhospitable home:— and when I showed his people that a God had come, the lowly prayed and worshiped me, but this Lycaon mocked their pious vows and scoffing said; ‘A fair experiment will prove the truth if this be god or man.’ and he prepared to slay me in the night,— to end my slumbers in the sleep of death. So made he merry with his impious proof; but not content with this he cut the throat of a Molossian hostage sent to him,
and partly softened his still quivering limbs in boiling water, partly roasted them on fires that burned beneath. And when this flesh was served to me on tables, I destroyed his dwelling and his worthless Household Gods, with thunder bolts avenging. Terror struck he took to flight, and on the silent plains is howling in his vain attempts to speak; he raves and rages and his greedy jaws, desiring their accustomed slaughter, turn against the sheep—still eager for their blood. His vesture separates in shaggy hair,
his arms are changed to legs; and as a wolf he has the same grey locks, the same hard face, the same bright eyes, the same ferocious look. “Thus fell one house, but not one house alone deserved to perish; over all the earth ferocious deeds prevail,—all men conspire in evil. Let them therefore feel the weight of dreadful penalties so justly earned, for such hath my unchanging will ordained.” with exclamations some approved the words of Jove and added fuel to his wrath, while others gave assent: but all deplored
and questioned the estate of earth deprived of mortals. Who could offer frankincense upon the altars? Would he suffer earth to be despoiled by hungry beasts of prey? Such idle questions of the state of man the King of Gods forbade, but granted soon to people earth with race miraculous, unlike the first. And now his thunder bolts would Jove wide scatter, but he feared the flames, unnumbered, sacred ether might ignite and burn the axle of the universe:
and he remembered in the scroll of fate, there is a time appointed when the sea and earth and Heavens shall melt, and fire destroy the universe of mighty labour wrought. Such weapons by the skill of Cyclops forged, for different punishment he laid aside— for straightway he preferred to overwhelm the mortal race beneath deep waves and storms from every raining sky. And instantly he shut the Northwind in Aeolian caves, and every other wind that might dispel the gathering clouds. He bade the Southwind blow:—
the Southwind flies abroad with dripping wings, concealing in the gloom his awful face: the drenching rain descends from his wet beard and hoary locks; dark clouds are on his brows and from his wings and garments drip the dews: his great hands press the overhanging clouds; loudly the thunders roll; the torrents pour; Iris, the messenger of Juno, clad in many coloured raiment, upward draws the steaming moisture to renew the clouds. The standing grain is beaten to the ground, the rustic's crops are scattered in the mire,
and he bewails the long year's fruitless toil. The wrath of Jove was not content with powers that emanate from Heaven; he brought to aid his azure brother, lord of flowing waves, who called upon the Rivers and the Streams: and when they entered his impearled abode, Neptune, their ancient ruler, thus began; “A long appeal is needless; pour ye forth in rage of power; open up your fountains; rush over obstacles; let every stream pour forth in boundless floods.” Thus he commands, and none dissenting all the River Gods
return, and opening up their fountains roll tumultuous to the deep unfruitful sea. And Neptune with his trident smote the Earth, which trembling with unwonted throes heaved up the sources of her waters bare; and through her open plains the rapid rivers rushed resistless, onward bearing the waving grain, the budding groves, the houses, sheep and men,— and holy temples, and their sacred urns. The mansions that remained, resisting vast and total ruin, deepening waves concealed and whelmed their tottering turrets in the flood
and whirling gulf. And now one vast expanse, the land and sea were mingled in the waste of endless waves—a sea without a shore. One desperate man seized on the nearest hill; another sitting in his curved boat, plied the long oar where he was wont to plow; another sailed above his grain, above his hidden dwelling; and another hooked a fish that sported in a leafy elm. Perchance an anchor dropped in verdant fields, or curving keels were pushed through tangled vines; and where the gracile goat enjoyed the green,
unsightly seals reposed. Beneath the waves were wondering Nereids, viewing cities, groves and houses. Dolphins darting mid the trees, meshed in the twisted branches, beat against the shaken oak trees. There the sheep, affrayed, swim with the frightened wolf, the surging waves float tigers and lions: availeth naught his lightning shock the wild boar, nor avails the stag's fleet footed speed. The wandering bird, seeking umbrageous groves and hidden vales, with wearied pinion droops into the sea. The waves increasing surge above the hills,
and rising waters dash on mountain tops. Myriads by the waves are swept away, and those the waters spare, for lack of food, starvation slowly overcomes at last. A fruitful land and fair but now submerged beneath a wilderness of rising waves, 'Twixt Oeta and Aonia, Phocis lies, where through the clouds Parnassus' summits twain point upward to the stars, unmeasured height, save which the rolling billows covered all: there in a small and fragile boat, arrived, Deucalion and the consort of his couch,
prepared to worship the Corycian Nymphs, the mountain deities, and Themis kind, who in that age revealed in oracles the voice of fate. As he no other lived so good and just, as she no other feared the Gods. When Jupiter beheld the globe in ruin covered, swept with wasting waves, and when he saw one man of myriads left, one helpless woman left of myriads lone, both innocent and worshiping the Gods, he scattered all the clouds; he blew away
the great storms by the cold northwind. Once more the earth appeared to heaven and the skies appeared to earth. The fury of the main abated, for the Ocean ruler laid his trident down and pacified the waves, and called on azure Triton.—Triton arose above the waving seas, his shoulders mailed in purple shells.—He bade the Triton blow, blow in his sounding shell, the wandering streams and rivers to recall with signal known: a hollow wreathed trumpet, tapering wide
and slender stemmed, the Triton took amain and wound the pearly shell at midmost sea. Betwixt the rising and the setting suns the wildered notes resounded shore to shore, and as it touched his lips, wet with the brine beneath his dripping beard, sounded retreat: and all the waters of the land and sea obeyed. Their fountains heard and ceased to flow; their waves subsided; hidden hills uprose; emerged the shores of ocean; channels filled with flowing streams; the soil appeared; the land increased its surface as the waves decreased:
and after length of days the trees put forth, with ooze on bending boughs, their naked tops. And all the wasted globe was now restored, but as he viewed the vast and silent world Deucalion wept and thus to Pyrrha spoke; “O sister! wife! alone of woman left! My kindred in descent and origin! Dearest companion of my marriage bed, doubly endeared by deepening dangers borne,— of all the dawn and eve behold of earth, but you and I are left—for the deep sea has kept the rest! And what prevents the tide
from overwhelming us? Remaining clouds affright us. How could you endure your fears if you alone were rescued by this fate, and who would then console your bitter grief? Oh be assured, if you were buried in the waves, that I would follow you and be with you! Oh would that by my father's art I might restore the people, and inspire this clay to take the form of man. Alas, the Gods decreed and only we are living!”, Thus Deucalion's plaint to Pyrrha;—and they wept. And after he had spoken, they resolved
to ask the aid of sacred oracles,— and so they hastened to Cephissian waves which rolled a turbid flood in channels known. Thence when their robes and brows were sprinkled well, they turned their footsteps to the goddess' fane: its gables were befouled with reeking moss and on its altars every fire was cold. But when the twain had reached the temple steps they fell upon the earth, inspired with awe, and kissed the cold stone with their trembling lips, and said; “If righteous prayers appease the Gods, and if the wrath of high celestial powers
may thus be turned, declare, O Themis! whence and what the art may raise humanity? O gentle goddess help the dying world!” Moved by their supplications, she replied; “Depart from me and veil your brows; ungird your robes, and cast behind you as you go, the bones of your great mother.” Long they stood in dumb amazement: Pyrrha, first of voice, refused the mandate and with trembling lips implored the goddess to forgive—she feared to violate her mother's bones and vex her sacred spirit. Often pondered they
the words involved in such obscurity, repeating oft: and thus Deucalion to Epimetheus' daughter uttered speech of soothing import; “ Oracles are just and urge not evil deeds, or naught avails the skill of thought. Our mother is the Earth, and I may judge the stones of earth are bones that we should cast behind us as we go.” And although Pyrrha by his words was moved she hesitated to comply; and both amazed doubted the purpose of the oracle, but deemed no harm to come of trial. They,
descending from the temple, veiled their heads and loosed their robes and threw some stones behind them. It is much beyond belief, were not receding ages witness, hard and rigid stones assumed a softer form, enlarging as their brittle nature changed to milder substance,—till the shape of man appeared, imperfect, faintly outlined first, as marble statue chiseled in the rough. The soft moist parts were changed to softer flesh, the hard and brittle substance into bones, the veins retained their ancient name. And now
the Gods supreme ordained that every stone Deucalion threw should take the form of man, and those by Pyrrha cast should woman's form assume: so are we hardy to endure and prove by toil and deeds from what we sprung. And after this the Earth spontaneous produced the world of animals, when all remaining moistures of the mirey fens fermented in the sun, and fruitful seeds in soils nutritious grew to shapes ordained. So when the seven streamed Nile from oozy fields returneth duly to her ancient bed,
the sun's ethereal rays impregn the slime, that haply as the peasants turn the soil they find strange animals unknown before: some in the moment of their birth, and some deprived of limbs, imperfect; often part alive and part of slime inanimate are fashioned in one body. Heat combined with moisture so conceives and life results from these two things. For though the flames may be the foes of water, everything that lives begins in humid vapour, and it seems discordant concord is the means of life.
When Earth, spread over with diluvian ooze, felt heat ethereal from the glowing sun, unnumbered species to the light she gave, and gave to being many an ancient form, or monster new created. Unwilling she created thus enormous Python.—Thou unheard of serpent spread so far athwart the side of a vast mountain, didst fill with fear the race of new created man. The God that bears the bow (a weapon used till then only to hunt the deer and agile goat) destroyed the monster with a myriad darts,
and almost emptied all his quiver, till envenomed gore oozed forth from livid wounds. Lest in a dark oblivion time should hide the fame of this achievement, sacred sports he instituted, from the Python called “The Pythian Games.” In these the happy youth who proved victorious in the chariot race, running and boxing, with an honoured crown of oak leaves was enwreathed. The laurel then was not created, wherefore Phoebus, bright and godlike, beauteous with his flowing hair, was wont to wreathe his brows with various leaves.
Daphne, the daughter of a River God was first beloved by Phoebus, the great God of glorious light. 'Twas not a cause of chance but out of Cupid's vengeful spite that she was fated to torment the lord of light. For Phoebus, proud of Python's death, beheld that impish god of Love upon a time when he was bending his diminished bow, and voicing his contempt in anger said; “What, wanton boy, are mighty arms to thee, great weapons suited to the needs of war? The bow is only for the use of those
large deities of heaven whose strength may deal wounds, mortal, to the savage beasts of prey; and who courageous overcome their foes.— it is a proper weapon to the use of such as slew with arrows Python, huge, whose pestilential carcase vast extent covered. Content thee with the flames thy torch enkindles (fires too subtle for my thought) and leave to me the glory that is mine.” to him, undaunted, Venus, son replied; “O Phoebus, thou canst conquer all the world with thy strong bow and arrows, but with this
small arrow I shall pierce thy vaunting breast! And by the measure that thy might exceeds the broken powers of thy defeated foes, so is thy glory less than mine.” No more he said, but with his wings expanded thence flew lightly to Parnassus, lofty peak. There, from his quiver he plucked arrows twain, most curiously wrought of different art; one love exciting, one repelling love. The dart of love was glittering, gold and sharp, the other had a blunted tip of lead; and with that dull lead dart he shot the Nymph,
but with the keen point of the golden dart he pierced the bone and marrow of the God. Immediately the one with love was filled, the other, scouting at the thought of love, rejoiced in the deep shadow of the woods, and as the virgin Phoebe (who denies the joys of love and loves the joys of chase) a maiden's fillet bound her flowing hair,— and her pure mind denied the love of man. Beloved and wooed she wandered silent paths, for never could her modesty endure the glance of man or listen to his love.
Her grieving father spoke to her, “Alas, my daughter, I have wished a son in law, and now you owe a grandchild to the joy of my old age.” But Daphne only hung her head to hide her shame. The nuptial torch seemed criminal to her. She even clung, caressing, with her arms around his neck, and pled, “My dearest father let me live a virgin always, for remember Jove did grant it to Diana at her birth.” But though her father promised her desire, her loveliness prevailed against their will;
for, Phoebus when he saw her waxed distraught, and filled with wonder his sick fancy raised delusive hopes, and his own oracles deceived him.—As the stubble in the field flares up, or as the stacked wheat is consumed by flames, enkindled from a spark or torch the chance pedestrian may neglect at dawn; so was the bosom of the god consumed, and so desire flamed in his stricken heart. He saw her bright hair waving on her neck;— “How beautiful if properly arranged! ” He saw her eyes like stars of sparkling fire,
her lips for kissing sweetest, and her hands and fingers and her arms; her shoulders white as ivory;—and whatever was not seen more beautiful must be. Swift as the wind from his pursuing feet the virgin fled, and neither stopped nor heeded as he called; “O Nymph! O Daphne! I entreat thee stay, it is no enemy that follows thee— why, so the lamb leaps from the raging wolf, and from the lion runs the timid faun, and from the eagle flies the trembling dove,
all hasten from their natural enemy but I alone pursue for my dear love. Alas, if thou shouldst fall and mar thy face, or tear upon the bramble thy soft thighs, or should I prove unwilling cause of pain! “The wilderness is rough and dangerous, and I beseech thee be more careful—I will follow slowly.—Ask of whom thou wilt, and thou shalt learn that I am not a churl— I am no mountain dweller of rude caves, nor clown compelled to watch the sheep and goats; and neither canst thou know from whom thy feet
fly fearful, or thou wouldst not leave me thus. “The Delphic Land, the Pataraean Realm, Claros and Tenedos revere my name, and my immortal sire is Jupiter. The present, past and future are through me in sacred oracles revealed to man, and from my harp the harmonies of sound are borrowed by their bards to praise the Gods. My bow is certain, but a flaming shaft surpassing mine has pierced my heart— untouched before. The art of medicine is my invention, and the power of herbs;
but though the world declare my useful works there is no herb to medicate my wound, and all the arts that save have failed their lord.,” But even as he made his plaint, the Nymph with timid footsteps fled from his approach, and left him to his murmurs and his pain. Lovely the virgin seemed as the soft wind exposed her limbs, and as the zephyrs fond fluttered amid her garments, and the breeze fanned lightly in her flowing hair. She seemed most lovely to his fancy in her flight; and mad with love he followed in her steps,
and silent hastened his increasing speed. As when the greyhound sees the frightened hare flit over the plain:—With eager nose outstretched, impetuous, he rushes on his prey, and gains upon her till he treads her feet, and almost fastens in her side his fangs; but she, whilst dreading that her end is near, is suddenly delivered from her fright; so was it with the god and virgin: one with hope pursued, the other fled in fear; and he who followed, borne on wings of love, permitted her no rest and gained on her,
until his warm breath mingled in her hair. Her strength spent, pale and faint, with pleading eyes she gazed upon her father's waves and prayed, “Help me my father, if thy flowing streams have virtue! Cover me, O mother Earth! Destroy the beauty that has injured me, or change the body that destroys my life.” Before her prayer was ended, torpor seized on all her body, and a thin bark closed around her gentle bosom, and her hair became as moving leaves; her arms were changed to waving branches, and her active feet
as clinging roots were fastened to the ground— her face was hidden with encircling leaves.— Phoebus admired and loved the graceful tree, (For still, though changed, her slender form remained) and with his right hand lingering on the trunk he felt her bosom throbbing in the bark. He clung to trunk and branch as though to twine. His form with hers, and fondly kissed the wood that shrank from every kiss. And thus the God; “Although thou canst not be my bride, thou shalt be called my chosen tree, and thy green leaves,
O Laurel! shall forever crown my brows, be wreathed around my quiver and my lyre; the Roman heroes shall be crowned with thee, as long processions climb the Capitol and chanting throngs proclaim their victories; and as a faithful warden thou shalt guard the civic crown of oak leaves fixed between thy branches, and before Augustan gates. And as my youthful head is never shorn, so, also, shalt thou ever bear thy leaves unchanging to thy glory.,” Here the God,
Phoebus Apollo, ended his lament, and unto him the Laurel bent her boughs, so lately fashioned; and it seemed to him her graceful nod gave answer to his love. There is a grove in Thessaly, enclosed on every side with crags, precipitous,— on which a forest grows—and this is called the Vale of Tempe—through this valley flows the River Peneus, white with foaming waves, that issue from the foot of Pindus, whence with sudden fall up gather steamy clouds that sprinkle mist upon the circling trees,
and far away with mighty roar resound. It is the abode, the solitary home, that mighty River loves, where deep in gloom of rocky cavern, he resides and rules the flowing waters and the water nymphs abiding there. All rivers of that land now hasten thither, doubtful to console or flatter Daphne's parent: poplar crowned Sperchios, swift Enipeus and the wild Amphrysos, old Apidanus and Aeas, with all their kindred streams that wandering maze and wearied seek the ocean. Inachus
alone is absent, hidden in his cave obscure, deepening his waters with his tears— most wretchedly bewailing, for he deems his daughter Io lost. If she may live or roam a spirit in the nether shades he dares not even guess but dreads for Jove not long before had seen her while returning from her father's stream, and said; “O virgin, worthy of immortal Jove, although some happy mortal's chosen bride,— behold these shades of overhanging trees, and seek their cool recesses while the sun
is glowing in the height of middle skies—” and as he spoke he pointed out the groves— “But should the dens of wild beasts frighten you, with safety you may enter the deep woods, conducted by a God—not with a God of small repute, but in the care of him who holds the heavenly scepter in his hand and fulminates the trackless thunder bolts.— forsake me not! ” For while he spoke she fled, and swiftly left behind the pasture fields of Lerna, and Lyrcea's arbours, where the trees are planted thickly. But the God
called forth a heavy shadow which involved the wide extended earth, and stopped her flight and ravished in that cloud her chastity. Meanwhile, the goddess Juno gazing down on earth's expanse, with wonder saw the clouds as dark as night enfold those middle fields while day was bright above. She was convinced the clouds were none composed of river mist nor raised from marshy fens. Suspicious now, from oft detected amours of her spouse, she glanced around to find her absent lord, and quite convinced that he was far from heaven,
she thus exclaimed; “This cloud deceives my mind, or Jove has wronged me.” From the dome of heaven she glided down and stood upon the earth, and bade the clouds recede. But Jove had known the coming of his queen. He had transformed the lovely Io, so that she appeared a milk white heifer—formed so beautiful and fair that envious Juno gazed on her. She queried: “Whose? what herd? what pasture fields?” As if she guessed no knowledge of the truth. And Jupiter, false hearted, said the cow was earth begotten, for he feared his queen
might make inquiry of the owner's name. Juno implored the heifer as a gift.— what then was left the Father of the Gods? 'Twould be a cruel thing to sacrifice his own beloved to a rival's wrath. Although refusal must imply his guilt the shame and love of her almost prevailed; but if a present of such little worth were now denied the sharer of his couch, the partner of his birth, 'twould prove indeed the earth born heifer other than she seemed— and so he gave his mistress up to her.
Juno regardful of Jove's cunning art, lest he might change her to her human form, gave the unhappy heifer to the charge of Argus, Aristorides, whose head was circled with a hundred glowing eyes; of which but two did slumber in their turn whilst all the others kept on watch and guard. Whichever way he stood his gaze was fixed on Io—even if he turned away his watchful eyes on Io still remained. He let her feed by day; but when the sun was under the deep world he shut her up,
and tied a rope around her tender neck. She fed upon green leaves and bitter herbs and on the cold ground slept—too often bare, she could not rest upon a cushioned couch. She drank the troubled waters. Hoping aid she tried to stretch imploring arms to Argus, but all in vain for now no arms remained; the sound of bellowing was all she heard, and she was frightened with her proper voice. Where former days she loved to roam and sport, she wandered by the banks of Inachus: there imaged in the stream she saw her horns
and, startled, turned and fled. And Inachus and all her sister Naiads knew her not, although she followed them, they knew her not, although she suffered them to touch her sides and praise her. When the ancient Inachus gathered sweet herbs and offered them to her, she licked his hands, kissing her father's palms, nor could she more restrain her falling tears. If only words as well as tears would flow, she might implore his aid and tell her name and all her sad misfortune; but, instead,
she traced in dust the letters of her name with cloven hoof; and thus her sad estate was known. “Ah wretched me! ” her father cried; and as he clung around her horns and neck repeated while she groaned, “Ah wretched me! Art thou my daughter sought in every clime? When lost I could not grieve for thee as now that thou art found; thy sighs instead of words heave up from thy deep breast, thy longings give me answer. I prepared the nuptial torch and bridal chamber, in my ignorance,
since my first hope was for a son in law; and then I dreamed of children from the match: but now the herd may furnish thee a mate, and all thy issue of the herd must be. Oh that a righteous death would end my grief!— it is a dreadful thing to be a God! Behold the lethal gate of death is shut against me, and my growing grief must last throughout eternity.” While thus he moaned came starry Argus there, and Io bore from her lamenting father. Thence he led
his charge to other pastures; and removed from her, upon a lofty mountain sat, whence he could always watch her, undisturbed. The sovereign god no longer could endure to witness Io's woes. He called his son, whom Maia brightest of the Pleiades brought forth, and bade him slay the star eyed guard, argus. He seized his sleep compelling wand and fastened waving wings on his swift feet, and deftly fixed his brimmed hat on his head:— lo, Mercury, the favoured son of Jove, descending to the earth from heaven's plains,
put off his cap and wings,— though still retained his wand with which he drove through pathless wilds some stray she goats, and as a shepherd fared, piping on oaten reeds melodious tunes. Argus, delighted with the charming sound of this new art began; “Whoever thou art, sit with me on this stone beneath the trees in cooling shade, whilst browse the tended flock abundant herbs; for thou canst see the shade is fit for shepherds.” Wherefore, Mercury sat down beside the keeper and conversed of various things—passing the laggard hours.—
then soothly piped he on the joined reeds to lull those ever watchful eyes asleep; but Argus strove his languor to subdue, and though some drowsy eyes might slumber, still were some that vigil kept. Again he spoke, (for the pipes were yet a recent art) “I pray thee tell what chance discovered these.” To him the God, “ A famous Naiad dwelt among the Hamadryads, on the cold Arcadian summit Nonacris, whose name was Syrinx. Often she escaped the Gods, that wandered in the groves of sylvan shades,
and often fled from Satyrs that pursued. Vowing virginity, in all pursuits she strove to emulate Diana's ways: and as that graceful goddess wears her robe, so Syrinx girded hers that one might well believe Diana there. Even though her bow were made of horn, Diana's wrought of gold, vet might she well deceive. “Now chanced it Pan. Whose head was girt with prickly pines, espied the Nymph returning from the Lycian Hill, and these words uttered he: ”—But Mercury
refrained from further speech, and Pan's appeal remains untold. If he had told it all, the tale of Syrinx would have followed thus:— but she despised the prayers of Pan, and fled through pathless wilds until she had arrived the placid Ladon's sandy stream, whose waves prevented her escape. There she implored her sister Nymphs to change her form: and Pan, believing he had caught her, held instead some marsh reeds for the body of the Nymph; and while he sighed the moving winds began to utter plaintive music in the reeds,
so sweet and voice like that poor Pan exclaimed; “Forever this discovery shall remain a sweet communion binding thee to me.”— and this explains why reeds of different length, when joined together by cementing wax, derive the name of Syrinx from the maid. Such words the bright god Mercury would say; but now perceiving Argus' eyes were dimmed in languorous doze, he hushed his voice and touched the drooping eyelids with his magic wand, compelling slumber. Then without delay he struck the sleeper with his crescent sword,
where neck and head unite, and hurled his head, blood dripping, down the rocks and rugged cliff. Low lies Argus: dark is the light of all his hundred eyes, his many orbed lights extinguished in the universal gloom that night surrounds; but Saturn's daughter spread their glister on the feathers of her bird, emblazoning its tail with starry gems. Juno made haste, inflamed with towering rage, to vent her wrath on Io; and she raised in thought and vision of the Grecian girl a dreadful Fury. Stings invisible,
and pitiless, she planted in her breast, and drove her wandering throughout the globe. The utmost limit of her laboured way, O Nile, thou didst remain. Which, having reached, and placed her tired knees on that river's edge, she laid her there, and as she raised her neck looked upward to the stars, and groaned and wept and mournfully bellowed: trying thus to plead, by all the means she had, that Jupiter might end her miseries. Repentant Jove embraced his consort, and entreated her to end the punishment: “Fear not,” he said,
“For she shall trouble thee no more.” He spoke, and called on bitter Styx to hear his oath. And now imperial Juno, pacified, permitted Io to resume her form,— at once the hair fell from her snowy sides; the horns absorbed, her dilate orbs decreased; the opening of her jaws contracted; hands appeared and shoulders; and each transformed hoof became five nails. And every mark or form that gave the semblance of a heifer changed, except her fair white skin; and the glad Nymph was raised erect and stood upon her feet.
But long the very thought of speech, that she might bellow as a heifer, filled her mind with terror, till the words so long forgot for some sufficient cause were tried once more. and since that time, the linen wearing throng of Egypt have adored her as a God; for they believe the seed of Jove prevailed; and when her time was due she bore to him a son called Epaphus; who also dwells in temples with his mother in that land. Now Phaethon, whose father was the Sun, was equal to his rival, Epaphus,
in mind and years; and he was glad to boast of wonders, nor would yield to Epaphus for pride of Phoebus, his reputed sire. Unable to endure it, Io's son thus mocked him; “Poor, demented fellow, what will you not credit if your mother speaks, you are so puffed up with the fond conceit of your imagined sire, the Lord of Day.” shame crimsoned in his cheeks, but Phaethon withholding rage, reported all the taunts of Epaphus to Clymene his mother: “'Twill grieve you, mother, I, the bold and free,
was silent; and it shames me to report this dark reproach remains unchallenged. Oh, if I am born of race divine, give proof of that illustrious descent and claim my right to Heaven.” Around his mother's neck he drew his arms, and by the head of Merops, and by his own, and by the nuptial torch of his beloved sisters, he implored for some true token of his origin. Or moved by Phaethon's importuned words, or by the grievous charge, who might declare? She raised her arms to Heaven, and gazing full
upon the broad sun said; “I swear to you by yonder orb, so radiant and bright, which both beholds and hears us while we speak, that you are his begotten son.—You are the child of that great light which sways the world: and if I have not spoken what is true, let not mine eyes behold his countenance, and let this fatal moment be the last that I shall look upon the light of day! Nor will it weary you, my son, to reach your father's dwelling; for the very place where he appears at dawn is near our land.
Go, if it please you, and the very truth learn from your father.” Instantly sprang forth exultant Phaethon. Overjoyed with words so welcome, he imagined he could leap and touch the skies. And so he passed his land of Ethiopia, and the Indies, hot beneath the tawny sun, and there he turned his footsteps to his father's Land of Dawn.
Book 2
Glowing with gold, flaming with carbuncles on stately columns raised, refulgent shone the palace of the Sun, with polished dome of ivory gleaming, and with portals twain of burnished silver. And the workmanship exceeded all the wealth of gems and gold; for there had Mulciber engraved the seas encircling middle earth; the round of earth, and heaven impending over the land. And there amid the waves were azure deities: melodious Triton and elusive Proteus; there
Aegeaan pressing with his arms the backs. Of monstrous whales; and Doris in the sea and all her daughters; some amid the waves and others sitting on the bank to dry their sea-green hair, and others borne about by fishes. Each was made to show a fair resemblance to her sisters—yet not one appearance was assigned to all—they seemed as near alike as sisters should in truth. And men and cities, woods and savage beasts, and streams and nymphs, and sylvan deities were carved upon the land; and over these
an image of the glittering sky was fixed;— six signs were on the right, six on the left. Here when audacious Phaethon arrived by steep ascending paths, without delay he entered in the shining palace-gates of his reputed parent, making haste to stand in his paternal presence. There, unable to endure the dazzling light, he waited at a distance. Phoebus sat, arrayed in royal purple, on a throne that glittered with the purest emeralds.—
there to the left and right, Day, Month and Year, time and the Hours, at equal distance stood; and vernal Spring stood crowned with wreathed flowers; and naked Summer stood with sheaves of wheat; and Autumn stood besmeared with trodden grapes; and icy Winter rough with hoary hair. And from the midst, with orbs that view the world, Phoebus beheld the trembling youth, fear-struck, in mute amazement, and he said; “Declare the reason of thy journey. What wilt thou in this my palace, Phaethon my child beloved?”
And to him replied the youth; “O universal light of all the world, my father Phoebus, if thy name be mine, if Clymene has not concealed her sin beneath some pretext, give to me, my sire, a token to declare thy fatherhood which may establish my assured descent, and leave no dark suspicions in our minds.”— then Phoebus from his shining brows cast down his circling rays; called Phaethon to him, and as he held him to his breast replied; “O child most worthy of thy sire, the truth
was told thee by thy mother; wherefore doubts to dissipate, consider thy desire, and ask of me that I may freely give: yea, let the Nether Lake, beyond our view, (which is the oath of Gods inviolate) be witness to my word.” When this was said the happy youth at once began to plead command and guidance of his father's steeds, wing-footed, and his chariot for a day. But Phoebus much repented that he sware, and thrice and four times shook his radiant head;
“Ah, would I might refuse my plighted word; and oh, that it were lawful to deny the promised boon.—For I confess, O son, this only I should keep from thee—and yet 'Tis lawful to dissuade. It is unsafe to satisfy thy will. It is a great request, O Phaethon, which neither suits thy utmost strength nor tender years; for thou art mortal, and thou hast aspired to things immortal. Ignorance has made thy thought transcend the province of the Gods. I vaunt no vain exploits; but only I can stand
securely on the flame-fraught axle-tree: even the Ruler of Olympian Gods, who hurls fierce lightnings with his great right hand, may never dare to drive this chariot, and what art thou to equal mighty Jove? “The opening path is steep and difficult, for scarcely can the steeds, refreshed at dawn, climb up the steeps: and when is reached the height, extreme of midmost Heaven, and sea and earth are viewed below, my trembling breast is filled with fearful apprehensions: and requires the last precipitous descent a sure
command. Then, also, Tethys, who receives me in her subject waves, is wont to fear lest I should fall disastrous. And around the hastening sky revolves in constant whirl, drawing the lofty stars with rapid twist. “I struggle on. The force that overcomes the heavenly bodies overwhelms me not, and I am borne against that rapid globe. Suppose the chariot thine: what canst thou do? Canst thou drive straight against the twisted pole and not be carried from the lofty path by the swift car? Art thou deceived to think
there may be groves and cities of the Gods, and costly temples wondrously endowed? “The journey is beset with dreadful snares and shapes of savage animals. If thou shouldst hold upon thy way without mistake yet must thy journey be through Taurus' horns, and through the Bow Haemonian, and the jaws of the fierce Lion, and the cruel arms of Scorpion, bent throughout a vast expanse,— and Cancer's curving arms reversely bent. “It is no easy task for thee to rule the mettled four-foot steeds, enflamed in fires
that kindle in their breasts, forth issuing in breathings from their mouths and nostrils hot;— I scarce restrain them, as their struggling necks pull on the harness, when their heated fires are thus aroused. “And, O my son, lest I may be the author of a baneful gift, beware, and as the time permits recall thy rash request. Forsooth thou hast besought undoubted signs of thy descent from me? My fears for thee are certain signs that thou art of my race—by my paternal fears
'Tis manifest I am thy father. Lo! Behold my countenance! and oh, that thou couldst even pierce my bosom with thine eyes, and so discover my paternal cares! “Look round thee on the treasured world's delights and ask the greatest blessing of the sky, or sea or land, and thou shalt suffer no repulse: but only this I must deplore, which rightly named would be a penalty and not an honour.—Thou hast made request of punishment and not a gift indeed. O witless boy! why dost thou hold my neck
with thy caressing arms? For, doubt it not, as I have sworn it by the Stygian Waves, whatever thou shalt wish, it shall be given— but thou shouldst wish more wisely.” So were all his admonitions said, availing naught; for Phaethon resisted his advice, and urged again his claim, and eagerly burned to use the chariot. Wherefore, Phoebus long delaying and reluctant, took the youth to view the spacious chariot, gift of Vulcan.— gold was the axle and the beam was gold,
the great Wheel had a golden tire and spokes of silver; chrysolites and diamonds reflected from the spangled yoke the light of Phoebus. While aspiring Phaethon admired the glittering chariot and its workmanship, the vigilant Aurora opened forth her purple portals from the ruddy east, disclosing halls replete with roses. All the stars took flight, while Lucifer, the last to quit his vigil, gathered that great host and disappeared from his celestial watch.
And when his father, Phoebus, saw the earth and the wide universe in glowing tints arrayed, as waned the Moon's diminished horns, far-distant, then he bade the nimble Hours to yoke the steeds.—At once the Deities accomplished his commands, and led the steeds, ambrosia-fed and snorting flames, from out their spacious stalls; and fixed their sounding bits. Then with a hallowed drug the father touched the stripling's face, to make him proof against the rapid flame, and wrought around his hair the sun-rays. But, foreboding grief, he said,
while many a sigh heaved from his anxious breast; “If thou canst only heed thy father's voice— be sparing of the whip and use with nerve the reins; for of their own accord the steeds will hasten. Difficult are they to check in full career. Thou must not drive the car directly through five circles, for the track takes a wide curve, obliquely, and is bound by the extreme edge of three zones.—It avoids the Southern Pole, and it avoids the Bear that roams around the north. The way is plain; the traces of the Wheel are manifest.
“Observe with care that both the earth and sky have their appropriate heat—Drive not too low, nor urge the chariot through the highest plane; for if thy course attain too great a height thou wilt consume the mansions of the sky, and if too low the land will scorch with heat. “Take thou the middle plane, where all is safe; nor let the Wheel turn over to the right and bear thee to the twisted Snake! nor let it take thee to the Altar on the left— so close to earth—but steer the middle course.— to Fortune I commit thy fate, whose care
for thee so reckless of thyself I pray. “While I am speaking humid night has touched the margin of Hesperian shores. 'Tis not for us to idle; we are called away;— when bright Aurora shines the darkness flies. Take up the reins! But if thy stubborn breast be capable of change use not our car, but heed my counsel while the time permits, and while thy feet are on a solid base, but not, according to thy foolish wish, pressing the axle. Rather let me light the world beneath thy safe and wondering gaze.”
But Phaethon with youthful vigor leaped, and in the light-made chariot lightly stood: and he rejoiced, and with the reins in hand thanked his reluctant parent. Instantly Eous, Aethon, Pyrois and Phlegon, the winged horses of the Sun, gave vent to flame-like neighs that filled the shaking air; they pawed the barriers with their shining hoofs. Then Tethys, witless of her grandson's fate let back the barriers,—and the universe was theirs to traverse. Taking the well-known road,
and moving through the air with winged feet, they pierced resisting clouds, and spreading wide their pinions soared upon the eastern wind, far-wafted from that realm. But Phaethon, so easy of their yoke, lost all control, and the great car was tossed,—as tapered ships when lightened of their ballast toss and heave unsteady in the surging seas: the car leaped lightly in the air, and in the heights was tossed unsteady as an empty shell. Soon as the steeds perceived it, with a rush impetuous, they left the beaten track;
regardless of all order and control; and Phaethon filled with fear, knew not to guide with trusted reins, nor where the way might be— nor, if he knew, could he control their flight. Warmed in the sunshine, never felt before, the gelid Triones attempted vain to bathe in seas forbid: the Serpent cold and torpid by the frozen Pole, too cold for contest, warmed, and rage assumed from heat bootes, troubled by the heat, took flight, impeded by his wain. And as from skies
of utmost height unhappy Phaethon beheld the earth receding from his view, a pallor spread his cheeks with sudden fear; his knees began to quake; and through the flare of vast effulgence darkness closed his eyes. Now vainy he regrets he ever touched his father's steeds, and he is stunned with grief that so entreating he prevailed to know his true descent. He rather would be called the son of Merops. As a ship is tossed by raging Boreas, when the conquered helm has been abandoned, and the pilot leaves
the vessel to his vows and to the Gods; so, helpless, he is borne along the sky. What can he? Much of heaven remains behind; a longer distance is in front of him— each way is measured in his anxious mind.— at first his gaze is fixed upon the west, which fate has destined he shall never reach, and then his eyes turn backward to the east.— so, stupefied and dazed he neither dares to loose the bits, nor tighten on the reins, and he is ignorant of the horses' names. He sees horrific wonders scattered round,
and images of hideous animals.— and there's a spot where Scorpion bends his claws in double circles, and with tail and arms on either side, stretches his limbs throughout the space of two Celestial Signs; and when the lad beheld him, steeped in oozing slime of venom, swart, and threatening to strike grim wounds with jagged spear-points, he was lost; and, fixed in chills of horror, dropped the reins. When these they felt upon their rising backs, the startled steeds sprang forthwith; and, unchecked, through atmospheres of regions unexplored,
thence goaded by their unchecked violence, broke through the lawful bounds, and rushed upon the high fixed stars. They dragged the chariot through devious ways, and soared amid the heights; dashed down deep pathways, far, precipitous, and gained a level near the scorching earth. Phoebe is wondering that her brother's steeds run lower than her own, and sees the smoke of scorching clouds. The highest altitudes are caught in flames, and as their moistures dry they crack in chasms. The grass is blighted; trees are burnt up with their leaves; the ripe brown crops
give fuel for self destruction—Oh what small complaints! Great cities perish with their walls, and peopled nations are consumed to dust— the forests and the mountains are destroyed. Cilician Taurus, Athos and Tmolus, and Oeta are burning; and the far-famed Ida and all her cooling rills are dry and burning, and virgin Helicon, and Hoemos—later Oeagrius called—and Aetna with tremendous, redoubled flames, and double-peaked Parnassus, Sicilian Eryx, Cynthus—Othrys, pine-clad, and Rhodope, deprived his snowy mantle,
and Dindyma and Mycale and Mimas, and Mount Cithaeron, famed for sacred rites: and Scythia, though a land of frost, is burning, and Caucasus,—and Ossa burns with Pindus,— and greater than those two Olympus burns— the lofty Alps, the cloud-topped Apennines. And Phaethon, as he inhaled the air, burning and scorching as a furnace blast, and saw destruction on the flaming world, and his great chariot wreathed in quenchless fires, was suddenly unable to endure the heat, the smoke and cinders, and he swooned away.—
if he had known the way, those winged steeds would rush as wild unguided.— then the skin of Ethiopians took a swarthy hue, the hot blood tingling to the surface: then the heat dried up the land of Libya; dishevelled, the lorn Nymphs, lamenting, sought for all their emptied springs and lakes in vain; Boeotia wailed for Dirce's cooling wave, and Argos wailed for Amymone's stream— and even Corinth for the clear Pyrene. Not safer from the flames were distant streams;—
the Tanais in middle stream was steaming and old Peneus and Teuthrantian Caicus, Ismenus, rapid and Arcadian Erymanthus; and even Xanthus destined for a second burning, and tawny-waved Lycormas, and Meander, turning and twisting, and Thracian Melas burns, and the Laconian Eurotas burns, the mighty Babylonian Euphrates, Orontes and the Ganges, swift Thermodon, Ister and Phasis and Alpheus boil. The banks of Spercheus burn, the gold of Tagus is melting in the flames. The swans whose songs
enhanced the beauties of Maeonian banks are scalded in the Cayster's middle wave. The Nile affrighted fled to parts remote, and hid his head forever from the world: now empty are his seven mouths, and dry without or wave or stream; and also dry Ismenian Hebrus, Strymon and the streams of Hesper-Land, the rivers Rhine and Rhone, and Po, and Tiber, ruler of the world. And even as the ground asunder burst, the light amazed in gloomy Tartarus the King Infernal and his Spouse. The sea
contracted and his level waste became a sandy desert. The huge mountain tops, once covered by the ocean's waves, reared up, by which the scattered Cyclades increased. Even the fishes sought for deeper pools;— the crooked dolphins dared not skip the waves; the lifeless sea-calves floated on the top; and it is even famed that Nereus hid with Doris and her daughters, deep below in seething caverns. With a dauntless mien thrice Neptune tried to thrust his arms above the waters;—thrice the heated air overcame
his courage. Then the genial Earth, although surrounded by the waters of the sea, was parched and dry; for all her streams had hid deep in the darkness of her winding caves.— she lifted her productive countenance, up to her rounded neck, and held her palms on her sad brows; and as the mountains huge trembled and tottered, beneath her wonted plane declined she for a space—and thus began, with parched voice; “If this is thy decree,
O, Highest of the Gods,—if I have sinned why do thy lightnings linger? For if doomed by fires consuming I to perish must, let me now die in thy celestial flames— hurled by thine arm—and thus alleviate, by thine omnipotence, this agony. “How difficult to open my parched mouth, and speak these words! (the vapours choking her), behold my scorching hair, and see the clouds of ashes falling on my blinded eyes, and on my features! What a recompense for my fertility! How often I
have suffered from the wounds of crooked plows and rending harrows—tortured year by year! For this I give to cattle juicy leaves and fruits to man and frankincense to thee! “Suppose destruction is my just award what have the waters and thy brother done? Why should thy brother's cooling waves decrease and thus recede so distant from the skies? If not thy brother's good nor mine may touch thy mercy, let the pity of thy Heaven, for lo, the smoking poles on either side attest, if flames consume them or destroy,
the ruin of thy palace. Atlas, huge, with restive shoulders hardly can support the burning heavens. If the seas and lands together perish and thy palace fall, the universe confused will plunge once more to ancient Chaos. Save it from this wreck— if anything survive the fury of the flames.” So made the tortured Earth an end of speech; and she was fain to hide her countenance in caves that border on the nether night. But now the Almighty Father, having called to witness all the Gods of Heaven, and him
who gave the car, that, else his power be shown, must perish all in dire confusion, high he mounted to the altitude from which he spreads the mantling clouds, and fulminates his dreadful thunders and swift lightning-bolts terrific.—Clouds were none to find on the earth, and the surrounding skies were void of rain.— Jove, having reached that summit, stood and poised in his almighty hand a flashing dart, and, hurling it, deprived of life and seat the youthful charioteer, and struck with fire the raging flames— and by the same great force
those flames enveloping the earth were quenched, and he who caused their fury lost his life. Frantic in their affright the horses sprang across the bounded way and cast their yokes, and through the tangled harness lightly leaped. And here the scattered harness lay, and there the shattered axle, wrenched from off the pole, and various portions of the broken car; spokes of the broken Wheel were scattered round. And far fell Phaethon with flaming hair; as haply from the summer sky appears a falling star, although it never drops
to startled earth.—Far distant from his home the deep Eridanus received the lad and bathed his foaming face. His body charred by triple flames Hesperian Naiads bore, still smoking, to a tomb, and this engraved upon the stone; “Here Phaethon's remains lie buried. He who drove his father's car and fell, although he made a great attempt.” Filled with consuming woe, his father hid his countenance which grief had overcast. And now, surpassing our belief, they say a day passed over with no glowing sun;—
but light-affording flames appeared to change disaster to the cause of good. Amazed, the woeful Clymene, when she had moaned in grief, amid her lamentations tore her bosom, as across the world she roamed, at first to seek his lifeless corpse, and then his bones. She wandered to that distant land and found at last his bones ensepulchred. There, clinging to the grave she fell and bathed with many tears his name on marble carved, and with her bosom warmed the freezing
stone. And all the daughters of the Sun went there giving their tears, alas a useless gift;— they wept and beat their breasts, and day and night called, “Phaethon,” who heard not any sound of their complaint:—and there they lay foredone, all scattered round the tomb. The silent moon had four times joined her horns and filled her disk, while they, according to an ancient rite, made lamentation. Prone upon the ground, the eldest, Phaethusa, would arise
from there, but found her feet were growing stiff; and uttered moan. Lampetia wished to aid her sister but was hindered by new roots; a third when she would tear her hair, plucked forth but leaves: another wailed to find her legs were fastened in a tree; another moaned to find her arms to branches had been changed. And while they wondered, bark enclosed their thighs, and covered their smooth bellies, and their breasts, and shoulders and their hands, but left untouched their lips that called upon their mother's name. What can she do for them? Hither she runs
and thither runs, wherever frenzy leads. She kisses them, alas, while yet she may! But not content with this, she tried to hale their bodies from the trees; and she would tear the tender branches with her hands, but lo! The blood oozed out as from a bleeding wound; and as she wounded them they shrieked aloud, “Spare me! O mother spare me; in the tree my flesh is torn! farewell! farewell! farewell!” And as they spoke the bark enclosed their lips. Their tears flow forth, and from the new-formed boughs
amber distils and slowly hardens in the sun; and far from there upon the waves is borne to deck the Latin women. Cycnus, son of Sthenelus, by his maternal house akin to Phaethon, and thrice by love allied, beheld this wonderful event.— he left his kingdom of Liguria, and all its peopled cities, to lament where the sad sisters had increased the woods, beside the green banks of Eridanus. There, as he made complaint, his manly voice
began to pipe a treble, shrill; and long gray plumes concealed his hair. A slender neck extended from his breast, and reddening toes were joined together by a membrane. Wings grew from his sides, and from his mouth was made a blunted beak. Now Cycnus is a swan, and yet he fears to trust the skies and Jove, for he remembers fires, unjustly sent, and therefore shuns the heat that he abhors, and haunts the spacious lakes and pools and streams that quench the fires. In squalid garb, meanwhile,
and destitute of all his rays, the sire of Phaethon, as dark as when eclipse bedims his Wheel, abhors himself and hates the light, shuns the bright day, gives up his mind to grief, adds passion to his woe, denies the earth his countenance, and thus laments; “My lot was ever restless from the dawn of time, and I am weary of this labour, void and endless. Therefore, let who will urge forth my car, light-bearing, and if none may dare, when all the Gods of Heaven acknowledge it, let Jove himself essay the task. Perchance,
when he takes up the reins, he may forget his dreadful lightning that bereaves of child a father's love; and as he tries the strength of those flame-footed steeds will know, in truth, the lad who failed to guide my chariot deserved not death.” But all the Deities encircle Phoebus as he makes complaint, and with their supplications they entreat him not to plunge the world in darkness. Jove would find excuses for the lightning-bolt, hurled from his hand, and adds imperious threats
to his entreaties. Phoebus calls his steeds, frenzied with their maddening fires, and breaks their fury, as he vents with stinging lash his rage upon them, and in passion lays on them the death of Phaethon his son. Now after Phaethon had suffered death for the vast ruin wrought by scorching flames, all the great walls of Heaven's circumference, unmeasured, views the Father of the Gods, with searching care, that none impaired by heat may fall in ruins. Well assured they stand
in self-sustaining strength, his view, at last, on all the mundane works of man is turned;— his loving gaze long resting on his own Arcadia. And he starts the streams and springs that long have feared to flow; paints the wide earth with verdant fields; covers the trees with leaves, and clothes the injured forests in their green. While wandering in the world, he stopped amazed, when he beheld the lovely Nymph, Calisto, and fires of love were kindled in his breast. Calisto was not clothed in sumptuous robes, nor did she deck her hair in artful coils;
but with a buckle she would gird her robe, and bind her long hair with a fillet white. She bore a slender javelin in her hand, or held the curving bow; and thus in arms as chaste Diana, none of Maenalus was loved by that fair goddess more than she. But everything must change. When bright the sun rolled down the sky, beyond his middle course, she pierced a secret thicket, known to her, and having slipped the quiver from her arm, she loosed the bended bow, and softly down upon the velvet turf reclining, pressed
her white neck on the quiver while she slept. When Jupiter beheld her, negligent and beautiful, he argued thus, “How can my consort, Juno, learn of this? And yet, if chance should give her knowledge, what care I? Let gain offset the scolding of her tongue!” This said, the god transformed himself and took Diana's form—assumed Diana's dress and imitating her awoke the maid, and spoke in gentle tones, “What mountain slope, O virgin of my train, hath been thy chase?” Which, having heard, Calisto, rose and said,
“Hail, goddess! greater than celestial Jove! I would declare it though he heard the words.” Jove heard and smiled, well pleased to be preferred above himself, and kissed her many times, and strained her in his arms, while she began to tell the varied fortunes of her hunt.— but when his ardent love was known to her, she struggled to escape from his embrace: ah, how could she, a tender maid, resist almighty Jove?—Be sure, Saturnia if thou hadst only witnessed her thy heart had shown more pity!—
Jupiter on wings, transcendent, sought his glorious heights; but she, in haste departing from that grove, almost forgot her quiver and her bow. Behold, Diana, with her virgin train, when hunting on the slopes of Maenalus, amidst the pleasures of exciting sport, espied the Nymph and called her, who, afraid that Jove apparelled in disguise deceived, drew backward for a moment, till appeared to her the lovely Nymphs that followed: thus, assured deceit was none, she ventured near.
Alas, how difficult to hide disgrace! She could not raise her vision from the ground, nor as the leader of the hunting Nymphs, as was her wont, walk by the goddess' side. Her silence and her blushes were the signs of injured honour. Ah Diana, thou, if thou wert not a virgin, wouldst perceive and pity her unfortunate distress. The Moon's bent horns were rising from their ninth sojourn, when, fainting from Apollo's flames, the goddess of the Chase observed a cool umbrageous grove, from which a murmuring stream
ran babbling gently over golden sands. When she approved the spot, lightly she struck her foot against the ripples of the stream, and praising it began; “Far from the gaze of all the curious we may bathe our limbs, and sport in this clear water.” Quickly they undid their garments,—but Calisto hid behind the others, till they knew her state.— Diana in a rage exclaimed, “Away! Thou must not desecrate our sacred springs!” And she was driven thence. Ere this transpired,
observed the consort of the Thunder-God her altered mien; but she for ripening time withheld severe resentment. Now delay was needless for distracted Juno heard Calisto of the god of Heaven had borne a boy called Arcas. Full of jealous rage, her eyes and thoughts enkindled as she cried; “And only this was wanting to complete your wickedness, that you should bear a son and flaunt abroad the infamy of Jove! Unpunished you shall not escape, for I will spoil the beauty that has made you proud
and dazzled Jupiter with wanton art.” So saying, by her forehead's tresses seized the goddess on her rival; and she dragged her roughly to the ground. Pleading she raised her suppliant arms and begged for mercy.—While she pled, black hair spread over her white limbs; her hands were lengthened into feet, and claws long-curving tipped them; snarling jaws deformed the mouth that Jove had kissed. And lest her prayers and piteous words might move some listening God, and give remembrance, speech was so denied, that only from her throat came angry growls,
now uttered hoarse and threatening. Still remains her understanding, though her body, thus transformed, makes her appear a savage bear.— her sorrows are expressed in many a groan, repeated as she lifts her hands—if we may call them so—repeated as she lifts them towards the stars and skies, ungrateful Jove regarding; but her voice accuses not. Afraid to rest in unfrequented woods, she wandered in the fields that once were hers, around her well-known dwelling. Over crags,
in terror, she was driven by the cries of hounds; and many a time she fled in fear, a huntress from the hunters, or she hid from savage animals; forgetting her transformed condition. Changed into a bear, she fled affrighted from the bears that haunt the rugged mountains; and she feared and fled the wolves,—although her father was a wolf. When thrice five birthdays rounded out the youth of Arcas, offspring of Lycaon's child, he hunted in the forest of his choice; where, hanging with his platted nets the trees
of Erymanthian forest, he espied his transformed mother,—but he knew her not; no one had told him of his parentage. Knowing her child, she stood with levelled gaze, amazed and mute as he began approach; but Arcas, frightened at the sight drew back to pierce his mother's breast with wounding spear.— but not permitting it the god of Heaven averted, and removed them from that crime. He, in a mighty wind—through vacant space, upbore them to the dome of starry heaven, and fixed them, Constellations, bright amid
the starry host. Juno on high beheld Calisto crowned with glory—great with rage her bosom heaved. She flew across the sea, to hoary Tethys and to old Oceanus, whom all the Gods revere, and thus to them in answer to their words she made address; “And is it wondered that the Queen of Gods comes hither from ethereal abodes? My rival sits upon the Throne of Heaven: yea, when the wing of Night has darkened let my fair word be deemed of no repute,
if you behold not in the height of Heaven those new made stars, now honoured to my shame, conspicuous; fixed in the highest dome of space that circles the utmost axis of the world. “Who, then, should hesitate to put affront on Juno? matchless goddess! each offense redounds in benefit! Who dreads her rage? Oh boundless powers! Oh unimagined deeds! My enemy assumes a goddess' form when my decree deprives her human shape;— and thus the guilty rue their chastisement! “Now let high Jove to human shape transform
this hideous beast, as once before he changed his Io from a heifer.—Let him now divorce his Juno and consort with her, and lead Calisto to his couch, and take that wolf, Lycaon, for a father-in-law! “Oh, if an injury to me, your child, may move your pity! drive the Seven Stars from waters crystalline and azure-tint, and your domain debar from those that shine in Heaven, rewarded for Jove's wickedness.— bathe not a concubine in waters pure.”— the Gods of Ocean granted her request.
High in her graceful chariot through the air, translucent, wends the goddess, glorious child of Saturn, with her peacocks many-hued: her peacocks, by the death of Argus limned, so gay were made when black as midnight turned thy wings, O chattering raven! white of yore. For, long ago the ravens were not black— their plumage then was white as any dove— white-feathered, snow-white as the geese that guard with watchful cries the Capitol: as white as swans that haunt the streams. Disgrace reversed the raven's hue from white to black, because
offense was given by his chattering tongue. O glorious Phoebus! dutiful to thee, Coronis of Larissa, fairest maid of all Aemonia, was a grateful charm, a joy to thee whilst faithful to thy love,— while none defamed her chastity. But when the Raven, bird of Phoebus, learned the Nymph had been unfaithful, mischief-bent that bird, spreading his white wings, hastened to impart the sad news to his master. After him the prattling Crow followed with flapping wings, eager to learn what caused the Raven's haste.
Concealing nothing, with his busy tongue the Raven gave the scandal to that bird: and unto him the prattling Crow replied; “A fruitless errand has befooled thy wits! Take timely warning of my fateful cries: consider what I was and what I am: was justice done? 'Twas my fidelity that caused my downfall. For, it came to pass, within a basket, fashioned of small twigs, Minerva had enclosed that spawn; begot without a mother, Ericthonius; which to the wardship of three virgins, born
of double-natured Cecrops, she consigned with this injunction, ‘Look ye not therein, nor learn the secret.’— “But I saw their deeds while hidden in the leaves of a great tree two of the sisters, Herse and Pandrosos, observed the charge, but scoffing at their fears, the third, Aglauros, with her nimble hands untied the knotted cords, and there disclosed a serpent and an infant. This I told Minerva; but in turn, she took away her long protection, and degraded me
beneath the boding Owl.—My punishment should warn the birds how many dangers they incur from chattering tongues. “Not my desire impelled me to report to her, nor did I crave protection; which, if thou wilt ask Minerva, though enraged she must confirm. And when is told to thee what lately fame established, thou wilt not despise the Crow. “Begot by Coronaeus, who was lord of all the land of Phocis, I was once a royal virgin, sought by suitors rich
and powerful. But beauty proved the cause of my misfortune; for it came to pass, as I was slowly walking on the sands that skirt the merge of ocean, where was oft my wont to roam, the god of Ocean gazed impassioned, and with honied words implored my love—but finding that I paid no heed, and all his words despised, he fumed with rage and followed me. “I fled from that sea-shore, to fields of shifting sands that all my steps delayed: and in despair upon the Gods
and all mankind I called for aid, but I was quite alone and helpless. Presently the chaste Minerva, me, a virgin, heard and me assistance gave: for as my arms implored the Heavens, downy feathers grew from out the flesh; and as I tried to cast my mantle from my shoulders, wings appeared upon my tender sides; and as I strove to beat my naked bosom with my hands, nor hands remained nor naked breast to beat. “I ran, and as I sped the sands no more delayed me; I was soaring from the ground;
and as I winged the air, Minerva chose me for a life-companion; but alas, although my life was blameless, fate or chance deprived me of Minerva's loving aid; for soon Nictimene succeeded me to her protection and deserved esteem.— it happened in this way,—Nictimene committed the most wicked crimes, for which Minerva changed her to the bird of night— and ever since has claimed her as her own instead of me; and this despite the deed for which she shuns the glorious light of day,
and conscious of her crime conceals her shame in the dark night—Minerva's Owl now called. All the glad birds of day, indignant shun, and chase her from the skies.” But now replied the Raven to the Crow, that talked so much, “A mischief fall upon your prating head for this detention of my flight. Your words and warnings I despise.” With which retort he winged upon his journey, swiftly thence in haste, despite the warning to inform his patron, Phoebus, how he saw the fair
Coronis with a lad of Thessaly. And when Apollo, Phoebus, heard the tale the busy Raven made such haste to tell, he dropped his plectrum and his laurel wreath, and his bright countenance went white with rage. He seized his trusted arms, and having bent his certain bow, pierced with a deadly shaft that bosom which so often he had pressed against his own. Coronis moaned in pain,— and as she drew the keen shaft from the wound, her snow-white limbs were bathed in purple blood:
and thus she wailed, “Ah, Phoebus! punishment is justly mine! but wherefore didst thou not await the hour of birth? for by my death an innocent is slain.” This said, her soul expired with her life-blood, and death congealed her drooping form. Sadly the love-lore God repents his jealous deed; regrets too late his ready credence to the Raven's tale. Mourning his thoughtless deed, blaming himself, he vents his rage upon the talking bird; he hates his bow, the string, his own right hand,
the fateful arrow. As a last resource, and thus to overcome her destiny, he strove to cherish her beloved form; for vain were all his medicinal arts. But when he saw upraised the funeral pyre, where wreathed in flames her body should be burnt, the sorrow of his heart welled forth in sighs; but tearless orbed, for no celestial face may tide of woe bedew. So grieves the poor dam, when, swinging from his right the flashing ax, the butcher with a sounding blow divides the hollow temples of her sucking calf.
Yet, after Phoebus poured the fragrant myrrh, sweet perfumes on her breast, that now once more against his own he pressed, and after all the prematurely hastened rites were done, he would not suffer the offspring of his loins to mingle with her ashes, but he plucked from out the flames, forth from the mother's thighs his child, unborn, and carried to the cave of double-natured Chiron. Then to him he called the silly raven, high in hopes of large requital due for all his words;
but, angry with his meddling ways, the God turned the white feathers of that bird to black and then forbade forever more to perch among the favoured birds whose plumes are white. Chiron, the Centaur, taught his pupil; proud that he was honoured by that God-like charge. Behold, his lovely daughter, who was born beside the margin of a rapid stream, came forward, with her yellow hair as gold adown her shoulders.—She was known by name Ocyroe. The hidden things that Fate conceals, she had the power to tell; for not
content was she to learn her father's arts, but rather pondered on mysterious things. So, when the god of Frenzy warmed her breast, gazing on Aesculapius,—the child of Phoebus and Coronis, while her soul was gifted, with prophetic voice she said; “O thou who wilt bestow on all the world the blessed boon of health, increase in strength! To thee shall mortals often owe their lives: to thee is given the power to raise the dead. But when against the power of Deities thou shalt presume to dare thy mortal skill,
the bolts of Jove will shatter thy great might, and health no more be thine from thence to grant. And from a god thou shalt return to dust, and once again from dust become a God; and thou shalt thus renew thy destiny.— “And thou, dear father Chiron, brought to birth with pledge of an immortal life, informed with ever-during strength, when biting flames of torment from the baneful serpent's blood are coursing in thy veins, thou shalt implore a welcome death; and thy immortal life the Gods shall suffer to the power of death.—
and the three Destinies shall cut thy thread.” She would continue these prophetic words but tears unbidden trickled down her face; and, as it seemed her sighs would break her heart, she thus bewailed; “The Fates constrain my speech and I can say no more; my power has gone. Alas, my art, although of little force and doubtful worth, has brought upon my head the wrath of Heaven. “Oh wherefore did I know to cast the future? Now my human form puts on another shape, and the long grass
affords me needed nourishment. I want to range the boundless plains and have become, in image of my father's kind, a mare: but gaining this, why lose my human shape? My father's form is one of twain combined.” And as she wailed the words became confused and scarcely understood; and soon her speech was only as the whinny of a mare. Down to the meadow's green her arms were stretched; her fingers joined together, and smooth hoofs made of five nails a single piece of horn. Her face and neck were lengthened, and her hair
swept downward as a tail; the scattered locks that clung around her neck were made a mane, tossed over to the right. Her voice and shape were altogether changed, and since that day the change has given her a different name. In vain her hero father, Chiron, prayed the glorious God, Apollo, her to aid. He could not thwart the will of mighty Jove; and if the power were his, far from the spot, from thence afar his footsteps trod the fields of Elis and Messenia, far from thence. Now while Apollo wandered on those plains,—
his shoulders covered with a shepherd's skin, his left hand holding his long shepherd's staff, his right hand busied with the seven reeds of seven sizes, brooding over the death of Hymenaeus, lost from his delight; while mournful ditties on the reeds were tuned,— his kine, forgotten, strayed away to graze over the plains of Pylos. Mercury observed them, unattended, and from thence drove them away and hid them in the forest. So deftly did he steal them, no one knew or noticed save an ancient forester,
well known to all the neighbor-folk, by them called Battus. He was keeper of that wood, and that green pasture where the blooded mares of rich Neleus grazed. As Mercury distrusted him, he led him to one side and said; “Good stranger, whosoever thou art, if any one should haply question thee, if thou hast seen these kine, deny it all; and for thy good will, ere the deed is done, I give as thy reward this handsome cow.” Now when the gift was his, old Battus said,
“Go hence in safety, if it be thy will; and should my tongue betray thee, let that stone make mention of the theft.” And as he spoke, he pointed to a stone. The son of Jove pretended to depart, but quickly changed his voice and features, and retraced his steps, and thus again addressed that ancient man; “Kind sir, if thou wouldst earn a fair reward, a heifer and a bull, if thou hast seen some cattle pass, I pray thee give thy help, and tell me of the theft.” So the reward
was doubled; and the old man answered him, “Beyond those hills they be,” and so they were ‘Beyond those hills.’ And, laughing, Mercury said, “Thou treacherous man to me dost thou betray myself? Dost thou bewray me to myself?” The god indignant turned his perjured breast into a stone which even now is called “The Spy of Pylos,” a disgraceful name, derived from days of old, but undeserved. High in the dome of Heaven, behold the bright Caduceus-Bearer soared on balanced wings;
and far below him through a fruitful grove, devoted to Minerva's hallowed reign, some virgins bearing on their lovely heads, in wicker baskets wreathed and decked with flowers, their sacred offerings to the citadel of that chaste goddess. And the winged God, while circling in the clear unbounded skies, beheld that train of virgins, beautiful, as they were thence returning on their way. Not forward on a level line he flew, but wheeled in circles round. Lo, the swift kite swoops round the smoking entrails, while the priests
enclose in guarded ranks their sacrifice: wary with fear, that swiftest of all birds, dares not to venture from his vantage height, but greedily hovers on his waving wings around his keen desire. So, the bright God circled those towers, Actaean, round and round, in mazey circles, greedy as the bird. As much as Lucifer outshines the stars that emulate the glory of his rays, as greatly as bright Phoebe pales thy light, O lustrous Lucifer! so far surpassed in beauty the fair maiden Herse, all
those lovely virgins of that sacred train, departing joyous from Minerva's grove. The Son of Jove, astonished, while he wheeled on balanced pinions through the yielding air, burned hot; as oft from Balearic sling the leaden missile, hurled with sudden force, burns in a glowing heat beneath the clouds. Then sloped the god his course from airy height, and turned a different way; another way he went without disguise, in confidence of his celestial grace. But though he knew his face was beautiful, he combed his hair,
and fixed his flowing raiment, that the fringe of radiant gold appeared. And in his hand he waved his long smooth wand, with which he gives the wakeful sleep or waketh ridded eyes. He proudly glanced upon his twinkling feet that sparkled with their scintillating wings. In a secluded part of that great fane, devoted to Minerva's hallowed rites, three chambers were adorned with tortoise shell and ivory and precious woods inlaid; and there, devoted to Minerva's praise, three well known sisters dwelt. Upon the right
dwelt Pandrosos and over on the left Aglauros dwelt, and Herse occupied the room between those two. When Mercury drew near to them, Aglauros first espied the God, and ventured to enquire his name, and wherefore he was come. Then gracious spoke to her in answer the bright son of Jove; “Behold the god who carries through the air the mandates of almighty Jupiter! But I come hither not to waste my time in idle words, but rather to beseech
thy kindness and good aid, that I may win the love of thy devoted sister Herse.” Aglauros, on the son of Jupiter, gazed with those eyes that only lately viewed the guarded secret of the yellow-haired Minerva, and demanded as her price gold of great weight; before he paid denied admittance of the house. Minerva turned, with orbs of stern displeasure, towards the maid Aglauros; and her bosom heaved with sighs so deeply laboured that her Aegis-shield
was shaken on her valiant breast. For she remembered when Aglauros gave to view her charge, with impious hand, that monster form without a mother, maugre Nature's law, what time the god who dwells on Lemnos loved.— now to requite the god and sister; her to punish whose demand of gold was great; Minerva to the Cave of Envy sped. Dark, hideous with black gore, her dread abode is hidden in the deepest hollowed cave, in utmost limits where the genial sun may never shine, and where the breathing winds
may never venture; dismal, bitter cold, untempered by the warmth of welcome fires, involved forever in abounding gloom. When the fair champion came to this abode she stood before its entrance, for she deemed it not a lawful thing to enter there: and she whose arm is mortal to her foes, struck the black door-posts with her pointed spear, and shook them to the center. Straight the doors flew open, and, behold, within was Envy ravening the flesh of vipers, self-begot, the nutriment of her depraved desires.—
when the great goddess met her evil gaze she turned her eyes away. But Envy slow, in sluggish languor from the ground uprose, and left the scattered serpents half-devoured; then moving with a sullen pace approached.— and when she saw the gracious goddess, girt with beauty and resplendent in her arms, she groaned aloud and fetched up heavy sighs. Her face is pale, her body long and lean, her shifting eyes glance to the left and right, her snaggle teeth are covered with black rust, her hanging paps overflow with bitter gall,
her slavered tongue drips venom to the ground; busy in schemes and watchful in dark snares sweet sleep is banished from her blood-shot eyes; her smiles are only seen when others weep; with sorrow she observes the fortunate, and pines away as she beholds their joy; her own existence is her punishment, and while tormenting she torments herself. Although Minerva held her in deep scorn she thus commanded her with winged words; “Instil thy poison in Aglauros, child of Cecrops; I command thee; do my will.”
She spake; and spurning with her spear the ground departed; and the sad and furtive-eyed envy observed her in her glorious flight: she murmured at the goddess, great in arms: but waiting not she took in hand her staff, which bands of thorns encircled as a wreath, and veiled in midnight clouds departed thence. She blasted on her way the ripening fields; scorched the green meadows, starred with flowers, and breathed a pestilence throughout the land and the great cities. When her eyes beheld the glorious citadel of Athens, great
in art and wealth, abode of joyful peace, she hardly could refrain from shedding tears, that nothing might be witnessed worthy tears. She sought the chamber where Aglauros slept, and hastened to obey the God's behest. She touched the maiden's bosom with her hands, foul with corrupting stains, and pierced her heart with jagged thorns, and breathed upon her face a noxious venom; and distilled through all the marrow of her bones, and in her lungs, a poison blacker than the ooze of pitch. And lest the canker of her poisoned soul
might spread unchecked throughout increasing space, she caused a vision of her sister's form to rise before her, happy with the God who shone in his celestial beauty. All appeared more beautiful than real life.— when the most wretched daughter of Cecrops had seen the vision secret torment seized on all her vitals; and she groaned aloud, tormented by her frenzy day and night. A slow consumption wasted her away, as ice is melted by the slant sunbeam, when the cool clouds are flitting in the sky.
If she but thought of Herse's happiness she burned, as thorny bushes are consumed with smoldering embers under steaming stems. She could not bear to see her sister's joy, and longed for death, an end of misery; or schemed to end the torture of her mind by telling all she knew in shameful words, whispered to her austere and upright sire. But after many agonizing hours, she sat before the threshold of their home to intercept the God, who as he neared spoke softly in smooth blandishment.
“Enough,” she said, “I will not move from here until thou hast departed from my sight.” “Let us adhere to that which was agreed.” Rejoined the graceful-formed Cyllenian God, who as he spoke thrust open with a touch of his compelling wand the carved door. But when she made an effort to arise, her thighs felt heavy, rigid and benumbed; and as she struggled to arise her knees were stiffened? and her nails turned pale and cold; her veins grew pallid as the blood congealed. And even as the dreaded cancer spreads
through all the body, adding to its taint the flesh uninjured; so, a deadly chill entered by slow degrees her breast, and stopped her breathing, and the passages of life. She did not try to speak, but had she made an effort to complain there was not left a passage for her voice. Her neck was changed to rigid stone, her countenance felt hard; she sat a bloodless statue, but of stone not marble-white—her mind had stained it black. So from the land of Pallas went the God, his great revenge accomplished on the head
of impious Aglauros; and he soared on waving wings into the opened skies: and there his father called him to his side, and said,—with words to hide his passion;—Son,— thou faithful minister of my commands.— let naught delay thee—swiftly take the way, accustomed, to the land of Sidon (which adores thy mother's star upon the left) when there, drive over to the sounding shore that royal herd, which far away is fed on mountain grass.— he spoke, and instantly
the herd was driven from the mountain side; then headed for the shore, as Jove desired,— to where the great king's daughter often went in play, attended by the maids of Tyre.— can love abide the majesty of kings? Love cannot always dwell upon a throne.— Jove laid aside his glorious dignity, for he assumed the semblance of a bull and mingled with the bullocks in the groves, his colour white as virgin snow, untrod, unmelted by the watery Southern Wind. His neck was thick with muscles, dewlaps hung
between his shoulders; and his polished horns, so small and beautifully set, appeared the artifice of man; fashioned as fair and more transparent than a lucent gem. His forehead was not lowered for attack, nor was there fury in his open eyes; the love of peace was in his countenance. When she beheld his beauty and mild eyes, the daughter of Agenor was amazed; but, daring not to touch him, stood apart until her virgin fears were quieted; then, near him, fragrant flowers in her hand
she offered,—tempting, to his gentle mouth: and then the loving god in his great joy kissed her sweet hands, and could not wait her will. Jove then began to frisk upon the grass, or laid his snow-white side on the smooth sand, yellow and golden. As her courage grew he gave his breast one moment for caress, or bent his head for garlands newly made, wreathed for his polished horns. The royal maid, unwitting what she did, at length sat down upon the bull's broad back. Then by degrees
the god moved from the land and from the shore, and placed his feet, that seemed but shining hoofs, in shallow water by the sandy merge; and not a moment resting bore her thence, across the surface of the Middle Sea, while she affrighted gazed upon the shore— so fast receding. And she held his horn with her right hand, and, steadied by the left, held on his ample back—and in the breeze her waving garments fluttered as they went.
Book 3
Now Jupiter had not revealed himself, nor laid aside the semblance of a bull, until they stood upon the plains of Crete. But not aware of this, her father bade her brother Cadmus search through all the world, until he found his sister, and proclaimed him doomed to exile if he found her not;— thus was he good and wicked in one deed. When he had vainly wandered over the earth (for who can fathom the deceits of Jove?) Cadmus, the son of King Agenor, shunned his country and his father's mighty wrath.
But he consulted the famed oracles of Phoebus, and enquired of them what land might offer him a refuge and a home. And Phoebus answered him; “When on the plains a heifer, that has never known the yoke, shall cross thy path go thou thy way with her, and follow where she leads; and when she lies, to rest herself upon the meadow green, there shalt thou stop, as it will be a sign for thee to build upon that plain the walls of a great city: and its name shall be the City of Boeotia.”
Cadmus turned; but hardly had descended from the cave, Castalian, ere he saw a heifer go unguarded, gentle-paced, without the scars of labour on her neck. He followed close upon her steps (and silently adored celestial Phoebus, author of his way) till over the channel that Cephissus wears he forded to the fields of Panope and even over to Boeotia.— there stood the slow-paced heifer, and she raised her forehead, broad with shapely horns, towards Heaven;
and as she filled the air with lowing, stretched her side upon the tender grass, and turned her gaze on him who followed in her path. Cadmus gave thanks and kissed the foreign soil, and offered salutation to the fields and unexplored hills. Then he prepared to make large sacrifice to Jupiter, and ordered slaves to seek the living springs whose waters in libation might be poured. There was an ancient grove, whose branching trees had never known the desecrating ax, where hidden in the undergrowth a cave,
with oziers bending round its low-formed arch, was hollowed in the jutting rocks—deep-found in the dark center of that hallowed grove— beneath its arched roof a beauteous stream of water welled serene. Its gloom concealed a dragon, sacred to the war-like Mars; crested and gorgeous with radescent scales, and eyes that sparkled as the glow of coals. A deadly venom had puffed up his bulk, and from his jaws he darted forth three tongues, and in a triple row his sharp teeth stood. Now those who ventured of the Tyrian race,
misfortuned followers of Cadmus, took the path that led them to this grove; and when they cast down-splashing in the springs an urn, the hidden dragon stretched his azure head out from the cavern's gloom, and vented forth terrific hissings. Horrified they dropped their urns. A sudden trembling shook their knees; and their life-blood was ice within their veins. The dragon wreathed his scales in rolling knots, and with a spring, entwisted in great folds, reared up his bulk beyond the middle rings, high in the air from whence was given his gaze
the extreme confines of the grove below. A size prodigious, his enormous bulk, if seen extended where was naught to hide, would rival in its length the Serpent's folds, involved betwixt the planes of the Twin Bears. The terrified Phoenicians, whether armed for conflict, or in flight precipitate, or whether held incapable from fear, he seized with sudden rage; stung them to death, or crushed them in the grasp of crushing folds, or blasted with the poison of his breath. High in the Heavens the sun small shadow made
when Cadmus, wondering what detained his men, prepared to follow them. Clothed in a skin torn from a lion, he was armed, complete, with lance of glittering steel; and with a dart: but passing these he had a dauntless soul. When he explored the grove and there beheld the lifeless bodies, and above them stretched the vast victorious dragon licking up the blood that issued from their ghastly wounds; his red tongues dripping gore; then Cadmus filled with rage and grief; “Behold, my faithful ones! I will avenge your deaths or I will share it!”
He spoke; and lifted up a mill-stone huge, in his right hand, and having poised it, hurled with a tremendous effort dealing such a blow would crush the strongest builded walls; yet neither did the dragon flinch the shock nor was he wounded, for his armour-scales, fixed in his hard and swarthy hide, repelled the dreadful impact. Not the javelin thus, so surely by his armoured skin was foiled, for through the middle segment of his spine the steel point pierced, and sank beneath the flesh, deep in his entrails. Writhing in great pain
he turned his head upon his bleeding back, twisting the shaft, with force prodigious shook it back and forth, and wrenched it from the wound; with difficulty wrenched it. But the steel remained securely fastened in his bones. Such agony but made increase of rage: his throat was swollen with great knotted veins; a white froth gathered on his poisonous jaws; the earth resounded with his rasping scales; he breathed upon the grass a pestilence, steaming mephitic from his Stygian mouth. His body writhes up in tremendous gyres;
his folds, now straighter than a beam, untwist; he rushes forward on his vengeful foe, his great breast crushing the deep-rooted trees. Small space gave Cadmus to the dragon's rage, for by the lion's spoil he stood the shock, and thrusting in his adversary's jaws the trusted lance gave check his mad career. Wild in his rage the dragon bit the steel and fixed his teeth on the keen-biting point: out from his poisoned palate streams of gore spouted and stained the green with sanguine spray. Yet slight the wound for he recoiled in time,
and drew his wounded body from the spear; by shrinking from the sharp steel saved his throat a mortal wound. But Cadmus as he pressed the spear-point deeper in the serpent's throat, pursued him till an oak-tree barred the way; to this he fixed the dragon through the neck: the stout trunk bending with the monster's weight, groaned at the lashing of his serpent tail. While the brave victor gazed upon the bulk enormous of his vanquished foe, a voice was heard—from whence was difficult to know, but surely heard—“Son of Agenor, why
art thou here standing by this carcase-worm, for others shall behold thy body changed into a serpent?” Terrified, amazed, he lost his colour and his self-control; his hair stood upright from the dreadful fright. But lo, the hero's watchful Deity, Minerva, from the upper realms of air appeared before him. She commanded him to sow the dragon's teeth in mellowed soil, from which might spring another race of men. And he obeyed: and as he plowed the land, took care to scatter in the furrowed soil
the dragon's teeth; a seed to raise up man. 'Tis marvelous but true, when this was done the clods began to move. A spear-point first appeared above the furrows, followed next by helmet-covered heads, nodding their cones; their shoulders, breasts and arms weighted with spears; and largely grew the shielded crop of men.— so is it in the joyful theaters when the gay curtains, rolling from the floor, are upward drawn until the scene is shown,— it seems as if the figures rise to view: first we behold their faces, then we see
their bodies, and their forms by slow degrees appear before us on the painted cloth. Cadmus, affrighted by this host, prepared to arm for his defence; but one of those from earth created cried; “Arm not! Away from civil wars!” And with his trenchant sword he smote an earth-born brother, hand to hand; even as the vanquished so the victor fell, pierced by a dart some distant brother hurled; and likewise he who cast that dart was slain: both breathing forth their lives upon the air so briefly theirs, expired together. All
as if demented leaped in sudden rage, each on the other, dealing mutual wounds. So, having lived the space allotted them, the youthful warriors perished as they smote the earth (their blood-stained mother) with their breasts: and only five of all the troop remained; of whom Echion, by Minerva warned, called on his brothers to give up the fight, and cast his arms away in pledge of faith.— when Cadmus, exiled from Sidonia's gates, builded the city by Apollo named, these five were trusted comrades in his toil.
Now Thebes is founded, who can deem thy days unhappy in shine exile, Cadmus? Thou, the son-in-law of Mars and Venus; thou, whose glorious wife has borne to shine embrace daughters and sons? And thy grandchildren join around thee, almost grown to man's estate.— nor should we say, “He leads a happy life,” Till after death the funeral rites are paid. Thy grandson, Cadmus, was the first to cast thy dear felicity in sorrow's gloom. Oh, it was pitiful to witness him, his horns outbranching from his forehead, chased
by dogs that panted for their master's blood! If thou shouldst well inquire it will be shown his sorrow was the crime of Fortune—not his guilt—for who maintains mistakes are crimes? Upon a mountain stained with slaughtered game, the young Hyantian stood. Already day, increasing to meridian, made decrease the flitting shadows, and the hot sun shone betwixt extremes in equal distance. Such the hour, when speaking to his fellow friends, the while they wandered by those lonely haunts, actaeon of Hyantis kindly thus;
“Our nets and steel are stained with slaughtered game, the day has filled its complement of sport; now, when Aurora in her saffron car brings back the light of day, we may again repair to haunts of sport. Now Phoebus hangs in middle sky, cleaving the fields with heat.— enough of toil; take down the knotted nets.”— all did as he commanded; and they sought their needed rest. There is a valley called Gargaphia; sacred to Diana, dense with pine trees and the pointed cypress, where,
deep in the woods that fringed the valley's edge, was hollowed in frail sandstone and the soft white pumice of the hills an arch, so true it seemed the art of man; for Nature's touch ingenious had so fairly wrought the stone, making the entrance of a grotto cool. Upon the right a limpid fountain ran, and babbled, as its lucid channel spread into a clear pool edged with tender grass. Here, when a-wearied with exciting sport, the Sylvan goddess loved to come and bathe her virgin beauty in the crystal pool.
After Diana entered with her nymphs, she gave her javelin, quiver and her bow to one accustomed to the care of arms; she gave her mantle to another nymph who stood near by her as she took it off; two others loosed the sandals from her feet; but Crocale, the daughter of Ismenus, more skillful than her sisters, gathered up the goddess' scattered tresses in a knot;— her own were loosely wantoned on the breeze. Then in their ample urns dipt up the wave and poured it forth, the cloud-nymph Nephele,
the nymph of crystal pools called Hyale, the rain-drop Rhanis, Psecas of the dews, and Phyale the guardian of their urns. And while they bathed Diana in their streams, Actaeon, wandering through the unknown woods, entered the precincts of that sacred grove; with steps uncertain wandered he as fate directed, for his sport must wait till morn.— soon as he entered where the clear springs welled or trickled from the grotto's walls, the nymphs, now ready for the bath, beheld the man, smote on their breasts, and made the woods resound,
suddenly shrieking. Quickly gathered they to shield Diana with their naked forms, but she stood head and shoulders taller than her guards.— as clouds bright-tinted by the slanting sun, or purple-dyed Aurora, so appeared Diana's countenance when she was seen. Oh, how she wished her arrows were at hand! But only having water, this she took and dashed it on his manly countenance, and sprinkled with the avenging stream his hair, and said these words, presage of future woe; “Go tell it, if your tongue can tell the tale,
your bold eyes saw me stripped of all my robes.” No more she threatened, but she fixed the horns of a great stag firm on his sprinkled brows; she lengthened out his neck; she made his ears sharp at the top; she changed his hands and feet; made long legs of his arms, and covered him with dappled hair—his courage turned to fear. The brave son of Autonoe took to flight, and marveled that he sped so swiftly on.— he saw his horns reflected in a stream and would have said, “Ah, wretched me!” but now he had no voice, and he could only groan:
large tears ran trickling down his face, transformed in every feature.—Yet, as clear remained his understanding, and he wondered what he should attempt to do: should he return to his ancestral palace, or plunge deep in vast vacuities of forest wilds? Fear made him hesitate to trust the woods, and shame deterred him from his homeward way. While doubting thus his dogs espied him there: first Blackfoot and the sharp nosed Tracer raised the signal: Tracer of the Gnossian breed, and Blackfoot of the Spartan: swift as wind
the others followed. Glutton, Quicksight, Surefoot, three dogs of Arcady; then valiant Killbuck, Tempest, fierce Hunter, and the rapid Wingfoot; sharp-scented Chaser, and Woodranger wounded so lately by a wild boar; savage Wildwood, the wolf-begot with Shepherdess the cow-dog; and ravenous Harpy followed by her twin whelps; and thin-girt Ladon chosen from Sicyonia; racer and Barker, brindled Spot and Tiger; sturdy old Stout and white haired Blanche and black Smut lusty big Lacon, trusty Storm and Quickfoot; active young Wolfet and her Cyprian brother
black headed Snap, blazed with a patch of white hair from forehead to his muzzle; swarthy Blackcoat and shaggy Bristle, Towser and Wildtooth, his sire of Dicte and his dam of Lacon; and yelping Babbler: these and others, more than patience leads us to recount or name. All eager for their prey the pack surmount rocks, cliffs and crags, precipitous—where paths are steep, where roads are none. He flies by routes so oft pursued but now, alas, his flight is from his own!—He would have cried, “Behold your master!—It is I—Actaeon!” Words
refused his will. The yelping pack pressed on. First Blackmane seized and tore his master's back, Savage the next, then Rover's teeth were clinched deep in his shoulder.—These, though tardy out, cut through a by-path and arriving first clung to their master till the pack came up. The whole pack fastened on their master's flesh till place was none for others. Groaning he made frightful sounds that not the human voice could utter nor the stag; and filled the hills with dismal moans; and as a suppliant fell down to the ground upon his trembling knees;
and turned his stricken eyes on his own dogs, entreating them to spare him from their fangs. But his companions, witless of his plight, urged on the swift pack with their hunting cries. They sought Actaeon and they vainly called, “Actaeon! Hi! Actaeon!” just as though he was away from them. Each time they called he turned his head. And when they chided him, whose indolence denied the joys of sport, how much he wished an indolent desire had haply held him from his ravenous pack. Oh, how much;better 'tis to see the hunt,
and the fierce dogs, than feel their savage deeds! They gathered round him, and they fixed their snouts deep in his flesh: tore him to pieces, he whose features only as a stag appeared.— 'Tis said Diana's fury raged with none abatement till the torn flesh ceased to live. Hapless Actaeon's end in various ways was now regarded; some deplored his doom, but others praised Diana's chastity; and all gave many reasons. But the spouse of Jove, alone remaining silent, gave nor praise nor blame. Whenever calamity
befell the race of Cadmus she rejoiced, in secret, for she visited her rage on all Europa's kindred. Now a fresh occasion has been added to her grief, and wild with jealousy of Semele, her tongue as ever ready to her rage, lets loose a torrent of abuse; “Away! Away with words! Why should I speak of it? Let me attack her! Let me spoil that jade! Am I not Juno the supreme of Heaven?
Queen of the flashing scepter? Am I not sister and wife of Jove omnipotent? She even wishes to be known by him a mother of a Deity, a joy almost denied to me! Great confidence has she in her great beauty—nevertheless, I shall so weave the web the bolt of Jove would fail to save her.—Let the Gods deny that I am Saturn's daughter, if her shade descend not stricken to the Stygian wave.” She rose up quickly from her shining throne, and hidden in a cloud of fiery hue
descended to the home of Semele; and while encompassed by the cloud, transformed her whole appearance as to counterfeit old Beroe, an Epidaurian nurse, who tended Semele. Her tresses changed to grey, her smooth skin wrinkled and her step grown feeble as she moved with trembling limbs;— her voice was quavering as an ancient dame's, as Juno, thus disguised, began to talk to Semele. When presently the name of Jove was mentioned—artful Juno thus;
(doubtful that Jupiter could be her love)— “When Jove appears to pledge his love to you, implore him to assume his majesty and all his glory, even as he does in presence of his stately Juno—Yea, implore him to caress you as a God.” With artful words as these the goddess worked upon the trusting mind of Semele, daughter of Cadmus, till she begged of Jove a boon, that only hastened her sad death; for Jove not knowing her design replied, “Whatever thy wish, it shall not be denied,
and that thy heart shall suffer no distrust, I pledge me by that Deity, the Waves of the deep Stygian Lake,—oath of the Gods.” All overjoyed at her misfortune, proud that she prevailed, and pleased that she secured of him a promise, that could only cause her own disaster, Semele addressed almighty Jove; “Come unto me in all the splendour of thy glory, as thy might is shown to Juno, goddess of the skies.” Fain would he stifle her disastrous tongue; before he knew her quest the words were said;
and, knowing that his greatest oath was pledged, he sadly mounted to the lofty skies, and by his potent nod assembled there the deep clouds: and the rain began to pour, and thunder-bolts resounded. But he strove to mitigate his power, and armed him not with flames overwhelming as had put to flight his hundred-handed foe Typhoeus—flames too dreadful. Other thunder-bolts he took, forged by the Cyclops of a milder heat, with which insignia of his majesty,
sad and reluctant, he appeared to her.— her mortal form could not endure the shock and she was burned to ashes in his sight. An unformed babe was rescued from her side, and, nurtured in the thigh of Jupiter, completed Nature's time until his birth. Ino, his aunt, in secret nursed the boy and cradled him. And him Nyseian nymphs concealed in caves and fed with needful milk. While these events according to the laws of destiny occurred, and while the child, the twice-born Bacchus, in his cradle lay,
'Tis told that Jupiter, a careless hour, indulged too freely in the nectar cup; and having laid aside all weighty cares, jested with Juno as she idled by. Freely the god began; “Who doubts the truth? The female's pleasure is a great delight, much greater than the pleasure of a male.” Juno denied it; wherefore 'twas agreed to ask Tiresias to declare the truth, than whom none knew both male and female joys: for wandering in a green wood he had seen two serpents coupling; and he took his staff
and sharply struck them, till they broke and fled. 'Tis marvelous, that instant he became a woman from a man, and so remained while seven autumns passed. When eight were told, again he saw them in their former plight, and thus he spoke; “Since such a power was wrought, by one stroke of a staff my sex was changed— again I strike!” And even as he struck the same two snakes, his former sex returned; his manhood was restored.— as both agreed to choose him umpire of the sportive strife,
he gave decision in support of Jove; from this the disappointment Juno felt surpassed all reason, and enraged, decreed eternal night should seal Tiresias' eyes.— immortal Deities may never turn decrees and deeds of other Gods to naught, but Jove, to recompense his loss of sight, endowed him with the gift of prophecy. Tiresias' fame of prophecy was spread through all the cities of Aonia, for his unerring answers unto all who listened to his words. And first of those
that harkened to his fateful prophecies, a lovely Nymph, named Liriope, came with her dear son, who then fifteen, might seem a man or boy—he who was born to her upon the green merge of Cephissus' stream— that mighty River-God whom she declared the father of her boy.— she questioned him. Imploring him to tell her if her son, unequalled for his beauty, whom she called Narcissus, might attain a ripe old age. To which the blind seer answered in these words,
“If he but fail to recognize himself, a long life he may have, beneath the sun,”— so, frivolous the prophet's words appeared; and yet the event, the manner of his death, the strange delusion of his frenzied love, confirmed it. Three times five years so were passed. Another five-years, and the lad might seem a young man or a boy. And many a youth, and many a damsel sought to gain his love; but such his mood and spirit and his pride, none gained his favour. Once a noisy Nymph,
(who never held her tongue when others spoke, who never spoke till others had begun) mocking Echo, spied him as he drove, in his delusive nets, some timid stags.— for Echo was a Nymph, in olden time,— and, more than vapid sound,—possessed a form: and she was then deprived the use of speech, except to babble and repeat the words, once spoken, over and over. Juno confused her silly tongue, because she often held that glorious goddess with her endless tales,
till many a hapless Nymph, from Jove's embrace, had made escape adown a mountain. But for this, the goddess might have caught them. Thus the glorious Juno, when she knew her guile; “Your tongue, so freely wagged at my expense, shall be of little use; your endless voice, much shorter than your tongue.” At once the Nymph was stricken as the goddess had decreed;— and, ever since, she only mocks the sounds of others' voices, or, perchance, returns their final words. One day, when she observed
Narcissus wandering in the pathless woods, she loved him and she followed him, with soft and stealthy tread.—The more she followed him the hotter did she burn, as when the flame flares upward from the sulphur on the torch. Oh, how she longed to make her passion known! To plead in soft entreaty! to implore his love! But now, till others have begun, a mute of Nature she must be. She cannot choose but wait the moment when his voice may give to her an answer. Presently the youth,
by chance divided from his trusted friends, cries loudly, “Who is here?” and Echo, “Here!” Replies. Amazed, he casts his eyes around, and calls with louder voice, “Come here!” “Come here!” She calls the youth who calls.—He turns to see who calls him and, beholding naught exclaims, “Avoid me not!” “Avoid me not!” returns. He tries again, again, and is deceived by this alternate voice, and calls aloud; “Oh let us come together!” Echo cries, “Oh let us come together!” Never sound seemed sweeter to the Nymph, and from the woods
she hastens in accordance with her words, and strives to wind her arms around his neck. He flies from her and as he leaves her says, “Take off your hands! you shall not fold your arms around me. Better death than such a one should ever caress me!” Naught she answers save, “Caress me!” Thus rejected she lies hid in the deep woods, hiding her blushing face with the green leaves; and ever after lives concealed in lonely caverns in the hills. But her great love increases with neglect;
her miserable body wastes away, wakeful with sorrows; leanness shrivels up her skin, and all her lovely features melt, as if dissolved upon the wafting winds— nothing remains except her bones and voice— her voice continues, in the wilderness; her bones have turned to stone. She lies concealed in the wild woods, nor is she ever seen on lonely mountain range; for, though we hear her calling in the hills, 'tis but a voice, a voice that lives, that lives among the hills. Thus he deceived the Nymph and many more,
sprung from the mountains or the sparkling waves; and thus he slighted many an amorous youth.— and therefore, some one whom he once despised, lifting his hands to Heaven, implored the Gods, “If he should love deny him what he loves!” and as the prayer was uttered it was heard by Nemesis, who granted her assent. There was a fountain silver-clear and bright, which neither shepherds nor the wild she-goats, that range the hills, nor any cattle's mouth had touched—its waters were unsullied—birds disturbed it not; nor animals, nor boughs
that fall so often from the trees. Around sweet grasses nourished by the stream grew; trees that shaded from the sun let balmy airs temper its waters. Here Narcissus, tired of hunting and the heated noon, lay down, attracted by the peaceful solitudes and by the glassy spring. There as he stooped to quench his thirst another thirst increased. While he is drinking he beholds himself reflected in the mirrored pool—and loves; loves an imagined body which contains no substance, for he deems the mirrored shade
a thing of life to love. He cannot move, for so he marvels at himself, and lies with countenance unchanged, as if indeed a statue carved of Parian marble. Long, supine upon the bank, his gaze is fixed on his own eyes, twin stars; his fingers shaped as Bacchus might desire, his flowing hair as glorious as Apollo's, and his cheeks youthful and smooth; his ivory neck, his mouth dreaming in sweetness, his complexion fair and blushing as the rose in snow-drift white. All that is lovely in himself he loves,
and in his witless way he wants himself:— he who approves is equally approved; he seeks, is sought, he burns and he is burnt. And how he kisses the deceitful fount; and how he thrusts his arms to catch the neck that's pictured in the middle of the stream! Yet never may he wreathe his arms around that image of himself. He knows not what he there beholds, but what he sees inflames his longing, and the error that deceives allures his eyes. But why, O foolish boy, so vainly catching at this flitting form?
The cheat that you are seeking has no place. Avert your gaze and you will lose your love, for this that holds your eyes is nothing save the image of yourself reflected back to you. It comes and waits with you; it has no life; it will depart if you will only go. Nor food nor rest can draw him thence—outstretched upon the overshadowed green, his eyes fixed on the mirrored image never may know their longings satisfied, and by their sight he is himself undone. Raising himself a moment, he extends his arms around,
and, beckoning to the murmuring forest; “Oh, ye aisled wood was ever man in love more fatally than I? Your silent paths have sheltered many a one whose love was told, and ye have heard their voices. Ages vast have rolled away since your forgotten birth, but who is he through all those weary years that ever pined away as I? Alas, this fatal image wins my love, as I behold it. But I cannot press my arms around the form I see, the form that gives me joy. What strange mistake has intervened
betwixt us and our love? It grieves me more that neither lands nor seas nor mountains, no, nor walls with closed gates deny our loves, but only a little water keeps us far asunder. Surely he desires my love and my embraces, for as oft I strive to kiss him, bending to the limpid stream my lips, so often does he hold his face fondly to me, and vainly struggles up. It seems that I could touch him. 'Tis a strange delusion that is keeping us apart. “Whoever thou art, Come up! Deceive me not!
Oh, whither when I fain pursue art thou? Ah, surely I am young and fair, the Nymphs have loved me; and when I behold thy smiles I cannot tell thee what sweet hopes arise. When I extend my loving arms to thee thine also are extended me — thy smiles return my own. When I was weeping, I have seen thy tears, and every sign I make thou cost return; and often thy sweet lips have seemed to move, that, peradventure words, which I have never heard, thou hast returned. “No more my shade deceives me, I perceive
'Tis I in thee—I love myself—the flame arises in my breast and burns my heart— what shall I do? Shall I at once implore? Or should I linger till my love is sought? What is it I implore? The thing that I desire is mine—abundance makes me poor. Oh, I am tortured by a strange desire unknown to me before, for I would fain put off this mortal form; which only means I wish the object of my love away. Grief saps my strength, the sands of life are run, and in my early youth am I cut off;
but death is not my bane—it ends my woe.— I would not death for this that is my love, as two united in a single soul would die as one.” He spoke; and crazed with love, returned to view the same face in the pool; and as he grieved his tears disturbed the stream, and ripples on the surface, glassy clear, defaced his mirrored form. And thus the youth, when he beheld that lovely shadow go; “Ah whither cost thou fly? Oh, I entreat thee leave me not. Alas, thou cruel boy
thus to forsake thy lover. Stay with me that I may see thy lovely form, for though I may not touch thee I shall feed my eyes and soothe my wretched pains.” And while he spoke he rent his garment from the upper edge, and beating on his naked breast, all white as marble, every stroke produced a tint as lovely as the apple streaked with red, or as the glowing grape when purple bloom touches the ripening clusters. When as glass again the rippling waters smoothed, and when
such beauty in the stream the youth observed, no more could he endure. As in the flame the yellow wax, or as the hoar-frost melts in early morning 'neath the genial sun; so did he pine away, by love consumed, and slowly wasted by a hidden flame. No vermeil bloom now mingled in the white of his complexion fair; no strength has he, no vigor, nor the comeliness that wrought for love so long: alas, that handsome form by Echo fondly loved may please no more. But when she saw him in his hapless plight,
though angry at his scorn, she only grieved. As often as the love-lore boy complained, “Alas!” “Alas!” her echoing voice returned; and as he struck his hands against his arms, she ever answered with her echoing sounds. And as he gazed upon the mirrored pool he said at last, “Ah, youth beloved in vain!” “In vain, in vain!” the spot returned his words; and when he breathed a sad “farewell!” “Farewell!” sighed Echo too. He laid his wearied head, and rested on the verdant grass; and those bright eyes, which had so loved to gaze, entranced,
on their own master's beauty, sad Night closed. And now although among the nether shades his sad sprite roams, he ever loves to gaze on his reflection in the Stygian wave. His Naiad sisters mourned, and having clipped their shining tresses laid them on his corpse: and all the Dryads mourned: and Echo made lament anew. And these would have upraised his funeral pyre, and waved the flaming torch, and made his bier; but as they turned their eyes where he had been, alas he was not there! And in his body's place a sweet flower grew,
golden and white, the white around the gold. Narcissus' fate, when known throughout the land and cities of Achaia, added fame deserved, to blind Tiresias,—mighty seer. Yet Pentheus, bold despiser of the Gods, son of Echion, scoffed at all his praise, and, sole of man deriding the great seer, upbraided him his hapless loss of sight. And shaking his white temples, hoar with age. Tiresias of Pentheus prophesied, “Oh glad the day to thee, if, light denied, thine eyes, most fortunate, should not behold
the Bacchanalian rites! The day will come, and soon the light will dawn, when Bacchus, born of Semele, shall make his advent known— all hail the new god Bacchus! Either thou must build a temple to this Deity, or shalt be torn asunder; thy remains, throughout the forest scattered, will pollute the wood with sanguinary streams; and thy life-blood bespatter with corrupting blots thy frenzied mother and her sisters twain. And all shall come to pass, as I have told, because thou wilt not honour the New God.
And thou shalt wail and marvel at the sight of blind Tiresias, though veiled in night.” And as he spoke, lo, Pentheus drove the seer: but all his words, prophetic, were fulfilled, and confirmation followed in his steps.— Bacchus at once appears, and all the fields resound with shouts of everybody there.— men, brides and matrons, and a howling rout— nobles and commons and the most refined— a motley multitude—resistless borne to join those rites of Bacchus, there begun. Then Pentheus cries; “What madness, O ye brave
descendants of the Dragon! Sons of Mars! What frenzy has confounded you? Can sounds of clanging brass prevail; and pipes and horns, and magical delusions, drunkenness, and yelling women, and obscene displays, and hollow drums, overcome you, whom the sword, nor troops of war, nor trumpet could affright? “How shall I wonder at these ancient men, who, crossing boundless seas from distant Tyre, hither transferred their exiled Household Gods, and founded a new Tyre; but now are shorn, and even as captives would be led away
without appeal to Mars? And, O young men, of active prime whose vigor equals mine! Cast down your ivy scepters; take up arms; put on your helmets; strip your brows of leaves; be mindful of the mighty stock you are, and let your souls be animated with the spirit of that dauntless dragon, which, unaided, slew so many, and at last died to defend his fountain and his lake.— so ye may conquer in the hope of fame. “He gave the brave to death, but with your arms ye shall expel the worthless, and enhance
the glory of your land. If Fate decree the fall of Thebes, Oh, let the engines of war and men pull down its walls, and let the clash of steel and roaring flames resound. Thus, blameless in great misery, our woes would be the theme of lamentations, known to story; and our tears would shame us not. “But now an unarmed boy will conquer Thebes: a lad whom neither weapons, wars nor steeds delight; whose ringlets reek with myrrh; adorned with chaplets, purple and embroidered robes of interwoven gold. Make way for me!
And I will soon compel him to confess his father is assumed and all his rites are frauds. “If in days gone Acrisius so held this vain god in deserved contempt, and shut the Argive gates against his face, why, therefore, should not Pentheus close the gates of Thebes, with equal courage—Hence! Away! Fetch the vile leader of these rioters in chains! Let not my mandate be delayed.” Him to restrain his grandsire, Cadmus, strove; and Athamas, and many of his trusted friends
united in vain efforts to rebuke his reckless rage; but greater violence was gained from every admonition.— his rage increased the more it was restrained, and injury resulted from his friends. So have I seen a stream in open course, run gently on its way with pleasant noise, but whensoever logs and rocks detained, it foamed, with violence increased, against obstruction. Presently returning came his servants stained with blood, to whom he said,
“What have ye done with Bacchus?” And to him they made reply; “Not Bacchus have we seen, but we have taken his attendant lad, the chosen servant of his sacred rites.” And they delivered to the noble king, a youth whose hands were lashed behind his back. Then Pentheus, terrible in anger, turned his awful gaze upon the lad, and though he scarce deferred his doom, addressed him thus; “Doomed to destruction, thou art soon to give example to my people by thy death: tell me thy name; what are thy parents called;
where is thy land; and wherefore art thou found attendant on these Bacchanalian rites.” But fearless he replied; “They call my name Acoetes; and Maeonia is the land from whence I came. My parents were so poor, my father left me neither fruitful fields, tilled by the lusty ox, nor fleecy sheep, nor lowing kine; for, he himself was poor, and with his hook and line was wont to catch the leaping fishes, landed by his rod. His skill was all his wealth. And when to me he gave his trade, he said, ‘You are the heir
of my employment, therefore unto you all that is mine I give,’ and, at his death, he left me nothing but the running waves. — they are the sum of my inheritance. “And, afterwhile, that I might not be bound forever to my father's rocky shores, I learned to steer the keel with dextrous hand; and marked with watchful gaze the guiding stars; the watery Constellation of the Goat, Olenian, and the Bear, the Hyades, the Pleiades, the houses of the winds, and every harbour suitable for ships.
“So chanced it, as I made for Delos, first I veered close to the shores of Chios: there I steered, by plying on the starboard oar, and nimbly leaping gained the sea-wet strand. “Now when the night was past and lovely dawn appeared, I,rose from slumber, and I bade my men to fetch fresh water, and I showed the pathway to the stream. Then did I climb a promontory's height, to learn from there the promise of the winds; which having done, I called the men and sought once more my ship. Opheltes, first of my companions, cried,
‘Behold we come!’ And, thinking he had caught a worthy prize in that unfruitful land, he led a boy, of virgin-beauty formed, across the shore. “Heavy with wine and sleep the lad appeared to stagger on his way,— with difficulty moving. When I saw the manner of his dress, his countenance and grace, I knew it was not mortal man, and being well assured, I said to them; ‘What Deity abideth in that form I cannot say; but 'tis a god in truth.—
O whosoever thou art, vouchsafe to us propitious waters; ease our toils, and grant to these thy grace.’ “At this, the one of all my mariners who was the quickest hand, who ever was the nimblest on the yards, and first to slip the ropes, Dictys exclaimed; ‘Pray not for us!’ and all approved his words. The golden haired, the guardian of the prow, Melanthus, Libys and Alcimedon approved it; and Epopeus who should urge the flagging spirits, and with rhythmic chants
give time and measure to the beating oars, and all the others praised their leader's words,— so blind is greed of gain.—Then I rejoined, ‘Mine is the greatest share in this good ship, which I will not permit to be destroyed, nor injured by this sacred freight:’ and I opposed them as they came. “Then Lycabas, the most audacious of that impious crew, began to rage. He was a criminal, who, for a dreadful murder, had been sent in exile from a Tuscan city's gates.
Whilst I opposed he gripped me by the throat, and shook me as would cast me in the deep, had I not firmly held a rope, half stunned: and all that wicked crew approved the deed. “Then Bacchus (be assured it was the God) as though the noise disturbed his lethargy from wine, and reason had regained its power, at last bespake the men, ‘What deeds are these? What noise assails my ears? What means decoyed my wandering footsteps? Whither do ye lead?’ ‘Fear not,’ the steersman said, ‘but tell us fair the haven of your hope, and you shall land
whereso your heart desires.’ ‘To Naxos steer,’ Quoth Bacchus, ‘for it is indeed my home, and there the mariner finds welcome cheer.’ Him to deceive, they pledged themselves, and swore by Gods of seas and skies to do his will: and they commanded me to steer that way. “The Isle of Naxos was upon our right; and when they saw the sails were set that way, they all began to shout at once, ‘What, ho! Thou madman! what insanity is this, Acoetes? Make our passage to the left.’ And all the while they made their meaning known
by artful signs or whispers in my ears. “I was amazed and answered, ‘Take the helm.’ And I refused to execute their will, atrocious, and at once resigned command. Then all began to murmur, and the crew reviled me. Up Aethalion jumped and said, ‘As if our only safety is in you!’ With this he swaggered up and took command; and leaving Naxos steered for other shores. “Then Bacchus, mocking them,—as if but then he had discovered their deceitful ways,— looked on the ocean from the rounded stern,
and seemed to sob as he addressed the men; ‘Ah mariners, what alien shores are these? 'Tis not the land you promised nor the port my heart desires. For what have I deserved this cruel wrong? What honour can accrue if strong men mock a boy; a lonely youth if many should deceive?’ And as he spoke, I, also, wept to see their wickedness. “The impious gang made merry at our tears, and lashed the billows with their quickening oars. By Bacchus do I swear to you (and naught celestial is more potent) all the things
I tell you are as true as they surpass the limit of belief. The ship stood still as if a dry dock held it in the sea.— “The wondering sailors laboured at the oars, and they unfurled the sails, in hopes to gain some headway, with redoubled energies; but twisting ivy tangled in the oars, and interlacing held them by its weight. And Bacchus in the midst of all stood crowned with chaplets of grape-leaves, and shook a lance covered with twisted fronds of leafy vines. Around him crouched the visionary forms
of tigers, lynxes, and the mottled shapes of panthers. “Then the mariners leaped out, possessed by fear or madness. Medon first began to turn a swarthy hue, and fins grew outward from his flattened trunk, and with a curving spine his body bent.— then Lycabas to him, ‘What prodigy is this that I behold?’ Even as he spoke, his jaws were broadened and his nose was bent; his hardened skin was covered with bright scales. And Libys, as he tried to pull the oars,
could see his own hands shrivel into fins; another of the crew began to grasp the twisted ropes, but even as he strove to lift his arms they fastened to his sides;— with bending body and a crooked back he plunged into the waves, and as he swam displayed a tail, as crescent as the moon. “Now here, now there, they flounce about the ship; they spray her decks with brine; they rise and sink; they rise again, and dive beneath the waves; they seem in sportive dance upon the main; out from their nostrils they spout sprays of brine;
they toss their supple sides. And I alone, of twenty mariners that manned that ship, remained. A cold chill seized my limbs,— I was so frightened; but the gracious God now spake me fair, ‘Fear not and steer for Naxos.’ And when we landed there I ministered on smoking altars Bacchanalian rites.” But Pentheus answered him: “A parlous tale, and we have listened to the dreary end, hoping our anger might consume its rage;— away with him! hence drag him, hurl him out, with dreadful torture, into Stygian night.”
Quickly they seized and dragged Acoetes forth, and cast him in a dungeon triple-strong. And while they fixed the instruments of death, kindled the fires, and wrought the cruel irons, the legend says, though no one aided him, the chains were loosened and slipped off his arms; the doors flew open of their own accord. But Pentheus, long-persisting in his rage, not caring to command his men to go, himself went forth to Mount Cithaeron, where resound with singing and with shrilly note the votaries of Bacchus at their rites.
As when with sounding brass the trumpeter alarms of war, the mettled charger neighs and scents the battle; so the clamored skies resounding with the dreadful outcries fret the wrath of Pentheus and his rage enflame. About the middle of the mount (with groves around its margin) was a treeless plain, where nothing might conceal. Here as he stood to view the sacred rites with impious eyes, his mother saw him first. She was so wrought with frenzy that she failed to know her son, and cast her thyrsus that it wounded him;
and shouted, “Hi! come hither, Ho! Come hither my two sisters! a great boar hath strayed into our fields; come! see me strike and wound him!” As he fled from them in fright the raging multitude rushed after him; and, as they gathered round; in cowardice he cried for mercy and condemned himself, confessing he had sinned against a God. And as they wounded him he called his aunt; “Autonoe have mercy! Let the shade of sad Actaeon move thee to relent!”
No pity moved her when she heard that name; in a wild frenzy she forgot her son. While Pentheus was imploring her, she tore his right arm out; her sister Ino wrenched the other from his trunk. He could not stretch his arms out to his mother, but he cried, “Behold me, mother!” When Agave saw, his bleeding limbs, torn, scattered on the ground, she howled, and tossed her head, and shook her hair that streamed upon the breeze; and when his head was wrenched out from his mangled corpse, she clutched it with her blood-smeared fingers, while
she shouted, “Ho! companions! victory! The victory is ours!” So when the wind strips from a lofty tree its leaves, which touched by autumn's cold are loosely held, they fall not quicker than the wretch's bleeding limbs were torn asunder by their cursed hands. Now, frightened by this terrible event, the women of Ismenus celebrate the new Bacchantian rites; and they revere the sacred altars, heaped with frankincense.
Book 4
Alcithoe, daughter of King Minyas, consents not to the orgies of the God; denies that Bacchus is the son of Jove, and her two sisters join her in that crime. 'Twas festal-day when matrons and their maids, keeping it sacred, had forbade all toil.— And having draped their bosoms with wild skins, they loosed their long hair for the sacred wreaths, and took the leafy thyrsus in their hands;— for so the priest commanded them. Austere the wrath of Bacchus if his power be scorned. Mothers and youthful brides obeyed the priest;
and putting by their wickers and their webs, dropt their unfinished toils to offer up frankincense to the God; invoking him with many names:—“O Bacchus! O Twice-born! O Fire-begot! Thou only child Twice-mothered! God of all those who plant the luscious grape! O Liber!” All these names and many more, for ages known—throughout the lands of Greece. “Thy youth is not consumed by wasting time; and lo, thou art an ever-youthful boy, most beautiful of all the Gods of Heaven, smooth as a virgin when thy horns are hid.—
The distant east to tawny India's clime, where rolls remotest Ganges to the sea, was conquered by thy might.—O Most-revered! Thou didst destroy the doubting Pentheus, and hurled the sailors' bodies in the deep, and smote Lycurgus, wielder of the ax. “And thou dost guide thy lynxes, double-yoked, with showy harness.—Satyrs follow thee; and Bacchanals, and old Silenus, drunk, unsteady on his staff; jolting so rough on his small back-bent ass; and all the way resounds a youthful clamour; and the screams
of women! and the noise of tambourines! And the hollow cymbals! and the boxwood flutes,— fitted with measured holes.—Thou art implored by all Ismenian women to appear peaceful and mild; and they perform thy rites.” Only the daughters of King Minyas are carding wool within their fastened doors, or twisting with their thumbs the fleecy yarn, or working at the web. So they corrupt the sacred festival with needless toil, keeping their hand-maids busy at the work. And one of them, while drawing out the thread
with nimble thumb, anon began to speak; “While others loiter and frequent these rites fantastic, we the wards of Pallas, much to be preferred, by speaking novel thoughts may lighten labour. Let us each in turn, relate to an attentive audience, a novel tale; and so the hours may glide.” it pleased her sisters, and they ordered her to tell the story that she loved the most. So, as she counted in her well-stored mind the many tales she knew, first doubted she whether to tell the tale of Derceto,—
that Babylonian, who, aver the tribes of Palestine, in limpid ponds yet lives,— her body changed, and scales upon her limbs; or how her daughter, having taken wings, passed her declining years in whitened towers. Or should she tell of Nais, who with herbs, too potent, into fishes had transformed the bodies of her lovers, till she met herself the same sad fate; or of that tree which sometime bore white fruit, but now is changed and darkened by the blood that stained its roots.— Pleased with the novelty of this, at once
she tells the tale of Pyramus and Thisbe;— and swiftly as she told it unto them, the fleecy wool was twisted into threads. When Pyramus and Thisbe, who were known the one most handsome of all youthful men, the other loveliest of all eastern girls,— lived in adjoining houses, near the walls that Queen Semiramis had built of brick around her famous city, they grew fond, and loved each other—meeting often there— and as the days went by their love increased. They wished to join in marriage, but that joy
their fathers had forbidden them to hope; and yet the passion that with equal strength inflamed their minds no parents could forbid. No relatives had guessed their secret love, for all their converse was by nods and signs; and as a smoldering fire may gather heat, the more 'tis smothered, so their love increased. Now, it so happened, a partition built between their houses, many years ago, was made defective with a little chink; a small defect observed by none, although for ages there; but what is hid from love?
Our lovers found the secret opening, and used its passage to convey the sounds of gentle, murmured words, whose tuneful note passed oft in safety through that hidden way. There, many a time, they stood on either side, thisbe on one and Pyramus the other, and when their warm breath touched from lip to lip, their sighs were such as this: “Thou envious wall why art thou standing in the way of those who die for love? What harm could happen thee shouldst thou permit us to enjoy our love? But if we ask too much, let us persuade
that thou wilt open while we kiss but once: for, we are not ungrateful; unto thee we own our debt; here thou hast left a way that breathed words may enter loving ears.,” so vainly whispered they, and when the night began to darken they exchanged farewells; made presence that they kissed a fond farewell vain kisses that to love might none avail. When dawn removed the glimmering lamps of night, and the bright sun had dried the dewy grass again they met where they had told their love; and now complaining of their hapless fate,
in murmurs gentle, they at last resolved, away to slip upon the quiet night, elude their parents, and, as soon as free, quit the great builded city and their homes. Fearful to wander in the pathless fields, they chose a trysting place, the tomb of Ninus, where safely they might hide unseen, beneath the shadow of a tall mulberry tree, covered with snow-white fruit, close by a spring. All is arranged according to their hopes: and now the daylight, seeming slowly moved, sinks in the deep waves, and the tardy night
arises from the spot where day declines. Quickly, the clever Thisbe having first deceived her parents, opened the closed door. She flitted in the silent night away; and, having veiled her face, reached the great tomb, and sat beneath the tree; love made her bold. There, as she waited, a great lioness approached the nearby spring to quench her thirst: her frothing jaws incarnadined with blood of slaughtered oxen. As the moon was bright, Thisbe could see her, and affrighted fled with trembling footstep to a gloomy cave;
and as she ran she slipped and dropped her veil, which fluttered to the ground. She did not dare to save it. Wherefore, when the savage beast had taken a great draft and slaked her thirst, and thence had turned to seek her forest lair, she found it on her way, and full of rage, tore it and stained it with her bloody jaws: but Thisbe, fortunate, escaped unseen. Now Pyramus had not gone out so soon as Thisbe to the tryst; and, when he saw the certain traces of that savage beast, imprinted in the yielding dust, his face
went white with fear; but when he found the veil covered with blood, he cried; “Alas, one night has caused the ruin of two lovers! Thou wert most deserving of completed days, but as for me, my heart is guilty! I destroyed thee! O my love! I bade thee come out in the dark night to a lonely haunt, and failed to go before. Oh! whatever lurks beneath this rock, though ravenous lion, tear my guilty flesh, and with most cruel jaws devour my cursed entrails! What? Not so; it is a craven's part to wish for death!”
So he stopped briefly; and took up the veil; went straightway to the shadow of the tree; and as his tears bedewed the well-known veil, he kissed it oft and sighing said, “Kisses and tears are thine, receive my blood as well.” And he imbrued the steel, girt at his side, deep in his bowels; and plucked it from the wound, a-faint with death. As he fell back to earth, his spurting blood shot upward in the air; so, when decay has rift a leaden pipe a hissing jet of water spurts on high.— By that dark tide the berries on the tree
assumed a deeper tint, for as the roots soaked up the blood the pendent mulberries were dyed a purple tint. Thisbe returned, though trembling still with fright, for now she thought her lover must await her at the tree, and she should haste before he feared for her. Longing to tell him of her great escape she sadly looked for him with faithful eyes; but when she saw the spot and the changed tree, she doubted could they be the same, for so the colour of the hanging fruit deceived.
While doubt dismayed her, on the ground she saw the wounded body covered with its blood;— she started backward, and her face grew pale and ashen; and she shuddered like the sea, which trembles when its face is lightly skimmed by the chill breezes;—and she paused a space;— but when she knew it was the one she loved, she struck her tender breast and tore her hair. Then wreathing in her arms his loved form, she bathed the wound with tears, mingling her grief in his unquenched blood; and as she kissed his death-cold features wailed; “Ah Pyramus,
what cruel fate has taken thy life away? Pyramus! Pyramus! awake! awake! It is thy dearest Thisbe calls thee! Lift thy drooping head! Alas,”—At Thisbe's name he raised his eyes, though languorous in death, and darkness gathered round him as he gazed. And then she saw her veil; and near it lay his ivory sheath—but not the trusty sword and once again she wailed; “Thy own right hand, and thy great passion have destroyed thee!— And I? my hand shall be as bold as thine— my love shall nerve me to the fatal deed—
thee, I will follow to eternity— though I be censured for the wretched cause, so surely I shall share thy wretched fate:— alas, whom death could me alone bereave, thou shalt not from my love be reft by death! And, O ye wretched parents, mine and his, let our misfortunes and our pleadings melt your hearts, that ye no more deny to those whom constant love and lasting death unite— entomb us in a single sepulchre. “And, O thou tree of many-branching boughs, spreading dark shadows on the corpse of one,
destined to cover twain, take thou our fate upon thy head; mourn our untimely deaths; let thy fruit darken for a memory, an emblem of our blood.” No more she said; and having fixed the point below her breast, she fell on the keen sword, still warm with his red blood. But though her death was out of Nature's law her prayer was answered, for it moved the Gods and moved their parents. Now the Gods have changed the ripened fruit which darkens on the branch: and from the funeral pile their parents sealed their gathered ashes in a single urn.
So ended she; at once Leuconoe took the narrator's thread; and as she spoke her sisters all were silent. “Even the Sun that rules the world was captive made of Love. My theme shall be a love-song of the Sun. 'Tis said the Lord of Day, whose wakeful eye beholds at once whatever may transpire, witnessed the loves of Mars and Venus. Grieved to know the wrong, he called the son of Juno, Vulcan, and gave full knowledge of the deed, showing how Mars and Venus shamed his love,
as they defiled his bed. Vulcan amazed,— the nimble-thoughted Vulcan lost his wits, so that he dropped the work his right hand held. But turning from all else at once he set to file out chains of brass, delicate, fine, from which to fashion nets invisible, filmy of mesh and airy as the thread of insect-web, that from the rafter swings.— Implicit woven that they yielded soft the slightest movement or the gentlest touch, with cunning skill he drew them round the bed where they were sure to dally. Presently
appeared the faithless wife, and on the couch lay down to languish with her paramour.— Meshed in the chains they could not thence arise, nor could they else but lie in strict embrace,— cunningly thus entrapped by Vulcan's wit.— At once the Lemnian cuckold opened wide the folding ivory doors and called the Gods,— to witness. There they lay disgraced and bound. I wot were many of the lighter Gods who wished themselves in like disgraceful bonds.— The Gods were moved to laughter: and the tale was long most noted in the courts of Heaven.
The Cytherean Venus brooded on the Sun's betrayal of her stolen joys, and thought to torture him in passion's pains, and wreak requital for the pain he caused. Son of Hyperion! what avails thy light? What is the profit of thy glowing heat? Lo, thou whose flames have parched innumerous lands, thyself art burning with another flame! And thou whose orb should joy the universe art gazing only on Leucothea's charms. Thy glorious eye on one fair maid is fixed, forgetting all besides. Too early thou
art rising from thy bed of orient skies, too late thy setting in the western waves; so taking time to gaze upon thy love, thy frenzy lengthens out the wintry hour! And often thou art darkened in eclipse, dark shadows of this trouble in thy mind, unwonted aspect, casting man perplexed in abject terror. Pale thou art, though not betwixt thee and the earth the shadowous moon bedims thy devious way. Thy passion gives to grief thy countenance—for her thy heart alone is grieving—Clymene and Rhodos,
and Persa, mother of deluding Circe, are all forgotten for thy doting hope; even Clytie, who is yearning for thy love, no more can charm thee; thou art so foredone. Leucothea is the cause of many tears, Leucothea, daughter of Eurynome, most beauteous matron of Arabia's strand, where spicey odours blow. Eurynome in youthful prime excelled her mother's grace, and, save her daughter, all excelled besides. Leucothea's father, Orchamas was king where Achaemenes whilom held the sway;
and Orchamas from ancient Belus' death might count his reign the seventh in descent. The dark-night pastures of Apollo's steeds are hid below the western skies; when there, and spent with toil, in lieu of nibbling herbs they take ambrosial food: it gives their limbs restoring strength and nourishes anew. Now while these coursers eat celestial food and Night resumes his reign, the god appears disguised, unguessed, as old Eurynome to fair Leucothea as she draws the threads, all smoothly twisted from her spindle. There
she sits with twice six hand-maids ranged around, and as the god beholds her at the door he kisses her, as if a child beloved and he her mother. And he spoke to her: “Let thy twelve hand-maids leave us undisturbed, for I have things of close import to tell, and seemly, from a mother to her child.”, so when they all withdrew the god began, “Lo, I am he who measures the long year; I see all things, and through me the wide world may see all things; I am the glowing eye of the broad universe! Thou art to me
the glory of the earth!” Filled with alarm, from her relaxed fingers she let fall the distaff and the spindle, but, her fear so lovely in her beauty seemed, the God no longer brooked delay: he changed his form back to his wonted beauty and resumed his bright celestial. Startled at the sight the maid recoiled a space; but presently the glory of the god inspired her love; and all her timid doubts dissolved away; without complaint she melted in his arms. So ardently the bright Apollo loved,
that Clytie, envious of Leucothea's joy, where evil none was known, a scandal made; and having published wide their secret love, leucothea's father also heard the tale. Relentlessly and fierce, his cruel hand buried his living daughter in the ground, who, while her arms implored the glowing Sun, complained. “For love of thee my life is lost.” And as she wailed her father sowed her there. Hyperion's Son began with piercing heat to scatter the loose sand, a way to open, that she might look with beauteous features forth
too late! for smothered by the compact earth, thou canst not lift thy drooping head; alas! A lifeless corse remains. No sadder sight since Phaethon was blasted by the bolt, down-hurled by Jove, had ever grieved the God who daily drives his winged steeds. In vain he strives with all the magic of his rays to warm her limbs anew. — The deed is done— what vantage gives his might if fate deny? He sprinkles fragrant nectar on her grave, and lifeless corse, and as he wails exclaims,
“But naught shall hinder you to reach the skies.” At once the maiden's body, steeped in dews of nectar, sweet and odourate, dissolves and adds its fragrant juices to the earth: slowly from this a sprout of Frankincense takes root in riched soil, and bursting through the sandy hillock shows its top. No more to Clytie comes the author of sweet light, for though her love might make excuse of grief, and grief may plead to pardon jealous words, his heart disdains the schemist of his woe;
and she who turned to sour the sweet of love, from that unhallowed moment pined away. Envious and hating all her sister Nymphs, day after day,—and through the lonely nights, all unprotected from the chilly breeze, her hair dishevelled, tangled, unadorned, she sat unmoved upon the bare hard ground. Nine days the Nymph was nourished by the dews, or haply by her own tears' bitter brine;— all other nourishment was naught to her.— She never raised herself from the bare ground, though on the god her gaze was ever fixed;—
she turned her features towards him as he moved: they say that afterwhile her limbs took root and fastened to the around. A pearly white overspread her countenance, that turned as pale and bloodless as the dead; but here and there a blushing tinge resolved in violet tint; and something like the blossom of that name a flower concealed her face. Although a root now holds her fast to earth, the Heliotrope turns ever to the Sun, as if to prove that all may change and love through all remain.
Thus was the story ended. All were charmed to hear recounted such mysterious deeds. While some were doubting whether such were true others affirmed that to the living Gods is nothing to restrain their wondrous works, though surely of the Gods, immortal, none accorded Bacchus even thought or place. When all had made an end of argument, they bade Alcithoe take up the word: she, busily working on the pendent web, still shot the shuttle through the warp and said; “The amours of the shepherd Daphnis, known
to many of you, I shall not relate; the shepherd Daphnis of Mount Ida, who was turned to stone obdurate, for the Nymph whose love he slighted—so the rivalry of love neglected rouses to revenge: neither shall I relate the story told of Scython, double-sexed, who first was man, then altered to a woman: so I pass the tale of Celmus turned to adamant, who reared almighty Jove from tender youth: so, likewise the Curetes whom the rain brought forth to life: Smilax and Crocus, too,
transpeciated into little flowers: all these I pass to tell a novel tale, which haply may resolve in pleasant thoughts. Learn how the fountain, Salmacis, became so infamous; learn how it enervates and softens the limbs of those who chance to bathe. Although the fountain's properties are known, the cause is yet unknown. The Naiads nursed an infant son of Hermes, surely his of Aphrodite gotten in the caves of Ida, for the child resembled both the god and goddess, and his name was theirs.
The years passed by, and when the boy had reached the limit of three lustrums, he forsook his native mountains; for he loved to roam through unimagined places, by the banks of undiscovered rivers; and the joy of finding wonders made his labour light. Leaving Mount Ida, where his youth was spent, he reached the land of Lycia, and from thence the verge of Caria, where a pretty pool of soft translucent water may be seen, so clear the glistening bottom glads the eye: no barren sedge, no fenny reeds annoy,
no rushes with their sharpened arrow-points, but all around the edges of that pool the softest grass engirdles with its green. A Nymph dwells there, unsuited to the chase, unskilled to bend the bow, slothful of foot, the only Naiad in the world unknown to rapid-running Dian. Whensoever her Naiad sisters pled in winged words, “Take up the javelin, sister Salmacis, take up the painted quiver and unite your leisure with the action of the chase;” she only scorned the javelin and the quiver,
nor joined her leisure to the active chase. Rather she bathes her smooth and shapely limbs; or combs her tresses with a boxwood comb, Citorian; or looking in the pool consults the glassed waters of effects increasing beauty; or she decks herself in gauzy raiment, and reposing lolls on cushioned leaves, or grass-enverdured beds; or gathers posies from the spangled lawns. Now, haply as she culled the sweetest flowers she saw the youth, and longing in her heart made havoc as her greedy eyes beheld.
Although her love could scarcely brook delay, she waited to enhance her loveliness, in beauty hoping to allure his love. All richly dight she scanned herself and robes, to know that every charm should fair appear, and she be worthy: wherefore she began: “O godlike youth! if thou art of the skies, thou art no other than the god of Love; if mortal, blest are they who gave thee birth; happy thy brother; happy, fortunate thy sister; happy, fortunate and blest the nurse that gave her bosom; but the joys
surpassing all, dearest and tenderest, are hers whom thou shalt wed. So, let it be if thou so young have deigned to marry, let my joys be stolen; if unmarried, join with me in wedlock.” So she spoke, and stood in silence waiting for the youth's reply. He knows nor cares for love—with loveliness the mounting blushes tinge his youthful cheeks, as blush-red tint of apples on the tree, ripe in the summer sun, or as the hue of painted ivory, or the round moon red-blushing in her splendour, when the clash
of brass resounds in vain. And long the Nymph implored; almost clung on his neck, as smooth and white as ivory; unceasingly imploring him to kiss her, though as chaste as kisses to a sister; but the youth outwearied, thus: “I do beseech you make an end of this; or must I fly the place and leave you to your tears?” Affrighted then said Salmacis, “To you I freely give— good stranger here remain.” Although she made fair presence to retire, she hid herself,
that from a shrub-grown covert, on her knees she might observe unseen. As any boy that heedless deems his mischief unobserved, now here now there, he rambled on the green; now in the bubbly ripples dipped his feet, now dallied in the clear pool ankle-deep;— the warm-cool feeling of the liquid then, so pleased him, that without delay he doffed his fleecy garments from his tender limbs. Ah, Salmacis, amazement is thy meed! Thou art consumed to know his naked grace!
As the hot glitters of the round bright sun collected, sparkle from the polished plate, thine eyes are glistened with delirious fires. Delay she cannot; panting for his joy, languid for his caressing, crazed, distract, her passion difficult is held in check.— He claps his body with his hollow palms and lightly vaults into the limped wave, and darting through the water hand over hand shines in the liquid element, as though should one enhance a statue's ivorine, or glaze the lily in a lake of glass.
And thus the Naiad, “I have gained my suit; his love is mine,—is mine!” Quickly disrobed, she plunged into the yielding wave—seized him, caressed him, clung to him a thousand ways, kissed him, thrust down her hands and touched his breast: reluctant and resisting he endeavours to make escape, but even as he struggles she winds herself about him, as entwines the serpent which the royal bird on high holds in his talons; —as it hangs, it coils in sinuous folds around the eagle's feet;— twisting its coils around his head and wings:
or as the ivy clings to sturdy oaks; or as the polypus beneath the waves, by pulling down, with suckers on all sides, tenacious holds its prey. And yet the youth, descendant of great Atlas, not relents nor gives the Naiad joy. Pressing her suit she winds her limbs around him and exclaims, “You shall not scape me, struggle as you will, perverse and obstinate! Hear me, ye Gods! Let never time release the youth from me; time never let me from the youth release!” Propitious deities accord her prayers:
the mingled bodies of the pair unite and fashion in a single human form. So one might see two branches underneath a single rind uniting grow as one: so, these two bodies in a firm embrace no more are twain, but with a two-fold form nor man nor woman may be called—Though both in seeming they are neither one of twain. When that Hermaphroditus felt the change, so wrought upon him by the languid fount, considered that he entered it a man, and now his limbs relaxing in the stream
he is not wholly male, but only half,— he lifted up his hands and thus implored, albeit with no manly voice; “Hear me O father! hear me mother! grant to me this boon; to me whose name is yours, your son; whoso shall enter in this fount a man must leave its waters only half a man.” Moved by the words of their bi-natured son both parents yield assent: they taint the fount with essences of dual-working powers. Now though the daughters of King Minyas have made an end of telling tales, they make
no end of labour; for they so despise the deity, and desecrate his feast. While busily engaged, with sudden beat they hear resounding tambourines; and pipes and crooked horns and tinkling brass renew, unseen, the note; saffron and myrrh dissolve in dulcet odours; and, beyond belief, the woven webs, dependent on the loom, take tints of green, put forth new ivy leaves, or change to grape-vines verdant. There the thread is twisted into tendrils, there the warp is fashioned into many-moving leaves—
the purple lends its splendour to the grape. And now the day is past; it is the hour when night ambiguous merges into day, which dubious owns nor light nor dun obscure; and suddenly the house begins to shake, and torches oil-dipped seem to flare around, and fires a-glow to shine in every room, and phantoms, feigned of savage beasts, to howl.— Full of affright amid the smoking halls the sisters vainly hide, and wheresoever they deem security from flaming fires, fearfully flit. And while they seek to hide,
a membrane stretches over every limb, and light wings open from their slender arms. In the weird darkness they are unaware what measure wrought to change their wonted shape. No plumous vans avail to lift their flight, yet fair they balance on membraneous wing. Whenever they would speak a tiny voice, diminutive, apportioned to their size, in squeaking note complains. Adread the light, their haunts avoid by day the leafy woods, for sombre attics, where secure they rest till forth the dun obscure their wings may stretch
at hour of Vesper;—this accords their name. Throughout the land of Thebes miraculous the power of Bacchus waxed; and far and wide Ino, his aunt, reported the great deeds by this divinity performed. Of all her sisters only she escaped unharmed, when Fate destroyed them, and she knew not grief— only for sorrow of her sisters' woes.— While Ino vaunted of her mother-joys, and of her kingly husband, Athamas, and of the mighty God, her foster-child; Juno, disdaining her in secret, said;
“How shall the offspring of a concubine transform Maeonian mariners, overwhelm them in the ocean, sacrifice a son to his deluded mother, who insane, tears out his entrails; how shall he invent wings for three daughters of King Minyas, while Juno unavenged, bewails despite?— Is it the end? the utmost of my power? His deeds instruct the way; true wisdom heeds an enemy's device; by the strange death of Pentheus, all that madness could perform was well revealed to all; what then denies
a frenzy may unravel Ino's course to such a fate as wrought her sisters' woe?” A shelving path in shadows of sad yew through utter silence to the deep descends, infernal, where the languid Styx exhales vapours; and there the shadows of the dead, descend, after they leave their sacred urns, and ghostly forms invade: and far and wide, those dreary regions Horror and bleak Cold obtain. The ghosts, arrived, not know the way,— which leadeth to the Stygian city-gates,—
not know the melancholy palace where the swarthy Pluto stays, though streets and ways a thousand to that city lead, and gates out-swing from every side: and as the sea with never-seen increase engulfs the streams unnumbered of the world, that realm enfolds the souls of men, nor ever is it filled. Around the shadowy spirits go; bloodless boneless and bodiless; they throng the place of judgment, or they haunt the mansion where abides the Utmost Tyrant, or they tend to various callings, as their whilom way; —
appropriate punishment confines to pain the multitude condemned. To this abode, impelled by rage and hate, from habitation celestial, Juno, of Saturn born, descends, submissive to its dreadful element. No sooner had she entered the sad gates, than groans were uttered by the threshold, pressed by her immortal form, and Cerberus upraising his three-visaged mouths gave vent to triple-barking howls.—She called to her the sisters, Night-begot, implacable,
terrific Furies. They did sit before the prison portals, adamant confined, combing black vipers from their horrid hair. When her amid the night-surrounding shades they recognized, those Deities uprose. O dread confines! dark seat of wretched vice! Where stretched athwart nine acres, Tityus, must thou endure thine entrails to be torn! O Tantalus, thou canst not touch the wave, and from thy clutch the hanging branches rise! O Sisyphus, thou canst not stay the stone, catching or pushing, it must fall again!
O thou Ixion! whirled around, around, thyself must follow to escape thyself! And, O Belides, (plotter of sad death upon thy cousins) thou art always doomed to dip forever ever-spilling waves! When that the daughter of Saturnus fixed a stern look on those wretches, first her glance arrested on Ixion; but the next on Sisyphus; and thus the goddess spoke;— “For why should he alone of all his kin suffer eternal doom, while Athamas, luxurious in a sumptuous palace reigns;
and, haughty with his wife, despises me.” So grieved she, and expressed the rage of hate that such descent inspired, beseeching thus, no longer should the House of Cadmus stand, so that the sister Furies plunge in crime overweening Athamas.—Entreating them, she mingled promises with her commands.— When Juno ended speech, Tisiphone, whose locks entangled are not ever smooth, tossed them around, that backward from her face such crawling snakes were thrown;—then answered she: “Since what thy will decrees may well be done,
why need we to consult with many words? Leave thou this hateful region and convey thyself, contented, to a better realm.” Rejoicing Juno hastens to the clouds— before she enters her celestial home, Iris, the child of Thaumas, purifies her limbs in sprinkled water. Waiting not, Tisiphone, revengeful, takes a torch;— besmeared with blood, and vested in a robe, dripping with crimson gore, and twisting-snakes engirdled, she departs her dire abode—
with twitching Madness, Terror, Fear and Woe: and when she had arrived the destined house, the door-posts shrank from her, the maple doors turned ashen grey: the Sun amazed fled. Affrighted, Athamas and Ino viewed and fled these prodigies; but suddenly that baneful Fury stood across the way, blocking the passage— There she stands with arms extended, and alive with twisting vipers.— She shakes her hair; the moving serpents hiss; they cling upon her shoulders, and they glide around her temples, dart their fangs, and vomit
corruption.—Plucking from the midst two snakes, she hurls them with her pestilential hand upon her victims, Athamas and Ino, whom, although the vipers strike upon their breasts, no injury attacks their mortal parts;— only their minds are stricken with wild rage, inciting to mad violence and crime. And with a monstrous composite of foam— once gathered from the mouth of Cerberus, the venom of Echidna, purposeless aberrances, crimes, tears, hatred—the lust of homicide, and the dark vapourings
of foolish brains; a liquid poison, mixed, and mingled with fresh blood, in hollow brass, and boiled, and stirred up with a slip of hemlock— she took of it, and as they trembled, threw that mad-mixed poison on them; and it scorched their inmost vitals—and she waved her torch repeatedly, within a circle's rim— and added flame to flame.— Then, confident of having executed her commands, the Fury hastened to the void expanse where Pluto reigns, and swiftly put aside
the serpents that were wreathed around her robes. At once, the son of Aeolus, enraged, shouts loudly in his palace; “Ho, my lads! Spread out your nets! a savage lioness and her twin whelps are lurking in the wood;— behold them!” In his madness he believes his wife a savage beast. He follows her, and quickly from her bosom snatches up her smiling babe, Learchus, holding forth his tiny arms, and whirls him in the air, times twice and thrice, as whirls the whizzing sling, and dashes him in pieces on the rocks; —
cracking his infant bones. The mother, roused to frenzy (who can tell if grief the cause, or fires of scattered poison?) yells aloud, and with her torn hair tangled, running mad, she carries swiftly in her clutching arms, her little Melicerta! and begins to shout, “Evoe, Bacche!”—Juno hears the shouted name of Bacchus, and she laughs, and taunts her;—“Let thy foster-child award!” There is a crag, out-jutting on the deep, worn hollow at the base by many waves,
where not the rain may ripple on that pool;— high up the rugged summit overhangs its ragged brows above the open sea: there, Ino climbs with frenzy-given strength, and fearless, with her burden in her arms, leaps in the waves where whitening foams arise. Venus takes pity on her guiltless child, unfortunate grand-daughter, and begins to soothe her uncle Neptune with these words;— “O Neptune, ruler of the deep, to whom, next to the Power in Heaven, was given sway, consider my request! Open thy heart
to my descendants, which thine eyes behold, tossed on the wild Ionian Sea! I do implore thee, remember they are thy true Deities— are thine as well as mine—for it is known my birth was from the white foam of thy sea;— a truth made certain by my Grecian name.” Neptune regards her prayer: he takes from them their mortal dross: he clothes in majesty, and hallows their appearance. Even their names and forms are altered; Melicerta, changed, is now Palaemon called, and Ino, changed, Leucothoe called, are known as Deities.
When her Sidonian attendants traced fresh footprints to the last verge of the rock, and found no further vestige, they declared her dead, nor had they any doubt of it. They tore their garments and their hair—and wailed the House of Cadmus— and they cursed at Juno, for the sad fate of the wretched concubine. That goddess could no longer brook their words, and thus made answer, “I will make of you eternal monuments of my revenge!” Her words were instantly confirmed—The one whose love for Ino was the greatest, cried;
“Into the deep; look—look—I seek my queen.” But even as she tried to leap, she stood fast-rooted to the ever-living rock; another, as she tried to beat her breast with blows repeated, noticed that her arms grew stiff and hard; another, as by chance, was petrified with hands stretched over the waves: another could be seen, as suddenly her fingers hardened, clutching at her hair to tear it from the roots.—And each remained forever in the posture first assumed.— But others of those women, sprung from Cadmus,
were changed to birds, that always with wide wings skim lightly the dark surface of that sea. Unwitting that his daughter and his son are Ocean deities, Agenor's son,— depressed by sorrow and unnumbered woes, calamities, and prodigies untold,— the founder fled the city he had built, as though fatalities that gathered round that city grieved him deeper than the fate of his own family; and thence, at last arrived the confines of Illyria; in exile with his wife.—
Weighted with woe, bowed down with years, their minds recalled the time when first disaster fell upon their House:— relating their misfortunes, Cadmus spoke; “Was that a sacred dragon that my spear impaled, when on the way from Sidon's gates I planted in the earth those dragon-teeth, unthought-of seed? If haply 'tis the Gods, (whose rage unerring, gives me to revenge) I only pray that I may lengthen out, as any serpent.” Even as he spoke, he saw and felt himself increase in length.
His body coiled into a serpent's form; bright scale's enveloped his indurate skin, and azure macules in speckled pride, enriched his glowing folds; and as he fell supinely on his breast, his legs were joined, and gradually tapered as a serpent's tail.— Some time his arms remained, which stretching forth while tears rolled down his human face, not changed as yet, he said; “Hither, O hapless one! Come hither my unhappy wife, while aught is left of manhood; touch me, take my hand, unchanged as yet—ah, soon this serpent-form
will cover me!” So did he speak, nor thought to make an end; but suddenly his tongue became twin-forked. As often as he tried, a hissing sound escaped; the only voice that Nature left him. — And his wife bewailed, and smote her breast, “Ah, Cadmus, ah! Most helpless one, put off that monster-shape! Your feet, your shoulders and your hands are gone; your manly form, your very colour gone; all—all is changed!—Oh, why not, ye celestial Gods,
me likewise, to a serpent-shape transform!”— So ended her complaint. Cadmus caressed her gently with his tongue; and slid to her dear bosom, just as if he knew his wife; and he embraced her, and he touched her neck. All their attendants, who had seen the change, were filled with fear; but when as crested snakes the twain appeared in brightly glistening mail, their grief was lightened: and the pair, enwreathed in twisting coils, departed from that place, and sought a covert in the nearest grove.— There, then, these gentle serpents never shun
mankind, nor wound, nor strike with poisoned fangs; for they are always conscious of the past. The fortune of their grandson, Bacchus, gave great comfort to them—as a god adored in conquered India; by Achaia praised in stately temples. — But Acrisius the son of Abas, of the Cadmean race, remained to banish Bacchus from the walls of Argos, and to lift up hostile arms against that deity, who he denied was born to Jove. He would not even grant that Perseus from the loins of Jupiter
was got of Danae in the showering gold. So mighty is the hidden power of truth, Acrisius soon lamented that affront to Bacchus, and that ever he refused to own his grandson; for the one achieved high heaven, and the other, (as he bore the viperous monster-head) on sounding wings hovered a conqueror in the fluent air, over sands, Libyan, where the Gorgon-head dropped clots of gore, that, quickening on the ground, became unnumbered serpents; fitting cause to curse with vipers that infested land.
Thence wafted by the never-constant winds through boundless latitudes, now here now there, as flits a vapour-cloud in dizzy flight, down-looking from the lofty skies on earth, removed far, so compassed he the world. Three times did he behold the frozen Bears, times thrice his gaze was on the Crab's bent arms. Now shifting to the west, now to the east, how often changed his course? Time came, when day declining, he began to fear the night, by which he stopped his flight far in the west— the realm of Atlas—where he sought repose
till Lucifer might call Aurora's fires; Aurora chariot of the Day. There dwelt huge Atlas, vaster than the race of man: son of Iapetus, his lordly sway extended over those extreme domains, and over oceans that command their waves to take the panting coursers of the Sun, and bathe the wearied Chariot of the Day. For him a thousand flocks, a thousand herds overwandered pasture fields; and neighbour tribes might none disturb that land. Aglint with gold
bright leaves adorn the trees,—boughs golden-wrought bear apples of pure gold. And Perseus spoke to Atlas, “O my friend, if thou art moved to hear the story of a noble race, the author of my life is Jupiter; if valiant deeds perhaps are thy delight mine may deserve thy praise.—Behold of thee kind treatment I implore—a place of rest.” But Atlas, mindful of an oracle since by Themis, the Parnassian, told, recalled these words, “O Atlas! mark the day a son of Jupiter shall come to spoil;
for when thy trees been stripped of golden fruit, the glory shall be his.” Fearful of this, Atlas had built solid walls around his orchard, and secured a dragon, huge, that kept perpetual guard, and thence expelled all strangers from his land. Wherefore he said, “Begone! The glory of your deeds is all pretense; even Jupiter, will fail your need.” With that he added force and strove to drive the hesitating Alien from his doors; who pled reprieve or threatened with bold words.
Although he dared not rival Atlas' might, Perseus made this reply; “For that my love you hold in light esteem, let this be yours.” He said no more, but turning his own face, he showed upon his left Medusa's head, abhorrent features.—Atlas, huge and vast, becomes a mountain—His great beard and hair are forests, and his shoulders and his hands mountainous ridges, and his head the top of a high peak;—his bones are changed to rocks. Augmented on all sides, enormous height attains his growth; for so ordained it, ye,
O mighty Gods! who now the heavens' expanse unnumbered stars, on him command to rest. In their eternal prison, Aeous, grandson of Hippotas, had shut the winds; and Lucifer, reminder of our toil, in splendour rose upon the lofty sky: and Perseus bound his wings upon his feet, on each foot bound he them; his sword he girt and sped wing-footed through the liquid air. Innumerous kingdoms far behind were left, till peoples Ethiopic and the lands of Cepheus were beneath his lofty view.
There Ammon, the Unjust, had made decree Andromeda, the Innocent, should grieve her mother's tongue. They bound her fettered arms fast to the rock. When Perseus her beheld as marble he would deem her, but the breeze moved in her hair, and from her streaming eyes the warm tears fell. Her beauty so amazed his heart, unconscious captive of her charms, that almost his swift wings forgot to wave.— Alighted on the ground, he thus began; “O fairest! whom these chains become not so, but worthy are for links that lovers bind,
make known to me your country's name and your's and wherefore bound in chains.” A moment then, as overcome with shame, she made no sound: were not she fettered she would surely hide her blushing head; but what she could perform that did she do—she filled her eyes with tears. So pleaded he that lest refusal seem implied confession of a crime, she told her name, her country's name, and how her charms had been her mother's pride. But as she spoke the mighty ocean roared. Over the waves a monster fast approached, its head held high,
abreast the wide expanse.—The virgin shrieked;— no aid her wretched father gave, nor aid her still more wretched mother; but they wept and mingled lamentations with their tears— clinging distracted to her fettered form. And thus the stranger spoke to them, “Time waits for tears, but flies the moment of our need: were I, who am the son of Regal Jove and her whom he embraced in showers of gold, leaving her pregnant in her brazen cell, — I, Perseus, who destroyed the Gorgon, wreathed with snake-hair, I, who dared on waving wings
to cleave etherial air—were I to ask the maid in marriage, I should be preferred above all others as your son-in-law. Not satisfied with deeds achieved, I strive to add such merit as the Gods permit; now, therefore, should my velour save her life, be it conditioned that I win her love.” To this her parents gave a glad assent, for who could hesitate? And they entreat, and promise him the kingdom as a dower. As a great ship with steady prow speeds on; forced forwards by the sweating arms of youth
it plows the deep; so, breasting the great waves, the monster moved, until to reach the rock no further space remained than might the whirl of Balearic string encompass, through the middle skies, with plummet-mold of lead. That instant, spurning with his feet the ground, the youth rose upwards to a cloudy height; and when the shadow of the hero marked the surface of the sea, the monster sought vainly to vent his fury on the shade. As the swift bird of Jove, when he beholds a basking serpent in an open field,
exposing to the sun its mottled back, and seizes on its tail; lest it shall turn to strike with venomed fang, he fixes fast his grasping talons in the scaly neck; so did the winged youth, in rapid flight through yielding elements, press down on the great monster's back, and thrust his sword, sheer to the hilt, in its right shoulder—loud its frightful torture sounded over the waves.— So fought the hero-son of Inachus. Wild with the grievous wound, the monster rears high in the air, or plunges in the waves;—
or wheels around as turns the frightened boar shunning the hounds around him in full cry. The hero on his active wings avoids the monster's jaws, and with his crooked sword tortures its back wherever he may pierce its mail of hollow shell, or strikes betwixt the ribs each side, or wounds its lashing tail, long, tapered as a fish. The monster spouts forth streams—incarnadined with blood— that spray upon the hero's wings; who drenched, and heavy with the spume, no longer dares
to trust existence to his dripping wings; but he discerns a rock, which rises clear above the water when the sea is calm, but now is covered by the lashing waves. On this he rests; and as his left hand holds firm on the upmost ledge, he thrusts his sword, times more than three, unswerving in his aim, sheer through the monster's entrails.—Shouts of praise resound along the shores, and even the Gods may hear his glory in their high abodes. Her parents, Cepheus and Cassiope, most joyfully salute their son-in-law;
declaring him the saviour of their house. And now, her chains struck off, the lovely cause and guerdon of his toil, walks on the shore. The hero washes his victorious hands in water newly taken from the sea: but lest the sand upon the shore might harm the viper-covered head, he first prepared a bed of springy leaves, on which he threw weeds of the sea, produced beneath the waves. On them he laid Medusa's awful face, daughter of Phorcys;—and the living weeds, fresh taken from the boundless deep, imbibed
the monster's poison in their spongy pith: they hardened at the touch, and felt in branch and leaf unwonted stiffness. Sea-Nymphs, too, attempted to perform that prodigy on numerous other weeds, with like result: so pleased at their success, they raised new seeds, from plants wide-scattered on the salt expanse. Even from that day the coral has retained such wondrous nature, that exposed to air it hardens.—Thus, a plant beneath the waves becomes a stone when taken from the sea. Three altars to three Gods he made of turf.
To thee, victorious Virgin, did he build an altar on the right, to Mercury an altar on the left, and unto Jove an altar in the midst. He sacrificed a heifer to Minerva, and a calf to Mercury, the Wingfoot, and a bull to thee, O greatest of the Deities. Without a dower he takes Andromeda, the guerdon of his glorious victory, nor hesitates.—Now pacing in the van, both Love and Hymen wave the flaring torch, abundant perfumes lavished in the flames.
The houses are bedecked with wreathed flowers; and lyres and flageolets resound, and songs— felicit notes that happy hearts declare. The portals opened, sumptuous halls display their golden splendours, and the noble lords of Cepheus' court take places at the feast, magnificently served. After the feast, when every heart was warming to the joys of genial Bacchus, then, Lyncidian Perseus asked about the land and its ways about the customs and the character of its heroes. Straightway one of the dinner-companions made reply,
and asked in turn, “ Now, valiant Perseus, pray tell the story of the deed, that all may know, and what the arts and power prevailed, when you struck off the serpent-covered head.” “There is,” continued Perseus of the house of Agenor, “There is a spot beneath cold Atlas, where in bulwarks of enormous strength, to guard its rocky entrance, dwelt two sisters, born of Phorcys. These were wont to share in turn a single eye between them: this by craft I got possession of, when one essayed
to hand it to the other.—I put forth my hand and took it as it passed between: then, far, remote, through rocky pathless crags, over wild hills that bristled with great woods, I thence arrived to where the Gorgon dwelt. “Along the way, in fields and by the roads, I saw on all sides men and animals— like statues—turned to flinty stone at sight of dread Medusa's visage. Nevertheless reflected on the brazen shield, I bore upon my left, I saw her horrid face. “When she was helpless in the power of sleep
and even her serpent-hair was slumber-bound, I struck, and took her head sheer from the neck.— To winged Pegasus the blood gave birth, his brother also, twins of rapid wing.” So did he speak, and truly told besides the perils of his journey, arduous and long—He told of seas and lands that far beneath him he had seen, and of the stars that he had touched while on his waving wings. And yet, before they were aware, the tale was ended; he was silent. Then rejoined a noble with enquiry why alone
of those three sisters, snakes were interspersed in dread Medusa's locks. And he replied:— “Because, O Stranger, it is your desire to learn what worthy is for me to tell, hear ye the cause: Beyond all others she was famed for beauty, and the envious hope of many suitors. Words would fail to tell the glory of her hair, most wonderful of all her charms—A friend declared to me he saw its lovely splendour. Fame declares the Sovereign of the Sea attained her love in chaste Minerva's temple. While enraged
she turned her head away and held her shield before her eyes. To punish that great crime Minerva changed the Gorgon's splendid hair to serpents horrible. And now to strike her foes with fear, she wears upon her breast those awful vipers—creatures of her rage.
Book 5
While Perseus, the brave son of Jupiter, surrounded at the feast by Cepheus' lords, narrated this, a raging multitude with sudden outcry filled the royal courts— not with the clamours of a wedding feast but boisterous rage, portentous of dread war. As when the fury of a great wind strikes a tranquil sea, tempestuous billows roll across the peaceful bosom of the deep; so were the pleasures at the banquet changed to sudden tumult. Foremost of that throng,
the rash ring-leader, Phineus, shook his spear, brass-tipped of ash, and shouted, “Ha, 'tis I! I come avenger of my ravished bride! Let now your flittering wings deliver you, or even Jupiter, dissolved in showers of imitation gold.” So boasted he, aiming his spear at Perseus. Thus to him cried Cepheus: “Hold your hand, and strike him not! What strange delusions, O my brother, have compelled you to this crime? Is it the just requital of heroic worth? A fair
reguerdon for the life of her you loved? “If truth were known, not Perseus ravished her from you; but, either 'twas the awful God that rules the Nereides; or Ammon, crowned with crescent horns; or that monstrosity of Ocean's vast abyss, which came to glut his famine on the issue of my loins. Nor was your suit abandoned till the time when she must perish and be lost to you. So cruel are you, seeking my daughter's death, rejoicing lightly in our deep despair.— “And was it not enough for you to stand
supinely by, while she was bound in chains, and offer no assistance, though you were her lover and betrothed? And will you grieve that she was rescued from a dreadful fate, and spoil her champion of his just rewards? Rewards that now may seem magnificent, but not denied to you if you had won and saved, when she was fettered to the rock. “Let him, whose strength to my declining years restored my child, receive the merit due his words and deeds; and know his suit was not preferred to yours, but granted to prevent
her certain death.” not deigning to reply, against them Phineus stood; and glancing back from him to Perseus, with alternate looks, as doubtful which should feel his first attack, made brief delay. Then vain at Perseus hurled his spear, with all the force that rage inspired, but, missing him it quivered in a couch. Provoked beyond endurance Perseus leaped forth from the cushioned seats, and fiercely sent that outwrenched weapon back. It would have pierced his hostile breast had not the miscreant crouched
behind the altars. Oh perverted good, that thus an altar should abet the wrong! But, though the craven Phineus escaped, not vainly flew the whizzing point, but struck in Rhoetus' forehead. As the barb was torn out of the bone, the victim's heels began to kick upon the floor, and spouting blood defiled the festal board. Then truly flame in uncontrolled rage the vulgar crowd, and hurl their harmful darts. And there are some who hold that Cepheus and his son-in-law
deserved to die; but Cepheus had passed forth the threshold of his palace: having called on all the Gods of Hospitality and Truth and Justice to attest, he gave no comfort to the enemies of Peace. Unconquered Pallas is at hand and holds her Aegis to protect her brother's life; she lends him dauntless courage. At the feast was one from India's distant shores, whose name was Athis. It was said that Limnate, the daughter of the River Ganges, him in vitreous caverns bright had brought to birth;
and now at sixteen summers in his prime, the handsome youth was clad in costly robes. A purple mantle with a golden fringe covered his shoulders, and a necklace, carved of gold, enhanced the beauty of his throat. His hair encompassed with a coronal, delighted with sweet myrrh. Well taught was he to hurl the javelin at a distant mark, and none with better skill could stretch the bow. No sooner had he bent the pliant horns than Perseus, with a smoking billet, seized from the mid-altar, struck him on the face,
and smashed his features in his broken skull. And when Assyrian Lycabas had seen his dear companion, whom he truly loved, beating his handsome countenance in blood. And when he had bewailed his lost life, that ebbed away from that unpiteous wound, he snatched the bow that Athis used, and said; “Let us in single combat seek revenge; not long will you rejoice the stripling's fate; a deed most worthy shame.” So speaking, forth the piercing arrow bounded from the cord, which, though avoided, struck the hero's cloak
and fastened in its folds.— Then Perseus turned upon him, with the trusted curving sword, cause of Medusa's death, and drove the blade deep in his breast. The dying victim's eyes, now swimming in a shadowous night, looked 'round for Athis, whom, beholding, he reclined upon, and ushered to the other world,— sad consolation of united death. And Phorbas the descendant of Methion. Who hailed from far Syene, with his friend Amphimedon of Libya, in their haste
to join the battle, slipped up in the blood and fell together: just as they arose that glittering sword was driven through the throat of Phorbas into the ribs of his companion. But Erithus, the son of Actor, swung a battle-ax, so weighty, Perseus chose not combat with his curving blade. He seized in his two hands a huge bowl, wrought around with large design, outstanding from its mass. This, lifting up, he dashes on his foe, who vomits crimson blood, and falling back beats on the hard floor with his dying head.
And next he slew Caucasian Abaris, and Polydaemon—from Semiramis nobly descended—and Sperchius, son, Lycetus, long-haired Elyces, unshorn, Clytus and Phlegias, the hero slew;— and trampled on the dying heaped around. Not daring to engage his enemy in open contest, Phineus held aloof, and hurled his javelin. Badly aimed—by some mischance or turned—it wounded Idas, who had followed neither side; vain-hoping thus to shun the conflict.
Idas, filled with rage, on Phineus gazed with futile hate, and said, “Since I am forced unwilling to such deeds, behold, whom you have made your enemy, O savage Phineus! Let your recompense be stroke for stroke.” So speaking, from the wound he drew the steel, but, faint from loss of blood, before his arm could hurl the weapon back, he sank upon his knees. Here, also, lies Odytes,—noblest of the Cephenes, save Cepheus only,—slaughtered by the sword
of Clymenus. And Prothoenor lies the victim of Hypseus; by his side Hypseus slaughtered by Lyncidas falls. And in the midst of this destruction stood Emathion, now an aged man, revered, who feared the Gods, and stood for upright deeds. And, since his years denied him strength for war, he battled with his tongue, and railed, and cursed their impious weapons. As that aged man clings to the altar with his trembling hands, Chromis with ruthless sword cuts off his head, which straightway falls upon the altar, whence
his dying tongue denounces them in words of execration: and his soul expires amid the altar flames. Then Broteas and Ammon, his twin brother, who not knew their equals at the cestus, by the hand of Phineus fell; for what avails in deed the cestus as a weapon matched with swords. Ampycus by the same hand fell,—the priest of Ceres, with his temples wreathed in white. And O, Iapetides not for this did you attend the feast! Your voice attuned
melodious to the harp, was in request to celebrate the wedding-day with song,— a work of peace; as you did stand aside, holding the peaceful plectrum in your hand, the mocking Pettalus in ridicule said, “Go sing your ditties to the Stygian shades.” And, mocking thus, he drove his pointed sword in your right temple. As your limbs gave way, your dying fingers swept the tuneful strings: and falling you did chant a mournful dirge.— You to avenge enraged Lycormas tore a huge bar from the door-post, on the right,
and dashing it against the mocker crushed his neck-bones: as a slaughtered bullock falls— he tumbled to the ground. Then on the left. Cinyphian Pelates began to wrench an oak plank from the door-post, but the spear of Corythus, the son of Marmarus, pinioned his right hand to the wooden post; and while he struggled Abas pierced his side.— He fell not to the floor, but dying hung suspended from the door-post by his hand. And of the friends of Perseus, Melaneus
was slain, and Dorylas whose wealth was large in Nasamonian land. No other lord, as Dorylas, such vast estates possessed; no other owned so many heaps of corn. The missile steel stood fastened in his groin, obliquely fixed,—a fatal spot—and when the author of his wound, Halcyoneus the Bactrian, beheld his victim thus, rolling his eyes and sobbing forth his soul, he railed; “Keep for yourself of all your lands as much as you can cover.” And he left the bleeding corpse.
But Perseus in revenge hurled after him a spear, which, in his need, he ripped out from the wound, yet warm, and struck the boaster on the middle of his nose. The piercing steel, passed through his nose and neck,— remained projecting from the front and back. And while good fortune helped his hand, he slew Clanis and Clytius, of one mother born, but with a different wound he slaughtered each: for, leveled by a mighty arm, his ashen spear drove through the thighs of Clytius, right and left, and Clanis bit the javelin with his teeth.
And by his might, Mendesian Celadon and Atreus fell, his mother of the tribes of Palestine, his father was unknown. Aethion, also, who could well foresee the things to come, but was at last deceived by some false omen. And Thoactes fell, the armour-bearer of the king; and, next, the infamous Agyrtes who had slain his father. These he slew; and though his strength was nearly spent, so many more remained: for now the multitude with one accord conspired to slaughter him. From every side
the raging troops assailed the better cause. In vain the pious father and the bride, together with her mother, fill the halls with lamentations; for the clash of arms, the groans of fallen heroes drown their cries.— Bellona in a sea of blood has drenched their Household Gods, polluted by these deeds, and she endeavours to renew the strife. Perseus, alone against that raging throng, is now surrounded by a myriad men, led on by Phineus; and their flying darts, as thick as wintry tail, are showered around
on every side, grazing his eyes and ears.— Quickly he fixed his shoulder firm against the rock of a great pillar, which secured his back from danger, and he faced his foes, and baffled their attack. Upon his left Chaonian Molpeus pressed, and on his right a Nabathe an called Ethemon pressed.— As when a tiger from a valley hears the lowing of two herds, in separate fields, though hunger urges he not knows on which to spring, but rages equally for each;
so, Perseus doubtful which may first attack his left or right, knows not on which to turn, but stands attentive witness to the flight of Molpeus, whom he wounded in the leg. Nor could he choose—Ethemon, full of rage, pressed on him to inflict a fatal wound, deep in his neck; but with incautious force struck the stone pillar with his ringing sword and shattered the metal blade, close to the hilt; the flying fragment pierced its owner's neck, but not with mortal wound. In vain he pled for mercy, stretching forth his helpless arms:
perseus transfixed him with his glittering blade, Cyllenian. But when he saw his strength was yielding to the multitude, he said, “Since you have forced disaster on yourselves, why should I hesitate to save myself?— O friends, avert your faces if ye stand before me!” And he raised Medusa,s head. Thescelus answered him; “Seek other dupes to chase with wonders!” Just as he prepared to hurl the deadly javelin from his hand, he stood, unmoving in that attitude,
a marble statue. Ampyx, close to him, exulting in a mighty spirit, made a lunge to pierce Lyncides in the breast; but, as his sword was flashing in the air, his right arm grew so rigid, there he stood unable to draw back or thrust it forth. But Nileus, who had feigned himself begot by seven-fold Nile, and carved his shield with gold and silver streams, alternate seven, shouted; “Look, look! O Perseus, him from whom I sprung! And you shall carry to the silent shades
a mighty consolation in your death, that you were slain by such a one as I.” But in the midst of boasting, the last words were silenced; and his open mouth, although incapable of motion, seemed intent to utter speech. Then Eryx, chiding says; “Your craven spirits have benumbed you, not Medusa's poison.—Come with me and strike this youthful mover of magician charms down to the ground.”—He started with a rush; the earth detained his steps; it held him fast;
he could not speak; he stood, complete with arms, a statue. Such a penalty was theirs, and justly earned; but near by there was one, aconteus, who defending Perseus, saw medusa as he fought; and at the sight the soldier hardened to an upright stone.— Assured he was alive, Astyages now struck him with his long sword, but the blade resounded with a ringing note; and there, astonished at the sound, Astyages, himself, assumed that nature; and remained
with wonder pictured on his marble face. And not to weary with the names of men, sprung from the middle classes, there remained two hundred warriors eager for the fight— as soon as they could see Medusa's face, two hundred warriors stiffened into stone. At last, repentant, Phineus dreads the war, unjust, for in a helpless fright he sees the statues standing in strange attitudes; and, recognizing his adherents, calls on each by name to rescue from that death. Still unbelieving he begins to touch
the bodies, nearest to himself, and all are hard stone. Having turned his eyes away, he stretched his hands and arms obliquely back to Perseus, and confessed his wicked deeds; and thus imploring spoke; “Remove, I pray, O Perseus, thou invincible, remove from me that dreadful Gorgon: take away the stone-creating countenance of thy unspeakable Medusa! For we warred not out of hatred, nor to gain a throne,
but clashed our weapons for a woman's sake.— “Thy merit proved thy valid claim, and time gave argument for mine. It grieves me not to yield, O bravest, only give me life, and all the rest be thine.” Such words implored the craven, never daring to address his eyes to whom he spoke. And thus returned the valiant Perseus; “I will grant to you, O timid-hearted Phineus! as behoves your conduct; and it should appear a gift, magnanimous, to one who fears to move.—
Take courage, for no steel shall violate your carcase; and, moreover, you shall be a monument, that ages may record your unforgotten name. You shall be seen thus always, in the palace where resides my father-in-law, that my surrendered spouse may soften her great grief when she but sees the darling image of her first betrothed.” He spoke, and moved Medusa to that side where Phineus had turned his trembling face: and as he struggled to avert his gaze his neck grew stiff; the moisture of his eyes
was hardened into stone.—And since that day his timid face and coward eyes and hands, forever shall be guilty as in life. After such deeds, victorious Perseus turned, and sought the confines of his native land; together with his bride; which, having reached, he punished Proetus—who by force of arms had routed his own brother from the throne of Argos. By his aid Acrisius, although his undeserving parent, gained his citadels once more: for Proetus failed, with all his arms and towers unjustly held,
to quell the grim-eyed monster, snake-begin. Yet not the valour of the youth, upheld by many labours, nor his grievous wrongs have softened you, O Polydectes! king of Little Seriphus; but bitter hate ungoverned, rankles in your hardened heart— there is no limit to your unjust rage. Even his praises are defamed by you and all your arguments are given to prove Medusa's death a fraud.—Perseus rejoined; “By this we give our true pledge of the truth, avert your eyes!” And by Medusa's face
he made the features of that impious king a bloodless stone. Through all these mighty deeds Pallas, Minerva, had availed to guide her gold-begotten brother. Now she sped, surrounded in a cloud, from Seriphus, while Cynthus on the right, and Gyarus far faded from her view. And where a path, high over the deep sea, leads the near way, she winged the air for Thebes, and Helicon haunt of the Virgin Nine. High on that mount
she stayed her flight, and with these words bespoke those well-taught sisters; “Fame has given to me the knowledge of a new-made fountain—gift of Pegasus, that fleet steed, from the blood of dread Medusa sprung—it opened when his hard hoof struck the ground.—It is the cause that brought me.—For my longing to have seen this fount, miraculous and wonderful, grows not the less in that myself did see the swift steed, nascent from maternal blood.” To which Urania thus; “Whatever the cause that brings thee to our habitation, thou,
O goddess, art to us the greatest joy. And now, to answer thee, reports are true; this fountain is the work of Pegasus,” And having said these words, she gladly thence conducted Pallas to the sacred streams. And Pallas, after she had long admired that fountain, flowing where the hoof had struck, turned round to view the groves of ancient trees; the grottoes and the grass bespangled, rich with flowers unnumbered—all so beautiful she deemed the charm of that locality a fair surrounding for the studious days
of those Mnemonian Maids. But one of them addressed her thus; “O thou whose valour gave thy mind to greater deeds! if thou hadst stooped to us, Minerva, we had welcomed thee most worthy of our choir! Thy words are true; and well hast thou approved the joys of art, and this retreat. Most happy would we be if only we were safe; but wickedness admits of no restraint, and everything affrights our virgin minds; and everywhere the dreadful Pyrenaeus haunts our sight;—
scarcely have we recovered from the shock. “That savage, with his troops of Thrace. had seized the lands of Daulis and of Phocis, where he ruled in tyranny; and when we sought the Temples of Parnassus, he observed us on our way;—and knowing our estate, pretending to revere our sacred lives, he said; ‘O Muses, I beseech you pause! Choose now the shelter of my roof and shun the heavy stars that teem with pouring rain; nor hesitate, for often the glorious Gods have entered humbler homes.’
“Moved by his words, and by the growing storm, we gave assent, and entered his first house. But presently the storm abated, and the southern wind was conquered by the north; the black clouds fled, and soon the skies were clear. “At once we sought to quit the house, but Pyrenaeus closed all means of exit,—and prepared to force our virtue. Instantly we spread our wings, and so escaped; but on a lofty tower he stood, as if to follow, and exclaimed;
‘A path for you marks out a way for me., and quite insane, he leaped down from the top of that high tower.—Falling on his face, the bones were crushed, and as his life ebbed out the ground was crimsoned with his wicked blood.” So spoke the Muse. And now was heard the sound of pennons in the air, and voices, too, gave salutations from the lofty trees. Minerva, thinking they were human tongues, looked up in question whence the perfect words; but on the boughs, nine ugly magpies perched, those mockers of all sounds, which now complained
their hapless fate. And as she wondering stood, Urania, goddess of the Muse, rejoined;— “Look, those but lately worsted in dispute augment the number of unnumbered birds.— Pierus was their father, very rich in lands of Pella; and their mother (called Evippe of Paeonia) when she brought them forth, nine times evoked, in labours nine, Lucina's aid.—Unduly puffed with pride, because it chanced their number equalled ours, these stupid sisters, hither to engage in wordy contest, fared through many towns;—
through all Haemonia and Achaia came to us, and said;— ‘Oh, cease your empty songs, attuned to dulcet numbers, that deceive the vulgar, untaught throng. If aught is yours of confidence, O Thespian Deities contend with us: our number equals yours. We will not be defeated by your arts; nor shall your songs prevail.—Then, conquered, give Hyantean Aganippe; yield to us the Medusean Fount;—and should we fail, we grant Emathia's plains, to where uprise
Paeonia's peaks of snow.—Let chosen Nymphs award the prize—.’ 'Twas shameful to contend; it seemed more shameful to submit. At once, the chosen Nymphs swore justice by their streams, and sat in judgment on their thrones of rock. “At once, although the lot had not been cast, the leading sister hastened to begin.— She chanted of celestial wars; she gave the Giants false renown; she gave the Gods small credit for great deeds.—She droned out, ‘Forth, those deepest realms of earth, Typhoeus came, and filled the Gods with fear. They turned their backs
in flight to Egypt; and the wearied rout, where Great Nile spreads his seven-channeled mouth, were there received.—Thither the earth-begot Typhoeus hastened: but the Gods of Heaven deceptive shapes assumed.—Lo, Jupiter, (As Libyan Ammon's crooked horns attest) was hidden in the leader of a flock; Apollo in a crow; Bacchus in a goat; Diana in a cat; Venus in a fish; Saturnian Juno in a snow-white cow; Cyllenian Hermes in an Ibis' wings.’— Such stuff she droned out from her noisy mouth:
and then they summoned us; but, haply, time permits thee not, nor leisure thee permits, that thou shouldst hearken to our melodies.” “Nay doubt it not,” quoth Pallas, “but relate your melodies in order.” And she sat beneath the pleasant shadows of the grove. And thus again Urania; “On our side we trusted all to one.” Which having said, Calliope arose. Her glorious hair was bound with ivy. She attuned the chords, and chanted as she struck the sounding strings:— “First Ceres broke with crooked plow the glebe;
first gave to earth its fruit and wholesome food; first gave the laws;—all things of Ceres came; of her I sing; and oh, that I could tell her worth in verse; in verse her worth is due. “Because he dared to covet heavenly thrones Typhoeus, giant limbs are weighted down beneath Sicilia's Isle—vast in extent— how often thence he strains and strives to rise? But his right hand Pachynus holds; his legs are pressed by Lilybaeus, Aetna weights his head. Beneath that ponderous mass Typhoeus lies, flat on his back; and spues the sands on high;
and vomits flames from his ferocious mouth. He often strives to push the earth away, the cities and the mountains from his limbs— by which the lands are shaken. Even the king, that rules the silent shades is made to quake, for fear the earth may open and the ground, cleft in wide chasms, letting in the day, may terrify the trembling ghosts. Afraid of this disaster, that dark despot left his gloomy habitation; carried forth by soot-black horses, in his gloomy car. “He circumspectly viewed Sicilia's vast
foundations.—Having well explored and proved no part was shattered; having laid aside his careful fears, he wandered in those parts. “Him, Venus, Erycina, in her mount thus witnessed, and embraced her winged son, and said, ‘O Cupid! thou who art my son— my arms, my hand, my strength; take up those arms, by which thou art victorious over all, and aim thy keenest arrow at the heart of that divinity whom fortune gave the last award, what time the triple realm, by lot was portioned out.
‘The Gods of Heaven are overcome by thee; and Jupiter, and all the Deities that swim the deep, and the great ruler of the Water-Gods: why, then, should Tartarus escape our sway— the third part of the universe at stake— by which thy mother's empire and thy own may be enlarged according to great need. ‘How shameful is our present lot in Heaven, the powers of love and I alike despised; for, mark how Pallas has renounced my sway, besides Diana, javelin-hurler—so
will Ceres' daughter choose virginity, if we permit,—that way her hopes incline. Do thou this goddess Proserpine, unite in marriage to her uncle. Venus spoke;— “Cupid then loosed his quiver, and of all its many arrows, by his mother's aid, selected one; the keenest of them all; the least uncertain, surest from the string: and having fixed his knee against the bow, bent back the flexile horn.—The flying shaft struck Pluto in the breast. “There is a lake
of greatest depth, not far from Henna's walls, long since called Pergus; and the songs of swans, that wake Cayster, rival not the notes of swans melodious on its gliding waves: a fringe of trees, encircling as a wreath its compassed waters, with a leafy veil denies the heat of noon; cool breezes blow beneath the boughs; the humid ground is sprent with purpling flowers, and spring eternal reigns. “While Proserpine once dallied in that grove, plucking white lilies and sweet violets, and while she heaped her basket, while she filled
her bosom, in a pretty zeal to strive beyond all others; she was seen, beloved, and carried off by Pluto—such the haste of sudden love. “The goddess, in great fear, called on her mother and on all her friends; and, in her frenzy, as her robe was rent, down from the upper edge, her gathered flowers fell from her loosened tunic.—This mishap, so perfect was her childish innocence, increased her virgin grief.— “The ravisher
urged on his chariot, and inspired his steeds; called each by name, and on their necks and manes shook the black-rusted reins. They hastened through deep lakes, and through the pools of Palici, which boiling upward from the ruptured earth smell of strong sulphur. And they bore him thence to where the sons of Bacchus, who had sailed from twin-sea Corinth, long ago had built a city's walls between unequal ports. “Midway between the streams of Cyane and Arethusa lies a moon-like pool, of silvered narrow horns. There stood the Nymph,
revered above all others in that land, whose name was Cyane. From her that pond was always called. And as she stood, concealed in middle waves that circled her white thighs, she recognized the God, and said; ‘O thou shalt go no further, Pluto, thou shalt not by force alone become the son-in-law of Ceres. It is better to beseech a mother's aid than drag her child away! And this sustains my word, if I may thus compare great things with small, Anapis loved me also; but he wooed and married me
by kind endearments; not by fear, as thou hast terrified this girl.’ So did she speak; and stretching out her arms on either side opposed his way. “The son of Saturn blazed with uncontrolled rage; and urged his steeds, and hurled his royal scepter in the pool. Cast with a mighty arm it pierced the deeps. The smitten earth made way to Tartarus;— it opened a wide basin and received the plunging chariot in the midst.—But now the mournful Cyane began to grieve,
because from her against her fountain-rights the goddess had been torn. The deepening wound still rankled in her breast, and she dissolved in many tears, and wasted in those waves which lately were submissive to her rule. “So you could see her members waste away: her hones begin to bend; her nails get soft; her azure hair, her fingers, legs and feet, and every slender part melt in the pool: so brief the time in which her tender limbs were changed to flowing waves; and after them her back and shoulders, and her sides and breasts
dissolved and vanished into rivulets: and while she changed, the water slowly filled her faulty veins instead of living blood— and nothing that a hand could hold remained. “Now it befell when Proserpine was lost, her anxious mother sought through every land and every sea in vain. She rested not. Aurora, when she came with ruddy locks, might never know, nor even Hesperus, if she might deign to rest.—She lit two pines from Aetna's flames and held one in each hand, and restless bore them through the frosty glooms:
and when serene the day had dimmed the stars she sought her daughter by the rising sun; and when the sun declined she rested not. “Wearied with labour she began to thirst, for all this while no streams had cooled her lips; when, as by chance, a cottage thatched with straw gladdened her sight. Thither the goddess went, and, after knocking at the humble door, waited until an ancient woman came; who, when she saw the goddess and had heard her plea for water, gave her a sweet drink, but lately brewed of parched barley-meal;
and while the goddess quaffed this drink a boy, of bold and hard appearance, stood before and laughed and called her greedy. While he spoke the angry goddess sprinkled him with meal, mixed with the liquid which had not been drunk. “His face grew spotted where the mixture struck, and legs appeared where he had arms before, a tail was added to his changing trunk; and lest his former strength might cause great harm, all parts contracted till he measured less than common lizards. While the ancient dame wondered and wept and strove for one caress,
the reptile fled and sought a lurking place.— His very name describes him to the eye, a body starred with many coloured spots. “What lands, what oceans Ceres wandered then, would weary to relate. The bounded world was narrow for the search. Again she passed through Sicily; again observed all signs; and as she wandered came to Cyane, who strove to tell where Proserpine had gone, but since her change, had neither mouth nor tongue, and so was mute. And yet the Nymph made plain by certain signs what she desired to say:
for on the surface of the waves she showed a well-known girdle Proserpine had lost, by chance had dropped it in that sacred pool; which when the goddess recognized, at last, convinced her daughter had been forced from her, she tore her streaming locks, and frenzied struck her bosom with her palms. And in her rage, although she wist not where her daughter was, she blamed all countries and cried out against their base ingratitude; and she declared the world unworthy of the gift of corn: but Sicily before all other lands,
for there was found the token of her loss. “For that she broke with savage hand the plows, which there had turned the soil, and full of wrath leveled in equal death the peasant and his ox— both tillers of the soil—and made decree that land should prove deceptive to the seed, and rot all planted germs.—That fertile isle, so noted through the world, becomes a waste; the corn is blighted in the early blade; excessive heat, excessive rain destroys; the winds destroy, the constellations harm; the greedy birds devour the scattered seeds;
thistles and tares and tough weeds choke the wheat. “For this the Nymph, Alpheian, raised her head above Elean waves; and having first pushed back her dripping tresses from her brows, back to her ears, she thus began to speak; ‘O mother of the virgin, sought throughout the globe! O mother of nutritious fruits! Let these tremendous labours have an end; do not increase the violence of thy wrath against the Earth, devoted to thy sway, and not deserving blame; for only force compelled the Earth to open for that wrong.
Think not my supplication is to aid my native country; hither I am come an alien: Pisa is my native land, and Elis gave me birth. Though I sojourn a stranger in this isle of Sicily it yet delights me more than all the world. ‘I, Arethusa, claim this isle my home, and do implore thee keep my throne secure, O greatest of the Gods! A better hour, when thou art lightened of thy cares, will come, and when thy countenance again is kind; and then may I declare what cause removed
me from my native place—and through the waves of such a mighty ocean guided me to find Ortygia. ‘Through the porous earth by deepest caverns, I uplift my head and see unwonted stars. Now it befell, as I was gliding far beneath the world, where flow dark Stygian streams, I saw thy Proserpine. Although her countenance betrayed anxiety and grief, a queen She reigned supremely great in that opacous world queen consort mighty to the King of Hell.’
“Astonished and amazed, as thunderstruck, when Proserpina's mother heard these words, long while she stood till great bewilderment gave way to heavy grief. Then to the skies, ethereal, she mounted in her car and with beclouded face and streaming hair stood fronting Jove, opprobrious. ‘I have come O Jupiter, a suppliant to thee, both for my own offspring as well as thine. If thy hard heart deny a mother grace, yet haply as a father thou canst feel some pity for thy daughter; and I pray
thy care for her may not be valued less because my groaning travail brought her forth.— My long-sought daughter has at last been found, if one can call it, found, when certain loss more certain has been proved; or so may deem the knowledge of her state.—But I may bear his rude ways, if again he bring her back. ‘Thy worthy child should not be forced to wed a bandit-chief, nor should my daughter's charms reward his crime.’ She spoke;—and Jupiter took up the word; ‘This daughter is a care, a sacred pledge to me as well as thee;
but if it please us to acknowledge truth, this is a deed of love and injures not. And if, O goddess, thou wilt not oppose, such law-son cannot compass our disgrace: for though all else were wanting, naught can need Jove's brother, who in fortune yields to none save me. But if thy fixed desire compel dissent, let Proserpine return to Heaven; however, subject to the binding law, if there her tongue have never tasted food— a sure condition, by the Fates decreed.’ he spoke; but Ceres was no less resolved
to lead her daughter thence. “Not so the Fates permit.—The virgin, thoughtless while she strayed among the cultivated Stygian fields, had broken fast. While there she plucked the fruit by bending a pomegranate tree, and plucked, and chewed seven grains, picked from the pallid rind; and none had seen except Ascalaphus— him Orphne, famed of all Avernian Nymphs, had brought to birth in some infernal cave, days long ago, from Acheron's embrace— he saw it, and with cruel lips debarred
young Proserpine's return. Heaving a sigh, the Queen of Erebus, indignant changed that witness to an evil bird: she turned his head, with sprinkled Phlegethonian lymph, into a beak, and feathers, and great eyes; his head grew larger and his shape, deformed, was cased in tawny wings; his lengthened nails bent inward;—and his sluggish arms as wings can hardly move. So he became the vilest bird; a messenger of grief; the lazy owl; sad omen to mankind. “The telltale's punishment was only just;
O Siren Maids, but wherefore thus have ye the feet and plumes of birds, although remain your virgin features? Is it from the day when Proserpina gathered vernal flowers; because ye mingled with her chosen friends? And after she was lost, in vain ye sought through all the world; and wished for wings to waft you over the great deep, that soon the sea might feel your great concern.—The Gods were kind: ye saw your limbs grow yellow, with a growth of sudden-sprouting feathers; but because your melodies that gently charm the ear,
besides the glory of your speech, might lose the blessing, of a tongue, your virgin face and human voice remained. “But Jupiter, the mediator of these rival claims, urged by his brother and his grieving sister, divided the long year in equal parts. Now Proserpina, as a Deity, of equal merit, in two kingdoms reigns:— for six months with her mother she abides, and six months with her husband.—Both her mind and her appearance quickly were transformed;
for she who seemed so sad in Pluto's eyes, now as a goddess beams in joyful smiles; so, when the sun obscured by watery mist conquers the clouds, it shines in splendour forth. “And genial Ceres, full of joy, that now her daughter was regained, began to speak; ‘Declare the reason of thy wanderings, O Arethusa! tell me wherefore thou wert made a sacred stream.’ The waters gave no sound; but soon that goddess raised her head from the deep springs; and after sue had dried her green hair with her hand, with fair address
she told the ancient amours of that stream which flows through Elis.—‘I was one among the Nymphs of old Achaia,’—so she said— ‘And none of them more eager sped than I, along the tangled pathways; and I fixed the hunting-nets with zealous care.—Although I strove not for the praise that beauty gives, and though my form was something stout for grace, it had the name of being beautiful. ‘So worthless seemed the praise, I took no joy in my appearance—as a country lass I blushed at those endowments which would give
delight to others—even the power to please seemed criminal.—And I remember when returning weary from Stymphal fan woods, and hot with toil, that made the glowing sun seem twice as hot, I chanced upon a stream, that flowed without a ripple or a sound so smoothly on, I hardly thought it moved. ‘The water was so clear that one could see and count the pebbles in the deepest parts, and silver willows and tall poplar trees, nourished by flowing waters, spread their shade over the shelving banks. So I approached,
and shrinkingly touched the cool stream with my feet; and then I ventured deeper to my knees; and not contented doffed my fleecy robes, and laid them on a bending willow tree. Then, naked, I plunged deeply in the stream, and while I smote the water with my hands, and drew it towards me, striking boldly forth, moving my body in a thousand ways, I thought I heard a most unusual sound, a murmuring noise beneath the middle stream. ‘Alarmed, I hastened to the nearest bank, and as I stood upon its edge, these words
hoarsely Alpheus uttered from his waves; ‘Oh, whither dost thou hasten?’ and again, ‘Oh, whither dost thou hasten?’ said the voice. ‘Just as I was, I fled without my clothes, for I had left them on the other bank; which, when he saw, so much the more inflamed, more swiftly he pursued: my nakedness was tempting to his gaze. And thus I ran; and thus relentlessly he pressed my steps: so from the hawk the dove with trembling wings; and so, the hawk pursues the frightened dove. ‘Swiftly and long I fled, with winding course,
to Orchamenus, Psophis and Cyllene, and Maenalus and Erymanthus cold, and Elis. Neither could he gain by speed, although his greater strength must soon prevail, for I not longer could endure the strain. ‘Still I sped onward through the fields and woods, by tangled wilds and over rocks and crags; and as I hastened from the setting sun, I thought I saw a growing shadow move beyond my feet; it may have been my fear imagined it, but surely now I heard the sound of footsteps: I could even feel
his breathing on the loose ends of my hair; and I was terrified. At last, worn out by all my efforts to escape, I cried; ‘Oh, help me—thou whose bow and quivered darts I oft have borne—thy armour-bearer calls— O chaste Diana help,—or I am lost.’ ‘It moved the goddess, and she gathered up a dense cloud, and encompassed me about.— The baffled River circled round and round, seeking to find me, hidden in that cloud— twice went the River round, and twice cried out, ‘Ho, Arethusa! Arethusa, Ho!’
‘What were my wretched feelings then? Could I be braver than the Iamb that hears the wolves, howling around the high-protecting fold? Or than the hare, which lurking in the bush knows of the snarling hounds and dares not move? And yet, Alpheus thence would not depart, for he could find no footprints of my flight. ‘He watched the cloud and spot, and thus besieged, a cold sweat gathered on my trembling limbs. The clear-blue drops, distilled from every pore, made pools of water where I moved my feet, and dripping moisture trickled from my hair.—
Much quicker than my story could be told, my body was dissolved to flowing streams.— But still the River recognized the waves, and for the love of me transformed his shape from human features to his proper streams, that so his waters might encompass mine. ‘Diana, therefore, opened up the ground, in which I plunged, and thence through gloomy caves was carried to Ortygia—blessed isle! To which my chosen goddess gave her name! Where first I rose amid the upper air!’ “Thus Arethusa made an end of speech:
and presently the fertile goddess yoked two dragons to her chariot: she curbed their mouths with bits: they bore her through the air, in her light car betwixt the earth and skies, to the Tritonian citadel, and to Triptolemus, to whom she furnished seed, that he might scatter it in wasted lands, and in the fallow fields; which, after long neglect, again were given to the plow. “After he had traveled through uncharted skies, over wide Europe and vast Asian lands, he lit upon the coast of Scythia, where
a king called Lyncus reigned. And there, at once he sought the palace of that king, who said; ‘Whence come you, stranger, wherefore in this land? Come, tell to me your nation and your name.’ “And after he was questioned thus, he said, ‘I came from far-famed Athens and they call my name Triptolemus. I neither came by ship through waves, nor over the dry land; for me the yielding atmosphere makes way.— I bear the gifts of Ceres to your land, which scattered over your wide realm may yield an ample harvest of nutritious food.’
“The envious Lyncus, wishing to appear the gracious author of all benefits, received the unsuspecting youth with smiles; but when he fell into a heavy sleep that savage king attacked him with a sword— but while attempting to transfix his guest, the goddess Ceres changed him to a lynx:— and once again she sent her favoured youth to drive her sacred dragons through the clouds. “The greatest of our number ended thus her learned songs; and with concordant voice the chosen Nymphs adjudged the Deities,
on Helicon who dwell, should be proclaimed the victors. “But the vanquished nine began to scatter their abuse; to whom rejoined the goddess; ‘Since it seems a trifling thing that you should suffer a deserved defeat, and you must add unmerited abuse to heighten your offence, and since by this appears the end of our endurance, we shall certainly proceed to punish you according to the limit of our wrath.’ “But these Emathian sisters laughed to scorn
our threatening words; and as they tried to speak, and made great clamour, and with shameless hands made threatening gestures, suddenly stiff quills sprouted from out their finger-nails, and plumes spread over their stretched arms; and they could see the mouth of each companion growing out into a rigid beak.—And thus new birds were added to the forest.—While they made complaint, these Magpies that defile our groves, moving their stretched-out arms, began to float, suspended in the air. And since that time their ancient eloquence, their screaming notes,
their tiresome zeal of speech have all remained.”
Book 6
All this Minerva heard; and she approved their songs and their resentment; but her heart was brooding thus, “It is an easy thing to praise another, I should do as they: no creature of the earth should ever slight the majesty that dwells in me,—without just retribution.”—So her thought was turned upon the fortune of Arachne — proud, who would not ever yield to her the praise won by the art of deftly weaving wool, a girl who had not fame for place of birth, nor fame for birth, but only fame for skill!
For it was well known that her father dwelt in Colophon; where, at his humble trade, he dyed in Phocean purples, fleecy wool. Her mother, also of the lower class, had died. Arachne in a mountain town by skill had grown so famous in the Land of Lydia, that unnumbered curious nymphs eager to witness her dexterity, deserted the lush vineyards of Timolus; or even left the cool and flowing streams of bright Pactolus, to admire the cloth, or to observe her deftly spinning wool.
So graceful was her motion then,—if she was twisting the coarse wool in little balls, or if she teased it with her finger-tips, or if she softened the fine fleece, drawn forth in misty films, or if she twirled the smooth round spindle with her energetic thumb, or if with needle she embroidered cloth;— in all her motions one might well perceive how much Minerva had instructed her: but this she ever would deny, displeased to share her fame; and said, “Let her contend in art with me; and if her skill prevails,
I then will forfeit all!” Minerva heard, and came to her, disguised with long grey hair, and with a staff to steady her weak limbs. She seemed a feeble woman, very old, and quavered as she said, “Old age is not the cause of every ill; experience comes with lengthened years; and, therefore, you should not despise my words. It is no harm in you to long for praise of mortals, when your nimble hands are spinning the soft wool,— but you should not deny Minerva's art—
and you should pray that she may pardon you, for she will grant you pardon if you ask.” Arachne, scowling with an evil face. Looked at the goddess, as she dropped her thread. She hardly could restrain her threatening hand, and, trembling in her anger, she replied to you, disguised Minerva: “Silly fool,— worn out and witless in your palsied age, a great age is your great misfortune!— Let your daughter and your son's wife—if the Gods have blessed you—let them profit by your words;
within myself, my knowledge is contained sufficient; you need not believe that your advice does any good; for I am quite unchanged in my opinion. Get you gone,— advise your goddess to come here herself, and not avoid the contest!” Instantly, the goddess said, “Minerva comes to you!” And with those brief words, put aside the shape of the old woman, and revealed herself, Minerva, goddess. All the other Nymphs
and matrons of Mygdonia worshiped her; but not Arachne, who defiant stood;— although at first she flushed up—then went pale— then blushed again, reluctant.—So, at first, the sky suffuses, as Aurora moves, and, quickly when the glorious sun comes up, pales into white. She even rushed upon her own destruction, for she would not give from her desire to gain the victory. Nor did the daughter of almighty Jove decline: disdaining to delay with words,
she hesitated not. And both, at once, selected their positions, stretched their webs with finest warp, and separated warp with sley. The woof was next inserted in the web by means of the sharp shuttles, which their nimble fingers pushed along, so drawn within the warp, and so the teeth notched in the moving sley might strike them.—Both, in haste, girded their garments to their breasts and moved their skilful arms, beguiling their fatigue in eager action.
Myriad tints appeared besides the Tyrian purple—royal dye, extracted in brass vessels.—As the bow, that spans new glory in the curving sky, its glittering rays reflected in the rain, spreads out a multitude of blended tints, in scintillating beauty to the sight of all who gaze upon it; — so the threads, inwoven, mingled in a thousand tints, harmonious and contrasting; shot with gold: and there, depicted in those shining webs, were shown the histories of ancient days:—
Minerva worked the Athenian Hill of Mars, where ancient Cecrops built his citadel, and showed the old contention for the name it should be given.—Twelve celestial Gods surrounded Jupiter, on lofty thrones; and all their features were so nicely drawn, that each could be distinguished.—Jupiter appeared as monarch of those judging Gods. There Neptune, guardian of the sea, was shown contending with Minerva. As he struck the Rock with his long trident, a wild horse sprang forth which he bequeathed to man. He claimed
his right to name the city for that gift. And then she wove a portrait of herself, bearing a shield, and in her hand a lance, sharp-pointed, and a helmet on her head— her breast well-guarded by her Aegis: there she struck her spear into the fertile earth, from which a branch of olive seemed to sprout, pale with new clustered fruits.—And those twelve Gods, appeared to judge, that olive as a gift surpassed the horse which Neptune gave to man. And, so Arachne, rival of her fame, might learn the folly of her mad attempt,
from the great deeds of ancient histories, and what award presumption must expect, Minerva wove four corners with life scenes of contest, brightly colored, but of size diminutive. In one of these was shown the snow-clad mountains, Rhodope, and Haemus, which for punishment were changed from human beings to those rigid forms, when they aspired to rival the high Gods. And in another corner she described that Pygmy, whom the angry Juno changed
from queen-ship to a crane; because she thought herself an equal of the living Gods, she was commanded to wage cruel wars upon her former subjects. In the third, she wove the story of Antigone, who dared compare herself to Juno, queen of Jupiter, and showed her as she was transformed into a silly chattering stork, that praised her beauty, with her ugly beak.— Despite the powers of Ilion and her sire Laomedon, her shoulders fledged white wings. And so, the third part finished, there was left
one corner, where Minerva deftly worked the story of the father, Cinyras;— as he was weeping on the temple steps, which once had been his daughter's living limbs. And she adorned the border with designs of peaceful olive—her devoted tree— which having shown, she made an end of work. Arachne, of Maeonia, wove, at first the story of Europa, as the bull deceived her, and so perfect was her art, it seemed a real bull in real waves. Europa seemed to look back towards the land
which she had left; and call in her alarm to her companions—and as if she feared the touch of dashing waters, to draw up her timid feet, while she was sitting on the bull's back. And she wove Asteria seized by the assaulting eagle; and beneath the swan's white wings showed Leda lying by the stream: and showed Jove dancing as a Satyr, when he sought the beautiful Antiope, to whom was given twins; and how he seemed Amphitryon when he deceived Alcmena;
and how he courted lovely Danae luring her as a gleaming shower of gold; and poor Aegina, hidden in his flame, jove as a shepherd with Mnemosyne; and beautiful Proserpina, involved by him, apparent as a spotted snake. And in her web, Arachne wove the scenes of Neptune:—who was shown first as a bull, when he was deep in love with virgin Arne then as Enipeus when the giant twins, Aloidae, were begot; and as the ram that gambolled with Bisaltis; as a horse
loved by the fruitful Ceres, golden haired, all-bounteous mother of the yellow grain; and as the bird that hovered round snake-haired Medusa, mother of the winged horse; and as the dolphin, sporting with the Nymph, Melantho.—All of these were woven true to life, in proper shades. And there she showed Apollo, when disguised in various forms: as when he seemed a rustic; and as when he wore hawk-wings, and then the tawny skin of a great lion; and once more when he
deluded Isse, as a shepherd lad. And there was Bacchus, when he was disguised as a large cluster of fictitious grapes; deluding by that wile the beautiful Erigone;—and Saturn, as a steed, begetter of the dual-natured Chiron. And then Arachne, to complete her work, wove all around the web a patterned edge of interlacing flowers and ivy leaves. Minerva could not find a fleck or flaw— even Envy can not censure perfect art— enraged because Arachne had such skill
she ripped the web, and ruined all the scenes that showed those wicked actions of the Gods; and with her boxwood shuttle in her hand, struck the unhappy mortal on her head,— struck sharply thrice, and even once again. Arachne's spirit, deigning not to brook such insult, brooded on it, till she tied a cord around her neck, and hung herself. Minerva, moved to pity at the sight, sustained and saved her from that bitter death; but, angry still, pronounced another doom: “Although I grant you life, most wicked one,
your fate shall be to dangle on a cord, and your posterity forever shall take your example, that your punishment may last forever!” Even as she spoke, before withdrawing from her victim's sight, she sprinkled her with juice—extract of herbs of Hecate. At once all hair fell off, her nose and ears remained not, and her head shrunk rapidly in size, as well as all her body, leaving her diminutive.— Her slender fingers gathered to her sides
as long thin legs; and all her other parts were fast absorbed in her abdomen—whence she vented a fine thread;—and ever since, Arachne, as a spider, weaves her web. All Lydia was astonished at her fate the Rumor spread to Phrygia, soon the world was filled with fear and wonder. Niobe had known her long before,—when in Maeonia near to Mount Sipylus; but the sad fate which overtook Arachne, lost on her, she never ceased her boasting and refused to honor the great Gods.
So many things increased her pride: She loved to boast her husband's skill, their noble family, the rising grandeur of their kingdom. Such felicities were great delights to her; but nothing could exceed the haughty way she boasted of her children: and, in truth, Niobe might have been adjudged on earth, the happiest mother of mankind, if pride had not destroyed her wit. It happened then, that Manto, daughter of Tiresias,
who told the future; when she felt the fire of prophecy descend upon her, rushed upon the street and shouted in the midst: “You women of Ismenus! go and give to high Latona and her children, twain, incense and prayer. Go, and with laurel wreathe your hair in garlands, as your sacred prayers arise to heaven. Give heed, for by my speech Latona has ordained these holy rites.” At once, the Theban women wreathe their brows with laurel, and they cast in hallowed flame the grateful incense, while they supplicate
all favors of the ever-living Gods. And while they worship, Niobe comes there, surrounded with a troup that follow her, and most conspicuous in her purple robe, bright with inwoven threads of yellow gold. Beautiful in her anger, she tosses back her graceful head. The glory of her hair shines on her shoulders. Standing forth, she looks upon them with her haughty eyes, and taunts them, “Madness has prevailed on you to worship some imagined Gods of Heaven, which you have only heard of; but the Gods
that truly are on earth, and can be seen, are all neglected! Come, explain to me, why is Latona worshiped and adored, and frankincense not offered unto me? For my divinity is known to you. “Tantalus was my father, who alone approached the tables of the Gods in heaven; my mother, sister of the Pleiades, was daughter of huge Atlas, who supports the world upon his shoulders; I can boast of Jupiter as father of my sire, I count him also as my father-in-law.
The peoples of my Phrygia dread my power, and I am mistress of the palace built by Cadmus. By my husband, I am queen of those great walls that reared themselves to the sweet music of his sounding lyre. We rule together all the people they encompass and defend. And everywhere my gaze is turned, an evidence of wealth is witnessed. “In my features you can see the beauty of a goddess, but above that majesty is all the glory due
to me, the mother of my seven sons and daughters seven. And the time will come when by their marriage they will magnify the circle of my power invincible. “All must acknowledge my just cause of pride and must no longer worship, in despite of my superior birth, this deity, a daughter of ignoble Coeus, whom one time the great Earth would not even grant sufficient space for travail: whom the Heavens, the Land, the Sea together once compelled to wander, hopeless on all hostile shores!
Throughout the world she found herself rebuffed, till Delos, sorry for the vagrant, said, ‘Homeless you roam the lands, and I the seas!’ And even her refuge always was adrift. “And there she bore two children, who, compared with mine, are but as one to seven. Who denies my fortunate condition?—Who can doubt my future?—I am surely safe. “The wealth of my abundance is too strong for Fortune to assail me. Let her rage despoil me of large substance; yet so much would still be mine, for I have risen above
the blight of apprehension. But, suppose a few of my fair children should be taken! Even so deprived, I could not be reduced to only two, as this Latona, who, might quite as well be childless.—Get you gone from this insensate sacrifice. Make haste! Cast off the wreathing laurels from your brows!” They plucked the garlands from their hair, and left the sacrifice, obedient to her will, although in gentle murmurs they adored the goddess Niobe had so defamed. Latona, furious when she heard the speech,
flew swiftly to the utmost peak of Cynthus, and spoke to her two children in these words: “Behold your mother, proud of having borne such glorious children! I will yield prestige before no goddess—save alone immortal Juno! I have been debased, and driven for all ages from my own— my altars, unto me devoted long, and so must languish through eternity, unless by you sustained. Nor is this all;. That daughter of Tantalus, bold Niobe, has added curses to her evil deeds,
and with a tongue as wicked as her sire's, has raised her base-born children over mine. Has even called me childless! A sad fate more surely should be hers! Oh, I entreat”— But Phoebus answered her, “No more complaint is necessary, for it only serves to hinder the swift sequel of her doom.” And with the same words Phoebe answered her. And having spoken, they descended through the shielding shadows of surrounding clouds, and hovered on the citadel of Cadmus. There, far below them, was a level plain
which swept around those walls; where trampling steeds, with horny hoofs, and multitudinous wheels, had beaten a wide track. And on the field the older sons of Niobe on steeds emblazoned with bright dyes and harness rich with studded gold were circling.—One of these, Ismenus, first-born of his mother, while controlling his fleet courser's foaming mouth, cried out, “Ah wretched me!” A shaft had pierced the middle of his breast; and as the reins dropped slowly on the rapid courser's neck, his drooping form fell forward to the ground.
Not far from him, his brother, Sipylus, could hear the whistling of a fatal shaft, and in his fright urged on the plunging steed: as when the watchful pilot, sensible of storms approaching, crowds on sail, hoping to catch a momentary breeze, so fled he, urging an impetuous flight; but, while he fled the shaft, unerring, flew; transfixed him with its quivering death; struck where the neck supports the head and the sharp point protruded from his throat. In his swift flight, as he was leaning forward, he was struck;
and, rolling over the wild horse's neck pitched to the ground, and stained it with his blood. Unhappy Phaedimus, and Tantalus, (So named from his maternal grandsire) now had finished coursing on the track, and smooth. Shining with oil, were wrestling in the field; and while those brothers struggled—breast to breast— another arrow, hurtling from the sky, pierced them together, just as they were clinched. The mingled sound that issued from two throats was like a single groan. Convulsed with pain, the wrestlers fell together on the ground,
where, stricken with a double agony, rolling their eyeballs, they sobbed out their lives. Alphenor saw them die—beating his breast in agony—ran to lift in his arms their lifeless bodies cold—while doing this he fell upon them. Phoebus struck him so, piercing his midriff in a vital part, with fatal shot, which, when he pulled it forth, dragged with its barb a torn clot of his lung— his blood and life poured out upon the air. The youthful Damasicthon next was struck, not only once; an arrow pierced his leg
just where the sinews of the thigh begin, and as he turned and stooped to pluck it out, another keen shaft shot into his neck, up to the fletching.—The blood drove it out, and spouted after it in crimson jets. Then, Ilioneus, last of seven sons, lifted his unavailing arms in prayer, and cried, “O Universal Deities, gods of eternal heaven, spare my life!”— Besought too late, Apollo of the Bow, could not prevail against the deadly shaft, already on its way: and yet his will,
compellant, acted to retard its flight, so that it cut no deeper than his heart. The rumors of an awful tragedy,— the wailings of sad Niobe's loved friends,— the terror of her grieving relatives,— all gave some knowledge of her sudden loss: but so bewildered and enraged her mind, that she could hardly realize the Gods had privilege to dare against her might. Nor would she, till her lord, Amphion, thrust his sword deep in his breast, by which his life and anguish both were ended in dark night.
Alas, proud Niobe, once haughty queen! Proud Niobe who but so lately drove her people from Latona's altars, while, moving majestic through the midst, she hears their plaudits, now so bitterly debased, her meanest enemy may pity her!— She fell upon the bodies of her sons, and in a frenzy of maternal grief, kissed their unfeeling lips. Then unto Heaven with arms accusing, railed upon her foe: “Glut your revenge! Latona, glut your rage! Yea, let my lamentations be your joy!
Go—satiate your flinty heart with death! Are not my seven sons all dead? Am I not waiting to be carried to my grave?— exult and triumph, my victorious foe! Victorious? Nay!—Much more remains to me in all my utmost sorrow, than to you, you gloater upon vengeance—Undismayed, I stand victorious in my Field of Woe!” no sooner had she spoken, than the cord twanged from the ever-ready bow; and all who heard the fatal sound, again were filled with fear,—save Niobe, in misery bold,—
defiant in misfortune.—Clothed in black, the sisters of the stricken brothers stood, with hair disheveled, by the funeral biers. And one while plucking from her brother's heart a shaft, swooned unto death, fell on her face— on her dear brother's corpse. Another girl, while she consoled her mother, suddenly, was stricken with an unseen, deadly wound; and doubled in convulsions, closed her lips, tight held them, till both breath and life were lost. Another, vainly rushed away from death— she met it, and pitched head-first to the ground;
and still another died upon her corse, another vainly sought a secret death, and, then another slipped beyond's life's edge. So, altogether, six of seven died— each victim, strickened in a different way. One child remained. Then in a frenzy-fear the mother, as she covered her with all her garments and her body, wailed—“Oh, leave me this one child! the youngest of them all! My darling daughter—only leave me one!” But even while she was entreating for its life— the life was taken from her only child.
Childless— she crouched beside her slaughtered sons, her lifeless daughters, and her husband's corpse. The breeze not even moved her fallen hair, a chill of marble spread upon her flesh, beneath her pale, set brows, her eyes moved not, her bitter tongue turned stiff in her hard jaws, her lovely veins congealed, and her stiff neck and rigid hands could neither bend nor move.— her limbs and body, all were changed to stone. Yet ever would she weep: and as her tears were falling she was carried from the place, enveloped in a storm and mighty wind,
far, to her native land, where fixed upon a mountain summit she dissolves in tears,— and to this day the marble drips with tears. All men and women, after this event, feared to incur Latona's fateful wrath, and worshiped with more zeal the Deity, mother of twins.—And, as it is the way of men to talk of many other things after a strong occurrence, they recalled what other deeds the goddess had performed;— and one of them recited this event: 'Twas in the ancient days of long-ago,—
some rustics, in the fertile fields of Lycia, heedless, insulted the goddess to their harm:— perhaps you've never heard of this event, because those country clowns were little known. The event was wonderful, but I can vouch the truth of it. I visited the place and I have seen the pool of water, where happened the miracle I now relate. My good old father, then advanced in years, incapable of travel, ordered me to fetch some cattle—thoroughbreds—from there, and had secured a Lycian for my guide,
as I traversed the pastures, with the man, it chanced, I saw an ancient altar,—grimed with sacrificial ashes—in the midst of a large pool, with sedge and reeds around, a-quiver in the breeze. And there my guide stood on the marge, and with an awe-struck voice began to whisper, “Be propitious, hear my supplications, and forget not me!” And I, observing him, echoed the words, “Forget not me!” which, having done, I turned to him and said, “Whose altar can this be? Perhaps a sacred altar of the Fauns,
or of the Naiads, or a native God?” To which my guide replied, “Young man, such Gods may not be worshiped at this altar. She whom once the royal Juno drove away to wander a harsh world, alone permits this altar to be used: that goddess whom the wandering Isle of Delos, at the time it drifted as the foam, almost refused a refuge. There Latona, as she leaned against a palm-tree—and against the tree most sacred to Minerva, brought forth twins,
although their harsh step-mother, Juno, strove to interfere.—And from the island forced to fly by jealous Juno, on her breast she bore her children, twin Divinities. At last, outwearied with the toil, and parched with thirst—long-wandering in those heated days over the arid land of Lycia, where was bred the dire Chimaera— at the time her parching breasts were drained, she saw this pool of crystal water, shimmering in the vale. Some countrymen were there to gather reeds, and useful osiers, and the bulrush, found
with sedge in fenny pools. To them approached Latona, and she knelt upon the merge to cool her thirst, with some refreshing water. But those clowns forbade her and the goddess cried, as they so wickedly opposed her need: “Why do you so resist my bitter thirst? The use of water is the sacred right of all mankind, for Nature has not made the sun and air and water, for the sole estate of any creature; and to Her kind bounty I appeal, although of you I humbly beg the use of it. Not here
do I intend to bathe my wearied limbs. I only wish to quench an urgent thirst, for, even as I speak, my cracking lips and mouth so parched, almost deny me words. A drink of water will be like a draught of nectar, giving life; and I shall owe to you the bounty and my life renewed.— ah, let these tender infants, whose weak arms implore you from my bosom, but incline your hearts to pity!” And just as she spoke, it chanced the children did stretch out their arms and who would not be touched to hear such words,
as spoken by this goddess, and refuse? But still those clowns persisted in their wrong against the goddess; for they hindered her, and threatened with their foul, abusive tongues to frighten her away—and, worse than all, they even muddied with their hands and feet the clear pool; forcing the vile, slimy dregs up from the bottom, in a spiteful way, by jumping up and down.—Enraged at this, she felt no further thirst, nor would she deign to supplicate again; but, feeling all the outraged majesty of her high state,
she raised her hands to Heaven, and exclaimed, “Forever may you live in that mud-pool!” The curse as soon as uttered took effect, and every one of them began to swim beneath the water, and to leap and plunge deep in the pool.—Now, up they raise their heads, now swim upon the surface, now they squat themselves around the marshy margent, now they plump again down to the chilly deeps. And, ever and again, with croaking throats, indulge offensive strife upon the banks, or even under water, boom abuse.
Their ugly voices cause their bloated necks to puff out; and their widened jaws are made still wider in the venting of their spleen. Their backs, so closely fastened to their heads, make them appear as if their shrunken necks have been cut off. Their backbones are dark green; white are their bellies, now their largest part.— Forever since that time, the foolish frogs muddy their own pools, where they leap and dive. So he related how the clowns were changed to leaping frogs; and after he was through, another told the tale of Marsyas, in these words:
The Satyr Marsyas, when he played the flute in rivalry against Apollo's lyre, lost that audacious contest and, alas! His life was forfeit; for, they had agreed the one who lost should be the victor's prey. And, as Apollo punished him, he cried, “Ah-h-h! why are you now tearing me apart? A flute has not the value of my life!” Even as he shrieked out in his agony, his living skin was ripped off from his limbs, till his whole body was a flaming wound, with nerves and veins and viscera exposed.
But all the weeping people of that land, and all the Fauns and Sylvan Deities, and all the Satyrs, and Olympus, his loved pupil—even then renowned in song, and all the Nymphs, lamented his sad fate; and all the shepherds, roaming on the hills, lamented as they tended fleecy flocks. And all those falling tears, on fruitful Earth, descended to her deepest veins, as drip the moistening dews,—and, gathering as a fount, turned upward from her secret-winding caves, to issue, sparkling, in the sun-kissed air,
the clearest river in the land of Phrygia,— through which it swiftly flows between steep banks down to the sea: and, therefore, from his name, 'Tis called “The Marsyas” to this very day. And after this was told, the people turned and wept for Niobe's loved children dead, and also, mourned Amphion, sorrow-slain. The Theban people hated Niobe, but Pelops, her own brother, mourned her death; and as he rent his garment, and laid bare his white left shoulder, you could see the part composed of ivory.—At his birth 'twas all
of healthy flesh; but when his father cut his limbs asunder, and the Gods restored his life, all parts were rightly joined, except part of one shoulder, which was wanting; so to serve the purpose of the missing flesh, a piece of ivory was inserted there, making his body by such means complete. The lords of many cities that were near, now met together and implored their kings to mourn with Pelops those unhappy deeds.— The lords of Argos; Sparta and Mycenae; and Calydon, before it had incurred
the hatred of Diana, goddess of the chase; fertile Orchomenus and Corinth, great in wealth of brass; Patrae and fierce Messena; Cleone, small; and Pylus and Troezen, not ruled by Pittheus then,—and also, all the other cities which are shut off by the Isthmus there dividing by its two seas, and all the cities which are seen from there. What seemed most wonderful, of all those towns Athens alone was wanting, for a war had gathered from the distant seas, a host of savage warriors had alarmed her walls,
and hindered her from mourning for the dead. Now Tereus, then the mighty king of Thrace, came to the aid of Athens as defense from that fierce horde; and there by his great deeds achieved a glorious fame. Since his descent was boasted from the mighty Gradivus, and he was gifted with enormous wealth, Pandion, king of Athens, gave to him in sacred wedlock his dear daughter, Procne. But Juno, guardian of the sacred rites attended not, nor Hymenaeus, nor the Graces. But the Furies snatched up brands
from burning funeral pyres, and brandished them as torches. They prepared the nuptial couch,— a boding owl flew over the bride's room, and then sat silently upon the roof. With such bad omens Tereus married her, sad Procne, and those omens cast a gloom on all the household till the fateful birth of their first born. All Thrace went wild with joy— and even they, rejoicing, blessed the Gods, when he, the little Itys, saw the light; and they ordained each year their wedding day, and every year the birthday of their child,
should be observed with festival and song: so the sad veil of fate conceals from us our future woes. Now Titan had drawn forth the changing seasons through five autumns, when, in gentle accents, Procne spoke these words: “My dearest husband, if you love me, let me visit my dear sister, or consent that she may come to us and promise her that she may soon return. If you will but permit me to enjoy her company my heart will bless you as I bless the Gods.”
At once the monarch ordered his long ships to launch upon the sea; and driven by sail, and hastened by the swiftly sweeping oars, they entered the deep port of Athens, where he made fair landing on the fortified Piraeus. There, when time was opportune to greet his father-in-law and shake his hand, they both exchanged their wishes for good health, and Tereus told the reason why he came. He was relating all his wife's desire. Promising Philomela's safe return from a brief visit, when Philomela appeared
rich in her costly raiment, yet more rich in charm and beauty, just as if a fair Dryad or Naiad should be so attired, appearing radiant, from dark solitudes. As if someone should kindle whitening corn or the dry leaves, or hay piled in a stack; so Tereus, when he saw the beautiful and blushing virgin, was consumed with love. Her modest beauty was a worthy cause of worthy love; but by his heritage, derived from a debasing clime, his love was base; and fires unholy burned within
from his own lawless nature, just as fierce as are the habits of his evil race. In the wild frenzy of his wicked heart, he thought he would corrupt her trusted maid, her tried attendants, and corrupt even her virtue with large presents: he would waste his kingdom in the effort.—He prepared to seize her at the risk of cruel war. And he would do or dare all things to feed his raging flame.—He could not brook delay. With most impassioned words he begged for her, pretending he gave voice to Procne's hopes.—
his own desire made him wax eloquent, as often as his words exceeded bounds, he pleaded he was uttering Procne's words. His hypocritic eyes were filled with tears, as though they represented her desire— and, O you Gods above, what devious ways are harbored in the hearts of mortals! Through his villainous desire he gathered praise, and many lauded him for the great love he bore his wife. And even Philomela desires her own undoing; and with fond
embraces nestles to her father, while she pleads for his consent, that she may go to visit her dear sister.—Tereus viewed her pretty pleading, and in his hot heart, imagined he was then embracing her; and as he saw her kiss her father's lips, her arms around his neck, it seemed that each caress was his; and so his fire increased. He even wished he were her father; though, if it were so, his passion would no less be impious.—Overcome at last by these entreaties, her kind father gave consent.
Greatly she joyed and thanked him for her own misfortune. She imagined a success, instead of all the sorrow that would come. The day declining, little of his toil remained for Phoebus. Now his flaming steeds were beating with their hoofs the downward slope of high Olympus; and the regal feast was set before the guests, and flashing wine was poured in golden vessels, and the feast went merrily, until the satisfied assembly sought in gentle sleep their rest. Not so, the love-hot Tereus, king of Thrace,
who, sleepless, imaged in his doting mind the form of Philomela, recalled the shape of her fair hands, and in his memory reviewed her movements. And his flaming heart pictured her beauties yet unseen.—He fed his frenzy on itself, and could not sleep. Fair broke the day; and now the ancient king, Pandion, took his son-in-law's right hand to bid farewell; and, as he wept, commended his dear daughter, Philomela, unto his guarding care. “And in your care, my son-in-law, I trust my daughter's health.
Good reason, grounded on my love, compels my sad approval. You have begged for her, and both my daughters have persuaded me. Wherefore, I do entreat you and implore your honor, as I call upon the Gods, that you will ever shield her with the love of a kind father and return her safe, as soon as may be—my last comfort given to bless my doting age. And all delay will agitate and vex my failing heart. “And, O my dearest daughter, Philomela, if you have any love for me, return
without too long delay and comfort me, lest I may grieve; for it is quite enough that I should suffer while your sister stays away.” The old king made them promise, and he kissed his daughter, while he wept. Then did he join their hands in pledge of their fidelity, and, as he gave his blessing, cautioned them to kiss his absent daughter and her son for his dear sake. Then as he spoke a last farewell, his trembling voice was filled with sobs. And he could hardly speak;—for a great fear from some vague intuition of his mind,
surged over him, and he was left forlorn. So soon as Philomela was safe aboard the painted ship and as the sailors urged the swiftly gliding keel across the deep and the dim land fast-faded from their view, then Tereus, in exultant humor, thought, “Now all is well, the object of my love sails with me while the sailors ply the oars.”, He scarcely could control his barbarous desire—with difficulty stayed his lust, he followed all her actions with hot eyes. — So, when the ravenous bird of Jupiter
has caught with crooked talons the poor hare, and dropped it—ruthless,—in his lofty nest, where there is no escape, his cruel eyes gloat on the victim he anticipates. And now, as Tereus reached his journey's end, they landed from the travel-wearied ship, safe on the shores of his own kingdom. Then he hastened with the frightened Philomela into most wild and silent solitudes of an old forest; where, concealed among deep thickets a forbidding old house stood: there he immured the pale and trembling maid,
who, vainly in her fright, began to call upon her absent sister,—and her tears implored his pity. His obdurate mind could not be softened by such piteous cries; but even while her agonizing screams implored her sister's and her father's aid, and while she vainly called upon the Gods, he overmastered her with brutal force.— The poor child trembled as a frightened lamb, which, just delivered from the frothing jaws of a gaunt wolf, dreads every moving twig. She trembled as a timid injured dove,
(her feathers dripping with her own life-blood) that dreads the ravening talons of a hawk from which some fortune has delivered her. But presently, as consciousness returned, she tore her streaming hair and beat her arms, and, stretching forth her hands in frenzied grief, cried out, “Oh, barbarous and brutal wretch! Unnatural monster of abhorrent deeds! Could not my anxious father's parting words, nor his foreboding tears restrain your lust? Have you no slight regard for your chaste wife, my dearest sister, and are you without
all honor, so to spoil virginity now making me invade my sister's claim, you have befouled the sacred fount of life,— you are a lawless bond of double sin! “Oh, this dark punishment was not my due! Come, finish with my murder your black deed, so nothing wicked may remain undone. But oh, if you had only slaughtered me before your criminal embrace befouled my purity, I should have had a shade entirely pure, and free from any stain! Oh, if there is a Majesty in Heaven,
and if my ruin has not wrecked the world, then, you shall suffer for this grievous wrong and time shall hasten to avenge my wreck. “I shall declare your sin before the world, and publish my own shame to punish you! And if I'm prisoned in the solitudes, my voice will wake the echoes in the wood and move the conscious rocks. Hear me, O Heaven! And let my imprecations rouse the Gods— ah-h-h, if there can be a god in Heaven!” Her cries aroused the dastard tyrant's wrath, and frightened him, lest ever his foul deed
might shock his kingdom: and, roused at once by rage and guilty fear; he seized her hair, forced her weak arms against her back, and bound them fast with brazen chains, then drew his sword. When she first saw his sword above her head. Flashing and sharp, she wished only for death, and offered her bare throat: but while she screamed, and, struggling, called upon her father's name, he caught her tongue with pincers, pitiless, And cut it with his sword.—The mangled root still quivered, but the bleeding tongue itself, fell murmuring on the blood-stained floor. As the tail
of a slain snake still writhes upon the ground, so did the throbbing tongue; and, while it died, moved up to her, as if to seek her feet.— And, it is said that after this foul crime, the monster violated her again. And after these vile deeds, that wicked king returned to Procne, who, when she first met her brutal husband, anxiously inquired for tidings of her sister; but with sighs and tears, he told a false tale of her death, and with such woe that all believed it true. Then Procne, full of lamentation, took
her royal robe, bordered with purest gold, and putting it away, assumed instead garments of sable mourning; and she built a noble sepulchre, and offered there her pious gifts to an imagined shade;— lamenting the sad death of her who lived. A year had passed by since that awful date— the sun had coursed the Zodiac's twelve signs. But what could Philomela hope or do? For like a jail the strong walls of the house were built of massive stone, and guards around prevented flight; and mutilated, she
could not communicate with anyone to tell her injuries and tragic woe. But even in despair and utmost grief, there is an ingenuity which gives inventive genius to protect from harm: and now, the grief-distracted Philomela wove in a warp with purple marks and white, a story of the crime; and when 'twas done she gave it to her one attendant there and begged her by appropriate signs to take it secretly to Procne. She took the web, she carried it to Procne, with no thought
of words or messages by art conveyed. The wife of that inhuman tyrant took the cloth, and after she unwrapped it saw and understood the mournful record sent. She pondered it in silence and her tongue could find no words to utter her despair;— her grief and frenzy were too great for tears.— In a mad rage her rapid mind counfounded the right and wrong—intent upon revenge. Since it was now the time of festival, when all the Thracian matrons celebrate the rites of Bacchus—every third year thus—
night then was in their secret; and at night the slopes of Rhodope resounded loud with clashing of shrill cymbals. So, at night the frantic queen of Tereus left her home and, clothed according to the well known rites of Bacchus, hurried to the wilderness. Her head was covered with the green vine leaves; and from her left side native deer skin hung; and on her shoulder rested a light spear.— so fashioned, the revengeful Procne rushed through the dark woods, attended by a host of screaming followers, and wild with rage,
pretended it was Bacchus urged her forth. At last she reached the lonely building, where her sister, Philomela, was immured; and as she howled and shouted “Ee-woh-ee-e!”, She forced the massive doors; and having seized her sister, instantly concealed her face in ivy leaves, arrayed her in the trappings of Bacchanalian rites. When this was done, they rushed from there, demented, to the house where as the Queen of Tereus, Procne dwelt. When Philomela knew she had arrived at that accursed house, her countenance,
though pale with grief, took on a ghastlier hue: and, wretched in her misery and fright, she shuddered in convulsions.—Procne took the symbols, Bacchanalian, from her then, and as she held her in a strict embrace unveiled her downcast head. But she refused to lift her eyes, and fixing her sad gaze on vacant space, she raised her hand, instead; as if in oath she called upon the Gods to witness truly she had done no wrong, but suffered a disgrace of violence.— Lo, Procne, wild with a consuming rage,
cut short her sister's terror in these words, “This is no time for weeping! awful deeds demand a great revenge—take up the sword, and any weapon fiercer than its edge! My breast is hardened to the worst of crime make haste with me! together let us put this palace to the torch! “Come, let us maim, the beastly Tereus with revenging iron, cut out his tongue, and quench his cruel eyes, and hurl and burn him writhing in the flames! Or, shall we pierce him with a grisly blade,
and let his black soul issue from deep wounds a thousand.—Slaughter him with every death imagined in the misery of hate!” While Procne still was raving out such words, Itys, her son, was hastening to his mother; and when she saw him, her revengeful eyes conceiving a dark punishment, she said, “Aha! here comes the image of his father!” She gave no other warning, but prepared to execute a horrible revenge. But when the tender child came up to her, and called her “mother”, put his little arms
around her neck, and when he smiled and kissed her often, gracious in his cunning ways,— again the instinct of true motherhood pulsed in her veins, and moved to pity, she began to weep in spite of her resolve. Feeling the tender impulse of her love unnerving her, she turned her eyes from him and looked upon her sister, and from her glanced at her darling boy again. And so, while she was looking at them both, by turns, she said, “Why does the little one prevail with pretty words, while Philomela stands
in silence always, with her tongue torn out? She cannot call her sister, whom he calls his mother! Oh, you daughter of Pandion, consider what a wretch your husband is! The wife of such a monster must be flint; compassion in her heart is but a crime.” No more she hesitated, but as swift as the fierce tigress of the Ganges leaps, seizes the suckling offspring of the hind, and drags it through the forest to its lair; so, Procne seized and dragged the frightened boy to a most lonely section of the house;
and there she put him to the cruel sword, while he, aware of his sad fate, stretched forth his little hands, and cried, “Ah, mother,—ah!—” And clung to her—clung to her, while she struck— her fixed eyes, maddened, glaring horribly— struck wildly, lopping off his tender limbs. But Philomela cut through his tender throat. Then they together, mangled his remains, still quivering with the remnant of his life, and boiled a part of him in steaming pots, that bubbled over with the dead child's blood, and roasted other parts on hissing spits.
And, after all was ready, Procne bade her husband, Tereus, to the loathsome feast, and with a false pretense of sacred rites, according to the custom of her land, by which, but one man may partake of it, she sent the servants from the banquet hall.— Tereus, majestic on his ancient throne high in imagined state, devoured his son, and gorged himself with flesh of his own flesh— and in his rage of gluttony called out for Itys to attend and share the feast! Curst with a joy she could conceal no more,
and eager to gloat over his distress, Procne cried out, “Inside yourself, you have the thing that you are asking for!” — Amazed, he looked around and called his son again:— that instant, Philomela sprang forth—her hair disordered, and all stained with blood of murder, unable then to speak, she hurled the head of Itys in his father's fear-struck face, and more than ever longed for fitting words. The Thracian Tereus overturned the table, and howling, called up from the Stygian pit,
the viperous sisters. Tearing at his breast, in miserable efforts to disgorge the half-digested gobbets of his son, he called himself his own child's sepulchre, and wept the hot tears of a frenzied man. Then with his sword he rushed at the two sisters. Fleeing from him, they seemed to rise on wings, and it was true, for they had changed to birds. Then Philomela, flitting to the woods, found refuge in the leaves: but Procne flew straight to the sheltering gables of a roof— and always, if you look, you can observe
the brand of murder on the swallow's breast— red feathers from that day. And Tereus, swift in his great agitation, and his will to wreak a fierce revenge, himself is turned into a crested bird. His long, sharp beak is given him instead of a long sword, and so, because his beak is long and sharp, he rightly bears the name of Hoopoe. Before the number of his years was told, Pandion with the shades of Tartarus, because of this, has wandered in sad dooms. Erectheus, next in line, with mighty sway
and justice, ruled all Athens on the throne left vacant by the good Pandion's death. Four daughters and four sons were granted him; and of his daughters, two were beautiful, and one of these was wed to Cephalus, grandson of Aeolus. — But mighty Boreas desired the hand of Orithyia, fair and lovable.—King Tereus and the Thracians were then such obstacles to Boreas the god was long kept from his dear beloved. Although the great king (who compels the cold north-wind) had sought with prayers to win her hand,
and urged his love in gentleness, not force. When quite aware his wishes were disdained, he roughly said, with customary rage and violence: “Away with sentimental talk! My prayers and kind intentions are despised, but I should blame nobody but myself; then why should I, despising my great strength, debase myself to weakness and soft prayers?— might is my right, and violence my strength!— by force I drive the force of gloomy clouds. “Tremendous actions are the wine of life!— monarch of Violence, rolling on clouds,
I toss wide waters, and I fell huge trees— knotted old oaks—and whirled upon ice-wings, I scatter the light snow, and pelt the Earth with sleet and hail! I rush through boundless voids. My thunders rumble in the hollow clouds— and crash upon my brothers—fire to fire! “Possessed of daemon-rage, I penetrate, sheer to the utmost caverns of old Earth; and straining, up from those unfathomed deeps, scatter the terror-stricken shades of hell; and hurl death-dealing earthquakes through the world! “Such are the fateful powers I should use,
and never trust entreaties to prevail, or win my bride—Force is the law of life!” And now impetuous Boreas, having howled resounding words, unrolled his rustling wings— that fan the earth and ruffle the wide sea— and, swiftly wrapping untrod mountain peaks in whirling mantles of far-woven dust, thence downward hovered to the darkened world; and, canopied in artificial night of swarthy overshadowing wings, caught up the trembling Orithyia to his breast: nor did he hesitate in airy course
until his huge wings fanned the chilling winds around Ciconian Walls. There, she was pledged the wife of that cold, northern king of storms; and unto him she gave those hero twins, endowed with wings of their immortal sire, and graceful in their mother's form and face. Their bird-like wings were not fledged at their birth and those twin boys, Zetes and Calais, at first were void of feathers and soft down. But when their golden hair and beards were grown, wings like an eagle's came;—and feather-down
grew golden on their cheeks: and when from youth they entered manhood, quick they were to join the Argonauts, who for the Golden Fleece, sought in that first ship, ventured on the sea.
Book 7
Over the storm-tossed waves, the Argonauts had sailed in Argo, their long ship to where King Phineus, needy in his old age, reigned— deprived of sight and feeble. When the sons of Boreas had landed on the shore, and seen the Harpies snatching from the king his nourishment, befouling it with beaks obscene, they drove those human-vultures thence. And having suffered hardships and great toils, after the day they rescued the sad king from the vile Harpies, those twin valiant youths, Zetes and Calais came with their chief,
the mighty Jason, where the Phasis flows. From the green margin of that river, all the crew of Argonauts, by Jason led, went to the king Aeetes and required the Golden Fleece, that he received from Phryxus. When they had bargained with him, full of wiles he offered to restore the Golden Fleece only to those who might to him return, victorious from hard labors of great risk. Medea, the king's daughter, near his throne, saw Jason, leader of the Argonauts, as he was pressing to secure a prize—
and loved at sight with a consuming flame. Although she struggled to suppress her love, unable to restrain herself, she said, “In vain I've striven to subdue my heart: some god it must be, which I cannot tell, is working to destroy my hapless life; or else it is the burning flame of love that in me rages. If it is not love, why do the mandates of my father seem too harsh? They surely are too harsh. Why do I fear that he may perish whom I have seen only once? What is the secret cause
that I am agitated by such fears?— It is no other than the god of Love. “Thrust from your virgin breast such burning flames and overcome their hot unhappiness— if I could do so, I should be myself: but some deluding power is holding me helpless against my will. Desire persuades me one way, but my reason still persuades another way. I see a better course and I approve, but follow its defeat. — “O royal maiden, why are you consumed with love for this strange man, and why are you
so willing to be carried by the nuptial ties so far from your own country, where, indeed, are many brave men worthy of your love? “Whether for life or death his numbered hours are in the mercy of the living Gods, and that he may not suffer risk of death, too well foreseen, now let my prayers prevail— righteously uttered of a generous heart without the stress of love. What wicked thing has Jason done? His handsome person, youth, and noble ways, would move a heart of stone. “Have I a heart of flint, or was I born
a tigress to deny him timely aid?— Unless I interpose, he will be slain by the hot breath of brazen-footed bulls, or will be slaughtered by the warriors, sprung miraculous from earth, or will be given to satisfy the ravenous appetite of a huge dragon. “Let my gloating eyes be satiate with his dying agonies! Let me incite the fury of these bulls! Stir to their blood-lust mad-born sons of Earth! Rouse up the never-sleeping dragon's rage!—
“Avert it Gods!— “But why should I cry out upon the Gods to save him from such wrong, when, by my actions and my power, myself may shield him from all evils? “Such a course would wreck the kingdom of my father—and by me the wily stranger would escape from him; and spreading to the wind his ready sails he would forget and leave me to my fate.— Oh, if he should forget my sacrifice, and so prefer those who neglected him,
let him then perish in his treachery.— “But these are idle thoughts: his countenance, reveals innate nobility and grace, that should dispel all fear of treachery, and guarantee his ever-faithful heart. The Gods will witness our united souls, and he shall pledge his faith. Secure of it my fear will be removed. Be ready, then— and make a virtue of necessity: your Jason owes himself to you; and he must join you in true wedlock. Then you shall be celebrated through the land of Greece,
by throngs of women, for the man you saved. “Shall I then sail away, and so forsake my sister, brother, father, Gods, and land that gave me birth? My father is indeed a stern man, and my native land is all too barbarous; my brother is a child,— my sister's goodwill is good help for me; and heaven's supreme god is within my breast. “I shall not so be leaving valued hopes, but will be going surely to great things. And I should gain applause from all the world, as having saved the threatened Argonauts,
most noble of the Greeks; and in their land, which certainly is better than my own, become the bride of Jason, for whose love I should not hesitate to give the world— and in whose love the living Gods rejoice so greatly; for his sake they would bestow their favors on my head, and make the stars my habitation. “Should I hesitate because the wreck-strewn mountains bar the way, and clash together in the Euxine waves; or fear Charybdis, fatal to large ships,
that sucks the deep sea in its whirling gulf and spouts far upward, with alternate force, or Scylla, circled with infuriate hounds howling in rage from deep Sicilian waves? “Safe in the shielding arms of him I love, on Jason's bosom leaning, I shall be borne safely over wide and hostile seas; and in his dear embrace forget my fears— or if for anything I suffer dread, it will be only for the one I love.— “Alas, Medea, this vain argument has only furnished plausible excuse
for criminal desires, and desecrates the marriage rite. It is a wicked thing to think upon. Before it is too late forget your passion and deny this guilt.” And after she had said these words, her eyes were opened to the prize of modesty, chaste virtue, and a pure affection: and Cupid, vanquished, turned away and fled. Then, to an ancient altar of the goddess named Hecate, Perse's daughter took her way in the deep shadows of a forest. She was strong of purpose now, and all the flames
of vanquished passion had died down; but when she saw the son of Aeson, dying flames leaped up again. Her cheeks grew red, then all her face went pale again; as a small spark when hid beneath the ashes, if fed by a breath of wind grows and regains its strength, as it is fanned to life; so now her love that had been smoldering, and which you would have thought was almost dead, when she had see again his manly youth, blazed up once more. For on that day his graceful person seemed as glorious as a God;—and as she gazed,
and fixed her eyes upon his countenance, her frenzy so prevailed, she was convinced that he was not a mortal. And her eyes were fascinated; and she could not turn away from him. But when he spoke to her, and promised marriage, grasping her right hand: she answered, as her eyes suffused with tears; “I see what I will do, and ignorance of truth will not be my undoing now, but love itself. By my assistance you shall be preserved; but when preserved fulfill your promise.”
He swore that she could trust in him. Then by the goddess of the triple form, Diana, Trivia, or Luna called, and by her sacred groves and fanes, he vowed, and by the hallowed Sun that sees all things, and by his own adventures, and his life,— on these the youthful Jason took his oath.— With this she was assured and quickly gave to him the magic herbs: he learnt their use and full of joy withdrew into his house. Now when the dawn had dimmed the glittering stars, the people hastened to the sacred field
of Mars, and on the hills expectant stood.— Arrayed in purple, and in majesty distinguished by his ivory sceptre, sat the king, surrounded by a multitude. Below them on the visioned Field of Mars, huge brazen-footed bulls were breathing forth from adamantine nostrils living flames, blasting the verdant herbage in their path! As forges glowing with hot flames resound, or as much quick-lime, burnt in earthen kilns, crackles and hisses as if mad with rage, sprinkled with water, liberating heat;
so their hot throats and triple-heated sides, resounding told of pent-up fires within. The son of Aeson went to meet them. As he came to meet them the fierce animals turned on him faces terrible, and sharp horns tipped with iron, and they pawed the dusty earth with cloven feet, and filled the place with fiery bellowings. The Minyans were stark with fear; he went up to the bulls not feeling their hot breath at all, so great the power of his charmed drugs; and while he was stroking their down-hanging dewlaps with
a fearless hand, he placed the yoke down on their necks and made them draw the heavy plow, and cut through fields that never felt the steel before. The Colchians were amazed and silent; but the loud shouting of the Minyans increased their hero's courage. Taking then the serpent's teeth out of a brazen helmet he sowed them broadcast in the new-plowed field. The moist earth softened these seeds that were steeped in virulent poison and the teeth swelled up and took new forms. And just as in its mother an infant gradually assumes the form
of man, and is perfected through all parts within, and does not come forth to the light till fully formed; so, when the forms of men had been completed in the womb of earth made pregnant, they rose up from it, and what is yet more wonderful, each one clashed weapons that had been brought forth with him. When his companions saw the warriors turn as if with one accord, to hurl their spears, sharp-pointed, at the head of Jason, fear unnerved the boldest and their courage failed. So, too, the maid whose sorcery had saved
him from much danger, when she saw the youth encompassed by those raging enemies, and he alone against so many—struck with sudden panic, she turned ashen white, her bloodless cheeks were blanched; and chilled with fear she wilted to the ground; and lest the herbs, so lately given him, might fail his need she added incantations and invoked mysterious arts. While she protected him He seized upon a heavy stone, and hurled it in the midst of his new enemies— distracted by this cast, and murderous,
they turned from him, and clashing their new arms, those earth-born brothers fought among themselves till all were slaughtered in blood-thirsty strife. Gladly the Greeks acclaimed him conqueror, and pressed around him for the first embrace. Then, too, Medea, barbarous Colchian maid, although her modesty restrained her heart, eagerly longed to fold him in her arms, but careful of her good name, held aloof,— rejoicing in deep, silent love; and she acknowledged to the Gods her mighty gift of incantations.
But the dragon, still alert,—magnificent and terrible with gorgeous crest and triple tongue, and fangs barbed as a javelin, guards the Golden Fleece: and Jason can obtain that quest only if slumber may seal up the monster's eyes.— Jason, successful, sprinkled on his crest Lethean juices of a magic herb, and then recited thrice the words which bring deep slumber, potent words which would becalm the storm-tossed ocean, and would stop the flow of the most rapid rivers of our earth:
and slowly slumber sealed the dragon's eyes. While that great monster slept, the hero took the Golden Fleece; and proudly sailed away bearing his treasure and the willing maid, (whose aid had saved him) to his native port Iolcus—victorious with the Argonauts. Now when the valiant Argonauts returned to Thessaly, their happy relatives, fathers and mothers, praised the living Gods; and with their hallowed gifts enhanced the flames with precious incense; and they offered Jove a sacred bullock, rich with gilded horns.
But Jason's father, Aeson, came not down rejoicing to behold his son, for now worn out with many years, he waited death. And Jason to Medea grieving said: “Dearest, to whom my life and love are due, although your kindness has been great to me, and you have granted more than I should ask, yet one thing more I beg of you; if your enchantments can accomplish my desire, take from my life some years that I should live and add them to my father's ending days.”— And as he spoke he could not check his tears.
Medea, moved by his affection, thought how much less she had grieved for her loved sire: and she replied:—“A wicked thing you ask! Can I be capable of using you in such a manner as to take your life and give it to another? Ask not me a thing so dreadful! May the Gods forbid!— I will endeavor to perform for you a task much greater. By the powers of Night I will most certainly return to him the lost years of your father, but must not deprive you of your own. — Oh grant the power,
great goddess of the triple form, that I may fail not to accomplish this great deed!” Three nights were wanting for the moon to join her circling horns and form a perfect orb. When these were passed, the rounded light shone full and bright upon the earth.—Through the still night alone, Medea stole forth from the house with feet bare, and in flowing garment clothed— her long hair unadorned and not confined. Deep slumber has relaxed the world, and all that's living, animals and birds and men, and even the hedges and the breathing leaves
are still—and motionless the laden air. Only the stars are twinkling, and to them she looks and beckons with imploring hands. Now thrice around she paces, and three times besprinkles her long hair with water dipt from crystal streams, which having done she kneels a moment on the cold, bare ground, and screaming three times calls upon the Night,— “O faithful Night, regard my mysteries! O golden-lighted Stars! O softly-moving Moon— genial, your fire succeeds the heated day! O Hecate! grave three-faced queen of these
charms of enchanters and enchanters, arts! O fruitful Earth, giver of potent herbs! O gentle Breezes and destructive Winds! You Mountains, Rivers, Lakes and sacred Groves, and every dreaded god of silent Night! Attend upon me!— “When my power commands, the rivers turn from their accustomed ways and roll far backward to their secret springs! I speak—and the wild, troubled sea is calm, and I command the waters to arise! The clouds I scatter—and I bring the clouds;
I smooth the winds and ruffle up their rage; I weave my spells and I recite my charms; I pluck the fangs of serpents, and I move the living rocks and twist the rooted oaks; I blast the forests. Mountains at my word tremble and quake; and from her granite tombs the liberated ghosts arise as Earth astonished groans! From your appointed ways, O wonder-working Moon, I draw you down against the magic-making sound of gongs and brazen vessels of Temesa's ore; I cast my spells and veil the jeweled rays
of Phoebus' wain, and quench Aurora's fires. “At my command you tamed the flaming bulls which long disdained to bend beneath the yoke, until they pressed their necks against the plows; and, subject to my will, you raised up war till the strong company of dragon-birth were slaughtered as they fought amongst themselves; and, last, you lulled asleep the warden's eyes— guards of the Golden Fleece—till then awake and sleeping never—so, deceiving him, you sent the treasure to the Grecian cities! “Witness my need of super-natured herbs,
elixirs potent to renew the years of age, giving the bloom of youth.—You shall not fail to grant me this; for not in vain the stars are flashing confirmation; not in vain the flying dragons, harnessed by their necks, from skies descending bring my chariot down.” A chariot, sent from heaven, came to her— and soon as she had stroked the dragons' necks, and shaken in her hands the guiding reins— as soon as she had mounted, she was borne quickly above, through unresisting air. And, sailing over Thessaly, she saw
the vale of Tempe, where the level soil is widely covered with a crumbling chalk— she turned her dragons towards new regions there: and she observed the herbs by Ossa born, the weeds on lofty Pelion, Othrys, Pindus and vast Olympus—and from here she plucked the needed roots, or there, the blossoms clipped all with a moon-curved sickle made of brass— many the wild weeds by Apidanus, as well as blue Amphrysus' banks, she chose, and not escaped Enipeus from her search; Peneian stretches and Spercheian banks
all yielded what she chose:—and Boebe's shore where sway the rushes; and she plucked up grass, a secret grass, from fair Euboean fields life-giving virtues in their waving blades, as yet unknown for transformation wrought on Glaucus. All those fields she visited, with ceaseless diligence in quest of charms, nine days and nine nights sought strong herbs, and the swift dragons with their active wings, failed not to guide the chariot where she willed— until they reached her home. The dragons then
had not been even touched by anything, except the odor of surrounding herbs, and yet they sloughed their skins, the growth of years. She would not cross the threshold of her home nor pass its gates; but, standing in the field, alone beneath the canopy of Heaven, she shunned all contact with her husband, while she built up from the ever-living turf two altars, one of which upon the right to Hecate was given, but the one upon the left was sacred then to you, O Hebe, goddess of eternal youth!
Festooning woodland boughs and sweet vervain adorned these altars, near by which she dug as many trenches. Then, when all was done, she slaughtered a black ram, and sprinkled with blood the thirsty trenches; after which she poured from rich carchesian goblets generous wine and warm milk, grateful to propitious Gods— the Deities of earth on whom she called— entreating, as she did so, Pluto, lord of ghostly shades, and ravished Proserpine, that they should not, in undue haste, deprive her patient's aged limbs of life.
When certain she compelled the God's regard, assured her incantations and long prayers were both approved and heard, she bade her people bring out the body of her father-in-law— old Aeson's worn out body—and when she had buried him in a deep slumber by her spells, as if he were a dead man, she then stretched him out upon a bed of herbs. She ordered Jason and his servants thence, and warned them not to spy upon her rites, with eyes profane. As soon as they retired, Medea, with disheveled hair and wild
abandon, as a Bacchanalian, paced times three around the blazing altars, while she dipped her torches, splintered at the top, into the trenches, dark: with blood, and lit the dipt ends in the sacred altar flames. Times three she purified the ancient man with flames, and thrice with water, and three times with sulphur,—as the boiling mixture seethed and bubbled in the brazen cauldron near. And into this, acerbic juices, roots, and flowers and seeds—from vales Hemonian— and mixed elixirs, into which she cast
stones of strange virtue from the Orient, and sifted sands of ebbing ocean's tide; white hoar-frost, gathered when the moon was full, the nauseating flesh and luckless wings of the uncanny screech-owl, and the entrails from a mysterious animal that changed from wolf to man, from man to wolf again; the scaly sloughing of a water-snake, the medic liver of a long-lived stag, and the hard beak and head of an old crow which was alive nine centuries before; these, and a thousand nameless things
the foreign sorceress prepared and mixed, and blended all together with a branch of peaceful olive, old and dry with years. — And while she stirred the withered olive branch in the hot mixture, it began to change from brown to green; and presently put forth new leaves, and soon was heavy with a wealth of luscious olives.—As the ever-rising fire threw bubbling froth beyond the cauldron's rim, the ground was covered with fresh verdure — flowers and all luxuriant grasses, and green plants. Medea, when she saw this wonder took
her unsheathed knife and cut the old man's throat; then, letting all his old blood out of him she filled his ancient veins with rich elixir. As he received it through his lips or wound, his beard and hair no longer white with age, turned quickly to their natural vigor, dark and lustrous; and his wasted form renewed, appeared in all the vigor of bright youth, no longer lean and sallow, for new blood coursed in his well-filled veins.—Astonished, when released from his deep sleep, and strong in youth, his memory assured him, such he was
years four times ten before that day!— Bacchus, from his celestial vantage saw this marvel, and convinced his nurses might then all regain their former vigor, he pled with Medea to restore their youth. The Colchian woman granted his request. but so her malice might be satisfied Medea feigned she had a quarrel with her husband, and for safety she had fled to Pelias. There, since the king himself was heavy with old age, his daughters gave her generous reception. And these girls
the shrewd Medea in a short time won, by her false show of friendliness; and while among the most remarkable of her achievements she was telling how she had rejuvenated Aeson, and she dwelt particularly, on that strange event, these daughters were induced to hope that by some skill like this their father might regain his lost youth also. And they begged of her this boon, persuading her to name the price; no matter if it was large. She did not reply at once and seemed to hesitate,
and so she held their fond minds in a deep suspense by her feigned meditation. When she had at length declared she would restore his youth, she said to them: “That you may have strong confidence in this my promised boon, the oldest leader of your flock of sheep shall be changed to a lamb again by my prized drugs.” Straightway a wooly ram, worn out with length of untold years was brought, his great horns curved around his hollow temples. After she had cut his scrawny throat with her sharp knife Thessalian, barely staining it with his
thin blood, Medea plunged his carcass in a bronze-made kettle, throwing in it at the same time juices of great potency. These made his body shrink and burnt away his two horns, and with horns his years. And now thin bleating was heard from within the pot; and even while they wondered at the sound, a lamb jumped out and frisking, ran away to find some udder with its needed milk. Amazed the daughters looked on and, now that these promises had been performed, they urged more eagerly their first request. Three times
Phoebus unyoked his steeds after their plunge in Ebro's stream, and on the fourth night stars shown brilliant on the dark foil of the sky, and then the treacherous daughter of Aeetes set some clear water over a hot fire and put in it herbs of no potency. And now a death-like sleep held the king down, his body all relaxed, and with the king his guards, a sleep which incantations with the potency of magic words had given. The sad king's daughters, as they had been bid, were in his room, and with Medea stood
around his bed. “Why do you hesitate,” Medea said. “You laggards, come and draw your swords; let out his old blood that I may refill his empty veins again with young blood. In your hands your father's life and youth are resting. You, his daughters, must have love for him, and if the hopes you have are not all vain, come, do your duty by your father; drive out old age at the point of your good weapons; and let out his blood enfeebled—cure him with the stroke of iron.” Spurred on by these words, as each one of them
was filial she became the leader in the most unfilial act, and that she might not be most wicked did the wicked deed. Not one could bear to see her own blows, so they turned their eyes away; and every face averted so, they blindly struck him with their cruel hands. The old man streaming with his blood, still raised himself on elbow, and half mangled tried to get up from his bed; with all those swords around him, he stretched out his pale arms and he cried: “What will you do, my daughters? What has armed you to the death
of your loved father?” Their wrong courage left them, and their hands fell. When he would have said still more, Medea cut his throat and plunged his mangled body into boiling water. Only because her winged dragons sailed swiftly with her up to the lofty sky, escaped Medea punishment for this unheard of crime. Her chariot sailed above embowered Pelion — long the lofty home of Chiron—over Othrys, and the vale made famous where Cerambus met his fate.
Cerambus, by the aid of nymphs, from there was wafted through the air on wings, when earth was covered by the overwhelming sea— and so escaped Deucalion's flood, uncrowned. She passed by Pittane upon the left, with its huge serpent-image of hard stone, and also passed the grove called Ida's, where the stolen bull was changed by Bacchus' power into a hunted stag—in that same vale Paris lies buried in the sand; and over fields where Mera warning harked, Medea flew; over the city of Eurypylus
upon the Isle of Cos, whose women wore the horns of cattle when from there had gone the herd of Hercules; and over Rhodes beloved of Phoebus, where Telchinian tribes dwelt, whose bad eyes corrupting power shot forth;— Jove, utterly despising, thrust them deep beneath his brother's waves; over the walls of old Carthaea, where Alcidamas had seen with wonder a tame dove arise from his own daughter's body. And she saw the lakes of Hyrie in Teumesia's Vale,
by swans frequented—There to satisfy his love for Cycnus, Phyllius gave two living vultures: shell for him subdued a lion, and delivered it to him; and mastered a great bull, at his command; but when the wearied Phyllius refused to render to his friend the valued bull. Indignant, the youth said, “You shall regret your hasty words;” which having said, he leaped from a high precipice, as if to death; but gliding through the air, on snow-white wings, was changed into a swan—Dissolved in tears,
his mother Hyrie knew not he was saved; and weeping, formed the lake that bears her name. And over Pleuron, where on trembling wings escaped the mother Combe from her sons, Medea flew; and over the far isle Calauria, sacred to Latona.—She beheld the conscious fields whose lawful king, together with his queen were changed to birds. Upon her right Cyllene could be seen; there Menephon, degraded as a beast, outraged his mother. In the distance, she beheld Cephisius, who lamented long
his hapless grandson, by Apollo changed into a bloated sea-calf. And she saw the house where king Eumelus mourned the death of his aspiring son.—Borne on the wings of her enchanted dragons, she arrived at Corinth, whose inhabitants, 'tis said, from many mushrooms, watered by the rain sprang into being. There she spent some years. But after the new wife had been burnt by the Colchian witchcraft and two seas had seen the king's own palace all aflame,
then, savagely she drew her sword, and bathed it in the blood of her own infant sons; by which atrocious act she was revenged; and she, a wife and mother, fled the sword of her own husband, Jason. On the wings of her enchanted Titan Dragons borne, she made escape, securely, nor delayed until she entered the defended walls of great Minerva's city, at the hour when aged Periphas — transformed by Jove, together with his queen, on eagle wings
flew over its encircling walls: with whom the guilty Halcyone, skimming seas safely escaped, upon her balanced wings. And after these events, Medea went to Aegeus, king of Athens, where she found protection from her enemies for all this evil done. With added wickedness Aegeus, after that, united her to him in marriage.— All unknown to him came Theseus to his kingly court.—Before the time his valor had established peace
on all the isthmus, raved by dual seas. Medea, seeking his destruction, brewed the juice of aconite, infesting shores of Scythia, where, 'tis fabled, the plant grew on soil infected by Cerberian teeth. There is a gloomy entrance to a cave, that follows a declivitous descent: there Hercules with chains of adamant dragged from the dreary edge of Tartarus that monster-watch-dog, Cerberus, which, vain opposing, turned his eyes aslant from light— from dazzling day. Delirious, enraged,
that monster shook the air with triple howls; and, frothing, sprinkled as it raved, the fields, once green—with spewing of white poison-foam. And this, converted into plants, sucked up a deadly venom with the nourishment of former soils,—from which productive grew upon the rock, thus formed, the noxious plant; by rustics, from that cause, named aconite. Medea worked on Aegeus to present his own son, Theseus, with a deadly cup of aconite; prevailing by her art so that he deemed his son an enemy.
Theseus unwittingly received the cup, but just before he touched it to his lips, his father recognized the sword he wore, for, graven on its ivory hilt was wrought a known device—the token of his race. Astonished, Aegeus struck the poison-cup from his devoted son's confiding lips. Medea suddenly escaped from death, in a dark whirlwind her witch-singing raised. Recoiling from such utter wickedness, rejoicing that his son escaped from death, the grateful father kindled altar-fires,
and gave rich treasure to the living Gods. — He slaughtered scores of oxen, decked with flowers and gilded horns. The sun has never shone upon a day more famous in that land, for all the elders and the common folk united in festivities,—with wine inspiring wit and song;—“O you,” they sang, “Immortal Theseus, victory was yours! Did you not slaughter the huge bull of Crete? “Yes, you did slay the boar of Cromyon — where now the peasant unmolested plows; “And Periphetes, wielder of the club,
was worsted when he struggled with your strength; “And fierce Procrustes, matched with you beside the rapid river, met his death; “And even Cercyon, in Eleusis lost his wicked life—inferior to your might; “And Sinis, a monstrosity of strength, who bent the trunks of trees, and used his might “Against the world for everything that's wrong. For evil, he would force down to the earth, “Pine tops to shoot men's bodies through the air. Even the road to Megara is safe, “For you did hurl the robber Scyron,—sheer—
over the cliff. Both land and sea denied “His bones a resting place—as tossed about they changed into the cliffs that bear his name. “How can we tell the number of your deeds,— deeds glorious, that now exceed your years! “For you, brave hero, we give public thanks and prayers; to you we drain our cups of wine!” And all the palace rings with happy songs, and with the grateful prayers of all the people. And sorrow in that city is not known.— But pleasure always is alloyed with grief, and sorrow mingles in the joyous hour.
While the king Aegeus and his son rejoiced, Minos prepared for war. He was invincible in men and ships—and stronger in his rage to wreak due vengeance on the king who slew his son Androgeus. But first he sought some friends to aid his warfare; and he scoured the sea with a swift fleet—which was his strength. Anaphe and Astypalaea, both agreed to join his cause—the first one moved by promises, the second by his threats. Level Myconus and the chalky fields of Cimolus agreed to aid, and Syros
covered with wild thyme, level Seriphos, Paros of marble cliffs, and that place which Arne the impious Siphnian had betrayed, who having got the gold which in her greed she had demanded, was changed to a bird which ever since that day imagines gold its chief delight—a black-foot black-winged daw. But Oliarus, Didymae, and Tenos, Gyaros, Andros, and Peparethos rich in its glossy olives, gave no aid to the strong Cretan fleet. Sailing from them Minos went to Oenopia, known realm
of the Aeacidae.—Men of old time had called the place Oenopia; but Aeacus styled it Aegina from his mother's name. At his approach an eager rabble rushed resolved to see and know so great a man. Telamon met him, and his brother, younger than Telamon, and Phocus who was third in age. Even Aeacus appeared, slow with the weight of years, and asked him what could be a reason for his coming there. The ruler of a hundred cities, sighed, as he beheld the sons of Aeacus,
for they reminded him of his lost son;— and heavy with his sorrow, he replied: “I come imploring you to take up arms, and aid me in the war against my foes; for I must give that comfort to the shade of my misfortuned son—whose blood they shed.” But Aeacus replied to Minos, “Nay, it is a vain request you make, for we are bound in strict alliance to the land and people of Cecropia.” Full of rage, because he was denied, the king of Crete,
Minos, as he departed from their shores replied, “Let such a treaty be your bane.” And he departed with his crafty threat, believing it expedient not to waste his power in wars until the proper time. Before the ships of Crete had disappeared, before the mist and blue of waves concealed their fading outlines from the anxious throng which gathered on Oenopian shores, a ship of Athens covered with wide sails appeared, and anchored safely by their friendly shore; and, presently, the mighty Cephalus,
well known through all that nation for his deeds, addressed them as he landed, and declared the good will of his people. Him the sons of Aeacus remembered well, although they had not seen him for some untold years. They led him to their father's welcome home; and with him, also, his two comrades went, Clytus and Butes. Center of all eyes, the hero still retained his charm, the customary greetings were exchanged, the graceful hero, bearing in his hands
a branch of olive from his native soil, delivered the Athenian message, which requested aid and offered for their thought the treaty and the ancestral league between their nations. And he added, Minos sought not only conquest of the Athenian state but sovereignty of all the states of Greece. And when this eloquence had shown his cause; with left hand on his gleaming sceptre's hilt, King Aeacus exclaimed: “Ask not our aid, but take it, Athens; and count boldly yours all of the force this island holds, and all
things which the state of my affairs supplies. My strength for this war is not light, and I have many soldiers for myself and for my enemy. Thanks to the Gods! the times are happy, giving no excuse for my refusal.” “May it prove so,” Cephalus replied, “and may your city multiply in men: just now as I was landing, I rejoiced to meet youths, fair and matched in age. And yet I miss among them many whom I saw before when last I visited your city.” Aeacus then groaned and with
sad voice replied: “With weeping we began, but better fortune followed. Would that I could tell the last of it, and not the first! Giving my heart command that simple words and briefly spoken may not long detain. Those happy youths who waited at your need, who smiled upon you and for whom you ask, because their absence grieves your noble mind, they've perished! and their bleaching bones or scattered ashes, only may remain, sad remnants, impotent, of vanished power, so recently my hope and my resource.
“Because this island bears a rival's name, a deadly pestilence was visited on my confiding people, through the rage of jealous Juno flaming for revenge. This great calamity at first appeared a natural disease—but soon its power baffled our utmost efforts. Medicines availing not, a reign of terror swept from shore to shore and fearful havoc raged. “Thick darkness, gathered from descending skies, enveloped our devoted land with heat and languid sickness, for the space of full
four moons.—Four times the Moon increased her size. Hot south winds blew with pestilential breath upon us. At the same time the diseased infection reached our needed springs and pools, thousands of serpents crawling over our deserted fields, defiled our rivers with their poison. The swift power of the disease at first was limited to death of dogs and birds and cattle, or among wild beasts. The luckless plowman marvels when he sees his strong bulls fall while at their task and sink down in the furrow. Woolly flocks
bleat feebly while their wool falls off without a cause, and while their bodies pine away. The prized horse of high courage, and of great renown when on the race-course, has now lost victorious spirit, and forgetting his remembered glory groans in his shut stall, doomed for inglorious death. The boar forgets to rage, the stag to trust his speed; and even the famished bear to fight the stronger herd. “Death seizes on the vitals of all life; and in the woods, and in the fields and roads the loathsome bodies of the dead corrupt
the heavy-hanging air. Even the dogs, the vultures and the wolves refuse to touch the putrid flesh, there in the sultry sun rotting upon the earth; emitting steams, and exhalations, with a baneful sweep increasing the dread contagion's wide extent. So spreading, with renewed destruction gained from its own poison, the fierce pestilence appeared to leap from moulding carcases of all the brute creation, till it struck the wretched tillers of the soil, and then extended its dominion over all
this mighty city. “Always it began as if the patient's bowels were scorched with flames; red blotches on the body next appeared, and sharp pains in the lungs prevented breath. The swollen tongue would presently loll out, rough and discolored from the gaping mouth, wide-gasping to inhale the noxious air— and show red throbbing veins. The softest bed. And richest covering gave to none relief; but rather, the diseased would bare himself to cool his burning breast upon the ground,
only to heat the earth—and no relief returned. And no physician could be found; for those who ministered among the sick were first to suffer from the dread disease— the cruel malady broke out upon the very ones who offered remedies. The hallowed art of medicine became a deadly snare to those who knew it best. “The only safety was in flight; and those who were the nearest to the stricken ones, and who most faithfully observed their wants, were always first to suffer as their wards.
“And many, certain of approaching death, indulged their wicked passions—recklessly abandoned and without the sense of shame, promiscuously huddled by the wells, and rivers and cool fountains; but their thirst no water could assuage, and death alone was able to extinguish their desire. Too weak to rise, they die in water they pollute, while others drink its death. “A madness seizing on them made their beds become most irksome to their tortured nerves. Demented they could not endure the pain,
and leaped insanely forth. Or if too weak, the wretches rolled their bodies on the ground, insistent to escape from hated homes— imagined sources of calamity; for, since the cause was hidden and unknown, the horrible locality was blamed. Suspicion seizes on each frail presence as proof of what can never be resolved. “And many half-dead wretches staggered out on sultry roads as long as they could stand; and others weeping, stretched out on the ground, died in convulsions, as their rolling eyes
gazed upwards at the overhanging clouds; under the sad stars they breathed out their souls. “And oh, the deep despair that seized on me, the sovereign of that wretched people! I was tortured with a passionate desire to die the same death—And I hated life. “No matter where my shrinking eyes were turned, I saw a multitude of gruesome forms in ghastly attitudes bestrew the ground, scattered as rotten apples that have dropped from moving branches, or as acorns thick around a gnarled oak.
“Lift up your eyes! Behold that holy temple! unto Jove long dedicated!—What availed the prayers of frightened multitudes, or incense burned on those devoted altars?—In the midst of his most fervent supplications, the husband as he pled for his dear wife, or the fond father for his stricken son, would suddenly, before a word prevailed, die clutching at the altars of his Gods, while holding in his stiffened hand, a spray of frankincense still waiting for the fire.
How often sacrificial bulls have been brought to those temples, and while white-robed priest was pouring offered wine between their horns, have fallen without waiting for the stroke. “While I prepared a sacrifice to Jove, for my behalf, my country and three sons, the victim, ever moaning dismal sounds, before a blow was struck, fell suddenly beside the altar; and his scanty blood ran thinly from the knives that slaughtered him. His entrails, wanting all the marks of truth were so diseased, the warnings of the Gods
could not be read—the baneful malady had penetrated to the heart of life. “And I have seen the carcases of men lie rotting at the sacred temple gates, or by the very altars, where they fell, making death odious to the living Gods. And often I have seen some desperate man end life by his own halter, and so cheat by voluntary death his fear of death, in mad haste to outrun approaching fate. “The bodies of the dead, indecently were cast forth, lacking sacred funeral rites
as hitherto the custom. All the gates were crowded with processions of the dead. Unburied, they might lie upon the ground, or else, deserted, on their lofty pyres with no one to lament their dismal end, dissolve in their dishonored ashes. All restraint forgotten, a mad rabble fought and took possession of the burning pyres, and even the dead were ravished of their rest.— And who should mourn them wanting, all the souls of sons and husbands, and of old and young, must wander unlamented: and the land
sufficed not for the crowded sepulchers: and the dense forest was denuded of all trees. “Heart-broken at the sight of this great woe, I wailed, ‘O Jupiter! if truth were told of your sweet comfort in Aegina's arms, if you were not ashamed of me, your son, restore my people, or entomb my corpse, that I may suffer as the ones I love.’— Great lightning flashed around me, and the sound of thunder proved that my complaint was heard. Accepting it, I cried, ‘Let these, Great Jove, the happy signs of your assent, be shown
good omens given as a sacred pledge.’ “Near by, a sacred oak tree grown from seed brought thither from Dodona, spread abroad its branches thinly covered with green leaves; and creeping as an army, on the tree we saw a train of ants that carried grain, half-hidden in the deep and wrinkled bark. And while I wondered at the endless line I said, ‘Good father, give me citizens of equal number for my empty walls.’ Soon as I said those words, though not a wind was moving nor a breeze,—the lofty tree
began to tremble, and I heard a sound of motion in its branches. Wonder not that sudden fear possessed me; and my hair began to rise; and I could hardly stand for so my weak knees tottered!—As I made obeisance to the soil and sacred tree, perhaps I cherished in my heart a thought, that, not acknowledged, cheered me with some hope. “At night I lay exhausted by such thoughts, a deep sleep seized my body, but the tree seemed always present—to my gaze distinct with all its branches—I could even see
the birds among its leaves; and from its boughs, that trembled in the still air, moving ants were scattered to the ground in troops below; and ever, as they touched the soil, they grew larger and larger.—As they raised themselves, they stood with upright bodies, and put off their lean shapes; and absorbed their many feet: and even as their dark brown color changed, their rounded forms took on a human shape. “When my strange dream departed, I awoke, the vision vanished, I complained to Heaven against the idle comfort of such dreams;
but as I voiced my own lament, I heard a mighty murmur echoing through the halls of my deserted palace, and a multitude of voices in confusion; where the sound of scarce an echo had disturbed the still deserted chambers for so many days. “All this I thought the fancy of my dream, until my brave son Telamon, in haste threw open the closed doorway, as he called, ‘Come quickly father, and behold a sight beyond the utmost of your fondest dreams!’ I did go out, and there I saw such men
each in his turn, as I had seen transformed in that weird vision of the moving ants. “They all advanced, and hailed me as their king. So soon as I had offered vows to Jove, I subdivided the deserted farms, and dwellings in the cities to these men miraculously raised —which now are called my Myrmidons, —the living evidence of my strange vision. You have seen these men; and since that day, their name has been declared, ‘Decisive evidence.’ They have retained the well-known customs of the days before
their transformation. Patiently they toil; they store the profits of their labor; which they guard with valiant skill. They'll follow you to any war, well matched in years and courage, and I do promise, when this east wind turns, this wind that favored you and brought you here, and when a south wind favors our design, then my brave Myrmidons will go with you.” This narrative and many other tales had occupied the day. As twilight fell, festivities were blended in the night— the night, in turn, afforded sweet repose.
Soon as the golden Sun had shown his light, the east wind blowing still, the ships were stayed from sailing home. The sons of Pallas came to Cephalus, who was the elder called; and Cephalus together with the sons of Pallas, went to see the king. Deep sleep still held the king; and Phocus who was son of Aeacus, received them at the gate, instead of Telamon and Peleus who were marshalling the men for war. Into the inner court and beautiful apartments Phocus conducted the Athenians,
and they sat down together. Phocus then observed that Cephalus held in his hand a curious javelin with golden head, and shaft of some rare wood. And as they talked, he said; “It is my pleasure to explore the forest in the chase of startled game, and so I've learned the nature of rare woods, but never have I seen the match of this from which was fashioned this good javelin; it lacks the yellow tint of forest ash, it is not knotted like all corner-wood; although I cannot name the kind of wood,
my eyes have never seen a javelin-shaft so beautiful as this.” To him replied a friend of Cephalus; “But you will find its beauty is not equal to its worth, for whatsoever it is aimed against, its flight is always certain to the mark, nor is it subject to the shift of chance; and after it has struck, although no hand may cast it back, it certainly returns, bloodstained with every victim.” Then indeed,
was Phocus anxious to be told, whence came and who had given such a precious gift. And Cephalus appeared to tell him all; but craftily was silent on one strange condition of the fatal gift. As he recalled the mournful fate of his dear wife, his eyes filled up with tears. “Ah, pity me,” he said, “If Fate should grant me many years, I must weep every time that I regard this weapon which has been my cause of tears; the unforgiven death of my dear wife— ah, would that I had never handled it!
“My sweet wife, Procris!—if you could compare her beauty with her sister's—Orithyia's, (ravished by the blustering Boreas) you would declare my wife more beautiful. “'Tis she her sire Erectheus joined to me, 'Tis she the god Love also joined to me. They called me happy, and in truth I was, and all pronounced us so until the Gods decreed it otherwise. Two joyful months of our united love were almost passed, when, as the grey light of the dawn dispelled, upon the summit of Hymettus green,
Aurora, glorious in her golden robes, observed me busy with encircling nets, trapping the antlered deer. “Against my will incited by desire, she carried me away with her. Oh, let me not increase her anger, for I tell you what is true, I found no comfort in her lovely face! And, though she is the very queen of light, and reigns upon the edge of shadowy space where she is nourished on rich nectar-wine, adding delight to beauty, I could give
no heed to her entreaties, for the thought of my beloved Procris intervened; and only her sweet name was on my lips. “I told Aurora of our wedding joys and all refreshing joys of love — and my first union of my couch deserted now: “Enraged against me, then the goddess said: ‘Keep to your Procris, I but trouble you, ungrateful clown! but, if you can be warned, you will no longer wish for her!’ And so, in anger, she returned me to my wife. “Alas, as I retraced the weary way,
long-brooding over all Aurora said, suspicion made me doubtful of my wife, so faithful and so fair.—But many things reminding me of steadfast virtue, I suppressed all doubts; until the dreadful thought of my long absence filled my jealous mind: from which I argued to the criminal advances of Aurora; for if she, so lovely in appearance, did conceal such passion in the garb of innocence until the moment of temptation, how could I be certain of the purity
of even the strongest when the best are frail? “So brooding—every effort I devised to cause my own undoing. By the means of bribing presents, favored by disguise, I sought to win her guarded chastity. Aurora had disguised me, and her guile determined me to work in subtle snares. “Unknown to all my friends, I paced the streets of sacred Athens till I reached my home. I hoped to search out evidence of guilt: but everything seemed waiting my return; and all the household breathed an air of grief.
“With difficulty I, disguised, obtained an entrance to her presence by the use of artifices many: and when I there saw her, silent in her grief,—amazed, my heart no longer prompted me to test such constant love. An infinite desire took hold upon me. I could scarce restrain an impulse to caress and kiss her. Pale with grief that I was gone, her lovely face in sorrow was more beautiful—the world has not another so divinely fair. “Ah, Phocus, it is wonderful to think
of beauty so surpassing fair it seems more lovable in sorrow! Why relate to you how often she repulsed my feigned attempts upon her virtue? To each plea she said: ‘I serve one man: no matter where he may be I will keep my love for one.’ “Who but a man insane with jealousy, would doubt the virtue of a loving wife, when tempted by the most insidious wiles, whose hallowed honor was her husband's love? But I, not satisfied with proof complete, would not abandon my depraved desire
to poison the pure fountain I should guard;— increasing my temptations, I caused her to hesitate, and covet a rich gift. “Then, angered at my own success I said, discarding all disguise, ‘Behold the man whose lavish promise has established proof, the witness of your shameful treachery; your absent husband has returned to this!’ “Unable to endure a ruined home, where desecration held her sin to view, despairing and in silent shame she fled; and I, the author of that wickedness
ran after: but enraged at my deceit and hating all mankind, she wandered far in wildest mountains; hunting the wild game. “I grieved at her desertion; and the fires of my neglected love consumed my health; with greater violence my love increased, until unable to endure such pain, I begged forgiveness and acknowledged fault: nor hesitated to declare that I might yield, the same way tempted, if such great gifts had been offered to me. When I had made abject confession and she had avenged
her outraged feelings, she came back to me and we spent golden years in harmony. “She gave to me the hound she fondly loved, the very one Diana gave to her when lovingly the goddess had declared, ‘This hound all others shall excel in speed.’ Nor was that gift the only one was given by kind Diana when my wife was hers, as you may guess—this javelin I hold forth, no other but a goddess could bestow. “Would you be told the story of both gifts attend my words and you shall be amazed,
for never such another sad event has added sorrow to the grieving world. “After the son of Laius,—Oedipus,— had solved the riddle of the monster-sphinx, so often baffling to the wits of men, and after she had fallen from her hill, mangled, forgetful of her riddling craft; not unrevenged the mighty Themis brooked her loss. Without delay that goddess raised another savage beast to ravage Thebes, by which the farmer's cattle were devoured, the land was ruined and its people slain.
“Then all the valiant young men of the realm, with whom I also went, enclosed the field (where lurked the monster) in a mesh of many tangled nets: but not a strand could stay its onrush, and it leaped the crest of every barrier where the toils were set. “Already they had urged their eager dogs, which swiftly as a bird it left behind, eluding all the hunters as it fled. “At last all begged me to let slip the leash of straining Tempest; such I called the hound, my dear wife's present. As he tugged and pulled
upon the tightened cords, I let them slip: no sooner done, then he was lost to sight; although, wherever struck his rapid feet the hot dust whirled. Not swifter flies the spear, nor whizzing bullet from the twisted sling, nor feathered arrow from the twanging bow! “A high hill jutted from a rolling plain, on which I mounted to enjoy the sight of that unequalled chase. One moment caught, the next as surely free, the wild beast seemed now here now there, elusive in its flight; swiftly sped onward, or with sudden turn
doubled in circles to deceive or gain. With equal speed pursuing at each turn, the rapid hound could neither gain nor lose. Now springing forward and now doubling back, his great speed foiled, he snapped at empty air. “I then turned to my javelin's aid; and while I poised it in my right hand, turned away my gaze a moment as I sought to twine my practiced fingers in the guiding thongs; but when again I lifted up my eyes, to cast the javelin where the monster sped, I saw two marble statues standing there,
transformed upon the plain. One statue seemed to strain in attitude of rapid flight, the other with wide-open jaws was changed, just in the act of barking and pursuit. Surely some God—if any god controls— decreed both equal, neither could succeed.” Now after these miraculous events, it seemed he wished to stop, but Phocus said. “What charge have you against the javelin?” And Cephalus rejoined; “I must relate my sorrows last; for I would tell you first the story of my joys—'Tis sweet to think,
upon the gliding tide of those few years of married life, when my dear wife and I were happy in our love and confidence. No woman could allure me then from her; and even Venus could not tempt my love; all my great passion for my dearest wife was equalled by the passion she returned. “As early as the sun, when golden rays first glittered on the mountains, I would rise in youthful ardor, to explore the fields in search of game. With no companions, hounds, nor steeds nor nets, this javelin was alone
my safety and companion in my sport. “And often when my right hand felt its weight, a-wearied of the slaughter it had caused, I would come back to rest in the cool shade, and breezes from cool vales—the breeze I wooed, blowing so gently on me in the heat; the breeze I waited for; she was my rest from labor. I remember, ‘Aura come,’ I used to say, ‘Come soothe me, come into my breast most welcome one, and yes indeed, you do relieve the heat with which I burn.’ “And as I felt the sweet breeze of the morn,
as if in answer to my song, my fate impelled me further to declare my joy in song; “ ‘You are my comfort, you are my delight! Refresh me, cherish me, breathe on my face! I love you child of lonely haunts and trees!’ “Such words I once was singing, not aware of some one spying on me from the trees, who thought I sang to some beloved Nymph, or goddess by the name of Aura—so I always called the breeze.—Unhappy man! The meddling tell-tale went to Procris with a story of supposed unfaithfulness,
and slyly told in whispers all he heard. True love is credulous; (and as I heard the story) Procris in a swoon fell down. When she awakened from her bitter swoon, she ceased not wailing her unhappy fate, and, wretched, moaned for an imagined woe. “So she lamented what was never done! Her woe incited by a whispered tale, she feared the fiction of a harmless name! But hope returning soothed her wretched state; and now, no longer willing to believe such wrong, unless her own eyes saw it, she
refused to think her husband sinned. “When dawn had banished night, and I, rejoicing, ranged the breathing woods, victorious in the hunt paused and said, ‘Come Aura—lovely breeze— relieve my panting breast!’ It seemed I heard the smothered moans of sorrow as I spoke: but not conceiving harm, I said again; “ ‘Come here, oh my delight!’ And as those words fell from my lips, I thought I heard a soft sound in the thicket, as of moving leaves; and thinking surely 'twas a hidden beast,
I threw this winged javelin at the spot.— “It was my own wife, Procris, and the shaft was buried in her breast—‘Ah, wretched me!’ She cried; and when I heard her well-known voice, distracted I ran towards her,—only to find her bathed in blood, and dying from the wound of that same javelin she had given to me: and in her agony she drew it forth,— ah me! alas! from her dear tender side. “I lifted her limp body to my own, in these blood-guilty arms, and wrapped the wound with fragments of my tunic, that I tore
in haste to staunch her blood; and all the while I moaned, ‘Oh, do not now forsake me—slain by these accursed hands!’ “Weak with the loss of blood, and dying, she compelled herself to utter these few words, ‘It is my death; but let my eyes not close upon this life before I plead with you! — By the dear ties of sacred marriage; by your god and mine; and if my love for you can move your heart; and even by the cause of my sad death,— my love for you increasing as I die,—
ah, put away that Aura you have called, that she may never separate your soul,— your love from me.’ “So, by those dying words I knew that she had heard me call the name of Aura, when I wished the cooling breeze, and thought I called a goddess,—cause of all her jealous sorrow and my bitter woe “Alas, too late, I told her the sad truth; but she was sinking, and her little strength swiftly was ebbing with her flowing blood. As long as life remained her loving gaze
was fixed on mine; and her unhappy life at last was breathed out on my grieving face. It seemed to me a look of sweet content was in her face, as if she feared not death.” In tears he folds these things; and, as they wept in came the aged monarch, Aeacus, and with the monarch his two valiant sons, and troops, new-levied, trained to glorious arms.
Book 8
Now Lucifer unveiled the glorious day, and as the session of the night dissolved, the cool east wind declined, and vapors wreathed the moistened valleys. Veering to the south the welcome wind gave passage to the sons of Aeacus, and wafted Cephalus on his returning way, propitious; where before the wonted hour, they entered port. King Minos, while the fair wind moved their ship, was laying waste the land of Megara. He gathered a great army round the walls built by Alcathous, where reigned in splendor
King Nisus—mighty and renowned in war— upon the center of whose hoary head a lock of purple hair was growing.—Its proved virtue gave protection to his throne. Six times the horns of rising Phoebe grew, and still the changing fortune of the war was in suspense; so, Victory day by day between them hovered on uncertain wings. Within that city was a regal tower on tuneful walls; where once Apollo laid his golden harp; and in the throbbing stone the sounds remained. And there, in times of peace
the daughter of king Nisus loved to mount the walls and strike the sounding stone with pebbles: so, when the war began, she often viewed the dreadful contest from that height; until, so long the hostile camp remained, she had become acquainted with the names, and knew the habits, horses and the arms of many a chief, and could discern the signs of their Cydonean quivers. More than all, the features of King Minos were engraved upon the tablets of her mind. And when
he wore his helmet, crested with gay plumes, she deemed it glorious; when he held his shield shining with gold, no other seemed so grand; and when he poised to hurl the tough spear home, she praised his skill and strength; and when he bent his curving bow with arrow on the cord, she pictured him as Phoebus taking aim,— but when, arrayed in purple, and upon the back of his white war horse, proudly decked with richly broidered housings, he reined in the nervous steed, and took his helmet off, showing his fearless features, then the maid,
daughter of Nisus, could control herself no longer; and a frenzy seized her mind. She called the javelin happy which he touched, and blessed were the reins within his hand. She had an impulse to direct her steps, a tender virgin, through the hostile ranks, or cast her body from the topmost towers into the Gnossian camp. She had a wild desire to open to the enemy the heavy brass-bound gates, or anything that Minos could desire. And as she sat
beholding the white tents, she cried, “Alas! Should I rejoice or grieve to see this war? I grieve that Minos is the enemy of her who loves him; but unless the war had brought him, how could he be known to me? But should he take me for a hostage? That might end the war—a pledge of peace, he might keep me for his companion. “O, supreme of mankind! she who bore you must have been as beautiful as you are; ample cause for Jove to lose his heart.
“O, happy hour! If moving upon wings through yielding air, I could alight within the hostile camp in front of Minos, and declare to him my name and passion! “Then would I implore what dowry he could wish, and would provide whatever he might ask, except alone the city of my father. Perish all my secret hopes before one act of mine should offer treason to accomplish it. And yet, the kindness of a conqueror
has often proved a blessing, manifest to those who were defeated. Certainly the war he carries on is justified by his slain son. “He is a mighty king, thrice strengthened in his cause. Undoubtedly we shall be conquered, and, if such a fate awaits our city, why should he by force instead of my consuming love, prevail to open the strong gates? Without delay and dreadful slaughter, it is best for him to conquer and decide this savage war.
“Ah, Minos, how I fear the bitter fate should any warrior hurl his cruel spear and pierce you by mischance, for surely none can be so hardened to transfix your breast with purpose known.” Oh, let her love prevail to open for his army the great gates. Only the thought of it, has filled her soul; she is determined to deliver up her country as a dowry with herself, and so decide the war! But what avails this idle talk.
“A guard surrounds the gates, my father keeps the keys, and he alone is my obstruction, and the innocent account of my despair. Would to the Gods I had no father! Is not man the God of his own fortune, though his idle prayers avail not to compel his destiny? “Another woman crazed with passionate desires, which now inflame me, would not hesitate, but with a fierce abandon would destroy whatever checked her passion. Who is there with love to equal mine? I dare to go
through flames and swords; but swords and flames are not now needed, for I only need my royal father's lock of purple hair. More precious than fine gold, it has a power to give my heart all that it may desire.” While Scylla said this, night that heals our cares came on, and she grew bolder in the dark. And now it is the late and silent hour when slumber takes possession of the breast. Outwearied with the cares of busy day; then as her father slept, with stealthy tread she entered his abode, and there despoiled,
and clipped his fatal lock of purple hair. Concealing in her bosom the sad prize of crime degenerate, she at once went forth a gate unguarded, and with shameless haste sped through the hostile army to the tent of Minos, whom, astonished, she addressed: “Only my love has led me to this deed. The daughter of King Nisus, I am called the maiden Scylla. Unto you I come and offer up a power that will prevail against my country, and I stipulate no recompense except yourself. Take then
this purple hair, a token of my love.— Deem it not lightly as a lock of hair held idly forth to you; it is in truth my father's life.” And as she spoke she held out in her guilty hand the prize, and begged him to accept it with her love. Shocked at the thought of such a heinous crime, Minos refused, and said, “O execrable thing! Despised abomination of our time! May all the Gods forever banish you from their wide universe, and may the earth and the deep ocean be denied to you!
So great a monster shall not be allowed to desecrate the sacred Isle of Crete, where Jupiter was born.” So Minos spoke. Nevertheless he conquered Megara, (so aided by the damsel's wicked deed) and as a just and mighty king imposed his own conditions on the vanquished land. He ordered his great fleet to tarry not; the hawsers were let loose, and the long oars quickly propelled his brazen-pointed ships.— When Scylla saw them launching forth, observed them sailing on the mighty deep,
she called with vain entreaties; but at last, aware the prince ignored her and refused to recompense her wickedness, enraged, and raving, she held up her impious hands, her long hair streaming on the wind, — and said: “Oh, wherefore have you flown, and left behind the author of your glory. Oh, wretch! wretch to whom I offered up my native land, and sacrificed my father! Where have you now flown, ungrateful man whose victory is both my crime and virtue? And the gift presented to you, and my passion,
have these not moved you? All my love and hope in you alone! “Forsaken by my prince, shall I return to my defeated land? If never ruined it would shut its walls against me.—Shall I seek my father's face whom I delivered to all-conquering arms? My fellow-citizens despise my name; my friends and neighbors hate me; I have shut the world against me, only in the hope that Crete would surely welcome me;—and now, he has forbidden me.
“And is it so I am requited by this thankless wretch! Europa could not be your mother! Spawn of cruel Syrtis! Savage cub of fierce Armenian tigress;—or Charybdis, tossed by the wild South-wind begot you! Can you be the son of Jupiter? Your mother was not ever tricked by the false semblance of a bull. All that story of your birth is false! You are the offspring of a bull as fierce as you are! “Let your vengeance fall
upon me, O my father Nisus, let the ruined city I betrayed rejoice at my misfortunes—richly merited— destroy me, you whom I have ruined;—I should perish for my crimes! But why should you, who conquered by my crime, abandon me? The treason to my father and my land becomes an act of kindness in your cause. “That woman is a worthy mate for you who hid in wood deceived the raging bull, and bore to him the infamy of Crete. I do not wonder that Pasiphae
preferred the bull to you, more savage than the wildest beast. Alas, alas for me! “Do my complaints reach your unwilling ears? Or do the same winds waft away my words that blow upon your ships, ungrateful man?— Ah, wretched that I am, he takes delight in hastening from me. The deep waves resound as smitten by the oars, his ship departs; and I am lost and even my native land is fading from his sight. “Oh heart of flint! you shall not prosper in your cruelty,
and you shall not forget my sacrifice; in spite of everything I follow you! I'll grasp the curving stern of your swift ship, and I will follow through unending seas.” And as she spoke, she leaped into the waves, and followed the receding ships—for strength from passion came to her. And soon she clung unwelcome, to the sailing Gnossian ship. Meanwhile, the Gods had changed her father's form and now he hovered over the salt deep, a hawk with tawny wings. So when he saw his daughter clinging to the hostile ship
he would have torn her with his rending beak;— he darted towards her through the yielding air. In terror she let go, but as she fell the light air held her from the ocean spray; her feather-weight supported by the breeze; she spread her wings, and changed into a bird. They called her “Ciris” when she cut the wind, and “Ciris”—cut-the-lock—remains her name. King Minos, when he reached the land of Crete and left his ships, remembered he had made a vow to Jupiter, and offered up a hundred bulls.—The splendid spoils of war
adorned his palace.— Now the infamous reproach of Crete had grown, till it exposed the double-natured shame. So, Minos, moved to cover his disgrace, resolved to hide the monster in a prison, and he built with intricate design, by Daedalus contrived, an architect of wonderful ability, and famous. This he planned of mazey wanderings that deceived the eyes, and labyrinthic passages involved. so sports the clear Maeander, in the fields
of Phrygia winding doubtful; back and forth it meets itself, until the wandering stream fatigued, impedes its wearied waters' flow; from source to sea, from sea to source involved. So Daedalus contrived innumerous paths, and windings vague, so intricate that he, the architect, hardly could retrace his steps. In this the Minotaur was long concealed, and there devoured Athenian victims sent three seasons, nine years each, till Theseus, son of Aegeus, slew him and retraced his way, finding the path by Ariadne's thread.
Without delay the victor fled from Crete, together with the loving maid, and sailed for Dia Isle of Naxos, where he left the maid forlorn, abandoned. Her, in time, lamenting and deserted, Bacchus found and for his love immortalized her name. He set in the dark heavens the bright crown that rested on her brows. Through the soft air it whirled, while all the sparkling jewels changed to flashing fires, assuming in the sky between the Serpent-holder and the Kneeler the well-known shape of Ariadne's Crown.
But Daedalus abhorred the Isle of Crete— and his long exile on that sea-girt shore, increased the love of his own native place. “Though Minos blocks escape by sea and land.” He said, “The unconfined skies remain though Minos may be lord of all the world his sceptre is not regnant of the air, and by that untried way is our escape.” This said, he turned his mind to arts unknown and nature unrevealed. He fashioned quills and feathers in due order — deftly formed from small to large, as any rustic pipe
prom straws unequal slants. He bound with thread the middle feathers, and the lower fixed with pliant wax; till so, in gentle curves arranged, he bent them to the shape of birds. While he was working, his son Icarus, with smiling countenance and unaware of danger to himself, perchance would chase the feathers, ruffled by the shifting breeze, or soften with his thumb the yellow wax, and by his playfulness retard the work his anxious father planned. But when at last
the father finished it, he poised himself, and lightly floating in the winnowed air waved his great feathered wings with bird-like ease. And, likewise he had fashioned for his son such wings; before they ventured in the air he said, “My son, I caution you to keep the middle way, for if your pinions dip too low the waters may impede your flight; and if they soar too high the sun may scorch them. Fly midway. Gaze not at the boundless sky, far Ursa Major and Bootes next. Nor on Orion with his flashing brand,
but follow my safe guidance.” As he spoke he fitted on his son the plumed wings with trembling hands, while down his withered cheeks the tears were falling. Then he gave his son a last kiss, and upon his gliding wings assumed a careful lead solicitous. As when the bird leads forth her tender young, from high-swung nest to try the yielding air; so he prevailed on willing Icarus; encouraged and instructed him in a]l the fatal art; and as he waved his wings
looked backward on his son. Beneath their flight, the fisherman while casting his long rod, or the tired shepherd leaning on his crook, or the rough plowman as he raised his eyes, astonished might observe them on the wing, and worship them as Gods. Upon the left they passed by Samos, Juno's sacred isle; Delos and Paros too, were left behind; and on the right Lebinthus and Calymne, fruitful in honey. Proud of his success,
the foolish Icarus forsook his guide, and, bold in vanity, began to soar, rising upon his wings to touch the skies; but as he neared the scorching sun, its heat softened the fragrant wax that held his plumes; and heat increasing melted the soft wax— he waved his naked arms instead of wings, with no more feathers to sustain his flight. And as he called upon his father's name his voice was smothered in the dark blue sea, now called Icarian from the dead boy's name. The unlucky father, not a father, called,
“Where are you, Icarus?” and “Where are you? In what place shall I seek you, Icarus?” He called again; and then he saw the wings of his dear Icarus, floating on the waves; and he began to rail and curse his art. He found the body on an island shore, now called Icaria, and at once prepared to bury the unfortunate remains; but while he labored a pert partridge near, observed him from the covert of an oak, and whistled his unnatural delight. Know you the cause? 'Twas then a single bird,
the first one of its kind. 'Twas never seen before the sister of Daedalus had brought him Perdix, her dear son, to be his pupil. And as the years went by the gifted youth began to rival his instructor's art. He took the jagged backbone of a fish, and with it as a model made a saw, with sharp teeth fashioned from a strip of iron. And he was first to make two arms of iron, smooth hinged upon the center, so that one would make a pivot while the other, turned, described a circle. Wherefore Daedalus
enraged and envious, sought to slay the youth and cast him headlong from Minerva's fane,— then spread the rumor of an accident. But Pallas, goddess of ingenious men, saving the pupil changed him to a bird, and in the middle of the air he flew on feathered wings; and so his active mind— and vigor of his genius were absorbed into his wings and feet; although the name of Perdix was retained. The Partridge hides in shaded places by the leafy trees
its nested eggs among the bush's twigs; nor does it seek to rise in lofty flight, for it is mindful of its former fall. Wearied with travel Daedalus arrived at Sicily,—where Cocalus was king; and when the wandering Daedalus implored the monarch's kind protection from his foe, he gathered a great army for his guest, and gained renown from an applauding world. Now after Theseus had destroyed in Crete the dreadful monster, Athens then had ceased to pay her mournful tribute; and with wreaths
her people decked the temples of the Gods; and they invoked Minerva, Jupiter, and many other Gods whom they adored, with sacrifice and precious offerings, and jars of Frankincense. Quick-flying Fame had spread reports of Theseus through the land; and all the peoples of Achaia, from that day, when danger threatened would entreat his aid. So it befell, the land of Calydon, through Meleager and her native hero, implored the valiant Theseus to destroy
a raging boar, the ravage of her realm. Diana in her wrath had sent the boar to wreak her vengeance; and they say the cause was this:—The nation had a fruitful year, for which the good king Oeneus had decreed that all should offer the first fruits of corn to Ceres—and to Bacchus wine of grapes— and oil of olives to the golden haired Minerva. Thus, the Gods were all adored, beginning with the lowest to the highest, except alone Diana, and of all the Gods her altars only were neglected. No
frankincense unto her was given! Neglect enrages even Deities. “Am I to suffer this indignity?” she cried, “Though I am thus dishonored, I will not be unrevenged!” And so the boar was sent to ravage the fair land of Calydon. And this avenging boar was quite as large as bulls now feeding on the green Epirus, and larger than the bulls of Sicily. A dreadful boar.—His burning, bloodshot eyes seemed coals of living fire, and his rough neck
was knotted with stiff muscles, and thick-set with bristles like sharp spikes. A seething froth dripped on his shoulders, and his tusks were like the spoils of Ind. Discordant roars reverberated from his hideous jaws; and lightning—belched forth from his horrid throat— scorched the green fields. He trampled the green corn and doomed the farmer to lament his crops, in vain the threshing-floor has been prepared, in vain the barns await the promised yield. Long branches of the vine and heavy grapes are scattered in confusion, and the fruits
and branches of the olive tree, whose leaves should never wither, are cast on the ground. His spleen was vented on the simple flocks, which neither dogs nor shepherd could protect; and the brave bulls could not defend their herds. The people fled in all directions from the fields, for safety to the cities. Terror reigned. There seemed no remedy to save the land, till Meleager chose a band of youths, united for the glory of great deeds. What heroes shall immortal song proclaim? Castor and Pollux, twins of Tyndarus;
one famous for his skill in horsemanship, the other for his boxing. Jason, too, was there, the glorious builder of the world's first ship, and Theseus with his friend Perithous, and Toxeus and Plexippus, fated sons of Thestius, and the son of Aphareus, Lynkeus with his fleet-foot brother Idas and Caeneus, first a woman then a man the brave Leucippus and the argonaut Acastus, swift of dart; and warlike Dryas, Hippothous and Phoenix, not then blind, the son of King Amyntor, and the twain
who sprung from Actor, Phyleus thither brought from Elis; Telamon was one of them and even Peleus, father of the great Achilles; and the son of Pheres joined, and Iolas, the swift Eurytion, Echion fleet of foot, Narycian Lelex— and Panopeus, and Hyleus and Hippasus, and Nestor (youthful then), and the four sons Hippocoon from eld Amyclae sent, the father-in-law of queen Penelope, Ancaeus of Arcadia, and the wise soothsayer Mopsus, and the prophet, son
of Oeclus, victim of a traitor-wife.— And Atalanta, virgin of the groves, of Mount Lycaeus, glory of her sex; a polished buckle fastened her attire; her lustrous hair was fashioned in a knot; her weapons rattled in an ivory case, swung from her white left shoulder, and she held a bow in her left hand. Her face appeared as maidenly for boy, or boyish for girl. When Meleager saw her, he at once longed for her beauty, though some god forbade. The fires of love flamed in him; and he said,
“Happy the husband who shall win this girl!” Neither the time nor his own modesty permitted him to say another word. But now the dreadful contest with the boar engaged this hero's energy and thought. A wood, umbrageous, not impaired with age, slopes from a plain and shadows the wide fields, and there this band of valiant heroes went— eager to slay the dreaded enemy, some spread the nets and some let loose the dogs, some traced the wide spoor of the monster's hoofs. There is a deep gorge where the rivulets
that gather from the rain, discharge themselves; and there the bending willow, the smooth sedge, the marsh-rush, ozier and tall tangled reed in wild profusion cover up the marsh. Aroused from this retreat the startled boar, as quick as lightning from the clashing clouds crashed all the trees that cumbered his mad way.— The young men raised a shout, leveled their spears, and brandished their keen weapons; but the boar rushed onward through the yelping dogs, and scattered them with deadly sidelong stroke. Echion was the first to hurl his spear,
but slanting in its course it only glanced a nearby maple tree, and next the spear of long-remembered Jason cut the air; so swiftly hurled it seemed it might transfix the boar's back, but with over-force it sped beyond the monster. Poising first his dart, the son of Ampyx, as he cast it, he implored Apollo, “Grant my prayer if I have truly worshiped you, harken to me as always I adore you! Let my spear unerring strike its aim.” Apollo heard, and guided the swift spear, but as it sped
Diana struck the iron head from the shaft, and the blunt wood fell harmless from his hide. Then was the monster's savage anger roused; as the bright lightning's flash his red eyes flamed; his breath was hot as fire. As when a stone is aimed at walls or strong towers, which protect encompassed armies,—launched by the taut rope it strikes with dreaded impact; so the boar with fatal onset rushed among this band of noble lads, and stretched upon the ground Eupalamon and Pelagon whose guard was on the right; and their companions bore
their bodies from the field. Another youth, the brave son of Hippocoon received a deadly wound—while turning to escape, the sinew of his thigh was cut and failed to bear his tottering steps.— And Nestor might have perished then, so long before he fought the heroes of old Troy, but ever wise, he vaulted on his long lance from the ground into the branches of a sheltering tree; where in a safe position, he could look
down on his baffled foe. The raging boar whetted his gleaming tushes on an oak. Then with his sharpened tusks he gored the thigh of mighty Hippasus. Observed of all, and mounted on their horses—whiter than the northern snow—the twins (long afterward transformed to constellations) sallied forth, and brandishing their lances, poised in air, determined to destroy the bristling boar. It thwarted their design by hiding in a thicket intricate; where neither steed nor lance could penetrate. But Telamon
pursued undaunted, and in haste tripped up by tangled roots, fell headlong.—Peleus stooped to rescue him. While he regained his feet, the virgin, Atalanta, took her bow and fitting a sharp arrow to the notch, twanged the tight cord. The feathered shaft quivered beneath the monster's ear, the red blood stained his hard bristles. Flushed with her success rejoiced the maid, but not more gladly than the hero Meleager. He it was
who first observed the blood, and pointed out the stain to his companions as he cried, “Give honor to the courage of a maid!” Unwilling to be worsted by a maid, the rushing heroes raised a mighty cry and as they shouted in excitement, hurled their weapons in confusion; and so great the multitude their actions interfered. Behold! Ancaeus wielding his war-axe, and rushing madly to his fate, exclaimed, “Witness it! See the weapons of a man excel a woman's! Ho, make way for my
achievement! Let Diana shield the brute! Despite her utmost effort my right hand shall slaughter him!” So mighty in his boast he puffed himself; and, lifting with both hands his double-edged axe, he stood erect, on tiptoe fiercely bold. The savage boar caught him, and ripped his tushes through his groin, a spot where death is sure.—Ancaeus fell; and his torn entrails and his crimson blood stained the fair verdure of the spot with death. Ixion's doughty son was running straight against the monster, shaking his long lance
with nervous vigor in his strong right hand; but Theseus, standing at a distance called: “Beware! beware, O, dearest of my friends; be valiant at a distance, or the fate of rashly-bold Ancaeus may be yours!” Even as he spoke he balanced in his hand his brazen-pointed lance of corner wood; with aim so true it seemed the great boar's death was certain, but an evergreen oak branch shielded the beast.—Then Jason hurled his dart, which turned by chance, transfixed a luckless dog and pinned him yelping, to the sanguine earth.—
So fared those heroes. Better fortune gave success to Meleager; first he threw a spear that missed and quivered in the ground; but next he hurled a spear with certain aim. It pierced the middle of the monster's back; and rushing in upon the dreaded beast, while raging it was whirling round and round, the fearless prince provoked to greater rage the wounded adversary. Bloody froth dripped down his champing jaws—his purple blood poured from a rankling wound. Without delay the mighty Meleager plunged a spear
deep in the monster's shoulder. All his friends raised a glad shout, and gathering round him, tried to grasp his hand.—With wonder they beheld the monster's bulk stretched out upon the plain; and fearful still to touch him, they began to stain their weapons in his spouting blood. At length the hero Meleager pressed his conquering foot upon the monster's head and said, “O Atalanta, glorious maid, of Nonacris, to you is yielded spoil, my lawful right, and I rejoice to share the merit of this glorious victory.”
And while he spoke, he gave to her the pelt, covered with horrid bristles, and the head frightful with gory tusks: and she rejoiced in Meleager and his royal gift. But all the others, envious, began to murmur; and the sons of Thestius levelled their pointed spears, and shouted out; “Give up the prize! Let not the confidence of your great beauty be a snare to you! A woman should not interfering filch the manly honors of a mighty hunt! Aside! and let your witless lover yield!”
So threatened they and took from her the prize; and forcibly despoiled him of his rights. The warlike prince, indignant and enraged,— rowed with resentment, shouted out. “What! Ho! You spoilers of this honor that is ours, brave deeds are different far from craven threats!” And with his cruel sword he pierced the breast of rash Plexippus, taken unawares, and while his brother, Toxeus, struck with fear, stood hesitating whether to avenge or run to safety, Meleager plunged the hot sword, smoking with a brother's blood,
in his breast also. And so perished they. Ere this, Althaea, mother of the prince, and sister of the slaughtered twain,—because her son had killed the boar, made haste to bear rich offerings to the temples of the Gods; but when she saw her slaughtered brothers borne in sad procession, she began to shriek, and filled the city with her wild lament. Unwilling to abide her festal robes she dressed in sable.—When she was informed her own son Meleager was the cause, she banished grief and lamentations,—
thirsting for vengeance. She remembered well, how, when she lay in childbirth round her stood the three attendant sisters of his fate. There was a billet in the room, and this they took and cast upon the wasting flames, and as they spun and drew the fatal threads they softly chanted, “Unto you we give, O child new-born! only the life of this; the period of this billet is your life.” And having spoken so, they vanished in the smoke. Althaea snatched the billet from the fire,
and having quenched it with drawn water, hid it long and secretly in her own room, where, thus preserved, it acted as a charm to save the life of Meleager. This the mother now brought forth, and fetched a pile of seasoned tinder ready for the torch. She lit the torches and the ready pile, and as the flames leaped up, four times prepared to cast the fatal billet in the midst; and four times hesitated to commit the dreadful deed,—so long the contest veered between the feelings of a mother's breast
and the fierce vengeance of a sister's rage. Now is the mother's visage pale with fear, and now the sister's sanguinary rage glows in her eyes. Her countenance contorts with cruel threats and in bewildered ways dissolves compassionate: And even when the heat of anger had dried up her eyes the conflict of her passion brought new tears. As when the wind has seized upon a ship and blows against a tide of equal force, the vexed vessel feels repellent powers, and with unsteady motion sways to both;
so did Althaea hesitate between the conflict of her passions: when her rage had cooled, her fury was as fast renewed: but always the unsatisfied desire of blood, to ease the disembodied shades of her slain brothers, seemed to overcome the mother-instinct; and intensity of conduct proved the utmost test of love. She took the billet in her arms and stood before the leaping flames, and said, “Alas, be this the funeral pyre of my own flesh!” And as she held in her relentless hand
the destiny of him she loved, and stood before the flames, in all her wretchedness she moaned, “You sad Eumenides attend! Relentless Gods of punishment,—turn, turn your dreadful vision on these baneful rites! I am avenging and committing crime! With death must death be justified and crime be added unto crime! Let funerals upon succeeding funerals attend! “Let these accumulating woes destroy a wicked race. Shall happy Oeneus bask in the great fame of his victorious son,
and Thestius mourn without slaughtered ones? 'Tis better they should both lament the deed! Witness the act of my affection, shades of my departed brothers! and accept my funeral offering, given at a cost beyond my strength to bear. Ah wretched me! Distracted is my reason! Pity me, the yearnings of a stricken mother's heart withholding me from duty! Aye, although his punishment be just, my hands refuse the office of such vengeance. What, shall he alive, victorious, flushed with his success,
inherit the broad realms of Calydon, and you, my slaughtered brothers, unavenged, dissolved in ashes, float upon the air, unpalpitating phantoms? How can I endure the thought of it? Oh let the wretch forever perish, and with him be lost the hopes of his sad father, in the wreck of his distracted kingdom. Where are now the love and feelings of a mother; how can I forget the bitter pangs endured while twice times five the slow moon waxed and waned? “O had you perished in your infancy
by those first fires, and I had suffered it! Your life was in my power! and now your death is the result of wrongs which you have done— take now a just reward for what you did: return to me the life I gave and saved. When from the flames I snatched the fatal brand. Return that gift or take my wretched life, that I may hasten to my brothers' tomb. “What dreadful deed can satisfy the law, when I for love against my love am forced? For even as my brothers' wounds appear in visions dreadful to denounce my son,
the love so nurtured in a mother's breast breaks down the resolution! Wretched me! Such vengeance for my brothers overcomes first at your birth I gave it, and again the yearning of a mother for her son! Let not my love denounce my vengeance! My soul may follow with its love the shade of him I sacrifice, and following him my shade and his and yours unite below.” She spoke and as she turned her face away, she threw the fatal billet on the fire, and as the flames devoured it, a strange groan
was heard to issue from the burning wood but Meleager at a distance knows of naught to wreck his hour of victory, until he feels the flame of burning wood scorching with secret fire his forfeit life. Yet with a mighty will, disdaining pain he grieves his bloodless and ignoble death. He calls Ancaeus happy for the wounds that caused his death. With sighs and groans he called his aged father's name, and then the names of brothers, sisters, and his wife—and last, they say he called upon his mother's name.
His torment always with the fire increased, until, as little of the wood remained,— his pain diminished with the heat's decrease; and as the flames extinguished, so his life slowly ascended in the rising air. And all the mighty realm of Calydon was filled with lamentations —young and old the common people and the nobles mourned; and all the wailing women tore their hair his father threw his body on the ground, and as he covered his white hair and face with ashy dust, bewailed his aged days.
Althaea, maddened in her mother's grief, has punished herself with a ruthless hand; she pierced her heart with iron. —Oh! if some God had given a resounding harp, a voice an hundred-fold more mighty, and a soul enlarged with genius, I could never tell the grief of his unhappy sisters.—They, regardless of all shame, beat on their breasts; before the body was consumed with fire, embraced it, and again embracing it, rained kisses on their loved one and the bier. And when the flames had burnt his shrinking form
they strained his gathered ashes to their breasts, and prostrate on the tomb kissed his dear name, cut only in the stone,—and bathed it with their tears Latona's daughter, glutted with the woes inflicted on Parthaon's house, now gave two of the weeping sisters wide-spread wings, but Gorge and the spouse of Hercules not so were changed. Latona stretched long wings upon their arms, transformed their mouths to beaks, and sent them winging through the lucent air. And Theseus, meantime, having done great deeds, was wending towards Tritonian Athen's towers,
but Achelous, swollen with great rains, opposed his journey and delayed his steps. “O famous son of Athens, come to me, beneath my roof, and leave my rapid floods; for they are wont to bear enormous beams, and hurl up heavy stones to bar the way,— mighty with roaring, down the steep ravines. And I have seen the sheep-folds on my banks swept down the flood, together with the sheep; and in the current neither strength availed the ox for safety, nor swift speed the horse. When rushed the melting snows from mountain peaks
how many bodies of unwary men this flood has overwhelmed in whirling waves! Rest safely then, until my river runs within its usual bounds—till it contains its flowing waters in its proper banks.” and gladly answered Theseus, “I will make good use of both your dwelling and advice.” And waiting not he entered a rude hut, of porous pumice and of rough stone built. The floor was damp and soft with springy moss, and rows of shells and murex arched the roof. And now Hyperion having measured quite
two thirds of daylight, Theseus and his friends reclined upon the couches.—On his right Ixion's son was placed, and on his left the gray-haired hero Lelex; and others deemed worthy by the Acarnanian-god who was so joyful in his noble guests. Without delay the barefoot nimble Nymphs attending to the banquet, rich food brought; and after all were satisfied with meat and dainties delicate, the careful Nymphs removed all traces of the feast, and served delicious wine in bowls embossed with gems.
And after they had eaten, Theseus arose, and as he pointed with his finger, said, “Declare to me what name that island bears, or is it one or more than one I see?” To which the ready River-God replied: “It is not one we see but five are there, deceptive in the distance. And that you may wonder less at what Diana did, those islands were five Naiads.—Long ago, ten bullocks for a sacrifice they slew; and when the joyous festival was given, ignoring me they bade all other Gods.
Indignant at the slight, I swelled with rage as great as ever when my banks are full,— and so redoubled both in rage and flood, I ravished woods from woods, and fields from fields, and hurled into the sea the very soil, together with the Nymphs, who then at last remembered their neglect. And soon my waves, united with the ocean streams, cut through the solid soil, and fashioned from the one, five islands you may see amid the waves, which men since then, have called Echinades. “But yet beyond you can observe how one
most beautiful of all is far withdrawn; and this which most delights me, mariners have Perimela named. She was so fair that I deprived her of a precious wealth. And when Hippodamas, her father, knew, enraged he pushed her, heavy then with child, forth from a rock into the cruel sea, where she must perish,—but I rescued her; and as I bore her on my swimming tide, I called on Neptune, ruler of the deep, ‘O Trident-wielder, you who are preferred next to the god most mighty! who by lot
obtained the empire of the flowing deep, to which all sacred rivers flow and end; come here, O Neptune, and with gracious will grant my desire;—I injured her I save;— but if Hippodamas, her father, when he knew my love, had been both kind and just, if he had not been so unnatural, he would have pitied and forgiven her. Ah, Neptune, I beseech you, grant your power may find a place of safety for this Nymph, abandoned to the deep waves by her sire. Or if that cannot be, let her whom I
embrace to show my love, let her become a place of safety.’ Instantly to me the King of Ocean moved his mighty head, and all the deep waves quivered in response. “The Nymph, afraid, still struggled in the deep, and as she swam I touched her throbbing breast; and as I felt her bosom, trembling still, I thought her soft flesh was becoming hard; for even then, new earth enclosed her form; and as I prayed to Neptune, earth encased her floating limbs;—and on her changing form the heavy soil of that fair island grew.”
And at this point, the River said no more. This wonderful event astonished all; but one was there, Ixion's haughty son— a known despiser of the living Gods— who, laughing, scorned it as an idle tale. He made a jest of those who heard, and said, “A foolish fiction! Achelous, how can such a tale be true? Do you believe a god there is, in heaven so powerful, a god to give and take away a form— transform created shapes? Such impious words
found no response in those who heard him speak. Amazed he could so doubt known truth, before them all, uprose to vindicate the Gods the hero Lelex, wise in length of days. “The glory of the living Gods,” he said, “Is not diminished, nor their power confined, and whatsoever they decree is done. “And I have this to tell, for all must know the evil of such words:—Upon the hills of Phrygia I have seen two sacred trees, a lime-tree and an oak, so closely grown their branches interlace. A low stone wall
is built around to guard them from all harm. And that you may not doubt it, I declare again, I saw the spot, for Pittheus there had sent me to attend his father's court. “Near by those trees are stagnant pools and fens, where coots and cormorants delight to haunt; but it was not so always. Long ago 'Twas visited by mighty Jupiter, together with his nimble-witted son, who first had laid aside his rod and Wings. “As weary travelers over all the land they wandered, begging for their food and bed;
and of a thousand houses, all the doors were bolted and no word of kindness given— so wicked were the people of that land. At last, by chance, they stopped at a small house, whose humble roof was thatched with reeds and straw;— and here a kind old couple greeted them. “The good dame, Baucis, seemed about the age of old Philemon, her devoted man; they had been married in their early youth, in that same cottage and had lived in it, and grown together to a good old age; contented with their lot because they knew
their poverty, and felt no shame of it; they had no need of servants; the good pair were masters of their home and served themselves; their own commands they easily obeyed. “Now when the two Gods, Jove and Mercury, had reached this cottage, and with bending necks had entered the low door, the old man bade them rest their wearied limbs, and set a bench, on which his good wife, Baucis, threw a cloth; and then with kindly bustle she stirred up the glowing embers on the hearth, and then laid tinder, leaves and bark; and bending down
breathed on them with her ancient breath until they kindled into flame. Then from the house she brought a store of faggots and small twigs, and broken branches, and above them swung a kettle, not too large for simple folk. And all this done, she stripped some cabbage leaves, which her good husband gathered for the meal. “Then with a two-pronged fork the man let down a rusty side of bacon from aloft, and cut a little portion from the chine; which had been cherished long. He softened it in boiling water. All the while they tried
with cheerful conversation to beguile, so none might notice a brief loss of time. “Swung on a peg they had a beechwood trough, which quickly with warm water filled, was used for comfortable washing. And they fixed, upon a willow couch, a cushion soft of springy sedge, on which they neatly spread a well worn cloth preserved so many years; 'Twas only used on rare and festive days; and even it was coarse and very old, though not unfit to match a willow couch! “Now as the Gods reclined, the good old dame,
whose skirts were tucked up, moving carefully, for so she tottered with her many years, fetched a clean table for the ready meal— but one leg of the table was too short, and so she wedged it with a potsherd—so made firm, she cleanly scoured it with fresh mint. “And here is set the double-tinted fruit of chaste Minerva, and the tasty dish of corner, autumn-picked and pickled; these were served for relish; and the endive-green, and radishes surrounding a large pot of curdled milk; and eggs not overdone
but gently turned in glowing embers—all served up in earthen dishes. Then sweet wine served up in clay, so costly! all embossed, and cups of beechwood smoothed with yellow wax. “So now they had short respite, till the fire might yield the heated course. “Again they served new wine, but mellow; and a second course: sweet nuts, dried figs and wrinkled dates and plums, and apples fragrant, in wide baskets heaped; and, in a wreath of grapes from purple vines, concealed almost, a glistening honey-comb;
and all these orchard dainties were enhanced by willing service and congenial smiles. “But while they served, the wine-bowl often drained, as often was replenished, though unfilled, and Baucis and Philemon, full of fear, as they observed the wine spontaneous well, increasing when it should diminish, raised their hands in supplication, and implored indulgence for their simple home and fare. And now, persuaded by this strange event such visitors were deities unknown, this aged couple, anxious to bestow
their most esteemed possession, hastily began to chase the only goose they had— the faithful guardian of their little home — which they would kill and offer to the Gods. But swift of wing, at last it wearied them, and fled for refuge to the smiling Gods. At once the deities forbade their zeal, and said, ‘A righteous punishment shall fall severe upon this wicked neighborhood; but by the might of our divinity, no evil shall befall this humble home; but you must come, and follow as we climb
the summit of this mountain!’ “Both obeyed, and leaning on their staves toiled up the steep. Not farther from the summit than the flight of one swift arrow from a hunter's how, they paused to view their little home once more; and as they turned their eyes, they saw the fields around their own engulfed in a morass, although their own remained,—and while they wept bewailing the sad fate of many friends, and wondered at the change, they saw their home, so old and little for their simple need—
put on new splendor, and as it increased it changed into a temple of the gods. Where first the frame was fashioned of rude stakes columns of marble glistened, and the thatch gleamed golden in the sun, and legends carved, adorned the doors. And al] the ground shone white with marble rich, and after this was done, the Son of Saturn said with gentle voice, ‘Now tell us, good old man and you his wife, worthy and faithful, what is your desire?’ “Philemon counselled with old Baucis first; and then discovered to the listening Gods
their hearts' desire, ‘We pray you let us have the care of your new temple; and since we have passed so many years in harmony, let us depart this life together— Let the same hour take us both—I would not see the tomb of my dear wife; and let me not be destined to be buried by her hands!’ “At once their wishes were fulfilled. So long as life was granted they were known to be the temple's trusted keepers, and when age had enervated them with many years, as they were standing, by some chance, before
the sacred steps, and were relating all these things as they had happened, Baucis saw Philemon, her old husband, and he, too, saw Baucis, as their bodies put forth leaves; and while the tops of trees grew over them, above their faces, — they spoke each to each; as long as they could speak they said, ‘Farewell, farewell, my own’—and while they said farewell; new leaves and branches covered both at once. “The people of Tyana still point out two trees which grew there from a double trunk, two forms made into one. Old truthful men,
who have no reason to deceive me, told me truly all that I have told to you, and I have seen the votive wreaths hung from the branches of the hallowed double-tree. And one time, as I hung fresh garlands there, I said, ‘Those whom the Gods care for are Gods! And those who worshiped are now worshiped here.’” He ceased, and this miraculous event, and he who told it, had astonished them. But Theseus above all. The hero asked to hear of other wonders wrought by Gods. The Calydonian River-God replied,
and leaning on one elbow, said to him: “There are, O valiant hero, other things whose forms once-changed as these, have so remained, but there are some who take on many shapes, as you have, Proteus, dweller of the deep— the deep whose arms embrace the earth. For some have seen you as a youth, then as a lion, a furious boar one time, a serpent next, so dreadful to the touch—and sometimes horns have made you seem a bull—or now a stone, or now a tree, or now a slipping stream, or even—the foe of water—next a fire.”
Now Erysichthon's daughter, Mestra, had that power of Proteus—she was called the wife of deft Autolycus.—Her father spurned the majesty of all the Gods, and gave no honor to their altars. It is said he violated with an impious axe the sacred grove of Ceres, and he cut her trees with iron. Long-standing in her grove there grew an ancient oak tree, spread so wide, alone it seemed a standing forest; and its trunk and branches held memorials, as, fillets, tablets, garlands, witnessing
how many prayers the goddess Ceres granted. And underneath it laughing Dryads loved to whirl in festal dances, hand in hand, encircling its enormous trunk, that thrice five ells might measure; and to such a height it towered over all the trees around, as they were higher than the grass beneath. But Erysichthon, heedless of all things, ordered his slaves to fell the sacred oak, and as they hesitated, in a rage the wretch snatched from the hand of one an axe, and said, “If this should be the only oak
loved by the goddess of this very grove, or even were the goddess in this tree, I'll level to the ground its leafy head.” So boasted he, and while he swung on high his axe to strike a slanting blow, the oak beloved of Ceres, uttered a deep groan and shuddered. Instantly its dark green leaves turned pale, and all its acorns lost their green, and even its long branches drooped their arms. But when his impious hand had struck the trunk, and cut its bark, red blood poured from the wound,— as when a weighty sacrificial bull
has fallen at the altar, streaming blood spouts from his stricken neck. All were amazed. And one of his attendants boldly tried to stay his cruel axe, and hindered him; but Erysichthon, fixing his stern eyes upon him, said, “Let this, then, be the price of all your pious worship!” So he turned the poised axe from the tree, and clove his head sheer from his body, and again began to chop the hard oak. From the heart of it these words were uttered; “Covered by the bark of this oak tree I long have dwelt a Nymph,
beloved of Ceres, and before my death it has been granted me to prophesy, that I may die contented. Punishment for this vile deed stands waiting at your side.” No warning could avert his wicked arm. Much weakened by his countless blows, the tree, pulled down by straining ropes, gave way at last and leveled with its weight uncounted trees that grew around it. Terrified and shocked, the sister-dryads, grieving for the grove and what they lost, put on their sable robes and hastened unto Ceres, whom they prayed,
might rightly punish Erysichthon's crime;— the lovely goddess granted their request, and by the gracious movement of her head she shook the fruitful, cultivated fields, then heavy with the harvest; and she planned an unexampled punishment deserved, and not beyond his miserable crimes— the grisly bane of famine; but because it is not in the scope of Destiny, that two such deities should ever meet as Ceres and gaunt Famine,—calling forth from mountain-wilds a rustic Oread,
the goddess Ceres, said to her, “There is an ice-bound wilderness of barren soil in utmost Scythia, desolate and bare of trees and corn, where Torpid-Frost, White-Death and Palsy and Gaunt-Famine, hold their haunts; go there now, and command that Famine flit from there; and let her gnawing-essence pierce the entrails of this sacrilegious wretch, and there be hidden—Let her vanquish me and overcome the utmost power of food. Heed not misgivings of the journey's length, for you will guide my dragon-bridled car
through lofty ether.” And she gave to her the reins; and so the swiftly carried Nymph arrived in Scythia. There, upon the told of steepy Caucasus, when she had slipped their tight yoke from the dragons' harnessed necks, she searched for Famine in that granite land, and there she found her clutching at scant herbs, with nails and teeth. Beneath her shaggy hair her hollow eyes glared in her ghastly face, her lips were filthy and her throat was rough and blotched, and all her entrails could be seen,
enclosed in nothing but her shriveled skin; her crooked loins were dry uncovered bones, and where her belly should be was a void; her flabby breast was flat against her spine; her lean, emaciated body made her joints appear so large, her knobbled knees seemed large knots, and her swollen ankle-bones protruded. When the Nymph, with keen sight, saw the Famine-monster, fearing to draw near she cried aloud the mandate she had brought from fruitful Ceres, and although the time
had been but brief, and Famine far away, such hunger seized the Nymph, she had to turn her dragon-steeds, and flee through yielding air and the high clouds;—at Thessaly she stopped. Grim Famine hastened to obey the will of Ceres, though their deeds are opposite, and rapidly through ether heights was borne to Erysichthon's home. When she arrived at midnight, slumber was upon the wretch, and as she folded him in her two wings, she breathed her pestilential poison through his mouth and throat and breast, and spread the curse
of utmost hunger in his aching veins. When all was done as Ceres had decreed, she left the fertile world for bleak abodes, and her accustomed caves. While this was done sweet Sleep with charming pinion soothed the mind of Erysichthon. In a dreamful feast he worked his jaws in vain, and ground his teeth, and swallowed air as his imagined food; till wearied with the effort he awoke to hunger scorching as a fire, which burned his entrails and compelled his raging jaws, so he, demanding all the foods of sea
and earth and air, raged of his hunger, while the tables groaned with heaps before him spread; he, banqueting, sought banquets for more food, and as he gorged he always wanted more. The food of cities and a nation failed to satisfy the cravings of one man. The more his stomach gets, the more it needs — even as the ocean takes the streams of earth, although it swallows up great rivers drawn from lands remote, it never can be filled nor satisfied. And as devouring fire its fuel refuses never, but consumes
unnumbered beams of wood, and burns for more the more 'tis fed, and from abundance gains increasing famine, so the raving jaws of wretched Erysichthon, ever craved all food in him, was on]y cause of food, and what he ate made only room for more. And after Famine through his gluttony at last had wasted his ancestral wealth his raging hunger suffered no decline, and his insatiate gluttony increased. When all his wealth at last was eaten up, his daughter, worthy of a fate more kind,
alone was left to him and her he sold. Descendant of a noble race, the girl refusing to be purchased as a slave, then hastened to the near shore of the sea, and as she stretched her arms above the waves, implored kind Neptune with her tears, “Oh, you who have deprived me of virginity, deliver me from such a master's power!” Although the master, seeking her, had seen her only at that moment, Neptune changed her quickly from a woman to a man, by giving her the features of a man
and garments proper to a fisher-man: and there she stood. He even looked at her and cried out, “Hey, there! Expert of the rod! While you are casting forth the bit of brass, concealed so deftly in its tiny bait,— gods-willing! let the sea be smooth for you, and let the foolish fishes swimming up, never know danger till they snap the hook! Now tell me where is she, who only now, in tattered garment and wind-twisted hair, was standing on this shore—for I am sure I saw her standing on this shore, although
no footstep shows her flight.” By this assured the favor of the god protected her; delighted to be questioned of herself, she said, “No matter who you are, excuse me. So busy have I been at catching fish, I have not had the time to move my eyes from this pool; and that you may be assured I only tell the truth, may Neptune, God of ocean witness it, I have not seen a man where I am standing on this shore—myself excepted—not a woman has stood here.”
Her master could not doubt it, and deceived retraced his footsteps from the sandy shore. As soon as he had disappeared, her form unchanged, was given back to her. But when her father knew his daughter could transform her body and escape, he often sold her first to one and then another—all of whom she cheated— as a mare, bird, a cow, or as a stag she got away; and so brought food, dishonestly, to ease his greed. And so he lived until the growing strength of famine, gnawing at his vitals, had
consumed all he could get by selling her: his anguish burned him with increasing heat. He gnawed his own flesh, and he tore his limbs and fed his body all he took from it. ah, why should I dwell on the wondrous deeds of others—Even I, O gathered youths, have such a power I can often change my body till my limit has been reached. A while appearing in my real form, another moment coiled up as a snake, then as a monarch of the herd my strength increases in my horns—my strength increased
in my two horns when I had two—but now my forehead, as you see, has lost one horn. And having ended with such words,—he groaned.
Book 9
To him the hero, who proclaimed himself a favored son of Neptune, answered now; “Declare the reason of your heavy sighs, and how your horn was broken?” And at once the Calydonian River-God replied, binding with reeds his unadorned rough locks: “It is a mournful task you have required, for who can wish to tell his own disgrace? But truly I shall speak without disguise, for my defeat, if rightly understood, should be my glory.—Even to have fought in battle with a hero of such might,
affords me consolation. “Deianira (you may have heard some tales of her) was once the envied hope of many. She was then a lovely virgin.—I, among the rest who loved this maiden, entered the fair home of her great father Oeneus, and I said; “ ‘Consider all my claims, Parthaon's son, for I am come to plead your daughter's cause and mine—So you may make me son-in-law.,—’ no sooner was it said, than Hercules in such words also claimed the virgin's hand:
all others quickly yielded to our claims. “He boasted his descent from Jupiter; the glory of his labors and great deeds performed at his unjust stepmother's wish. “But as he was not then a God, it seemed disgraceful if my state should yield my right; so I contended with these haughty words, ‘Why should this alien of a foreign land, contending for your daughter, match himself to me! king of the waters in this realm! For as I wind around, across your lands, I must be of your people, and a part
of your great state. Oh, let it not be said, because the jealous Juno had no thought to punish me by labors, my descent is not so regal! This tremendous boast, that you, Alcmena's son, are sprung from Jove, falls at the touch of truth;—or it reveals the shame of a weak mother, who so gained your doubtful glory of descent from Heaven! Prove your descent from Jupiter is false, or else confess you are the son of shame!’ “But Hercules, unable to control the flame of his great wrath, scowled as I spoke.
He briefly answered me, ‘My hand excels my tongue; let me now overcome in fight, and I may suffer your offence of words.’ “Full of unvented rage he rushed on me, but firm I stood, ashamed to yield a foot— I had so largely boasted, no retreat was left, and so I doffed my green robe—Striking guard, with clenched hands doubled at my breast, I stood my ground. He scooped up in his hand fine, yellow dust; and tossed it on the air so that the tawny powder sprinkled us; quick-shifting then he sought to strike my neck,
or feint at my quick-moving legs, and turn swift moving to attack me at all points. But as a huge cliff in the sea remains unmoved, unshaken by the sounding waves, so my great size, against his vain attacks, defended me securely—Back we went; retiring for a space; then rushed again together, furious, and with foot to foot, determined not to yield, defiant stood, till, forward-bending from my waist and hips, I pressed my forehead against his and locked his fingers into mine: so, have I seen
two strong bulls rush in combat for the good of some smooth heifer in the pasture—while the herd a-tremble and uncertain, wait; ready to give allegiance to the one most worthy of dominion. “Thrice in vain Hercules strove to push my breast from his, but I pressed ever closer—till, the fourth attempt succeeding, he unloosed my grip, and breaking from my circling arms drew back, and struck me such a buffet with his hand, it twisted me about, and instantly
he clung with all his weight upon my back— “Believe me I have not suppressed the truth. Nor shall I try to gain applause not due: I seemed to bear a mountain on my back. — straining and dripping sweat, I broke his hold,— with great exertion I unlocked his grip. He pressed upon me, as I strained for breath, preventing a renewal of my strength, and seized upon my neck. Then at the last, my bent knee went down on the gritty earth, I bit the sand. So, worsted in my strength, I sought diversion by an artifice,
and changed me to a serpent.—I then slipped from his tight clutches my great length, and coiled my body now transformed to snaky folds— hissing I darted my divided tongue. “But Hercules, Alcides, only laughed and in derision of my scheming, said, ‘It was the pastime of my cradle days to strangle better snakes than you—and though your great length may excel all of your kind, how small a part of that Lernaean snake would you—one serpent be? It grew from wounds I gave (at first it had one hundred heads)
and every time I severed one head from its neck two grew there in the place of one, by which its strength increased. This creature then outbranching with strong serpents, sprung from death and thriving on destruction, I destroyed.— What do you think will then become of you, disguised so in deceitful serpent-form, wielding a borrowed weapon not your own “And after he had ridiculed me thus, he gouged his fingers underneath my jaws, so that my throat was tortured, as if squeezed with forceps, while I struggled in his grip.
“Twice was I vanquished, there remained to me a third form so again I changed to seem a savage bull, and with my limbs renewed in that form fought once more. He threw his arms about the left side of my ponderous neck, and dragging on me followed as I ran. He seized on my hard horns, and, tugging turned and twisted me, until he fastened them firm in the surface of the earth; and pushed me, helpless, to the shifting sand beneath. Not yet content he laid his fierce right hand on my tough horn, and broke and tore it from
my mutilated head.—This horn, now heaped with fruits delicious and sweet-smelling flowers, the Naiads have held sacred from that hour, devoted to the bounteous goddess Plenty.’ All this the River-god said; then a nymph, a lovely nymph like fair Diana dressed, whose locks were flowing down on either side, came graceful to the board, and brought to them of Autumn's plenty in an ample horn, and gave to them selected apples for a second course. And now, as early dawn
appeared, and as the rising sunlight flashed on golden summits of surrounding hills, the young men waited not until the stream subsiding, had resumed its peaceful way, but all arose, reluctant, and went forth. Then Achelous, in his moving waves, hid his fine rustic features and his head, scarred by the wound which gave the Horn of Plenty. Loss of his horn had greatly humbled him, it was so cherished though his only loss, — but he could hide the sad disgrace with reeds and willow boughs entwined about his head.
O, Nessus! your fierce passion for the same maid utterly destroyed even you, pierced through the body by a flying arrow-point. Returning to the city of his birth great Hercules, the son of Jupiter, with his new bride, arrived upon the bank of swift Evenus—after winter rains had swollen it so far beyond its wont, that, full of eddies, it was found to be impassable. The hero stood there, brave but anxious for his bride. Nessus, the centaur, strong-limbed and well-acquainted with those fords,
came up to him and said, “Plunge in the flood and swim with unimpeded strength—for with my help she will land safely over there.” And so the hero, with no thought of doubt, trusted the damsel to the centaur's care, though she was pale and trembling with her fear of the swift river and the centaur's aid. This done, the hero, burdened as he was with quiver and the lion skin (for he had tossed his club and curving bow across the river to the other bank), declared, “Since I have undertaken it, at once
this rushing water must be overcome.” And instantly, he plunged in without thought of where he might cross with most ease, for so he scorned to take advantage of smooth water. And after he had gained the other bank, while picking up his bow which there was thrown, he heard his wife's voice, anxious for his help. He called to Nessus who was in the act then to betray his trust: “Vain confidence! You are not swift enough, vile ravisher! You two-formed monster Nessus, I warn you! Hear me, and never dare to come between
me and my love. If fear has no restraint, your father's dreadful fate on whirling wheel, should frighten you from this outrageous act: for you cannot escape, although you trust the fleet-foot effort of a rapid horse. I cannot overtake you with my feet but I can shoot and halt you with a wound.” his deed sustained the final warning word. He shot an arrow through the centaur's back, so that the keen barb was exposed beyond his bleeding breast. He tore it from both wounds, and life-blood spurted instantly, mixed with
the deadly poison of Lernaean hydra. This Nessus caught, and muttering, “I shall not die unavenged”, he gave his tunic, soaked with blood to Deianira as a gift; and said, “Keep this to strengthen waning love.” Now many years passed by, and all the deeds, and labors of the mighty Hercules, gave to the wide world his unequalled fame; and finally appeased the hatred of his fierce stepmother. All victorious returning from Oechalia, he prepared
to offer sacrifice, when at Cenaeum, upon an altar he had built to Jupiter, but tattling Rumor, swollen out of truth from small beginning to a wicked lie, declared brave Hercules, Amphitryon's son, was burning for the love of Iole. And Deianira—his fond wife—convinced herself, the wicked rumor must be true. Alarmed at the report of his new love, at first, poor wife, she was dissolved in tears, and then she sank in grievous misery. But soon in angry mood, she rose and said:
“Why should I give up to my sorrow while I drown my wretched spirit in weak tears? Let me consider an effectual check— while it is possible—even before she comes, invader of my lawful bed: shall I be silent or complain of it? Must I go back to Calydon or stay? Shall I depart unbidden, from my house? Or, if no other method can prevail, shall I oppose my rival's first approach? O shade of Meleager, let me prove I am yet worthy to be called your sister;
and in the desperate slaughter of this rival, the world, astonished, may be taught to fear the vengeance of an injured woman's rage.” So, torn by many moods, at last her mind fixed on one thought:—she might still keep his love, could certainly restore it, if she sent to him the tunic soaked in Nessus' blood. Unknowingly, she gave the fatal cause of her own woe to trusting Lichas, whom she urged in gentle words to take the gift, from her to her loved husband Hercules. He, unsuspecting, put the tunic on,
all covered with Lernaean hydra's poison. The hero then was casting frankincense into the sacred flames, and pouring wine on marble altars, as his holy prayers were floating to the Gods. The hallowed heat striking upon his poisoned vesture, caused Echidna-bane to melt into his flesh. As long as he was able he withstood the torture. His great fortitude was strong. But when at last his anguish overcame even his endurance, he filled all the wild of Oeta with his cries: he overturned
those hallowed altars, then in frenzied haste he strove to pull the tunic from his back. The poisoned garment, cleaving to him, ripped his skin, heat-shriveled, from his burning flesh. Or, tightening on him, as his great strength pulled, stripped with it the great muscles from his limbs, leaving his huge bones bare. Even his blood audibly hissed, as red-hot blades when they are plunged in water, so the burning bane boiled in his veins. Great perspiration streamed from his dissolving body, as the heat
consumed his entrails; and his sinews cracked, brittle when burnt. The marrow in his bones dissolved, as it absorbed the venom-heat. There was no limit to his misery; raising both hands up towards the stars of heaven, he cried, “Come Juno, feast upon my death; feast on me, cruel one, look down from your exalted seat; behold my dreadful end and glut your savage heart! Oh, if I may deserve some pity from my enemy, from you I mean, this hateful life of mine take from me—sick with cruel suffering
and only born for toil. The loss of life will be a boon to me, and surely is a fitting boon, such as stepmothers give! “Was it for this I slew Busiris, who defiled his temples with the strangers' blood? For this I took his mother's strength from fierce antaeus—that I did not show a fear before the Spanish shepherd's triple form? Nor did I fear the monstrous triple form of Cerberus.—And is it possible my hands once seized and broke the strong bull's horns? And Elis knows their labor, and the waves
of Stymphalus, and the Parthenian woods. For this the prowess of these hands secured the Amazonian girdle wrought of gold; and did my strong arms, gather all in vain the fruit when guarded by the dragon's eyes. The centaurs could not foil me, nor the boar that ravaged in Arcadian fruitful fields. Was it for this the hydra could not gain double the strength from strength as it was lost? And when I saw the steeds of Thrace, so fat with human blood, and their vile mangers heaped with mangled bodies, in a righteous rage
I threw them to the ground, and slaughtered them, together with their master! In a cave I crushed the Nemean monster with these arms; and my strong neck upheld the wide-spread sky! And even the cruel Juno, wife of Jove— is weary of imposing heavy toils, but I am not subdued performing them. “A new calamity now crushes me, which not my strength, nor valor, nor the use of weapons can resist. Devouring flames have preyed upon my limbs, and blasting heat now shrivels the burnt tissue of my frame.
But still Eurystheus is alive and well! And there are those who yet believe in Gods!” Just as a wild bull, in whose body spears are rankling, while the frightened hunter flies away for safety, so the hero ranged over sky-piercing Oeta; his huge groans, his awful shrieks resounding in those cliffs. At times he struggles with the poisoned robe. Goaded to fury, he has razed great trees, and scattered the vast mountain rocks around! And stretched his arms towards his ancestral skies! So, in his frenzy, as he wandered there,
he chanced upon the trembling Lichas, crouched in the close covert of a hollow rock. Then in a savage fury he cried out, “Was it you, Lichas, brought this fatal gift? Shall you be called the author of my death?” Lichas, in terror, groveled at his feet, and begged for mercy—“Only let me live!” But seizing on him, the crazed Hero whirled him thrice and once again about his head, and hurled him, shot as by a catapult, into the waves of the Euboic Sea. While he was hanging in the air, his form
was hardened; as, we know, rain drops may first be frozen by the cold air, and then change to snow, and as it falls through whirling winds may press, so twisted, into round hailstones: even so has ancient lore declared that when strong arms hurled Lichas through the mountain air through fear, his blood was curdled in his veins. No moisture left in him, he was transformed into a flint-rock. Even to this day, a low crag rising from the waves is seen out of the deep Euboean Sea, and holds the certain outline of a human form,
so sure]y traced, the wary sailors fear to tread upon it, thinking it has life, and they have called it Lichas ever since. But, O illustrious son of Jupiter! How many of the overspreading trees, thick-growing on the lofty mountain-peak of Oeta, did you level to the ground, and heap into a pyre! And then you bade obedient Philoctetes light a torch beneath it, and then take in recompense your bow with its capacious quiver full of arrows, arms that now again would see
the realm of Troy. And as the pyre began to kindle with the greedy flames, you spread the Nemean lion skin upon the top, and, club for pillow, you lay down to sleep, as placid as if, with abounding cups of generous wine and crowned with garlands, you were safe, reclining on a banquet-couch. And now on every side the spreading flames were crackling fiercely, as they leaped from earth upon the careless limbs of Hercules. He scorned their power. The Gods felt fear for earth's defender and their sympathy
gave pleasure to Saturnian Jove — he knew their thought—and joyfully he said to them: “Your sudden fear is surely my delight, O heavenly Gods! my heart is lifted up and joy prevails upon me, in the thought that I am called the Father and the King of all this grateful race of Gods. I know my own beloved offspring is secure in your declared protection: your concern may justly evidence his worth, whose deeds great benefits bestowed. Let not vain thoughts alarm you, nor the rising flames of Oeta;
for Hercules who conquered everything, shall conquer equally the spreading fires which now you see: and all that part of him, celestial — inherited of me— immortal, cannot feel the power of death. It is not subject to the poison-heat. And therefore, since his earth-life is now lost, him I'll translate, unshackled from all dross, and purified, to our celestial shore. I trust this action seems agreeable to all the Deities surrounding me. If any jealous god of heaven should grieve
at the divinity of Hercules, he may begrudge the prize but he will know at least 'twas given him deservedly, and with this thought he must approve the deed.” The Gods confirmed it: and though Juno seemed to be contented and to acquiesce, her deep vexation was not wholly hid, when Jupiter with his concluding words so plainly hinted at her jealous mind. Now, while the Gods conversed, the mortal part of Hercules was burnt by Mulciber; but yet an outline of a spirit-form
remained. Unlike the well-known mortal shape derived by nature of his mother, he kept traces only of his father, Jove. And as a serpent, when it is revived from its old age, casts off the faded skin, and fresh with vigor glitters in new scales, so, when the hero had put off all dross, his own celestial, wonderful appeared, majestic and of godlike dignity. And him, the glorious father of the Gods in the great chariot drawn by four swift steeds, took up above the wide-encircling clouds,
and set him there amid the glittering stars. Even Atlas felt the weight of Heaven increase, but King Eurystheus, still implacable, vented his baffled hatred on the sons of the great hero. Then the Argive mother, Alcmena, spent and anxious with long cares, the burden of her old age and her fears, could pass the weary hours with Iole in garrulous narrations of his worth, his mighty labors and her own sad days. Iole, by command of Hercules, had been betrothed to Hyllus, and by him
was gravid, burdened with a noble child. And so to Iole, Alcmena told this story of the birth of Hercules:— “Ah, may the Gods be merciful to you and give you swift deliverance in that hour when needful of all help you must call out for Ilithyia, the known goddess of all frightened mothers in their travail, she whom Juno's hatred overcame and made so dreadful against me. For, when my hour of bearing Hercules was very near, and when the tenth sign of the zodiac
was traversed by the sun, my burden then became so heavy, and the one I bore so large, you certainly could tell that Jove must be the father of the unborn child. “At last, no longer able to endure— ah me, a cold sweat seizes on me now; only to think of it renews my pains! Seven days in agony, as many nights, exhausted in my dreadful misery, I stretched my arms to heaven and invoked Lucina and three Nixian deities the guardians of birth. Lucina came;
but before then she had been pledged to give my life to cruel Juno. While Lucina sat on the altar near the door and listened, with her right knee crossed over her left knee, with fingers interlocked, she stopped the birth: and in low muttered tones she chanted Charms which there prevented my deliverance. “I fiercely struggled, and insane with pain shrieked vain revilings against Jupiter; I longed for death, and my delirious words then should have moved the most unfeeling rocks. The Theban matrons, eager to help me,
stood near me while they asked the aid of Heaven. “And there was present of the common class, my maid Galanthis—with her red-gold hair— efficient and most willing to obey her worthy character deserved my love. She felt assured, Juno unjustly worked some spell of strong effect against my life. And when this maid beheld Lucina perched so strangely on the altar, with her fingers inwoven on her knees and tightly pressed together, in a gripping finger-comb, she guessed that jealous Juno was the cause.
Quick-witted, in a ringing voice this maid cried out, ‘Congratulations! All is well! Alcmena is delivered—a fine child so safely brought forth—her true prayers approved!’ “Lucina, who presides at birth, surprised leaped up, unclenched her hands, as one amazed. Just as her hands unfastened, and her knees were parted from their stricture, I could feel the bonds of stricture loosen; and without more labor was delivered of my child. “'Tis said, Galanthis laughed and ridiculed the cheated deity; and as she laughed
the vixen goddess caught her by the hair and dragging her upon the ground, while she was struggling to arise, held her, and there transformed both of her arms to animal forelegs. Her old activity remained; her hair was not changed, but she did not keep her maiden form: and ever since that day, because she aided with deceitful lips, her offspring are brought forth through the same mouth. Changed to a weasel she dwells now with me.” When she had ended the sad tale, she heaved a deep sigh, in remembrance of her tried,
beloved servant; and her daughter-in-law Iole kindly answered in these words: “O my dear mother, if you weep because of her who was your servant, now transformed into a weasel, how can you support the true narration of my sister's fate; which I must tell to you, although my tears and sorrows hinder and forbid my speech? “Most beautiful of all Oechalian maids, was Dryope, her mother's only child, for you must know I am the daughter of my father's second wife. She is not now
a maid; because, through violence of him who rules at Delphi and at Delos, she was taken by Andraemon, who since then has been accounted happy in his wife. “There is a lake surrounded by sweet lawns, encircling beauties, where the upper slope is crowned with myrtles in fair sunny groves. Without a thought of danger Dryope in worship one day went to gather flowers, (who hears, has greater cause to be indignant) delightful garlands, for the water-nymphs, and, in her bosom, carried her dear son,
not yet a year old, whom she fed for love. Not far from that dream-lake, in moisture grew a lotus, beautiful in purple bloom, the blossoms promising its fruit was near. “At play with her sweet infant, Dryope plucked them as toys for him. I, too, was there, eagerly, also, I put forth my hand, and was just ready to secure a spray, when I was startled by some drops of blood down-falling from the blossoms which were plucked; and even the trembling branches shook in dread. “Who wills, the truth of this may learn from all
quaint people of that land, who still relate the Story of Nymph Lotis. She, they say, while flying from the lust of Priapus, was transformed quickly from her human shape, into this tree, though she has kept her name. “But ignorant of all this, Dryope, alarmed, decided she must now return; so, having first adored the hallowed nymphs, upright she stood, and would have moved away, but both her feet were tangled in a root. There, as she struggled in its tightening hold, she could move nothing save her upper parts;
and growing from that root, live bark began to gather slowly upward from the ground, spreading around her, till it touched her loins: in terror when she saw the clinging growth, she would have torn her hair out by the roots, but, when she clutched at it, her hands were filled with lotus leaves grown up from her changed head. “Alas, her little son, Amphissos, felt his mother's bosom harden to his touch, and no life-stream refreshed his eager lips. And while I saw your cruel destiny, O my dear sister! and could give no help,
I clung to your loved body and around the growing trunk and branches, hoping so to stop their evil growth; and I confess, endeavored there to hide beneath the bark. “And, oh! Andraemon and her father, then appeared to me while they were sadly seeking for Dryope: so there I had to show the lotus as it covered her, and they gave kisses to the warm wood, and prostrate fell upon the ground, and clung to growing roots of their new darling tree, transformed from her.— Dear sister, there was nothing of yourself
remaining but your face; and I could see your tears drop slowly on the trembling leaves which had so marvellously grown on you; and while your lips remained uncovered, all the air surrounding, echoed your complaint:— “If oaths of wretched women can have force, I swear I have not merited this fate! Though innocent, to suffer punishment! And if one word of my complaint is false, I pray I may soon wither, and my leaves fall from me as in blight, and let the axe devote me, wretched to the flames. But take
this infant from my branches to a nurse; and let him often play beneath his tree,— his mother always. Let him drink his milk beneath my shade. When he has learned to talk let him salute me, and in sorrow say “In this tree-trunk my mother is concealed.” O, let him dread the fate that lurks in ponds, and let him often play beneath his tree,— and let him be persuaded every shrub contains the body of a goddess. — Ah! Farewell my husband,—sister, — and farewell my father! If my love remain in you
remember to protect my life from harm, so that the pruning-knife may never clip my branches, and protect my foliage from the browsing sheep. “I cannot stoop to you; 0h, if you love me, lift your lips to mine, and let me kiss you, if but once again, before this growing lotus covers me. Lift up my darling infant to my lips. How can I hope to say much more to you? The new bark now is creeping up my neck, and creeping downward from my covered brow!
Ah, do not close my live eyes with your hands; there is no need of it, for growing bark will spread and darken them before I die!’ Such were the last words her poor smothered lips could utter; for she was so quickly changed; and long thereafter the new branches kept the warmth of her lost body, so transformed.” And all the while that Iole told this, tearful in sorrow for her sister's fate, Alcmena weeping, tried to comfort her. But as they wept together, suddenly a wonderful event astonished them;
for, standing in the doorway, they beheld the old man Iolaus, known to them, but now transformed from age to youth, he seemed almost a boy, with light down on his cheeks: for Juno's daughter Hebe, had renewed his years to please her husband, Hercules. Just at the time when ready to make oath, she would not grant such gifts to other men— Themis had happily prevented her. “For even now,” she said, “a civil strife is almost ready to break forth in Thebes, and Capaneus shall be invincible
to all save the strong hand of Jove himself; and there two hostile brothers shall engage in bloody conflict; and Amphiaraus shall see his own ghost, deep in yawning earth. “His own son, dutiful to him, shall be both just and unjust in a single deed; for he, in vengeance for his father's death, shall slay his mother, and confounded lose both home and reason,—persecuted both by the grim Furies and the awful ghost of his own murdered mother; this until his wife, deluded, shall request of him
the fatal golden necklace, and until the sword of Phegeus drains his kinsman's blood. “And then at last his wife Callirhoe shall supplicate the mighty Jupiter to grant her infant sons the added years of youthful manhood. Then shall Jupiter let Hebe, guardian of ungathered days, grant from the future to Callirhoe's sons, the strength of manhood in their infancy. Do not let their victorious father's death be unavenged a long while. Jove prevailed upon, will claim beforehand all the gifts
of Hebe, who is his known daughter-in-law, and his step-daughter, and with one act change Callirhoe's beardless boys to men of size.” When Themis, prophesying future days, had said these words, the Gods of Heaven complained because they also could not grant the gift of youth to many others in this way. Aurora wept because her husband had white hair; and Ceres then bewailed the age of her Iasion, grey and stricken old; and Mulciber demanded with new life his Erichthonius might again appear;
and Venus, thinking upon future days, said old Anchises' years must be restored. And every god preferred some favorite, until vexed with the clamor, Jupiter implored, “If you can have regard for me, consider the strange blessings you desire: does any one of you believe he can prevail against the settled will of Fate? As Iolaus has returned by fate, to those years spent by him; so by the Fates Callirhoe's sons from infancy must grow to manhood with no struggle on their part,
or force of their ambition. And you should endure your fortune with contented minds: I, also, must give all control to Fate. “If I had power to change the course of Fate I would not let advancing age break down my own son Aeacus, nor bend his back with weight of year; and Rhadamanthus should retain an everlasting flower of youth, together with my own son Minos, who is now despised because of his great age, so that his scepter has lost dignity.” Such words of Jupiter controlled the Gods,
and none continued to complain, when they saw Aeacus and Rhadamanthus old, and Minos also, weary of his age. And they remembered Minos in his prime, had warred against great nations, till his name if mentioned was a certain cause of fear. But now, enfeebled by great age, he feared Miletus, Deione's son, because of his exultant youth and strength derived from his great father Phoebus. And although he well perceived Miletus' eye was fixed upon his throne, he did not dare to drive
him from his kingdom. But although not forced, Miletus of his own accord did fly, by swift ship, over to the Asian shore, across the Aegean water, where he built the city of his name. Cyane, who was known to be the daughter of the stream Maeander, which with many a twist and turn flows wandering there—Cyane said to be indeed most beautiful, when known by him, gave birth to two; a girl called Byblis, who
was lovely, and the brother Caunus—twins. Byblis is an example that the love of every maiden must be within law. Seized with a passion for her brother, she loved him, descendant of Apollo, not as sister loves a brother; not in such a manner as the law of man permits. At first she thought it surely was not wrong to kiss him passionately, while her arms were thrown around her brother's neck, and so deceived herself. And, as the habit grew, her sister-love degenerated, till
richly attired, she came to see her brother, with all endeavors to attract his eye; and anxious to be seen most beautiful, she envied every woman who appeared of rival beauty. But she did not know or understand the flame, hot in her heart, though she was agitated when she saw the object of her swiftly growing love. Now she began to call him lord, and now she hated to say brother, and she said, “Do call me Byblis—never call me sister!” And yet while feeling love so, when awake
she does not dwell upon impure desire; but when dissolved in the soft arms of sleep, she sees the very object of her love, and blushing, dreams she is embraced by him, till slumber has departed. For a time she lies there silent, as her mind recalls the loved appearance of her lovely dream, until her wavering heart, in grief exclaims:— “What is this vision of the silent night? Ah wretched me! I cannot count it true. And, if he were not my own brother, he why is my fond heart tortured with this dream?
He is so handsome even to envious eyes, it is not strange he has filled my fond heart; so surely would be worthy of my love. But it is my misfortune I am his own sister. Let me therefore strive, awake, to stand with honor, but let sleep return the same dream often to me.—There can be no fear of any witness to a shade which phantoms my delight.—O Cupid, swift of love-wing with your mother, and O my beloved Venus! wonderful the joys of my experience in the transport. All
as if reality sustaining, lifted me up to elysian pleasure, while in truth I lay dissolving to my very marrow: the pleasure was so brief, and Night, headlong sped from me, envious of my coming joys. “If I could change my name, and join to you, how good a daughter I would prove to your dear father, and how good a son would you be to my father. If the Gods agreed, then everything would be possessed by us in common, but this must exclude ancestors. For I should pray, compared with mine yours might
be quite superior. But, oh my love, some other woman by your love will be a mother; but because, unfortunate, my parents are the same as yours, you must be nothing but a brother. Sorrows, then, shall be to us in common from this hour. What have my night-born vision signified? What weight have dreams? Do dreams have any weight? The Gods forbid! The Gods have sisters! Truth declares even Saturn married Ops, his own blood-kin, Oceanus his Tethys, Jove, Olympian his Juno. But the Gods
are so superior in their laws, I should not measure human custom by the rights established in the actions of divinities. This passion must be banished from my heart, or, if it cannot be so, I must pray that I may perish, and be laid out dead upon my couch so my dear brother there may kiss my lips. But then he must consent, and my delight would seem to him a crime. “Tis known the sons of Aeolus embraced their sisters —But why should I think of these? Why should I take example from such lives?
Must I do as they did? Far from it! let such lawless flames be quenched, until I feel no evil love for him, although the pure affection of a sister may be mine, and cherished. If it should have happened first that my dear brother had loved me—ah then, I might have yielded love to his desire. Why not now? I myself must woo him, since I could not have rejected him, if he had first wooed me. But is it possible for me to speak of it, with proper words describing such a strange confession? Love
will certainly compel and give me speech. But, if shame seal my lips, then secret flame in a sealed letter may be safely told.” And after all this wavering, her mind at last was satisfied; and as she leaned on her left elbow, partly raised from her half-dream position, she said, “Let him see: let me at once confess my frantic passion without repression! O my wretched heart! What hot flame burns me!” But while speaking so, she took an iron pen in her right hand, and trembling wrote the heart-words as she could,
all on a clean wax tablet which she held in her limp left hand. She begins and stops, and hesitates—she loves and hates her hot confession—writes, erases, changes here and there, condemns, approves, disheartened throws her tablets down and takes them up again: her mind refuses everything she does, and moves against each action as begun: shame, fear and bold assurance mingled showed upon her face, as she began to write, “Your sister” but at once decided she could not say sister, and commenced instead,
with other words on her amended wax. “A health to you, which she who loves you fails to have, unless you grant the same to her. It shames me, oh I am ashamed to tell my name to you, and so without my name, I would I might plead well until the hopes of my desires were realized, and then you might know safely, Byblis is my name. “You might have knowledge of my wounded heart, because my pale, drawn face and down-cast eyes so often tearful, and my sighs without apparent cause have shown it — and my warm
embraces, and my frequent kisses, much too tender for a sister. All of this has happened, while with agitated heart and in hot passion, I have tried all ways, (I call upon the Gods to witness it!) that I might force myself to sanity. And I have struggled, wretched nights and days, to overcome the cruelties of love, too dreadful for a frail girl to endure, for they most surely are all Cupid's art. “I have been overborne and must confess my passion, while with timid prayers I plead;
for only you can save me. You alone may now destroy the one who loves you best: so you must choose what will be the result. The one who prays is not your enemy; but one most closely joined to you, yet asks to knit the tie more firmly. Let old men be governed by propriety, and talk of what is right and wrong, and hold to all the nice distinctions of strict laws. But Love, has no fixed law for those whose age is ours, is heedless and compliant. And we have not yet discovered what is right or wrong,
and all we should do is to imitate the known example of the Gods. We have no father's harsh rule, and we have no care for reputation, and no fear that keeps us from each other. But there may be cause for fear, and we may hide our stolen love, because a sister is at liberty to talk with her dear brother—quite apart: we may embrace and kiss each other, though in public. What is wanting? Pity her whose utmost love compels her to confess; and let it not be written on her tomb,
her death was for your sake and love denied.” Here when she dropped the tablet from her hand, it was so full of fond words, which were doomed to disappointment, that the last line traced the edge: and without thinking of delay, she stamped the shameful letter with her seal, and moistened it with tears (her tongue failed her for moisture). Then, hot-blushing, she called one of her attendants, and with timid voice said, coaxing, “My most trusted servant, take these tablets to my—” after long delay she said, “my brother.” While she gave the tablets
they suddenly slipped from her hands and fell. Although disturbed by this bad omen, she still sent the letter, which the servant found an opportunity to carry off. He gave the secret love-confession. This her brother, grandson of Maeander, read but partly, and with sudden passion threw the tablets from him. He could barely hold himself from clutching on the throat of her fear-trembling servant; as, enraged, he cried, “Accursed pander to forbidden lust, be gone!—before the knowledge of your death
is added to this unforeseen disgrace!” The servant fled in terror, and told all her brother's actions and his fierce reply to Byblis: and when she had heard her love had been repulsed, her startled face went pale, and her whole body trembled in the grip of ice-chills. Quickly as her mind regained its usual strength, her maddening love returned, came back with equal force, and while she choked with her emotion, gasping she said this: “I suffer only from my folly! why did I so rashly tell him of my wounded heart?
And why did I so hastily commit to tablets all I should have kept concealed? I should have edged my way by feeling first, obscurely hinting till I knew his mind and disposition towards me. And so that my first voyage might get favorable wind, I should have tested with a close-reefed sail, and, knowing what the wind was, safely fared. But now with sails full spread I have been tossed by unexpected winds. And so my ship is on the rocks; and, overwhelmed with all the power of Ocean, I have not the strength
to turn back and recover what is lost. “Surely clear omens warned me not to tell my love so soon, because the tablets fell just when I would have put them in the hand of my picked servant — certainly a sign my hasty hopes were destined to fall down. Is it not clear I should have changed the day; and even my intention? Rather say should not the day have been postponed at once? The god himself gave me unerring signs, if I had not been so deranged with love. I should have spoken to him, face to face;
and with my own lips have confessed it all; and then my passion had been seen by him, and, as my face was bathed in tears, I could have told him so much more than words engraved on tablets; and, while I was telling him I could have thrown my arms around his neck, and if rejected could have seemed almost at point of death; as I embraced his feet, while prostrate, even might have begged for life. I could have tried so many plans, and they together would have won his stubborn heart. “Perhaps my stupid servant, in mistake,
did not approach him at a proper time, and even sought an hour his mind was full of other things. “All this has harmed my case; there is no other reason; he was not born of a tigress, and his heart is not of flint or solid iron, or of adamant; and no she-lion suckled him. He shall be won to my affection; and I must attempt again, again, nor ever cease so long as I have breath. If it were not too late already to undo what has
been done, 'twere wiser not begun at all. But since I have begun, it now is best to end it with success. How can he help remembering what I dared, although I should abandon my design! In such a case, because I gave up, I must be to him weak, fickle-minded; or perhaps he may believe I tried to tempt him with a snare. But come what may, he will not think of me as overcome by some god who inflames and rules the heart. He surely will believe I was so actuated by my lust.
“If I do nothing more, my innocence is gone forever. I have written him and wooed him also, in a way so rash and unmistakable, that if I should do nothing more than this, I should be held completely guilty in my brother's sight— but I have hope, and nothing worse to fear.” Then back and forth she argues; and so great is her uncertainty, she blames herself for what she did, and is determined just as surely to succeed. She tries all arts,
but is repeatedly repulsed by him, until unable to control her ways, her brother in despair, fled from the shame of her designs: and in another land he founded a new city. Then, they say, the wretched daughter of Miletus lost control of reason. She wrenched from her breast her garments, and quite frantic, beat her arms, and publicly proclaims unhallowed love. Grown desperate, she left her hated home, her native land, and followed the loved steps
of her departed brother. Just as those crazed by your thyrsus, son of Semele! The Bacchanals of Ismarus, aroused, howl at your orgies, so her shrieks were heard by the shocked women of Bubassus, where the frenzied Byblis howled across the fields, and so through Caria and through Lycia, over the mountain Cragus and beyond the town, Lymira, and the flowing stream called Xanthus, and the ridge where dwelt Chimaera, serpent-tailed and monstrous beast, fire breathing from its lion head and neck.
She hurried through the forest of that ridge— and there at last worn out with your pursuit, O Byblis, you fell prostrate, with your hair spread over the hard ground, and your wan face buried in fallen leaves. Although the young, still tender-hearted nymphs of Leleges, advised her fondly how to cure her love, and offered comfort to her heedless heart, and even lifted her in their soft arms; without an answer Byblis fell from them, and clutched the green herbs with her fingers, while her tears continued to fall on the grass.
They say the weeping Naiads gave to her a vein of tears which always flows there from her sorrows—nothing better could be done. Immediately, as drops of pitch drip forth from the gashed pine, or sticky bitumen distils out from the rich and heavy earth, or as the frozen water at the approach of a soft-breathing wind melts in the sun; so Byblis, sad descendant of the Sun, dissolving in her own tears, was there changed into a fountain; which to this late day, in all those valleys has no name but hers,
and issues underneath a dark oak-tree. The tale of this unholy passion would perhaps, have filled Crete's hundred cities then, if Crete had not a wonder of its own to talk of, in the change of Iphis. Once, there lived at Phaestus, not far from the town of Gnossus, a man Ligdus, not well known; in fact obscure, of humble parentage, whose income was no greater than his birth; but he was held trustworthy and his life had been quite blameless. When the time drew near his wife should give birth to a child, he warned
her and instructed her, with words we quote:— “There are two things which I would ask of Heaven: that you may be delivered with small pain, and that your child may surely be a boy. Girls are such trouble, fair strength is denied to them.—Therefore (may Heaven refuse the thought) if chance should cause your child to be a girl, (gods pardon me for having said the word!) we must agree to have her put to death.” And all the time he spoke such dreaded words, their faces were completely bathed in tears; not only hers but also his while he
forced on her that unnatural command. Ah, Telethusa ceaselessly implored her husband to give way to fortune's cast; but Ligdus held his resolution fixed. And now the expected time of birth was near, when in the middle of the night she seemed to see the goddess Isis, standing by her bed, in company of serious spirit forms; Isis had crescent horns upon her forehead, and a bright garland made of golden grain encircled her fair brow. It was a crown of regal beauty: and beside her stood
the dog Anubis, and Bubastis, there the sacred, dappled Apis, and the God of silence with pressed finger on his lips; the sacred rattles were there, and Osiris, known the constant object of his worshippers' desire, and there the Egyptian serpent whose quick sting gives long-enduring sleep. She seemed to see them all, and even to hear the goddess say to her, “O Telethusa, one of my remembered worshippers, forget your grief; your husband's orders need not be obeyed; and when Lucina has delivered you,
save and bring up your child, if either boy or girl. I am the goddess who brings help to all who call upon me; and you shall never complain of me—that you adored a thankless deity.” So she advised by vision the sad mother, and left her. The Cretan woman joyfully arose from her sad bed, and supplicating, raised ecstatic hands up towards the listening stars, and prayed to them her vision might come true. Soon, when her pains gave birth, the mother knew her infant was a girl (the father had
no knowledge of it, as he was not there). Intending to deceive, the mother said, “Feed the dear boy.” All things had favored her deceit—no one except the trusted nurse, knew of it. And the father paid his vows, and named the child after its grandfather, whose name was honored Iphis. Hearing it so called, the mother could not but rejoice, because her child was given a name of common gender, and she could use it with no more deceit. She took good care to dress it as a boy, and either as a boy or girl, its face
must always be accounted lovable. And so she grew,—ten years and three had gone, and then your father found a bride for you O Iphis—promised you should take to wife the golden-haired Ianthe, praised by all the women of Phaestus for the dower of her unequalled beauty, and well known, the daughter of a Cretan named Telestes. Of equal age and equal loveliness, they had received from the same teachers, all instruction in their childish rudiments. So unsuspected love had filled their hearts
with equal longing—but how different! Ianthe waits in confidence and hope the ceremonial as agreed upon, and is quite certain she will wed a man. But Iphis is in love without one hope of passion's ecstasy, the thought of which only increased her flame; and she a girl is burnt with passion for another girl! She hardly can hold back her tears, and says: “O what will be the awful dreaded end, with such a monstrous love compelling me? If the Gods should wish to save me, certainly
they should have saved me; but, if their desire was for my ruin, still they should have given some natural suffering of humanity. The passion for a cow does not inflame a cow, no mare has ever sought another mare. The ram inflames the ewe, and every doe follows a chosen stag; so also birds are mated, and in all the animal world no female ever feels love passion for another female—why is it in me? “Monstrosities are natural to Crete, the daughter of the Sun there loved a bull—
it was a female's mad love for the male— but my desire is far more mad than hers, in strict regard of truth, for she had hope of love's fulfillment. She secured the bull by changing herself to a heifer's form; and in that subtlety it was the male deceived at last. Though all the subtleties of all the world should be collected here;— if Daedalus himself should fly back here upon his waxen wings, what could he do? What skillful art of his could change my sex, a girl into a boy—or could he change
Ianthe? What a useless thought! Be bold take courage Iphis, and be strong of soul. This hopeless passion stultifies your heart; so shake it off, and hold your memory down to the clear fact of your birth: unless your will provides deception for yourself: do only what is lawful, and confine strictly, your love within a woman's right. “Hope of fulfillment can beget true love, and hope keeps it alive. You are deprived of this hope by the nature of your birth. No guardian keeps you from her dear embrace,
no watchful jealous husband, and she has no cruel father: she does not deny herself to you. With all that liberty, you can not have her for your happy wife, though Gods and men should labor for your wish. None of my prayers has ever been denied; the willing Deities have granted me whatever should be, and my father helps me to accomplish everything I plan: she and her father also, always help. But Nature is more powerful than all, and only Nature works for my distress.
“The wedding-day already is at hand; the longed-for time is come; Ianthe soon will be mine only—and yet, not my own: with water all around me I shall thirst! O why must Juno, goddess of sweet brides, and why should Hymen also, favor us when man with woman cannot join in wedlock, but both are brides?” And so she closed her lips. The other maiden flamed with equal love, and often prayed for Hymen to appear. But Telethusa, fearing that event, the marriage which Ianthe keenly sought,
procrastinated, causing first delay by some pretended illness; and then gave pretence of omens and of visions seen, sufficient for delay, until she had exhausted every avenue of excuse, and only one more day remained before the fateful time, it was so near at hand. Despairing then of finding other cause which might prevent the fated wedding-day, the mother took the circled fillets from her own head, and her daughter's head, and prayed, as she embraced the altar—her long hair
spread out upon the flowing breeze—and said: “O Isis, goddess of Paraetonium, the Mareotic fields, Pharos, and Nile of seven horns divided—oh give help! Goddess of nations! heal us of our fears! I saw you, goddess, and your symbols once, and I adored them all, the clashing sounds of sistra and the torches of your train, and I took careful note of your commands, for which my daughter lives to see the sun, and also I have so escaped from harm;— all this is of your counsel and your gift;
oh, pity both of us—and give us aid!” Tears emphasized her prayer; the goddess seemed to move—in truth it was the altar moved; the firm doors of the temple even shook— and her horns, crescent, flashed with gleams of light, and her loud sistrum rattled noisily. Although not quite free of all fear, yet pleased by that good omen, gladly the mother left the temple with her daughter Iphis, who beside her walked, but with a lengthened stride. Her face seemed of a darker hue, her strength seemed greater, and her features were more stern.
Her hair once long, was unadorned and short. There is more vigor in her than she showed in her girl ways. For in the name of truth, Iphis, who was a girl, is now a man! Make offerings at the temple and rejoice without a fear!—They offer at the shrines, and add a votive tablet, on which this inscription is engraved: these gifts are paid by Iphis as a man which as a maid he vowed to give. The morrow's dawn
revealed the wide world; on the day agreed, Venus, Juno and Hymen, all have met our happy lovers at the marriage fires; and Iphis, a new man, gained his Ianthe.
Book 10
Veiled in a saffron mantle, through the air unmeasured, after the strange wedding, Hymen departed swiftly for Ciconian land; regardless and not listening to the voice of tuneful Orpheus. Truly Hymen there was present during the festivities of Orpheus and Eurydice, but gave no happy omen, neither hallowed words nor joyful glances; and the torch he held would only sputter, fill the eyes with smoke, and cause no blaze while waving. The result of that sad wedding, proved more terrible
than such foreboding fates. While through the grass delighted Naiads wandered with the bride, a serpent struck its venomed tooth in her soft ankle— and she died.—After the bard of Rhodope had mourned, and filled the highs of heaven with the moans of his lament, determined also the dark underworld should recognize the misery of death, he dared descend by the Taenarian gate down to the gloomy Styx. And there passed through pale-glimmering phantoms, and the ghosts
escaped from sepulchres, until he found Persephone and Pluto, master-king of shadow realms below: and then began to strike his tuneful lyre, to which he sang:— “O deities of this dark world beneath the earth! this shadowy underworld, to which all mortals must descend! If it can be called lawful, and if you will suffer speech of strict truth (all the winding ways of Falsity forbidden) I come not down here because of curiosity to see the glooms of Tartarus and have
no thought to bind or strangle the three necks of the Medusan Monster, vile with snakes. But I have come, because my darling wife stepped on a viper that sent through her veins death-poison, cutting off her coming years. “If able, I would bear it, I do not deny my effort—but the god of Love has conquered me—a god so kindly known in all the upper world. We are not sure he can be known so well in this deep world, but have good reason to conjecture he is not unknown here, and if old report
almost forgotten, that you stole your wife is not a fiction, Love united you the same as others. By this Place of Fear this huge void and these vast and silent realms, renew the life-thread of Eurydice. “All things are due to you, and though on earth it happens we may tarry a short while, slowly or swiftly we must go to one abode; and it will be our final home. Long and tenaciously you will possess unquestioned mastery of the human race. She also shall be yours to rule, when full
of age she shall have lived the days of her allotted years. So I ask of you possession of her few days as a boon. But if the fates deny to me this prayer for my true wife, my constant mind must hold me always so that I can not return— and you may triumph in the death of two!” While he sang all his heart said to the sound of his sweet lyre, the bloodless ghosts themselves were weeping, and the anxious Tantalus stopped clutching at return-flow of the wave, Ixion's twisting wheel stood wonder-bound;
and Tityus' liver for a while escaped the vultures, and the listening Belides forgot their sieve-like bowls and even you, O Sisyphus! sat idly on your rock! Then Fame declared that conquered by the song of Orpheus, for the first and only time the hard cheeks of the fierce Eumenides were wet with tears: nor could the royal queen, nor he who rules the lower world deny the prayer of Orpheus; so they called to them Eurydice, who still was held among the new-arriving shades, and she obeyed
the call by walking to them with slow steps, yet halting from her wound. So Orpheus then received his wife; and Pluto told him he might now ascend from these Avernian vales up to the light, with his Eurydice; but, if he turned his eyes to look at her, the gift of her delivery would be lost. They picked their way in silence up a steep and gloomy path of darkness. There remained but little more to climb till they would touch earth's surface, when in fear he might again lose her, and anxious for another look
at her, he turned his eyes so he could gaze upon her. Instantly she slipped away. He stretched out to her his despairing arms, eager to rescue her, or feel her form, but could hold nothing save the yielding air. Dying the second time, she could not say a word of censure of her husband's fault; what had she to complain of — his great love? Her last word spoken was, “Farewell!” which he could barely hear, and with no further sound she fell from him again to Hades.—Struck quite senseless by this double death of his
dear wife, he was as fixed from motion as the frightened one who saw the triple necks of Cerberus, that dog whose middle neck was chained. The sight filled him with terror he had no escape from, until petrified to stone; or like Olenos, changed to stone, because he fastened on himself the guilt of his wife. O unfortunate Lethaea! Too boastful of your beauty, you and he, united once in love, are now two stones upon the mountain Ida, moist with springs. Orpheus implored in vain the ferryman
to help him cross the River Styx again, but was denied the very hope of death. Seven days he sat upon Death's river bank, in squalid misery and without all food— nourished by grief, anxiety, and tears— complaining that the Gods of Erebus were pitiless, at last he wandered back, until he came to lofty Rhodope and Haemus, beaten by the strong north wind. Three times the Sun completed his full course to watery Pisces, and in all that time, shunning all women, Orpheus still believed
his love-pledge was forever. So he kept away from women, though so many grieved, because he took no notice of their love. The only friendship he enjoyed was given to the young men of Thrace. There was a hill which rose up to a level plateau, high and beautiful with green grass; and there was not any shade for comfort on the top and there on that luxuriant grass the bard, while heaven-inspired reclined, and struck such harmonies on his sweet lyre that shade
most grateful to the hill was spread around. Strong trees came up there—the Chaonian oak the Heliads' poplar, and the lofty-branched deep mast-tree, the soft linden and the beech, the brittle hazel, and the virgin laurel-tree, the ash for strong spears, the smooth silver-fir, the flex bent with acorns and the plane, the various tinted maple and with those, the lotus and green willows from their streams, evergreen box and slender tamarisks, rich myrtles of two colors and the tine, bending with green-blue berries: and you, too,
the pliant-footed ivy, came along with tendril-branching grape-vines, and the elm all covered with twist-vines, the mountain-ash, pitch-trees and arbute-trees of blushing fruit, the bending-palm prized after victories, the bare-trunk pine of tufted foliage, bristled upon the top, a pleasant sight delightful to the Mother of the Gods; since Attis dear to Cybele, exchanged his human form which hardened in that tree. In all the throng the cone-shaped cypress came; a tree now, it was changed from a dear youth
loved by the god who strings the lyre and bow. For there was at one time, a mighty stag held sacred by those nymphs who haunt the fields Carthaean. His great antlers spread so wide, they gave an ample shade to his own head. Those antlers shone with gold: from his smooth throat a necklace, studded with a wealth of gems, hung down to his strong shoulders—beautiful. A silver boss, fastened with little thongs, played on his forehead, worn there from his birth; and pendants from both ears, of gleaming pearls, adorned his hollow temples. Free of fear,
and now no longer shy, frequenting homes of men he knew, he offered his soft neck even to strangers for their petting hands. But more than by all others, he was loved by you, O Cyparissus, fairest youth of all the lads of Cea. It was you who led the pet stag to fresh pasturage, and to the waters of the clearest spring. Sometimes you wove bright garlands for his horns, and sometimes, like a horseman on his back, now here now there, you guided his soft mouth with purple reins. It was upon a summer day,
at high noon when the Crab, of spreading claws, loving the sea-shore, almost burnt beneath the sun's hot burning rays; and the pet stag was then reclining on the grassy earth and, wearied of all action, found relief under the cool shade of the forest trees; that as he lay there Cyparissus pierced him with a javelin: and although it was quite accidental, when the shocked youth saw his loved stag dying from the cruel wound he could not bear it, and resolved on death. What did not Phoebus say to comfort him?
He cautioned him to hold his grief in check, consistent with the cause. But still the lad lamented, and with groans implored the Gods that he might mourn forever. His life force exhausted by long weeping, now his limbs began to take a green tint, and his hair, which overhung his snow-white brow, turned up into a bristling crest; and he became a stiff tree with a slender top and pointed up to the starry heavens. And the God, groaning with sorrow, said; “You shall be mourned sincerely by me, surely as you mourn
for others, and forever you shall stand in grief, where others grieve.” Such was the grove by Orpheus drawn together; and he sat surrounded by assembled animals, and many strange Birds. When he tried the chords by touching with his thumb, and was convinced the notes were all in harmony, although attuned to various melody, he raised his voice and sang: “Oh my loved mother, Muse, from Jove inspire my song—for all things yield,
to the unequalled sway of Jove—oh, I have sung so often Jupiter's great power before this day, and in a wilder strain, I've sung the giants and victorious bolts hurled on Phlegraean plains. But now I need the gentler touch; for I would sing of boys, the favorites of Gods, and even of maids who had to pay the penalty of wrong.” The king of all the Gods once burned with love for Ganymede of Phrygia. He found a shape more pleasing even than his own. Jove would not take the form of any bird,
except the eagle's, able to sustain the weight of his own thunderbolts. Without delay, Jove on fictitious eagle wings, stole and flew off with that loved Trojan boy: who even to this day, against the will of Juno, mingles nectar in the cups of his protector, mighty Jupiter. You also, Hyacinthus, would have been set in the sky! if Phoebus had been given time which the cruel fates denied for you. But in a way you are immortal too. Though you have died. Always when warm spring
drives winter out, and Aries (the Ram) succeeds to Pisces (watery Fish), you rise and blossom on the green turf. And the love my father had for you was deeper than he felt for others. Delphi center of the world, had no presiding guardian, while the God frequented the Eurotas and the land of Sparta, never fortified with walls. His zither and his bow no longer fill his eager mind and now without a thought of dignity, he carried nets and held the dogs in leash, and did not hesitate
to go with Hyacinthus on the rough, steep mountain ridges; and by all of such associations, his love was increased. Now Titan was about midway, betwixt the coming and the banished night, and stood at equal distance from those two extremes. Then, when the youth and Phoebus were well stripped, and gleaming with rich olive oil, they tried a friendly contest with the discus. First Phoebus, well-poised, sent it awhirl through air, and cleft the clouds beyond with its broad weight; from which at length it fell down to the earth,
a certain evidence of strength and skill. Heedless of danger Hyacinthus rushed for eager glory of the game, resolved to get the discus. But it bounded back from off the hard earth, and struck full against your face, O Hyacinthus! Deadly pale the God's face went — as pallid as the boy's. With care he lifted the sad huddled form. The kind god tries to warm you back to life, and next endeavors to attend your wound, and stay your parting soul with healing herbs. His skill is no advantage, for the wound
is past all art of cure. As if someone, when in a garden, breaks off violets, poppies, or lilies hung from golden stems, then drooping they must hang their withered heads, and gaze down towards the earth beneath them; so, the dying boy's face droops, and his bent neck, a burden to itself, falls back upon his shoulder: “You are fallen in your prime defrauded of your youth, O Hyacinthus!” Moaned Apollo. “I can see in your sad wound my own guilt, and you are my cause of grief and self-reproach. My own hand gave you death
unmerited — I only can be charged with your destruction.—What have I done wrong? Can it be called a fault to play with you? Should loving you be called a fault? And oh, that I might now give up my life for you! Or die with you! But since our destinies prevent us you shall always be with me, and you shall dwell upon my care-filled lips. The lyre struck by my hand, and my true songs will always celebrate you. A new flower you shall arise, with markings on your petals, close imitation of my constant moans:
and there shall come another to be linked with this new flower, a valiant hero shall be known by the same marks upon its petals.” And while Phoebus, Apollo, sang these words with his truth-telling lips, behold the blood of Hyacinthus, which had poured out on the ground beside him and there stained the grass, was changed from blood; and in its place a flower, more beautiful than Tyrian dye, sprang up. It almost seemed a lily, were it not that one was purple and the other white. But Phoebus was not satisfied with this.
For it was he who worked the miracle of his sad words inscribed on flower leaves. These letters AI, AI, are inscribed on them. And Sparta certainly is proud to honor Hyacinthus as her son; and his loved fame endures; and every year they celebrate his solemn festival. If you should ask Amathus, which is rich in metals, how can she rejoice and take a pride in deeds of her Propoetides; she would disclaim it and repudiate them all, as well as those of transformed men,
whose foreheads were deformed by two rough horns, from which their name Cerastae. By their gates an altar unto Jove stood. If by chance a stranger, not informed of their dark crimes, had seen the horrid altar smeared with blood, he would suppose that suckling calves and sheep of Amathus, were sacrificed thereon— it was in fact the blood of slaughtered guests! Kind-hearted Venus, outraged by such deeds of sacrifice, was ready to desert her cities and her snake-infested plains; “But how,” said she, “have their delightful lands
together with my well built cities sinned? What crime have they done?—Those inhabitants should pay the penalty of their own crimes by exile or by death; or it may be a middle course, between exile and death; and what can that be, but the punishment of a changed form?” And while she hesitates, in various thoughts of what form they should take, her eyes by chance, observed their horns, and that decided her; such horns could well be on them after any change occurred, and she transformed their big and brutal bodies
to savage bulls. But even after that, the obscene Propoetides dared to deny divinity of Venus, for which fault, (and it is common fame) they were the first to criminate their bodies, through the wrath of Venus; and so blushing shame was lost, white blood, in their bad faces grew so fast, so hard, it was no wonder they were turned with small change into hard and lifeless stones. Pygmalion saw these women waste their lives in wretched shame, and critical of faults
which nature had so deeply planted through their female hearts, he lived in preference, for many years unmarried.—But while he was single, with consummate skill, he carved a statue out of snow-white ivory, and gave to it exquisite beauty, which no woman of the world has ever equalled: she was so beautiful, he fell in love with his creation. It appeared in truth a perfect virgin with the grace of life, but in the expression of such modesty all motion was restrained—and so his art
concealed his art. Pygmalion gazed, inflamed with love and admiration for the form, in semblance of a woman, he had carved. He lifts up both his hands to feel the work, and wonders if it can be ivory, because it seems to him more truly flesh. — his mind refusing to conceive of it as ivory, he kisses it and feels his kisses are returned. And speaking love, caresses it with loving hands that seem to make an impress, on the parts they touch, so real that he fears he then may bruise
her by his eager pressing. Softest tones are used each time he speaks to her. He brings to her such presents as are surely prized by sweet girls; such as smooth round pebbles, shells, and birds, and fragrant flowers of thousand tints, lilies, and painted balls, and amber tears of Heliads, which distill from far off trees.— he drapes her in rich clothing and in gems: rings on her fingers, a rich necklace round her neck, pearl pendants on her graceful ears; and golden ornaments adorn her breast. All these are beautiful—and she appears
most lovable, if carefully attired,— or perfect as a statue, unadorned. He lays her on a bed luxurious, spread with coverlets of Tyrian purple dye, and naming her the consort of his couch, lays her reclining head on the most soft and downy pillows, trusting she could feel. The festal day of Venus, known throughout all Cyprus, now had come, and throngs were there to celebrate. Heifers with spreading horns, all gold-tipped, fell when given the stroke of death upon their snow-white necks; and frankincense
was smoking on the altars. There, intent, Pygmalion stood before an altar, when his offering had been made; and although he feared the result, he prayed: “If it is true, O Gods, that you can give all things, I pray to have as my wife—” but, he did not dare to add “my ivory statue-maid,” and said, “One like my ivory—.” Golden Venus heard, for she was present at her festival, and she knew clearly what the prayer had meant. She gave a sign that her Divinity favored his plea: three times the flame leaped high
and brightly in the air. When he returned, he went directly to his image-maid, bent over her, and kissed her many times, while she was on her couch; and as he kissed, she seemed to gather some warmth from his lips. Again he kissed her; and he felt her breast; the ivory seemed to soften at the touch, and its firm texture yielded to his hand, as honey-wax of Mount Hymettus turns to many shapes when handled in the sun, and surely softens from each gentle touch.
He is amazed; but stands rejoicing in his doubt; while fearful there is some mistake, again and yet again, gives trial to his hopes by touching with his hand. It must be flesh! The veins pulsate beneath the careful test of his directed finger. Then, indeed, the astonished hero poured out lavish thanks to Venus; pressing with his raptured lips his statue's lips. Now real, true to life— the maiden felt the kisses given to her, and blushing, lifted up her timid eyes, so that she saw the light and sky above,
as well as her rapt lover while he leaned gazing beside her—and all this at once— the goddess graced the marriage she had willed, and when nine times a crescent moon had changed, increasing to the full, the statue-bride gave birth to her dear daughter Paphos. From which famed event the island takes its name. The royal Cinyras was sprung from her; and if he had been father of no child, might well have been accounted fortunate— but I must sing of horrible events— avoid it daughters! Parents! shun this tale!
But if my verse has charmed your thought, do not give me such credit in this part; convince yourself it cannot be true life; or, if against my wish you hear and must believe it, then be sure to notice how such wickedness gets certain punishment. And yet, if Nature could permit such crimes as this to happen, I congratulate Ismarian people and all Thrace as well, and I congratulate this nation, which we know is far away from the land where this vile abomination did occur.
The land we call Panchaia may be rich in balsam, cinnamon, and costum sweet for ointment, frankincense distilled from trees, with many flowers besides. All this large wealth combined could never compensate the land for this detestable, one crime: even though the new Myrrh-Tree advanced on that rich soil. Cupid declares his weapons never caused an injury to Myrrha, and denies his torches ever could have urged her crime.— one of the three bad sisters kindled this, with fire brand from the Styx, and poisoned you
with swollen vipers.—It is criminal to hate a parent, but love such as hers is certainly more criminal than hate. The chosen princes of all lands desire you now in marriage, and young men throughout the Orient are vying for your hand. Choose, Myrrha one from all of these for your good husband; but exclude from such a thought your father only. She indeed is quite aware, and struggles bitterly against her vile desires, and argues in her heart:— “What am I tending to? O listening Gods
I pray for aid, I pray to Natural Love! Ah, may the sacred rights of parents keep this vile desire from me, defend me from a crime so great—If it indeed is crime. I am not sure it is—I have not heard that any god or written law condemns the union of a parent and his child. All animals will mate as they desire— a heifer may endure her sire, and who condemns it? And the happy stud is not refused by his mare-daughters: the he-goat consorts unthought-of with the flock of which
he is the father; and the birds conceive of those from whom they were themselves begot. Happy are they who have such privilege! Malignant men have given spiteful laws; and what is right to Nature is decreed unnatural, by jealous laws of men. “But it is said there are some tribes today, in which the mother marries her own son; the daughter takes her father; and by this, the love kind Nature gives them is increased into a double bond.—Ah wretched me! Why was it not my fortune to be born
in that love-blessed land? I must abide, depressed by my misfortunes, in this place. “Why do I dwell on these forbidden hopes? Let me forget to think of lawless flame. My father is most worthy of my love, but only as a father.—If I were not born the daughter of great Cinyras, I might be joined to him; but, as it stands, because he is mine he is never mine; because near to me he is far from me. “It would be better for me, if we were but strangers to each other; for I then,
could wish to go, and leave my native land, and so escape temptation to this crime: but my unhappy passion holds me here, that I may see Cinyras face to face, and touch him, talk with him and even kiss him— the best, if nothing else can be allowed. “But what more could be asked for, by the most depraved? Think of the many sacred ties and loved names, you are dragging to the mire: the rival of your mother, will you be the mistress of your father, and be named the sister of your son, and make yourself
the mother of your brother? And will you not dread the sisters with black snakes for hair. Whom guilty creatures, such as you, can see brandish relentless flames before their eyes and faces? While your body has not sinned you must not let sin creep into your heart, and violate great Nature's law with your unlawful rovings. If you had the right to long for his endearment, it could not be possible. He is a virtuous man and is regardful of the moral law— oh how I wish my passion could be his!”
And so she argued and declared her love: but Cinyras, her father, who was urged by such a throng of suitors for her hand, that he could make no choice, at last inquired of her, so she might make her heart's wish known. And as he named them over, asked her which she fixed her gaze upon her father's face, in doubtful agony what she could say, while hot tears filled her eyes. Her father, sure it all was of a virginal alarm, as he is telling her she need not weep dries her wet cheeks and kisses her sweet lips.
Too much delighted with his gentle words and kind endearments, Myrrha, when he asked again, which one might be her husband, said, “The one just like yourself.”, And he replied not understanding what her heart would say, “You answer as a loving-daughter should.” When she heard “loving-daughter” said, the girl too conscious of her guilt, looked on the ground. It was now midnight, peaceful sleep dissolved the world-care of all mortals, but of her who, sleepless through the night, burnt in the flame of her misplaced affection. First despair
compels her to abandon every hope, and then she changes and resolves to try; and so she wavers from desire to shame, for she could not adhere to any plan. As a great tree, cut by the swinging axe is chopped until the last blow has been struck, then sways and threatens danger to all sides; so does her weak mind, cut with many blows, waver unsteadily—this way and that— and turning back and forth it finds no rest from passion, save the rest that lies in death. The thought of death gave comfort to her heart.
Resolved to hang herself, she sat upright; then, as she tied her girdle to a beam, she said, “Farewell, beloved Cinyras, and may you know the cause of my sad death.” And while she spoke those words, her fingers fixed the noosed rope close around her death-pale neck. They say the murmur of despairing words was heard by her attentive nurse who watched outside the room. And, faithful as of old, she opened the shut door. But, when she saw the frightful preparations made for death, the odd nurse screamed and beat and tore her breast,
then seized and snatched the rope from Myrrha's neck; and after she had torn the noose apart, at last she had the time to weep and time, while she embraced the girl, to ask her why the halter had been fastened round her neck. The girl in stubborn silence only fixed her eyes upon the ground—sad that her first attempt at death, because too slow, was foiled. The old nurse-woman urged and urged, and showed her gray hair and her withered breasts, and begged her by the memory of her cradle days, and baby nourishment, to hide no more
from her long-trusted nurse what caused her grief. The girl turned from her questions with a sigh. The nurse, still more determined to know all, promised fidelity and her best aid— “Tell me,” she said, “and let me give you help; my old age offers means for your relief: if it be frantic passion, I have charms and healing herbs; or, if an evil spell was worked on you by someone, you shall be cured to your perfect self by magic rites; or, if your actions have enraged the Gods, a sacrifice will satisfy their wrath.
What else could be the cause? Your family and you are prosperous—your mother dear, and your loved father are alive and well.” And, when she heard her say the name of father, a sigh heaved up from her distracted heart. But even after that the nurse could not conceive such evil in the girl's sick heart; and yet she had a feeling it must be only a love affair could cause the crime: and with persistent purpose begged the cause. She pressed the weeping girl against her breast; and as she held her in her feeble arms,
she said, “Sweet heart, I know you are in love: in this affair I am entirely yours for your good service, you must have no fear, your father cannot learn of it from me.,” just like a mad girl, Myrrha sprang away, and with her face deep-buried in a couch, sobbed out, “Go from me or stop asking me my cause of grief—it is a crime of shame— I cannot tell it!” Horrified the nurse stretched forth her trembling hands, palsied with age and fear. She fell down at the feet of her loved foster-child, and coaxing her
and frightening her, she threatened to disclose her knowledge of the halter and of what she knew of her attempted suicide; and after all was said, she gave her word to help the girl, when she had given to her a true confession of her sad heart-love. The girl just lifted up her face, and laid it, weeping, on the bosom of her nurse. She tried so often to confess, and just as often checked her words, her shamed face hid deep in her garment: “Oh”, at last she groans, “O mother blessed in your husband—oh!”
Only that much she said and groaned. The nurse felt a cold horror stealing through her heart and frame, for she now understood it all. And her white hair stood bristling on her head, while with the utmost care of love and art she strove to use appropriate words and deeds, to banish the mad passion of the girl. Though Myrrha knew that she was truly warned, she was resolved to die, unless she could obtain the object of her wicked love. The nurse gave way at last as in defeat, and said, “Live and enjoy—” but did not dare
to say, “your father”, did not finish, though, she promised and confirmed it with an oath. It was the time when matrons celebrate the annual festival of Ceres. Then, all robed in decent garments of snow-white, they bring garlands of precious wheat, which are first fruits of worship; and for nine nights they must count forbidden every act of love, and shun the touch of man. And in that throng, Cenchreis, the king's wife, with constant care attended every secret rite: and so while the king's bed was lacking his true wife,
one of those nights,—King Cinyras was drunk with too much wine,—the scheming nurse informed him of a girl most beautiful, whose love for him was passionate; in a false tale she pictured a true passion. — When he asked the maiden's age, she answered, “Just the same as Myrrha's.” Bidden by the king to go and fetch her, the officious old nurse, when she found the girl, cried out; “Rejoice, my dear, we have contrived it!” The unhappy girl could not feel genuine joy in her amazed and startled body. Her dazed mind was filled
with strange forebodings; but she did believe her heart was joyful.—Great excitement filled her wrecked heart with such inconsistencies. Now was the time when nature is at rest; between the Bears, Bootes turned his wain down to the west, and the guilty Myrrha turns to her enormity. The golden moon flies from the heaven, and black clouds cover the hiding stars and Night has lost her fires. The first to hide were stars of Icarus and of Erigone, in hallowed love devoted to her father. Myrrha thrice
was warned by omen of her stumbling foot; the funeral screech-owl also warned her thrice, with dismal cry; yet Myrrha onward goes. It seems to her the black night lessens shame. She holds fast to her nurse with her left hand, and with the other hand gropes through the dark. And now they go until she finds the door. Now at the threshold of her father's room, she softly pushes back the door, her nurse takes her within. The girl's knees trembling sink beneath her. Her drawn bloodless face has lost its color, and while she moves to the crime,
bad courage goes from her until afraid of her bold effort, she would gladly turn unrecognized. But as she hesitates, the aged crone still holds her by the hand; and leading her up to the high bed there delivering Myrrha, says, “Now Cinyras, you take her, she is yours;” and leaves the pair doomed in their crime — the father to pollute his own flesh in his own bed; where he tries first to encourage her from maiden fears, by gently talking to the timid girl. He chanced to call her “daughter,” as a name
best suited to her age; and she in turn, endearing, called him “father”, so no names might be omitted to complete their guilt. She staggered from his chamber with the crime of her own father hidden in her womb, and their guilt was repeated many nights; till Cinyras — determined he must know his mistress, after many meetings, brought a light and knew his crime had harmed his daughter. Speechless in shame he drew forth his bright sword out from the scabbard where it hung near by.— but frightened Myrrha fled, and so escaped
death in the shadows of dark night. Groping her pathless way at random through the fields, she left Arabia, famed for spreading palms, and wandered through Panchaean lands. Until after nine months of aimless wandering days, she rested in Sabaea, for she could not hold the burden she had borne so long. Not knowing what to pray for, moved alike by fear of death and weariness of life, her wishes were expressed in prayer: “O Gods, if you will listen to my prayer, I do not shun a dreadful punishment deserved;
but now because my life offends the living, and dying I offend the dead, drive me from both conditions; change me, and refuse my flesh both life and death!” Some god did listen to her unnatural prayer; her last petition had answering gods. For even as she prayed, the earth closed over her legs; roots grew out and, stretching forth obliquely from her nails, gave strong support to her up-growing trunk; her bones got harder, and her marrow still unchanged, kept to the center, as her blood
was changed to sap, as her outstretching arms became long branches and her fingers twigs; and as her soft skin hardened into bark: and the fast-growing tree had closely bound her womb, still heavy, and had covered her soft bosom; and was spreading quickly up to her neck.—She can not endure the strain, and sinking down into the rising wood, her whole face soon was hidden in the bark. Although all sense of human life was gone, as quickly as she lost her human form, her weeping was continued, and warm drops
distilled from her (the tree) cease not to fall. There is a virtue even in her tears— the valued myrrh distilling from the trunk, keeps to her name, by which she still is known, and cannot be forgot of aging time. The guilt-begotten child had growth while wood was growing, and endeavored now to find a way of safe birth. The tree-trunk was swelling and tightened against Myrrha, who, unable to express her torture, could not call upon Lucina in the usual words of travail. But then just like a woman in great pain,
the tree bends down and, while it groans, bedews itself with falling tears. Lucina stood in pity near the groaning branches, laid her hands on them, and uttered charms to aid the hindered birth. The tree cracked open then, the bark was rent asunder, and it gave forth its living weight, a wailing baby-boy. The Naiads laid him on soft leaves, and they anointed him with his own mother's tears. Even Envy would not fail to praise the child, as beautiful as naked cupids seen in chosen paintings. Only give to him
a polished quiver, or take theirs from them, and no keen eye could choose him from their midst. Time gliding by without our knowledge cheats us, and nothing can be swifter than the years. That son of sister and grandfather, who was lately hidden in his parent tree, just lately born, a lovely baby-boy is now a youth, now man more beautiful than during growth. He wins the love of Venus and so avenges his own mother's passion. For while the goddess' son with quiver held on shoulder, once was kissing his loved mother,
it chanced unwittingly he grazed her breast with a projecting arrow. Instantly the wounded goddess pushed her son away; but the scratch had pierced her deeper than she thought and even Venus was at first deceived. Delighted with the beauty of the youth, she does not think of her Cytherian shores and does not care for Paphos, which is girt by the deep sea, nor Cnidos, haunts of fish, nor Amathus far-famed for precious ores. Venus, neglecting heaven, prefers Adonis to heaven, and so she holds close to his ways
as his companion, and forgets to rest at noon-day in the shade, neglecting care of her sweet beauty. She goes through the woods, and over mountain ridges and wild fields, rocky and thorn-set, bare to her white knees after Diana's manner. And she cheers the hounds, intent to hunt for harmless prey, such as the leaping hare, or the wild stag, high-crowned with branching antlers, or the doe.— she keeps away from fierce wild boars, away from ravenous wolves; and she avoids the bears of frightful claws, and lions glutted with
the blood of slaughtered cattle. She warns you, Adonis, to beware and fear them. If her fears for you were only heeded! “Oh be brave,” she says, “against those timid animals which fly from you; but courage is not safe against the bold. Dear boy, do not be rash, do not attack the wild beasts which are armed by nature, lest your glory may cost me great sorrow. Neither youth nor beauty nor the deeds which have moved Venus have effect on lions, bristling boars, and on the eyes
and tempers of wild beasts. Boars have the force of lightning in their curved tusks, and the rage of tawny lions is unlimited. I fear and hate them all.” When he inquires the reason, she says: “I will tell it; you will be surprised to learn the bad result caused by an ancient crime.—But I am weary with unaccustomed toil; and see! a poplar convenient, offers a delightful shade and this lawn gives a good couch. Let us rest ourselves here on the grass.” So saying, she
reclined upon the turf and, pillowing her head against his breast and mingling kisses with her words, she told him the following tale: Perhaps you may have heard of a swift maid, who ran much faster than swift-footed men contesting in the race. What they have told is not an idle tale.—She did excel them all—and you could not have said whether her swift speed or her beauty was more worthy of your praise. When this maid once consulted with an oracle, of her fate after marriage, the god answered her:
“You, Atalanta, never will have need of husband, who will only be your harm. For your best good you should avoid the tie; but surely you will not avoid your harm; and while yet living you will lose yourself.” She was so frightened by the oracle, she lived unwedded in far shaded woods; and with harsh terms repulsed insistent throngs of suitors. “I will not be won,” she said, “Till I am conquered first in speed. Contest the race with me. A wife and couch shall both be given to reward the swift, but death
must recompense the one who lags behind. This must be the condition of a race.” Indeed she was that pitiless, but such the power of beauty, a rash multitude agreed to her harsh terms. Hippomenes had come, a stranger, to the cruel race, with condemnation in his heart against the racing young men for their headstrong love; and said, “Why seek a wife at such a risk?” But when he saw her face, and perfect form disrobed for perfect running, such a form
as mine, Adonis, or as yours—if you were woman—he was so astonished he raised up his hands and said, “Oh pardon me brave men whom I was blaming, I could not then realize the value of the prize you strove for.” And as he is praising her, his own heart leaping with love's fire, he hopes no young man may outstrip her in the race; and, full of envy, fears for the result. “But why,” he cries, “is my chance in the race untried? Divinity helps those who dare.” But while the hero weighed it in his mind
the virgin flew as if her feet had wings. Although she seemed to him in flight as swift as any Scythian arrow, he admired her beauty more; and her swift speed appeared in her most beautiful. The breeze bore back the streamers on her flying ankles, while her hair was tossed back over her white shoulders; the bright trimmed ribbons at her knees were fluttering, and over her white girlish body came a pink flush, just as when a purple awning across a marble hall gives it a wealth of borrowed hues. And while Hippomenes
in wonder gazed at her, the goal was reached; and Atalanta crowned victorious with festal wreath.—But all the vanquished youths paid the death-penalty with sighs and groans, according to the stipulated bond. Not frightened by the fate of those young men, he stood up boldly in the midst of all; and fixing his strong eyes upon the maiden, said: “Where is the glory in an easy victory over such weaklings? Try your fate with me! If fortune fail to favor you, how could it shame you to be conquered by a man?
Megareus of Onchestus is my father, his grandsire, Neptune, god of all the seas. I am descendant of the King of Waves: and add to this, my name for manly worth has not disgraced the fame of my descent. If you should prove victorious against this combination, you will have achieved a great enduring name—the only one who ever bested great Hippomenes.” While he was speaking, Atalanta's gaze grew softer, in her vacillating hopes to conquer and be conquered; till at last,
her heart, unbalanced, argued in this way: “It must be some god envious of youth, wishing to spoil this one prompts him to seek wedlock with me and risk his own dear life. I am not worth the price, if I may judge. His beauty does not touch me—but I could be moved by it—I must consider he is but a boy. It is not he himself who moves me, but his youth. Sufficient cause for thought are his great courage and his soul fearless of death. What of his high descent;— great grandson of the King of all the seas?
What of his love for me that has such great importance, he would perish if his fate denied my marriage to him? O strange boy, go from me while you can; abandon hope of this alliance stained with blood—A match with me is fatal. Other maids will not refuse to wed you, and a wiser girl will gladly seek your love.—But what concern is it of mine, when I but think of those who have already perished! Let him look to it himself; and let him die. Since he is not warned by his knowledge of the fate
of many other suitors, he declares quite plainly, he is weary of his life.— “Shall he then die, because it must be his one hope to live with me? And suffer death though undeserved, for me because he loves? My victory will not ward off the hate, the odium of the deed! But it is not a fault of mine.—Oh fond, fond man, I would that you had never seen me! But you are so madly set upon it, I could wish you may prove much the swifter! Oh how dear how lovable is his young girlish face!—
ah, doomed Hippomenes, I only wish mischance had never let you see me! You are truly worthy of a life on earth. If I had been more fortunate, and not denied a happy marriage day; I would not share my bed with any man but you.” All this the virgin Atalanta said; and knowing nothing of the power of love, she is so ignorant of what she does, she loves and does not know she is in love. Meanwhile her father and the people, all loudly demanded the accustomed race.
A suppliant, the young Hippomenes invoked me with his anxious voice, “I pray to you, O Venus, Queen of Love, be near and help my daring—smile upon the love you have inspired!” The breeze, not envious, wafted this prayer to me; and I confess, it was so tender it did move my heart— I had but little time to give him aid. There is a field there which the natives call the Field Tamasus—the most prized of all the fertile lands of Cyprus. This rich field, in ancient days, was set apart for me,
by chosen elders who decreed it should enrich my temples yearly. In this field there grows a tree, with gleaming golden leaves, and all its branches crackle with bright gold. Since I was coming from there, by some chance, I had three golden apples in my hand, which I had plucked. With them I planned to aid Hippomenes. While quite invisible to all but him, I taught him how to use those golden apples for his benefit. The trumpet soon gave signal for the race and both of them crouching flashed quickly forth
and skimmed the surface of the sandy course with flying feet. You might even think those two could graze the sea with unwet feet and pass over the ripened heads of standing grain. Shouts of applause gave courage to the youth: the cheering multitude cried out to him:— “Now is the time to use your strength. Go on! Hippomenes! Bend to the work! You're sure to win!” It must be doubted who was most rejoiced by those brave words, Megareus' son, or Schoeneus' daughter. Oh, how often, when she could have passed him, she delayed her speed;
and after gazing long upon his face reluctantly again would pass him! Now dry panting breath came from his weary throat— the goal still far away.—Then Neptune's scion threw one of three gold apples. Atalanta with wonder saw it—eager to possess the shining fruit, she turned out of her course, picked up the rolling gold. Hippomenes passed by her, while spectators roared applause. Increasing speed, she overcame delay, made up for time lost, and again she left the youth behind. She was delayed again
because he tossed another golden apple. She followed him, and passed him in the race. The last part of the course remained. He cried “Be near me, goddess, while I use your gift.” With youthful might he threw the shining gold, in an oblique direction to the side, so that pursuit would mean a slow return. The virgin seemed to hesitate, in doubt whether to follow after this third prize. I forced her to turn for it; take it up; and, adding weight to the gold fruit, she held, impeded her with weight and loss of time.
For fear my narrative may stretch beyond the race itself,—the maiden was outstripped; Hippomenes then led his prize away. Adonis, did I not deserve his thanks with tribute of sweet incense? But he was ungrateful, and, forgetful of my help, he gave me neither frankincense nor thanks. Such conduct threw me into sudden wrath, and, fretting at the slight, I felt I must not be despised at any future time. I told myself 'twas only right to make a just example of them. They were near
a temple, hidden in the forest, which glorious Echion in remembered time had built to Rhea, Mother of the gods, in payment of a vow. So, wearied from the distance traveled, they were glad to have a needed rest. Hippomenes while there, was seized with love his heart could not control.— a passion caused by my divinity. Quite near the temple was a cave-like place, covered with pumice. It was hallowed by religious veneration of the past. Within the shadows of that place, a priest
had stationed many wooden images of olden gods. The lovers entered there and desecrated it. The images were scandalized, and turned their eyes away. The tower-crowned Mother, Cybele, at first prepared to plunge the guilty pair beneath the waves of Styx, but such a punishment seemed light. And so their necks, that had been smooth. Were covered instantly with tawny manes; their fingers bent to claws; their arms were changed to fore-legs; and their bosoms held their weight; and with their tails they swept the sandy ground.
Their casual glance is anger, and instead of words they utter growls. They haunt the woods, a bridal-room to their ferocious taste. And now fierce lions they are terrible to all of life; except to Cybele; whose harness has subdued their champing jaws. My dear Adonis keep away from all such savage animals; avoid all those which do not turn their fearful backs in flight but offer their bold breasts to your attack, lest courage should be fatal to us both. Indeed she warned him. — Harnessing her swans,
she traveled swiftly through the yielding air; but his rash courage would not heed advice. By chance his dogs, which followed a sure track, aroused a wild boar from his hiding place; and, as he rushed out from his forest lair, Adonis pierced him with a glancing stroke. Infuriate, the fierce boar's curved snout first struck the spear-shaft from his bleeding side; and, while the trembling youth was seeking where to find a safe retreat, the savage beast raced after him, until at last he sank his deadly tusk deep in Adonis' groin;
and stretched him dying on the yellow sand. And now sweet Aphrodite, borne through air in her light chariot, had not yet arrived at Cyprus, on the wings of her white swans. Afar she recognized his dying groans, and turned her white birds towards the sound. And when down looking from the lofty sky, she saw him nearly dead, his body bathed in blood, she leaped down—tore her garment—tore her hair — and beat her bosom with distracted hands. And blaming Fate said, “But not everything is at the mercy of your cruel power.
My sorrow for Adonis will remain, enduring as a lasting monument. Each passing year the memory of his death shall cause an imitation of my grief. “Your blood, Adonis, will become a flower perennial. Was it not allowed to you Persephone, to transform Menthe's limbs into sweet fragrant mint? And can this change of my loved hero be denied to me?” Her grief declared, she sprinkled his blood with sweet-smelling nectar, and his blood as soon as touched by it began to effervesce,
just as transparent bubbles always rise in rainy weather. Nor was there a pause more than an hour, when from Adonis, blood, exactly of its color, a loved flower sprang up, such as pomegranates give to us, small trees which later hide their seeds beneath a tough rind. But the joy it gives to man is short-lived, for the winds which give the flower its name, Anemone, shake it right down, because its slender hold, always so weak, lets it fall to the ground from its frail stem.
Book 11
While with his songs, Orpheus, the bard of Thrace, allured the trees, the savage animals, and even the insensate rocks, to follow him; Ciconian matrons, with their raving breasts concealed in skins of forest animals, from the summit of a hill observed him there, attuning love songs to a sounding harp. One of those women, as her tangled hair was tossed upon the light breeze shouted, “See! Here is the poet who has scorned our love!” Then hurled her spear at the melodious mouth of great Apollo's bard: but the spear's point,
trailing in flight a garland of fresh leaves, made but a harmless bruise and wounded not. The weapon of another was a stone, which in the very air was overpowered by the true harmony of his voice and lyre, and so disabled lay before his feet, as asking pardon for that vain attempt. The madness of such warfare then increased. All moderation is entirely lost, and a wild Fury overcomes the right.— although their weapons would have lost all force, subjected to the power of Orpheus' harp,
the clamorous discord of their boxwood pipes, the blaring of their horns, their tambourines and clapping hands and Bacchanalian yells, with hideous discords drowned his voice and harp.— at last the stones that heard his song no more fell crimson with the Thracian poet's blood. Before his life was taken, the maenads turned their threatening hands upon the many birds, which still were charmed by Orpheus as he sang, the serpents, and the company of beasts— fabulous audience of that worshipped bard. And then they turned on him their blood-stained hands:
and flocked together swiftly, as wild birds, which, by some chance, may see the bird of night beneath the sun. And as the savage dogs rush on the doomed stag, loosed some bright fore-noon, on blood-sand of the amphitheatre; they rushed against the bard, with swift hurled thyrsi which, adorned with emerald leaves had not till then been used for cruelty. And some threw clods, and others branches torn from trees; and others threw flint stones at him, and, that no lack of weapons might restrain their savage fury then, not far from there
by chance they found some oxen which turned up the soil with ploughshares, and in fields nearby were strong-armed peasants, who with eager sweat worked for the harvest as they dug hard fields; and all those peasants, when they saw the troop of frantic women, ran away and left their implements of labor strown upon deserted fields—harrows and heavy rakes and their long spades after the savage mob had seized upon those implements, and torn to pieces oxen armed with threatening horns,
they hastened to destroy the harmless bard, devoted Orpheus; and with impious hate, murdered him, while his out-stretched hands implored their mercy—the first and only time his voice had no persuasion. O great Jupiter! Through those same lips which had controlled the rocks and which had overcome ferocious beasts, his life breathed forth, departed in the air. The mournful birds, the stricken animals, the hard stones and the weeping woods, all these that often had followed your inspiring voice, bewailed your death; while trees dropped their green leaves,
mourning for you, as if they tore their hair. They say sad rivers swelled with their own tears— naiads and dryads with dishevelled hair wore garments of dark color. His torn limbs were scattered in strange places. Hebrus then received his head and harp—and, wonderful! While his loved harp was floating down the stream, it mourned for him beyond my power to tell. His tongue though lifeless, uttered a mournful sound and mournfully the river's banks replied: onward borne by the river to the sea
they left their native stream and reached the shore of Lesbos at Methymna. Instantly, a furious serpent rose to attack the head of Orpheus, cast up on that foreign sand— the hair still wet with spray. Phoebus at last appeared and saved the head from that attack: before the serpent could inflict a sting, he drove it off, and hardened its wide jaws to rigid stone. Meanwhile the fleeting shade of Orpheus had descended under earth: remembering now those regions that he saw
when there before, he sought Eurydice through fields frequented by the blest; and when he found her, folded her in eager arms. Then lovingly they wandered side by side, or he would follow when she chose to lead, or at another time he walked in front, looking back, safely,—at Eurydice. Bacchus would not permit the wickedness of those who slaughtered Orpheus to remain unpunished. Grieving for the loss of his loved bard of sacred rites, at once he bound with twisted roots the feet of everyone
of those Edonian women who had caused the crime of Orpheus' death. Their toes grew long. He thrust the sharp points in the solid earth. As when a bird entangled in a snare, hid by the cunning fowler, knows too late that it is held, then vainly beats its wings, and fluttering only makes more tight the noose with every struggle; so each woman-fiend whose feet were sinking in the soil, when she attempted flight, was held by deepening roots. And while she looks down where her toes and nails
and feet should be, she sees wood growing up from them and covering all her graceful legs. Full of delirious grief, endeavoring to smite with right hand on her changing thigh, she strikes on solid oak. Her tender breast and shoulders are transformed to rigid oak. You would declare that her extended arms are real branches of a forest tree, and such a thought would be the very truth. And not content with this, Bacchus resolved to leave that land, and with a worthier train went to the vineyards of his own Tmolus
and to Pactolus, though the river was not golden, nor admired for precious sands. His usual throng of Satyrs and of Bacchanals surrounded him; but not Silenus, who was then detained from him. The Phrygian folk had captured him, as he was staggering, faint with palsied age and wine. And after they bound him in garlands, they led him to their king Midas, to whom with the Cecropian Eumolpus, Thracian Orpheus had shown all the Bacchic rites. When Midas recognized his old time friend Silenus, who had been
so often his companion in the rites of Bacchus, he kept joyful festival, with his old comrade, twice five days and nights. Upon the eleventh day, when Lucifer had dimmed the lofty multitude of stars, King Midas and Silenus went from there joyful together to the Lydian lands. There Midas put Silenus carefully under the care of his loved foster-child, young Bacchus. He with great delight, because he had his foster-father once again, allowed the king to choose his own reward—
a welcome offer, but it led to harm. And Midas made this ill-advised reply: “Cause whatsoever I shall touch to change at once to yellow gold.” Bacchus agreed to his unfortunate request, with grief that Midas chose for harm and not for good. The Berecynthian hero, king of Phrygia, with joy at his misfortune went away, and instantly began to test the worth of Bacchus' word by touching everything. Doubtful himself of his new power, he pulled a twig down from a holm-oak, growing on
a low hung branch. The twig was turned to gold. He lifted up a dark stone from the ground and it turned pale with gold. He touched a clod and by his potent touch the clod became a mass of shining gold. He plucked some ripe, dry spears of grain, and all that wheat he touched was golden. Then he held an apple which he gathered from a tree, and you would think that the Hesperides had given it. If he but touched a lofty door, at once each door-post seemed to glisten. When he washed his hands in liquid streams, the lustrous drops
upon his hands might have been those which once astonished Danae. He could not now conceive his large hopes in his grasping mind, as he imagined everything of gold. And, while he was rejoicing in great wealth, his servants set a table for his meal, with many dainties and with needful bread: but when he touched the gift of Ceres with his right hand, instantly the gift of Ceres stiffened to gold; or if he tried to bite with hungry teeth a tender bit of meat, the dainty, as his teeth but touched it, shone
at once with yellow shreds and flakes of gold. And wine, another gift of Bacchus, when he mixed it in pure water, can be seen in his astonished mouth as liquid gold. Confounded by his strange misfortune—rich and wretched—he was anxious to escape from his unhappy wealth. He hated all he had so lately longed for. Plenty could not lessen hunger and no remedy relieved his dry, parched throat. The hated gold tormented him no more than he deserved. Lifting his hands and shining arms to heaven,
he moaned. “Oh pardon me, father Lenaeus! I have done wrong, but pity me, I pray, and save me from this curse that looked so fair.” How patient are the gods! Bacchus forthwith, because King Midas had confessed his fault, restored him and annulled the promise given, annulled the favor granted, and he said: “That you may not be always cased in gold, which you unhappily desired, depart to the stream that flows by that great town of Sardis and upward trace its waters, as they glide past Lydian heights, until you find their source.
Then, where the spring leaps out from mountain rock, plunge head and body in the snowy foam. At once the flood will take away your curse.” King Midas did as he was told and plunged beneath the water at the river's source. And the gold virtue granted by the god, as it departed from his body, tinged the stream with gold. And even to this hour adjoining fields, touched by this ancient vein of gold, are hardened where the river flows and colored with the gold that Midas left. Abhorring riches he inhabited
the woods and fields, and followed Pan who dwells always in mountain-caves: but still obtuse remained, from which his foolish mind again, by an absurd decision, harmed his life. He followed Pan up to the lofty mount Tmolus, which from its great height looks far across the sea. Steep and erect it stands between great Sardis and the small Hypaepa. While Pan was boasting there to mountain nymphs of his great skill in music, and while he was warbling a gay tune upon the reeds, cemented with soft wax, in his conceit
he dared to boast to them how he despised Apollo's music when compared with his—. At last to prove it, he agreed to stand against Apollo in a contest which it was agreed should be decided by Tmolus as their umpire. This old god sat down on his own mountain, and first eased his ears of many mountain growing trees, oak leaves were wreathed upon his azure hair and acorns from his hollow temples hung. First to the Shepherd-god Tmolus spoke:
“My judgment shall be yours with no delay. Pan made some rustic sounds on his rough reeds, delighting Midas with his uncouth notes; for Midas chanced to be there when he played. When Pan had ceased, divine Tmolus turned to Phoebus, and the forest likewise turned just as he moved. Apollo's golden locks were richly wreathed with fresh Parnassian laurel; his robe of Tyrian purple swept the ground; his left hand held his lyre, adorned with gems and Indian ivory. His right hand held the plectrum—as an artist he stood there
before Tmolus, while his skilful thumb touching the strings made charming melody. Delighted with Apollo's artful touch, Tmolus ordered Pan to hold his reeds excelled by beauty of Apollo's lyre. That judgment of the sacred mountain god pleased all those present, all but Midas, who blaming Tmolus called the award unjust. The Delian god forbids his stupid ears to hold their native human shape; and, drawing them out to a hideous length, he fills them with gray hairs, and makes them both
unsteady, wagging at the lower part: still human, only this one part condemned, Midas had ears of a slow-moving ass. Midas, careful to hide his long ears, wore a purple turban over both, which hid his foul disgrace from laughter. But one day a servant, who was chosen to cut his hair with steel, when it was long, saw his disgrace. He did not dare reveal what he had seen, but eager, to disclose the secret, dug a shallow hole, and in a low voice told what kind of ears were on his master's head.
All this he whispered in the hollow earth he dug, and then he buried all he said by throwing back the loose earth in the hole so everything was silent when he left. A grove thick set with quivering reeds began to grow there, and when it matured, about twelve months after that servant left, the grove betrayed its planter. For, moved by a gentle South Wind, it repeated all the words which he had whispered, and disclosed from earth the secret of his master's ears. His vengence now complete, Latona's son
borne through the liquid air, departed from Tmolus, and then rested on the land of Laomedon, this side the narrow sea dividing Phrygia from the land of Thrace. The promontory of Sigaeum right and on the left Rhoetaeum loftily arose; and at that place an ancient altar had been dedicated to great Jove, the god Panomphaean. And near that place he saw laomedon, beginning then to build the walls of famous Troy. He was convinced the task exceeded all the power of man,
requiring great resource. Together with the trident-bearing father of the deep, he assumed a mortal form: and those two gods agreed to labor for a sum of gold and built the mighty wall. But that false king refused all payment, adding perjury to his false bargaining. Neptune, enraged, said, “You shall not escape your punishment.” And he drove all his waters high upon the shores of Troy—built there through perfidy. The sad land seemed a sea: the hard-earned wealth of all its farmers was destroyed
and overwhelmed by furious waves. This awful punishment was not enough. The daughter of the king was soon required as food for a sea-monster—. Hesione was chained to rugged rocks. But Hercules delivered from all harm the royal maid and justly he demanded of the king, her father, payment of the promised steeds; but that perfidious king refused to keep his promise. Hercules enraged, because all payment was denied to him for his great service, captured the twice-perjured walls
of conquered Troy. And as a fair reward, he gave to Telamon, who fought for him, Hesione, loved daughter of that king. For Peleus had a goddess as his bride and he was prouder of his father-in-law than of his grandsire. Since not he alone was grandson of great Jove, but he alone was honored with a goddess for a wife. To Thetis, aged Proteus once had said, “Oh goddess of the waves, you shall conceive, and you shall be the mother of a youth who by heroic actions will surpass
the deeds of his own father, and your son shall be superior to his father's power.” So Jupiter, although the flame of love for Thetis burned his breast, would not embrace the lovely daughter of the sea, and urged his grandson Peleus, son of Aeacus, to wed the green haired maid without delay. There is a curved bay of Haemonia, where like an arch, two bending arms project out in the waves, as if to form a harbor; but the water is not deep— although enough to hide a shoal of sand.
It has a firm shore which will not retain a foot's impression, nor delay the step— no seaweeds grow in that vicinity. There is a grove of myrtle near that place thick-hung with berries, blended of twin shades. A cave within the middle of that grove is found, and whether it was formed by art or nature is not known, although it seems a work of art. There Thetis often went, quite naked, seated on her dolphin, which was harnessed. Peleus seized her there when she was fast asleep: and after he had tried
to win her by entreaties, while she long continued to resist him, he resolved to conquer her by violence, and seized her neck with both arms. She resorted then to all her usual art, and often changed: her shape as it was known, so that he failed in his attempt. At first she was a bird, but while she seemed a bird he held her fast; and then she changed herself to a large tree, and Peleus clung with ardor to the tree; her third disguise was as a spotted tigress, which frightened him so that he lost his hold.
Then, as he poured wine on the heaving sea, he prayed unto the sea green gods and gave them sacrifice of sheep entrails, and smoke of frankincense. He ceased not, till at last the prophet of Carpathia, as he rose up from a deep wave, said, “Hark unto me, O son of Aeacus! and you shall have the bride your heart desires: when she at rest lies sleeping in the cool wave, you must bind her while she is unwary, with strong cords and complicated bonds, And never let her arts deceive you when she imitates
a hundred varied forms, but hold her fast, whatever she may seem, until she shall at length assume the shape she had at first.” So Proteus cautioned him, and hid his face beneath the waves as his last words were said. Now Titan was descending and the pole of his bright chariot as it downward bent illuminated the Hesperian main; and at that time the lovely Nereid, Thetis, departing from her ocean wave, entered the cavern for desired repose. Peleus was waiting there. Immediately,
just as he seized upon the virgin's limbs, she changed her shape and perservered until convinced she could not overcome his hold—for her two arms were forced apart— she groaned and said, “You could not overcome me in this way, but some divinity has given you the power.” Then she appeared as Thetis: and, when Peleus saw her now deprived of all deceptions, he embraced her and was father of the great Achilles. Great Peleus' heart was filled with happiness; because of his great son and Thetis his
dear wife: he was blest in everything, except in killing Phocus. The Trachinian land received him guilty of his brother's blood; when he fled, banished from his native home. There Ceyx, who had the fine countenance of Lucifer his father, reigned as king, without the cost of violence or blood. Before this time his days had always given him joy and comfort, but all now was changed, for he was mourning a loved brother's death. Peleus, outwearied with his journey's length. Left his fine flock of sheep and all the herds
he had brought with him, not far from the walls of that city, where Ceyx long had reigned. He entered with an olive branch all swathed in woolen fillets, symbol of good will, and with a suppliant hand disclosed his name. He told the monarch who he was, also his father's name. But he concealed his crime, giving untruthful reasons for his flight: and begged a refuge either in town or field. The king of Trachyn answered with kind words: “Ah, Peleus, even the lowest ranks enjoy our bounties and our hospitality,
and you bring with you powers which compell attention and respect. Your name is so illustrious, and is not Jupiter your grandsire? Do not lose your time by such entreaties. Everything you may desire is yours as soon as known, and all you see is partly yours, but in how sad a state!” And then he wept. When Peleus and his friends asked him the reason of his grief he said, “Perchance you deem that bird which lives on prey, which is the terror of all other birds, had always feathered wings? It was a man.
And now the vigor of its courage is as great as when well known by his man's name, Daedalion, bold in wars and strong and harsh, and not afraid to hazard violence. His father was unequalled Lucifer, star of the Morning, who at dawn brings forth Aurora, and withdraws the last of all the shining stars of heaven.—My brother named daedalion, son of that great star, was fond of cruel warfare, while I cherished peace and loved the quiet of my married life. This brother, powerful in the art of war,
subdued strong kings and nations.—And 'tis he transformed from manhood, now a bird of prey, that so relentlessly pursues the doves, known as the pride of Thisbe's citizens. “My brother had a daughter Chione so beautiful she pleased a thousand men, when she had reached the marriageable age of twice seven years. It happened by some chance that Phoebus and the son of Maia, who returned—one from his Delphi, the other from Cyllene's heights—beheld this lovely maid both at the same time, and were both inflamed
with passion. Phoebus waited till the night. Hermes could not endure delay and with the magic of his wand, that causes sleep, he touched the virgin's face; and instantly, as if entranced, she lay there fast asleep, and suffered violence from the ardent god. When night bespangled the wide heaven with stars, Phoebus became an aged crone and gained the joy he had deferred until that hour. “When her mature womb had completed time Autolycus was born, a crafty son, who certainly inherited the skill
of wingfoot Mereury, his artful sire, notorious now; for every kind of theft. In fact, Autolycus with Mercury's craft, loved to make white of black, and black of white. “But Phoebus' child, for Chione bore twins, was named Philammon, like his sire, well known. To all men for the beauty of his song. And famous for his handling of the lyre. “What benefit in life did she obtain because she pleased! two gods and bore such twins? Was she blest by good fortune then because she was the daughter of a valiant father,
and even the grandchild of the Morning Star? Can glory be a curse? Often it is. “And surely it was so for Chione. It was a prejudice that harmed her days because she vaunted that she did surpass Diana's beauty and decried her charms: the goddess in hot anger answered her, sarcastically, ‘If my face cannot give satisfaction, let me try my deeds.’ “Without delay Diana bent her bow, and from the string an arrow swiftly flew, and pierced the vaunting tongue of Chione.
Her tongue was silenced, and she tried in vain to speak or make a sound, and while she tried her life departed with the flowing blood. “Embracing her, I shared her father's grief. I spoke consoling words to my dear brother, he heard them as a cliff might hear the sea. And he lamented bitterly the loss of his dear daughter, snatched away from him. “Ah! when he saw her burning, he was filled with such an uncontrolled despair, he rushed four times to leap upon the blazing pyre; and after he had been four times repulsed,
he turned and rushed away in headlong flight through trackless country, as a bullock flees, his swollen neck pierced with sharp hornet-stings, it seemed to me he ran beyond the speed of any human being. You would think his feet had taken wings, he left us far behind and swift in his desire for death he stood at last upon Parnassus' height. “Apollo pitied him.—And when Daedalion leaped over the steep cliff, Apollo's power transformed him to a bird; supported him while he was hovering in the air upon
uncertain wings, of such a sudden growth. Apollo, also, gave him a curved beak, and to his slender toes gave crooked claws. His former courage still remains, with strength greater than usual in birds. He changed to a fierce hawk; cruel to all, he vents his rage on other birds. Grieving himself he is a cause of grief to all his kind.” While Ceyx, the royal son of Lucifer, told these great wonders of his brother's life; Onetor, who had watched the while those herds which Peleus had assigned to him, ran up
with panting speed; and cried out as he ran, “Peleus, Peleus! I bring you dreadful news!” Peleus asked him to tell what had gone wrong and with King Ceyx he listened in suspense. “I drove the weary bullocks to the shore,” Onetor then began, “About the time when the high burning Sun in middle course, could look back on as much as might be seen remaining: and some cattle had then bent their knees on yellow sand; and as they lay might view the expanse of water stretched beyond. Some with slow steps were wandering here and there,
and others swimming, stretched their lofty necks above the waves. A temple near that sea was fair to view, although 'twas not adorned with gold nor marble. It was richly made of beams, and shaded with an ancient grove. “A sailor, while he dried his nets upon the shore nearby, declared that aged Nereus possessed it with his Nereids, as the gods who ruled the neighboring waters. Very near it is a marsh, made by the encroaching waves, all thickly covered with low willow trees. “From there a loud uncanny crashing sound
alarms the neighborhood. A monster-wolf! All stained with mud he breaks forth from the marsh, his thundering jaws thick-covered with vile foam and clotted blood—his fierce eyes flashing flames of crimson: and though he was raging, both with fury and with hunger, the true cause of his fierce passions was Ferocity. “He never paused to sate his ravenous hunger with the first cattle that he fell upon, but mangled the whole herd, as if at war. And some of us, while we defended them, were wounded with his fatal bite and killed.—
the shore and nearest waves were red with blood, and marshy fens were filled with mournful sounds— the longings of our cattle.—This delay is dangerous. We must not hesitate. We must unite before all is destroyed! Take up your arms. Arm! and unite, I say! And bear our weapons for the cause of Right!” So spoke the countryman, and yet the loss had no effect on Peleus, though severe, for he, remembering his red crime, believed the Nereid had given him that loss— a just misfortune, as an offering
to the departed Phocus. After this, King Ceyx, while he put his armor on, ordered his men to arm themselves with their best weapons, and to follow his command. But his fond wife, Halcyone, aroused by such a tumult, ran to him in haste; in such haste that her hair was still unfinished, and such as had been done, she threw in wild disorder.—Clinging to the neck of her loved husband, she entreated him with words and tears, to send his men along. But keep himself at home and so to save
two lives in one. But Peleus said “O queen, 'Tis sweet and commendable in you to fear but needless. Though you promise generous aid, my hope lies not in fighting with the beast, I must appease a goddess of the sea. And the divinity of ocean must be properly adored.” A lofty tower is near there, and upon its extreme height a signal-fire is burning night and day, known to the grateful ships. They all went there;
and from its summit they beheld with sighs, the mangled cattle scattered on the shore, and saw the ravager among the herd, his blood-stained jaws and long hair dripping blood. Then Peleus stretched his arms out towards the sea, and he implored the azure Psamathe to lay aside her wrath and give him aid. But she was deaf to any word of Peleus entreating her, and would not offer aid, till Thetis, interceding on behalf of her afflicted husband, moved her will. The monster-wolf persisted in his rage,
even when the sea nymph bade him turn aside. His keen ferocity increased by taste of new sweet blood; till Psamathe, while he was seizing the last mangled heifer's neck, transformed him to hard marble. Every part of that ferocious monster's shape remained but it was changed to marble colored stone, which showed the monster was no more a wolf, and should no longer be a cause of fear. But still, the guiding Fates did not permit the banished Peleus to continue there, in this land governed by the friendly king.
A wandering exile, he proceeded north into Magnesia; and was purified of guilt by King Acastus of that land. King Ceyx, disturbed by his loved brother's fate and prodigies which happened since that time, prepared to venture to the Clarian god, that he might there consult the oracle, so sanctified to consolation of distress: for then the way to Delphi was unsafe because of Phorbas and his Phlegyans. Before he went he told his faithful queen, his dear Halcyone. She felt at once
terror creep through the marrow of her bones, pallor of boxwood overspread her face, and her two cheeks were wet with gushing tears. Three times she tried to speak while tears and sobs delayed her voice, until at last she said:— “What fault of mine, my dearest, has so changed your usual thoughts? Where is that care for me that always has stood first? Can you leave me for this long journey with no anxious fear— Halcyone, forsaken in these halls? Will this long journey be a pleasant change because far from you I should be more dear?
Perhaps you think you will go there by land, and I shall only grieve, and shall not fear the sea affrights me with its tragic face. Just lately I observed some broken planks upon our seashore, and I've read and read the names of seamen on their empty tombs! “Oh, let no false assurance fill your mind because your father-in-law is Aeolus. Who in a dungeon shuts the stormful winds and smoothes at will the troubled ocean waves soon as the winds get freedom from his power, they take entire possession of the deep,
and nothing is forbidden their attack; and all the rights of every land and sea are disregarded by them. They insult even the clouds of heaven and their wild concussions urge the lightnings to strike fires. The more I know of them, for I knew them in my childhood and I often saw them from my father's home, the more I fear. “But, O dear husband! if this new resolve can not be altered by my prayers and fears, and if you are determined, take me, too: some comfort may be gained, if in the storms
we may be tossed together. I shall fear only the ills that really come to us, together we can certainly endure discomforts till we gain that distant land.” Such words and tears of the daughter of Aeolus gave Ceyx, famed son of the Morning Star, much thought and sorrow; for the flame of love burned in his heart as strongly as in hers. Reluctant to give up the voyage, even more to make Halcyone his partner on the dangerous sea, he answered her complaints in many ways to pacify her breast,
but could not comfort her until at last he said, “This separation from your love will be most sorrowful; and so I swear to you, as witnessed by the sacred fire of my Star-father, if the fates permit my safe return, I will come back to you before the moon has rounded twice her orb.” These promises gave hope of his return. Without delay he ordered a ship should be drawn forth from the dock, launched in the sea, and properly supplied against the needs of travel.—Seeing this, Halcyone,
as if aware of future woe, shuddered, wept, and embraced him, and in extreme woe said with a sad voice, “Ah—Farewell!” and then, her nerveless body sank down to the ground. While Ceyx longed for some pretext to delay, the youthful oarsmen, chosen for their strength, in double rows began to draw the oars back towards their hardy breasts, cutting the waves with equal strokes. She raised her weeping eyes and saw her husband on the high-curved stern. He by his waving hand made signs to her, and she returned his signals. Then the ship
moved farther from the shore until her eyes could not distinguish his loved countenance. Still, while she could, she followed with her gaze the fading hull; and, when that too was lost far in the distance, she remained and gazed at the white topsails, waving from the mast. But, when she could no longer see the sails, with anxious heart she sought her lonely couch and laid herself upon it. Couch and room renewed her sorrow and reminded her how much of life was absent on the sea. The ship had left the harbor, and the breeze
shook the taut rigging. Now the captain bade the idle oars be drawn up to the sides. They ran the pointed sailyards up the mast and with spread canvas caught the coming breeze. Perhaps the ship had not sailed half her course, on every side the land was out of sight in fact at a great distance, when, towards dark the sea grew white with its increasing waves, while boisterous east winds blew with violence.— prompt in his duty, the captain warns his crew, “Lower the top sails—quick—furl all the sails tight to the yards!”—He ordered, but the storm
bore all his words away, his voice could not be heard above the roaring of the sea. But of their own accord some sailors rushed to draw the oars in, others to secure the sides from danger, and some strove to pull the sails down from the wind. One pumps the waves up from the hold, and pours the rushing sea again into the sea; another takes the yards off.—While such things are being done without command or order, the wild storm increases, and on every side fierce winds wage a destructive warfare, which stirs up
the furious waters to their utmost power. Even the captain, terrified, confessed he did not know the status of the ship, and could not order nor forbid the men— so great the storm, so far beyond his skill. Then he gave up control, while frightened men shouted above the rattled cordage shocks, and heavy waves were dashed against huge waves, and ail the sky reverberated with terrific thunders. The deep sea upturned tremendous billows, which appeared to reach so near the heaven they touched the heavy clouds
with foam of their tossed waters.—At one time, while the great billows churned up yellow sand from off the bottom, the wild rolling waves were of that color. At another time they were more black than water of the Styx. Sometimes they levelled, white with lashing foam. The ship was tossed about in the wild storm: aloft as from a mountain peak it seemed to look down on the valley and the depth of Acheron; and, when sunk down in a trough of waves engulfing, it appeared to look up at the zenith from infernal seas.
Often the waves fell on the sides with crash as terrible as when a flying stone or iron ram shatters a citadel. As lions, mustering up their strength anew, might hurl their breasts against the spears and outstretched arms of huntsmen, so the waves, upon the rising of the winds, rushed forth against the battered sides of the tossed ship and rose much higher than the slanting masts. The ship-bolts lost their grip, the loosened planks, despoiled of covering wax, gave open seams, through which streamed water of the fatal waves.—
vast sheets of rain pour from dissolving clouds, so suddenly, it seemed that all the heavens were flung into the deep, while swelling seas ascended to the emptied fields of heaven! The sails are drenched with rain, the salt sea waves are mingled with the waters of the skies. The firmament is black without a star, and night is doubly dark with its own gloom and blackness of the storm. Quick lightning makes the black skies glitter, and the waves are fired with flames of thunder-bolts. Now floods leap up into the very middle of the ship.
Just as a soldier, more courageous than the rest of his brave fellows, after he has often charged against the embattled walls of a defended city, gains at length the place which he has fought for; all inflamed with his desire of glory, scales the wall and stands alone among a thousand foes; so, when destructive waves have beat against the ship's high sides, the tenth wave with known power, rushes more furious than the nine before, nor ceases to attack the failing ship, until dashed high above the captured walls
it surges in the hold. Part of the sea is still attempting to get in the ship, and part is in it. All are panic stricken, like men within a doomed and shaken town; who see some foes attack the walls without, and others hold possession of the walls within the city. Every art has failed, their courage sinks. With every coming wave another death seems rushing in upon them. One sailor yields in tears; another falls down, stupefied; another calls those blest whom funeral rites await; another prays,
addressing trusted gods, lifting his hands up to that heaven unseen, as vainly he implores some aid divine, and one in fright recalls his brothers and his parent, while another names his children and his home: each frightened sailor thinks of all he left. King Ceyx thinks only of Halcyone, no other name is on his lips but hers: and though he longs for her, yet he is glad that she is safe at home. Ah, how he tried to look back to the shore of his loved land, to turn his last gaze towards his wife and home.
But he has lost direction.—The tossed sea is raging in a hurricane so vast, and all the sky is hidden by the gloom of thickened storm-clouds, doubled in pitch-black. The mast is shattered by the violence of drenching tempests, and the useless helm is broken. One undaunted giant wave stands over wreck and spoil, and looks down like a conqueror upon the other waves: then falls as heavily as if some god should hurl Mount Athos or Mount Pindus, torn from rock foundations, into that wide sea:
so, with down-rushing weight and violence it struck and plunged the ship to the lowest deeps. And as the ship sank, many of the crew sank overwhelmed in deep surrounding waves, never to rise from suffocating death: but some in desperation, clung for life to broken timbers and escaped that fate. King Ceyx clung to a fragment of the wreck with that majestic hand which often before had proudly swayed the sceptre. And in vain, alas, he called upon his father's name, alas, he begged his father-in-law's support.
But, while he swam, his lips most frequently pronounced that dearest name, “Halcyone!” He longs to have his body carried by waves to her dear gaze and have at last, entombment by the hands of his loved friends. Swimming, he called Halcyone—far off, as often as the billows would allow his lips to open, and among the waves his darling's name was murmured, till at last a night-black arch of water swept above the highest waves and buried him beneath engulfing billows.
Lucifer was dim past recognition when the dawn appeared and, since he never could depart from heaven, soon hid his grieving countenance in clouds. Meanwhile, Halcyone, all unaware of his sad wreck, counts off the passing nights and hastens to prepare for him his clothes that he may wear as soon as he returns to her; and she is choosing what to wear herself, and vainly promises his safe return— all this indeed, while she in hallowed prayer is giving frankincense to please the gods:
and first of loving adorations, she paid at the shrine of Juno. There she prayed for Ceyx—after he had suffered death, that he might journey safely and return and might love her above all other women, this one last prayer alone was granted to her but Juno could not long accept as hers these supplications on behalf of one then dead; and that she might persuade Halcyone to turn her death-polluted hands away from hallowed altars, Juno said in haste, “O, Iris, best of all my messengers,
go quickly to the dreadful court of Sleep, and in my name command him to despatch a dream in the shape of Ceyx, who is dead, and tell Halcyone the woeful truth.” So she commanded.—Iris instantly assumed a garment of a thousand tints; and as she marked the high skies with her arch, went swiftly thence as ordered, to the place where Sleep was then concealed beneath a rock. Near the Cimmerian Land there is a cave, with a long entrance, in a hallowed mountain, the home of slothful Sleep. To that dark cave
the Sun, when rising or in middle skies, or setting, never can approach with light. There dense fogs, mingled with the dark, exhale darkness from the black soil—and all that place is shadowed in a deep mysterious gloom. No wakeful bird with visage crested high calls forth the morning's beauty in clear notes; nor do the watchful dogs, more watchful geese, nor wild beasts, cattle, nor the waving trees, make sound or whisper; and the human voice is never heard there—silent Rest is there. But, from the bottom of a rock beneath,
Lethean waters of a stream ooze forth, sounds of a rivulet, which trickle with soft murmuring amid the pebbles and invite soft sleep. Before the cavern doors most fertile poppies and a wealth of herbs bloom in abundance, from the juice of which the humid night-hours gather sleep and spread it over darkened Earth. No door is in that cavern-home and not a hinge's noise nor guarding porter's voice disturbs the calm. But in the middle is a resting-couch, raised high on night-black ebony and soft
with feathered cushions, all jet black, concealed by a rich coverlet as dark as night, on which the god of sleep, dissolved in sloth lies with unmoving limbs. Around him there in all directions, unsubstantial dreams recline in imitation of all shapes— as many as the uncounted ears of corn at harvest—as the myriad leaves of trees— or tiny sand grains spread upon the shore. As soon as Iris entered that dread gloom, she pushed aside the visions in her way with her fair glowing hands; and instantly,
that sacred cavern of the god of Sleep was all illuminated with the glow and splendor of her garment.—Out of himself the god with difficulty lifted up his lanquid eyes. From this small sign of life relapsing many times to languid sloth, while nodding, with his chin he struck his breast again and again. At last he roused himself from gloom and slumber; and, while raised upon his elbow, he enquired of Iris why she came to him.—He knew her by her name. She answered him, “O, Sleep, divine repose
of all things! Gentlest of the deities! Peace to the troubled mind, from which you drive the cares of life, restorer of men's strength when wearied with the toils of day, command a vision that shall seem the actual form of royal Ceyx to visit Trachin famed for Hercules and tell Halcyone his death by shipwreck. It is Juno's wish.” Iris departed after this was said. For she no longer could endure the effect of slumber-vapor; and as soon as she knew sleep was creeping over her tired limbs
she flew from there—and she departed by the rainbow, over which she came before. Out of the multitude—his thousand sons— the god of sleep raised Morpheus by his power. Most skillful of his sons, who had the art of imitating any human shape; and dexterously could imitate in men the gait and countenance, and every mode of speaking. He could simulate the dress and customary words of any man he chose to represent—but he could not assume the form of anything but man.
Such was his art. Another of Sleep's sons could imitate all kinds of animals; such as a wild beast or a flying bird, or even a serpent with its twisted shape; and that son, by the gods above was called Icelos—but the inhabitants of earth called him Phobetor—and a third son, named Phantasos, cleverly could change himself into the forms of earth that have no life; into a statue, water, or a tree. It was the habit of these three to show themselves at night to kings and generals;
and other sons would frequently appear among the people of the common class. All such the aged god of Sleep passed by. Selecting only Morpheus from among the many brothers to accomplish this, and execute what Iris had desired. And after all that work, he dropped his head, and sank again in languid drowsiness, shrinking to sloth within his lofty couch. Morpheus at once flew through the night of darkness, on his wings that make no sound, and in brief space of intervening time,
arrived at the Haemonian city walls; and there he laid aside his wings, and took the face and form of Ceyx. In that form as one deprived of life, devoid of clothes, wan and ghastly, he stood beside the bed of the sad wife. The hero's beard seemed dripping, sea water streamed down from his drenching hair. Then leaning on the bed, while dropping tears were running down his cheeks, he said these words: “Most wretched wife, can you still recognize your own loved Ceyx, or have my looks changed: so much with death you can not?—Look at me,
and you will be assured I am your own: but here instead of your dear husband, you will find only his ghost. Your faithful prayers did not avail, Halcyone, and I have perished. Give up all deluding hopes of my return. The stormy Southwind caught my ship while sailing the Aegean sea; and there, tossed by the mighty wind, my ship was dashed to pieces. While I vainly called upon your name, the angry waters closed above my drowning head and it is no uncertain messenger that tells you this
and nothing from vague rumors has been told. But it is I myself, come from the wreck, now telling you my fate. Come then, arise shed tears, and put on mourning; do not send me unlamented, down to Tartarus.” And Morpheus added to these words a voice which she would certainly believe was her beloved husband's; and he seemed to be shedding fond human tears; and even his hands were moved in gestures that Ceyx often used. Halcyone shed tears and groaned aloud, and, as she moved her arms and caught at his
dear body, she embraced the vacant air she cried out loudly, “Stay, oh stay with me! Why do you hurry from me? We will go together!” Agitated by her own excited voice; and by what seemed to be her own dear husband, she awoke from sleep. And first looked all about her to persuade herself that he whom she had lately seen must yet be with her, for she had aroused the servants who in haste brought lights desired. When she could find him nowhere, in despair she struck her face and tore her garment from
her breast and beat her breast with mourning hands. She did not wait to loosen her long hair; but tore it with her hands and to her nurse, who asked the cause of her wild grief, she cried: “Alas, Halcyone is no more! no more! with her own Ceyx she is dead! is dead! Away with words of comfort, he is lost by shipwreck! I have seen him, and I knew him surely—as a ghost he came to me; and when desirous to detain him, I stretched forth my arms to him, his ghost left me— it vanished from me; but it surely was
the ghost of my dead husband. If you ask description of it, I must truly say he did not have his well known features—he was not so cheerful as he was in life! Alas, I saw him pale and naked, with his hair still dripping—his ghost from the waves stood on this very spot:” and while she moaned she sought his footprints on the floor. “Alas, this was my fear, and this is what my mind shuddered to think of, when I begged that you would not desert me for the wind's control. But how I wish, since you were sailing forth
to perish, that you had but taken me with you. If I had gone with you, it would have been advantage to me, for I should have shared the whole course of my life with you and you would not have met a separate death. I linger here but I have met my death, I toss on waves, and drift upon the sea. “My heart would be more cruel than the waves, if it should ask me to endure this life— if I should struggle to survive such grief. I will not strive nor leave you so forlorn, at least I'll follow you to death. If not
the urn at least the lettered stone shall keep us still together. If your bones are not united with my bones, 'tis sure our names must be united.”Overcome with grief, she could not say another word— but she continued wailing, and her groans were heaved up from her sorrow-stricken breast. At early dawn, she went from her abode down to the seashore, where most wretchedly, she stood upon the spot from which he sailed, and sadly said; “He lingered here while he was loosening the cables, and he kissed
me on this seashore when he left me here.” And while she called to recollection all that she had seen when standing there, and while she looked far out on flowing waves from there, she noticed floating on the distant sea— what shall I say? At first even she could not be sure of what she saw. But presently although still distant—it was certainly a floating corpse. She could not see what man he might be, but because it seemed to her it surely was a shipwrecked body, she was moved as at an omen and began
to weep; and, moaning as she stood there, said:— “Ah wretched one, whoever it may be, ah, wretched is the wife whom you have left!” As driven by the waves the body came still nearer to her, she was less and less the mistress of herself, the more she looked upon it; and, when it was close enough for her to see its features, she beheld her husband. “It is he,” she cried and then she tore her face, her hair, her royal robe and then, extending both her trembling hands towards Ceyx, “So dearest one! So do you come
to me again?” She cried, “O luckless mate.” A mole, made by the craft of man, adjoins the sea and breaks the shoreward rush of waves. To this she leaped—it seemed impossible— and then, while beating the light air with wings that instant formed upon her, she flew on, a mourning bird, and skimmed above the waves. And while she lightly flew across the sea her clacking mouth with its long slender bill, full of complaining, uttered moaning sounds: but when she touched the still and pallied form, embracing his dear limbs with her new wings,
she gave cold kisses with her hardened bill. All those who saw it doubted whether Ceyx could feel her kisses; and it seemed to them the moving waves had raised his countenance. But he was truly conscious of her grief; and through the pity of the gods above, at last they both were changed to flying birds, together in their fate. Their love lived on, nor in these birds were marriage bonds dissolved, and they soon coupled and were parent birds. Each winter during seven full days of calm Halcyone broods on her floating nest—
her nest that sails upon a halcyon sea: the passage of the deep is free from storms, throughout those seven full days; and Aeolus restraining harmful winds, within their cave, for his descendants' sake gives halcyon seas. An old man saw the two birds fly across the wide extended sea and praised their love, undying to the end. His old friend who stood near him, said, “There is another bird, which you can see skimming above the waves with folded legs drawn up;” and as he spoke, he pointed at a divedapper, which had
a long throat, and continued, “It was first the son of a great king, as Ceyx, was: and if you wish to know his ancestry, I can assure you he descended from Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymede— taken by Jupiter, and old Laomedon, and Priam, ruler at the fall of Troy. “Aesacus was the brother of the great illustrious Hector; and, if he had not been victimized by a strange fate in youth, he would have equalled Hector's glorious fame, Hector was child of Hecuba, who was
daughter of Dymas. Alexirhoe, the daughter of the two-horned Granicus, so rumor has it, secretly brought forth Aesacus, hidden under Ida's shade. “He loathed the city and away from court, frequented lonely mountains and the fields of unambitious peasants. Rarely he was seen among the throngs of Ilium.— yet, neither churlish nor impregnable to love's appeal, he saw Hesperia, the daughter of Cebrenus, while she was once resting on the velvet-shaded banks
of her sire's cherished stream. Aesacus had so often sought for her throughout the woods. “Just when he saw her, while she rested there, her hair spread on her shoulders to the sun, she saw him, and without delay she fled, even as the frightened deer runs from the wolf or as the water-duck, when she has left her favored stream, surprised, flies from the hawk. Aesacus followed her, as swift with love as she was swift with fear. But in the grass a lurking snake struck at her rosy heel and left its venom in her flesh.—And so,
her flight was ended by untimely death. “Oh, frantic, he embraced her breathless form, and cried: ‘Alas, alas, that I pursued! I did not dream of such a dreadful fate! Success was not worth such a price I and the snake together caused your death— the serpent gave the wound, I was the cause. Mine is the greater guilt, and by my death I'll give you consolation for your death!’ ” “He said those words and leaped on a high rock, which years of sounding waves had undermined, and hurled himself into the sea below.
“Tethys was moved with pity for his fall, received him softly, and then covered him with feathers, as he swam among the waves. The death he sought for was not granted him. At this the lover was wroth. Against his will, he was obliged to live in his distress, with opposition to his spirit that desired departure from the wretched pain of life. “As he assumed upon his shoulders wings newformed, he flew aloft and from that height again he plunged his body in the waves his feathers broke all danger of that fall—
and this new bird, Aesacus, plunged headlong into the deep, and tried incessantly that method of destruction. His great love unsatisfied, made his sad body lean, till even the spaces fixed between the joints of his legs have grown long; his neck is long; so that his head is far away from his lean body. Still he hunts the sea and takes his name from diving in the waves.
Book 12
Sadly his father, Priam, mourned for him, not knowing that young Aesacus had assumed wings on his shoulders, and was yet alive. Then also Hector with his brothers made complete but unavailing sacrifice, upon a tomb which bore his carved name. Paris was absent. But soon afterwards, he brought into that land a ravished wife, Helen, the cause of a disastrous war, together with a thousand ships, and all the great Pelasgian nation. Vengeance would
not long have been delayed, but the fierce winds raged over seas impassable, and held the ships at fishy Aulis. They could not be moved from the Boeotian land. Here, when a sacrifice had been prepared to Jove, according to the custom of their land, and when the ancient altar glowed with fire, the Greeks observed an azure colored snake crawling up in a plane tree near the place where they had just begun their sacrifice. Among the highest branches was a nest, with twice four birds—and those the serpent seized
together with the mother-bird as she was fluttering round her loss. And every bird the serpent buried in his greedy maw. All stood amazed: but Calchas, who perceived the truth, exclaimed, “Rejoice Pelasgian men, for we shall conquer; Troy will fall; although the toil of war must long continue—so the nine birds equal nine long years of war.” And while he prophesied, the serpent, coiled about the tree, was transformed to a stone, curled crooked as a snake. but Nereus stormed
in those Aonian waves, and not a ship moved forward. Some declared that Neptune thus was aiding Troy, because he built the walls of that great city. Not so Calchas, son of Thestor! He knew all the truth, and told them plainly that a virgin's blood alone might end a virgin goddess' wrath. The public good at last prevailed above affection, and the duty of a king at last proved stronger than a father's love: when Iphigenia as a sacrifice, stood by the altar with her weeping maids
and was about to offer her chaste blood, the goddess, moved by pity, spread a mist before their eyes, amid the sacred rites and mournful supplications. It is said she left a hind there in the maiden's place and carried Iphigenia away. The hind, as it was fitting, calmed Diana's rage and also calmed the anger of the sea. The thousand ships received the winds astern and gained the Phrygian shore. There is a spot convenient in the center of the world,
between the land and sea and the wide heavens, the meeting of the threefold universe. From there is seen all things that anywhere exist, although in distant regions far; and there all sounds of earth and space are heard. Fame is possessor of this chosen place, and has her habitation in a tower, which aids her view from that exalted highs. And she has fixed there numerous avenues, and openings, a thousand, to her tower and no gates with closed entrance, for the house is open, night and day, of sounding brass,
reechoing the tones of every voice. It must repeat whatever it may hear; and there's no rest, and silence in no part. There is no clamor; but the murmuring sound of subdued voices, such as may arise from waves of a far sea, which one may hear who listens at a distance; or the sound which ends a thunderclap, when Jupiter has clashed black clouds together. Fickle crowds are always in that hall, that come and go, and myriad rumors—false tales mixed with true— are circulated in confusing words.
Some fill their empty ears with all this talk, and some spread elsewhere all that's told to them. The volume of wild fiction grows apace, and each narrator adds to what he hears. Credulity is there and rash Mistake, and empty Joy, and coward Fear alarmed by quick Sedition, and soft Whisper—all of doubtful life. Fame sees what things are done in heaven and on the sea, and on the earth. She spies all things in the wide universe. Fame now had spread the tidings, a great fleet of Greek ships was at that time on its way,
an army of brave men. The Trojans stood, all ready to prevent the hostile Greeks from landing on their shores. By the decree of Fate, the first man killed of the invaders' force was strong Protesilaus, by the spear of valiant Hector, whose unthought-of power at that time was discovered by the Greeks to their great cost. The Phyrgians also learned, at no small cost of blood, what warlike strength came from the Grecian land. The Sigean shores grew red with death-blood: Cygnus, Neptune's son, there slew a thousand men: for which, in wrath,
Achilles pressed his rapid chariot straight through the Trojan army; making a lane with his great spear, shaped from a Pelion tree. And as he sought through the fierce battle's press, either for Cygnus or for Hector, he met Cygnus and engaged at once with him (Fate had preserved great Hector from such foe till ten years from that day). Cheering his steeds, their white necks pressed upon the straining yoke, he steered the chariot towards his foe, and, brandishing the spear with his strong arm,
he cried, “Whoever you may be, you have the consolation of a glorious death you die by me, Haemonian Achilles!” His heavy spear flew after the fierce words. Although the spear was whirled direct and true, yet nothing it availed with sharpened point. It only bruised, as with a blunted stroke, the breast of Cygnus! “By report we knew of you before this battle, goddess born.” The other answered him, “But why are you surprised that I escape the threatened wound?” (Achilles was surprised). “This helmet crowned,
great with its tawny horse-hair, and this shield, broad-hollowed, on my left arm, are not held for help in war: they are but ornament, as Mars wears armor. All of them shall be put off, and I will fight with you unhurt. It is a privilege that I was born not as you, of a Nereid but of him whose powerful rule is over Nereus, his daughters and their ocean.” So, he spoke. Immediately he threw his spear against Achilles, destined to pierce the curving shield through brass, and through nine folds of tough bull's hide.
It stopped there, for it could not pierce the tenth. The hero wrenched it out, and hurled again a quivering spear at Cygnus, with great strength. The Trojan stood unwounded and unharmed. Nor did a third spear injure Cygnus, though he stood there with his body all exposed. Achilles raged at this, as a wild bull in open circus, when with dreadful horns he butts against the hanging purple robes which stir his wrath and there observes how they evade him, quite unharmed by his attack. Achilles then examined his good spear,
to see if by some chance the iron point was broken from it, but the point was firm, fixed on the wooden shaft. “My hand is weak,” he said, “but is it possible its strength forsook me though it never has before? For surely I had my accustomed strength, when first I overthrew Lyrnessus' walls, or when I won the isle of Tenedos or Thebes (then under King Eetion) and I drenched both with their own peoples' blood, or when the river Caycus ran red with slaughter of its people, or, when twice
Telephus felt the virtue of my spear. On this field also, where such heaps lie slain, my right hand surely has proved its true might; and it is mighty.” So he spoke of strength, remembered. But as if in proof against his own distrust, he hurled a spear against Menoetes, a soldier in the Lycian ranks. The sharp spear tore the victim's coat of mail and pierced his breast beneath. Achilles, when he saw his dying head strike on the earth wrenched the same spear from out the reeking wound,
and said, “This is the hand, and this the spear I conquered with; and I will use the same against him who in luck escaped their power; and the result should favor as I pray the helpful gods.” And, as he said such words, in haste he hurled his ashen spear, again at Cygnus. It went straight and struck unshunned. Resounding on the shoulder of that foe, it bounced back as if it hit a wall or solid cliff. Yet when Achilles saw just where the spear struck, Cygnus there
was stained with blood. He instantly rejoiced; but vainly, for it was Menoetes' blood! Then in a sudden rage, Achilles leaped down headlong from his lofty chariot; and, seeking his god-favored foe, he struck in conflict fiercely, with his gleaming sword. Although he saw that he had pierced both shield and helmet through, he did not harm the foe— his sword was even blunted on the flesh. Achilles could not hold himself for rage, but furious, with his sword-hilt and his shield he battered wildly the uncovered face
and hollow-temples of his Trojan foe. Cygnus gave way; Achilles rushed on him, buffeting fiercely, so that he could not recover from the shock. Fear seized upon Cygnus, and darkness swam before his eyes. Then, as he moved back with retreating steps, a large stone hindered him and blocked his way. His back pushed against this, Achilles seized and dashed him violently to the ground. Then pressing with buckler and hard knees the breast of Cygnus, he unlaced the helmet thongs, wound them about the foeman's neck and drew
them tightly under his chin, till Cygnus' throat could take no breath of life. Achilles rose eager to strip his conquered foe but found his empty armor, for the god of ocean had changed the victim into that white bird whose name he lately bore. There was a truce for many days after this opening fight while both sides resting, laid aside their arms. A watchful guard patroled the Phrygian walls; the Grecian trenches had their watchful guard. Then, on a festal day, Achilles gave
the blood of a slain heifer to obtain the favor of Athena for their cause. The entrails burned upon the altar, while the odor, grateful to the deities, was mounting to the skies. When sacred rites were done, a banquet for the heroes was served on their tables. There the Grecian chiefs reclined on couches; while they satisfied themselves with roasted flesh, and banished cares: and thirst with wine. Nor harp nor singing voice nor long pipe made of boxwood pierced with holes, delighted them. They talked of their own deeds
and valor, all that thrilling night: and even the strength of enemies whom they had met and overcome. What else could they admit or think of, while the great Achilles spoke or listened to them? But especially the recent victory over Cygnus held them ardent. Wonderful it seemed to them that such a youth could be composed of flesh not penetrable by the sharpest spear; of flesh which blunted even hardened steel, and never could be wounded. All the Greeks, and even Achilles wondered at the thought.
Then Nestor said to them: “During your time, Cygnus has been the only man you knew who could despise all weapons and whose flesh could not be pierced by thrust of sword or spear. But long ago I saw another man able to bear unharmed a thousand strokes, Caeneus of Thessaly, Caeneus who lived upon Mt. Othrys. He was famed in war yet, strange to say, by birth he was a woman!” Then all expressed the greatest wonderment, and begged to hear the story of his life. Achilles cried, “O eloquent old man!
The wisdom of our age! All of us wish to hear, who was this Caeneus? Why was he changed to the other sex? in what campaigns, and in what wars was he so known to you? Who conquered him, if any ever did?” The aged man replied to them with care:— “Although my great age is a harm to me, and many actions of my early days escape my memory; yet, most of them are well remembered. Nothing of old days, amid so many deeds of war and peace, can be more firmly fixed upon my mind
than the strange story I shall tell of him. “If long extent of years made anyone a witness of most wonderful events and many, truly I may say to you that I have lived two hundred years; and now have entered my third century. The daughter of Elatus, Caenis, was remarkable for charm—most beautiful of all Thessalian maidens—many sighed for her in vain through all the neighboring towns and yours, Achilles, for that was her home. But Peleus did not try to win her love,
for he was either married at that time to your dear mother, or was pledged to her. “Caenis never became the willing bride of any suitor; but report declares, while she was walking on a lonely shore, the god of ocean saw and ravished her. And in the joy of that love Neptune said, ‘Request of me whatever you desire, and nothing shall deny your dearest wish!’— the story tells us that he made this pledge. And Caenis said to Neptune, ‘The great wrong, which I have suffered from you justifies
the wonderful request that I must make; I ask that I may never suffer such an injury again. Grant I may be no longer woman, and I'll ask no more.’ while she was speaking to him, the last words of her strange prayer were uttered in so deep, in such a manly tone, it seemed indeed they must be from a man.—That was a fact: Neptune not only had allowed her prayer but made the new man proof against all wounds of spear or sword. Rejoicing in the gift he went his way as Caeneus Atracides,
spent years in every manful exercise, and roamed the plains of northern Thessaly. “The son of bold Ixion, Pirithous wedding Hippodame, had asked as guests the cloud-born centaurs to recline around the ordered tables, in a cool cave, set under some shading trees. Thessalian chiefs were there and I myself was with them there. The festal place resounded with the rout in noisy clamor, singing nuptial verse; and in the great room, filled with smoking fire, the maiden came escorted by a crowd
of matrons and young married women; she most beautiful of all that lovely throng. “And so Pirithous, the fortunate son, of bold Ixion, was so praised by all, for his pure joy and lovely wife, it seemed his very blessings must have led to fatal harm: for savage Eurytus, wildest of the wild centaurs, now inflamed with sudden envy, drunkenness, and lust, upset the tables and made havoc there so dreadful, that the banquet suddenly was changed from love to uproar. Seized by the hair,
the bride was violently dragged away. When Eurytus caught up Hippodame each one of all the centaurs took at will the maid or matron that he longed for most. The palace, seeming like a captured town, resounded with affrighted shrieks of women. At once we all sprang up. And Theseus cried, “What madness, Eurytus, has driven you to this vile wickedness! While I have life, you dare attack Pirithous. You know not what you do, for one wrong injures both!’ The valiant hero did not merely talk:
he pushed them off as they were pressing on, and rescued her whom Eurytus had seized. Since Eurytus could not defend such deeds with words, he turned and beat with violent hands the face of him who saved the bride and struck his generous breast. By chance, an ancient bowl was near at hand. This rough with figures carved, the son of Aegeus caught and hurled it full in that vile centaur's face. He, spouting out thick gouts of blood, and bleeding from his wounds— his brains and wine mixed,—kicked the blood-soaked sand. His double membered centaur brothers, wild
with passion at his death, all shouted out, ‘To arms! to arms!’ Their courage raised by wine! In their first onset, hurled cups flew about, and shattered wine casks, hollow basins—things before adapted to a banquet, now for death and carnage in the furious fight. Amycus first (Opinion's son) began to spoil the inner sanctuary of its gifts. He snatched up from that shrine a chandelier, adorned with glittering lamps, and lifted high, with all the force of one who strives to break the bull s white neck with sacrificial axe,
he dashed it at the head of Celadon, one of the Lapithae, and crushed his skull into the features of his face. His eyes leaped from his sockets, and the shattered bones of his smashed face gave way so that his nose was driven back and fastened in his throat. But Belates of Pella tore away a table-leg of maple wood and felled Amycus to the ground; his sunken chin cast down upon his breast; and, as he spat his teeth out mixed with blood, a second blow despatched him to the shades of Tartarus.
“Gryneus, seeing a smoking altar, cried, ‘Good use for this,’ with which words he raised up that heavy, blazing altar. Hurling it into the middle of the Lapithae, he struck down Broteas and Orius: Mycale, mother of that Orius, was famous for her incantations, which she had often used to conjure down the shining twin-horns of the unwilling moon. Exadius threatened, ‘You shall not escape! Let me but have a weapon!’ And with that, he whirled the antlers of a votive stag,
which he found there, hung on a tall pine-tree; and with that double-branching horn he pierced the eyes of Gryneus, and he gouged them out. One eye stuck to the horn; the other rolled down on his beard, to which it strictly clung in dreadful clotted gore. Then Rhoetus snatched a blazing brand of plum-wood from an altar and whirling it upon the right, smashed through the temples of Charaxus, wonderful with golden hair. Seized by the violent flames, his yellow locks burned fiercely, as a field
of autumn grain; and even the scorching blood gave from the sore wound a terrific noise as a red-hot iron in pincers which the smith lifts out and plunges in the tepid pool, hissing and sizzling. Charaxus shook the fire from his burnt locks; and heaved up on his shoulders a large threshold stone torn from the ground—a weight sufficient for a team of oxen. The vast weight impeded him, so that it could not even touch his foe— and yet, the massive stone did hit his friend, Cometes, who was standing near to him,
and crushed him down. Then Rhoetus, crazed with joy, exulting yelled, ‘I pray that all of you may be so strong!’ Wielding his half-burnt stake with heavy blows again and again, he broke the sutures of his enemy's skull, until the bones were mingled with his oozing brains. “Victorious, then rushed he upon Evagrus, and Corythus and Dryas. First of these was youthful Corythus, whose cheeks were then just covered with soft down. When he fell dead, Evagrus cried, ‘What glory do you get, killing a boy?’ But Rhoetus did not give
him time for uttering one word more. He pushed the red hot stake into the foeman's mouth, while he still spoke, and down into his lungs. He then pursued the savage Dryas, while whirling the red fire fast about his head; but not with like success, for, while he still rejoiced in killings, Dryas turned and pierced him with a stake where neck and shoulder meet. “Rhoetus groaned and with a great effort pulled the stake out from the bone, then fled away, drenched in his blood. And Orneus followed him. Lycabas fled, and Medon with a wound
in his right shoulder. Thaumas and Pisenor and Mermerus fled with them. Mermerus, who used to excell all others in a race, ran slowly, crippled by a recent wound. Pholus and Melaneus ran for their lives and with them Abas, hunter of wild boars and Asbolus, the augur, who in vain had urged his friends to shun that hapless fight. As Nessus joined the rout, he said to him, ‘You need not flee, for you shall be reserved a victim for the bow of Hercules!’ but neither Lycidas, Eurynomus
nor Areos, nor Imbreus had escaped from death: for all of these the strong right hand of Dryas pierced, as they confronted him. Crenaeus there received a wound in front. Although he turned in flight, as he looked back, a heavy javelin between his eyes pierced through him, where his nose and forehead joined. “In all this uproar, Aphidas lay flat, in endless slumber from the wine he drank, incessant, and his nerveless hand still held the cup of mixed wine, as he lay full stretched, upon a shaggy bear-skin from Mount Ossa.
When Phorbas saw him, harmless in that sleep, he laid his fingers in his javelin's thong, and shouted loudly, ‘Mix your wine, down there, with waters of the Styx!’ And stopping talk, let fly his javelin at the sleeping youth— the ashen shaft, iron-tipped, was driven through his neck, exposed, as he by chance lay there— his head thrown back. He did not even feel a touch of death—and from his deep-pierced throat his crimson blood flowed out upon the couch, and in the wine-bowl still grasped in his hand. “I saw Petraeus when he strove to tear
up from the earth, an acorn-bearing oak. And, while he struggled with it, back and forth, and was just ready to wrench up the trunk, Pirithous hurled a well aimed spear at him, transfixed his ribs, and pinned his body tight, writhing, to that hard oak: and Lycus fell and Chromis fell, before Pirithous. “They gave less glory to the conqueror than Helops or than Dictys. Helops was killed by a javelin, which pierced his temples from the right side, clear through to his left ear. And Dictys, running in a desperate haste,
hoping in vain, to escape Ixion's son, slipped on the steep edge of a precipice; and, as he fell down headlong crashed into the top of a huge ash-tree, which impaled his dying body on its broken spikes. “Aphareus, eager to avenge him tried to lift a rock from that steep mountain side; but as he heaved, the son of Aegeus struck him squarely with an oaken club; and smashed, and broke the huge bones of that centaur's arm. He has no time, and does not want to give that useless foe to death. He leaps upon
the back of tall Bienor, never trained to carry riders, and he fixed his knees firm in the centaur's ribs, and holding tight to the long hair, seized by his left hand, struck and shattered the hard features and fierce face and bony temples with his club of gnarled strong oak. And with it, he struck to the ground Nedymnus and Lycopes, dart expert, and Hippasus, whose beard hid all his breast. And Rhipheus taller than the highest trees and Thereus, who would carry home alive the raging bears, caught in Thessalian hills.
Demoleon could no longer stand and look on Theseus and his unrestrained success. He struggled with vast effort to tear up an old pine, trunk and all, with its long roots, and, failing shortly in that first attempt, he broke it off and hurled it at his foe. But Theseus saw the pine tree in its flight and, warned by Pallas, got beyond its range— his boast was, Pallas had directed him! And yet, the missle was not launched in vain. It sheared the left shoulder and the breast from tall Crantor. He, Achilles, was
your father's armor bearer and was given by King Amyntor, when he sued for peace. “When Peleus at a distance saw him torn and mangled, he exclaimed, ‘At least receive this sacrifice, O Crantor! most beloved! Dearest of young men!’ And with sturdy arm and all his strength of soul as well, he hurled his ashen lance against Demoleon, which piercing through his shivered ribs, hung there and quivered in the bones. The centaur wrenched the wooden shaft out, with his frenzied hands, but could not move the pointed head, which stuck
within his lungs. His very anguish gave him such a desperation, that he rose against his foe and trampled and beat down the hero with his hoofs, Peleus allowed the blows to fall on helm and ringing shield. Protected so, he watched his time and thrust up through the centaur's shoulder. By one stroke he pierced two breasts, where horse and man-form met. Before this, Peleus with the spear had killed both Myles and Phlegraeus and with the sword Iphinous and Clanis. Now he killed Dorylas, who was clad in a wolfskin cap
and fought with curving bull's horns dripping blood. “To him I said, for courage gave me strength, ‘Your horns! how much inferior to my steel!’— and threw my spear. Since he could not avoid the gleaming point, he held up his right hand to shield his forehead from the threatened wound. His hand was pierced and pinned against his forehead. He shouted madly. Peleus, near him while he stood there pinned and helpless with his wound, struck him with sharp sword in the belly deep. He leaped forth fiercely, as he trailed his bowels upon the ground, with his entangled legs
treading upon them, bursting them, he fell with empty belly, lifeless to the earth. “Cyllarus, beauty did not save your life— if beauty is in any of your tribe— your golden beard was in its early growth, your golden hair came flowing to your shoulders. in your bright face there was a pleasing glance. The neck and shoulders and the hands and breast,: and every aspect of his human form resembled those admired statues which our gifted artists carve. Even the shape of the fine horse beneath the human form
was perfect too. Give him the head and neck of a full-blooded horse, and he would seem a steed for Castor, for his back was shaped so comfortable to be sat upon and muscle swelled upon his arching chest. His lustrous body was as black as pitch, and yet his legs and flowing tail were white as snow. Many a female of his kind loved him, but only Hylonome gained his love. There was no other centaur maid so beautiful as she within the woods.
By coaxing ways she had won Cyllarus, by loving and confessing love. By daintiness, so far as that was possible in one of such a form, she held his love; for now she smoothed her long locks with a comb; and now she decked herself with rosemary and now with violets or with roses in her hair; and sometimes she wore lilies, white as snow; and twice each day she bathed her lovely face, in the sweet stream that falls down from the height of wooded Pagasa; and daily, twice she dipped her body in the stream. She wore
upon her shoulders and left side a skin, greatly becoming, of selected worth. “Their love was equal, and together they would wander over mountain-sides, and rest together in cool caves; and so it was, they went together to that palace-cave, known to the Lapithae. Together they fought fiercely in this battle, side by side. Thrown by an unknown hand, a javelin pierced Cyllarus, just below the fatal spot where the chest rises to the neck—his heart, though only slightly wounded, grew quite cold,
and his whole body felt cold, afterwards, as quickly as the weapon was drawn out. Then Hylonome held in her embrace the dying body; fondled the dread wound and, fixing her lips closely to his lips endeavored to hold back his dying breath. But soon she saw that he indeed was dead. With mourning words, which clamor of the fight prevented me from hearing, she threw herself on the spear that pierced her Cyllarus and fell upon his breast, embracing him in death. “Another sight still comes before my eyes,
the centaur Phaeocomes with his log. He wore six lion skins well wrapped around his body, and with fixed connecting knots they covered him, both horse and man. He hurled a trunk two yokes of oxen scarce could move and struck the hapless son of Olenus a crushing blow upon the head. The broad round dome was shattered, and his dying brains oozed out through hollow nostrils, mouth, and ears, as curdled milk seeps down through oaken twigs; or other liquors, crushed out under weights, flow through a well-pierced sieve and, thick,
squeeze out through numerous holes. As he began to spoil his victim—and your father can affirm the truth of this—I thrust my sword deep in the wretch's groin. Chthonius, too, and Teleboas fell there by my sword. The former had a two-pronged stick as his sole weapon, and the other had a spear, with which the wounded me. You see the scar. The old scar still is surely visible! “Those were my days of youth and strength, and then I ought to have warred against the citadel
of Pergama. I could have checked, or even vanquished, the arms of Hector: but, alas, Hector had not been born, or was perhaps a boy. Old age has dulled my youthful strength. What use is it, to speak of Periphas, who overcame Pyretus, double-formed? Why tell of Ampyx, who with pointless shaft, victorious thrust Echeclus through the face? Macareus, hurling a heavy crowbar pierced Erigdupus and laid him low. A hunting spear that Nessus strongly hurled, was buried in the groin of Cymelus.
Do not believe that Mopsus, son of Ampycus, was merely a prophet of events to come, he slew a daring two-formed monster there. Hodites tried in vain to speak, before his death, but could not, for his tongue was nailed against his chin, his chin against his throat. “Five of the centaurs Caeneus put to death: Styphelus, Bromus, and Antimachus, Elymus, and Pyracmos with his axe. I have forgot their wounds but noted well their names and number. Latreus, huge of limb, had killed and stripped Emathian Halesus.
Now in his armor he came rushing out, in years he was between old age and youth; but he retained the vigor of his youth; his temples showed his hair was mixed with grey. Conspicuous for his Macedonian lance and sword and shield, facing both sides—each way, he insolently clashed his arms; and while he rode poured out these words in empty air. “ ‘Shall I put up with one like you, O Caeneus? For you are still a woman in my sight. Have you forgot your birth or that disgrace by which you won reward—at what a price
you got the false resemblance to a man?! Consider both your birth, and what you have submitted to! Take up a distaff, and wool basket! Twist your threads with practiced thumb! Leave warfare to your men!’ “While puffed-up pride was vaunting out such nonsense, Caeneus hurled a spear and pierced the stretched out running side, just where the man was joined upon the horse. “The Centaur, Latreus, raved with pain and struck with his great pike, the face of Caeneus. His pike rebounded as the hail that slants
up from the roof; or as a pebble might rebound from hollow drum. Then coming near, he tried to drive a sword into the hard side of Caeneus, but it could not make a wound. ‘Aha!’ he cried, ‘this will not get you off. The good edge of my sword will take your life, although the point is blunt!’ He turned the edge against the flank of Caeneus and swung round the hero's loins with his long, curving arm. The flesh resounded like a marble block, the keen blade shattered on the unyielding skin. “And, after Caeneus had exposed his limbs
unhurt to Latreus, who stood there amazed, ‘Come now,’ he said, ‘and let us try my steel against your body!’ And, clear to the hilt, down through the monster's shoulder-blade he plunged his deadly sword and, turning it again, deep in the Centaur's entrails, made new wounds within his wound. “Then, quite beside themselves, the double-natured monsters rushed against that single-handed youth with huge uproar, and thrust and hurled their weapons all at him. Their blunted weapons fell and he remained
unharmed and without even a mark.” “That strange sight left them speechless. ‘Oh what shame!’ at length cried Monychus, ‘Our mighty host,— a nation of us, are defeated and defied by one who hardly is a man. Although indeed, he is a man, and we have proved, by our weak actions, we are certainly what he was! Shame on us! Oh, what if we have twofold strength, of what avail our huge and mighty limbs, doubly united in the strongest, hugest bodies in this world? And how can I believe that we were born
of any goddess? It is surely vain to claim descent of great Ixion, who high-souled, sought Juno for his mighty mate; imagine it, while we are conquered by an enemy, who is but half a man! Wake up! and let us heap tree-trunks and stones and mountains on him! Crush his stubborn life! Let forests smother him to death! Their weight will be as deadly as a hundred wounds!’ “While he was raving, by some chance he found a tree thrown down there by the boisterous wind: example to the rest, he threw that tree
against the powerful foe; and in short time Othrys was bare of trees, and Pelion had no shade. Buried under that mountainous forest heap, Caeneus heaved up against the weight of oaks upon his brawny shoulders piled. But, as the load increased above his face and head, he could not draw a breath. Gasping for life, he strove to lift his head into the air, and sometimes he convulsed the towering mass, as if great Ida, now before our eyes, should tremble with some heaving of the earth. “What happened to him could not well be known.
Some thought his body was borne down by weight into the vast expanse of Tartarus. The son of Ampycus did not agree, for from the middle of the pile we saw a bird with golden wings mount high in air. Before or since, I never saw the like. “When Mopsus was aware of that bird's flight— it circled round the camp on rustling wings— with eyes and mind he followed it and shouted aloud: ‘Hail, glory of the Lapithaean race, their greatest hero, now a bird unique!’ and we believed the verdict of the seer.
“Our grief increased resentment, and we bore it with disgust that one was overwhelmed by such a multitude. Then in revenge we plied our swords, till half our foes were dead, and only flight and darkness saved the rest.” Nestor had hardly told this marvellous tale of bitter strife betwixt the Lapithae and those half-human, vanquished Centaurs, when Tlepolemus, incensed because no word of praise was given to Hercules, replied in this way; “Old sir, it is very strange, you have neglected to say one good word
in praise of Hercules. My father told me often, that he overcame in battle those cloud born centaurs.” Nestor, very loth, replied, “Why force me to recall old wrongs, to uncover sorrow buried by the years, that made me hate your father? It is true his deeds were wonderful beyond belief, heaven knows, and filled the earth with well earned praise which I should rather wish might be denied. Deiphobus, the wise Polydamas, and even great Hector get no praise from me.
Your father, I recall once overthrew Messene's walls and with no cause destroyed Elis and Pylos and with fire and sword ruined my own loved home. I cannot name all whom he killed. But there were twelve of us, the sons of Neleus and all warrior youths, and all those twelve but me alone he killed. Ten of them met the common fate of war, but sadder was the death of Periclymenus. “Neptune, the founder of my family, had granted him a power to assume whatever shape he chose, and when he wished
to lay that shape aside. When he, in vain, had been transformed to many other shapes he turned into the form of that bird, which is wont to carry in his crooked talons the forked lightnings, favorite bird of Jove. With wings and crooked bill and sharp-hooked talons, he assailed and tore the face of Hercules. But, when he soared away on eagle wings up to the clouds and hovered, poised in air, that hero aimed his too unerring bow and hit him where the new wing joined his side. The wound was not large, but his sinews cut
failed to uphold him, and denied his wings their strength and motion. He fell down to earth; his weakened pinions could not catch the air. And the sharp arrow, which had lightly pierced the wing, was driven upward through the side into the left part of my brother's neck. “O noble leader of the Rhodian fleet, why should I sing the praise of Hercules? But for my brothers I take no revenge except withholding praise of his great deeds. With you, my friendship will remain secure.” When Nestor with his honied tongue had told
these tales of old, they all took wine again and they arose and gave the night to sleep. But Neptune, who commands the ocean waves, lamented with a father's grief his son, whose person he had changed into a bird— the swan of Phaethon, and towards Achilles, grim victor in the fight, his lasting hate made him pursue resentment far beyond the ordinary manner of the gods. After nine years of war he spoke these words, addressing long haired Sminthean Apollo: “O nephew the most dear to me of all
my brother's sons, with me you built in vain the walls of Troy: you must be lost in grief, when you look on those towers so soon to fall? Or do you not lament the multitudes slain in defence of them—To name but one: “Does not the ghost of Hector, dragged around his Pergama, appear to you? And yet the fierce Achilles, who is bloodstained more than slaughtering war, lives on this earth, for the destruction of our toil. Let him once get into my power, and I will make him feel the action of my triple spear.
But, since I may not meet him face to face, do you with sudden arrow give him death.” The Delian god, Apollo, gave assent, both for his own hate and his uncle's rage. Veiled in a cloud, he found the Trojan host and, there, while bloody strife went on, he saw the hero Paris shoot at intervals his arrows at the nameless host of Greeks. Revealing his divinity, he said: “Why spend your arrows on the common men if you would serve your people, take good aim at great Achilles and at last avenge
your hapless brothers whom he gave to death.” He pointed out Achilles—laying low the Trojan warriors with his mighty spear. On him he turned the Trojan's willing bow and guided with his hand the fatal shaft. It was the first joy that old Priam knew since Hector's death. So then Achilles you, who overcame the mighty, were subdued by a coward who seduced a Grecian wife! Ah, if you could not die by manly hands, your choice had been the axe. Now that great terror of the Trojan race,
the glory and defence of the Pelasgians, Achilles, first in war, lay on the pyre. The god of Fire first armed, then burned, his limbs. And now he is but ashes; and of him, so great, renowned and mighty, but a pitiful handful of small dust insufficient for a little urn! But all his glory lives enough to fill the world—a great reward. And in that glory is his real life: in a true sense he will never know the void of Tartarus. But soon his very shield—
that men might know to whom it had belonged— brings war, and arms are taken for his arms. Neither Diomed nor Ajax called the less ventured to claim the hero's mighty shield. Menelaus and other warlike chiefs, even Agamemnon, all withdrew their claims. Only the greater Ajax and Ulysses had such assurance that they dared contest for that great prize. Then Agamemnon chose to avoid the odium of preferring one. He bade the Argolic chieftains take their seats within the camp and left to all of them
the hearing and decision of the cause.
Book 13
The chiefs were seated, and the soldiers form a circle round them. Then Ajax, the approved lord of the seven-fold shield, arose and spoke. Impatient in his wrath, he looked with stern, set features, out over Sigaean shores, and over the fleet of ships upon the beach, and, stretching out his hands, he said, “We plead, O Jupiter, our cause before the ships,— Ulysses vies with me! He did not shrink from giving way before the flames of Hector, when I withstood them and I saved the fleet.
'Tis safer then to fight with lying words than with his hands. I am not prompt to speak, nor he to act. I am as good in war and deadly battle as he is in talk. Pelasgians, I do not suppose my deeds must here be mentioned: you have witnessed them but let Ulysses tell of deeds which he performed without a witness and which Night alone is conscious of. I own the prize we seek is great, but such a rival makes it small. To Ajax there s no cause for pride in having any prize, however great,
for which Ulysses hoped. But he has won reward enough already. He can boast, when vanquished, that he strove with me. “I, even if my merit were in doubt should still excell in birth. I am the son of Telamon, who with great Hercules brought low the power of Troy and in the ship of Jason voyaged even to the Colchian shores. His father, Aeacus, now is a judge among the silent shades—where Sisyphus toils and is mocked forever with the stone. Great Jove himself calls Aeacus his son.
Thus, Ajax is the third from Jupiter. But, Greeks, let not this line of my descent avail me, if I do not share it with my cousin, great Achilles. I demand these arms now due me as a cousin. Why should this one, from the blood of Sisyphus, and like him for his thefts and frauds, intrude the names of that loathed family upon honored descendants of brave Aeacus? “Will you deny me arms because I took arms earlier, no man prompting me, and call this man the better, who last of all
took up arms, and, pretending he was mad, declined war, till the son of Naplius more shrewd than he (but to his future cost) discovered the contrivance of the fraud and had the coward dragged forth to the arms he had avoided. And shall this man have the world's best arms, who wanted none? Shall I lack honor and my cousin's gift because I faced the danger with the first? “Would that his madness had been real, or had been accepted as reality and that he never had attended us,
as our companion to the Phrygian towers, this counsellor of evil! Then, good son of Poeas, Lemnos would not hold you now, exposed through guilt of ours! You, as men say, hidden in forest lairs, are moving with your groans the very rocks and asking for Ulysses what he so well deserves—what, if indeed there still are gods, you shall not ask in vain. And now, one of our leaders, he that was sworn to the same arms with ourselves! by whom the arrows of great Hercules are used, as his successor; broken by disease
and famine, clothed with feathers, now must feed on birds and squander for his wretched fare the arrows destined for the wreck of Troy. “At least he lives, because he has not stayed too near Ulysses. Hapless Palamedes might wish that he too had been left behind, then he would live or would have met a death without dishonor. For this man, who well remembered the unfortunate discovery of his feigned madness, made a fraudulent attack on Palamedes, who he said betrayed the Grecian interest. He proved
his false charge to the Greeks by showing them the gold which he himself hid in the ground. By exile or by death he has decreased the true strength of the Greeks. And so he fights, for such things men have cause to fear Ulysses! “Should he excel the faithful Nestor by his eloquence, I'd yet be well convinced the way he forsook Nestor was a crime, old Nestor, who implored in vain his aid, when he was hindered by his wounded steed and wearied with the years of his old age, was then deserted by that scheming man.
The charge that I have made is strictly true, and the son of Tydeus knows it all too well; for he at that time called him by his name, rebuked him and upbraided his weak friend for coward flight. “The gods above behold the affairs of men with justice. That same man who would not help a friend now calls for help; he who forsook a friend, should be forsaken, the law he made returns upon himself. He called aloud on his companions; I came and saw him trembling, pale with fear,
and shuddering, at the thought of coming death. I held my shield above him where he lay, and that way saved the villain's dastard life, and little praise I have deserved for that. If you still wish to claim this armor, let us both return to that place and restore the enemy, your wound, and usual fear— there hide behind my shield, and under that contend with me! Yet, when I faced the foe, he, whom his wound had left no power to stand, forgot the wound and took to headlong flight. “Hector approached, and brought the gods with him
to battle; and, wherever he rushed on, not only this Ulysses was alarmed, but even the valiant, for so great the fear he caused them. Hector, proud in his success in blood and slaughter, I then dared to meet and with a huge: stone from a distance hurled I laid him flat. When he demanded one to fight with, I engaged him quite alone, for you my Greek friends, prayed the lot might fall upon me, and your prayers prevailed. If you should ask me of this fight, I will declare I was not vanquished there by him.
“Behold, the Trojans brought forth fire and sword and Jove, as well, against the Grecian fleet, where now has eloquent Ulysses gone? Truly, I did protect a thousand ships with my breast, saving the hopes of your return.— for all these many ships, award me arms! But, let me speak the truth, the arms will gain more fame than I, for they will share my glory. And they need Ajax, Ajax needs not them. Let the Ithacan compare with deeds like mine his sleeping Rhesus, his unwarlike Dolon, Helenus taken, and Pallas gained by theft—
all done by night and all with Diomed. If you must give these arms for deeds so mean, then give the greater share to Diomed. “Why give arms to Ulysses, who by stealth and quite unarmed, has always done his work, deceiving his unwary enemy by stratagems? This brilliant helmet, rich with sparkling gold, will certainly betray his plans, and will discover him when hid. His soft Dulichian head beneath the helm of great Achilles will not bear the weight; Achilles' heavy spear from Pelion must
be burdensome for his unwarlike hands: nor will the shield, graven with the vasty world beseem a dastard left hand, smooth for theft. “Why caitiff, will you beg them for a gift, which will but weaken you? If by mistake, the Grecian people should award you this, it would not fright the foe but offer spoils and that swift flight (in which alone you have excelled all others, dastard wretch!) would soon grow laggard, dragging such a weight. And that good shield of yours, which has but rarely felt a conflict, is unhurt; for mine, agape
with wounds a thousand from swift-striking darts, a new one must be found. “In short, what need is there for words? Let us be tried in war. Let all the arms of brave Achilles now be thrown among the foe; order them all to be retrieved; and decorate for war whoever brings them back, a worthy prize.” Ajax, the son of Telamon, stopped speech, and murmuring among the multitude followed his closing words, until Ulysses, Laertian hero, stood up there and fixed
his eyes a short time on the ground; then raised them towards the chiefs; and with his opening words, which they awaited, the grace of his art was not found wanting to his eloquence. “If my desire and yours could have prevailed, O noble Greeks, the man who should receive a prize so valued, would not be in doubt, and you would now enjoy your arms, and we enjoy you, great Achilles. Since unjust fate has denied him both to me and you, (and here he wiped his eyes dry with his hands, as though then shedding tears,) who could succeed
the great Achilles better than the one through whom the great Achilles joined the Greeks? Let Ajax win no votes because he seems to be as stupid as the truth declares. Let not my talents, which were always used for service of the Greeks, increase my harm: and let this eloquence of mine (if such we call it) which is pleading now for me, as it has pleaded many times for you, awake no envy. Let each man show his best. “Now as for ancestors and noble birth and deeds we have not done ourselves, all these
I hardly call them ours. But, if he boasts because he is the great grandson of Jove, the founder of my family, you know, is Jupiter; by birth I am just the same degree removed from Jupiter as he. Laertes is my father, my grandsire is Arcesius; and my great grandsire is Jove, and my line: has no banished criminal. My mother's grandsire, Mercury, would give me further claims of birth—on either side a god. “But not because my mother's line is better and not because my father certainly,
is innocent of his own brother's blood, have I advanced my claim to own those arms. Let personal merit weigh the cause alone. Let Ajax win no credit from the fact that Telamon, was brother unto Peleus. Let not his merit be that he is near by blood, may honor of manhood weigh in your award! “But, if you seek the heir and next of kin, Peleus is father, and Pyrrhus is the son of great Achilles. Where is Ajax then? These arms might go to Phthia or to Scyros! Teucer might claim the prize because he is
Achilles' cousin. Does he seek these arms? And, if he did, would you allow his claim? “Since then the contest lies in deeds alone, though I have done more than may be well told, I will recall them as they have occurred. “Achilles' Nereid mother, who foresaw his death, concealed her son by change of dress. By that disguise Ajax, among the rest, was well deceived. I showed with women's wares arms that might win the spirit of a man. The hero still wore clothing of a girl, when, as he held a shield and spear, I said
‘Son of a goddess! Pergama but waits to fall by you, why do you hesitate to assure the overthrow of mighty Troy?’ With these bold words, I laid my hand on him— and to: brave actions I sent forth the brave: his deeds of Bravery are therefore mine it was my power that conquered Telephus, as he fought with his lance; it was through me that, vanquished and suppliant? he at last was healed. I caused the fall of Thebes; believe me, I took Lesbos, Tenedos, Chryse and Cilla— the cities of Apollo; and I took
Scyros; think too, of the Lyrnesian wall as shaken by my hand, destroyed, and thrown down level with the ground. Let this suffice: I found the man who caused fierce Hector's death, through me the famous Hector now, lies low! And for those arms which made Achilles known I now demand these arms. To him alive I gave them—at his death they should be mine. “After the grief of one had reached all Greece, and ships a thousand, filled Euboean Aulis; the breezes long expected would not blow or adverse held the helpless fleet ashore.
Then ruthless oracles gave their command, that Agamemnon should make sacrifice of his loved daughter and so satisfy Diana's cruel heart. The father stood up resolute, enraged against the gods, a parent even though a king. I turned, by tactful! words, a father's tender heart to the great issue of the public weal. I will confess it, and when I have confessed, may the son of Atreus pardon: I had to plead a difficult case before a partial judge. The people's good, his brother's, and stern duty,
that followed his great office, won his ear, till royal honor outweighed claims of blood. I sought the mother, who could not be won by pleading but must be deceived by craft. Had Ajax gone to her, our thousand sails would still droop, waiting for the favoring breeze. “As a bold envoy I was even sent off to the towers of Ilium, and there I saw the senate-house of lofty Troy, and, fearless, entered it, while it was full of heroes. There, undaunted, I spoke for the cause which all the Greeks had given me.
Accusing Paris, I demanded back the gold and stolen Helen, and I moved both Priam and Antenor. All the while Paris, his brothers, and their robber crew could scarce withhold their wicked hands from me. And all this, Menelaus, is well known to you: that was the first danger I shared with you. “I need not linger over the many things which by my counsel and my bravery I have accomplished through this long-drawn war. “A long time, after the first battle clash, the foe lay quiet within city walls,
giving no challenge for an open fight— he stood nine years of siege before we fought what were you doing all that tedious time, what use were you, good only in a fight? If you will make inquiry of my deeds: I fashioned ambuscades for enemies; and circled our defenses with a trench; I cheered allies so they might all endure with patient minds a long, protracted war; I showed how our own army might subsist and how it could be armed; and I was sent wherever the necessity required.
“Then, at the wish of Jove, our king, deceive by A false dream, bids us give up the war— he could excuse his order by the cause. Let Ajax tell him Troy must be laid low or let him fight—at least he can do that! Why does he fail to stop the fugitives? Why not take arms and tell the wavering crowd to rally round him? Would that be too much for one who never speaks except to boast? But now words fail me: Ajax turns and flees! I witnessed it and was ashamed to see you turn disgraced, preparing sails for flight.
With exclamations and without delay, I said, ‘What are you doing? O my friends, has madness seized you that you will quit Troy, which is as good as taken? What can you bear home, after ten years, but your disgrace?’ “With these commanding words, which grief itself gave eloquence, I brought resisting Greeks back from their purposed flight. Atrides called together his allies, all terror struck. Even then, Ajax the son of Telamon dared not vouchsafe one word. But impudent Thersites hurled vile words against the kings,
and, thanks to me, he did not miss reproof. I rose and spoke to my disheartened friends, reviving their lost courage with my words from that time forth, whatever deeds this man, my rival, may have done, belong to me. 'Twas I who stayed his flight and brought him back. “Which of the noble Greeks has given you praise or sought your company? Yet Diomed has shared his deeds with me and praises me, and, while Ulysses is with him, is brave and confident. 'Tis worthy of regard, when out of many thousands of the Greeks,
a man becomes the choice of Diomed! “It was not lot that ordered me to go; and yet, despising dangers of the night, despising dangers of the enemy, I slew one, Dolon, of the Phrygian race, who dared to do the very things we dared, but not before I had prevailed on him to tell me everything, by which I learned perfidious actions which Troy had designed. “Of such things now, I had discovered all that should be found out, and I might have then returned to enjoy the praise I had deserved.
But not content with that, I sought the tent of Rhesus, and within his camp I slew him and his proved attendants. Having thus gained as a conqueror my own desires, I drove back in a captured chariot,— a joyous triumph. Well, deny me, then. The arms of him whose steeds the enemy demanded as the price of one night's aid. Ajax himself has been more generous. “Why should I name Sarpedon's Lycian troops among whom I made havoc with my sword? I left Coeranos dead and streaming blood,
with the sword I killed Alastor, Chromius, Alcander, Prytanis, Halius, and Noemon, Thoon and Charops with Chersidamas, and Ennomus—all driven by cruel fate, not reckoning humbler men whom I laid low, battling beneath the shadow of the city walls. And fellow citizens, I have my wounds honorable in the front. Do not believe my word alone. Look for yourselves and see!” Then with one hand, he drew his robe aside. “Here is a breast,” he cried, “that bled for you! But Ajax never shed a drop of blood
to aid his friends, in all these many years, and has a body free of any wound. “What does it prove, if he declares that he fought for our ships against both Troy and Jove? I grant he did, for it is not my wont with malice to belittle other's deeds. But let him not claim for himself alone an honor in which all may have a share, let him concede some credit due to you. Disguised within the fear inspiring arms of great Achilles, Actor's son drove back the host of Trojans from our threatened fleet
or ships and Ajax would have burned together. “Unmindful of the king, the chiefs, and me, he dreams that he alone dared to engage in single fight with Hector—he the ninth to volunteer and chosen just by lot. But yet, O brave chief! What availed the fight? Hector returned, not injured by a wound. “Ah, bitter fate, with how much grief I am compelled to recollect the time, when brave Achilles, bulwark of the Greeks, was slain. Nor tears, nor grief, nor fear, could hinder me: I carried his dead body from the ground,
uplifted on these shoulders, I repeat, upon these shoulders from that ground I bore off dead Achilles, and those arms which now I want to bear away again. I have the strength to walk beneath their weight, I have a mind to understand their worth. Did the hero's mother, goddess of the sea, win for her son these arms, made by a god, a work of wondrous art, to have them clothe a rude soldier, who has no mind at all? He never could be made to understand the rich engravings, pictured on the shield—
the ocean, earth, and stars in lofty skies; the Pleiades, and Hyades, the Bear, which touches not the ocean, far beyond the varied planets, and the fire-bright sword of high Orion. He demands a prize, which, if he had it, would be lost on him. “What of his taunting me, because I shrank from hardships of this war and I was slow to join the expedition? Does he not see, that he reviles the great Achilles too? Was my pretense a crime? then so was his. Was our delay a fault? mine was the less,
for I came sooner; me a loving wife detained from war, a loving mother him. Some hours we gave to them, the rest to you. Why should I be alarmed, if now I am unable to defend myself against this accusation, which is just the same as you have brought against so great a man? Yet he was found by the dexterity of me, Ulysses, and Ulysses was not found by the dexterity of Ajax. “It is no wonder that he pours on me reproaches of his silly tongue, because
he charges you with what is worthy shame. Am I depraved because this Palamedes has improperly been charged with crime by me? Then was it honorable for all of you, if you condemned him? Only think, that he, the son of Naplius, made no defence against the crime, so great, so manifest: nor did you only hear the charges brought against him, but you saw the proof yourselves, and in the gold his villainy was shown. “Nor am I to be blamed, if Vulcan's isle of Lemnos has become the residence
of Philoctetes. Greeks, defend yourselves, for you agreed to it! Yes, I admit I urged him to withdraw from toils of war and those of travel and attempt by rest to ease his cruel pain. He took my advice and lives! The advice was not alone well meant (that would have been enough) but it was wise. Because our prophets have declared, he must lead us, if we may still maintain our hope for Troy's destruction—therefore, you must not intrust that work to me. Much better, send the son of Telamon. His eloquence
will overcome the hero's rage, most fierce from his disease and anger: or else his invention of some wile will skilfully deliver him to us.—The Simois will first flow backward, Ida stand without its foliage, and Achaia promise aid to Troy itself; ere, lacking aid from me, the craft of stupid Ajax will avail. “Though, Philoctetes, you should be enraged against your friends, against the king and me; although you curse and everlastingly devote my head to harm; although you wish,
to ease your anguish, that I may be given into your power, that you may shed my blood; and though you wait your turn and chance at me; still I will undertake the quest and will try all my skill to bring you back with me. If my good fortune then will favor me, I shall obtain your arrows; as I made the Trojan seer my captive, as I learned the heavenly oracles and fate of Troy, and as I brought back through a host of foes Minerva's image from the citadel. “And is it possible, Ajax may now
compare himself with me? Truly the Fates will hold Troy from our capture, if we leave the statue. Where is valiant Ajax now, where are the boasts of that tremendous man? Why are you trembling, while Ulysses dares to go beyond our guards and brave the night? In spite of hostile swords, he goes within not only the strong walls of Troy but even the citadel, lifts up the goddess from her shrine, and takes her through the enemy! If I had not done this, Telamon's son would bear his shield of seven bull hides in vain.
That night I gained the victory over Troy— 'Twas then I won our war with Pergama, because I made it possible to win. “Stop hinting by your look and muttered words that Diomed was my partner in the deed. The praise he won is his. You, certainly fought not alone, when you held up your shield to save the allied fleet: a multitude was with you, but a single man gave me his valued help. “And if he did not know a fighting man can not gain victory
so surely as the wise man, that the prize is given to something rarer than a brave right hand, he would himself be a contender now for these illustrious arms. Ajax the less would have come forward too, so would the fierce Eurypylus, so would Andraemon's son. Nor would Idomeneus withhold his claim, nor would his countryman Meriones. Yes, Menelaus too would seek the prize. All these brave men, my equals in the field, have yielded to my wisdom. “Your right hand
is valuable in war, your temper stands in need of my direction. You have strength without intelligence; I look out for the future. You are able in the fight; I help our king to find the proper time. Your body may give service, and my mind must point the way: and just as much as he who guides the ship must be superior to him who rows it; and we all agree the general is greater than the soldier; so, do I excel you. In the body lives an intellect much rarer than a hand,
by that we measure human excellence. “O chieftains, recompense my vigilance! For all these years of anxious care, award this honor to my many services. Our victory is in sight; I have removed the opposing fates and, opening wide the way to capture Pergama, have captured it. Now by our common hopes, by Troy's high walls already tottering and about to fall, and by the gods that I won from the foe, by what remains for wisdom to devise or what may call for bold and fearless deeds—
if you think any hope is left for Troy, remember me! Or, if you do not give these arms to me, then give them all to her!” And he pointed to Minerva's fateful head. The assembled body of the chiefs was moved; and then, appeared the power of eloquence: the fluent man received, amid applause, the arms of the brave man. His rival, who so often when alone, stood firm against great Hector and the sword, and flames and Jove, stood not against a single passion, wrath. The unconquerable was conquered by his grief.
He drew his sword, and said:—“This is at least my own; or will Ulysses also claim this, for himself. I must use this against myself—the blade which often has been wet, dripping with blood of Phrygians I have slain,. Will drip with his own master's:blood, lest any man but Ajax vanquish Ajax.” Saying this, he turned toward the vital spot in his own breast, which never had felt a wound, the fated sword and plunged it deeply in. though many sought to aid, no hand had strength to draw that steel—deep driven. The blood itself
unaided drove it out. The ensanguined earth sprouted from her green turf that purple flower which grew of old from Hyacinthine blood. Its petals now are charged with double freight— the warrior's name, Apollo's cry of woe. The conqueror, Ulysses, now set sail, for Lemnos, country of Hypsipyle, and for the land of Thoas, famed afar, those regions infamous in olden days, where women slew their husbands. So he went that he might capture and bring back with him the arrows of brave Hercules. When these
were given back to the Greeks, their lord with them, a final hand at last prevailed to end that long fought war. Both Troy and Priam fell, and Priam's wretched wife lost all she had, until at last she lost her human form. Her savage barkings frightened foreign lands, where the long Hellespont is narrowed down. Great Troy was burning: while the fire still raged, Jove's altar drank old Priam's scanty blood. The priestess of Apollo then, alas! Was dragged by her long hair, while up towards heaven she lifted supplicating hands in vain.
The Trojan matrons, clinging while they could to burning temples and ancestral gods, victorious Greeks drag off as welcome spoil. Astyanax was hurled down from the very tower from which he often had looked forth and seen his father, by his mother pointed out, when Hector fought for honor and his country's weal. Now Boreas counsels to depart. The sails, moved by a prosperous breeze, resound and wave— the Trojan women cry,—“Farewell to Troy! Ah, we are hurried off! ” and, falling down, they kiss the soil, and leave the smoking roofs
of their loved native land. The last to go on board the fleet was Hecuba, a sight most pitiful. She was found among the tombs of her lost sons. While she embraced each urn and fondly kissed their bones, Ulysses came with ruthless hands and bore her off, his prize she in her bosom took away the urn of Hector only, and upon his grave she left some white hair taken from her head, a meager gift, her white hair and her tears. Across the strait from Troy, there is a land claimed by Bistonian men, and in that land
was a rich palace, built there by a king named Polymnestor. To him the Phrygian king in secret gave his youngest son to rear, his Polydorus, safe from Troy and war, a prudent course, if he had not sent gold arousing greed, incitement to a crime. Soon, when the fortunes of the Trojans fell, that wicked king of Thrace took his own sword, and pierced the throat of his poor foster son and then, as if the deed could be concealed, if he removed the body, hurled the boy from a wild cliff into the waves below.
Until the sea might be more calm, and gales of wind might be subdued, Atrides moored his fleet of ships upon the Thracian shore; there, from wide gaping earth, Achilles rose, as large as when he lived, with look as fierce, as when his sword once threatened Agamemnon. “Forgetting me do you depart, O Greeks?” He said, “And is your grateful! memory of all my worth interred with my bones? Do not do so. And that my sepulchre may have due worship, let Polyxena be immolated to appease the ghost:
of dead Achilles.” Fiercely so he spoke. The old friends of Achilles all obeyed his unforgiving shade; and instantly the noble and unhappy virgin—brave, more like a man than woman—was torn from her mother's bosom, cherished more by her, since widowed and alone. And then they led the virgin as a sacrifice from there up to the cruel altar. When the maid observed the savage rites prepared for her, and when she noticed Neoptolemus stand by her with his cruel sword in hand,
his fixed eyes on her countenance; she said:— “Do not delay my generous gift of blood, with no resistance thrust the ready steel into my throat or breast!” And then she laid both throat and bosom bare. “Polyxena would never wish to live in slavery. And such rites win no favor from a god. Only I fondly wish my mother might not know that I have died. My love of her takes from my joy in death and gives me fear. Not my death truly, but her own sad life should be the most lamented in her tears.
Now let your men stand back, that I may go with dignity down to the Stygian shades, and, if my plea is just, let no man's hand touch my pure virgin body. A nobler gift to him, whoever he may be, whom you desire to placate with my death today, shall be a free maid's blood. But, if my words— my parting wish, has power to touch your hearts, (King Priam's daughter, not a captive, pleads) freely return my body to my mother, let her not pay with gold for the sad right to bury me—but only with her tears!
Yes, when she could, she also paid with gold.” After she said these words, the people could no more restrain their tears; but no one saw her shed one tear. Even the priest himself, reluctantly and weeping, drove the steel into her proffered breast. On failing knees she sank down to the earth; but still maintained a countenance undaunted to the last: and, even unto death, it was her care to cover all that ought to be concealed, and save the value of chaste modesty. The Trojan matrons took her and recalled,
lamenting, all the sons of Priam dead, the wealth of blood one house had shed for all. And they bewailed the chaste Polyxena and you, her mother, only lately called a royal mother and a royal wife,— the soul of Asia's fair prosperity,; now lowest fallen in all the wreck of Troy. The conquering Ulysses only claimed her his because she had brought Hector forth: and Hector hardly found a master for his mother. She continued to embrace the body of a soul so brave, and shed
her tears, as she had shed them often before for country lost, for sons, for royal mate. She bathed her daughter's wounds with tears and kissed them with her lips and once more beat her breast. Her white hair streamed down in the clotting blood, she tore her breast, and this and more she said: “My daughter, what further sorrow can be mine? My daughter you lie dead, I see your wounds— they are indeed my own. Lest I should lose one child of mine without a cruel sword, you have your wound. I thought, because you were a woman, you were safe from swords.
But you, a woman, felt the deadly steel. That same Achilles, who has given to death so many of your brothers, caused your death, the bane of Troy and the serpent by my nest! When Paris and when Phoebus with their shafts had laid him low, ‘Ah, now at least,’ I said, ‘Achilles will no longer cause me dread.’ Yet even then he still was to be feared. For him I have been fertile! Mighty Troy now lies in ruin, and the public woe is ended in one vast calamity. For me alone the woe of Troy still lives.
“But lately on the pinnacle of fame, surrounded by my powerful sons-in-law, daughters, and daughters-in-law, and strong in my great husband, I am exiled now, and destitute, and forced from the sad tombs of those I love, to wretched slavery, serving Penelope: who showing me to curious dames of Ithaca, will point and say, while I am bending to my task, ‘Look at that woman who was widely known, the mother of great Hector, once the wife of Priam!’ After so many have been lost,
now you, last comfort of a mother's grief, must make atonement on the foeman's tomb. I bore a victim for my enemy. “Why do I live—an iron witted wretch? Why do I linger? Why does cruel age detain me? Why, pernicious deities, thus hold me to this earth, unless you will that I may weep at future funerals? After the fall of Troy, who would suppose King Priam could be happy? Blest in death, he has not seen my daughter's dreadful fate. He lost at once his kingdom and his life.
“Can I imagine you, a royal maid, will soon be honored with due funeral rites, and will be buried in our family tomb? Such fortune comes no more to your sad house. A drift of foreign sand will be your grave, the parting gift will be your mother's tears. We have lost everything! But no, there is one reason why I should endure a while. His mother's dearest, now her only child, once youngest of that company of sons, my Polydorus lives here on these shores protected by the friendly Thracian king.
Then why delay to bathe these cruel wounds, her dear face spattered with the dreadful blood?” So Hecuba went wailing towards the shore with aged step and tearing her gray hair. At last the unhappy mother said, “Give me an urn; O, Trojan women!” for, she wished to dip up salt sea water. But just then, she saw the corpse of her last son, thrown out upon the shore; her Polydorus, killed, disfigured with deep wounds of Thracian swords. The Trojan women cried aloud, and she was struck dumb with her agony, which quite
consumed both voice and tears within her heart— rigid and still she seemed as a hard rock. And now she gazes at the earth in front now lifts her haggard face up toward the skies, now scans that body lying stark and dead, now scans his wounds and most of all the wounds. She arms herself and draws up all her wrath. It burned as if she still held regal power she gave up all life to the single thought of quick revenge. Just as a lioness rages when plundered of her suckling cub and follows on his trail the unseen foe,
so, Hecuba with rage mixed in her grief forgetful of her years, not her intent, went hastily to Polymnestor, who contrived this dreadful murder, and desired an interview, pretending it was her wish to show him hidden gold, for her lost son. The Odrysian king believed it all: accustomed to the love of gain, he went with her, in secret, to the spot she chose. Then craftily he said in his bland way: “Oh, Hecuba, you need not wait, give now, munificently to your son—and all
you give, and all that you have given, by the good gods, I swear, shall be his own.” She eyed him sternly as he spoke and swore so falsely.—Then her rage boiled over, and, seconded by all her captive train, she flew at him and drove her fingers deep in his perfidious eyes; and tore them from his face—and plunged her hands into the raw and bleeding sockets (passion made her strong), defiled with his bad blood. How could she tear his eyes, gone from their seats? She wildly gouged the sightless sockets of his bleeding face!
The Thracians, angered by such violence done upon their king, immediately attacked the Trojan matron with their stones and darts but she with hoarse growling and snapping jaws sprang at the stones, and, when she tried to speak, she barked like a fierce dog. The place still bears a name suggested by her hideous change. And she, long mindful! of her old time woe, ran howling dismally in Thracian fields. Her sad fate moved the Trojans and the Greeks, her friends and foes, and all the heavenly gods. Yes all, for even the sister-wife of Jove
denied that Hecuba deserved such fate. Although Aurora had given aid to Troy, she had no heart nor leisure to be moved by fall of Troy or fate of Hecuba. At home she bore a greater grief and care; her loss of Memnon is afflicting her. Aurora, his rose-tinted mother, saw him perish by Achilles' deadly spear, upon the Phrygian plain. She saw his death, and the loved rose that lights the dawning hour turned death-pale, and the sky was veiled in clouds. The parent could not bear to see his limbs
laid on the final flames. Just as she was, with loose hair streaming round her, she did not disdain to crouch down at the knees of Jove, and said these sad words added to her tears: “Beneath all those whom golden heaven sustains; (inferior, for see, through all the world my temples are so few) I have come now a goddess, to you; not with any hope that you may grant me temples, festivals, and altars, heated with devoted fires: but if you will consider the good deeds, which I, a woman, may yet do for you,
when at the dawn I mark the edge of night; then you may think of some reward for me. But that is not my care; nor is it now Aurora's purpose here, that she should plead for honors, though deserved. I come bereaved, of my son Memnon, who in vain bore arms to aid his uncle and in prime of life (0, thus you willed it!) fell stricken by the sword of great Achilles. Give my son, I pray, O highest ruler of the gods, some honor, some comfort for his death, a little ease his mother's grief.” Jove nodded his assent.
Immediately the high-wrought funeral-pile of Memnon fell down with its lofty fire, and volumes of black smoke obscured the day, as streams exhaling their dense rising fogs, exclude the bright sun from the land below. Black ashes fly and, rolling up a shape, retain a form and gather heat and life out of the fire. Their lightness gave them wings, first like a bird and then in fact a bird. The wings move whirring. In the neighboring air uncounted sisters, of one birth and growth together make one noise. Three times they flew
around the funeral pile; and thrice the sound accordant of their fluttering wings went swift upon the soft breeze. When they turned about, their fourth flight in the skies divided them. As two fierce races from two hostile camps, clash in their warfare, these bird-sisters with their beaks and crooked claws clashed, passionate, until their tired wings and opposing breasts could not sustain them. And those kindred-foes fell down a sacrifice, memorial, to Memnon's ashes buried in that place. Brave Memnon, author of their birth, has given
his name to those birds, marvellously formed,— and from him they are called Memnonides.— now, always when the Sun has passed the twelve signs of the Zodiac, they war again, to perish as a sacrifice for him. So others grieved, while Dymas' royal daughter was barking: but Aurora overcome with lasting sorrows, could not think of her: and even now, she sheds affectionate tears: and sprinkles them as dew on all the world. The Fates did not allow the hope of Troy to be destroyed entirely with her walls.
Aeneas, the heroic son of Venus, bore on his shoulders holy images and still another holy weight, his sire, a venerable burden. From all his wealth the pious hero chose this for his care together with his child, Ascanius. Then with a fleet of exiles he sails forth, he leaves Antandrus, leaves the wicked realm and shore of Thrace now dripping with the blood of Polydorus. With fair winds and tide he and his comrades reach Apollo's isle. Good Anius, king of Delos, vigilant
for all his subjects' welfare, and as priest devoted to Apollo, took him there into his temple and his home, and showed the city, the famed shrines, and the two trees which once Latona, while in labor, held. They burned sweet incense, adding to it wine, and laid the flesh of cattle in the flames, an offering marked by custom for the god. Then in the palace and its kingly hall, reclining on luxurious couches, they drank flowing wine with Ceres' gifts of food. But old Anchises asked: “O chosen priest
of Phoebus, can I be deceived? When first I saw these walls, did you not have a son, and twice two daughters? Is it possible I am mistaken?” Anius replied,— shaking his temples wreathed with fillets white,— “It can be no mistake, great hero, you did see the father of five children then, (so much the risk of fortune may affect the best of men). You see me now, almost bereft of all. For what assistance can my absent son afford, while he is king, the ruler over Andros—that land named
for his name—over which he rules for me? “The Delian god gave to my son the art of augury; and likewise, Liber gave my daughters precious gifts exceeding all my wishes and belief: since, every thing my daughters touched assumed the forms of corn, of sparkling wine, or gray-green olive oil. Most surely, wonderful advantages. “Soon as Atrides, he who conquered Troy had heard of this (for you should not suppose that we, too, did not suffer from your storms) he dragged my daughters there with savage force,
from my loved bosom to his hostile camp, and ordered them to feed the Argive fleet, by their divinely given power of touch. “Whichever way they could, they made escape two hastened to Euboea, and two sought their brother's island, Andros. Quickly then an Argive squadron, following, threatened war, unless they were surrendered. The brother's love gave way to fear. And there is reason why you should forgive a timid brother's fear: he had no warrior like Aeneas, none like Hector, by whose prowess you held Troy
from its destruction through ten years of war. “Strong chains were brought to hold my daughters' arms. Both lifted suppliant hands, which still were free, to heaven and cried, ‘0, Father Bacchus! give us needed aid!’ And he who had before given them the power of touch, did give them aid— if giving freedom without human shape can be called giving aid.—I never knew by what means they lost shape, and cannot tell; but their calamity is surely known: my daughters were transformed to snow-white doves, white birds of Venus, guardian of your days.”
With this and other talk they shared the feast, then left the table and retired to sleep. They rose up with the day, and went at once to hear the oracle of Phoebus speak. He counselled them to leave that land and find their ancient mother and their kindred shores. The king attended them, and gave them gifts when ready to depart; a sceptre to Anchises, and a robe and quiver to his grandson, and he gave a goblet to Aeneas, that which formerly was sent to him by Therses, once his Theban guest.
Therses had sent it from Aonian shores; but Alcon the Hylean should be named, for he had made the goblet and inscribed a pictured story on the polished side. There was a city shown with seven gates, from which the name could be derived by all. Outside the walls was a sad funeral, and tombs and fires and funeral pyres were shown, and many matrons with dishevelled hair and naked breasts, expressive of their grief, and many nymphs too, weeping mournfully because their streams were dry. Without a leaf
the bare trees stood straight up and the she goats were nibbling in dry, stony fields. And there he carved Orion's daughters in the Theban square, one giving her bare throat a cruel cut, one with her shuttle making clumsy wounds; both dying for their people. Next they were borne out through the city with doe funeral pomp, and mourning crowds were gathered round their pyre. Then from the virgin ashes, lest the race should die. twin youths arose, whom fame has named Coroni and they shared in all the rites becoming for their mothers' dust.
Even so in shining figures all was shown inscribed on ancient bronze. The top rim, made quite rough, was gilded with acanthus leaves. Presents of equal worth the Trojans gave: a maple incense casket for the priest, a bowl, a crown adorned with gold and gems. Then, recollecting how the Trojans had derived their origin from Teucer's race, they sailed to Crete but there could not endure ills sent by Jove, and, having left behind the hundred cities, they desired to reach the western harbors of the Ausonian land.
Wintry seas then tossed the heroic band, and in a treacherous harbor of those isles, called Strophades, Aello frightened them. They passed Dulichium's port, and Ithaca, Samos, and all the homes of Neritos,— the kingdom of the shrewd deceitful man, Ulysses; and they reached Ambracia, contended for by those disputing gods; which is today renowned abroad, because of Actian Apollo, and the stone seen there conspicuous as a transformed judge; they saw Dodona, vocal with its oaks;
and also, the well known Chaonian bays, where sons of the Molossian king escaped with wings attached, from unavailing flames. They set their sails then for the neighboring land of the Phaeacians, rich with luscious fruit: then for Epirus and to Buthrotos, and came then to a mimic town of Troy, ruled by the Phrygian seer. With prophecies which Helenus, the son of Priam, gave, they came to Sicily, whose three high capes jut outward in the sea. Of these three points Pachynos faces towards the showery south;
and Lilybaeum is exposed to soft delicious zephyrs; but Peloros looks out towards the Bears which never touch the sea. The Trojans came there. Favored by the tide, and active oars, by nightfall all the fleet arrived together on Zanclaean sands. Scylla upon the right infests the shore, Charybdis, restless on the left, destroys. Charybdis swallows and then vomits forth misfortuned ships that she has taken down; Scylla's dark waist is girt with savage dogs. She has a maiden's face, and, if we may believe
what poets tell, she was in olden time a maiden. Many suitors courted her, but she repulsed them; and, because she was so much beloved by all the Nereids, she sought these nymphs and used to tell how she escaped from the love-stricken youths. But Galatea, while her loosened locks were being combed, said to her visitor,— “Truly, O maiden, a gentle race of men courts you, and so you can, and do, refuse all with impunity. But I, whose sire is Nereus, whom the azure Doris bore,
though guarded by so many sister nymphs, escaped the Cyclops' love with tragic loss.” And, sobbing, she was choked with tears. When with her fingers, marble white and smooth, Scylla had wiped away the rising tears of sorrow and had comforted the nymph, she said, “Tell me, dear goddess, and do not conceal from me (for I am true to you) the cause of your great sorrows.” And the nymph, daughter of Nereus, thus replied to her:— “Acis, the son of Faunus and the nymph Symaethis, was a great delight to his
dear father and his mother, but even more to me, for he alone had won my love. Eight birthdays having passed a second time, his tender cheeks were marked with softest down. “While I pursued him with a constant love, the Cyclops followed me as constantly. And, should you ask me, I could not declare whether my hatred of him, or my love of Acis was the stronger.—They were equal. “O gentle Venus! what power equals yours! That savage, dreaded by the forest trees, feared by the stranger who beholds his face
contemner of Olympus and the gods, now he can feel what love is. He is filled with passion for me. He burns hot for me, forgetful of his cattle and his caves. “Now, Polyphemus, wretched Cyclops, you are careful of appearance, and you try the art of pleasing. You have even combed your stiffened hair with rakes: it pleases you to trim your shaggy beard with sickles, while you gaze at your fierce features in a pool so earnest to compose them. Love of flesh, ferocity and your keen thirst for blood
have ceased. The ships may safely come and go! “While all this happened, Telemus arrived at the Sicilian Aetna—Telemus, the son of Eurymus, who never could mistake an omen, met the dreadful fierce, huge Cyclops, Polyphemus, and he said, ‘That single eye now midmost in your brow Ulysses will take from you.’ In reply, the Cyclops only laughed at him and said, ‘Most silly of the prophets! you are wrong, a maiden has already taken it!’ So he made fun of Telemus, who warned
him vainly of the truth—and after that, he either burdened with his bulk the shore, by stalking back and forth with lengthy strides, or came back weary to his shaded cave. “A wedge-formed hill projects far in the sea and either side there flow the salty waves. To this the giant savage climbed and sat upon the highest point. The wooly flock, no longer guided by him, followed after. There, after he had laid his pine tree down, which served him for a staff, although so tall it seemed best fitted for a ship's high mast,
he played his shepherd pipes—in them I saw a hundred reeds. The very mountains felt the pipings of that shepherd, and the waves beneath him shook respondent to each note. All this time I was hidden by a rock, reclining on the bosom of my own dear Acis; and, although afar, I heard such words as these, which I can not forget:— ‘O Galatea, fairer than the flower of snow-white privet, and more blooming than the meadows, and more slender than the tall delightful alder, brighter than smooth glass,
more wanton than the tender skipping kid, smoother than shells worn by continual floods, more pleasing than the winter sun, or than the summer shade, more beautiful than fruit of apple trees, more pleasing to the sight than lofty plane tree, clearer than pure ice, and sweeter than the ripe grape, softer than soft swan-down and the softest curdled milk; alas, and if you did not fly from me, I would declare you are more beautiful than any watered garden of this world. ‘And yet, O Galatea; I must say,
that you are wilder than all untrained bullocks, harder than seasoned oak, more treacherous than tumbled waters, tougher than the twigs of osier and the white vine, harder to move than cliffs which front these waves, more violent than any torrent, you are prouder than the flattered peacock, fiercer than hot fire, rougher than thistles, and more cruel than the pregnant she-bear, deafer than the waves of stormy seas, more deadly savage than the trodden water-snake: and, (what I would endeavor surely to deprive you of)
your speed is fleeter than the deer pursued by frightful barkings, and more swift than rapid storm-winds and the flitting air. ‘But Galatea, if you knew me well you would regret your hasty flight from me, and you would even blame your own delay, and strive for my affection. I now hold the choice part of this mountain for my cave, roofed over with the native rock. The sun is not felt in the heat of middle day, nor is the winter felt there: apples load the bending boughs and luscious grapes
hang on the lengthened vines, resembling gold, and purple grapes as rich—I keep for you those two delicious fruits. With your own hands, you shall yourself uncover strawberries, growing so soft beneath the woodland shade; you shall pluck corners in the autumn ripe, and plums, not only darkened with black juice but larger kinds as yellow as new wax. If I may be your mate, you shall have chestnuts, fruits of the arbute shall be always near, and every tree shall yield at your desire. ‘The ewes here all are mine, and many more
are wandering in the valleys; and the woods conceal a multitude—and many more are penned within my caves. If you perchance should ask me, I could never even guess or count the number; it is for the poor to count their cattle. Do not trust my word, but go yourself and see with your own eyes, how they can hardly stand up on their legs because of their distended udders' weight. ‘I have lambs also, as a future flock, kept in warm folds, and kids of their same age in other folds. I always have supplies
of snow-white milk for drinking, and much more is hardened with good rennet liquefied. ‘The common joys of ordinary things will not be all you should expect of me— tame does and hares and she-goats or a pair of doves, or even a nest from a tall tree— for I have found upon a mountain top, the twin cubs of a shaggy wild she-bear, of such appearance you can hardly know the one from other. They will play with you. The very day I found them I declared, these I will keep for my dear loved one's joy.
‘Do now but raise your shining head above the azure sea: come Galatea come, and do not scorn my presents. Certainly, I know myself, for only recently I saw my own reflection pictured clear in limpid water, and my features pleased and charmed me when I saw it. See how huge I am. Not even Jove in his high heaven is larger than my body: this I say because you tell me how imperial Jove surpasses.—Who is he? I never knew. ‘My long hair plentifully hangs to hide
unpleasant features; as a grove of trees overshadowing my shoulders. Never think my body is uncomely, although rough, thick set with wiry bristles. Every tree without leaves is unseemly; every horse, unless a mane hangs on his tawny neck; feathers must cover birds; and their soft wool is ornamental on the best formed sheep: therefore a beard, and rough hair spread upon the body is becoming to all men. I have but one eye centered perfectly within my forehead, so it seems most like
a mighty buckler. Ha! does not the Sun see everything from heaven? Yet it has but one eye.— ‘Galatea, you must know, my father is chief ruler in your sea, and therefor I now offer him to you as your own father-in-law—But oh, do take some pity on a suppliant,— and hear his prayer, for only unto you my heart is given. ‘I, who despise the power of Jove, his heavens and piercing lightnings, am afraid of you— your wrath more fearful than the lightning's flash—
but I should be more patient under slights, if you avoided all men: why reject the Cyclops for the love that Acis gives? And why prefer his smiles to my embraces, but let him please himself, and let him please you, Galatea, though against my will. ‘If I am given an opportunity he will be shown that I have every strength proportioned to a body vast as mine: I will pull out his palpitating entrails, and scatter his torn limbs about the fields and over and throughout your salty waves;
and then let him unite himself to you.— I burn so, and my slighted passion raves with greater fury and I seem to hold and carry Aetna in my breast—transferred there with its flames—Oh Galatea! can you listen to my passion thus unmoved!’ “I saw all this; and, after he in vain had uttered such complaints, he stood up like a raging bull whose heifer has been lost, that cannot stand still, but must wander on through brush and forests, that he knows so well: when that fierce monster saw me and my Acis—
we neither knew nor guessed our fate—he roared: ‘I see you and you never will again parade your love before me!’ In such a voice as matched his giant size. All Aetna shook and trembled at the noise; and I amazed with horror, plunged into the adjoining sea. “My loved one, Acis turned his back and fled and cried out, ‘Help me Galatea, help! 0, let your parents help me, and admit me safe within their realm; for I am now near my destruction!’ But the Cyclops rushed at him and hurled a fragment, he had torn
out from the mountain, and although the extreme edge only of the rock could reach him there. It buried him entirely. “Then I did the only thing the Fates permitted me: I let my Acis take ancestral power of river deities. The purple blood flowed from beneath the rock, but soon the sanguine richness faded and became at first the color of a stream, disturbed and muddied by a shower. And presently it clarified.— The rock that had been thrown
then split in two, and through the cleft a reed, stately and vigorous, arose to life. And soon the hollow mouth in the great rock, resounded with the waters gushing forth. And wonderful to tell, a youth emerged, the water flowing clear about his waist, his new horns circled with entwining reeds, and the youth certainly was Acis, though he was of larger stature and his face and features all were azure. Acis changed into a stream which ever since that time has flowed there and retained its former name.
So Galatea, after she had told her sorrow, ceased; and, when the company had gone from there, the Nereids swam again in the calm and quiet waves. But Scylla soon returned (because she did not trust herself in deep salt waters) and she wandered there naked of garments on the thirsty sand; but, tired, by chance she found a lonely bay, and cooled her limbs with its enclosing waves. Then suddenly appeared a newly made inhabitant of that deep sea, whose name was Glaucus. Cleaving through the blue sea waves,
he swam towards her. His shape had been transformed but lately for this watery life, while he was living at Anthedon in Euboea.— now he is lingering from desire for her he saw there and speaks whatever words he thought might stop her as she fled from him. Yet still she fled from him, and swift through fear, climbed to a mountain top above the sea. Facing the waves, it rose in one huge peak, parting the waters with a forest crown. She stood on that high summit quite secure: and, doubtful whether he might be a god
or monster, wondered at his flowing hair which covered his broad shoulders and his back,— and marvelled at the color of his skin and at his waist merged into a twisted fish. All this he noticed, and while leaning there against a rock that stood near by, he said: — “I am no monster, maiden, I am not a savage beast; I am in truth a god of waters, with such power upon the seas as that of Proteus, Triton, or Palaemon— reared on land the son of Athamas. “Not long ago I was a mortal man,
yet even then my thought turned to the sea and all my living came from waters deep, for I would drag the nets that swept up fish, or, seated on a rock, I flung the line forth from the rod. The shore I loved was near a verdant meadow. One side were the waves, the other grass, which never had been touched by horned, grazing cattle. Harmless sheep and shaggy goats had never cropped it—no industrious bee came there to harvest flowers; no festive garlands had been gathered there, adornments of the head; no mower's hands
had ever cut it. I was certainly the first who ever sat upon that turf,— while I was drying there the dripping nets. And so that I might in due order count the fish that I had caught, I laid out those which by good chance were driven into my nets, or credulous, were caught on my barbed hooks. “It all seems like a fiction (but what good can I derive from fictions?) just as soon as any of my fish-prey touched the grass, they instantly began to move and skip as usual in sea water. While I paused
and wondered, all of them slid to the waves, and left me, their late captor, and the shore. “I was amazed and doubtful, a long time; while I considered what could be the cause. What god had done this? Or perhaps the juice of some herb caused it? ‘But,’ I said, ‘what herb can have such properties?’ and with my hand I plucked the grass and chewed it with my teeth. My throat had hardly time to swallow those unheard of juices, when I suddenly felt all my entrails throbbing inwardly, and my entire mind also, felt possessed
by passions foreign to my life before. “I could not stay in that place, and I said with shouting, ‘Farewell! dry land! never more shall I revisit you;’ and with those words upon my lips, I plunged beneath the waves. The gods of that deep water gave to me, when they received me, kindred honors, while they prayed Oceanus and Tethys both to take from me such mortal essence as might yet remain. So I was purified by them and after a good charm had been nine times repeated over me, which washed
away all guilt, I was commanded then to put my breast beneath a hundred streams. “So far I can relate to you all things most worthy to be told; for all so far I can remember; but from that time on I was unconscious of the many things that followed. When my mind returned to me, I found myself entirely different from what I was before; and my changed mind was not the same as it had always been. Then, for the first time I beheld this beard so green in its deep color, and I saw
my flowing hair which now I sweep along the spacious seas, and my huge shoulders with their azure colored arms, and I observed my leg extremities hung tapering exactly perfect as a finny fish. “But what avail is this new form to me. Although it pleased the Ocean deities? What benefit, although I am a god, if you are not persuaded by these things?” While he was telling wonders such as these— quite ready to say more—Scylla arose and left the god. Provoked at his repulse—
enraged, he hastened to the marvellous court of Circe, well known daughter of the Sun.
Book 14
Now the Euboean dweller in great waves, Glaucus, had left behind the crest of Aetna, raised upward from a giant's head; and left the Cyclops' fields, that never had been torn by harrow or by plough and never were indebted to the toil of oxen yoked; left Zancle, also, and the opposite walls of Rhegium, and the sea, abundant cause of shipwreck, which confined with double shores bounds the Ausonian and Sicilian lands. All these behind him, Glaucus, swimming on with his huge hands through those Tyrrhenian seas,
drew near the hills so rich in magic herbs and halls of Circe, daughter of the Sun,— halls filled with men in guise of animals. After due salutations had been given— received by her as kindly—Glaucus said, “You as a goddess, certainly should have compassion upon me, a god; for you alone (if I am worthy of it) can relieve my passion. What the power of herbs can be, Titania, none knows more than I, for by their power I was myself transformed. To make the cause of my strange madness known,
I have found Scylla on Italian shores, directly opposite Messenian walls. “It shames me to recount my promises, entreaties, and caresses, and at last rejection of my suit. If you have known a power of incantation, I implore you now repeat that incantation here, with sacred lips—If herbs have greater power, use the tried power of herbs. But I would not request a cure—the healing of this wound. Much better than an end of pain, let her share, and feel with me my impassioned flame.”
But Circe was more quick than any other to burn with passion's flame. It may have been her nature or it may have been the work of Venus, angry at her tattling sire. “You might do better,” she replied, “to court one who is willing, one who wants your love, and feels a like desire. You did deserve to win her love, yes, to be wooed yourself. In fact you might be. If you give some hope, you have my word, you shall indeed be wooed. That you may have no doubt, and so retain all confidence in your attraction's power—
behold! I am a goddess, and I am the daughter also, of the radiant Sun! And I who am so potent with my charms, and I who am so potent with my herbs, wish only to be yours. Despise her who despises you, and her who is attached to you repay with like attachment—so by one act offer each her just reward.” But Glaucus answered her attempt of love, “The trees will sooner grow in ocean waves, the sea-weed sooner grow on mountain tops, than I shall change my love for graceful! Scylla.”
The goddess in her jealous rage could not and would not injure him, whom she still loved, but turned her wrath upon the one preferred. She bruised immediately the many herbs most infamous for horrid juices, which, when bruised, she mingled with most artful care and incantations given by Hecate. Then, clothed in azure vestments, she passed through her troop of fawning savage animals, and issued from the center of her hall. Pacing from there to Rhegium, opposite the dangerous rocks of Zancle, she at once
entered the tossed waves boiling up with tides: on these as if she walked on the firm shore, she set her feet and, hastening on dry shod, she skimmed along the surface of the deep. Not far away there was an inlet curved, round as a bent bow, which was often used by Scylla as a favorite retreat. There, she withdrew from heat of sea and sky when in the zenith blazed the unclouded sun and cast the shortest shadows on the ground. Circe infected it before that hour, polluting it with monster-breeding drugs.
She sprinkled juices over it, distilled from an obnoxious root, and thrice times nine she muttered over it with magic lips, her most mysterious charm involved in words of strangest import and of dubious thought. Scylla came there and waded in waist deep, then saw her loins defiled with barking shapes. Believing they could be no part of her, she ran and tried to drive them back and feared the boisterous canine jaws. But what she fled she carried with her. And, feeling for her thighs, her legs, and feet, she found Cerberian jaws
instead. She rises from a rage of dogs, and shaggy backs encircle her shortened loins. The lover Glaucus wept. He fled the embrace of Circe and her hostile power of herbs and magic spells. But Scylla did not leave the place of her disaster; and, as soon as she had opportunity, for hate of Circe, she robbed Ulysses of his men. She would have wrecked the Trojan ships, if she had not been changed beforehand to a rock which to this day reveals a craggy rim. And even the rock awakes the sailors' dread.
After the Trojan ships, pushed by their oars, had safely passed by Scylla and the fierce Charybdis, and with care had then approached near the Ausonian shore, a roaring gale bore them far southward to the Libyan coast. And then Sidonian Dido, who was doomed not calmly to endure the loss of her loved Phrygian husband, graciously received Aeneas to her home and her regard: and on a pyre, erected with pretense of holy rites, she fell upon the sword. Deceived herself, she there deceived them all.
Aeneas, fleeing the new walls built on that sandy shore, revisited the land of Eryx and Acestes, his true friend. There he performed a hallowed sacrifice and paid due honor to his father's tomb. And presently he loosened from that shore the ships which Iris, Juno's minister, had almost burned; and sailing, passed far off the kingdom of the son of Hippotas, in those hot regions smoking with the fumes of burning sulphur, and he left behind the rocky haunt of Achelous' daughters,
the Sirens. Then, when his good ship had lost the pilot, he coasted near Inarime, near Prochyta, and near the barren hill which marks another island, Pithecusae, an island named from strange inhabitants. The father of the gods abhorred the frauds and perjuries of the Cercopians and for the crimes of that bad treacherous race, transformed its men to ugly animals, appearing unlike men, although like men. He had contracted and had bent their limbs, and flattened out their noses, bent back towards
their foreheads; he had furrowed every face with wrinkles of old age, and made them live in that spot, after he had covered all their bodies with long yellow ugly hair. Besides all that, he took away from them the use of language and control of tongues, so long inclined to dreadful perjury; and left them always to complain of life and their ill conduct in harsh jabbering. After Aeneas had passed by all those and seen to his right hand the distant walls guarding the city of Parthenope,
he passed on his left hand a mound, grave of the tuneful son of Aeolus. Landing on Cumae's marshy shore, he reached a cavern, home of the long lived Sibylla, and prayed that she would give him at the lake, Avernus, access to his father's shade. She raised her countenance, from gazing on the ground, and with an inspiration given to her by influence of the god, she said, “Much you would have, O man of famous deeds, whose courage is attested by the sword, whose filial piety is proved by flame.
But, Trojan, have no fear. I grant your wish, and with my guidance you shall look upon the latest kingdom of the world, shall see Elysian homes and your dear father's shade, for virtue there is everywhere a way.” She spoke, and pointed out to him a branch refulgent with bright gold, found in the woods of Juno of Avernus, and commanded him to pluck it from the stem. Aeneas did what she advised him. Then he saw the wealth of the dread Orcus, and he saw his own ancestors, and beheld the aged ghost
of great Anchises. There he learned the laws of that deep region, and what dangers must be undergone by him in future wars. Retracing with his weary steps the path up to the light, he found relief from toil in converse with the sage Cumaean guide. While in thick dusk he trod the frightful way, “Whether you are a deity,” he said, “Or human and most favored by the gods, to me you always will appear divine. I will confess, too, my existence here is due to your kind aid, for by your will
I visited the dark abodes of death, and I escaped the death which I beheld. For this great service, when I shall emerge into the sunlit air, I will erect for you a temple and will burn for you sweet incense kindled at the altar flame.” The prophetess looked on him and with sighs, “I am no goddess,” she replied, “nor is it well to honor any mortal head with tribute of the holy frankincense. And, that you may not err through ignorance, I tell you life eternal without end
was;offered to me, if I would but yield virginity to Phoebus for his love. And, while he hoped for this and in desire offered to bribe me for my virtue, first with gifts, he said, ‘Maiden of Cumae choose whatever you may wish, and you shall gain all that you wish.’ I pointed to a heap of dust collected there, and foolishly replied, ‘As many birthdays must be given to me as there are particles of sand.’ “For I forgot to wish them days of changeless youth. He gave long life and offered youth besides,
if I would grant his wish. This I refused, I live unwedded still. My happier time has fled away, now comes with tottering step infirm old age, which I shall long endure. You find me ending seven long centuries, and there remain for me, before my years equal the number of those grains of sand, three hundred harvests, three hundred vintages! The time will come, when long increase of days will so contract me from my present size and so far waste away my limbs with age that I shall dwindle to a trifling weight,
so trifling, it will never be believed I once was loved and even pleased a god. Perhaps, even Phoebus will not recognize me, or will deny he ever bore me love. But, though I change till eye would never know me, my voice shall live, the fates will leave my voice.” Sibylla with such words beguild their way from Stygian realms up to the Euboean town. Trojan Aeneas, after he had made due sacrifice in Cumae, touched the shore that had not yet been given his nurse's name. There Macareus of Neritus had come,
companion of long tried Ulysses, there he rested, weary of his lengthened toils. He recognized one left in Aetna's cave, greek Achaemenides, and, all amazed to find him yet alive, he said to him, “What chance, or what god, Achaemenides, preserves you? Why is this barbarian ship conveying you a Greek? What land is sought?” No longer ragged in the clothes he wore and his own master, wearing clothes not tacked with sharp thorns, Achaemenides replied, “Again may I see Polyphemus' jaws
out-streaming with their slaughtered human blood; if my own home and Ithaca give more delight to me than this barbarian bark, or if I venerate Aeneas less than my own father. If I should give my all, it never could express my gratitude, that I can speak and breath, and see the heavens illuminated by the gleaming sun— how can I be ungrateful and forget all this? Because of him these limbs of mine were spared the Cyclops' jaws; and, though I were even now to leave the light of life, I should at worst
be buried in a tomb—not in his maw. “What were my feelings when (unless indeed my terror had deprived me of all sense) left there, I saw you making for the open sea? I wished to shout aloud, but was afraid it would betray me to the enemy. The shoutings of Ulysses nearly caused destruction of your ship and there I saw the Cyclops, when he tore a crag away and hurled the huge rock in the whirling waves; I saw him also throw tremendous stones with his gigantic arms. They flew afar,
as if impelled by catapults of war, I was struck dumb with terror lest the waves or stones might overwhelm the ship, forgetting that I still was on the shore! “But when your flight had saved you from that death of cruelty, the Cyclops, roaring rage, paced all about Mount Aetna, groping through its forests with his outstretched arms. Deprived of sight, he stumbled there against the rocks, until he reached the sea; and stretching out his gore stained arms into its waters there, he cursed all of the Grecian race, and said,
‘Oh! that some accident would carry back Ulysses to me, or but one of his companions; against whom my rage might vent itself, whose joints my hand might tear whose blood might drench my throat, whose living limbs might quiver in my teeth. How trifling then, how insignificant would be the loss, of my sight which he took from me!’ “All this and more he said. A ghastly horror took possession of me when I saw his face and every feature streaming yet with blood,
his ruthless hands, and the vile open space where his one eye had been, and his coarse limbs, and his beard matted through with human blood. “It seemed as if Death were before my eyes, yet that was but the least part of my woe. I seemed upon the point of being caught, my flesh about to be the food of his. Before my mind was fixed the time I saw two bodies of my loved companions dashed three or four times hard against the ground, when he above them, like a lion, crouched, devouring quickly in his hideous jaws,
their entrails and their flesh and their crushed bones, white marrowed, and their mangled quivering limbs. A trembling fear seized on me as I stood pallid and without power to move from there, while I recalled him chewing greedily, and belching out his bloody banquet from his huge mouth—vomiting crushed pieces mixed with phlegmy wine—and I feared such a doom in readiness, awaited wretched me. “Most carefully concealed for many days, trembling at every sound and fearing death, although desiring death; I fed myself
on grass and acorns, mixed with leaves; alone and destitute, despondent unto death, awaiting my destruction I lost hope. In that condition a long while, at last I saw a ship not far off, and by signs prayed for deliverance, as I ran in haste, down to the shore. My prayers prevailed on them. A Trojan ship took in and saved a Greek! “And now, O dearest to me of all men, tell me of your adventures, of your chief and comrades, when you sailed out on the sea.” Then Macareus told him of Aeolus,
the son of Hippotas, whose kingdom is the Tuscan sea, whose prison holds the winds, and how Ulysses had received the winds tied in a bull's hide bag, an awesome gift, how nine days with a favoring breeze they sailed and saw afar their longed for native land. How, as the tenth day dawned, the crew was moved by envy and a lust for gold, which they imagined hidden in that leathern bag and so untied the thong which held the winds. These, rushing out, had driven the vessel back over the waves which they had safely passed,
back to the harbor of King Aeolus. “From there,” he said, “we sailed until we reached the ancient city of Lamus, Laestrygon.— Antiphates was reigning in that land, and I was sent with two men of our troop, ambassadors to see him. Two of us escaped with difficulty, but the third stained the accursed Lestrygonian's jaws with his devoted blood. Antiphates pursued us, calling out his murderous horde. They came and, hurling stones and heavy beams, they overwhelmed and sank both ships and men.
One ship escaped, on which Ulysses sailed. “Grieving, lamenting for companions lost, we finally arrived at that land which you may discern far off, and, trust my word, far off it should be seen—I saw it near! And oh most righteous Trojan, Venus' son, Aeneas, whom I call no more a foe, I warn you now: avoid the shores of Circe. “We moored our ship beside that country too; but, mindful of the dangers we had run with Laestrygons and cruel Polyphemus, refused to go ashore. Ulysses chose
some men by lot and told them to seek out a roof which he had seen among the trees. The lot took me, then staunch Polytes next, Eurylochus, Elpenor fond of wine, and eighteen more and brought us to the walls of Circe's dwelling. “As we drew near and stood before the door, a thousand wolves rushed out from woods near by, and with the wolves there ran she bears and lionesses, dread to see. And yet we had no cause to fear, for none would harm us with the smallest scratch.
Why, they in friendship even wagged their tails and fawned upon us, while we stood in doubt. “Then handmaids took us in and led us on through marble halls to the presence of their queen. She, in a beautiful recess, sat on her throne, clad richly in a shining purple robe, and over it she wore a golden veil. Nereids and nymphs, who never carded fleece with motion of their fingers, nor drew out a ductile thread, were setting potent herbs in proper order and arranging them in baskets—a confusing wealth of flowers
were scattered among leaves of every hue: and she prescribed the tasks they all performed. “She knew the natural use of every leaf and combinations of their virtues, when mixed properly; and, giving them her close attention, she examined every herb as it was weighed. When she observed us there, and had received our greetings and returned them, she smiled, as if we should be well received. At once she had her maidens bring a drink of parched barley, of honey and strong wine, and curds of milk. And in the nectarous draught
she added secretly her baleful drugs. “We took the cups presented to us by her sacred right hand; and, as soon as we, so thirsty, quaffed them with our parching mouths, that ruthless goddess with her outstretched wand touched lightly the topmost hair upon our heads. (Although I am ashamed, I tell you this) stiff bristles quickly grew out over me, and I could speak no more. Instead of words I uttered hoarse murmurs and towards the ground began to bend and gaze with all my face. I felt my mouth take on a hardened skin
with a long crooked snout, and my neck swell with muscles. With the very member which a moment earlier had received the cup I now made tracks in sand of the palace court. Then with my friends, who suffered a like change (charms have such power!) I was prisoned in a stye. “We saw Eurylochus alone avoid our swinish form, for he refused the cup. If he had drained it, I should still remain one of a bristly herd. Nor would his news have made Ulysses sure of our disaster and brought a swift avenger of our fate.
“Peace bearing Hermes gave him a white flower from a black root, called Moly by the gods. With this protection and the god's advice he entered Circe's hall and, as she gave the treacherous cup and with her magic wand essayed to touch his hair, he drove her back and terrified her with his quick drawn sword. She gave her promise, and, right hands exchanged, he was received unharmed into her couch, where he required the bodies of his friends awarded him, as his prized marriage gift. “We then were sprinkled with more favored juice
of harmless plants, and smitten on the head with the magic wand reversed. And new charms were repeated, all conversely to the charms which had degraded us. Then, as she sings, more and yet more we raise ourselves erect, the bristles fall off and the fissures leave our cloven feet, our shoulders overcome their lost shape and our arms become attached, as they had been before. With tears of joy we all embrace him, also weeping tears; and we cling fondly to our chieftain's neck;— not one of us could say a single word
till thus we had attested gratitude.” “The full space of a year detained us there, and I, remaining that long stretch of time, saw many things and heard as much besides: and this among the many other things, was told me secretly by one of the four handmaidens of those rites. While Circe passed her time from all apart except my chief, she brought me to a white marble shape, a youth who bore a woodpecker upon his head. It stood erected in a hallowed place, adorned with many wreaths. When I had asked
the statue's name and why he stood revered in that most sacred temple, and what caused that bird he carried on his head; she said:— ‘Listen, Macareus, and learn from this tale too the power of Circe, and weigh the knowledge well!’ “Picus, offspring of Saturn, was the king of the Ausonian land, one very fond of horses raised for war. The young man's form was just what you now see, and had you known him as he lived, you would not change a line. His nature was as noble as his shape. He could not yet have seen the steeds contend
four times in races held with each fifth year at Grecian Elis. But his good looks had charmed the dryads born on Latin hills, Naiads would pine for him—both goddesses of spring and goddesses of fountains, pined for him, and nymphs that live in streaming Albula, Numicus, Anio's course, brief flowing Almo, and rapid Nar and Farfarus, so cool in its delightful shades; all these and those which haunt the forest lake of Scythian Diana and the other nearby lakes. “ ‘But, heedless of all these, he loved a nymph
whom on the hill, called Palatine, 'tis said, Venilia bore to Janus double faced. When she had reached the age of marriage, she was given to Picus Laurentine, preferred by her above all others—wonderful indeed her beauty, but more wonderful her skill in singing, from which art they called her Canens. The fascination of her voice would move the woods and rocks and tame wild beasts, and stay long rivers, and it even detained the wandering bird. Once, while she sang a lay with high, clear voice, Picus on his keen horse
rode in Laurentian fields to hunt the boar, two spears in his left hand, his purple cloak fastened with gold. The daughter of the Sun wandered in woods near by to find new herbs growing on fertile hills, for she had left Circaean fields called so from her own name. “ ‘From a concealing thicket she observed the youth with wonder. All the gathered herbs dropped from her hands, forgotten, to the ground and a hot fever-flame seemed to pervade her marrow. When she could collect her thought she wanted to confess her great desire,
but the swift horse and his surrounding guards prevented her approach. “Still you shall not escape me,” she declared, “although you may be borne on winds, if I but know myself, and if some potency in herbs remains, and if my art of charms does not deceive.” “ ‘Such were her;thoughts, and then she formed an image of a bodiless wild swine and let it cross the trail before the king and rush into a woodland dense with trees, which fallen trunks made pathless for his horse. Picus at once, unconscious of all harm,
followed the phantom-prey and, hastily quitting the reeking back of his good steed, he wandered in pursuit of a vain hope, on foot through that deep wood. She seized the chance and by her incantation called strange gods with a strange charm, which had the power to hide the white moon's features and draw thirsty clouds about her father's head. The changing sky then lowered more black at each repeated tone of incantation, and the ground exhaled its vapours, while his people wandered there along the darkened paths until no guard
was near to aid the imperiled king. “ ‘Having now gained an opportunity and place, she said, “ O, youth most beautiful! By those fine eyes, which captivated mine, and by that graceful person, which brings me, even me, a goddess, suppliant to you, have pity on my passion; let the Sun, who looks on all things, be your father-in-law; do not despise Circe, the Titaness.” “But fiercely he repelled her and her prayer, “Whoever you may be, you are not mine,” he said. “Another lady has my heart.
I pray that for a lengthening space of time she may so hold me. I will not pollute conjugal ties with the unhallowed loves of any stranger, while the Fates preserve to me the child of Janus, my dear Canens.” “‘Titan's daughter, when many pleas had failed, said angrily, “You shall not leave me with impunity, and you shall not return to Canens; and by your experience you shall now learn what can be done by her so slighted—what a woman deep in love can do— and Circe is that slighted love.”
“ ‘Then twice she turned herself to face the west and twice to face the East; and three times then she touched the young man with her wand, and sang three incantations. Picus fled, but, marvelling at his unaccustomed speed, he saw new wings, that spread on either side and bore him onward. Angry at the thought of transformation—all so suddenly added a strange bird to the Latian woods, he struck the wild oaks with his hard new beak, and in his rage inflicted many wounds on the long waving branches his wings took
the purple of his robe. The piece of gold which he had used so nicely in his robe was changed to golden feathers, and his neck was rich as yellow gold. Nothing remained of Picus as he was except the name. “ ‘While all this happened his attendants called on Picus often but in vain throughout surrounding fields, and finding not a trace of their young king, at length by chance they met with Circe, who had cleared the darkened air and let the clouds disperse before the wind and clear rays of the sun. Then with good cause
they blamed her, they demanded the return of their lost king, and with their hunting spears they threatened her. She, sprinkling baleful drugs and poison juices over them, invoked the aid of Night and all the gods of Night from Erebus and Chaos, and desired the aid of Hecat with long, wailing cries. “ ‘Most wonderful to tell, the forests leaped from fixed localities and the torn soil uttered deep groans, the trees surrounding changed from life-green to sick pallor, and the grass was moistened with besprinkling drops of blood;
the stones sent forth harsh longings, unknown dogs barked loudly, and the ground became a mass of filthy snakes, and unsubstantial hosts of the departed flitted without sound. The men all quaked appalled. With magic rod she touched their faces, pale and all amazed, and at her touch the youths took on strange forms of wild animals. None kept his proper shape. “ ‘The setting sun is resting low upon the far Tartessian shores, and now in vain her husband is expected by the eyes of longing Canens. Her slaves and people run
about through all the forest, holding lights to meet him. Nor is it enough for that dear nymph to weep and frenzied tear her hair and beat her breast—she did all that and more. Distracted she rushed forth and wandered through the Latin fields. Six nights, six brightening dawns found her quite unrefreshed with food or sleep wandering at random over hill and dale. The Tiber saw her last, with grief and toil wearied and lying on his widespread bank. In tears she poured out words with a faint voice, lamenting her sad woe, as when the swan
about to die sings a funereal dirge. Melting with grief at last she pined away; her flesh, her bones, her marrow liquified and vanished by degrees as formless air and yet the story lingers near that place, fitly named Canens by old-time Camenae!.’ “Such things I heard and saw through a long year. Sluggish, inactive through our idleness, we were all ordered to embark again out on the deep, again to set our sails. The Titaness explained the doubtful paths, the great extent and peril, of wild seas.
I was alarmed, I will confess to you; so, having reached these shores, I have remained.” Macareus finished. And Aeneas' nurse, now buried in a marble urn, had this brief, strange inscription on her tomb:— “My foster-child of proven piety, burned me Caieta here: although I was at first preserved from Argive fire, I later burned with fire which was my due.” The cable loosened from the grassy bank, they steered a course which kept them well away from ill famed Circe's wiles and from her home
and sought the groves where Tiber dark with shade, breaks with his yellow sands into the sea. Aeneas then fell heir to the home and won the daughter of Latinus, Faunus' son, not without war. A people very fierce made war, and Turnus, their young chief, indignant fought to hold a promised bride. With Latium all Etruria was embroiled, a victory hard to win was sought through war. By foreign aid each side got further strength: the camp of Rutuli abounds in men, and many throng the opposing camp of Troy.
Aeneas did not find Evander's home in vain. But Venulus with no success came to the realm of exiled Diomed. That hero had marked out his mighty walls with favor of Iapygian Daunus and held fields that came to him as marriage dower. When Venulus, by Turnus' orders, made request for aid, the Aetolian hero said that he was poor in men: he did not wish to risk in battle himself nor any troops belonging to his father-in-law and had no troops of his that he could arm for battle.
“Lest you should think I feign,” he then went on “Although my grief must be renewed because of bitter recollections of the past, I will endure recital now to you:— “After the lofty Ilion was burnt and Pergama had fed the Grecian flames, and Ajax, the Narycian hero, had brought from a virgin, for a virgin wronged, the punishment which he alone deserved on our whole expedition, we were then dispersed and driven by violent winds over the hostile seas; and we, the Greeks,
had to endure in darkness, lightning, rain, the wrath both of the heavens and of the sea, and Caphareus, the climax of our woe. Not to detain you by relating such unhappy things in order, Greece might then have seemed to merit even Priam's tears. “Although well armed Minerva's care preserved me then and brought me safe through rocks and waves, from my native Argos I was driven again, for outraged Venus took her full revenge remembering still that wound of long ago; and I endured such hardships on the deep,
and hazards amid armies on the shore, that often I called those happy whom the storm— an ill that came on all, or Cephareus had drowned. I even wished I had been one of them. “My best companions having now endured utmost extremities in wars and seas, lost courage and demanded a swift end of our long wandering. Acmon, by nature hot, and much embittered by misfortune, said, ‘What now remains for you, my friends, that patience can endure? What can be done by Venus (if she wants to) more than she
already has done? While we have a dread of greater evils, reason will be found for patience; but, when fortune brings her worst, we scorn and trample fear beneath our feet. Upon the height of woe, why should we care? Let Venus listen, let her hate Diomed more than all others—as indeed she does, we all despise her hate. At a great price we have bought and won the right to such contempt!’ “With language of this kind Pleuronian Acmon. Provoking Venus further than before, revived her former anger. His fierce words
were then approved of by a few, while we the greater number of his real friends, rebuked the words of Acmon: and while he prepared to answer us, his voice, and even the passage of his voice, were both at once diminished, his hair changed to feathers, while his neck took a new form. His breast and back covered themselves with down, and both his arms grew longer feathers, and his elbows curved into light wings, much of each foot was changed to long toes, and his mouth grew still and hard with pointed horn.
“Amazed at his swift change were Lycus, Abas, Nycteus and Rhexenor. And, while they stared, they took his feathered shape. The larger portion of my company flew from their boat, resounding all around our oars with flapping of new-fashioned wings. If you should ask the form of these strange birds they were like snowy swans, though not the same. “Now as Iapygian Daunus' son-in-law I scarcely hold this town and arid fields with my small remnant of trustworthy men.” So Diomed made answer. Venulus
soon after left the Calydonian realms, Peucetian bays, and the Messapian fields. Among those fields he saw a darkened cave in woods and waving reeds. The halfgoat Pan now lives there, but in older time the nymphs possessed it. An Apulian shepherd scared them from that spot. At first he terrified them with a sudden fear, but soon in scorn, as they considered what the intruder was, they danced before him, moving feet to time. The shepherd clown abused them, capering, grotesquely imitating graceful steps,
and railed at them with coarse and foolish words. He was not silent till a tree's new bark had closed his mouth for now he is a tree. And the wild olive's fruit took bitterness from him. It has the tartness of his tongue. When the ambassadors returned and told their tale about Aetolian arms refused, the bold Rutulians carried on the war without those forces, and much blood was shed. Then Turnus with a greedy torch drew near the Trojan fleet, well built of close-knit pine. What had escaped the waves, now feared the flame.
Soon Mulciber was burning pitch and wax and other food of fire, up the high masts he ran and fed upon the tight furled sails, and even the benches in the curved hull smoked. When the holy mother of the gods, recalling how those same pines were felled on Ida's crest, filled the wind with a sound of cymbals clashed and trill of boxwood flutes. Borne through light air by her famed lion yoke, she came and said, “In vain you cast the fire with impious hand, Turnus, for I will save this burning fleet. I will not let the greedy flame consume
trees that were part and members of my grove.” It thundered while she spoke, and heavy clouds, following the thunder, brought a storm of bounding hail. The Astraean brothers filled both air and swollen waters with their rage and rushed to battle. With the aid of one of them the kindly mother broke the ropes which held the Phrygian ships, and, drawing all prow foremost, plunged them underneath the wave. Softening quickly in the waters quiet depth, their wood was changed to flesh, the curving prows were metamorphosed into human heads,
blades of the oars made feet, the looms were changed to swimming legs, the sides turned human flanks, each keel below the middle of a ship transformed became a spine, the cordage changed to soft hair, and the sail yards changed to arms. The azure color of the ships remained. As sea-nymphs in the water they began to agitate with virgin sports the waves, which they had always dreaded. Natives of the rugged mountains they are now so changed, they swim and dwell in the soft flowing sea, with every influence of birth forgot.
Never forgetful of the myriad risks they have endured among the boisterous waves, they often give a helping hand to ships tossed in the power of storms—unless, of course, the ship might carry men of Grecian race. Never forgetful of the Phrygians and catastrophe, their hatred was so great of all Pelasgians, that they looked with joy upon the fragments of Ulysses' ship; and were delighted when they saw the ship of King Alcinous growing hard upon the breakers, as its wood was turned to stone.
Many were hopeful that a fleet which had received life strangely in the forms of nymphs would cause the chieftain of the Rutuli to feel such awe that he would end their strife. But he continued fighting, and each side had its own gods, and each had courage too, which often can be as potent as the gods. Now they forgot the kingdom as a dower, forgot the scepter of a father-in-law, and even forgot the pure Lavinia: their one thought was to conquer, and they waged war to prevent the shame of a defeat.
But Venus finally beheld the arms of her victorious son; for Turnus fell, and Ardea fell, a town which, while he lived, was counted strong. The Trojan swords destroyed it.—All its houses burned and sank down in the heated embers: and a bird not known before that time, flew upward from a wrecked heap, beating the dead ashes with its flapping wings. The voice, the lean pale look, the sorrows of a captured city, even the name of the ruined city, all these things remain in that bird—Ardea's fallen walls
are beaten in lamentation by his wings. The merit of Aeneas now had moved the gods. Even Juno stayed her lasting hate, when, with the state of young Iulus safe, the hero son of Cytherea was prepared for heaven. In a council of the gods Venus arose, embraced her father's neck, and said: “ My father, ever kind to me, I do beseech your kind indulgence now; grant, dearest, to Aeneas, my own son and also your own grandson, grant to him a godhead power, although of lowest class,
sufficient if but granted. It is enough to have looked once upon the unlovely realm. And once to have gone across the Stygian streams.” The gods assented, and the queen of Jove nodded consent with calm, approving face. The father said, “You well deserve the gift, both you who ask it, and the one for whom you ask it: what you most desire is yours, my daughter.” He decreed, and she rejoiced and thanked her parent. Borne by harnessed doves over and through the light air, she arrived safe on Laurentine shores: Numicius there
winds through his tall reeds to the neighboring sea the waters of his stream: and there she willed Numicius should wash perfectly away from her Aeneas every part that might be subject unto death; and bear it far with quiet current into Neptune's realm. The horned Numicius satisfied the will of Venus; and with flowing waters washed from her Aeneas every mortal part, and sprinkled him, so that the essential part of immortality remained alone, and she anointed him, thus purified,
with heavenly essence, and she touched his face with sweetest nectar and ambrosia mixt, thereby transforming him into a god. The throng of the Quirini later named the new god Indiges, and honored him. Under the scepter of Ascanius the Latin state, transferred, was Alban too. Silvius ruled after him. Latinus then, wearing the crown, brought back an older name. Illustrious Alba followed after him, Epytus next in time, and Capys next, then Capetus. And reigning after them
King Tiberinus followed. He was drowned in waves of that Etrurian stream, to which he gave his name. His sons were Remulus and fierce Acrota—each in turn was king. The elder, Remulus, would imitate the lightning, and he perished by a flash of lightning. Then Acrota, not so rash, succeeded to his brother, and he left his scepter to the valiant Aventinus, hill-buried on the very mountain which he ruled upon and which received his name. And Proca ruled then—on the Palatine.
Under this king, Pomona lived, and none of all the Latin hamadryads could attend her garden with more skill, and none was more attentive to the fruitful trees, because of them her name was given to her. She cared not for the forests or the streams, but loved the country and the boughs that bear delicious fruit. Her right hand never felt a javelin's weight, always she loved to hold a sharp curved pruning-knife with which she would at one time crop too largely growing shoots, or at another time reduce the branch
that straggled; at another time she would engraft a sucker in divided bark, and so find nourishment for some young, strange nursling. She never suffered them to thirst, for she would water every winding thread of twisting roots with freshly flowing streams. All this was her delight, her chief pursuit; she never felt the least desire of love; but fearful of some rustic's violence, she had her orchard closed within a wall; and both forbade and fled the approach of males. What did not satyrs do to gain her love,
a youthful crew expert at every dance? And also Pans their brows wreathed with the pine, Silenus too, more youthful than his years, and that god who is ever scaring thieves with pruning-hook or limb—what did they not to gain her love? And though Vertumnus did exceed them in his love, yet he was not more fortunate than they. How often disguised as a rough reaper he brought her barley ears— truly he seemed a reaper to the life! Often he came, his temples wreathed with hay,
as if he had been tossing new mown grass. He often held a whip in his tough hand, you could have sworn he had a moment before unyoked his wearied oxen. When he had a pruning-knife, he seemed to rear fine fruit in orchard trees or in the well kept vines. When he came with a ladder, you would think he must be gathering fruit. Sometimes he was a soldier with a sword—a fisherman, the rod held in his hand.—In fact by means of many shapes he often had obtained access to her and joyed in seeing her beauty.
At length he had his brows bound with a cap of color, and then leaning on a stick, with white hair round his temples, he assumed the shape of an old woman. Entering so the cultivated garden, he admired the fruit and said, “But you are so much lovelier!” And, while he praised her, gave some kisses too, such as no real beldame ever gave. The bent old creature then sat on the grass. Gazing at branches weighed down with their fruit of autumn. Opposite to them there was an elm-tree beautiful with shining grapes;
and, after he had praised it with the vine embracing it, he said, “But only think, if this trunk stood unwedded to this vine, it would have nothing to attract our hearts beyond its leaves, and this delightful vine, united to the elm tree finds its rest; but, if not so joined to it, would fall down, prostrate upon the ground. And yet you find no warning in the example of this tree. You have avoided marriage, with no wish to be united—I must wish that you
would change and soon desire it. Helen would not have so many suitors for her hand, nor she who caused the battles of the Lapithae, nor would the wife of timid, and not bold, Ulysses. Even now, while you avoid those who are courting you, and while you turn in your disgust, a thousand suitors want to marry you—the demigods and gods, and deities of Alba's mountain-tops. “But you, if you are wise, and wish to make a good match, listen patiently to me, an old, old woman (I love you much more
than all of them, more than you dream or think). Despise all common persons, and choose now Vertumnus as the partner of your couch, and you may take me as a surety for him. He is not better known even to himself, than he is known to me. And he is not now wandering everywhere, from here to there throughout the world. He always will frequent the places near here; and he does not, like so many of your wooers, fall in love with her he happens to have seen the last. You are his first and last love, and to you
alone will he devote his life. Besides all—he is young and has a natural gift of grace, so that he can most readily transform himself to any wanted shape, and will become whatever you may wish— even though you ask him things unseen before. “And only think, have you not the same tastes? Will he not be the first to welcome fruits which are your great delight? And does he not hold your gifts safely in his glad right hand? But now he does not long for any fruit plucked from the tree, and has no thought of herbs
with pleasant juices that the garden gives; he cannot think of anything but you. Have pity on his passion, and believe that he who woos you is here and he pleads with my lips. “You should not forget to fear avenging deities, and the Idalian, who hate all cruel hearts, and also dread the fierce revenge of her of Rhamnus-Land. And that you may stand more in awe of them, (old age has given me opportunities of knowing many things) I will relate
some happenings known in Cyprus, by which you may be persuaded and relent with ease. “Iphis, born of a humble family, had seen the famed Anaxarete, who was of the race of ancient Teucer.—He had seen her and felt fire inflame his bones. Struggling a long time, he could not subdue his passion by his reason, so he came a suppliant to her doors. And having now confessed his ardent passion to her nurse, besought her by the hopes reposed in her by the loved girl, not to give him a cold heart
and at another time, with fair words given to each of many servants he besought their kindest interest with an anxious voice. He often gave them coaxing words engraved on tablets of soft wax; and sometimes he would fasten garlands, wet with dew of tears, upon the door-posts; and he often laid his tender side nightlong on the hard threshold, sadly reproaching the obdurate bolt. “Deafer than the deep sea that rises high when the rainy Constellation of the Kids is setting; harder than the iron which
the fire of Noricum refines; more hard than rock which in its native state is fixed firm rooted; she despised and laughed at him, and, adding to her cruel deeds and pride, she boasted and deprived him of all hope. “Iphis, unable to endure such pain prolonged, spoke these, his final words, before her door: ‘Anaxarete, you have conquered me, and you shall have no more annoyances to bear from me. Be joyful and prepare your triumph, and invoke god Paean, crown yourself with shining laurel. You are now
my conqueror, and I resigned will die. Woman of iron, rejoice in victory! “At least, you will commend me for one thing, one point in which I must please even you, and cause you to confess my right of praise. Remember that my star crossed love for you died only with the last breath of my life. And now in one short moment I shall be deprived a twofold light; and no report will come to you, no messenger of death. But doubt not, I will come to you so that I can be seen in person, and you may
then satiate your cruel eyesight with my lifeless body. If, you gods above! You have some knowledge of our mortal ways remember me, for now my tongue can pray no longer. Let me be renowned in times far distant and give all those hours to Fame which you have taken from my life on earth.’ “Then to the doorpost which he often had adorned with floral wreaths he lifted up his swimming eyes and both his pallid arms, and, when he had fastened over the capital a rope that held a dangling noose, he said,—
“Are these the garlands that delight your heart? You cruel and unnatural woman?”—Then, thrust in his head, turning even then towards her, and hung a hapless weight with broken neck. “The door, struck by the motion of his feet as they were quivering, seemed to utter sounds of groaning, and, when it flew open, showed the sad sight. All the servants cried aloud, and after they had tried in vain to save him, carried him from there to his mother's house, (to her because his father was then dead). “She held him to her bosom and embraced
the cold limbs of her dead child. After she had uttered words so natural to the grief of wretched mothers—after she had done what wretched mothers do at such sad times, she led a tearful funeral through the streets, the pale corpse following high upon the bier, on to a pyre laid in the central square. By chance, Anaxarete's house was near the way through which the mournful funeral was going with the corpse, and the sad sound of wailing reached the ears of that proud girl— hardhearted, and already goaded on
by an avenging god. Moved by the sound, she said; “Let me observe their sniveling rites.” And she ascended to an upper room, provided with wide windows. Scarcely had she looked at Iphis, laid out on the bier, when her eyes stiffened, and she turned all white, as warm blood left her body. She tried then to turn back from the window, but she stood transfixed there. She then tried to turn her face away from that sad sight, but could not move; and by degrees the stone, which always had existed, petrified in her cold breast,
and took possession of her heart and limbs. “This is not fiction, and that you may know, Salamis keeps that statue safe today, formed of the virgin and has also built a temple called, ‘Venus the watchful Goddess.’ Warned by her fate, O sweet nymph, lay aside prolonged disdain, and cheerfully unite yourself to one who loves you. Then may frost of springtime never nip your fruit in bud, nor rude winds strike the blossom.” When the god, fitted for every shape, had said these words in vain,
he laid the old woman's form aside and was again a youth. On her he seemed to blaze, as when the full light of the brilliant Sun, after it has dispelled opposing clouds, has shone forth with not one to intercept. He purposed violence, but there was then no need of force. The lovely nymph was charmed, was captivated by the god's bright form and felt a passion answering to his love. At Proca's death unjust Amulius seized with his troops the whole Ausonian wealth. And yet old Numitor, obtaining aid
from his two grandsons, won the land again which he had lost; and on the festival of Pales were the city walls begun. King Tatius with his Sabines went to war; Tarpeia, who betrayed the citadel, died justly underneath the weight of arms. Then troops from Cures crept, like silent wolves, without a word toward men subdued by sleep and tried the gates that Ilia's son had barred. Then Saturn's daughter opened wide a gate, turning the silent hinge. Venus alone perceived the bars of that gate falling down.
She surely would have closed it, were it not impossible for any deity to countervail the acts of other gods. The Naiads of Ausonia occupied a spring that welled up close to Janus' fane. To them she prayed for aid. The fountain-nymphs could not resist the prayer of Venus, when she made her worthy plea and they released all waters under ground. Till then the path by Janus' fane was open, never yet had floods risen to impede the way. But now they laid hot sulphur of a faint blue light beneath
the streaming fountain and with care applied fire to the hallowed ways with smoking pitch. By these and many other violent means hot vapors penetrated to the source of the good fountain.—Only think of it! Those waters which had rivalled the cold Alps, now rivalled with their heat the flames themselves! And, while each gate post steamed with boiling spray, the gate, which had been opened (but in vain) to hardy Sabines just outside, was made impassable by the heated fountain's flood, till Roman soldiers had regained their arms.
After brave Romulus had led them forth and covered Roman ground with Sabines dead and its own people; and the accursed sword shed blood of father-in-law and son-in-law, with peace they chose at last to end the war, rather than fight on to the bitter end: Tatius and Romulus divide the throne. Tatius had fallen, and you, O Romulus, were giving laws to peoples now made one, when Mars put off his helmet and addressed the father of gods and men in words like these: “The time has come, for now the Roman state
has been established on a strong foundation and no more must rely on one man's strength the time has come for you to give the prize, promised to me and your deserving grandson, to raise him from the earth and grant him here a fitting place in heaven. One day you said to me before a council of the gods, (for I recall now with a grateful mind how I took note of your most gracious speech) ‘Him you shall lift up to the blue of heaven.’ Now let all know the meaning of your words!” The god all-powerful nodded his assent,
and he obscured the air with heavy clouds and on a trembling world he sent below harsh thunder and bright lightning. Mars at once perceived it was a signal plainly given for promised change—so, leaning on a spear, he mounted boldly into his chariot, and over bloodstained yoke and eager steeds he swung and cracked the loud-resounding lash. Descending through steep air, he halted on the wooded summit of the Palatine and there, while Ilia's son was giving laws— needing no pomp and circumstance of kings,
Mars caught him up. His mortal flesh dissolved into thin air, as when a ball of lead shot up from a broad sling melts all away and soon is lost in heaven. A nobler shape was given him, one more fitted to adorn rich couches in high heaven, the shape divine of Quirinus clad in the trabea. His queen, Hersilia, wept continually, regarding him as lost, till regal Juno commanded Iris to glide down along her curving bow and bring to her these words: “O matron, glory of the Latin race
and of the Sabines, worthy to have been the consort chosen by so great a man and now to be his partner as the god Quirinus, weep no more. If you desire to see your husband, let me guide you up to a grove that crowns the hill of Quirinus, shading a temple of the Roman king.” Iris obeyed her will, and, gliding down to earth along her tinted bow, conveyed the message to Hersilia; who replied, with modest look and hardly lifted eye, “Goddess (although it is not in my power
to say your name, I am quite certain you must be a goddess), lead me, O lead me until you show to me the hallowed form of my beloved husband. If the Fates will but permit me once again to see his features, I will say I have won heaven.” At once Hersilia and the virgin child of Thaumas, went together up the hill of Romulus. Descending through thin air there came a star, and then Hersilia her tresses glowing fiery in the light, rose with that star, as it returned through air.
And her the founder of the Roman state received with dear, familiar hands. He changed her old time form and with the form her name. He called her Hora and let her become a goddess, now the mate of Quirinus.
Book 15
While this was happening, they began to seek for one who could endure the weight of such a task and could succeed a king so great; and Fame, the harbinger of truth, destined illustrious Numa for the sovereign power. It did not satisfy his heart to know only the Sabine ceremonials, and he conceived in his expansive mind much greater views, examining the depth and cause of things. His country and his cares forgotten, this desire led him to visit the city that once welcomed Hercules.
Numa desired to know what founder built a Grecian city on Italian shores. One of the old inhabitants, who was well acquainted with past history, replied: “Rich in Iberian herds, the son of Jove turned from the ocean and with favoring wind 'Tis said he landed on Lacinian shores. And, while the herd strayed in the tender grass, he visited the house, the friendly home, of far-famed Croton. There he rested from his arduous labors. At the time of his departure, he said, ‘Here in future days
shall be a city of your numerous race.’ The passing years have proved the promise true, for Myscelus, choosing that site, marked out a city's walls. Argive Alemon's son, of all men in his generation, he was most acceptable to the heavenly gods. Bending over him once at dawn, while he was overwhelmed with drowsiness of sleep, the huge club-bearer Hercules addressed him thus: ‘Come now, desert your native shores. Go quickly to the pebbly flowing stream of distant Aesar.’ And he threatened ill
in fearful words, unless he should obey. “Sleep and the god departed instantly. Alemon's son, arising from his couch, pondered his recent vision thoughtfully, with his conclusions at cross purposes.— the god commanded him to quit that land, the laws forbade departure, threatening death to all who sought to leave their native land. “The brilliant Sun had hidden in the sea his shining head, and darkest Night had then put forth her starry face; and at that time it seemed as if the same god Hercules
was present and repeating his commands, threatening still more and graver penalties, if he should fail to obey. Now sore afraid he set about to move his household gods to a new settlement, but rumors then followed him through the city, and he was accused of holding statutes in contempt. “The accusation hardly had been made when his offense was evidently proved, even without a witness. Then he raised his face and hands up to the gods above and suppliant in neglected garb, exclaimed,
‘Oh mighty Hercules, for whom alone the twice six labors gave the privilege of heavenly residence, give me your aid, for you were the true cause of my offence.’ “It was an ancient custom of that land to vote with chosen pebbles, white and black. The white absolved, the black condemned the man. And so that day the fateful votes were given—: all cast into the cruel urn were black! Soon as that urn inverted poured forth all the pebbles to be counted, every one was changed completely from its black to white,
and so the vote adjudged him innocent. By that most fortunate aid of Hercules he was exempted from the country's law. “Myscelus, breathing thanks to Hercules, with favoring wind sailed on the Ionian sea, past Sallentine Neretum, Sybaris, Spartan Tarentum, and the Sirine Bay, Crimisa, and on beyond the Iapygian fields. Then, skirting shores which face these lands, he found the place foretold the river Aesar's mouth, and found not far away a burial mound which covered with its soil the hallowed bones
of Croton.—There, upon the appointed land, he built up walls—and he conferred the name of Croton, who was there entombed, on his new city, which has ever since been called Crotona.” By tradition it is known such strange deeds caused that city to be built, by men of Greece upon the Italian coast. Here lived a man, by birth a Samian. He had fled from Samos and the ruling class, a voluntary exile, for his hate against all tyranny. He had the gift of holding mental converse with the gods,
who live far distant in the highth of heaven; and all that Nature has denied to man and human vision, he reviewed with eyes of his enlightened soul. And, when he had examined all things in his careful mind with watchful study, he released his thoughts to knowledge of the public. He would speak to crowds of people, silent and amazed, while he revealed to them the origin of this vast universe, the cause of things, what is nature, what a god, whence came the snow,
the cause of lightning—was it Jupiter or did the winds, that thundered when the cloud was rent asunder, cause the lightning flash? What shook the earth, what laws controlled the stars as they were moved—and every hidden thing he was the first man to forbid the use of any animal's flesh as human food, he was the first to speak with learned lips, though not believed in this, exhorting them.— “No, mortals,” he would say, “Do not permit pollution of your bodies with such food, for there are grain and good fruits which bear down
the branches by their weight, and ripened grapes upon the vines, and herbs—those sweet by nature and those which will grow tender and mellow with a fire, and flowing milk is not denied, nor honey, redolent of blossoming thyme. “The lavish Earth yields rich and healthful food affording dainties without slaughter, death, and bloodshed. Dull beasts delight to satisfy their hunger with torn flesh; and yet not all: horses and sheep and cattle live on grass. But all the savage animals—the fierce Armenian tigers and ferocious lions,
and bears, together with the roving wolves— delight in viands reeking with warm blood. “Oh, ponder a moment such a monstrous crime— vitals in vitals gorged, one greedy body fattening with plunder of another's flesh, a living being fed on another's life! In that abundance, which our Earth, the best of mothers, will afford have you no joy, unless your savage teeth can gnaw the piteous flesh of some flayed animal to reenact the Cyclopean crime? And can you not appease the hungry void—
the perverted craving of a stomach's greed, unless you first destroy another life? “That age of old time which is given the name of ‘Golden,’ was so blest in fruit of trees, and in the good herbs which the earth produced that it never would pollute the mouth with blood. The birds then safely moved their wings in air, the timid hares would wander in the fields with no fear, and their own credulity had not suspended fishes from the hook. All life was safe from treacherous wiles, fearing no injury, a peaceful world.
“After that time some one of ill advice (it does not matter who it might have been) envied the ways of lions and gulped into his greedy paunch stuff from a carcass vile. He opened the foul paths of wickedness. It may be that in killing beasts of prey our steel was for the first time warmed with blood. And that could be defended, for I hold that predatory creatures which attempt destruction of mankind, are put to death without evasion of the sacred laws: but, though with justice they are put to death,
that cannot be a cause for eating them. “This wickedness went further; and the sow was thought to have deserved death as the first of victims, for with her long turned-up snout she spoiled the good hope of a harvest year. The ravenous goat, that gnawed a sprouting vine, was led for slaughter to the altar fires of angry Bacchus. It was their own fault that surely caused the ruin of those two. “But why have sheep deserved sad destiny, harmless and useful for the good of man with nectar in full udders? Their soft wool
affords the warmest coverings for our use, their life and not their death would help us more. Why have the oxen of the field deserved a sad end—innocent, without deceit, and harmless, without guile, born to endure hard labor? Without gratitude is he, unworthy of the gift of harvest fields, who, after he relieved his worker from weight of the curving plow could butcher him, could sever with an axe that toil worn neck, by which so often with hard work the ground had been turned up, so many harvests reared.
For some, even crimes like these are not enough, they have imputed to the gods themselves abomination—they believe a god in heaven above, rejoices at the death of a laborious ox. “A victim free of blemish and most beautiful in form (perfection brings destruction) is adorned with garlands and with gilded horns before the altar. In his ignorance he hears one praying, and he sees the very grain he labored to produce, fixed on his head
between the horns, and felled, he stains with blood the knife which just before he may have seen reflected in clear water. Instantly they snatch out entrails from his throbbing form, and seek in them intentions of the gods. Then, in your lust for a forbidden food you will presume to batten on his flesh, O race of mortals! Do not eat such food! Give your attention to my serious words; and, when you next present the slaughtered flesh of oxen to your palates, know and feel that you gnaw your fellow tillers of the soil.
“And, since a god impels me to speak out, I will obey the god who urges me, and will disclose to you the heavens above, and I will even reveal the oracles of the Divine Will. I will sing to you of things most wonderful, which never were investigated by the intellects of ancient times and things which have been long concealed from man. In fancy I delight to float among the stars or take my stand on mighty Atlas' shoulders, and to look afar down on men wandering here and there—
afraid in life yet dreading unknown death, and in these words exhort them and reveal the sequence of events ordained by fate! “O sad humanity! Why do you fear alarms of icy death, afraid of Styx, fearful of moving shadows and empty names— of subjects harped on by the poets' tales, the fabled perils of a fancied life? Whether the funeral pile consumes your flesh with hot flames, or old age dissolves it with a gradual wasting power, be well assured the body cannot meet with further ill.
And souls are all exempt from power of death. When they have left their first corporeal home, they always find and live in newer homes. “I can declare, for I remember well, that in the days of the great Trojan War, I was Euphorbus, son of Panthous. In my opposing breast was planted then the heavy spear-point of the younger son of Atreus. Not long past I recognised the shield, once burden of my left arm, where it hung in Juno's temple at ancient Argos, the realm of Abas. Everything must change:
but nothing perishes. The moving soul may wander, coming from that spot to this, from this to that—in changed possession live in any limbs whatever. It may pass from beasts to human bodies, and again to those of beasts. The soul will never die, in the long lapse of time. As pliant wax is moulded to new forms and does not stay as it has been nor keep the self same form yet is the selfsame wax, be well assured the soul is always the same spirit, though it passes into different forms. Therefore,
that natural love may not be vanquished by unnatural craving of the appetite, I warn you, stop expelling kindred souls by deeds abhorrent as cold murder.—Let not blood be nourished with its kindred blood! “Since I am launched into the open sea and I have given my full sails to the wind, nothing in all the world remains unchanged. All things are in a state of flux, all shapes receive a changing nature. Time itself glides on with constant motion, ever as a flowing river. Neither river nor
the fleeting hour can stop its constant course. But, as each wave drives on a wave, as each is pressed by that which follows, and must press on that before it, so the moments fly, and others follow, so they are renewed. The moment which moved on before is past, and that which was not, now exists in Time, and every one comes, goes, and is replaced. “You see how night glides by and then proceeds on to the dawn, then brilliant light of day succeeds the dark night. There is not the same appearance in the heavens,: when all things
for weariness are resting in vast night, as when bright Lucifer rides his white steed. And only think of that most glorious change, when loved Aurora, Pallas' daughter, comes before the day and tints the world, almost delivered to bright Phoebus. Even the disk of that god, rising from beneath the earth, is of a ruddy color in the dawn and ruddy when concealed beneath the world. When highest, it is a most brilliant white, for there the ether is quite purified, and far away avoids infection from
impurities of earth. Diana's form at night remains not equal nor the same! 'Tis less today than it will be tomorrow, if she is waxing; greater, if she wanes. “Yes, do you not see how the year moves through four seasons, imitating human life: in early Spring it has a nursling's ways resembling infancy, for at that time the blade is shooting and devoid of strength. Its flaccid substance swelling gives delight, to every watching husbandman, alive in expectation. Then all things are rich
in blossom, and the genial meadow smiles with tints of blooming flowers; but not as yet is there a sign of vigor in the leaves. “The year now waxing stronger, after Spring it passes into Summer, and its youth becomes robust. Indeed of all the year the Summer is most vigorous and most abounds with glowing and life-giving warmth. “Autumn then follows, and, the vim of life removed, that ripe and mellow time succeeds between youth and old age, and a few white hairs are sprinkled here and there upon his brow.
“Then aged Winter with his tremulous step follows, repulsive, strips of graceful locks or white with those he has retained so long. “Our bodies also, always change unceasingly: we are not now what we were yesterday or we shall be tomorrow. And there was a time when we were only seeds of man, mere hopes that lived within a mother's womb. But Nature changed us with her skilfull touch, determined that our bodies should not be held in such narrow room, below the entrails in our distended parent; and in time
she brought us forth into the vacant air. “Brought into light, the helpless infant lies. Then on all fours he lifts his body up, feeling his way, like any young wild beast, and then by slow degrees he stands upright, weak-kneed and trembling, steadied by support of some convenient prop. And soon more strong and swift he passes through the hours of youth, and, when the years of middle age are past, slides down the steep path of declining age. “This undermines him and destroys the strength of former years: and Milon, now grown old,
weeps, when he sees his arms, which once were firm with muscles big as those of Hercules, hang flabby at his side: and Helen weeps, when in the glass she sees her wrinkled face, and wonders why two heroes fell in love and carried her away.—O Time, devourer of all things, and envious Age, together you destroy all that exists and, slowly gnawing, bring on lingering death. “Yes, even things which we call elements, do not endure. Now listen well to me, and I will show the ways in which they change.
“The everlasting universe contains four elemental parts. And two of these are heavy—earth and water—and are borne downwards by weight. The other two devoid of weight, are air and—even lighter—fire: and, if these two are not constrained, they seek the higher regions. These four elements, though far apart in space, are all derived from one another. Earth dissolves as flowing water! Water, thinned still more, departs as wind and air; and the light air, still losing weight, sparkles on high as fire.
But they return, along their former way: the fire, assuming weight, is changed to air; and then, more dense, that air is changed again to water; and that water, still more dense, compacts itself again as primal earth. “Nothing retains the form that seems its own, and Nature, the renewer of all things, continually changes every form into some other shape. Believe my word, in all this universe of vast extent, not one thing ever perished. All have changed appearance. Men say a certain thing is born,
if it takes a different form from what it had; and yet they say, that certain thing has died, if it no longer keeps the self same shape. Though distant things move near, and near things far, always the sum of all things is unchanged. “For my part, I cannot believe a thing remains long under the same form unchanged. Look at the change of times from gold to iron,: look at the change in places. I have seen what had been solid earth become salt waves, and I have seen dry land made from the deep; and, far away from ocean, sea-shells strewn,
and on the mountain-tops old anchors found. Water has made that which was once a plain into a valley, and the mountain has been levelled by the floods down to a plain. A former marshland is now parched dry sand, and places which endured severest drought are wet with standing pools. Here Nature has opened fresh springs, but there has shut them up; rivers aroused by ancient earthquakes have rushed out or vanished, as they lost their depth. “So, when the Lycus has been swallowed by a chasm in the earth, it rushes forth
at a distance and is reborn a different stream. The Erasinus now flows down into a cave, now runs beneath the ground a darkened course, then rises lordly in the Argolic fields. They say the Mysus, wearied of his spring and of his former banks, appears elsewhere and takes another name, the Caicus. “The Amenanus in Sicilian sands now smoothly rolling, at another time is quenched, because its fountain springs are dry. The water of the Anigros formerly was used for drinking, but it pours out now
foul water which you would decline to touch, because (unless all credit is denied to poets) long ago the Centaurs, those strange mortals double-limbed, bathed in the stream wounds which club-bearing Hercules had made with his strong bow.—Yes, does not Hypanis descending fresh from mountains of Sarmatia, become embittered with the taste of salt? “Antissa, Pharos, and Phoenician Tyre, were once surrounded by the wavy sea: they are not islands now. Long years ago Leucas was mainland, if we can believe
what the old timers there will tell, but now the waves sweep round it. Zancle was a part of Italy, until the sea cut off the neighboring land with strong waves in between. Should you seek Helice and Buris, those two cities of Achaea, you will find them underneath the waves, where sailors point to sloping roofs and streets in the clear deep. “Near Pittheaan Troezen a steep, high hill, quite bare of trees, was once a level plain, but now is a hill, for (dreadful even to tell) the raging power of winds, long pent in deep,
dark caverns, tried to find a proper vent, long struggling to attain free sky. Finding no opening from the prison-caves, imperious to their force, they raised the earth, exactly as pent air breathed from the mouth inflates a bladder, or the bottle-hides stripped off the two-horned goats. The swollen earth remained on that spot and has ever since appearance of a high hill hardened by the flight of time. “Of many strange events that I have heard and known, I will add a few.
Why, does not water give and take strange forms? Your wave, O horned Ammon, will turn cold at mid-day, but is always mild and warm at sun-rise and at sun-set. I have heard that Athamanians kindle wood, if they pour water on it, when the waning moon has shrunk away into her smallest orb. The people of Ciconia have a stream which turns the drinker's entrails into stone, which changes into marble all it raves. The Achaean Crathis and the Sybaris, which flow not far from here, will turn the hair
to something like clear amber or bright gold. “What is more wonderful, there are some waters which change not only bodies but the minds: who has no knowledge of the Salmacis and of its ill famed waves? Who has not heard of the lakes of Aethiopia: how those who drink of them go raving mad or fall in a deep sleep, most wonderful in heaviness. Whoever quenches thirst from the Clitorian spring will hate all wine, and soberly secure great pleasure from pure water. Either that spring has a power
the opposite of wine-heat, or perhaps as natives tell us, after the famed son of Amythaon by his charms and herbs, delivered from their base insanity the stricken Proetides, he threw the rest of his mind healing herbs into the spring, where hatred of all wine has since remained. Unlike in nature flows another stream of the country, called Lyncestius: everyone who drinks of it, even with most temperate care, will reel, as if he had drunk unmixed wine. In Arcadia is a place, called Pheneos
by men of old, which is mistrusted for the twofold nature of its waters. Stand in dread of them at night; if drunk at night, they harm you, but in daytime they will do no harm at all. So lakes and rivers have now this, now that effect. “Ortygia once moved like a ship that drifts among the waves. Now it is fixed. The Argo was in dread of the Symplegades, which moved apart with waves in-rushing. Now immovable
they stand, resisting the attack of winds. “Aetna, which burns with sulphur furnaces, will not be always concentrated fire, nor was it always fiery. If the earth is like an animal and is alive and breathes out flame at many openings, then it can change these many passages used for its breathing and, when it is moved, may close these caverns as it opens up some others. Or if rushing winds are penned in deepest caverns, and they drive great stones against the rock, and substances which have
the properties of flame and fire are made by those concussions; when the winds are calmed the caverns will, of course, be cool again. “Or if some black bitumen catches fire or yellow sulphur burns with little smoke, then surely, when the ground no longer gives such food and oily nutriment for flames and they in time have ravined all their store, their greedy nature soon will pine with death— it will not bear such famine but depart and, when deserted, will desert the place. “'Tis said that Hyperboreans of Pallene
can cover all their bodies with light plumes by plunging nine times in Minerva's marsh. But I cannot believe another tale: that Scythian women get a like result by having poison sprinkled on their limbs. “If we give any credit to the things proved by experience, we can surely know whatever bodies are decayed by time or by dissolving heat are by such means changed into tiny animals—Come now, bury choice bullocks killed for sacrifice, and it is well known by experience
that the flower-gathering bees are so produced, miraculous, from entrails putrefied. These, like the faithful animals from which they were produced, inhabit the green fields, delight in toil, and labor for reward. “The warlike steed, when buried in the ground, is a known source of hornets. If you cut the bending claws off from the sea-shore crab and bury the remainder in the earth, a scorpion will come forth from the dead crab buried there, threatening with its crooked tail. “The worms which cover leaves with their white threads,
a thing observable by husbandmen, will change themselves to funeral butterflies. Mud holds the seeds that generate green frogs, at first producing tadpoles with no feet, and soon it gives them legs adapted for their swimming, and, so they may be as well adapted to good leaping, their hind legs are longer than the fore-legs. The mother bear does not bring forth a cub but a limp mass of flesh that hardly can be called alive. By licking it the mother forms the limbs, and brings it to a shape just like her own.
“Do not the offspring of the honey bees, concealed in cells hexagonal, at first get life with no limbs, and assume in time both feet and wings? Unless the fact were known, could anyone suppose it possible that Juno's bird, whose tail is bright with stars; the eagle, armor-bearer of high Jove; the doves of Cytherea; and all birds emerge from the middle part of eggs? And some believe the human marrow turns into a serpent when the spine at length has putrefied in the closed sepulchre.
“Now these I named derive their origin from other living forms. There is one bird which reproduces and renews itself: the Assyrians gave this bird his name—the Phoenix. He does not live either on grain or herbs, but only on small drops of frankincense and juices of amomum. When this bird completes a full five centuries of life straightway with talons and with shining beak he builds a nest among palm branches, where they join to form the palm tree's waving top. “As soon as he has strewn in this new nest
the cassia bark and ears of sweet spikenard, and some bruised cinnamon with yellow myrrh, he lies down on it and refuses life among those dreamful odors.—And they say that from the body of the dying bird is reproduced a little Phoenix which is destined to live just as many years. “When time has given to him sufficient strength and he is able to sustain the weight, he lifts the nest up from the lofty tree and dutifully carries from that place his cradle and the parent's sepulchre.
As soon as he has reached through yielding air the city of Hyperion, he will lay the burden just before the sacred doors within the temple of Hyperion. “But, if we wonder at strange things like these, we ought to wonder also, when we learn that a hyena has a change of sex: the female, quitting her embracing male, herself becomes a male.—That animal which feeds upon the winds and air, at once assumes with contact any color touched. “Conquered India gave to the vine crowned Bacchus
lynxes, whose urine turns, they say to stones, hardening in air. So coral, too, as soon as it has risen above the sea, turns hard. Below the waves it was a tender plant. “The day will fail me; Phoebus will have bathed his panting horses in the deep sea waves, before I can include in my discourse the myriad things transforming to new shapes. In lapse of time we see the nations change; some grow in power, some wane. Troy was once great in riches and in men—so great she could for ten unequalled years afford much blood;
now she lies low and offers to our gaze but ancient ruins and, instead of wealth, ancestral tombs. Sparta was famous once and great Mycenae was most flourishing. And Cecrops' citadel and Amphion's shone in ancient power. Sparta is nothing now save barren ground, the proud Mycenae fell, what is the Thebes of storied Oedipus except a name? And of Pandion's Athens what now remains beyond the name? “Reports come to me that Dardanian Rome is rising, and beside the Tiber's waves,
whose springs are high in the Apennines, is laying her deep foundations. So in her growth her form is changing, and one day she will be the sole mistress of the boundless world. “They say that soothsayers and that oracles, revealers of our destiny, declare this fate, and, if I recollect it right, Helenus, son of Priam, prophesied unto Aeneas, when he was in doubt of safety and lamenting for the state of Troy, about to fall, ‘O, son of a goddess, if you yourself, will fully understand
this prophecy now surging in my mind Troy shall not, while you are preserved to life fall utterly. Flames and the sword shall give you passage. You shall go and bear away Pergama, ruined; till a foreign soil, more friendly to you than your native land, shall be the lot of Troy and of yourself. “Even now I know it is decreed by Fate that our posterity, born far from Troy, will build a city greater than exists, or ever will exist, or ever has been seen in former times. Through a long lapse
of ages other noted men shall make it strong, but one of the race of Iulus; shall make it the great mistress of the world. After the earth has thoroughly enjoyed his glorious life, aetherial abodes shall gain him, and immortal heaven shall be his destiny.’ Such was the prophesy of Helenus, when great Aeneas took away his guardian deities, and I rejoice to see my kindred walls rise high and realize how much the Trojans won
by that resounding victory of the Greeks! “But, that we may not range afar with steeds forgetful of the goal, the heavens and all beneath them and the earth and everything upon it change in form. We likewise change, who are a portion of the universe, and, since we are not only things of flesh but winged souls as well, we may be doomed to enter into beasts as our abode; and even to be hidden in the breasts of cattle. Therefore, should we not allow these bodies to be safe which may contain
the souls of parents, brothers, or of those allied to us by kinship or of men at least, who should be saved from every harm? Let us not gorge down a Thyestean feast! “How greatly does a man disgrace himself, how impiously does he prepare himself for shedding human blood, who with u knife cuts the calf's throat and offers a deaf ear to its death-longings! who can kill the kid while it is sending forth heart rending cries like those of a dear child; or who can feed upon the bird which he has given food.
How little do such deeds as these fall short of actual murder? Yes, where will they lead? “Let the ox plough, or let him owe his death to weight of years; and let the sheep give us defence against the cold of Boreas; and let the well-fed she-goats give to man their udders for the pressure of kind hands. “Away with cruel nets and springs and snares and fraudulent contrivances: deceive not birds with bird-limed twigs: do not deceive the trusting deer with dreaded feather foils: do not conceal barbed hooks with treacherous bait:
if any beast is harmful, take his life, but, even so, let killing be enough. Taste not his flesh, but look for harmless food!” They say that Numa with a mind well taught by these and other precepts traveled back to his own land and, being urged again, assumed the guidance of the Latin state. Blest with a nymph as consort, blest also with the Muses for his guides, he taught the rites of sacrifice and trained in arts of peace a race accustomed long to savage war. When, ripe in years, he ended reign and life,
the Latin matrons, the fathers of the state, and all the people wept for Numa's death. For the nymph, his widow, had withdrawn from Rome, concealed within the thick groves of the vale Aricia, where with groans and wailing she disturbed the holy rites of Cynthia, established by Orestes. Ah! how often nymphs of the grove and lake entreated her to cease and offered her consoling words. How often the son of Theseus said to her “Control your sorrow; surely your sad lot is not the only one; consider now
the like calamities by others borne, and you can bear your sorrow. To my grief my own disaster was far worse than yours. At least it can afford you comfort now. “Is it not true, discourse has reached yours ears that one Hippolytus met with his death through the credulity of his loved sire, deceived by a stepmother's wicked art? It will amaze you much, and I may fail to prove what I declare, but I am he! Long since the daughter of Pasiphae tempted me to defile my father's bed
and, failing, feigned that I had wished to do what she herself had wished. Perverting truth— either through fear of some discovery or else through spite at her deserved repulse— she charged me with attempting the foul crime. “Though I was guiltless of all wrong, my father banished me and, while I was departing, laid on me a mortal curse. Towards Pittheus and Troezen I fled aghast, guiding the swift chariot near the shore of the Corinthian Gulf, when all at once the sea rose up and seemed to arch itself
and lift high as a white topped mountain height, make bellowings, and open at the crest. Then through the parting waves a horned bull emerged with head and breast into the wind, spouting white foam from his nostrils and his mouth. “The hearts of my attendants quailed with fear, yet I unfrightened thought but of my exile. Then my fierce horses turned their necks to face the waters, and with ears erect they quaked before the monster shape, they dashed in flight along the rock strewn ground below the cliff. I struggled, but with unavailing hand,
to use the reins now covered with white foam; and throwing myself back, pulled on the thongs with weight and strength. Such effort might have checked the madness of my steeds, had not a wheel, striking the hub on a projecting stump, been shattered and hurled in fragments from the axle. “I was thrown forward from my chariot and with the reins entwined about my legs. My palpitating entrails could be seen dragged on, my sinews fastened on a stump. My torn legs followed, but a part remained behind me, caught by various snags.
The breaking bones gave out a crackling noise, my tortured spirit soon had fled away, no part of the torn body could be known— all that was left was only one crushed wound— how can, how dare you, nymph, compare your ills to my disaster? “I saw the Lower World deprived of light: and I have bathed my flesh, so tortured, in the waves of Phlegethon. Life could not have been given again to me, but through the remedies Apollo's son applied to me. After my life returned—
by potent herbs and the Paeonian aid, despite the will of Pluto—Cynthia then threw heavy clouds around that I might not be seen and cause men envy by new life: and that she might be sure my life was safe she made me seem an old man; and she changed me so that I could not be recognized. “A long time she debated whether she would give me Crete or Delos for my home. Delos and Crete abandoned, she then brought me here, and at the same time ordered me to lay aside my former name—one which
when mentioned would remind me of my steeds. She said to me, ‘You were Hippolytus, but now instead you shall be Virbius.’ And from that time I have inhabited this grove; and, as one of the lesser gods, I live concealed and numbered in her train.” The grief of others could not ease the woe of sad Egeria, and she laid herself down at a mountain's foot, dissolved in tears, till moved by pity for her faithful sorrow, Diana changed her body to a spring, her limbs into a clear continual stream.
This wonderful event surprised the nymphs, and filled Hippolytus with wonder, just as great as when the Etrurian ploughman saw a fate-revealing clod move of its own accord among the fields, while not a hand was touching it, till finally it took a human form, without the quality of clodded earth, and opened its new mouth and spoke, revealing future destinies. The natives called him Tages. He was the first who taught Etrurians to foretell events. They were astonished even as Romulus,
when he observed the spear, which once had grown high on the Palatine, put out new leaves and stand with roots—not with the iron point which he had driven in. Not as a spear it then stood there, but as a rooted tree with limber twigs for many to admire while resting under that surprising shade. Or, as when Cippus first observed his horns in the clear stream (he truly saw them there). Believing he had seen a falsity, he often touched his forehead with his hand and, so returning, touched the thing he saw.
Assured at last that he could trust his eyes, he stood entranced, as if he had returned victorious from the conquest of his foes: and, raising eyes and hands toward heaven, he cried, “You gods above! Whatever is foretold by this great prodigy, if it means good, then let it be auspicious to my land and to the inhabitants of Quirinus,— if ill, let that misfortune fall on me.” He made an offering at new altars, built of grassy thick green turf, with fragrant fires, presenting wine in bowls. And he took note
of panting entrails from new-slaughtered sheep, to learn the meaning of the event for him. When an Etruscan seer examined them, he found the evidence of great events, as yet obscure, and, when he raised keen eyes up from the entrails to the horns of Cippus, “O king, all hail!” he cried, “For in future time this country and the Latin towers will live in homage to you, Cippus, and your horns. But you must promptly put aside delay; hasten to enter the wide open gates— the fates command you. Once received within
the city, you shall be its chosen king and safely shall enjoy a lasting reign.” Cippus retreated, and he turned his grave eyes from the city's walls and said, “O far, O far away, the righteous gods should drive such omens from me! Better it would be that I should pass my life in exile than be seen a king throned in the capitol.” Such words he spoke and forthwith he convoked the people and the grave and honored Senate. But first he veiled his horns with laurel, which betokens peace. Then, standing on a mound
raised by the valiant troops, he made a prayer after the ancient mode, and then he said, “There is one here who will be king, if you do not expel him from your city—I will show him to you surely by a sign; although I will not tell his name. He wears horns on his head. The augur prophecies that, if he enters this your city, he will give you laws as if you were his slaves. “He might have forced his way within your gates, for they stand open, but I have hindered him, although nobody is to him so close
as I myself. Good Romans, then, forbid your city to this man; or, if you find that he deserves still worse, then bind him fast with heavy fetters; or else end your fears by knowledge of the destined tyrant's death.” As murmurs which arise among the groves of pine trees thick above us, when the fierce east wind is whistling in them, or as sound produced by breaking waves, when it is heard afar off, such the noise made by the crowd. But in that angry stirring of the throng one cry could be distinguished, “Which is he?”
And they examined foreheads, and they sought predicted horns. Cippus then spoke again: “The man whom you demand,” he said, “is here!” And, fearless of the people, he threw back the chaplet from his forehead, so that all could see his temples plainly, wonderful for their two horns. All then turned down their eyes and uttered groans and (was it possible?) they looked unwillingly upon that head famed for its merit. They could not permit him to remain there long, deprived of honors, and they placed upon his head
the festive chaplet. And the Senate gave you, Cippus, since you nevermore must come within the walls, a proof of their esteem— so much land as your oxen and their plow could circle round from dawn to setting sun. Moreover they engraved the shapely horns on the bronze pillars of the city gate, which for long ages kept his name revered. Relate, O Muses, guardian deities of poets (for you know, and the remote antiquity conceals it not from you), the reason why an island, which the deep stream
of Tiber closed about, has introduced Coronis' child among the deities guarding the city of famed Romulus. A dire contagion had infested long the Latin air, and men's pale bodies were deformed by a consumption that dried up the blood. When, frightened by so many deaths, they found all mortal efforts could avail them nothing, and physicians' skill had no effect, they sought the aid of heaven. They sent envoys to Delphi center of the world, and they entreated Phoebus to give aid
in their distress, and by response renew their wasting lives and end a city's woe. While ground, and laurels and the quivers which the god hung there all shook, the tripod gave this answer from the deep recesses hid within the shrine, and stirred with trembling their astonished hearts— “What you are seeking here, O Romans, you should seek for nearer you. Then seek it nearer, for you do not need Apollo to relieve your wasting plague, you need Apollo's son. Go then to him
with a good omen and invite his aid.” After the prudent Senate had received Phoebus Apollo's words, they took much pains to learn what town the son of Phoebus might inhabit. They despatched ambassadors under full sail to the coast of Epidaurus. When the curved ships had touched the shore, these men in haste went to the Grecian elders there and prayed that Rome might have the deity whose presence would drive out the mortal ill from their Ausonian nation; for they knew response unerring had directed them.
The councillors dismayed, could not agree on their reply: some thought that aid ought not to be refused, but many more held back, declaring it was wise to keep the god for their own safety and not give away a guardian deity. And, while they talked, discussing it, the twilight had expelled the waning day, and darkness on the earth spread a thick mantle over the wide world. Then in your sleep, the healing deity appeared, O Roman leader, by your couch, as in his temple he is used to stand,
holding in his left hand a rustic staff. Stroking his long beard with his right, he seemed to utter from his kindly breast these words: “Forget your fears; for I will come to you, and leave my altar. But now look well at the serpent with its binding folds entwined around this staff, and accurately mark it with your eyes that you may recognize it. I will transform myself into this shape but of a greater size, I will appear enlarged and of a magnitude to which a heavenly being ought to be transformed.”
The god departed, when he said those words; and sleep went, when the god and words were gone; and genial light came, when the sleep had left. The morning then dispersed fire-given stars. The envoys met together in much doubt within the temple of the long sought god. They prayed the god to indicate for them, by clear celestial tokens, in what spot he wished to dwell. Scarce had they ceased the prayer for guidance, when the god all glittering with gold and as a serpent, crest erect,
sent forth a hissing as to notify a quick approach— and in his coming shook his statue and the altars and the doors, the marble pavement and the gilded roof. Then up to his breast the serpent stood erect within the temple. He gazed on all with eyes that sparkled fire. The waiting multitude was frightened; but the priest, his chaste hair bound with a white fillet, knew the deity. “Behold the god!” he cried, “It is the god. Think holy thoughts and walk in reverent silence, all who are present. Oh, most Beautiful,
let us behold you to our benefit, and give aid to this people that performs your sacred rites.” All present then adored the deity as bidden by the priest. The multitude repeated his good words, and the descendants of Aeneas gave good omen, with their feelings and their speech. Nodding well pleased and moving his great crest, the god at once assured them of his favor and hissed repeatedly with darting tongue. And then he glided down the polished steps;
turned back his head; and, ready to depart, gazed on the altars he had known for so long— a last salute to the temple of his love. While all the people strewed his way with flowers, the great snake wound in sinuous course along and, passing through the middle of their town, came to the harbor and its curving wall. He stopped there, and it seemed that he dismissed his train and dutiful attendant crowd, and with a placid countenance he placed his mighty body in the Ausonian ship, which plainly showed the great weight of the god.
The glad descendants of Aeneas all rejoiced, and they sacrificed a bull beside the harbor, wreathed the ship with flowers, and loosed the twisted hawsers from the shore. As a soft breeze impelled the ship, within her curving stern the god reclined, his coils uprising high, and gazed down on the blue Ionian waves. So wafted by the favoring winds, they came in six days to the shores of Italy. There he was borne past the Lacinian Cape, ennobled by the goddess Juno's shrine, and Scylacean coasts. He left behind
Iapygia; then he shunned Amphrysian rocks upon the left and on the other side escaped Cocinthian crags. He passed, near by, Romechium and Caulon and Naricia; crossed the Sicilian sea; went through the strait; sailed by Pelorus and the island home of Aeolus and by the copper mines of Temesa. He turned then toward Leucosia and toward mild Paestum, famous for the rose. He coasted by Capreae and around Minerva's promontory and the hills ennobled with Surrentine vines, from there
to Herculaneum and Stabiae and then Parthenope built for soft ease. He sailed near the Cumaean Sibyl's temple. He passed the Warm Springs and Linternum, where the mastick trees grow, and the river called Volturnus, where thick sand whirls in the stream, over to Sinuessa's snow-white doves; and then to Antium and its rocky coast. When with all sails full spread the ship came in the harbor there (for now the seas grew rough), the god uncoiled his folds, and, gliding out with sinuous curves and all his mighty length,
entered the temple of his parent, where it skirts that yellow shore. But, when the sea was calm again, the Epidaurian god departing from his father's shrine, where he a while had shared the sacred residence reared to a kindred deity, furrowed the sandy shore with weight of crackling scales, again he climbed into the lofty stern and near the rudder laid his head at rest. There he remained until the vessel passed by Castrum and Lavinium's sacred homes to where the Tiber flows into the sea
there all the people of Rome came rushing out— mothers and fathers and even those who tend your sacred fire, O Trojan goddess Vesta— and joyous shouted welcome to the god. Wherever the swift ship steered through the tide, they built up many altars in a line, so that perfuming frankincense with smoke crackled along the banks on either hand, and victims made the keen knives hot with blood. The serpent-deity has entered Rome, the world's new capital and, lifting up his head above the summit of the mast,
looked far and near for a congenial home. The river there, dividing, flows about a place known as the Island, on both sides an equal stream glides past dry middle ground. And here the serpent child of Phoebus left the Roman ship, took his own heavenly form, and brought the mourning city health once more Apollo's son came to us from abroad, but Caesar is a god in his own land. The first in war and peace, he rose by wars, which closed in triumphs, and by civic deeds to glory quickly won, and even more
his offspring's love exalted him as a new, a heavenly, sign and brightly flaming star. Of all the achievements of great Julius Caesar not one is more ennobling to his fame than being father of his glorious son. Was it more glorious for him to subdue the Britons guarded by their sheltering sea or lead his fleet victorious up the stream seven mouthed of the papyrus hearing Nile; to bring beneath the Roman people s rule rebel Numidia, Libyan Juba, and strong Pontus, proud of Mithridates' fame;
to have some triumphs and deserve far more; than to be father of so great a man, with whom as ruler of the human race, O gods, you bless us past all reckoning? And, lest that son should come from mortal seed, Julius Caesar must change and be a god. When the golden mother of Aeneas was aware of this and saw a grievous end plotted against her high priest, saw the armed conspiracy preparing for his death, with pallid face she met each god and said: “Look with what might this plot prepares itself
against my cause; with how much guile it dooms the head which is the last that I have left from old-time Iulus, prince and heir of Troy. Shall I alone be harassed through all time by fear well grounded? First the son of Tydeus must wound me with his Calydonian spear; and then I tremble at the tottering walls of ill defended Troy; I watch my son driven in long wanderings, tossed upon the sea, descending to the realm of silent shades, and waging war with Turnus—or, if I should speak the truth, with Juno! Why do I recall
disasters of my race from long ago? The present dread forbids my looking back at ills now past. See how the wicked swords are whetted for the crime! Forbid it now, I pray you, and prevent the deed, let not the priest's warm blood quench vestal fires!” Such words as these, full of her anxious thoughts, Venus proclaimed through all the heavens, in vain. The gods were moved, and, since they could not break the ancient sisters' iron decree, they gave instead clear portents of approaching woe. It is declared, resounding arms heard from
the black clouds and unearthly trumpet blasts and clarions heard through all the highest heavens, forewarned men of the crime. The sad sun's face gave to the frightened world a livid light; and in the night-time torches seemed to burn amid the stars, and often drops of blood fell in rain-showers. Then Lucifer shone blue with all his visage stained by darksome rust. The chariot of the moon was sprinkled with red blood. The Stygian owl gave to the world ill omens. In a thousand places, tears were shed by the ivory statues. Dirges, too,
are said to have been heard, and threatening words by unknown speakers in the sacred groves. No victim gave an omen of good life: the fibers showed great tumults imminent, the liver's cut-off edge was found among the entrails. In the Forum, it is said, and round men's homes and temples of the gods dogs howled all through the night, and silent shades wandered abroad, and earthquakes shook the city. But portents of the gods could not avert the plots of men and stay approaching fate. Into a temple naked swords were brought—
into the Senate House. No other place in all our city was considered fit for perpetrating such a dreadful crime! With both hands Cytherea beat her breast, and in a cloud she strove to hide the last of great Aeneas' line, as in times past she had hid Paris from fierce Menelaus Aeneas from the blade of Diomed. But Jove, her father, cautioned her and said, “Do you my daughter, without aid, alone, attempt to change the fixed decrees of Fate? Unaided you may enter the abode
of the three sisters and can witness there a register of deeds the future brings. These, wrought of brass and solid iron with vast labor, are unchangeable through all eternity; and have no weakening fears of thunder-shocks from heaven, nor from the rage of lightnings they are perfectly secure from all destruction. You will surely find the destinies of your descendants there, engraved in everlasting adamant. 'Tis certain. I myself, have read them there: and I, with care have marked them in my mind.
I will repeat them so that you may have unerring knowledge of those future days. “Venus, the man on whose behalf you are so anxious, already has completed his alloted time. The years are ended which he owed to life on earth. You with his son, who now as heir to his estate must bear the burden of that government, will cause him, as a deity, to reach the heavens, and to be worshipped in the temples here. “The valiant son will plan revenge on those who killed his father and will have our aid
in all his battles. The defeated walls of scarred Mutina, which he will besiege, shall sue for peace. Pharsalia's plain will dread his power and Macedonian Philippi be drenched with blood a second time, the name of one acclaimed as ‘Great’ shall be subdued in the Sicilian waves. Then Egypt's queen, wife of the Roman general, Antony, shall fall, while vainly trusting in his word, while vainly threatening that our Capitol must be submissive to Canopus' power. “Why should I mention all the barbarous lands
and nations east and west by ocean's rim? Whatever habitable earth contains shall bow to him, the sea shall serve his will! “With peace established over all the lands, he then will turn his mind to civil rule and as a prudent legislator will enact wise laws. And he will regulate the manners of his people by his own example. Looking forward to the days of future time and of posterity, he will command the offspring born of his devoted wife, to assume the imperial name
and the burden of his cares. Nor till his age shall equal Nestor's years will he ascend to heavenly dwellings and his kindred stars. Meanwhile transform the soul, which shall be reft from this doomed body, to a starry light, that always god-like Julius may look down in future from his heavenly residence upon our Forum and our Capitol.” Jupiter hardly had pronounced these words, when kindly Venus, although seen by none, stood in the middle of the Senate-house, and caught from the dying limbs and trunk
of her own Caesar his departing soul. She did not give it time so that it could dissolve in air, but bore it quickly up, toward all the stars of heaven; and on the way, she saw it gleam and blaze and set it free. Above the moon it mounted into heaven, leaving behind a long and fiery trail, and as a star it glittered in the sky. There, wondering at the younger Caesar's deeds, Julius confessed they were superior to all of his, and he rejoiced because his son was greater even than himself.
Although the son forbade men to regard his own deeds as the: mightier! Fame, that moves free and untrammelled by the laws of men, preferred him even against his own desire and in that one point disobeyed his will. And so great Atreus yields to greater fame of Agamemnon, Aegeus yields to Theseus, and Peleus to Achilles, or, to name a parallel befitting these two gods, so Saturn yields to Jove. Now Jupiter rules in high heavens and is the suzerain over the waters and the world of shades,
and now Augustus rules in all the lands— so each is both a father and a god. Gods who once guarded our Aeneas, when both swords and fire gave way, and native gods of Italy, and Father Quirinus— patron of Rome, and you Gradivus too— the sire of Quirinus the invincible, and Vesta hallowed among Caesar's gods, and Phoebus ever worshipped at his hearth, and Jupiter who rules the citadel high on Tarpeia's cliff, and other gods— all gods to whom a poet rightfully
and with all piety may make appeal; far be that day—postponed beyond our time, when great Augustus shall foresake the earth which he now governs, and mount up to heaven, from that far height to hear his people's prayers! And now, I have completed a great work, which not Jove's anger, and not fire nor steel, nor fast-consuming time can sweep away. Whenever it will, let the day come, which has dominion only over this mortal frame, and end for me the uncertain course of life. Yet in my better part I shall be borne
immortal, far above the stars on high, and mine shall be a name indelible. Wherever Roman power extends her sway over the conquered lands, I shall be read by lips of men. If Poets' prophecies have any truth, through all the coming years of future ages, I shall live in fame.
Contents — 15 sections
Book 1
In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas corpora; di, coeptis (nam vos mutastis et illas) adspirate meis primaque ab origine mundi ad mea perpetuum deducite tempora carmen. Ante mare et terras et quod tegit omnia caelum unus erat toto naturae vultus in orbe, quem dixere chaos: rudis indigestaque moles nec quicquam nisi pondus iners congestaque eodem non bene iunctarum discordia semina rerum. nullus adhuc mundo praebebat lumina Titan, nec nova crescendo reparabat cornua Phoebe, nec circumfuso pendebat in aere tellus
ponderibus librata suis, nec bracchia longo margine terrarum porrexerat Amphitrite; utque aer, tellus illic et pontus et aether. Sic erat instabilis tellus, innabilis unda, lucis egens aer: nulli sua forma manebat, obstabatque aliis aliud, quia corpore in uno frigida pugnabant calidis, umentia siccis, mollia cum duris, sine pondere habentia pondus. Hanc deus et melior litem natura diremit. Nam caelo terras et terris abscidit undas, et liquidum spisso secrevit ab aere caelum. Quae postquam evolvit caecoque exemit acervo,
dissociata locis concordi pace ligavit. Ignea convexi vis et sine pondere caeli emicuit summaque locum sibi fecit in arce: proximus est aer illi levitate locoque: densior his tellus, elementaque grandia traxit et pressa est gravitate sua: circumfluus umor ultima possedit solidumque coercuit orbem. Sic ubi dispositam quisquis fuit ille deorum congeriem secuit sectamque in membra redegit, principio terram, ne non aequalis ab omni parte foret, magni speciem glomeravit in orbis. Tum freta diffudit rapidisque tumescere ventis
iussit et ambitae circumdare litora terrae. Addidit et fontes et stagna inmensa lacusque fluminaque obliquis cinxit declivia ripis, quae, diversa locis, partim sorbentur ab ipsa, in mare perveniunt partim campoque recepta liberioris aquae pro ripis litora pulsant. Iussit et extendi campos, subsidere valles, fronde tegi silvas, lapidosos surgere montes. Utque duae dextra caelum totidemque sinistra parte secant zonae, quinta est ardentior illis, sic onus inclusum numero distinxit eodem cura dei, totidemque plagae tellure premuntur.
Quarum quae media est, non est habitabilis aestu: nix tegit alta duas: totidem inter utrumque locavit temperiemque dedit mixta cum frigore flamma. Inminet his aer. Qui quanto est pondere terrae, pondere aquae levior tanto est onerosior igni. Illic et nebulas, illic consistere nubes iussit et humanas motura tonitrua mentes et cum fulminibus facientes fulgura ventos. His quoque non passim mundi fabricator habendum aera permisit: vix nunc obsistitur illis, cum sua quisque regant diverso flamina tractu, quin lanient mundum: tanta est discordia fratrum.
Eurus ad Auroram Nabataeaque regna recessit Persidaque et radiis iuga subdita matutinis; vesper et occiduo quae litora sole tepescunt, proxima sunt Zephyro: Scythiam septemque triones horrifer invasit Boreas: contraria tellus nubibus adsiduis pluviaque madescit ab Austro. Haec super inposuit liquidum et gravitate carentem aethera nec quicquam terrenae faecis habentem. Vix ita limitibus dissaepserat omnia certis, cum, quae pressa diu massa latuere sub illa, sidera coeperunt toto effervescere caelo. Neu regio foret ulla suis animalibus orba,
astra tenent caeleste solum formaeque deorum, cesserunt nitidis habitandae piscibus undae, terra feras cepit, volucres agitabilis aer. Sanctius his animal mentisque capacius altae deerat adhuc et quod dominari in cetera posset. Natus homo est, sive hunc divino semine fecit ille opifex rerum, mundi melioris origo, sive recens tellus seductaque nuper ab alto aethere cognati retinebat semina caeli; quam satus Iapeto mixtam pluvialibus undis finxit in effigiem moderantum cuncta deorum. Pronaque cum spectent animalia cetera terram,
os homini sublime dedit, caelumque videre iussit et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus. Sic, modo quae fuerat rudis et sine imagine, tellus induit ignotas hominum conversa figuras. Aurea prima sata est aetas, quae vindice nullo, sponte sua, sine lege fidem rectumque colebat. Poena metusque aberant, nec verba minantia fixo aere legebantur, nec supplex turba timebat iudicis ora sui, sed erant sine vindice tuti. Nondum caesa suis, peregrinum ut viseret orbem, montibus in liquidas pinus descenderat undas, nullaque mortales praeter sua litora norant.
Nondum praecipites cingebant oppida fossae; non tuba directi, non aeris cornua flexi, non galeae, non ensis erat: sine militis usu mollia securae peragebant otia gentes. ipsa quoque inmunis rastroque intacta nec ullis saucia vomeribus per se dabat omnia tellus; contentique cibis nullo cogente creatis arbuteos fetus montanaque fraga legebant cornaque et in duris haerentia mora rubetis et quae deciderant patula Iovis arbore glandes. Ver erat aeternum, placidique tepentibus auris mulcebant zephyri natos sine semine flores.
Mox etiam fruges tellus inarata ferebat, nec renovatus ager gravidis canebat aristis; flumina iam lactis, iam flumina nectaris ibant, flavaque de viridi stillabant ilice mella. Postquam, Saturno tenebrosa in Tartara misso, sub Iove mundus erat, subiit argentea proles, auro deterior, fulvo pretiosior aere. Iuppiter antiqui contraxit tempora veris perque hiemes aestusque et inaequalis autumnos et breve ver spatiis exegit quattuor annum. Tum primum siccis aer fervoribus ustus canduit, et ventis glacies adstricta pependit.
Tum primum subiere domus (domus antra fuerunt et densi frutices et vinctae cortice virgae). Semina tum primum longis Cerealia sulcis obruta sunt, pressique iugo gemuere iuvenci. Tertia post illam successit aenea proles, saevior ingeniis et ad horrida promptior arma, non scelerata tamen. De duro est ultima ferro. Protinus inrupit venae peioris in aevum omne nefas: fugere pudor verumque fidesque; In quorum subiere locum fraudesque dolique insidiaeque et vis et amor sceleratus habendi. Vela dabat ventis (nec adhuc bene noverat illos)
navita; quaeque diu steterant in montibus altis, fluctibus ignotis insultavere carinae, communemque prius ceu lumina solis et auras cautus humum longo signavit limite mensor. Nec tantum segetes alimentaque debita dives poscebatur humus, sed itum est in viscera terrae: quasque recondiderat Stygiisque admoverat umbris, effodiuntur opes, inritamenta malorum. Iamque nocens ferrum ferroque nocentius aurum prodierat: prodit bellum, quod pugnat utroque, sanguineaque manu crepitantia concutit arma. Vivitur ex rapto: non hospes ab hospite tutus,
non socer a genero; fratrum quoque gratia rara est. Inminet exitio vir coniugis, illa mariti; lurida terribiles miscent aconita novercae; filius ante diem patrios inquirit in annos. Victa iacet pietas, et virgo caede madentis, ultima caelestum terras Astraea reliquit. Neve foret terris securior arduus aether, adfectasse ferunt regnum caeleste Gigantas altaque congestos struxisse ad sidera montes. Tum pater omnipotens misso perfregit Olympum fulmine et excussit subiectae Pelion Ossae. Obruta mole sua cum corpora dira iacerent,
perfusam multo natorum sanguine Terram inmaduisse ferunt calidumque animasse cruorem, et, ne nulla suae stirpis monimenta manerent, in faciem vertisse hominum. Sed et illa propago contemptrix superum saevaeque avidissima caedis et violenta fuit: scires e sanguine natos. Quae pater ut summa vidit Saturnius arce, ingemit et, facto nondum vulgata recenti, foeda Lycaoniae referens convivia mensae, ingentes animo et dignas Iove concipit iras, conciliumque vocat: tenuit mora nulla vocatos. Est via sublimis, caelo manifesta sereno:
lactea nomen habet, candore notabilis ipso. Hac iter est superis ad magni tecta Tonantis regalemque domum. Dextra laevaque deorum atria nobilium valvis celebrantur apertis (plebs habitat diversa locis): hac parte potentes caelicolae clarique suos posuere penates. Hic locus est, quem, si verbis audacia detur, haud timeam magni dixisse Palatia caeli. Ergo ubi marmoreo superi sedere recessu, celsior ipse loco sceptroque innixus eburno terrificam capitis concussit terque quaterque caesariem, cum qua terram, mare, sidera movit.
Talibus inde modis ora indignantia solvit: “Non ego pro mundi regno magis anxius illa tempestate fui, qua centum quisque parabat inicere anguipedum captivo bracchia caelo. Nam quamquam ferus hostis erat, tamen illud ab uno corpore et ex una pendebat origine bellum. Nunc mihi, qua totum Nereus circumsonat orbem, perdendum est mortale genus: per flumina iuro infera, sub terras Stygio labentia luco! cuncta prius temptata: sed inmedicabile corpus ense recidendum est, ne pars sincera trahatur. Sunt mihi semidei, sunt rustica numina, nymphae
faunique satyrique et monticolae silvani: quos quoniam caeli nondum dignamur honore, quas dedimus certe terras habitare sinamus. An satis, o superi, tutos fore creditis illos, cum mihi, qui fulmen, qui vos habeoque regoque, struxerit insidias notus feritate Lycaon?” Confremuere omnes studiisque ardentibus ausum talia deposcunt. Sic, cum manus inpia saevit sanguine Caesareo Romanum exstinguere nomen, attonitum tanto subitae terrore ruinae humanum genus est totusque perhorruit orbis: nec tibi grata minus pietas, Auguste, tuorum est,
quam fuit illa Iovi. Qui postquam voce manuque murmura conpressit, tenuere silentia cuncti. Substitit ut clamor pressus gravitate regentis, Iuppiter hoc iterum sermone silentia rupit: “Ille quidem poenas, curam hanc dimittite, solvit. Quod tamen admissum, quae sit vindicta, docebo. Contigerat nostras infamia temporis aures; quam cupiens falsam summo delabor Olympo et deus humana lustro sub imagine terras. Longa mora est, quantum noxae sit ubique repertum, enumerare: minor fuit ipsa infamia vero. Maenala transieram latebris horrenda ferarum
et cum Cyllene gelidi pineta Lycaei: Arcadis hinc sedes et inhospita tecta tyranni ingredior, traherent cum sera crepuscula noctem. Signa dedi venisse deum, vulgusque precari coeperat: inridet primo pia vota Lycaon, mox ait ”experiar deus hic, discrimine aperto, an sit mortalis. Nec erit dubitabile verum.” Nocte gravem somno necopina perdere morte me parat: haec illi placet experientia veri. Nec contentus eo est: missi de gente Molossa obsidis unius iugulum mucrone resolvit, atque ita semineces partim ferventibus artus
mollit aquis, partim subiecto torruit igni. Quod simul inposuit mensis, ego vindice flamma in domino dignos everti tecta penates. Territus ipse fugit, nactusque silentia ruris exululat frustraque loqui conatur: ab ipso conligit os rabiem, solitaeque cupidine caedis vertitur in pecudes et nunc quoque sanguine gaudet. In villos abeunt vestes, in crura lacerti: fit lupus et veteris servat vestigia formae. Canities eadem est, eadem violentia vultus, idem oculi lucent, eadem feritatis imago est. Occidit una domus. Sed non domus una perire
digna fuit: qua terra patet, fera regnat Erinys. In facinus iurasse putes. Dent ocius omnes quas meruere pati (sic stat sententia) poenas.” Dicta Iovis pars voce probant stimulosque frementi adiciunt, alii partes adsensibus inplent. Est tamen humani generis iactura dolori omnibus, et, quae sit terrae mortalibus orbae forma futura, rogant, quis sit laturus in aras tura, ferisne paret populandas tradere terras. Talia quaerentes (sibi enim fore cetera curae) rex superum trepidare vetat subolemque priori dissimilem populo promittit origine mira.
Iamque erat in totas sparsurus fulmina terras: sed timuit, ne forte sacer tot ab ignibus aether conciperet flammas longusque ardesceret axis: esse quoque in fatis reminiscitur, adfore tempus, quo mare, quo tellus correptaque regia caeli ardeat et mundi moles obsessa laboret. Tela reponuntur manibus fabricata Cyclopum: poena placet diversa, genus mortale sub undis perdere et ex omni nimbos demittere caelo. Protinus Aeoliis Aquilonem claudit in antris et quaecumque fugant inductas flamina nubes emittitque Notum. Madidis Notus evolat alis,
terribilem picea tectus caligine vultum: barba gravis nimbis, canis fluit unda capillis; fronte sedent nebulae, rorant pennaeque sinusque. Utque manu late pendentia nubila pressit, fit fragor: hinc densi funduntur ab aethere nimbi. Nuntia Iunonis varios induta colores concipit Iris aquas alimentaque nubibus adfert. Sternuntur segetes et deplorata coloni vota iacent, longique perit labor inritus anni. Nec caelo contenta suo est Iovis ira, sed illum caeruleus frater iuvat auxiliaribus undis. Convocat hic amnes. Qui postquam tecta tyranni
intravere sui, “non est hortamine longo nunc” ait “utendum. Vires effundite vestras: sic opus est! aperite domos ac mole remota fluminibus vestris totas inmittite habenas!” Iusserat; hi redeunt ac fontibus ora relaxant et defrenato volvuntur in aequora cursu. Ipse tridente suo terram percussit: at illa intremuit motuque vias patefecit aquarum. Exspatiata ruunt per apertos flumina campos cumque satis arbusta simul pecudesque virosque tectaque cumque suis rapiunt penetralia sacris. Siqua domus mansit potuitque resistere tanto
indeiecta malo, culmen tamen altior huius unda tegit, pressaeque latent sub gurgite turres. Iamque mare et tellus nullum discrimen habebant: omnia pontus erant; deerant quoque litora ponto. Occupat hic collem, cumba sedet alter adunca et ducit remos illic, ubi nuper ararat, ille supra segetes aut mersae culmina villae navigat, hic summa piscem deprendit in ulmo. Figitur in viridi, si fors tulit, ancora prato, aut subiecta terunt curvae vineta carinae; et, modo qua graciles gramen carpsere capellae, nunc ibi deformes ponunt sua corpora phocae.
Mirantur sub aqua lucos urbesque domosque Nereides, silvasque tenent delphines et altis incursant ramis agitataque robora pulsant. Nat lupus inter oves, fulvos vehit unda leones, unda vehit tigres, nec vires fulminis apro, crura nec ablato prosunt velocia cervo. Quaesitisque diu terris, ubi sistere possit, in mare lassatis volucris vaga decidit alis. Obruerat tumulos inmensa licentia ponti, pulsabantque novi montana cacumina fluctus. Maxima pars unda rapitur; quibus unda pepercit, illos longa domant inopi ieiunia victu.
Separat Aonios Oetaeis Phocis ab arvis, terra ferax, dum terra fuit, sed tempore in illo pars maris et latus subitarum campus aquarum. Mons ibi verticibus petit arduus astra duobus, nomine Parnasus, superantque cacumina nubes. Hic ubi Deucalion (nam cetera texerat aequor) cum consorte tori parva rate vectus adhaesit, Corycidas nymphas et numina montis adorant fatidicamque Themin, quae tunc oracla tenebat. Non illo melior quisquam nec amantior aequi vir fuit aut illa metuentior ulla deorum. Iuppiter ut liquidis stagnare paludibus orbem
et superesse virum de tot modo milibus unum, et superesse videt de tot modo milibus unam, innocuos ambo, cultores numinis ambo, nubila disiecit nimbisque aquilone remotis et caelo terras ostendit et aethera terris. Nec maris ira manet, positoque tricuspide telo mulcet aquas rector pelagi supraque profundum exstantem atque umeros innato murice tectum caeruleum Tritona vocat conchaeque sonanti inspirare iubet fluctusque et flumina signo iam revocare dato. Cava bucina sumitur illi, tortilis, in latum quae turbine crescit ab imo,
bucina, quae medio concepit ubi aera ponto, litora voce replet sub utroque iacentia Phoebo. Tunc quoque, ut ora dei madida rorantia barba contigit et cecinit iussos inflata receptus, omnibus audita est telluris et aequoris undis, et quibus est undis audita, coercuit omnes. Iam mare litus habet, plenos capit alveus amnes, flumina subsidunt collesque exire videntur, surgit humus, crescunt loca decrescentibus undis, postque diem longam nudata cacumina silvae ostendunt limumque tenent in fronde relictum. Redditus orbis erat. Quem postquam vidit inanem
et desolatas agere alta silentia terras, Deucalion lacrimis ita Pyrrham adfatur obortis: “O soror, o coniunx, o femina sola superstes, quam commune mihi genus et patruelis origo, deinde torus iunxit, nunc ipsa pericula iungunt, terrarum, quascumque vident occasus et ortus, nos duo turba sumus; possedit cetera pontus. Haec quoque adhuc vitae non est fiducia nostrae certa satis; terrent etiam nunc nubila mentem. Quis tibi, si sine me fatis erepta fuisses, nunc animus, miseranda, foret? quo sola timorem ferre modo posses? quo consolante doleres?
Namque ego (crede mihi) si te quoque pontus haberet, te sequerer, coniunx, et me quoque pontus haberet. O utinam possim populos reparare paternis artibus atque animas formatae infundere terrae! Nunc genus in nobis restat mortale duobus (sic visum superis) hominumque exempla manemus.” Dixerat, et flebant. Placuit caeleste precari numen et auxilium per sacras quaerere sortes. Nulla mora est: adeunt pariter Cephisidas undas, ut nondum liquidas, sic iam vada nota secantes. Inde ubi libatos inroravere liquores vestibus et capiti, flectunt vestigia sanctae
ad delubra deae, quorum fastigia turpi pallebant musco stabantque sine ignibus arae. Ut templi tetigere gradus, procumbit uterque pronus humi gelidoque pavens dedit oscula saxo atque ita “si precibus” dixerunt “numina iustis victa remollescunt, si flectitur ira deorum, dic, Themi, qua generis damnum reparabile nostri arte sit, et mersis fer opem, mitissima, rebus.” Mota dea est sortemque dedit: “Discedite templo et velate caput cinctasque resolvite vestes ossaque post tergum magnae iactate parentis.” Obstipuere diu, rumpitque silentia voce
Pyrrha prior iussisque deae parere recusat, detque sibi veniam pavido rogat ore, pavetque laedere iactatis maternas ossibus umbras. Interea repetunt caecis obscura latebris verba datae sortis secum inter seque volutant. Inde Promethides placidis Epimethida dictis mulcet et “aut fallax” ait “est sollertia nobis, aut pia sunt nullumque nefas oracula suadent. Magna parens terra est, lapides in corpore terrae ossa reor dici; iacere hos post terga iubemur.” Coniugis augurio quamquam Titania mota est, spes tamen in dubio est: adeo caelestibus ambo
diffidunt monitis. Sed quid temptare nocebit? Discedunt velantque caput tunicasque recingunt et iussos lapides sua post vestigia mittunt. Saxa (quis hoc credat, nisi sit pro teste vetustas?) ponere duritiem coepere suumque rigorem mollirique mora mollitaque ducere formam. Mox ubi creverunt naturaque mitior illis contigit, ut quaedam, sic non manifesta, videri forma potest hominis, sed, uti de marmore coepta, non exacta satis rudibusque simillima signis. Quae tamen ex illis aliquo pars umida suco et terrena fuit, versa est in corporis usum;
quod solidum est flectique nequit, mutatur in ossa; quae modo vena fuit, sub eodem nomine mansit; inque brevi spatio superorum numine saxa missa viri manibus faciem traxere virorum, et de femineo reparata est femina iactu. Inde genus durum sumus experiensque laborum et documenta damus qua simus origine nati. Cetera diversis tellus animalia formis sponte sua peperit, postquam vetus umor ab igne percaluit solis, caenumque udaeque paludes intumuere aestu, fecundaque semina rerum vivaci nutrita solo ceu matris in alvo
creverunt faciemque aliquam cepere morando. Sic ubi deseruit madidos septemfluus agros Nilus et antiquo sua flumina reddidit alveo aetherioque recens exarsit sidere limus, plurima cultores versis animalia glaebis inveniunt, et in his quaedam modo coepta per ipsum nascendi spatium, quaedam inperfecta suisque trunca vident numeris; et eodem in corpore saepe altera pars vivit, rudis est pars altera tellus. Quippe ubi temperiem sumpsere umorque calorque, concipiunt, et ab his oriuntur cuncta duobus; cumque sit ignis aquae pugnax, vapor umidus omnes
res creat, et discors concordia fetibus apta est. Ergo ubi diluvio tellus lutulenta recenti solibus aetheriis altoque recanduit aestu, edidit innumeras species, partimque figuras rettulit antiquas, partim nova monstra creavit. Illa quidem nollet, sed te quoque, maxime Python, tum genuit, populisque novis, incognite serpens, terror eras: tantum spatii de monte tenebas. Hunc deus arquitenens, et numquam talibus armis ante nisi in dammis capreisque fugacibus usus, mille gravem telis exhausta paene pharetra perdidit effuso per vulnera nigra veneno.
Neve operis famam posset delere vetustas, instituit sacros celebri certamine ludos, Pythia perdomitae serpentis nomine dictos. Hic iuvenum quicumque manu pedibusve rotave vicerat, aesculeae capiebat frondis honorem: nondum laurus erat, longoque decentia crine tempora cingebat de qualibet arbore Phoebus. Primus amor Phoebi Daphne Peneia, quem non fors ignara dedit, sed saeva Cupidinis ira. Delius hunc, nuper victa serpente superbus, viderat adducto flectentem cornua nervo “quid” que “tibi, lascive puer, cum fortibus armis?”
dixerat, “ista decent umeros gestamina nostros, qui dare certa ferae, dare vulnera possumus hosti, qui modo pestifero tot iugera ventre prementem stravimus innumeris tumidum Pythona sagittis. Tu face nescio quos esto contentus amores inritare tua, nec laudes adsere nostras.” Filius huic Veneris “figat tuus omnia, Phoebe, te meus arcus:” ait “quantoque animalia cedunt cuncta deo tanto minor est tua gloria nostra.” Dixit et eliso percussis aere pennis inpiger umbrosa Parnasi constitit arce eque sagittifera prompsit duo tela pharetra
diversorum operum: fugat hoc, facit illud amorem. Quod facit, auratum est et cuspide fulget acuta; quod fugat, obtusum est et habet sub harundine plumbum. Hoc deus in nympha Peneide fixit, at illo laesit Apollineas traiecta per ossa medullas. Protinus alter amat, fugit altera nomen amantis silvarum tenebris captivarumque ferarum exuviis gaudens innuptaeque aemula Phoebes. Vitta coercebat positos sine lege capillos. Multi illam petiere, illa aversata petentes inpatiens expersque viri nemora avia lustrat, nec quid Hymen, quid Amor, quid sint conubia curat.
Saepe pater dixit “generum mihi, filia, debes,” saepe pater dixit “debes mihi nata, nepotes:” illa, velut crimen taedas exosa iugales, pulchra verecundo suffunditur ora rubore, inque patris blandis haerens cervice lacertis “da mihi perpetua, genitor carissime,” dixit “virginitate frui: dedit hoc pater ante Dianae.” Ille quidem obsequitur, sed te decor iste quod optas esse vetat. Votoque tuo tua forma repugnat: Phoebus amat visaeque cupit conubia Daphnes, quodque cupit, sperat, suaque illum oracula fallunt. Utque leves stipulae demptis adolentur aristis,
ut facibus saepes ardent, quas forte viator vel nimis admovit vel iam sub luce reliquit, sic deus in flammas abiit, sic pectore toto uritur et sterilem sperando nutrit amorem. Spectat inornatos collo pendere capillos et “quid, si comantur?” ait. Videt igne micantes sideribus similes oculos, videt oscula, quae non est vidisse satis; laudat digitosque manusque bracchiaque et nudos media plus parte lacertos. Siqua latent, meliora putat. Fugit ocior aura illa levi neque ad haec revocantis verba resistit: “Nympha, precor, Penei, mane! Non insequor hostis:
nympha, mane! sic agna lupum, sic cerva leonem, sic aquilam penna fugiunt trepidante columbae, hostes quaeque suos: amor est mihi causa sequendi. Me miserum! ne prona cadas indignave laedi crura notent sentes et sim tibi causa doloris. Aspera, qua properas, loca sunt. Moderatius, oro, curre fugamque inhibe; moderatius insequar ipse. Cui placeas, inquire tamen. Non incola montis, non ego sum pastor, non hic armenta gregesque horridus observo. Nescis, temeraria, nescis quem fugias, ideoque fugis. Mihi Delphica tellus et Claros et Tenedos Patareaque regia servit,
Iuppiter est genitor; per me quod eritque fuitque estque patet; per me concordant carmina nervis. Certa quidem nostra est, nostra tamen una sagitta certior, in vacuo quae vulnera pectore fecit. Inventum medicina meum est, opiferque per orbem dicor, et herbarum subiecta potentia nobis: ei mihi, quod nullis amor est sanabilis herbis nec prosunt domino, quae prosunt omnibus, artes.” Plura locuturum timido Peneia cursu fugit cumque ipso verba inperfecta reliquit, tum quoque visa decens. Nudabant corpora venti, obviaque adversas vibrabant flamina vestes,
et levis inpulsos retro dabat aura capillos, auctaque forma fuga est. Sed enim non sustinet ultra perdere blanditias iuvenis deus, utque monebat ipse Amor, admisso sequitur vestigia passu. Ut canis in vacuo leporem cum Gallicus arvo vidit, et hic praedam pedibus petit, ille salutem: alter inhaesuro similis iam iamque tenere sperat et extento stringit vestigia rostro, alter in ambiguo est, an sit conprensus, et ipsis morsibus eripitur tangentiaque ora relinquit: sic deus et virgo est hic spe celer, illa timore. Qui tamen insequitur pennis adiutus Amoris,
ocior est requiemque negat tergoque fugacis inminet et crinem sparsum cervicibus adflat. Viribus absumptis expalluit illa citaeque victa labore fugae spectans Peneidas undas “fer pater” inquit “opem si flumina numen habetis. Qua nimium placui, mutando perde figuram!” Vix prece finita torpor gravis occupat artus: mollia cinguntur tenui praecordia libro, in frondem crines, in ramos bracchia crescunt, pes modo tam velox pigris radicibus haeret, ora cacumen habet; remanet nitor unus in illa. Hanc quoque Phoebus amat, positaque in stipite dextra
sentit adhuc trepidare novo sub cortice pectus conplexusque suis ramos, ut membra, lacertis oscula dat ligno: refugit tamen oscula lignum. Cui deus “at quoniam coniunx mea non potes esse, arbor eris certe” dixit “mea. Semper habebunt te coma, te citharae, te nostrae, laure, pharetrae: tu ducibus Latiis aderis, cum laeta triumphum vox canet et visent longas Capitolia pompas: postibus Augustis eadem fidissima custos ante fores stabis mediamque tuebere quercum, utque meum intonsis caput est iuvenale capillis, tu quoque perpetuos semper gere frondis honores.”
Finierat Paean: factis modo laurea ramis adnuit utque caput visa est agitasse cacumen. Est nemus Haemoniae, praerupta quod undique claudit silva: vocant Tempe. Per quae Peneus ab imo effusus Pindo spumosis volvitur undis, deiectuque gravi tenues agitantia fumos nubila conducit summisque adspergine silvis inpluit et sonitu plus quam vicina fatigat. Haec domus, haec sedes, haec sunt penetralia magni amnis; in his residens facto de cautibus antro, undis iura dabat nymphisque colentibus undas. Conveniunt illuc popularia flumina primum,
nescia, gratentur consolenturne parentem, populifer Sperchios et inrequietus Enipeus Apidanusque senex lenisque Amphrysos et Aeas, moxque amnes alii, qui, qua tulit impetus illos, in mare deducunt fessas erroribus undas. Inachus unus abest imoque reconditus antro fletibus auget aquas natamque miserrimus Io luget ut amissam. Nescit, vitane fruatur, an sit apud manes; sed quam non invenit usquam. esse putat nusquam atque animo peiora veretur. Viderat a patrio redeuntem Iuppiter illam flumine et “o virgo Iove digna tuoque beatum
nescio quem factura toro, pete” dixerat “umbras altorum nemorum” (et nemorum monstraverat umbras), “dum calet et medio sol est altissimus orbe. Quodsi sola times latebras intrare ferarum, praeside tuta deo nemorum secreta subibis, nec de plebe deo, sed qui caelestia magna sceptra manu teneo, sed qui vaga fulmina mitto. Ne fuge me!”—fugiebat enim. Iam pascua Lernae consitaque arboribus Lyrcea reliquerat arva, cum deus inducta latas caligine terras occuluit tenuitque fugam rapuitque pudorem. Interea medios Iuno despexit in agros
et noctis faciem nebulas fecisse volucres sub nitido mirata die, non fluminis illas esse, nec umenti sensit tellure remitti; atque suus coniunx ubi sit circumspicit, ut quae deprensi totiens iam nosset furta mariti. Quem postquam caelo non repperit, “aut ego fallor, aut ego laedor” ait, delapsaque ab aethere summo constitit in terris nebulasque recedere iussit. Coniugis adventum praesenserat inque nitentem Inachidos vultus mutaverat ille iuvencam. Bos quoque formosa est. Speciem Saturnia vaccae, quamquam invita, probat, nec non et cuius et unde
quove sit armento, veri quasi nescia quaerit. Iuppiter e terra genitam mentitur, ut auctor desinat inquiri. Petit hanc Saturnia munus. Quid faciat? crudele suos addicere amores, non dare suspectum est. Pudor est qui suadeat illinc, hinc dissuadet amor. Victus pudor esset amore; sed leve si munus sociae generisque torique vacca negaretur, poterat non vacca videri. Paelice donata non protinus exuit omnem diva metum timuitque Iovem et fuit anxia furti, donec Arestoridae servandam tradidit Argo. Centum luminibus cinctum caput Argus habebat:
inde suis vicibus capiebant bina quietem, cetera servabant atque in statione manebant. Constiterat quocumque modo, spectabat ad Io: ante oculos Io, quamvis aversus, habebat. Luce sinit pasci; cum sol tellure sub alta est, claudit et indigno circumdat vincula collo. frondibus arboreis et amara pascitur herba, proque toro terrae non semper gramen habenti incubat infelix limosaque flumina potat. Illa etiam supplex Argo cum bracchia vellet tendere, non habuit, quae bracchia tenderet Argo, et conata queri mugitus edidit ore
pertimuitque sonos propriaque exterrita voce est. Venit et ad ripas, ubi ludere saepe solebat, Inachidas ripas; novaque ut conspexit in unda cornua, pertimuit seque exsternata refugit. Naides ignorant, ignorat et Inachus ipse, quae sit; at illa patrem sequitur sequiturque sorores et patitur tangi seque admirantibus offert. Decerptas senior porrexerat Inachus herbas: illa manus lambit patriisque dat oscula palmis nec retinet lacrimas et, si modo verba sequantur, oret opem nomenque suum casusque loquatur. Littera pro verbis, quam pes in pulvere duxit,
corporis indicium mutati triste peregit. “Me miserum!” exclamat pater Inachus inque gementis cornibus et niveae pendens cervice iuvencae “me miserum!” ingeminat, “tune es quaesita per omnes nata, mihi terras? tu non inventa reperta luctus eras levior. Retices nec mutua nostris dicta refers, alto tantum suspiria ducis pectore, quodque unum potes, ad mea verba remugis. At tibi ego ignarus thalamos taedasque parabam, spesque fuit generi mihi prima, secunda nepotum. De grege nunc tibi vir, nunc de grege natus habendus. Nec finire licet tantos mihi morte dolores,
sed nocet esse deum, praeclusaque ianua leti aeternum nostros luctus extendit in aevum?” Talia maerentem stellatus submovet Argus ereptamque patri diversa in pascua natam abstrahit. Ipse procul montis sublime cacumen occupat, unde sedens partes speculatur in omnes. Nec superum rector mala tanta Phoronidos ultra ferre potest natumque vocat, quem lucida partu Pleias enixa est, letoque det imperat Argum. Parva mora est alas pedibus virgamque potenti somniferam sumpsisse manu tegimenque capillis. Haec ubi disposuit, patria Iove natus ab arce
desilit in terras. Illic tegimenque removit et posuit pennas, tantummodo virga retenta est. Hac agit, ut pastor, per devia rura capellas, dum venit, adductas et structis cantat avenis. Voce nova captus custos Iunonius “at tu, quisquis es, hoc poteras mecum considere saxo,” Argus ait, “neque enim pecori fecundior ullo herba loco est, aptamque vides pastoribus umbram.” Sedit Atlantiades et euntem multa loquendo detinuit sermone diem iunctisque canendo vincere harundinibus servantia lumina temptat. Ille tamen pugnat molles evincere somnos
et, quamvis sopor est oculorum parte receptus, parte tamen vigilat. Quaerit quoque (namque reperta fistula nuper erat), qua sit ratione reperta. Tum deus “Arcadiae gelidis in montibus” inquit “inter hamadryadas celeberrima Nonacrinas naias una fuit; nymphae Syringa vocabant. Non semel et satyros eluserat illa sequentes et quoscumque deos umbrosaque silva feraxque rus habet. Ortygiam studiis ipsaque colebat virginitate deam. Ritu quoque cincta Dianae falleret et posset credi Latonia, si non corneus huic arcus, si non foret aureus illi.
Sic quoque fallebat. Redeuntem colle Lycaeo Pan videt hanc pinuque caput praecinctus acuta talia verba refert”—restabat verba referre et precibus spretis fugisse per avia nympham, donec harenosi placidum Ladonis ad amnem venerit. Hic illam cursum inpedientibus undis, ut se mutarent liquidas orasse sorores, Panaque, cum prensam sibi iam Syringa putaret, corpore pro nymphae calamos tenuisse palustres. Dumque ibi suspirat, motos in harundine ventos effecisse sonum tenuem similemque querenti. Arte nova vocisque deum dulcedine captum
“hoc mihi concilium tecum” dixisse “manebit!“ atque ita disparibus calamis conpagine cerae inter se iunctis nomen tenuisse puellae. Talia dicturus vidit Cyllenius omnes succubuisse oculos adopertaque lumina somno. Supprimit extemplo vocem firmatque soporem languida permulcens medicata lumina virga. Nec mora, falcato nutantem vulnerat ense qua collo est confine caput, saxoque cruentum deicit et maculat praeruptam sanguine rupem. Arge, iaces, quodque in tot lumina lumen habebas, exstinctum est, centumque oculos nox occupat una.
Excipit hos volucrisque suae Saturnia pennis collocat et gemmis caudam stellantibus inplet. Protinus exarsit nec tempora distulit irae horriferamque oculis animoque obiecit Erinyn paelicis Argolicae stimulosque in pectore caecos condidit et profugam per totum terruit orbem. Ultimus inmenso restabas, Nile, labori. Quem simul ac tetigit, positis in margine ripae procubuit genibus resupinoque ardua collo, quos potuit solos, tollens ad sidera vultus et gemitu et lacrimis et luctisono mugitu cum Iove visa queri finemque orare malorum.
Coniugis ille suae conplexus colla lacertis, finiat ut poenas tandem, rogat “in” que “futurum pone metus” inquit; “numquam tibi causa doloris haec erit:” et Stygias iubet hoc audire paludes. Ut lenita dea est, vultus capit illa priores fitque quod ante fuit: fugiunt e corpore saetae, cornua decrescunt, fit luminis artior orbis, contrahitur rictus, redeunt umerique manusque, ungulaque in quinos dilapsa absumitur ungues: de bove nil superest formae nisi candor in illa. Officioque pedum nymphe contenta duorum erigitur metuitque loqui, ne more iuvencae
mugiat, et timide verba intermissa retemptat. Nunc dea linigera colitur celeberrima turba, nunc Epaphus magni genitus de semine tandem creditur esse Iovis, perque urbes iuncta parenti templa tenet. Fuit huic animis aequalis et annis Sole satus Phaethon. Quem quondam magna loquentem nec sibi cedentem Phoeboque parente superbum non tulit Inachides, “matri” que ait “omnia demens credis et es tumidus genitoris imagine falsi.” Erubuit Phaethon iramque pudore repressit et tulit ad Clymenen Epaphi convicia matrem; “quo” que “magis doleas genetrix,” ait “ille ego liber,
ille ferox tacui. Pudet haec opprobria nobis et dici potuisse et non potuisse refelli. At tu, si modo sum caelesti stirpe creatus, ede notam tanti generis meque adsere caelo.” Dixit et inplicuit materno bracchia collo perque suum Meropisque caput taedasque sororum traderet oravit veri sibi signa parentis. Ambiguum, Clymene, precibus Phaethontis an ira mota magis dicti sibi criminis utraque caelo bracchia porrexit spectansque ad lumina solis “per iubar hoc” inquit “radiis insigne coruscis, nate, tibi iuro, quod nos auditque videtque,
hoc te, quem spectas, hoc te, qui temperat orbem, Sole satum. Si ficta loquor, neget ipse videndum se mihi, sitque oculis lux ista novissima nostris. Nec longus patrios labor est tibi nosse penates: unde oritur, domus est terrae contermina nostrae. Si modo fert animus, gradere et scitabere ab ipso.” Emicat extemplo laetus post talia matris dicta suae Phaethon et concipit aethera mente, Aethiopasque suos positosque sub ignibus Indos sidereis transit patriosque adit inpiger ortus.
Book 2
Regia Solis erat sublimibus alta columnis, clara micante auro flammasque imitante pyropo: cuius ebur nitidum fastigia summa tegebat, argenti bifores radiabant lumine valvae. Materiam superabat opus: nam Mulciber illic aequora caelarat medias cingentia terras, terrarumque orbem, caelumque quod inminet orbi. Caeruleos habet unda deos, Tritona canorum Proteaque ambiguum, balaenarumque prementem Aegaeona suis inmania terga lacertis, Doridaque et natas, quarum pars nare videtur, pars in mole sedens virides siccare capillos,
pisce vehi quaedam: facies non omnibus una, non diversa tamen, qualem decet esse sororum. Terra viros urbesque gerit silvasque ferasque fluminaque et nymphas et cetera numina ruris. Haec super imposita est caeli fulgentis imago signaque sex foribus dextris totidemque sinistris. Quo simul acclivi Clymeneia limite proles venit et intravit dubitati tecta parentis, protinus ad patrios sua fert vestigia vultus consistitque procul: neque enim propiora ferebat lumina. Purpurea velatus veste sedebat in solio Phoebus claris lucente smaragdis.
A dextra laevaque Dies et Mensis et Annus Saeculaque et positae spatiis aequalibus Horae Verque novum stabat cinctum florente corona, stabat nuda Aestas et spicea serta gerebat, stabat et Autumnus, calcatis sordidus uvis, et glacialis Hiems, canos hirsuta capillos. Inde loco medius rerum novitate paventem Sol oculis iuvenem, quibus adspicit omnia, vidit “quae” que “viae tibi causa? quid hac” ait “arce petisti, progenies, Phaethon, haud infitianda parenti?” Ille refert “o lux inmensi publica mundi, Phoebe pater, si das usum mihi nominis huius
nec falsa Clymene culpam sub imagine celat, pignera da, genitor, per quae tua vera propago credar, et hunc animis errorem detrahe nostris.” Dixerat: at genitor circum caput omne micantes deposuit radios propiusque accedere iussit; amplexuque dato “nec tu meus esse negari dignus es, et Clymene veros” ait “edidit ortus. Quoque minus dubites, quodvis pete munus, ut illud me tribuente feras. Promissis testis adesto dis iuranda palus, oculis incognita nostris.” Vix bene desierat, currus rogat ille paternos inque diem alipedum ius et moderamen equorum.
Paenituit iurasse patrem. Qui terque quaterque concutiens inlustre caput “temeraria” dixit vox mea facta tua est. Utinam promissa liceret non dare! confiteor, solum hoc tibi, nate, negarem. Dissuadere licet. Non est tua tuta voluntas. Magna petis, Phaethon, et quae nec viribus istis munera conveniant nec tam puerilibus annis. Sors tua mortalis, non est mortale quod optas. Plus etiam, quam quod superis contingere possit, nescius adfectas. Placeat sibi quisque licebit, non tamen ignifero quisquam consistere in axe me valet excepto. Vasti quoque rector Olympi,
qui fera terribili iaculatur fulmina dextra, non agat hos currus: et quid Iove maius habemus? Ardua prima via est et qua vix mane recentes enitantur equi: medio est altissima caelo, unde mare et terras ipsi mihi saepe videre fit timor, et pavida trepidat formidine pectus. Ultima prona via est et eget moderamine certo: tunc etiam quae me subiectis excipit undis, ne ferar in praeceps, Tethys solet ipsa vereri. Adde quod adsidua rapitur vertigine caelum sideraque alta trahit celerique volumine torquet. Nitor in adversum, nec me, qui cetera, vincit
impetus, et rapido contrarius evehor orbi. Finge datos currus: quid ages? poterisne rotatis obvius ire polis, ne te citus auferat axis? Forsitan et lucos illic urbesque deorum concipias animo delubraque ditia donis esse? per insidias iter est formasque ferarum. Utque viam teneas nulloque errore traharis, per tamen adversi gradieris cornua tauri Haemoniosque arcus violentique ora leonis saevaque circuitu curvantem bracchia longo scorpion atque aliter curvantem bracchia cancrum. Nec tibi quadrupedes animosos ignibus illis,
quos in pectore habent, quos ore et naribus efflant, in promptu regere est: vix me patiuntur, ubi acres incaluere animi, cervixque repugnat habenis. At tu, funesti ne sim tibi muneris auctor, nate, cave, dum resque sinit, tua corrige vota. Scilicet ut nostro genitum te sanguine credas, pignera certa petis? do pignera certa timendo et patrio pater esse metu probor. Adspice vultus ecce meos; utinamque oculos in pectora posses inserere et patrias intus deprendere curas! Denique quidquid habet dives, circumspice, mundus, eque tot ac tantis caeli terraeque marisque
posce bonis aliquid: nullam patiere repulsam. Deprecor hoc unum, quod vero nomine poena, non honor est: poenam, Phaethon, pro munere poscis. Quid mea colla tenes blandis, ignare, lacertis? ne dubita, dabitur (Stygias iuravimus undas) quodcumque optaris: sed tu sapientius opta.” Finierat monitus: dictis tamen ille repugnat propositumque premit flagratque cupidine currus. Ergo qua licuit genitor cunctatus ad altos deducit iuvenem, Vulcania munera, currus. Aureus axis erat, temo aureus, aurea summae curvatura rotae, radiorum argenteus ordo;
per iuga chrysolithi positaeque ex ordine gemmae clara repercusso reddebant lumina Phoebo. Dumque ea magnanimus Phaethon miratur opusque perspicit, ecce vigil nitido patefecit ab ortu purpureas Aurora fores et plena rosarum atria. Diffugiunt stellae, quarum agmina cogit Lucifer et caeli statione novissimus exit. Quem petere ut terras mundumque rubescere vidit cornuaque extremae velut evanescere lunae, iungere equos Titan velocibus imperat Horis. Iussa deae celeres peragunt, ignemque vomentes, ambrosiae suco saturos, praesepibus altis
quadrupedes ducunt adduntque sonantia frena. Tum pater ora sui sacro medicamine nati contigit et rapidae fecit patientia flammae imposuitque comae radios, praesagaque luctus pectore sollicito repetens suspiria dixit: “Si potes his saltem monitis parere parentis, parce, puer, stimulis et fortius utere loris: sponte sua properant; labor est inhibere volentes. Nec tibi directos placeat via quinque per arcus: sectus in obliquum est lato curvamine limes, zonarumque trium contentus fine polumque effugit australem iunctamque aquilonibus arcton.
Hac sit iter: manifesta rotae vestigia cernes. Utque ferant aequos et caelum et terra calores, nec preme nec summum molire per aethera currum. Altius egressus caelestia tecta cremabis, inferius terras: medio tutissimus ibis. Neu te dexterior tortum declinet ad anguem, neve sinisterior pressam rota ducat ad aram: inter utrumque tene. Fortunae cetera mando, quae iuvet et melius quam tu tibi, consulat opto. Dum loquor, Hesperio positas in litore metas umida nox tetigit. Non est mora libera nobis: poscimur: effulget tenebris aurora fugatis.
Corripe lora manu, vel, si mutabile pectus est tibi, consiliis, non curribus utere nostris, dum potes et solidis etiamnunc sedibus adstas dumque male optatos nondum premis inscius axes. Quae tutus spectes, sine me dare lumina terris!” Occupat ille levem iuvenali corpore currum, statque super manibusque datas contingere habenas gaudet et invito grates agit inde parenti. Interea volucres Pyrois et Eous et Aethon, Solis equi, quartusque Phlegon, hinnitibus auras flammiferis implent pedibusque repagula pulsant. Quae postquam Tethys, fatorum ignara nepotis
reppulit, et facta est inmensi copia caeli, corripuere viam pedibusque per aera motis obstantes scindunt nebulas pennisque levati praetereunt ortos isdem de partibus Euros. Sed leve pondus erat, nec quod cognoscere possent Solis equi, solitaque iugum gravitate carebat; utque labant curvae iusto sine pondere naves perque mare instabiles nimia levitate feruntur, sic onere adsueto vacuus dat in aera saltus succutiturque alte similisque est currus inani. Quod simulac sensere, ruunt tritumque relinquunt quadriiugi spatium, nec quo prius ordine currunt.
Ipse pavet nec qua commissas flectat habenas, nec scit, qua sit iter; nec, si sciat, imperet illis. Tum primum radiis gelidi caluere triones et vetito frustra temptarunt aequore tingi, quaeque polo posita est glaciali proxima serpens, frigore pigra prius nec formidabilis ulli, incaluit sumpsitque novas fervoribus iras. Te quoque turbatum memorant fugisse, Boote, quamvis tardus eras et te tua plaustra tenebant. Ut vero summo despexit ab aethere terras infelix Phaethon penitus penitusque iacentes, palluit et subito genua intremuere timore,
suntque oculis tenebrae per tantum lumen obortae. Et iam mallet equos numquam tetigisse paternos, iam cognosse genus piget et valuisse rogando, iam Meropis dici cupiens ita fertur, ut acta praecipiti pinus borea, cui victa remisit frena suus rector, quam dis votisque reliquit. Quid faciat? multum caeli post terga relictum, ante oculos plus est! animo metitur utrumque, et modo quos illi fatum contingere non est, prospicit occasus, interdum respicit ortus: quidque agat ignarus stupet et nec frena remittit nec retinere valet nec nomina novit equorum.
Sparsa quoque in vario passim miracula caelo vastarumque videt trepidus simulacra ferarum. Est locus, in geminos ubi bracchia concavat arcus scorpius et cauda flexisque utrimque lacertis porrigit in spatium signorum membra duorum. Hunc puer ut nigri madidum sudore veneni vulnera curvata minitantem cuspide vidit, mentis inops gelida formidine lora remisit. Quae postquam summum tetigere iacentia tergum, exspatiantur equi, nulloque inhibente per auras ignotae regionis eunt, quaque impetus egit, hac sine lege ruunt altoque sub aethere fixis
incursant stellis rapiuntque per avia currum. Et modo summa petunt, modo per declive viasque praecipites spatio terrae propiore feruntur. Inferiusque suis fraternos currere Luna admiratur equos, ambustaque nubila fumant; corripitur flammis ut quaeque altissima, tellus fissaque agit rimas et sucis aret ademptis. Pabula canescunt, cum frondibus uritur arbor, materiamque suo praebet seges arida damno. Parva queror: magnae pereunt cum moenibus urbes, cumque suis totas populis incendia gentes in cinerem vertunt. Silvae cum montibus ardent,
ardet Athos Taurusque Cilix et Tmolus et Oete et tum sicca, prius creberrima fontibus, Ide, virgineusque Helicon et nondum Oeagrius Haemus; ardet in inmensum geminatis ignibus Aetna Parnasusque biceps et Eryx et Cynthus et Othrys, et tandem nivibus Rhodope caritura, Mimasque Dindymaque et Mycale natusque ad sacra Cithaeron. Nec prosunt Scythiae sua frigora: Caucasus ardet Ossaque cum Pindo maiorque ambobus Olympus aeriaeque Alpes et nubifer Appenninus. Tum vero Phaethon cunctis e partibus orbem adspicit accensum nec tantos sustinet aestus,
ferventesque auras velut e fornace profunda ore trahit currusque suos candescere sentit; et neque iam cineres eiectatamque favillam ferre potest calidoque involvitur undique fumo, quoque eat, aut ubi sit, picea caligine tectus nescit et arbitrio volucrum raptatur equorum. Sanguine tum credunt in corpora summa vocato Aethiopum populos nigrum traxisse colorem. Tum facta est Libye raptis umoribus aestu arida, tum nymphae passis fontesque lacusque deflevere comis: quaerit Boeotia Dircen, Argos Amymonen, Ephyre Pirenidas undas.
Nec sortita loco distantes flumina ripas tuta manent: mediis Tanais fumavit in undis Peneusque senex Teuthranteusque Caicus et celer Ismenos cum Phegiaco Erymantho arsurusque iterum Xanthus flavusque Lycormas, quique recurvatis ludit Maeandrus in undis. Mygdoniusque Melas et Taenarius Eurotas. Arsit et Euphrates Babylonius, arsit Orontes Thermodonque citus Gangesque et Phasis et Hister. Aestuat Alpheus, ripae Spercheides ardent, quodque suo Tagus amne vehit, fluit ignibus aurum, et quae Maeonias celebrabant carmine ripas
flumineae volucres, medio caluere Caystro. Nilus in extremum fugit perterritus orbem occuluitque caput, quod adhuc latet: ostia septem pulverulenta vacant, septem sine flumine valles. Fors eadem Ismarios Hebrum cum Strymone siccat Hesperiosque amnes Rhenum Rhodanumque Padumque, cuique fuit rerum promissa potentia, Thybrin. Dissilit omne solum, penetratque in Tartara rimis lumen et infernum terret cum coniuge regem. Et mare contrahitur, siccaeque est campus harenae quod modo pontus erat: quosque altum texerat aequor, exsistunt montes et sparsas Cycladas augent.
Ima petunt pisces, nec se super aequora curvi tollere consuetas audent delphines in auras; corpora phocarum summo resupina profundo exanimata natant. Ipsum quoque Nerea fama est Doridaque et natas tepidis latuisse sub antris. Ter Neptunus aquis cum torvo bracchia vultu exserere ausus erat, ter non tulit aeris ignes. Alma tamen Tellus, ut erat circumdata ponto, inter aquas pelagi contractosque undique fontes, qui se condiderant in opacae viscera matris, sustulit oppressos collo tenus arida vultus opposuitque manum fronti magnoque tremore
omnia concutiens paulum subsedit et infra quam solet esse fuit, siccaque ita voce locuta est: “Si placet hoc, meruique, quid o tua fulmina cessant, summe deum? liceat periturae viribus ignis igne perire tuo clademque auctore levare. Vix equidem fauces haec ipsa in verba resolvo” (presserat ora vapor): “tostos en adspice crines inque oculis tantum, tantum super ora favillae. Hosne mihi fructus, hunc fertilitatis honorem officiique refers, quod adunci vulnera aratri rastrorumque fero totoque exerceor anno, quod pecori frondes, alimentaque mitia, fruges,
humano generi, vobis quoque tura ministro? Sed tamen exitium fac me meruisse: quid undae, quid meruit frater? cur illi tradita sorte aequora decrescunt et ab aethere longius absunt? Quodsi nec fratris nec te mea gratia tangit, at caeli miserere tui. Circumspice utrumque, fumat uterque polus. Quos si vitiaverit ignis, atria vestra ruent. Atlas en ipse laborat vixque suis umeris candentem sustinet axem. Si freta, si terrae pereunt, si regia caeli, in chaos antiquum confundimur. Eripe flammis, siquid adhuc superest, et rerum consule summae.”
Dixerat haec Tellus: neque enim tolerare vaporem ulterius potuit nec dicere plura: suumque rettulit os in se propioraque manibus antra. At pater omnipotens, superos testatus et ipsum, qui dederat currus, nisi opem ferat, omnia fato interitura gravi, summam petit arduus arcem, unde solet nubes latis inducere terris, unde movet tonitrus vibrataque fulmina iactat. Sed neque quas posset terris inducere nubes tunc habuit, nec quos caelo demitteret imbres. Intonat et dextra libratum fulmen ab aure misit in aurigam pariterque animaque rotisque
expulit et saevis compescuit ignibus ignes. Consternantur equi et saltu in contraria facto colla iugo eripiunt abruptaque lora relinquunt. Illic frena iacent, illic temone revulsus axis, in hac radii fractarum parte rotarum, sparsaque sunt late laceri vestigia currus. At Phaethon rutilos flamma populante capillos, volvitur in praeceps longoque per aera tractu fertur, ut interdum de caelo stella sereno etsi non cecidit, potuit cecidisse videri. Quem procul a patria diverso maximus orbe excipit Eridanus fumantiaque abluit ora.
Naïdes Hesperiae trifida fumantia flamma corpora dant tumulo, signant quoque carmine saxum: HIC SITUS EST PHAETHON, CURRUS AURIGA PATERNI: QUEM SI NON TENUIT, MAGNIS TAMEN EXCIDIT AUSIS. Nam pater obductos, luctu miserabilis aegro condiderat vultus: et, si modo credimus, unum isse diem sine sole ferunt: incendia lumen praebebant aliquisque malo fuit usus in illo. At Clymene postquam dixit quaecumque fuerunt in tantis dicenda malis, lugubris et amens et laniata sinus totum percensuit orbem, exanimesque artus primo, mox ossa requirens
repperit (ossa tamen peregrina condita ripa!), incubuitque loco nomenque in marmore lectum perfudit lacrimis et aperto pectore fovit. Nec minus Heliades lugent et inania morti munera dant lacrimas, et caesae pectora palmis non auditurum miseras Phaethonta querellas nocte dieque vocant adsternunturque sepulcro. Luna quater iunctis implerat cornibus orbem: illae more suo (nam morem fecerat usus) plangorem dederant. E quis Phaethusa, sororum maxima, cum vellet terra procumbere, questa est deriguisse pedes. Ad quam conata venire
candida Lampetie subita radice retenta est. Tertia cum crinem manibus laniare pararet, avellit frondes; haec stipite crura teneri, illa dolet fieri longos sua bracchia ramos. Dumque ea mirantur, complectitur inguina cortex, perque gradus uterum pectusque umerosque manusque ambit et exstabant tantum ora vocantia matrem. Quid faciat mater, nisi, quo trahat impetus illam, huc eat atque illuc, et, dum licet, oscula iungat? Non satis est; truncis avellere corpora temptat, et teneros manibus ramos abrumpit; at inde sanguineae manant, tamquam de vulnere, guttae.
“Parce, precor, mater”, quaecumque est saucia, clamat, “parce, precor: nostrum laceratur in arbore corpus. iamque vale” —cortex in verba novissima venit. Inde fluunt lacrimae, stillataque sole rigescunt de ramis electra novis, quae lucidus amnis excipit et nuribus mittit gestanda Latinis. Adfuit huic monstro proles Stheneleia Cycnus, qui tibi materno quamvis a sanguine iunctus, mente tamen, Phaethon, propior fuit. Ille relicto (nam Ligurum populos et magnas rexerat urbes) imperio ripas virides amnemque querellis Eridanum implerat silvamque sororibus auctam,
cum vox est tenuata viro, canaeque capillos dissimulant plumae, collumque a pectore longe porrigitur, digitosque ligat iunctura rubentes, penna latus velat, tenet os sine acumine rostrum. Fit nova Cycnus avis, nec se caeloque Iovique credit, ut iniuste missi memor ignis ab illo: stagna petit patulosque lacus, ignemque perosus quae colat elegit contraria flumina flammis. Squalidus interea genitor Phaethontis et expers ipse sui decoris, qualis, cum deficit orbem, esse solet, lucemque odit seque ipse diemque, datque animum in luctus; et luctibus adicit iram
officiumque negat mundo. “Satis” inquit “ab aevi sors mea principiis fuit inrequieta, pigetque actorum sine fine mihi, sine honore, laborum. Quilibet alter agat portantes lumina currus! Si nemo est omnesque dei non posse fatentur, ipse agat ut saltem, dum nostras temptat habenas, orbatura patres aliquando fulmina ponat. Tum sciet, ignipedum vires expertus equorum, non meruisse necem, qui non bene rexerit illos.” Talia dicentem circumstant omnia Solem numina, neve velit tenebras inducere rebus, supplice voce rogant: missos quoque Iuppiter ignes
excusat precibusque minas regaliter addit. Conligit amentes et adhuc terrore paventes Phoebus equos stimuloque dolens et verbere saevit: saevit enim, natumque obiectat et imputat illis. At pater omnipotens ingentia moenia caeli circuit et ne quid labefactum viribus ignis corruat explorat. Quae postquam firma suique roboris esse videt terras hominumque labores perspicit. Arcadiae tamen est impensior illi cura suae: fontes et nondum audentia labi flumina restituit dat terrae gramina, frondes arboribus, laesasque iubet revirescere silvas.
Dum redit itque frequens, In virgine Nonacrina haesit et accepti caluere sub ossibus ignes. Non erat huius opus lanam mollire trahendo nec positu variare comas; ubi fibula vestem, vitta coercuerat neglectos alba capillos, et modo leve manu iaculum, modo sumpserat arcum, miles erat Phoebes: nec Maenalon attigit ulla gratior hac Triviae. Sed nulla potentia longa est. Ulterius medio spatium sol altus habebat, cum subit illa nemus, quod nulla ceciderat aetas. Exuit hic umero pharetram lentosque retendit arcus, inque solo, quod texerat herba, iacebat
et pictam posita pharetram cervice premebat. Iuppiter ut vidit fessam et custode vacantem, “hoc certe furtum coniunx mea nesciet” inquit, “aut si rescierit sunt o sunt iurgia tanti.” Protinus induitur faciem cultumque Dianae atque ait: “O comitum, virgo, pars una mearum, in quibus es venata iugis?” De caespite virgo se levat et “salve numen, me indice”, dixit “audiat ipse licet maius Iove.” Ridet et audit, et sibi praeferri se gaudet et oscula iungit nec moderata satis nec sic a virgine danda. Qua venata foret silva, narrare parantem
impedit amplexu, nec se sine crimine prodit. Illa quidem contra, quantum modo femina possit (adspiceres utinam, Saturnia: mitior esses !), illa quidem pugnat: sed quem superare puella, quisve Iovem poterat? — Superum petit aethera victor Iuppiter: huic odio nemus est et conscia silva. Unde pedem referens paene est oblita pharetram tollere cum telis et quem suspenderat arcum. Ecce, suo comitata choro Dictynna per altum Maenalon ingrediens et caede superba ferarum adspicit hanc visamque vocat: clamata refugit, et timuit primo, ne Iuppiter esset in illa.
Sed postquam pariter nymphas incedere vidit, sensit abesse dolos numerumque accessit ad harum. Heu quam difficile est crimen non prodere vultu! Vix oculos attollit humo, nec, ut ante solebat, iuncta deae lateri, nec toto est agmine prima, sed silet et laesi dat signa rubore pudoris; et nisi quod virgo est poterat sentire Diana mille notis culpam; nymphae sensisse feruntur. Orbe resurgebant lunaria cornua nono, cum dea venatu, fraternis languida flammis, nacta nemus gelidum, de quo cum murmure labens ibat et attritas versabat rivus harenas.
Ut loca laudavit, summas pede contigit undas: his quoque laudatis “procul est” ait “arbiter omnis; nuda superfusis tingamus corpora lymphis.” Parrhasis erubuit. Cunctae velamina ponunt: una moras quaerit. Dubitanti vestis adempta est; qua posita nudo patuit cum corpore crimen. Attonitae manibusque uterum celare volenti “i procul hinc” dixit “nec sacros pollue fontes” Cynthia; deque suo iussit secedere coetu. Senserat hoc olim magni matrona Tonantis distuleratque graves in idonea tempora poenas. Causa morae nulla est, et iam puer Arcas (id ipsum
indoluit Iuno) fuerat de paelice natus. Quo simul obvertit saevam cum lumine mentem, “scilicet hoc etiam restabat, adultera” dixit, “ut fecunda fores, fieretque iniuria partu nota, Iovisque mei testatum dedecus esset. Haud impune feres: adimam tibi nempe figuram, qua tibi, quaque places nostro, importuna, marito.” Dixit et adversa prensis a fronte capillis stravit humi pronam. Tendebat bracchia supplex: bracchia coeperunt nigris horrescere villis curvarique manus et aduncos crescere in ungues officioque pedum fungi, laudataque quondam
ora Iovi lato fieri deformia rictu. Neve preces animos et verba precantia flectant posse loqui eripitur; vox iracunda minaxque plenaque terroris rauco de gutture fertur. Mens antiqua tamen facta quoque mansit in ursa, adsiduoque suos gemitu testata dolores qualescumque manus ad caelum et sidera tollit ingratumque Iovem, nequeat cum dicere, sentit. A quotiens, sola non ausa quiescere silva, ante domum quondamque suis erravit in agris! A quotiens per saxa canum latratibus acta est venatrixque metu venantum territa fugit!
Saepe feris latuit visis, oblita quid esset, ursaque conspectos in montibus horruit ursos pertimuitque lupos, quamvis pater esset in illis. Ecce, Lycaoniae proles, ignara parentis, Arcas adest, ter quinque fere natalibus actis: dumque feras sequitur, dum saltus eligit aptos nexilibusque plagis silvas Erymanthidas ambit, incidit in matrem; quae restitit Arcade viso et cognoscenti similis fuit. Ille refugit inmotosque oculos in se sine fine tenentem nescius extimuit propiusque accedere aventi vulnifico fuerat fixurus pectora telo.
Arcuit omnipotens pariterque ipsosque nefasque sustulit, et celeri raptos per inania vento imposuit caelo vicinaque sidera fecit. Intumuit Iuno, postquam inter sidera paelex fulsit et ad canam descendit in aequora Tethyn Oceanumque senem, quorum reverentia movit saepe deos, causamque viae scitantibus infit: “Quaeritis, aetheriis quare regina deorum sedibus huc adsim? pro me tenet altera caelum. Mentiar, obscurum nisi nox cum fecerit orbem, nuper honoratas summo, mea vulnera, caelo videritis stellas illic, ubi circulus axem
ultimus extremum spatioque brevissimus ambit. Est vero, cur quis Iunonem laedere nolit offensamque tremat, quae prosum sola nocendo? O ego quantum egi! quam vasta potentia nostra est! Esse hominem vetui: facta est dea. Sic ego poenas sontibus impono, sic est mea magna potestas. Vindicet antiquam faciem vultusque ferinos detrahat, Argolica quod in ante Phoronide fecit. Cur non et pulsa ducit Iunone meoque collocat in thalamo socerumque Lycaona sumit? At vos si laesae tangit contemptus alumnae, gurgite caeruleo septem prohibete triones
sideraque in caelo, stupri mercede, recepta pellite, ne puro tingatur in aequore paelex.” Di maris adnuerant: habili Saturnia curru ingreditur liquidum pavonibus aethera pictis, tam nuper pictis caeso pavonibus Argo, quam tu nuper eras, cum candidus ante fuisses, corve loquax, subito nigrantes versus in alas. Nam fuit haec quondam niveis argentea pennis ales ut aequaret totas sine labe columbas nec servaturis vigili Capitolia voce cederet anseribus nec amanti flumina cycno. Lingua fuit damno; lingua faciente loquaci
qui color albus erat, nunc est contrarius albo. Pulchrior in tota, quam Larisaea Coronis, non fuit Haemonia: placuit tibi, Delphice, certe, dum vel casta fuit vel inobservata. Sed ales sensit adulterium Phoebeius, utque latentem detegeret culpam, non exorabilis index, ad dominum tendebat iter. Quem garrula motis consequitur pennis, scitetur ut omnia, cornix, auditaque viae causa “non utile carpis” inquit “iter: ne sperne meae praesagia linguae. Quid fuerim quid simque vide, meritumque require: invenies nocuisse fidem. Nam tempore quodam
Pallas Erichthonium, prolem sine matre creatam, clauserat Actaeo texta de vimine cista virginibusque tribus gemino de Cecrope natis et legem dederat, sua ne secreta viderent. Abdita fronde levi densa speculabar ab ulmo, quid facerent. Commissa duae sine fraude tuentur, Pandrosos atque Herse; timidas vocat una sorores Aglauros nodosque manu diducit, et intus infantemque vident adporrectumque draconem. Acta deae refero. Pro quo mihi gratia talis redditur, ut dicar tutela pulsa Minervae et ponar post noctis avem. Mea poena volucres
admonuisse potest ne voce pericula quaerant. At, puto, non ultro nec quicquam tale rogantem me petiit? ipsa licet hoc a Pallade quaeras: quamvis irata est, non hoc irata negabit. Nam me Phocaica clarus tellure Coroneus (nota loquor) genuit fueramque ego regia virgo divitibusque procis (ne me contemne) petebar. Forma mihi nocuit. Nam cum per litora lentis passibus, ut soleo, summa spatiarer harena, vidit et incaluit pelagi deus; utque precando tempora cum blandis absumpsit inania verbis, vim parat et sequitur. Fugio densumque relinquo
litus et in molli nequiquam lassor harena. Inde deos hominesque voco; nec contigit ullum vox mea mortalem: mota est pro virgine virgo auxiliumque tulit. Tendebam bracchia caelo: bracchia coeperunt levibus nigrescere pennis. Reicere ex umeris vestem molibar: at illa pluma erat inque cutem radices egerat imas. Plangere nuda meis conabar pectora palmis: sed neque iam palmas nec pectora nuda gerebam. Currebam: nec, ut ante, pedes retinebat harena, sed summa tollebar humo. Mox alta per auras evehor et data sum comes inculpata Minervae.
Quid tamen hoc prodest, si diro facta volucris crimine Nyctimene nostro successit honori? An quae per totam res est notissima Lesbon, non audita tibi est, patrium temerasse cubile Nyctimenen? avis illa quidem, sed conscia culpae conspectum lucemque fugit tenebrisque pudorem celat et a cunctis expellitur aethere toto.” Talia dicenti “tibi” ait “revocamina” corvus “sint precor ista malo: nos vanum spernimus omen.” Nec coeptum dimittit iter, dominoque iacentem cum iuvene Haemonio vidisse Coronida narrat. Laurea delapsa est audito crimine amanti,
et pariter vultusque deo plectrumque colorque excidit. Utque animus tumida fervebat ab ira, arma adsueta rapit flexumque a cornibus arcum tendit et illa suo totiens cum pectore iuncta indevitato traiecit pectora telo. Icta dedit gemitum, tractoque a corpore ferro candida puniceo perfudit membra cruore, et dixit: “Potui poenas tibi, Phoebe, dedisse, sed peperisse prius: duo nunc moriemur in una.” Hactenus, et pariter vitam cum sanguine fudit. Corpus inane animae frigus letale secutum est. Paenitet heu sero poenae crudelis amantem,
seque, quod audierit, quod sic exarserit, odit; odit avem, per quam crimen causamque dolendi scire coactus erat, nec non arcumque manumque odit, cumque manu temeraria tela sagittas conlapsamque fovet seraque ope vincere fata nititur et medicas exercet inaniter artes. Quae postquam frustra temptata, rogumque parari vidit et arsuros supremis ignibus artus, tum vero gemitus (neque enim caelestia tingi ora licet lacrimis) alto de corde petitos edidit, haud aliter quam cum spectante iuvenca lactentis vituli, dextra libratus ab aure
tempora discussit claro cava malleus ictu. Ut tamen ingratos in pectora fudit odores et dedit amplexus iniustaque iusta peregit, non tulit in cineres labi sua Phoebus eosdem semina, sed natum flammis uteroque parentis eripuit geminique tulit Chironis in antrum; sperantemque sibi non falsae praemia linguae inter aves albas vetuit consistere corvum. Semifer interea divinae stirpis alumno laetus erat mixtoque oneri gaudebat honore. Ecce venit rutilis umeros protecta capillis filia Centauri, quam quondam nympha Chariclo
fluminis in rapidi ripis enixa vocavit Ocyroen. Non haec artes contenta paternas edidicisse fuit: fatorum arcana canebat. Ergo ubi vaticinos concepit mente furores incaluitque deo, quem clausum pectore habebat, adspicit infantem “toto” que “salutifer orbi cresce puer” dixit: “tibi se mortalia saepe corpora debebunt; animas tibi reddere ademptas fas erit; idque semel dis indignantibus ausus posse dare hoc iterum flamma prohibebere avita eque deo corpus fies exsangue, deusque, qui modo corpus eras, et bis tua fata novabis.
Tu quoque, care pater, nunc inmortalis et aevis omnibus ut maneas nascendi lege creatus, posse mori cupies, tum cum cruciabere dirae sanguine serpentis per saucia membra recepto; teque ex aeterno patientem numina mortis efficient, triplicesque deae tua fila resolvent.” Restabat fatis aliquid. Suspirat ab imis pectoribus, lacrimaeque genis labuntur obortae, atque ita “praevertunt” inquit “me fata, vetorque plura loqui, vocisque meae praecluditur usus. Non fuerant artes tanti, quae numinis iram contraxere mihi; mallem nescisse futura.
Iam mihi subduci facies humana videtur, iam cibus herba placet, iam latis currere campis impetus est: in equam cognataque corpora vertor. Tota tamen quare? pater est mihi nempe biformis.” Talia dicenti pars est extrema querellae intellecta parum, confusaque verba fuerunt. Mox nec verba quidem nec equae sonus ille videtur, sed simulantis equam, parvoque in tempore certos edidit hinnitus et bracchia movit in herbas. Tum digiti coeunt et quinos adligat ungues perpetuo cornu levis ungula, crescit et oris et colli spatium, longae pars maxima pallae
cauda fit, utque vagi crines per colla iacebant, in dextras abiere iubas: pariterque novata est et vox et facies nomen quoque monstra dedere. Flebat opemque tuam frustra Philyreius heros, Delphice, poscebat. Nam nec rescindere magni iussa Iovis poteras, nec, si rescindere posses, tunc aderas: Elin Messeniaque arva colebas. Illud erat tempus, quo te pastoria pellis texit onusque fuit baculum silvestre sinistrae, alterius dispar septenis fistula cannis. Dumque amor est curae, dum te tua fistula mulcet, incustoditae Pylios memorantur in agros
processisse boves. Videt has Atlantide Maia natus et arte sua silvis occultat abactas. Senserat hoc furtum nemo nisi notus in illo rure senex; Battum vicinia tota vocabant. Divitis hic saltus herbosaque pascua Nelei nobiliumque greges custos servabat equarum. Hunc timuit blandaque manu seduxit et illi “quisquis es, hospes” ait, “si forte armenta requiret haec aliquis, vidisse nega; neu gratia facto nulla rependatur, nitidam cape praemia vaccam” — et dedit. Accepta voces has reddidit hospes: “Tutus eas: lapis iste prius tua furta loquetur”,
et lapidem ostendit. Simulat Iove natus abire, mox redit, et versa pariter cum voce figura “rustice, vidisti siquas hoc limite” dixit “ire boves, fer opem furtoque silentia deme: iuncta suo pariter dabitur ubi femina tauro.” At senior, postquam est merces geminata, “sub illis montibus” inquit “erunt”: et erant sub montibus illis. Risit Atlantiades et “me mihi, perfide, prodis? me mihi prodis?” ait, periuraque pectora vertit in durum silicem, qui nunc quoque dicitur index, inque nihil merito vetus est infamia saxo. Hinc se sustulerat paribus caducifer alis,
Munychiosque volans agros gratamque Minervae despectabat humum cultique arbusta Lycei. Illa forte die castae de more puellae vertice supposito festas in Palladis arces pura coronatis portabant sacra canistris. Inde revertentes deus adspicit ales iterque non agit in rectum, sed in orbem curvat eundem. Ut volucris visis rapidissima miluus extis, dum timet et densi circumstant sacra ministri, flectitur in gyrum nec longius audet abire spemque suam motis avidus circumvolat alis, sic super Actaeas agilis Cyllenius arces
inclinat cursus et easdem circinat auras. Quanto splendidior quam cetera sidera fulget Lucifer, et quanto quam Lucifer aurea Phoebe, tanto virginibus praestantior omnibus Herse ibat, eratque decus pompae comitumque suarum. Obstipuit forma Iove natus, et aethere pendens non secus exarsit, quam cum Balearica plumbum funda iacit: volat illud et incandescit eundo et quos non habuit, sub nubibus invenit ignes. Vertit iter caeloque petit terrena relicto nec se dissimulat: tanta est fiducia formae. Quae quamquam iusta est, cura tamen adiuvat illam
permulcetque comas chlamydemque, ut pendeat apte, collocat, ut limbus totumque appareat aurum, ut teres in dextra, qua somnos ducit et arcet, virga sit, ut tersis niteant talaria plantis. Pars secreta domus ebore et testudine cultos tres habuit thalamos: quorum tu, Pandrose, dextrum, Aglauros laevum, medium possederat Herse. Quae tenuit laevum, venientem prima notavit Mercurium nomenque dei scitarier ausa est et causam adventus. Cui sic respondit Atlantis Pleionesque nepos: “Ego sum, qui iussa per auras verba patris porto: pater est mihi Iuppiter ipse.
Nec fingam causas; tu tantum fida sorori esse velis prolisque meae matertera dici. Herse causa viae. Faveas oramus amanti.” Adspicit hunc oculis isdem, quibus abdita nuper viderat Aglauros flavae secreta Minervae, proque ministerio magni sibi ponderis aurum postulat: interea tectis excedere cogit. Vertit ad hanc torvi dea bellica luminis orbem et tanto penitus traxit suspiria motu, ut pariter pectus positamque in pectore forti aegida concuteret. Subit, hanc arcana profana detexisse manu tum cum sine matre creatam
Lemnicolae stirpem contra data foedera vidit, et gratamque deo fore iam gratamque sorori et ditem sumpto, quod avara poposcerat, auro. Protinus Invidiae nigro squalentia tabo tecta petit. Domus est imis in vallibus huius abdita, sole carens, non ulli pervia vento, tristis et ignavi plenissima frigoris, et quae igne vacet semper, caligine semper abundet. Huc ubi pervenit belli metuenda virago, constitit ante domum (neque enim succedere tectis fas habet) et postes extrema cuspide pulsat. Concussae patuere fores. Videt intus edentem
vipereas carnes, vitiorum alimenta suorum, Invidiam, visaque oculos avertit. At illa surgit humo pigre semesarumque relinquit corpora serpentum passuque incedit inerti; utque deam vidit formaque armisque decoram, ingemuit vultumque ima ad suspiria duxit. Pallor in ore sedet, macies in corpore toto, nusquam recta acies, livent rubigine dentes, pectora felle virent, lingua est suffusa veneno. Risus abest, nisi quem visi movere dolores. Nec fruitur somno, vigilacibus excita curis, sed videt ingratos intabescitque videndo
successus hominum, carpitque et carpitur una, suppliciumque suum est. Quamvis tamen oderat illam, talibus adfata est breviter Tritonia dictis: “Infice tabe tua natarum Cecropis unam. Sic opus est. Aglauros ea est.” Haud plura locuta fugit et impressa tellurem reppulit hasta. Illa deam obliquo fugientem lumine cernens murmura parva dedit, successurumque Minervae indoluit, baculumque capit, quod spinea totum vincula cingebant, adopertaque nubibus atris, quacumque ingreditur, florentia proterit arva exuritque herbas et summa cacumina carpit,
adflatuque suo populos urbesque domosque polluit. Et tandem Tritonida conspicit arcem ingeniis opibusque et festa pace virentem, vixque tenet lacrimas, quia nil lacrimabile cernit. Sed postquam thalamos intravit Cecrope natae, iussa facit pectusque manu ferrugine tincta tangit et hamatis praecordia sentibus implet, inspiratque nocens virus, piceumque per ossa dissipat et medio spargit pulmone venenum. Neve mali causae spatium per latius errent, germanam ante oculos fortunatumque sororis coniugium pulchraque deum sub imagine ponit,
cunctaque magna facit. Quibus inritata dolore Cecropis occulto mordetur et anxia nocte, anxia luce gemit, lentaque miserrima tabe liquitur ut glacies incerto saucia sole. Felicisque bonis non lenius uritur Herses, quam cum spinosis ignis supponitur herbis, quae neque dant flammas lenique tepore cremantur. Saepe mori voluit, ne quicquam tale videret, saepe velut crimen rigido narrare parenti; denique in adverso venientem limine sedit exclusura deum. Cui blandimenta precesque verbaque iactanti mitissima “desine” dixit:
“hinc ego me non sum nisi te motura repulso.” “Stemus” ait “pacto” velox Cyllenius “isto”: caelestique fores virga patefecit. At illi surgere conanti partes, quascumque sedendo flectimus, ignava nequeunt gravitate moveri. Illa quidem pugnat recto se attollere trunco, sed genuum iunctura riget, frigusque per inguen labitur, et callent amisso sanguine venae. Utque malum late solet inmedicabile cancer serpere et inlaesas vitiatis addere partes, sic letalis hiems paulatim in pectora venit vitalesque vias et respiramina clausit.
Nec conata loqui est, nec, si conata fuisset, vocis habebat iter: saxum iam colla tenebat, oraque duruerant, signumque exsangue sedebat. Nec lapis albus erat: sua mens infecerat illam. Has ubi verborum poenas mentisque profanae cepit Atlantiades, dictas a Pallade terras linquit et ingreditur iactatis aethera pennis. Sevocat hunc genitor. Nec causam fassus amoris “fide minister” ait “iussorum, nate, meorum, pelle moram solitoque celer delabere cursu, quaeque tuam matrem tellus a parte sinistra suspicit (indigenae Sidonida nomine dicunt),
hanc pete, quodque procul montano gramine pasci armentum regale vides, ad litora verte.” Dixit, et expulsi iamdudum monte iuvenci litora iussa petunt, ubi magni filia regis ludere virginibus Tyriis comitata solebat. Non bene conveniunt nec in una sede morantur maiestas et amor: sceptri gravitate relicta ille pater rectorque deum, cui dextra trisulcis ignibus armata est, qui nutu concutit orbem, induitur faciem tauri mixtusque iuvencis mugit et in teneris formosus obambulat herbis. Quippe color nivis est, quam nec vestigia duri
calcavere pedis nec solvit aquaticus auster. Colla toris exstant, armis palearia pendent, cornua parva quidem, sed quae contendere possis facta manu, puraque magis perlucida gemma. Nullae in fronte minae, nec formidabile lumen; pacem vultus habet. Miratur Agenore nata, quod tam formosus, quod proelia nulla minetur. Sed quamvis mitem metuit contingere primo: mox adit et flores ad candida porrigit ora. Gaudet amans et, dum veniat sperata voluptas, oscula dat manibus; vix iam, vix cetera differt. Et nunc adludit viridique exsultat in herba,
nunc latus in fulvis niveum deponit harenis; paulatimque metu dempto modo pectora praebet virginea plaudenda manu, modo cornua sertis impedienda novis. Ausa est quoque regia virgo nescia quem premeret, tergo considere tauri, cum deus a terra siccoque a litore sensim falsa pedum primis vestigia ponit in undis: inde abit ulterius mediique per aequora ponti fert praedam. Pavet haec litusque ablata relictum respicit, et dextra cornum tenet, altera dorso imposita est; tremulae sinuantur flamine vestes.
Book 3
Iamque deus posita fallacis imagine tauri se confessus erat Dictaeaque rura tenebat, cum pater ignarus Cadmo perquirere raptam imperat et poenam, si non invenerit, addit exilium, facto pius et sceleratus eodem. Orbe pererrato (quis enim deprendere possit furta Iovis?) profugus patriamque iramque parentis vitat Agenorides Phoebique oracula supplex consulit et, quae sit tellus habitanda, requirit. “Bos tibi” Phoebus ait “solis occurret in arvis, nullum passa iugum curvique inmunis aratri. Hac duce carpe vias et qua requieverit herba
moenia fac condas, Boeotiaque ma vocato.” Vix bene Castalio Cadmus descenderat antro, incustoditam lente videt ire iuvencam nullum servitii signum cervice gerentem. Subsequitur pressoque legit vestigia gressu, auctoremque viae Phoebum taciturnus adorat. Iam vada Cephisi Panopesque evaserat arva: bos stetit et tollens speciosam cornibus altis ad caelum frontem mugitibus impulit auras, atque ita, respiciens comites sua terga sequentes, procubuit teneraque latus submisit in herba. Cadmus agit grates peregrinaeque oscula terrae
figit et ignotos montes agrosque salutat. Sacra Iovi facturus erat. Iubet ire ministros et petere e vivis libandas fontibus undas. Silva vetus stabat, nulla violata securi, et specus in medio, virgis ac vimine densus, efficiens humilem lapidum compagibus arcum, uberibus fecundus aquis, ubi conditus antro Martius anguis erat, cristis praesignis et auro; igne micant oculi, corpus tumet omne venenis, tres vibrant linguae, triplici stant ordine dentes. Quem postquam Tyria lucum de gente profecti infausto tetigere gradu, demissaque in undas
urna dedit sonitum, longo caput extulit antro caeruleus serpens horrendaque sibila misit. Effluxere urnae manibus sanguisque reliquit corpus, et attonitos subitus tremor occupat artus. Ille volubilibus squamosos nexibus orbes torquet et inmensos saltu sinuatur in arcus, ac media plus parte leves erectus in auras despicit omne nemus, tantoque est corpore, quanto si totum spectes, geminas qui separat arctos. Nec mora, Phoenicas, sive illi tela parabant, sive fugam, sive ipse timor prohibebat utrumque, occupat: hos morsu, longis complexibus illos,
hos necat adfiatu funesti tabe veneni. Fecerat exiguas iam sol altissimus umbras: quae mora sit sociis, miratur Agenore natus, vestigatque viros. Tegimen derepta leoni pellis erat, telum splendenti lancea ferro et iaculum, teloque animus praestantior omni. Ut nemus intravit letataque corpora vidit victoremque supra spatiosi corporis hostem tristia sanguinea lambentem vulnera lingua, “aut ultor vestrae, fidissima corpora, mortis, aut comes” inquit “ero.” Dixit, dextraque molarem sustulit et magnum magno conamine misit.
Illius impulsu cum turribus ardua celsis moenia mota forent: serpens sine vulnere mansit loricaeque modo squamis defensus et atrae duritia pellis validos cute reppulit ictus. At non duritia iaculum quoque vicit eadem: quod medio lentae spinae curvamine fixum constitit et totum descendit in ilia ferrum. Ille dolore ferox caput in sua terga retorsit vulneraque adspexit fixumque hastile momordit idque, ubi vi multa partem labefecit in omnem, vix tergo eripuit; ferrum tamen ossibus haesit. Tum vero, postquam solitas accessit ad iras
causa recens, plenis tumuerunt guttura venis, spumaque pestiferos circumfluit albida rictus, terraque rasa sonat squamis, quique halitus exit ore niger Stygio, vitiatas inficit auras. Ipse modo inmensum spiris facientibus orbem cingitur, interdum longa trabe rectior adstat impete nunc vasto ceu concitus imbribus amnis fertur et obstantes proturbat pectore silvas. Cedit Agenorides paulum spolioque leonis sustinet incursus instantiaque ora retardat cuspide praetenta. Furit ille et inania duro vulnera dat ferro figitque in acumine dentes.
Iamque venenifero sanguis manare palato coeperat et virides adspergine tinxerat herbas: sed leve vulnus erat, quia se retrahebat ab ictu laesaque colla dabat retro plagamque sedere cedendo arcebat nec longius ire sinebat, donec Agenorides coniectum in guttura ferrum usque sequens pressit, dum retro quercus eunti obstitit, et fixa est pariter cum robore cervix. Pondere serpentis curvata est arbor et ima parte flagellari gemuit sua robora caudae. Dum spatium victor victi considerat hostis, vox subito audita est; neque erat cognoscere promptum
unde, sed audita est: “Quid, Agenore nate, peremptum serpentem spectas? et tu spectabere serpens.” Ille diu pavidus pariter cum mente colorem perdiderat, gelidoque comae terrore rigebant. Ecce viri fautrix, superas delapsa per auras, Pallas adest motaeque iubet supponere terrae vipereos dentes, populi incrementa futuri. Paret et, ut presso sulcum patefecit aratro, spargit humi iussos, mortalia semina, dentes. Inde (fide maius) glaebae coepere moveri, primaque de sulcis acies apparuit hastae, tegmina mox capitum picto nutantia cono,
mox umeri pectusque onerataque bracchia telis exsistunt, crescitque seges clipeata virorum. Sic ubi tolluntur festis aulaea theatris, surgere signa solent primumque ostendere vultus, cetera paulatim, placidoque educta tenore tota patent imoque pedes in margine ponunt. Territus hoste novo Cadmus capere arma parabat: “ne cape”, de populo, quem terra creaverat, unus exclamat “nec te civilibus insere bellis.” Atque ita terrigenis rigido de fratribus unum comminus ense ferit; iaculo cadit eminus ipse. Hunc quoque qui leto dederat, non longius illo
vivit et exspirat modo quas acceperat auras; exemploque pari furit omnis turba, suoque Marte cadunt subiti per mutua vulnera fratres. Iamque brevis vitae spatium sortita iuventus sanguineam tepido plangebat pectore matrem, quinque superstitibus, quorum fuit unus Echion. Is sua iecit humo monitu Tritonidis arma fraternaeque fidem pacis petiitque deditque. Hos operis comites habuit Sidonius hospes, cum posuit iussam Phoebeis sortibus urbem. Iam stabant Thebae: poteras iam, Cadme, videri exsilio felix. Soceri tibi Marsque Venusque
contigerant: huc adde genus de coniuge tanta, tot natos natasque et pignera cara nepotes, hos quoque iam iuvenes. Sed scilicet ultima semper exspectanda dies homini est, dicique beatus ante obitum nemo supremaque funera debet. Prima nepos inter tot res tibi, Cadme, secundas causa fuit luctus, alienaque cornua fronti addita, vosque canes satiatae sanguine erili. At bene si quaeras, fortunae crimen in illo, non scelus invenies: quod enim scelus error habebat? Mons erat infectus variarum caede ferarum; iamque dies medius rerum contraxerat umbras
et sol ex aequo meta distabat utraque, cum iuvenis placido per devia lustra vagantes participes operum compellat Hyantius ore: “Lina madent, comites, ferrumque cruore ferarum, fortunamque dies habuit satis. Altera lucem cum croceis invecta rotis Aurora reducet, propositum repetemus opus; nunc Phoebus utraque distat idem terra finditque vaporibus arva. Sistite opus praesens nodosaque tollite lina.” Iussa viri faciunt intermittuntque laborem. Vallis erat piceis et acuta densa cupressu, nomine Gargaphie, succinctae sacra Dianae.
Cuius in extremo est antrum nemorale recessu, arte laboratum nulla: simulaverat artem ingenio natura suo; nam pumice vivo et levibus tofis nativum duxerat arcum. Fons sonat a dextra, tenui perlucidus unda, margine gramineo patulos succinctus hiatus. Hic dea silvarum venatu fessa solebat virgineos artus liquido perfundere rore. Quo postquam subiit, nympharum tradidit uni armigerae iaculum pharetramque arcusque retentos; altera depositae subiecit bracchia pallae, vincla duae pedibus demunt; nam doctior illis
Ismenis Crocale sparsos per colla capillos conligit in nodum, quamvis erat ipsa solutis. Excipiunt laticem Nepheleque Hyaleque Rhanisque et Psecas et Phiale funduntque capacibus urnis. Dumque ibi perluitur solita Titania lympha, ecce nepos Cadmi dilata parte laborum per nemus ignotum non certis passibus errans pervenit in lucum: sic illum fata ferebant. Qui simul intravit rorantia fontibus antra, sicut erant, viso nudae sua pectora nymphae percussere viro, subitisque ululatibus omne implevere nemus circumfusaeque Dianam
corporibus texere suis; tamen altior illis ipsa dea est colloque tenus supereminet omnes. Qui color infectis adversi solis ab ictu nubibus esse solet aut purpureae aurorae, is fuit in vultu visae sine veste Dianae. Quae quamquam comitum turba est stipata suarum, in latus obliquum tamen adstitit oraque retro flexit, et ut vellet promptas habuisse sagittas, quas habuit sic hausit aquas vultumque virilem perfudit, spargensque comas ultricibus undis addidit haec cladis praenuntia verba futurae: “Nunc tibi me posito visam velamine narres,
si poteris narrare, licet.” Nec plura minata dat sparso capiti vivacis cornua cervi, dat spatium collo summasque cacuminat aures, cum pedibusque manus, cum longis bracchia mutat cruribus et velat maculoso vellere corpus. Additus et pavor est. Fugit Autonoeius heros et se tam celerem cursu miratur in ipso. Ut vero vultus et cornua vidit in unda, “me miserum!” dicturus erat: vox nulla secuta est. Ingemuit: vox illa fuit, lacrimaeque per ora non sua fluxerunt; mens tantum pristina mansit. Quid faciat? repetatne domum et regalia tecta
an lateat silvis? pudor hoc, timor impedit illud. Dum dubitat, videre canes. Primumque Melampus Ichnobatesque sagax latratu signa dedere, Gnosius Ichnobates, Spartana gente Melampus. Inde ruunt alii rapida velocius aura, Pamphagus et Dorceus et Oribasus, Arcades omnes, Nebrophonusque valens et trux cum Laelape Theron et pedibus Pterelas et naribus utilis Agre, Hylaeusque ferox, nuper percussus ab apro, deque lupo concepta Nape, pecudesque secuta Poemenis et natis comitata Harpyia duobus, et substricta gerens Sicyonius ilia Ladon,
et Dromas et Canache Sticteque et Tigris et Alce et niveis Leucon et villis Asbolus atris praevalidusque Lacon et cursu fortis Aello et Thous et Cyprio velox cum fratre Lycisce, et nigram medio frontem distinctus ab albo Harpalos, et Melaneus hirsutaque corpore Lachne, et patre Dictaeo, sed matre Laconide nati Labros et Argiodus, et acutae vocis Hylactor, quosque referre mora est. Ea turba cupidine praedae per rupes scopulosque adituque carentia saxa, quaque est difficilis quaque est via nulla, sequuntur. Ille fugit per quae fuerat loca saepe secutus,
heu famulos fugit ipse suos. Clamare libebat “Actaeon ego sum, dominum cognoscite vestrum!” Verba animo desunt: resonat latratibus aether. Prima Melanchaetes in tergo vulnera fecit, proxima Therodamas, Oresitrophus haesit in armo: tardius exierant, sed per compendia montis anticipata via est. Dominum retinentibus illis, cetera turba coit confertque in corpore dentes. Iam loca vulneribus desunt. Gemit ille sonumque, etsi non hominis, quem non tamen edere possit cervus habet, maestisque replet iuga nota querellis. Et genibus pronis supplex similisque roganti
circumfert tacitos tamquam sua bracchia vultus. At comites rapidum solitis hortatibus agmen ignari instigant oculisque Actaeona quaerunt et velut absentem certatim Actaeona clamant (ad nomen caput ille refert), et abesse queruntur nec capere oblatae segnem spectacula praedae. Vellet abesse quidem, sed adest; velletque videre, non etiam sentire canum fera facta suorum. Undique circumstant mersisque in corpore rostris dilacerant falsi dominum sub imagine cervi. Rumor in ambiguo est: aliis violentior aequo visa dea est, alii laudant dignamque severa
virginitate vocant; pars invenit utraque causas. Sola Iovis coniunx non tam culpetne probetne eloquitur, quam clade domus ab Agenore ductae gaudet et a Tyria conlectum paelice transfert in generis socios odium. Subit ecce priori causa recens, gravidamque dolet de semine magni esse Iovis Semelen. Dum linguam ad iurgia solvit, “profeci quid enim totiens per iurgia?” dixit: “ipsa petenda mihi est, ipsam, si maxima Iuno rite vocor, perdam, si me gemmantia dextra sceptra tenere decet, si sum regina Iovisque et soror et coniunx, certe soror. At, puto, furto est
contenta, et thalami brevis est iniuria nostri: concipit, id deerat! manifestaque crimina pleno fert utero, et mater, quod vix mihi contigit uno de Iove vult fieri: tanta est fiducia formae. Fallat eam faxo; nec sum Saturnia, si non ab Iove mersa suo Stygias penetrabit in undas.” Surgit ab his solio fulvaque recondita nube limen adit Semeles. Nec nubes ante removit, quam simulavit anum posuitque ad tempora canos sulcavitque cutem rugis et curva trementi membra tulit passu; vocem quoque fecit anilem, ipsaque erat Beroe, Semeles Epidauria nutrix.
Ergo ubi captato sermone diuque loquendo ad nomen venere Iovis, suspirat et “opto, Iuppiter ut sit” ait: “metuo tamen omnia: multi nomine divorum thalamos iniere pudicos. Nec tamen esse Iovem satis est: det pignus amoris, si modo verus is est, quantusque et qualis ab alta Iunone excipitur, tantus talisque, rogato, det tibi complexus suaque ante insignia sumat.” Talibus ignaram Iuno Cadmeida dictis formarat. Rogat illa Iovem sine nomine munus. Cui deus “elige” ait: “nullam patiere repulsam. Quoque magis credas, Stygii quoque conscia sunto
numina torrentis: timor et deus ille deorum est“. Laeta malo nimiumque potens perituraque amantis obsequio Semele “qualem Saturnia” dixit “te solet amplecti, Veneris cum foedus initis, da mihi te talem.” Voluit deus ora loquentis opprimere: exierat iam vox properata sub auras. Ingemuit; neque enim non haec optasse, neque ille non iurasse potest. Ergo maestissimus altum aethera conscendit vultuque sequentia traxit nubila, quis nimbos inmixtaque fulgura ventis addidit et tonitrus et inevitabile fulmen. Qua tamen usque potest, vires sibi demere temptat;
nec, quo centimanum deiecerat igne Typhoea, nunc armatur eo: nimium feritatis in illo est. Est aliud levius fulmen, cui dextra Cyclopum saevitiae flammaeque minus, minus addidit irae; tela secunda vocant superi. Capit illa, domumque intrat Agenoream. Corpus mortale tumultus non tulit aetherios donisque iugalibus arsit. Imperfectus adhuc infans genetricis ab alvo eripitur, patrioque tener (si credere dignum est) insuitur femori maternaque tempora complet. Furtim illum primis Ino matertera cuuis educat: inde datum nymphae Nyseides antris
occuluere suis lactisque alimenta dedere. Dumque ea per terras fatali lege geruntur tutaque bis geniti sunt incunabula Bacchi, forte Iovem memorant, diffusum nectare, curas seposuisse graves vacuumque agitasse remissos cum Iunone iocos et “maior vestra profecto est, quam quae contingit maribus” dixisse “voluptas.” Illa negat. Placuit quae sit sententia docti quaerere Tiresiae: venus huic erat utraque nota. Nam duo magnorum viridi coeuntia silva corpora serpentum baculi violaverat ictu; deque viro factus (mirabile) femina septem
egerat autumnos. Octavo rursus eosdem vidit, et “est vestrae si tanta potentia plagae” dixit “ut auctoris sortem in contraria mutet, nunc quoque vos feriam.” Percussis anguibus isdem forma prior rediit genetivaque venit imago. Arbiter hic igitur sumptus de lite iocosa dicta Iovis firmat. Gravius Saturnia iusto nec pro materia fertur doluisse, suique iudicis aeterna damnavit lumina nocte. At pater omnipotens (neque enim licet inrita cuiquam facta dei fecisse deo) pro lumine adempto scire futura dedit, poenamque levavit honore.
Ille per Aonias fama celeberrimus urbes inreprehensa dabat populo responsa petenti. Prima fide vocisque ratae temptamina sumpsit caerula Liriope. Quam quondam flumine curvo implicuit clausaeque suis Cephisus in undis vim tulit. Enixa est utero pulcherrima pleno infantem, nymphis iam tunc qui posset amari, Narcissumque vocat. De quo consultus, an esset tempora maturae visurus longa senectae, fatidicus vates “si se non noverit” inquit. Vana diu visa est vox auguris: exitus illam resque probat letique genus novitasque furoris.
Namque ter ad quinos unum Cephisius annum addiderat poteratque puer iuvenisque videri: multi illum iuvenes, multae cupiere puellae. Sed fuit in tenera tam dura superbia forma: nulli illum iuvenes, nullae tetigere puellae. Adspicit hunc trepidos agitantem in retia cervos vocalis nymphe, quae nec reticere loquenti, nec prior ipsa loqui didicit, resonabilis Echo. Corpus adhuc Echo, non vox erat; et tamen usum garrula non alium, quam nunc habet, oris habebat, reddere de multis ut verba novissima posset. Fecerat hoc Iuno, quia, cum deprendere posset
cum Iove saepe suo nymphas in monte iacentes, illa deam longo prudens sermone tenebat, dum fugerent nymphae. Postquam Saturnia sensit “huius” ait “linguae, qua sum delusa, potestas parva tibi dabitur vocisque brevissimus usus”: reque minas firmat. Tamen haec in fine loquendi ingeminat voces auditaque verba reportat. Ergo ubi Narcissum per devia rura vagantem vidit et incaluit, sequitur vestigia furtim, quoque magis sequitur, flamma propiore calescit, non aliter, quam cum summis circumlita taedis admotas rapiunt vivacia sulphura flammas.
O quotiens voluit blandis accedere dictis et molles adhibere preces: natura repugnat nec sinit incipiat. Sed, quod sinit, illa parata est exspectare sonos, ad quos sua verba remittat. Forte puer comitum seductus ab agmine fido, dixerat “ecquis adest?” et “adest!” responderat Echo. Hic stupet, utque aciem partes dimittit in omnes, voce “veni!” magna clamat: vocat illa vocantem. Respicit et rursus nullo veniente “quid” inquit “me fugis?” et totidem, quot dixit, verba recepit. Perstat et, alternae deceptus imagine vocis, “huc coeamus!” ait: nullique libentius umquam
responsura sono “coeamus” rettulit Echo, et verbis favet ipsa suis egressaque silva ibat, ut iniceret sperato bracchia collo. Ille fugit fugiensque “manus complexibus aufer: ante” ait “emoriar, quam sit tibi copia nostri.” Rettulit illa nihil nisi “sit tibi copia nostri.” Spreta latet silvis pudibundaque frondibus ora protegit et solis ex illo vivit in antris. Sed tamen haeret amor crescitque dolore repulsae. Extenuant vigiles corpus miserabile curae, adducitque cutem macies et in aera sucus corporis omnis abit. Vox tantum atque ossa supersunt:
vox manet; ossa ferunt lapidis traxisse figuram. Sic hanc, sic alias undis aut montibus ortas luserat hic nymphas, sic coetus ante viriles. Inde manus aliquis despectus ad aethera tollens “sic amet ipse licet sic non potiatur amato!” dixerat. Adsensit precibus Rhamnusia iustis. Fons erat inlimis, nitidis argenteus undis, quem neque pastores neque pastae monte capellae contigerant aliudve pecus, quem nulla volucris nec fera turbarat nec lapsus ab arbore ramus. Gramen erat circa, quod proximus umor alebat, silvaque sole locum passura tepescere nullo.
Hic puer, et studio venandi lassus et aestu, procubuit faciemque loci fontemque secutus. Dumque bibit, visae correptus imagine formae adstupet ipse sibi, vultuque inmotus eodem haeret, ut e Pario formatum marmore signum. Spectat humi positus geminum, sua lumina, sidus et dignos Baccho, dignos et Apolline crines impubesque genas et eburnea colla decusque oris et in niveo mixtum candore ruborem, cunctaque miratur, quibus est mirabilis ipse. Se cupit imprudens et qui probat, ipse probatur, dumque petit, petitur, pariterque accendit et ardet.
Inrita fallaci quotiens dedit oscula fonti! In mediis quotiens visum captantia collum bracchia mersit aquis, nec se deprendit in illis! Quid videat, nescit: sed quod videt, uritur illo, atque oculos idem, qui decipit, incitat error. Credule, quid frusta simulacra fugacia captas? quod petis, est nusquam; quod amas, avertere, perdes. Ista repercussae, quam cernis, imaginis umbra est: nil habet ista sui; tecum venitque manetque, tecum discedet, si tu discedere possis. Non illum Cereris, non illum cura quietis abstrahere inde potest, sed opaca fusus in herba
spectat inexpleto mendacem lumine formam, perque oculos perit ipse suos; paulumque levatus ad circumstantes tendens sua bracchia silvas “ecquis, io silvae, crudelius” inquit “amavit? Scitis enim, et multis latebra opportuna fuistis. Ecquem, cum vestrae tot agantur saecula vitae, qui sic tabuerit, longo meministis in aevo? Et placet et video; sed quod videoque placetque, non tamen invenio: tantus tenet error amantem. Quoque magis doleam, nec nos mare separat ingens, nec via nec montes nec clausis moenia portis: exigua prohibemur aqua. Cupit ipse teneri:
nam quotiens liquidis porreximus oscula lymphis, hic totiens ad me resupino nititur ore. Posse putes tangi: minimum est, quod amantibus obstat. Quisquis es, huc exi! quid me, puer unice, fallis, quove petitus abis? certe nec forma nec aetas est mea quam fugias, et amarunt me quoque nymphae. Spem mihi nescio quam vultu promittis amico, cumque ego porrexi tibi bracchia, porrigis ultro: cum risi, adrides; lacrimas quoque saepe notavi me lacrimante tuas, nutu quoque signa remittis, et quantum motu formosi suspicor oris, verba refers aures non pervenientia nostras.
Iste ego sum: sensi, nec me mea fallit imago. Uror amore mei, flammas moveoque feroque. Quid faciam? roger, anne rogem? quid deinde rogabo? quod cupio mecum est: inopem me copia fecit. O utinam a nostro secedere corpore possem! Votum in amante novum: vellem quod amamus abesset! — Iamque dolor vires adimit, nec tempora vitae longa meae superant, primoque exstinguor in aevo. Nec mihi mors gravis est posituro morte dolores: hic, qui diligitur, vellem diuturnior esset. Nunc duo concordes anima moriemur in una.” Dixit et ad faciem rediit male sanus eandem
et lacrimis turbavit aquas, obscuraque moto reddita forma lacu est. Quam cum vidisset abire, “quo refugis? remane, nec me, crudelis, amantem desere!” clamavit: “liceat, quod tangere non est, adspicere et misero praebere alimenta furori.” Dumque dolet, summa vestem deduxit ab ora nudaque marmoreis percussit pectora palmis. Pectora traxerunt tenuem percussa ruborem, non aliter quam poma solent, quae candida parte, parte rubent, aut ut variis solet uva racemis ducere purpureum nondum matura colorem. Quae simul adspexit liquefacta rursus in unda,
non tulit ulterius, sed ut intabescere flavae igne levi cerae matutinaeque pruinae sole tepente solent, sic attenuatus amore liquitur et tecto paulatim carpitur igni. Et neque iam color est mixto candore rubori, nec vigor et vires et quae modo visa placebant, nec corpus remanet, quondam quod amaverat Echo. Quae tamen ut vidit, quamvis irata memorque, indoluit, quotiensque puer miserabilis “eheu” dixerat, haec resonis iterabat vocibus “eheu”; cumque suos manibus percusserat ille lacertos, haec quoque reddebat sonitum plangoris eundem.
Ultima vox solitam fuit haec spectantis in undam, “heu frustra dilecte puer!” totidemque remisit verba locus, dictoque vale “vale!” inquit et Echo. Ille caput viridi fessum submisit in herba; lumina mors clausit domini mirantia formam. Tunc quoque se, postquam est inferna sede receptus, in Stygia spectabat aqua. Planxere sorores naides et sectos fratri posuere capillos, planxerunt dryades: plangentibus adsonat Echo. Iamque rogum quassasque faces feretrumque parabant: nusquam corpus erat; croceum pro corpore florem inveniunt, foliis medium cingentibus albis.
Cognita res meritam vati per Achaidas urbes attulerat famam, nomenque erat auguris ingens. Spernit Echionides tamen hunc ex omnibus unus, contemptor superum, Pentheus, praesagaque ridet verba senis tenebrasque et cladem lucis ademptae obicit. Ille movens albentia tempora canis “quam felix esses, si tu quoque luminis huius orbus” ait “fieres, ne Bacchica sacra videres! Namque dies aderit, quam non procul auguror esse, qua novus huc veniat, proles Semeleia, Liber; quem nisi templorum fueris dignatus honore, mille lacer spargere locis et sanguine silvas
foedabis matremque tuam matrisque sorores. Evenient; neque enim dignabere numen honore, meque sub his tenebris nimium vidisse quereris.” Talia dicentem proturbat Echione natus. Dicta fides sequitur, responsaque vatis aguntur: Liber adest, festisque fremunt ululatibus agri; turba ruit, mixtaeque viris matresque nurusque vulgusque proceresque ignota ad sacra feruntur. “Quis furor, anguigenae, proles Mavortia, vestras attonuit mentes?” Pentheus ait: “aerane tantum aere repulsa valent et adunco tibia cornu et magicae fraudes, ut, quos non bellicus ensis,
non tuba terruerit, non strictis agmina telis, femineae voces et mota insania vino obscenique greges et inania tympana vincant? Vosne, senes, mirer, qui longa per aequora vecti hac Tyron, hac profugos posuistis sede penates, nunc sinitis sine Marte capi? vosne, acrior aetas, o iuvenes, propiorque meae, quos arma tenere, non thyrsos, galeaque tegi, non fronde, decebat? Este, precor, memores, qua sitis stirpe creati, illiusque animos, qui multos perdidit unus, sumite serpentis! Pro fontibus ille lacuque interiit: at vos pro fama vincite vestra!
Ille dedit leto fortes, vos pellite molles et patrium retinete decus. Si fata vetabant stare diu Thebas, utinam tormenta virique moenia diruerent, ferrumque ignisque sonarent! Essemus miseri sine crimine, sorsque querenda, non celanda foret, lacrimaeque pudore carerent. At nunc a puero Thebae capientur inermi, quem neque bella iuvant nec tela nec usus equorum, sed madidi murra crines mollesque coronae purpuraque et pictis intextum vestibus aurum. Quem quidem ego actutum (modo vos absistite) cogam adsumptumque patrem commentaque sacra fateri.
An satis Acrisio est animi contemnere vanum numen et Argolicas venienti claudere portas, Penthea terrebit cum totis advena Thebis? Ite citi” (famulis hoc imperat), “ite ducemque attrahite huc vinctum! iussis mora segnis abesto.” Hunc avus, hunc Athamas, hunc cetera turba suorum corripiunt dictis frustraque inhibere laborant. Acrior admonitu est, inritaturque retenta et crescit rabies, remoraminaque ipsa nocebant. Sic ego torrentem, qua nil obstabat eunti, lenius et modico strepitu decurrere vidi: at quacumque trabes obstructaque saxa tenebant,
spumeus et fervens et ab obice saevior ibat. Ecce cruentati redeunt et, Bacchus ubi esset, quaerenti domino Bacchum vidisse negarunt; “hunc” dixere “tamen comitem famulumque sacrorum cepimus”; et tradunt manibus post terga ligatis sacra dei quondam Tyrrhena gente secutum. Adspicit hunc Pentheus oculis, quos ira tremendos fecerat, et quamquam poenae vix tempora differt, “o periture tuaque aliis documenta dature morte” ait, “ede tuum nomen nomenque parentum et patriam, morisque novi cur sacra frequentes.” Ille metu vacuus “nomen mihi” dixit “Acoetes,
patria Maeonia est, humili de plebe parentes. Non mihi quae duri colerent pater arva iuvenci, lanigerosve greges, non ulla armenta reliquit; pauper et ipse fuit, linoque solebat et hamis decipere et calamo salientes ducere pisces. Ars illi sua census erat. Cum traderet artem, “accipe quas habeo, studii successor et heres,” dixit “opes.” Moriensque mihi nil ille reliquit praeter aquas: unum hoc possum appellare paternum. Mox ego, ne scopulis haererem semper in isdem, addidici regimen dextra moderante carinae flectere et Oleniae sidus pluviale capellae
Taygetenque hyadasque oculis arctonque notavi ventorumque domos et portus puppibus aptos. Forte petens Delum Chiae telluris ad oras applicor et dextris adducor litora remis, doque leves saltus udaeque inmittor harenae. Nox ubi consumpta est (aurora rubescere prima coeperat), exsurgo, laticesque inferre recentes admoneo monstroque viam, quae ducat ad undas. Ipse, quid aura mihi tumulo promittat ab alto prospicio comitesque voco repetoque carinam. “Adsumus en!” inquit sociorum primus Opheltes, utque putat, praedam deserto nactus in agro,
virginea puerum ducit per litora forma. Ille mero somnoque gravis titubare videtur vixque sequi. Specto cultum faciemque gradumque: nil ibi quod credi posset mortale videbam. Et sensi et dixi sociis: “Quod numen in isto corpore sit, dubito; sed corpore numen in isto est. Quisquis es, o faveas nostrisque laboribus adsis. His quoque des veniam.” — “Pro nobis mitte precari” Dictys ait, quo non alius conscendere summas ocior antemnas prensoque rudente relabi. Hoc Libys, hoc flavus, prorae tutela, Melanthus, hoc probat Alcimedon, et qui requiemque modumque
voce dabat remis, animorum hortator Epopeus, hoc omnes alii: praedae tam caeca cupido est. “Non tamen hanc sacro violari pondere pinum perpetiar” dixi: “pars hic mihi maxima iuris”; inque aditu obsisto. Furit audacissimus omni de numero Lycabas, qui Tusca pulsus ab urbe exsilium dira poenam pro caede luebat. Is mihi, dum resto, iuvenali guttura pugno rupit et excussum misisset in aequora, si non haesissem, quamvis amens, in fune retentus. Impia turba probat factum. Tum denique Bacchus (Bacchus enim fuerat), veluti clamore solutus
sit sopor aque mero redeant in pectora sensus, “quid facitis? quis clamor?” ait “qua, dicite, nautae, huc ope perveni? quo me deferre paratis?” “Pone metum”, Proreus “et quos contingere portus ede velis” dixit: “terra sistere petita.” — “Naxon” ait Liber “cursus advertite vestros. Illa mihi domus est, vobis erit hospita tellus.” Per mare fallaces perque omnia numina iurant sic fore, meque iubent pictae dare vela carinae. Dextera Naxos erat. Dextra mihi lintea danti “quid facis, o demens? quis te furor—?” inquit Opheltes. Pro se quisque timet: “laevam pete” maxima nutu
pars mihi significat, pars quid velit aure susurrat. Obstipui “capiat” que “aliquis moderamina” dixi meque ministerio scelerisque artisque removi. Increpor a cunctis, totumque inmurmurat agmen. E quibus Aethalion “te scilicet omnis in uno nostra salus posita est” ait, et subit ipse meumque explet opus, Naxoque petit diversa relicta. Tum deus inludens, tamquam modo denique fraudem senserit, e puppi pontum prospectat adunca et flenti similis “non haec mihi litora, nautae, promisistis” ait, “non haec mihi terra rogata est. Quo merui poenam facto? quae gloria vestra est,
si puerum iuvenes, si multi fallitis unum?” Iamdudum flebam: lacrimas manus impia nostras ridet et impellit properantibus aequora remis. Per tibi nunc ipsum (nec enim praesentior illo est deus) adiuro, tam me tibi vera referre, quam veri maiora fide: stetit aequore puppis haud aliter quam si siccum navale teneret. Illi admirantes remorum in verbere perstant velaque deducunt geminaque ope currere temptant. Impediunt hederae remos nexuque recurvo serpunt et gravidis distinguunt vela corymbis. Ipse racemiferis frontem circumdatus uvis
pampineis agitat velatam frondibus hastam. Quem circa tigres simulacraque inania lyncum pictarumque iacent fera corpora pantherarum. Exsiluere viri, sive hoc insania fecit, sive timor, primusque Medon nigrescere coepit corpore et expresso spinae curvamine flecti. Incipit huic Lycabas: “In quae miracula” dixit “verteris?” et lati rictus et panda loquenti naris erat, squamamque cutis durata trahebat. At Libys obstantes dum vult obvertere remos, in spatium resilire manus breve vidit et illas iam non esse manus, iam pinnas posse vocari.
Alter, ad intortos cupiens dare bracchia funes, bracchia non habuit, truncoque repandus in undas corpore desiluit: falcata novissima cauda est, qualia dimidiae sinuantur cornua lunae. Undique dant saltus multaque adspergine rorant emerguntque iterum redeuntque sub aequora rursus inque chori ludunt speciem lascivaque iactant corpora et acceptum patulis mare naribus efflant. De modo viginti (tot enim ratis illa ferebat) restabam solus. Pavidum gelidumque trementi corpore vixque meum firmat deus “excute” dicens “corde metum Diamque tene.” Delatus in illam
accessi sacris Baccheaque sacra frequento.” “Praebuimus longis” Pentheus “ambagibus aures” inquit “ut ira mora vires absumere posset. Praecipitem famuli rapite hunc cruciataque diris corpora tormentis Stygiae demittite nocti.” Protinus abstractus solidis Tyrrhenus Acoetes clauditur in tectis; et dum crudelia iussae instrumenta necis ferrumque ignesque parantur, sponte sua patuisse fores lapsasque lacertis sponte sua fama est nullo solvente catenas. Perstat Echionides. Nec iam iubet ire, sed ipse vadit, ubi electus facienda ad sacra Cithaeron
cantibus et clara bacchantum voce sonabat. Ut fremit acer equus, cum bellicus aere canoro signa dedit tubicen, pugnaeque adsumit amorem, Penthea sic ictus longis ululatibus aether movit, et audito clamore recanduit ira. Monte fere medio est, cingentibus ultima silvis, purus ab arboribus, spectabilis undique campus. Hic oculis illum cernentem sacra profanis prima videt, prima est insano concita cursu, prima suum misso violavit Penthea thyrso mater. “Io, geminae” clamavit “adeste sorores! ille aper, in nostris errat qui maximus agris,
ille mihi feriendus aper.” Ruit omnis in unum turba furens; cunctae coeunt trepidumque sequuntur, iam trepidum, iam verba minus violenta loquentem, iam se damnantem, iam se peccasse fatentem. Saucius ille tamen “fer opem, matertera” dixit “Autonoë! moveant animos Actaeonis umbrae.” Illa, quis Actaeon, nescit dextramque precantis abstulit: Inoo lacerata est altera raptu. Non habet infelix quae matri bracchia tendat, trunca sed ostendens deiectis vulnera membris “adspice, mater!” ait. Visis ululavit Agaue collaque iactavit movitque per aera crinem
avulsumque caput digitis complexa cruentis clamat “io comites, opus haec victoria nostrum est!” Non citius frondes autumni frigore tactas iamque male haerentes alta rapit arbore ventus, quam sunt membra viri manibus direpta nefandis. Talibus exemplis monitae nova sacra frequentant turaque dant sanctasque colunt Ismenides aras.
Book 4
At non Alcithoe Minyeias orgia censet accipienda dei, sed adhuc temeraria Bacchum progeniem negat esse Iovis, sociasque sorores inpietatis habet. Festum celebrare sacerdos inmunesque operum famulas dominasque suorum pectora pelle tegi, crinales solvere vittas, serta coma, manibus frondentes sumere thyrsos iusserat, et saevam laesi fore numinis iram vaticinatus erat. Parent matresque nurusque telasque calathosque infectaque pensa reponunt, turaque dant Bacchumque vocant Bromiumque Lyaeumque ignigenamque satumque iterum solumque bimatrem:
additur his Nyseus indetonsusque Thyoneus, et cum Lenaeo genialis consitor uvae, Nycteliusque Eleleusque parens et Iacchus et Euhan, et quae praeterea per Graias plurima gentes nomina, Liber, habes. Tibi enim inconsumpta iuventa est, tu puer aeternus, tu formosissimus alto conspiceris caelo, tibi, cum sine cornibus adstas, virgineum caput est. Oriens tibi victus, adusque decolor extremo qua tingitur India Gange: Penthea tu, venerande, bipenniferumque Lycurgum sacrilegos mactas, Tyrrhenaque mittis in aequor corpora, tu biiugum pictis insignia frenis
colla premis lyncum; bacchae satyrique sequuntur, quique senex ferula titubantes ebrius artus sustinet et pando non fortiter haeret asello. Quacumque ingrederis, clamor iuvenalis et una femineae voces inpulsaque tympana palmis concavaque aera sonant longoque foramine buxus. “Placatus mitisque” rogant Ismenides “adsis,” iussaque sacra colunt. Solae Minyeides intus intempestiva turbantes festa Minerva aut ducunt lanas, aut stamina pollice versant, aut haerent telae famulasque laboribus urgent. E quibus una levi deducens pollice filum
“dum cessant aliae commentaque sacra frequentant, nos quoque, quas Pallas, melior dea, detinet” inquit, “utile opus manuum vario sermone levemus: perque vices aliquid, quod tempora longa videri non sinat, in medium vacuas referamus ad aures.” Dicta probant primamque iubent narrare sorores. Illa, quid e multis referat (nam plurima norat), cogitat et dubia est, de te, Babylonia, narret, Derceti, quam versa squamis velantibus artus stagna Palaestini credunt motasse figura; an magis, ut sumptis illius filia pennis extremos albis in turribus egerit annos;
nais an ut cantu nimiumque potentibus herbis verterit in tacitos iuvenalia corpora pisces, donec idem passa est; an, quae poma alba ferebat, ut nunc nigra ferat contactu sanguinis arbor. Hoc placet, hanc, quoniam vulgaris fabula non est, talibus orsa modis, lana sua fila sequente: “Pyramus et Thisbe, iuvenum pulcherrimus alter, altera, quas oriens habuit, praelata puellis, contiguas tenuere domos, ubi dicitur altam coctilibus muris cinxisse Semiramis urbem. Notitiam primosque gradus vicinia fecit: tempore crevit amor. Taedae quoque iure coissent:
sed vetuere patres. Quod non potuere vetare, ex aequo captis ardebant mentibus ambo. Conscius omnis abest: nutu signisque loquuntur, quoque magis tegitur, tectus magis aestuat ignis. Fissus erat tenui rima, quam duxerat olim, cum fieret paries domui communis utrique. Id vitium nulli per saecula longa notatum (quid non sentit amor?) primi vidistis amantes, et vocis fecistis iter; tutaeque per illud murmure blanditiae minimo transire solebant. Saepe, ubi constiterant hinc Thisbe, Pyramus illinc, inque vices fuerat captatus anhelitus oris,
“invide” dicebant “paries, quid amantibus obstas? quantum erat, ut sineres toto nos corpore iungi, aut hoc si nimium est, vel ad oscula danda pateres? Nec sumus ingrati: tibi nos debere fatemur, quod datus est verbis ad amicas transitus aures.” Talia diversa nequiquam sede locuti sub noctem dixere ”vale” partique dedere oscula quisque suae non pervenientia contra. Postera nocturnos aurora removerat ignes, solque pruinosas radiis siccaverat herbas: ad solitum coiere locum. Tum murmure parvo multa prius questi, statuunt, ut nocte silenti
fallere custodes foribusque excedere temptent, cumque domo exierint, urbis quoque tecta relinquant; neve sit errandum lato spatiantibus arvo, conveniant ad busta Nini lateantque sub umbra arboris. Arbor ibi, niveis uberrima pomis ardua morus, erat, gelido contermina fonti. Pacta placent. Et lux, tarde discedere visa, praecipitatur aquis, et aquis nox exit ab isdem. Callida per tenebras versato cardine Thisbe egreditur fallitque suos, adopertaque vultum pervenit ad tumulum, dictaque sub arbore sedit. Audacem faciebat amor. Venit ecce recenti
caede leaena boum spumantes oblita rictus, depositura sitim vicini fontis in unda. Quam procul ad lunae radios Babylonia Thisbe vidit et obscurum timido pede fugit in antrum, dumque fugit, tergo velamina lapsa reliquit. Ut lea saeva sitim multa conpescuit unda, dum redit in silvas, inventos forte sine ipsa ore cruentato tenues laniavit amictus. Serius egressus vestigia vidit in alto pulvere certa ferae totoque expalluit ore Pyramus: ut vero vestem quoque sanguine tinctam repperit, “una duos” inquit “nox perdet amantes.
E quibus illa fuit longa dignissima vita, nostra nocens anima est: ego te, miseranda, peremi, in loca plena metus qui iussi nocte venires, nec prior huc veni. Nostrum divellite corpus, et scelerata fero consumite viscera morsu, o quicumque sub hac habitatis rupe, leones. Sed timidi est optare necem.” Velamina Thisbes tollit et ad pactae secum fert arboris umbram; utque dedit notae lacrimas, dedit oscula vesti, “accipe nunc” inquit “nostri quoque sanguinis haustus!” quoque erat accinctus, demisit in ilia ferrum, nec mora, ferventi moriens e vulnere traxit.
Ut iacuit resupinus humo: cruor emicat alte, non aliter quam cum vitiato fistula plumbo scinditur et tenui stridente foramine longas eiaculatur aquas atque ictibus aera rumpit. Arborei fetus adspergine caedis in atram vertuntur faciem, madefactaque sanguine radix purpureo tingit pendentia mora colore. Ecce metu nondum posito, ne fallat amantem, illa redit iuvenemque oculis animoque requirit, quantaque vitarit narrare pericula gestit. Utque locum et visa cognoscit in arbore formam, sic facit incertam pomi color: haeret, an haec sit.
Dum dubitat, tremebunda videt pulsare cruentum membra solum, retroque pedem tulit, oraque buxo pallidiora gerens exhorruit aequoris instar, quod tremit, exigua cum summum stringitur aura. Sed postquam remorata suos cognovit amores, percutit indignos claro plangore lacertos, et laniata comas amplexaque corpus amatum vulnera supplevit lacrimis fletumque cruori miscuit et gelidis in vultibus oscula figens “Pyrame” clamavit “quis te mihi casus ademit? Pyrame, responde: tua te carissima Thisbe nominat: exaudi vultusque attolle iacentes!”
Ad nomen Thisbes oculos iam morte gravatos Pyramus erexit, visaque recondidit illa. Quae postquam vestemque suam cognovit et ense vidit ebur vacuum, “tua te manus” inquit “amorque perdidit, infelix. Est et mihi fortis in unum hoc manus, est et amor: dabit hic in vulnera vires. Persequar exstinctum letique miserrima dicar causa comesque tui; quique a me morte revelli heu sola poteras, poteris nec morte revelli. Hoc tamen amborum verbis estote rogati, o multum miseri meus illiusque parentes, ut quos certus amor, quos hora novissima iunxit,
conponi tumulo non invideatis eodem. At tu quae ramis arbor miserabile corpus nunc tegis unius, mox es tectura duorum, signa tene caedis pullosque et luctibus aptos semper habe fetus, gemini monimenta cruoris.” Dixit, et aptato pectus mucrone sub imum incubuit ferro, quod adhuc a caede tepebat. Vota tamen tetigere deos, tetigere parentes: nam color in pomo est, ubi permaturuit, ater, quodque rogis superest, una requiescit in urna.” Desierat, mediumque fuit breve tempus, et orsa est dicere Leuconoe: vocem tenuere sorores.
“Hunc quoque, siderea qui temperat omnia luce, cepit amor Solem: Solis referemus amores. Primus adulterium Veneris cum Marte putatur hic vidisse deus: videt hic deus omnia primus. Indoluit facto, Iunonigenaeque marito furta tori furtique locum monstravit. At illi et mens et quod opus fabrilis dextra tenebat excidit. Extemplo graciles ex aere catenas retiaque et laqueos, quae lumina fallere possent, elimat (non illud opus tenuissima vincant stamina, non summo quae pendet aranea tigno), utque leves tactus momentaque parva sequantur
efficit et lecto circumdata collocat arte. Ut venere torum coniunx et adulter in unum, arte viri vinclisque nova ratione paratis in mediis ambo deprensi amplexibus haerent. Lemnius extemplo valvas patefecit eburnas admisitque deos: illi iacuere ligati turpiter; atque aliquis de dis non tristibus optat sic fieri turpis: superi risere, diuque haec fuit in toto notissima fabula caelo. Exigit indicii memorem Cythereia poenam, inque vices illum, tectos qui laesit amores, laedit amore pari. Quid nunc, Hyperione nate,
forma colorque tibi radiataque lumina prosunt? Nempe tuis omnes qui terras ignibus uris, ureris igne novo; quique omnia cernere debes, Leucothoen spectas, et virgine figis in una, quos mundo debes oculos. Modo surgis Eoo temperius caelo, modo serius incidis undis, spectandique mora brumales porrigis horas, deficis interdum, vitiumque in lumina mentis transit et obscurus mortalia pectora terres. Nec, tibi quod lunae terris propioris imago obstiterit, palles: facit hunc amor iste colorem. Diligis hanc unam; nec te Clymeneque Rhodosque
nec tenet Aeaeae genetrix pulcherrima Circes, quaeque tuos Clytie quamvis despecta petebat concubitus ipsoque illo grave vulnus habebat tempore: Leucothoe multarum oblivia fecit, gentis odoriferae quam formosissima partu edidit Eurynome. Sed postquam filia crevit, quam mater cunctas, tam matrem filia vicit. Rexit Achaemenias urbes pater Orchamus, isque septimus a prisco numeratur origine Belo. Axe sub Hesperio sunt pascua Solis equorum. Ambrosiam pro gramine habent: ea fessa diurnis membra ministeriis nutrit reparatque labori.
Dumque ibi quadrupedes caelestia pabula carpunt, noxque vicem peragit, thalamos deus intrat amatos, versus in Eurynomes faciem genetricis, et inter bis sex Leucothoen famulas ad lumina cernit levia versato ducentem stamina fuso. Ergo ubi ceu mater carae dedit oscula natae, “res” ait “arcana est. Famulae, discedite neve eripite arbitrium matri secreta loquendi.” Paruerant: thalamoque deus sine teste relicto “ille ego sum” dixit, “qui longum metior annum, omnia qui video, per quem videt omnia tellus, mundi oculus. Mihi, crede, places.” Pavet illa, metuque
et colus et fusus digitis cecidere remissis. Ipse timor decuit. Nec longius ille moratus in veram rediit speciem solitumque nitorem: at virgo, quamvis inopino territa visu, victa nitore dei posita vim passa querella est. Invidit Clytie (neque enim moderatus in illa Solis amor fuerat), stimulataque paelicis ira vulgat adulterium diffamatumque parenti indicat. Ille ferox inmansuetusque precantem tendentemque manus ad lumina Solis et “ille vim tulit invitae” dicentem defodit alta crudus humo, tumulumque super gravis addit harenae.
Dissipat hunc radiis Hyperione natus iterque dat tibi, qua possis defossos promere vultus. Nec tu iam poteras enectum pondere terrae tollere, nympha, caput corpusque exsangue iacebas. Nil illo fertur volucrum moderator equorum post Phaethonteos vidisse dolentius ignes. Ille quidem gelidos radiorum viribus artus si queat in vivum temptat revocare calorem: sed quoniam tantis fatum conatibus obstat, nectare odorato sparsit corpusque locumque, multaque praequestus “tanges tamen aethera” dixit. Protinus inbutum caelesti nectare corpus
dilicuit terramque suo madefecit odore: virgaque per glaebas sensim radicibus actis turea surrexit tumulumque cacumine rupit. At Clytien, quamvis amor excusare dolorem, indiciumque dolor poterat, non amplius auctor lucis adit venerisque modum sibi fecit in illa. Tabuit ex illo dementer amoribus usa nympha larum inpatiens, et sub Iove nocte dieque sedit humo nuda, nudis incompta capillis, perque novem luces expers undaeque cibique rore mero lacrimisque suis ieiunia pavit nec se movit humo: tantum spectabat euntis
ora dei vultusque suos flectebat ad illum. Membra ferunt haesisse solo, partemque coloris luridus exsangues pallor convertit in herbas; est in parte rubor, violaeque simillimus ora flos tegit. Illa suum, quamvis radice tenetur, vertitur ad Solem, mutataque servat amorem.” Dixerat, et factum mirabile ceperat aures. Pars fieri potuisse negant, pars omnia veros posse deos memorant: sed non et Bacchus in illis. Poscitur Alcithoe, postquam siluere sorores. Quae radio stantis percurrens stamina telae “vulgatos taceo” dixit “pastoris amores
Daphnidis Idaei, quem nymphe paelicis ira contulit in saxum (tantus dolor urit amantes). Nec loquor, ut quondam naturae iure novato ambiguus fuerit modo vir, modo femina Sithon. Te quoque, nunc adamas, quondam fidissime parvo, Celmi, Iovi, largoque satos Curetas ab imbri et Crocon in parvos versum cum Smilace flores praetereo, dulcique animos novitate tenebo. Unde sit infamis, quare male fortibus undis Salmacis enervet tactosque remolliat artus, discite. Causa latet, vis est notissima fontis. Mercurio puerum diva Cythereide natum
naides Idaeis enutrivere sub antris; cuius erat facies, in qua materque paterque cognosci possent; nomen quoque traxit ab illis. Is tria cum primum fecit quinquennia, montes deseruit patrios, Idaque altrice relicta ignotis errare locis, ignota videre flumina gaudebat, studio minuente laborem. Ille etiam Lycias urbes Lyciaeque propinquos Caras adit. Videt hic stagnum lucentis ad imum usque solum lymphae. Non illic canna palustris nec steriles ulvae nec acuta cuspide iunci: perspicuus liquor est; stagni tamen ultima vivo
caespite cinguntur semperque virentibus herbis. Nympha colit, sed nec venatibus apta, nec arcus flectere quae soleat nec quae contendere cursu, solaque naiadum celeri non nota Dianae. Saepe suas illi fama est dixisse sorores: “Salmaci, vel iaculum vel pictas sume pharetras, et tua cum duris venatibus otia misce.” Nec iaculum sumit nec pictas illa pharetras, nec sua cum duris venatibus otia miscet, sed modo fonte suo formosos perluit artus, saepe Cytoriaco deducit pectine crines et, quid se deceat, spectatas consulit undas;
nunc perlucenti circumdata corpus amictu mollibus aut foliis aut mollibus incubat herbis; saepe legit flores. Et tunc quoque forte legebat, cum puerum vidit visumque optavit habere. Nec tamen ante adiit, etsi properabat adire, quam se conposuit, quam circumspexit amictus, et finxit vultum et meruit formosa videri. Tum sic orsa loqui: “Puer o dignissime credi esse deus, seu tu deus es, potes esse Cupido, sive es mortalis, qui te genuere, beati, et frater felix, et fortunata profecto, siqua tibi soror est, et quae dedit ubera nutrix:
sed longe cunctis longeque beatior illa, siqua tibi sponsa est, siquam dignabere taeda. Haec tibi sive aliqua est, mea sit furtiva voluptas, seu nulla est, ego sim, thalamumque ineamus eundem.” Nais ab his tacuit. Pueri rubor ora notavit (nescit enim, quid amor), sed et erubuisse decebat. Hic color aprica pendentibus arbore pomis aut ebori tincto est, aut sub candore rubenti, cum frustra resonant aera auxiliaria, lunae. Poscenti nymphae sine fine sororia saltem oscula iamque manus ad eburnea colla ferenti “desinis? aut fugio, tecumque” ait “ista relinquo.”
Salmacis extimuit “loca” que “haec tibi libera trado, hospes” ait, simulatque gradu discedere verso, tunc quoque respiciens, fruticumque recondita silva delituit, flexuque genu submisit. At ille, scilicet ut vacuis et inobservatus in herbis, huc it et hinc illuc, et in adludentibus undis summa pedum taloque tenus vestigia tingit; nec mora, temperie blandarum captus aquarum mollia de tenero velamina corpore ponit. Tum vero placuit, nudaeque cupidine formae Salmacis exarsit: flagrant quoque lumina nymphae, non aliter quam cum puro nitidissimus orbe
opposita speculi referitur imagine Phoebus. Vixque moram patitur, vix iam sua gaudia differt, iam cupit amplecti, iam se male continet amens. Ille cavis velox adplauso corpore palmis desilit in latices, alternaque bracchia ducens in liquidis translucet aquis, ut eburnea siquis signa tegat claro vel candida lilia vitro. “Vicimus et meus est!” exclamat nais et omni veste procul iacta mediis inmittitur undis, pugnantemque tenet luctantiaque oscula carpit, subiectatque manus invitaque pectora tangit, et nunc hac iuveni, nunc circumfunditur illac;
denique nitentem contra elabique volentem inplicat, ut serpens, quam regia sustinet ales sublimemque rapit: pendens caput illa pedesque adligat et cauda spatiantes inplicat alas: utve solent hederae longos intexere truncos, utque sub aequoribus deprensum polypus hostem continet, ex omni dimissis parte flagellis. Perstat Atlantiades, sperataque gaudia nymphae denegat. Illa premit, commissaque corpore toto sicut inhaerebat, “pugnes licet, inprobe” dixit, “non tamen effugies. Ita di iubeatis! et istum nulla dies a me nec me diducat ab isto.”
Vota suos habuere deos: nam mixta duorum corpora iunguntur, faciesque inducitur illis una, velut, siquis conducat cortice ramos, crescendo iungi pariterque adolescere cernit. Sic ubi conplexu coierunt membra tenaci, nec duo sunt et forma duplex, nec femina dici nec puer ut possit: neutrumque et utrumque videntur. Ergo ubi se liquidas, quo vir descenderat, undas semimarem fecisse videt, mollitaque in illis membra, manus tendens, sed non iam voce virili, Hermaphroditus ait: “Nato date munera vestro, et pater et genetrix, amborum nomen habenti:
quisquis in hos fontes vir venerit, exeat inde semivir et tactis subito mollescat in undis.” Motus uterque parens nati rata verba biformis fecit et incesto fontem medicamine tinxit.” Finis erat dictis. Sed adhuc Minyeia proles urget opus spernitque deum festumque profanat, tympana cum subito non adparentia raucis obstrepuere sonis, et adunco tibia cornu tinnulaque aera sonant; redolent murraeque crocique, resque fide maior, coepere virescere telae inque hederae faciem pendens frondescere vestis. Pars abit in vites, et quae modo fila fuerunt,
palmite mutantur; de stamine pampinus exit; purpura fulgorem pictis adcommodat uvis. Iamque dies exactus erat, tempusque subibat, quod tu nec tenebras nec possis dicere lucem, sed cum luce tamen dubiae confinia noctis: tecta repente quati pinguesque ardere videntur lampades et rutilis conlucere ignibus aedes falsaque saevarum simulacra ululare ferarum. Fumida iamdudum latitant per tecta sorores, diversaeque locis ignes ac lumina vitant; dumque petunt tenebras, parvos membrana per artus porrigitur tenuique includit bracchia pinna.
Nec qua perdiderint veterem ratione figuram scire sinunt tenebrae. Non illas pluma levavit, sustinuere tamen se perlucentibus alis; conataeque loqui minimam et pro corpore vocem emittunt, peraguntque leves stridore querellas. Tectaque, non silvas celebrant lucemque perosae nocte volant, seroque tenent a vespere nomen. Tum vero totis Bacchi memorabile Thebis numen erat, magnasque novi matertera vires narrat ubique dei, de totque sororibus expers una doloris erat, nisi quem fecere sorores. Adspicit hanc natis thalamoque Athamantis habentem
sublimes animos et alumno numine Iuno, nec tulit, et secum “potuit de paelice natus vertere Maeonios pelagoque inmergere nautas et laceranda suae nati dare viscera matri et triplices operire novis Minyeidas alis: nil poterit Iuno nisi inultos flere dolores? idque mihi satis est? haec una potentia nostra est? ipse docet, quid agam (fas est et ab hoste doceri), quidque furor valeat, Penthea caede satisque ac super ostendit: cur non stimuletur eatque per cognata suis exempla furoribus Ino?” Est via declivis funesta nubila taxo,
ducit ad infernas per muta silentia sedes. Styx nebulas exhalat iners, umbraeque recentes descendunt illac simulacraque functa sepulcris. Mille capax aditus et apertas undique portas urbs habet, utque fretum de tota flumina terra, sic omnes animas locus accipit ille, nec ulli exiguus populo est, turbamve accedere sentit. Errant exsangues sine corpore et ossibus umbrae, parsque forum celebrant, pars imi tecta tyranni, pars aliquas artes, antiquae imitamina vitae. Sustinet ire illuc caelesti sede relicta (tantum odiis iraeque dabat) Saturnia Iuno.
Quo simul intravit sacroque a corpore pressum ingemuit limen, tria Cerberus extulit ora et tres latratus semel edidit. Illa sorores Nocte vocat genitas, grave et inplacabile numen. Carceris ante fores clausas adamante sedebant deque suis atros pectebant crinibus angues. Quam simul agnorunt inter caliginis umbras, surrexere deae. Sedes scelerata vocatur: viscera praebebat Tityos lanianda novemque iugeribus distentus erat; tibi, Tantale, nullae deprenduntur aquae, quaeque inminet, effugit arbor; aut petis aut urges rediturum, Sisyphe, saxum;
volvitur Ixion et se sequiturque fugitque; molirique suis letum patruelibus ausae adsiduae repetunt, quas perdant, Belides undas. Quos omnes acie postquam Saturnia torva vidit et ante omnes Ixiona, rursus ab illo Sisyphon adspiciens “cur hic e fratribus” inquit “perpetuas patitur poenas, Athamanta superbum regia dives habet, qui me cum coniuge semper sprevit?” et exponit causas odiique viaeque, quidque velit. Quod vellet, erat, ne regia Cadmi staret, et in facinus traherent Athamanta sorores. Imperium, promissa, preces confundit in unum
sollicitatque deas. Sic haec Iunone locuta, Tisiphone, canos ut erat turbata capillos, movit et obstantes reiecit ab ore colubras atque ita “non longis opus est ambagibus” inquit: “facta puta, quaecumque iubes. Inamabile regnum desere teque refer caeli melioris ad auras.” Laeta redit Iuno, quam caelum intrare parantem roratis lustravit aquis Thaumantias Iris. Nec mora, Tisiphone madefactam sanguine sumit inportuna facem, fluidoque cruore rubentem induitur pallam tortoque incingitur angue egrediturque domo. Luctus comitatur euntem
et Pavor et Terror trepidoque Insania vultu. Limine constiterat: postes tremuisse feruntur Aeolii pallorque fores infecit acernas, solque locum fugit. Monstris exterrita coniunx, territus est Athamas. Tectoque exire parabant: obstitit infelix aditumque obsedit Erinys, nexaque vipereis distendens bracchia nodis caesariem excussit. Motae sonuere colubrae, parsque iacent umeris, pars circum pectora lapsae sibila dant saniemque vomunt linguisque coruscant. Inde duos mediis abrumpit crinibus angues pestiferaque manu raptos inmisit. At illi
Inoosque sinus Athamanteosque pererrant inspirantque graves animas. Nec vulnera membris ulla ferunt: mens est, quae diros sentiat ictus. Attulerat secum liquidi quoque monstra veneni, oris Cerberei spumas et virus Echidnae erroresque vagos caecaeque oblivia mentis et scelus et lacrimas rabiemque et caedis amorem, omnia trita simul; quae sanguine mixta recenti coxerat aere cavo viridi versata cicuta. Dumque pavent illi, vergit furiale venenum pectus in amborum praecordiaque intima movit. Tum face iactata per eundem saepius orbem
consequitur motis velociter ignibus ignes. Sic victrix iussique potens ad inania magni regna redit Ditis sumptumque recingitur anguem. Protinus Aeolides media furibundus in aula clamat “io, comites, his retia tendite silvis! hic modo cum gemina visa est mihi prole leaena:” utque ferae sequitur vestigia coniugis amens deque sinu matris ridentem et parva Learchum bracchia tendentem rapit et bis terque per auras more rotat fundae rigidoque infantia saxo discutit ora ferox. Tum denique concita mater, seu dolor hoc fecit seu sparsi causa veneni,
exululat passisque fugit male sana capillis teque ferens parvum nudis, Melicerta, lacertis “euhoe Bacche” sonat. Bacchi sub nomine Iuno risit et “hos usus praestet tibi” dixit “alumnus.” Inminet aequoribus scopulus: pars ima cavatur fluctibus et tectas defendit ab imbribus undas, summa riget frontemque in apertum porrigit aequor. Occupat hunc (vires insania fecerat) Ino, seque super pontum nullo tardata timore mittit onusque suum; percussa recanduit unda. At Venus, inmeritae neptis miserata labores, sic patruo blandita suo est: “O numen aquarum,
proxima cui caelo cessit, Neptune, potestas, magna quidem posco, sed tu miserere meorum, iactari quos cernis in Ionio inmenso, et dis adde tuis. Aliqua et mihi gratia ponto est, si tamen in medio quondam concreta profundo spuma fui Graiumque manet mihi nomen ab illa.” Adnuit oranti Neptunus et abstulit illis, quod mortale fuit, maiestatemque verendam inposuit nomenque simul faciemque novavit Leucothoeque deum cum matre Palaemona dixit. Sidoniae comites, quantum valuere secutae signa pedum, primo videre novissima saxo;
nec dubium de morte ratae Cadmeida palmis deplanxere domum, scissae cum veste capillos, utque parum iustae nimiumque in paelice saevae invidiam fecere deae. Convicia Iuno non tulit et “faciam vos ipsas maxima” dixit “saevitiae monimenta meae.” Res dicta secuta est. Nam quae praecipue fuerat pia, “persequar” inquit “in freta reginam” saltumque datura moveri haud usquam potuit scopuloque adfixa cohaesit. Altera, dum solito temptat plangore ferire pectora, temptatos sensit riguisse lacertos; illa, manus ut forte tetenderat in maris undas,
saxea facta manus in easdem porrigit undas; huius, ut arreptum laniabat vertice crinem, duratos subito digitos in crine videres: quo quaeque in gestu deprensa est, haesit in illo. Pars volucres factae; quae nunc quoque gurgite in illo aequora destringunt summis Ismenides alis. Nescit Agenorides natam parvumque nepotem aequoris esse deos: luctu serieque malorum victus et ostentis, quae plurima viderat, exit conditor urbe sua, tamquam fortuna locorum, non sua se premeret; longisque erroribus actus contigit Illyricos profuga cum coniuge fines.
Iamque malis annisque graves, dum prima retractant fata domus releguntque suos sermone labores, “num sacer ille mea traiectus cuspide serpens” Cadmus ait “fuerat, tum, cum Sidone profectus vipereos sparsi per humum, nova semina, dentes? Quem si cura deum tam certa vindicat ira, ipse precor serpens in longam porrigar alvum.” Dixit, et ut serpens in longam tenditur alvum durataeque cuti squamas increscere sentit nigraque caeruleis variari corpora guttis. In pectusque cadit pronus. Commissaque in unum paulatim tereti tenuantur acumine crura.
Bracchia iam restant: quae restant bracchia tendit et lacrimis per adhuc humana fluentibus ora “accede, o coniunx, accede, miserrima,” dixit “dumque aliquid superest de me, me tange manumque accipe, dum manus est, dum non totum occupat anguis!” Ille quidem vult plura loqui, sed lingua repente in partes est fissa duas: nec verba volenti sufficiunt, quotiensque aliquos parat edere questus, sibilat: hanc illi vocem natura reliquit. Nuda manu feriens exclamat pectora coniunx “Cadme, mane, teque, infelix, his exue monstris! Cadme, quid hoc? ubi pes, ubi sunt umerique manusque
et color et facies et, dum loquor, omnia? cur non me quoque, caelestes, in eandem vertitis anguem?” Dixerat: ille suae lambebat coniugis ora inque sinus caros, veluti cognosceret, ibat et dabat amplexus adsuetaque colla petebat. Quisquis adest (aderant comites), terretur: at illa lubrica permulcet cristati colla draconis. Et subito duo sunt iunctoque volumine serpunt, donec in adpositi nemoris subiere latebras. Nunc quoque nec fugiunt hominem nec vulnere laedunt quidque prius fuerint, placidi meminere dracones. Sed tamen ambobus versae solacia formae
magna nepos dederat, quem debellata colebat India, quem positis celebrabat Achaia templis. Solus Abantiades ab origine cretus eadem Acrisius superest, qui moenibus arceat urbis Argolicae contraque deum ferat arma genusque non putet esse Iovis; neque enim Iovis esse putabat Persea, quem pluvio Danae conceperat auro. Mox tamen Acrisium (tanta est praesentia veri) tam violasse deum quam non agnosse nepotem paenitet: inpositus iam caelo est alter, at alter viperei referens spolium memorabile monstri aera carpebat tenerum stridentibus alis.
Cumque super Libycas victor penderet harenas, Gorgonei capitis guttae cecidere cruentae. Quas humus exceptas varios animavit in angues: unde frequens illa est infestaque terra colubris. Inde per inmensum ventis discordibus actus nunc huc, nunc illuc exemplo nubis aquosae fertur et ex alto seductas aethere longe despectat terras totumque supervolat orbem. Ter gelidas Arctos, ter Cancri bracchia vidit: saepe sub occasus, saepe est ablatus in ortus. Iamque cadente die, veritus se credere nocti, constitit Hesperio, regnis Atlantis, in orbe,
exiguamque petit requiem, dum Lucifer ignes evocet Aurorae, currus Aurora diurnos. Hic hominum cunctis ingenti corpore praestans Iapetionides Atlas fuit. Ultima tellus rege sub hoc et pontus erat, qui Solis anhelis aequora subdit equis et fessos excipit axes. Mille greges illi totidemque armenta per herbas errabant, et humum vicinia nulla premebant. Arboreae frondes auro radiante nitentes ex auro ramos, ex auro poma tegebant. “Hospes,” ait Perseus illi, “seu gloria tangit te generis magni, generis mihi Iuppiter auctor;
sive es mirator rerum, mirabere nostras. Hospitium requiemque peto.” Memor ille vetustae sortis erat: Themis hanc dederat Parnasia sortem: “Tempus, Atla, veniet, tua quo spoliabitur auro arbor, et hunc praedae titulum Iove natus habebit.” Id metuens solidis pomaria clauserat Atlas moenibus et vasto dederat servanda draconi arcebatque suis externos finibus omnes. Huic quoque “vade procul, ne longe gloria rerum, quam mentiris” ait, “longe tibi Iuppiter absit!” vimque minis addit manibusque expellere temptat cunctantem et placidis miscentem fortia dictis.
Viribus inferior (quis enim par esset Atlantis viribus?) “at quoniam parvi tibi gratia nostra est, accipe munus!” ait, laevaque a parte Medusae ipse retro versus squalentia protulit ora. Quantus erat, mons factus Atlas: nam barba comaeque in silvas abeunt, iuga sunt umerique manusque, quod caput ante fuit, summo est in monte cacumen, ossa lapis fiunt: tum partes auctus in omnes crevit in inmensum (sic, di, statuistis) et omne cum tot sideribus caelum requievit in illo. Clauserat Hippotades aeterno carcere ventos, admonitorque operum caelo clarissimus alto
Lucifer ortus erat. Pennis ligat ille resumptis parte ab utraque pedes teloque accingitur unco et liquidum motis talaribus aera findit. Gentibus innumeris circumque infraque relictis Aethiopum populos Cepheaque conspicit arva. Illic inmeritam maternae pendere linguae Andromedan poenas iniustus iusserat Ammon. Quam simul ad duras religatam bracchia cautes vidit Abantiades (nisi quod levis aura capillos moverat et tepido manabant lumina fletu, marmoreum ratus esset opus), trahit inscius ignes et stupet et visae correptus imagine formae
paene suas quatere est oblitus in aere pennas. Ut stetit, “o” dixit “non istis digna catenis, sed quibus inter se cupidi iunguntur amantes, pande requirenti nomen terraeque tuumque, et cur vincla geras.” Primo silet illa, nec audet adpellare virum virgo; manibusque modestos celasset vultus, si non religata fuisset: lumina, quod potuit, lacrimis inplevit obortis. Saepius instanti, sua ne delicta fateri nolle videretur, nomen terraeque suumque, quantaque maternae fuerit fiducia formae, indicat. Et nondum memoratis omnibus unda
insonuit, veniensque inmenso belua ponto inminet et latum sub pectore possidet aequor. Conclamat virgo: genitor lugubris et una mater adest, ambo miseri, sed iustius illa. Nec secum auxilium, sed dignos tempore fletus plangoremque ferunt vinctoque in corpore adhaerent, cum sic hospes ait: “Lacrimarum longa manere tempora vos poterunt: ad opem brevis hora ferendam est. Hanc ego si peterem Perseus Iove natus et illa, quam clausam inplevit fecundo Iuppiter auro, Gorgonis anguicomae Perseus superator et alis aerias ausus iactatis ire per auras,
praeferrer cunctis certe gener. Addere tantis dotibus et meritum, faveant modo numina, tempto: ut mea sit servata mea virtute, paciscor.” Accipiunt legem (quis enim dubitaret?) et orant promittuntque super regnum dotale parentes. Ecce velut navis praefixo concita rostro sulcat aquas, iuvenum sudantibus acta lacertis, sic fera dimotis inpulsu pectoris undis tantum aberat scopulis, quantum Balearica torto funda potest plumbo medii transmittere caeli: cum subito iuvenis pedibus tellure repulsa arduus in nubes abiit. Ut in aequore summo
umbra viri visa est, visa fera saevit in umbra. Utque Iovis praepes, vacuo cum vidit in arvo praebentem Phoebo liventia terga draconem, occupat aversum, neu saeva retorqueat ora, squamigeris avidos figit cervicibus ungues, sic celeri missus praeceps per inane volatu terga ferae pressit dextroque frementis in armo Inachides ferrum curvo tenus abdidit hamo. Vulnere laesa gravi modo se sublimis in auras attollit, modo subdit aquis, modo more ferocis versat apri, quem turba canum circumsona terret. Ille avidos morsus velocibus effugit alis
quaque patet, nunc terga cavis super obsita conchis, nunc laterum costas, nunc qua tenuissima cauda desinit in piscem, falcato vulnerat ense. Belua puniceo mixtos cum sanguine fluctus ore vomit: maduere graves adspergine pennae. Nec bibulis ultra Perseus talaribus ausus credere, conspexit scopulum, qui vertice summo stantibus exstat aquis, operitur ab aequore moto. Nixus eo rupisque tenens iuga prima sinistra ter quater exegit repetita per ilia ferrum. Litora cum plausu clamor superasque deorum inplevere domos: gaudent generumque salutant
auxiliumque domus servatoremque fatentur Cassiope Cepheusque pater. Resoluta catenis incedit virgo, pretiumque et causa laboris. Ipse manus hausta victrices abluit unda, anguiferumque caput dura ne laedat harena, mollit humum foliis natasque sub aequore virgas sternit et inponit Phorcynidos ora Medusae. Virga recens bibulaque etiamnum viva medulla vim rapuit monstri tactuque induruit huius percepitque novum ramis et fronde rigorem. At pelagi nymphae factum mirabile temptant pluribus in virgis et idem contingere gaudent
seminaque ex illis iterant iactata per undas. Nunc quoque curaliis eadem natura remansit, duritiam tacto capiant ut ab aere, quodque vimen in aequore erat, fiat super aequora saxum. Dis tribus ille focos totidem de caespite ponit, laevum Mercurio, dextrum tibi, bellica virgo, ara Iovis media est. Mactatur vacca Minervae, alipedi vitulus, taurus tibi, summe deorum. protinus Andromedan et tanti praemia facti indotata rapit: taedas Hymenaeus Amorque praecutiunt, largis satiantur odoribus ignes, sertaque dependent tectis et ubique lyraeque
tibiaque et cantus, animi felicia laeti argumenta, sonant. Reseratis aurea valvis atria tota patent, pulchroque instructa paratu Cepheni proceres ineunt convivia regis. Postquam epulis functi generosi munere Bacchi diffudere animos, cultusque genusque locorum quaerit Lyncides moresque animumque virorum. Quae simul edocuit, “nunc, o fortissime,” dixit “fare, precor, Perseu, quanta virtute quibusque artibus abstuleris crinita draconibus ora.” Narrat Agenorides gelido sub Atlante iacentem esse locum solidae tutum munimine molis;
cuius in introitu geminas habitasse sorores Phorcidas, unius partitas luminis usum. Id se sollerti furtim, dum traditur, astu supposita cepisse manu perque abdita longe deviaque et silvis horrentia saxa fragosis Gorgoneas tetigisse domos, passimque per agros perque vias vidisse hominum simulacra ferarumque in silicem ex ipsis visa conversa Medusa. Se tamen horrendae clipei, quem laeva gerebat, aere repercusso formam adspexisse Medusae, dumque gravis somnus colubrasque ipsamque tenebat, eripuisse caput collo; pennisque fugacem
Pegason et fratrem matris de sanguine natos addidit et longi non falsa pericula cursus, quae freta, quas terras sub se vidisset ab alto et quae iactatis tetigisset sidera pennis. Ante exspectatum tacuit tamen. Excipit unus ex numero procerum quaerens, cur sola sororum gesserit alternis inmixtos crinibus angues. Hospes ait: “Quoniam scitaris digna relatu, accipe quaesiti causam. Clarissima forma multorumque fuit spes invidiosa procorum illa: neque in tota conspectior ulla capillis pars fuit. Inveni, qui se vidisse referret.
Hanc pelagi rector templo vitiasse Minervae dicitur. Aversa est et castos aegide vultus nata Iovis texit; neve hoc inpune fuisset, Gorgoneum crinem turpes mutavit in hydros.
Book 5
Dumque ea Cephenum medio Danaeius heros agmine commemorat, fremida regalia turba atria complentur: nec coniugialia festa qui canat est clamor, sed qui fera nuntiet arma. Inque repentinos convivia versa tumultus adsimilare freto possis, quod saeva quietum ventorum rabies motis exasperat undis. Primus in his Phineus, belli temerarius auctor, fraxineam quatiens aeratae cuspidis hastam, “en” ait, “en adsum praereptae coniugis ultor, nec mihi te pennae, nec falsum versus in aurum Iuppiter eripiet.” Conanti mittere Cepheus
“quid facis?” exclamat, “quae te, germane, furentem mens agit in facinus? meritisne haec gratia tantis redditur? hac vitam servatae dote rependis? Quam tibi non Perseus, verum si quaeris, ademit, sed grave Nereidum numen, sed corniger Ammon, sed quae visceribus veniebat belua ponti exsaturanda meis. Illo tibi tempore rapta est, quo peritura fuit: nisi si crudelis id ipsum exigis, ut pereat, luctuque levabere nostro. Scilicet haud satis est, quod te spectante revincta est et nullam quod opem patruus sponsusve tulisti: insuper, a quoquam quod sit servata, dolebis
praemiaque eripies? Quae si tibi magna videntur, ex illis scopulis, ubi erant adfixa, petisses. Nunc sine, qui petiit, per quem haec non orba senectus, ferre quod et meritis et voce est pactus, eumque non tibi, sed certae praelatum intellege morti!” Ille nihil contra: sed et hunc et Persea vultu alterno spectans petat hunc ignorat, an illum, cunctatusque brevi contortam viribus hastam, quantas ira dabat, nequiquam in Persea misit. Ut stetit illa toro, stratis tunc denique Perseus exsiluit; teloque ferox inimica remisso pectora rupisset, nisi post altaria Phineus
isset: et (indignum!) scelerato profuit ara. Fronte tamen Rhoeti non inrita cuspis adhaesit. Qui postquam cecidit ferrumque ex osse revulsum est, calcitrat et positas adspergit sanguine mensas. Tum vero indomitas ardescit vulgus in iras, telaque coniciunt, et sunt, qui Cephea dicunt cum genero debere mori. Sed limine tecti exierat Cepheus, testatus iusque fidemque hospitiique deos, ea se prohibente moveri. Bellica Pallas adest et protegit aegide fratrem datque animos. Erat Indus Athis, quem flumine Gange edita Limnaee vitreis peperisse sub undis
creditur, egregius forma, quam divite cultu augebat, bis adhuc octonis integer annis, indutus chlamydem Tyriam, quam limbus obibat aureus; ornabant aurata monilia collum et madidos murra curvum crinale capillos. Ille quidem iaculo quamvis distantia misso figere doctus erat, sed tendere doctior arcus. Tunc quoque lenta manu flectentem cornua Perseus stipite, qui media positus fumabat in ara, perculit et fractis confudit in ossibus ora. Hunc ubi laudatos iactantem in sanguine vultus Assyrius vidit Lycabas, iunctissimus illi
et comes et veri non dissimulator amoris, postquam exhalantem sub acerbo vulnere vitam deploravit Athin, quos ille tetenderat arcus arripit et “mecum tibi sint certamina” dixit: “nec longum pueri fato laetabere, quo plus invidiae, quam laudis habes.” Haec omnia nondum dixerat, emicuit nervo penetrabile telum vitatumque tamen sinuosa veste pependit. Vertit in hunc harpen spectatam caede Medusae Acrisioniades adigitque in pectus: at ille iam moriens, oculis sub nocte natantibus atra circumspexit Athin seque acclinavit ad illum
et tulit ad manes iunctae solacia mortis. Ecce Syenites, genitus Metione, Phorbas et Libys Amphimedon, avidi committere pugnam, sanguine, quo late tellus madefacta tepebat, conciderant lapsi: surgentibus obstitit ensis, alterius costis, iugulo Phorbantis adactus. At non Actoriden Erytum, cui lata bipennis telum erat, hamato Perseus petit ense, sed altis exstantem signis multaeque in pondere massae ingentem manibus tollit cratera duabus infligitque viro; rutilum vomit ille cruorem et resupinus humum moribundo vertice pulsat.
Inde Semiramio Polydegmona sanguine cretum Caucasiumque Abarin Sperchionidenque Lycetum intonsumque comas Helicen Phlegyanque Clytumque sternit et exstructos morientum calcat acervos. Nec Phineus ausus concurrere comminus hosti, intorquet iaculum: quod detulit error in Idan, expertem frustra belli et neutra arma secutum. Ille tuens oculis inmitem Phinea torvis “quandoquidem in partes” ait “abstrahor, accipe, Phineu, quem fecisti hostem pensaque hoc vulnere vulnus”; iamque remissurus tractum de vulnere telum sanguine defectos cecidit conlapsus in artus.
Hic quoque Cephenum post regem primus Hodites ense iacet Clymeni; Prothoenora percutit Hypseus, Hypsea Lyncides. Fuit et grandaevus in illis Emathion, aequi cultor timidusque deorum; qui, quoniam prohibent anni bellare, loquendo pugnat et incessit scelerataque devovet arma. Huic Chromis amplexo tremulis altaria palmis decutit ense caput; quod protinus incidit arae atque ibi semianimi verba exsecrantia lingua edidit, et medios animam exspiravit in ignes. Hinc gemini fratres Broteasque et caestibus Ammon invicti, vinci si possent caestibus enses,
Phinea cecidere manu, Cererisque sacerdos Ampycus, albenti velatus tempora vitta. Tu quoque, Lampetide, non hos adhibendus ad usus, sed qui, pacis opus, citharam cum voce moveres, iussus eras celebrare dapes festumque canendo. Quem procul adstantem plectrumque imbelle tenentem Pettalus inridens “Stygiis cane cetera” dixit “manibus” et laevo mucronem tempore fixit. Concidit et digitis morientibus ille retemptat fila lyrae, casuque fuit miserabile carmen. Nec sinit hunc impune ferox cecidisse Lycormas raptaque de dextro robusta repagula posti
ossibus inlisit mediae cervicis: at ille procubuit terrae mactati more iuvenci. Demere temptabat laevi quoque robora postis Cinyphius Pelates: temptanti dextera fixa est cuspide Marmaridae Corythi lignoque cohaesit. Haerenti latus hausit Abas: nec corruit ille, sed retinente manum moriens e poste pependit. Sternitur et Menaleus, Perseia castra secutus, et Nasamoniaci Dorylas ditissimus agri, dives agri Dorylas, quo non possederat alter latius aut totidem tollebat turis acervos. Huius in obliquo missum stetit inguine ferrum:
letifer ille locus. Quem postquam vulneris auctor singultantem animam et versantem lumina vidit Bactrius Halcyoneus “hoc, quod premis” inquit, “habeto de tot agris terrae” corpusque exsangue reliquit. Torquet in hunc hastam calido de vulnere raptam ultor Abantiades; media quae nare recepta cervice exacta est in partesque eminet ambas. Dumque manum Fortuna iuvat, Clytiumque Claninque, matre satos una, diverso vulnere fudit: nam Clytii per utrumque gravis librata lacerto fraxinus acta femur, iaculum Clanis ore momordit. Occidit et Celadon Mendesius, occidit Astreus,
matre Palaestina, dubio genitore creatus, Aethionque sagax quondam ventura videre (tunc ave deceptus falsa), regisque Thoactes armiger et caeso genitore infamis Agyrtes. Plus tamen exhausto superest: namque omnibus unum opprimere est animus, coniurata undique pugnant agmina pro causa meritum impugnante fidemque: hac pro parte socer frustra pius et nova coniunx cum genetrice favent ululatuque atria complent. Sed sonus armorum superat gemitusque cadentum, pollutosque semel multo Bellona penates sanguine perfundit renovataque proelia miscet.
Circueunt unum Phineus et mille secuti Phinea: tela volant hiberna grandine plura praeter utrumque latus praeterque et lumen et aures. Applicat hic umeros ad magnae saxa columnae, tutaque terga gerens adversaque in agmina versus sustinet instantes. Instabat parte sinistra Chaonius Molpeus, dextra Nabataeus Echemmon. Tigris ut auditis diversa valle duorum exstimulata fame mugitibus armentorum nescit, utro potius ruat, et ruere ardet utroque, sic dubius Perseus, dextra laevane feratur, Molpea traiecti submovit vulnere cruris,
contentusque fuga est: neque enim dat tempus Echemmon, sed furit et, cupiens saltu dare vulnera collo, non circumspectis exactum viribus ensem fregit, et extrema percussae parte columnae lammina dissiluit dominique in gutture fixa est. Non tamen ad letum causas satis illa valentes plaga dedit: trepidum Perseus et inermia frustra bracchia tendentem Cyllenide confodit harpe. Verum ubi virtutem turbae succumbere vidit, “auxilium” Perseus “quoniam sic cogitis ipsi” dixit “ab hoste petam. Vultus avertite vestros, siquis amicus adest!” et Gorgonis extulit ora.
“Quaere alium, tua quem moveant miracula” dixit Thescelus; utque manu iaculum fatale parabat mittere, in hoc haesit signum de marmore gestu. Proximus huic Ampyx animi plenissima magni pectora Lyncidae gladio petit; inque petendo dextera deriguit nec citra mota nec ultra est. At Nileus, qui se genitum septemplice Nilo ementitus erat, clipeo quoque flumina septem argento partim, partim caelaverat auro, “adspice” ait, “Perseu, nostrae primordia gentis: magna feres tacitas solacia mortis ad umbras, a tanto cecidisse viro”: pars ultima vocis
in medio suppressa sono est, adapertaque velle ora loqui credas, nec sunt ea pervia verbis. Increpat hos “vitio” que “animi, non viribus” inquit “Gorgoneis torpetis” Eryx: “incurrite mecum et prosternite humi iuvenem magica arma moventem!” Incursurus erat: tenuit vestigia tellus, inmotusque silex armataque mansit imago. Hi tamen ex merito poenas subiere; sed unus miles erat Persei, pro quo dum pugnat, Aconteus, Gorgone conspecta saxo concrevit oborto. Quem ratus Astyages etiamnum vivere, longo ense ferit: sonuit tinnitibus ensis acutis.
Dum stupet Astyages, naturam traxit eandem, marmoreoque manet vultus mirantis in ore. Nomina longa mora est media de plebe virorum dicere: bis centum restabant corpora pugnae, Gorgone bis centum riguerunt corpora visa. Paenitet iniusti tunc denique Phinea belli. Sed quid agat? simulacra videt diversa figuris agnoscitque suos et nomine quemque vocatum poscit opem, credensque parum sibi proxima tangit corpora: marmor erant. Avertitur, atque ita supplex confessasque manus obliquaque bracchia tendens, “vincis” ait, “Perseu. Remove tua monstra tuaeque
saxificos vultus, quaecumque ea, tolle Medusae, tolle, precor. Non nos odium regnique cupido compulit ad bellum: pro coniuge movimus arma. Causa fuit meritis melior tua, tempore nostra. Non cessisse piget. Nihil, o fortissime, praeter hanc animam concede mihi: tua cetera sunto.” Talia dicenti neque eum, quem voce rogabat respicere audenti “quod” ait, “timidissime Phineu, et possum tribuisse et magnum est munus inerti, (pone metum) tribuam: nullo violabere ferro. Quin etiam mansura dabo monimenta per aevum, inque domo soceri semper spectabere nostri,
ut mea se sponsi soletur imagine coniunx?” Dixit et in partem Phorcynida transtulit illam, ad quam se trepido Phineus obverterat ore. Tunc quoque conanti sua vertere lumina cervix deriguit, saxoque oculorum induruit umor. Sed tamen os timidum vultusque in marmore supplex submissaeque manus faciesque obnoxia mansit. Victor Abantiades patrios cum coniuge muros intrat et inmeriti vindex ultorque parentis adgreditur Proetum: nam fratre per arma fugato Acrisioneas Proetus possederat arces. Sed nec ope armorum, nec, quam male ceperat, arce
torva colubriferi superavit lumina monstri. Te tamen, o parvae rector, Polydecta, Seriphi, nec iuvenis virtus per tot spectata labores nec mala mollierant, sed inexorabile durus exerces odium, nec iniqua finis in ira est. Detrectas etiam laudem fictamque Medusae arguis esse necem. “Dabimus tibi pignera veri. Parcite luminibus!” Perseus ait oraque regis ore Medusaeo silicem sine sanguine fecit. Hactenus aurigenae comitem Tritonia fratri se dedit: inde cava circumdata nube Seriphon deserit, a dextra Cythno Gyaroque relictis,
quaque super pontum via visa brevissima, Thebas virgineumque Helicona petit. Quo monte potita constitit et doctas sic est adfata sorores: “Fama novi fontis nostras pervenit ad aures, dura Medusaei quem praepetis ungula rupit. Is mihi causa viae. Volui mirabile factum cernere: vidi ipsum materno sanguine nasci.” Excipit Uranie: “Quaecumque est causa videndi has tibi, diva, domos, animo gratissima nostro es. Vera tamen fama est, et Pegasus huius origo fontis”, et ad latices deduxit Pallada sacros. Quae mirata diu factas pedis ictibus undas,
silvarum lucos circumspicit antiquarum antraque et innumeris distinctas floribus herbas felicesque vocat pariter studioque locoque Mnemonidas. Quam sic adfata est una sororum: “O, nisi te virtus opera ad maiora tulisset, in partem ventura chori Tritonia nostri, vera refers meritoque probas artesque locumque, et gratam sortem, tutae modo simus, habemus. Sed (vetitum est adeo sceleri nihil) omnia terrent virgineas mentes, dirusque ante ora Pyreneus vertitur, et nondum tota me mente recepi. Daulida Threicio Phoceaque milite rura
ceperat ille ferox iniustaque regna tenebat. Templa petebamus Parnasia: vidit euntes, nostraque fallaci veneratus numina vultu “Mnemonides” (cognorat enim), “consistite” dixit, “nec dubitate, precor, tecto grave sidus et imbrem” (imber erat) “vitare meo: subiere minores saepe casas superi.” Dictis et tempore motae adnuimusque viro primasque intravimus aedes. Desierant imbres, victoque aquilonibus austro fusca repurgato fugiebant nubila caelo. Impetus ire fuit: claudit sua tecta Pyreneus vimque parat. Quam nos sumptis effugimus alis.
Ipse secuturo similis stetit arduus arce “qua” que “via est vobis, erit et mihi” dixit “eadem”, seque iacit vecors e summae culmine turris et cadit in vultus, discussisque ossibus oris tundit humum moriens scelerato sanguine tinctam.” Musa loquebatur: pennae sonuere per auras, voxque salutantum ramis veniebat ab altis. Suspicit et linguae quaerit tam certa loquentes unde sonent hominemque putat Iove nata locutum: Ales erat, numeroque novem, sua fata querentes, institerant ramis imitantes omnia picae. Miranti sic orsa deae dea: “Nuper et istae
auxerunt volucrum victae certamine turbam. Pieros has genuit Pellaeis dives in arvis, Paeonis Euippe mater fuit. Illa potentem Lucinam noviens, noviens paritura, vocavit. Intumuit numero stolidarum turba sororum, perque tot Haemonias et per tot Achaidas urbes huc venit et tali committit proelia voce: “Desinite indoctum vana dulcedine vulgus fallere: nobiscum, siqua est fiducia vobis, Thespiades certate deae. Nec voce nec arte vincemur, totidemque sumus. Vel cedite victae fonte Medusaeo et Hyantea Aganippe,
vel nos Emathiis ad Paeonas usque nivosos cedamus campis. Dirimant certamina nymphae.” Turpe quidem contendere erat, sed cedere visum turpius. Electae iurant per flumina nymphae factaque de vivo pressere sedilia saxo. Tum sine sorte prior quae se certare professa est, bella canit superum, falsoque in honore Gigantas ponit et extenuat magnorum facta deorum; emissumque ima de sede Typhoea terrae caelitibus fecisse metum cunctosque dedisse terga fugae, donec fessos Aegyptia tellus ceperit et septem discretus in ostia Nilus.
Huc quoque terrigenam venisse Typhoea narrat et se mentitis superos celasse figuris; “duxque gregis” dixit “fit Iuppiter; unde recurvis nunc quoque formatus Libys est cum cornibus Ammon. Delius in corvo, proles Semeleia capro, fele soror Phoebi, nivea Saturnia vacca, pisce Venus latuit, Cyllenius ibidis alis.” Hactenus ad citharam vocalia moverat ora: poscimur Aonides. Sed forsitan otia non sint, nec nostris praebere vacet tibi cantibus aures.” “Ne dubita, vestrumque mihi refer ordine carmen” Pallas ait nemorisque levi consedit in umbra.
Musa refert: “Dedimus summam certaminis uni. Surgit et inmissos hedera conlecta capillos Calliope querulas praetemptat pollice chordas, atque haec percussis subiungit carmina nervis: “Prima Ceres unco glaebam dimovit aratro, prima dedit fruges alimentaque mitia terris, prima dedit leges: Cereris sunt omnia munus. Illa canenda mihi est. Utinam modo dicere possem carmina digna dea: certe dea carmine digna est. Vasta giganteis ingesta est insula membris Trinacris et magnis subiectum molibus urget aetherias ausum sperare Typhoea sedes.
Nititur ille quidem pugnatque resurgere saepe, dextra sed Ausonio manus est subiecta Peloro, laeva, Pachyne, tibi, Lilybaeo crura premuntur, degravat Aetna caput: sub qua resupinus harenas eiectat flammamque ferox vomit ore Typhoeus. Saepe remoliri luctatur pondera terrae oppidaque et magnos devolvere corpore montes. Inde tremit tellus, et rex pavet ipse silentum, ne pateat latoque solum retegatur hiatu inmissusque dies trepidantes terreat umbras. Hanc metuens cladem tenebrosa sede tyrannus exierat, curruque atrorum vectus equorum
ambibat Siculae cautus fundamina terrae. Postquam exploratum satis est loca nulla labare, depositoque metu, videt hunc Erycina vagantem monte suo residens, natumque amplexa volucrem “arma manusque meae, mea, nate, potentia”, dixit, “illa, quibus superas omnes, cape tela, Cupido, inque dei pectus celeres molire sagittas, cui triplicis cessit fortuna novissima regni. Tu superos ipsumque Iovem tu numina ponti victa domas ipsumque, regit qui numina ponti. Tartara quid cessant? cur non matrisque tuumque imperium profers? agitur pars tertia mundi.
Et tamen in caelo, quae iam patientia nostra est, spernimur, ac mecum vires minuuntur Amoris. Pallada nonne vides iaculatricemque Dianam abscessisse mihi? Cereris quoque filia virgo, si patiemur, erit: nam spes adfectat easdem. At tu, pro socio, siqua est ea gratia, regno iunge deam patruo.” Dixit Venus. Ille pharetram solvit et arbitrio matris de mille sagittis unam seposuit, sed qua nec acutior ulla nec minus incerta est nec quae magis audiat arcus, oppositoque genu curvavit flexile cornum inque cor hamata percussit harundine Ditem.
Haud procul Hennaeis lacus est a moenibus altae, nomine Pergus, aquae. Non illo plura Caystros carmina cycnorum labentibus audit in undis. Silva coronat aquas cingens latus omne, suisque frondibus ut velo Phoebeos submovet ictus. Frigora dant rami, tyrios humus umida flores: perpetuum ver est. Quo dum Proserpina luco ludit et aut violas aut candida lilia carpit, dumque puellari studio calathosque sinumque implet et aequales certat superare legendo, paene simul visa est dilectaque raptaque Diti: usque adeo est properatus amor. Dea territa maesto
et matrem et comites, sed matrem saepius, ore clamat; et, ut summa vestem laniarat ab ora, conlecti flores tunicis cecidere remissis. Tantaque simplicitas puerilibus adfuit annis, haec quoque virgineum movit iactura dolorem. Raptor agit currus et nomine quemque vocando exhortatur equos, quorum per colla iubasque excutit obscura tinctas ferrugine habenas, perque lacus altos et olentia sulphure fertur stagna Palicorum, rupta fervenu terra, et qua Bacchiadae, bimari gens orta Corintho, inter inaequales posuerunt moenia portus.
Est medium Cyanes et Pisaeae Arethusae, quod coit angustis inclusum cornibus aequor. Hic fuit, a cuius stagnum quoque nomine dictum est, inter Sicelidas Cyane celeberrima nymphas. Gurgite quae medio summa tenus exstitit alvo agnovitque deam. “Nec longius ibitis!” inquit, “non potes invitae Cereris gener esse: roganda, non rapienda fuit. Quodsi componere magnis parva mihi fas est, et me dilexit Anapis: exorata tamen, nec, ut haec, exterrita nupsi.” Dixit et in partes diversas bracchia tendens obstitit. Haud ultra tenuit Saturnius iram,
terribilesque hortatus equos in gurgitis ima contortum valido sceptrum regale lacerto condidit. Icta viam tellus in Tartara fecit et pronos currus medio cratere recepit. At Cyane, raptamque deam contemptaque fontis iura sui maerens, inconsolabile vulnus mente gerit tacita lacrimisque absumitur omnis, et quarum fuerat magnum modo numen, in illas ossa pati flexus, ungues posuisse rigorem; extenuatur aquas. Molliri membra videres, primaque de tota tenuissima quaeque liquescunt, caerulei crines digitique et crura pedesque:
nam brevis in gelidas membris exilibus undas transitus est: post haec umeri tergusque latusque pectoraque in tenues abeunt evanida rivos. Denique pro vivo vitiatas sanguine venas lympha subit, restatque nihil, quod prendere possis. Interea pavidae nequiquam filia matri omnibus est terris, omni quaesita profundo. Illam non udis veniens Aurora capillis cessantem vidit, non Hesperus. Illa duabus flammiferas pinus manibus succendit ab Aetna perque pruinosas tulit inrequieta tenebras. Rursus ubi alma dies hebetarat sidera, natam
solis ab occasu solis quaerebat ad ortus. Fessa labore sitim conlegerat oraque nulli colluerant fontes; cum tectam stramine vidit forte casam parvasque fores pulsavit: at inde prodit anus divamque videt, lymphamque roganti dulce dedit, tosta quod texerat ante polenta. Dum bibit illa datum, duri puer oris et audax constitit ante deam risitque avidamque vocavit. Offensa est neque adhuc epota parte loquentem cum liquido mixta perfudit diva polenta. Combibit os maculas, et quae modo bracchia gessit, crura gerit; cauda est mutatis addita membris;
inque brevem formam, ne sit vis magna nocendi, contrahitur, parvaque minor mensura lacerta est. Mirantem flentemque et tangere monstra parantem fugit anum latebramque petit; aptumque colori nomen habet, variis stellatus corpora guttis. Quas dea per terras et quas erraverit undas, dicere longa mora est: quaerenti defuit orbis. Sicaniam repetit; dumque omnia lustrat eundo, venit et ad Cyanen. Ea ni mutata fuisset, omnia narrasset: sed et os et lingua volenti dicere non aderant, nec quo loqueretur habebat. Signa tamen manifesta dedit notamque parenti,
illo forte loco delapsam in gurgite sacro, Persephones zonam summis ostendit in undis. Quam simul agnovit, tamquam tunc denique raptam scisset, inornatos laniavit diva capillos et repetita suis percussit pectora palmis. Nescit adhuc, ubi sit: terras tamen increpat omnes ingratasque vocat nec frugum munere dignas, Trinacriam ante alias, in qua vestigia damni repperit. Ergo illic saeva vertentia glaebas fregit aratra manu, parilique irata colonos ruricolasque boves leto dedit arvaque iussit fallere depositum vitiataque semina fecit.
Fertilitas terrae latum vulgata per orbem falsa iacet: primis segetes moriuntur in herbis, et modo sol nimius, nimius modo corripit imber sideraque ventique nocent, avidaeque volucres semina iacta legunt; lolium tribulique fatigant triticeas messes et inexpugnabile gramen. Tum caput Eleis Alpheias extulit undis rorantesque comas a fronte removit ad aures atque ait: “O toto quaesitae virginis orbe et frugum genetrix, inmensos siste labores neve tibi fidae violenta irascere terrae. Terra nihil meruit patuitque invita rapinae.
Nec sum pro patria supplex: huc hospita veni; Pisa mihi patria est et ab Elide ducimus ortus; Sicaniam peregrina colo, sed gratior omni haec mihi terra solo est: hos nunc Arethusa penates, hanc habeo sedem: quam tu, mitissima, serva. Mota loco cur sim tantique per aequoris undas advehar Ortygiam, veniet narratibus hora tempestiva meis, cum tu curaque levata et vultus melioris eris. Mihi pervia tellus praebet iter, subterque imas ablata cavernas hic caput attollo desuetaque sidera cerno. Ergo dum Stygio sub terris gurgite labor,
visa tua est oculis illic Proserpina nostris: illa quidem tristis neque adhuc interrita vultu, sed regina tamen, sed opaci maxima mundi, sed tamen inferni pollens matrona tyranni.” Mater ad auditas stupuit ceu saxea voces attonitaeque diu similis fuit. Utque dolore pulsa gravi gravis est amentia, curribus oras exit in aetherias. Ibi toto nubila vultu ante Iovem passis stetit invidiosa capillis “pro” que “meo veni supplex tibi, Iuppiter” inquit, “sanguine proque tuo. Si nulla est gratia matris, nata patrem moveat, neu sit tibi cura, precamur,
vilior illius, quod nostro est edita partu. En quaesita diu tandem mihi nata reperta est, si reperire vocas amittere certius, aut si scire, ubi sit, reperire vocas. Quod rapta, feremus, dummodo reddat eam: neque enim praedone marito filia digna tua est, si iam mea filia non est.” Iuppiter excepit: “Commune est pignus onusque nata mihi tecum. Sed si modo nomina rebus addere vera placet, non hoc iniuria factum, verum amor est; neque erit nobis gener ille pudori, tu modo, diva, velis. Ut desint cetera, quantum est esse Iovis fratrem! — Quid quod non cetera desunt
nec cedit nisi sorte mihi? sed tanta cupido si tibi discidii est, repetet Proserpina caelum, lege tamen certa, si nullos contigit illic ore cibos; nam sic Parcarum foedere cautum est.” Dixerat. At Cereri certum est educere natam. Non ita fata sinunt, quoniam ieiunia virgo solverat et, cultis dum simplex errat in hortis, Poeniceum curva decerpserat arbore pomum sumptaque pallenti septem de cortice grana presserat ore suo. Solusque ex omnibus illud Ascalaphus vidit, quem quondam dicitur Orphne, inter Avernales haud ignotissima nymphas,
ex Acheronte suo silvis peperisse sub atris: vidit et indicio reditum crudelis ademit. Ingemuit regina Erebi testemque profanam fecit avem, sparsumque caput Phlegethontide lympha in rostrum et plumas et grandia lumina vertit. Ille sibi ablatus fulvis amicitur in alis, inque caput crescit, longosque reflectitur ungues vixque movet natas per inertia bracchia pennas: foedaque fit volucris, venturi nuntia luctus, ignavus bubo, dirum mortalibus omen. Hic tamen indicio poenam linguaque videri commeruisse potest: vobis, Acheloides, unde
pluma pedesque avium, cum virginis ora geratis? an quia, cum legeret vernos Proserpina flores, in comitum numero, doctae Sirenes, eratis? Quam postquam toto frustra quaesistis in orbe, protinus, ut vestram sentirent aequora curam, posse super fluctus alarum insistere remis optastis, facilesque deos habuistis et artus vidistis vestros subitis flavescere pennis. Ne tamen ille canor mulcendas natus ad aures tantaque dos oris linguae deperderet usum, virginei vultus et vox humana remansit. At medius fratrisque sui maestaeque sororis
Iuppiter ex aequo volventem dividit annum. Nunc dea, regnorum numen commune duorum, cum matre est totidem, totidem cum coniuge menses. Vertitur extemplo facies et mentis et oris: nam modo quae poterat Diti quoque maesta videri, laeta deae frons est, ut sol, qui tectus aquosis nubibus ante fuit, victis e nubibus exit. Exigit alma Ceres, nata secura recepta, quae tibi causa fugae, cur sis, Arethusa, sacer fons. Conticuere undae: quarum dea sustulit alto fonte caput viridesque manu siccata capillos fluminis Elei veteres narravit amores.
“Pars ego nympharum quae sunt in Achaide” dixit, “una fui, nec me studiosius altera saltus legit nec posuit studiosius altera casses. Sed quamvis formae numquam mihi fama petita est, quamvis fortis eram, formosae nomen habebam. Nec mea me facies nimium laudata iuvabat, quaque aliae gaudere solent, ego rustica dote corporis erubui, crimenque placere putavi. Lassa revertebar (memini) Stymphalide silva: aestus erat, magnumque labor geminaverat aestum. Invenio sine vertice aquas, sine murmure euntes, perspicuas ad humum, per quas numerabilis alte
calculus omnis erat, quas tu vix ire putares. Cana salicta dabant nutritaque populus unda sponte sua natas ripis declivibus umbras. Accessi primumque pedis vestigia tinxi, poplite deinde tenus: neque eo contenta, recingor molliaque impono salici velamina curvae nudaque mergor aquis. Quas dum ferioque trahoque mille modis labens excussaque bracchia iacto, nescio quod medio sensi sub gurgite murmur territaque insisto propioris margine ripae. “Quo properas, Arethusa?” suis Alpheus ab undis, “quo properas?” iterum rauco mihi dixerat ore.
Sicut eram, fugio sine vestibus: altera vestes ripa meas habuit. Tanto magis instat et ardet, et quia nuda fui, sum visa paratior illi. Sic ego currebam, sic me ferus ille premebat, ut fugere accipitrem penna trepidante columbae, ut solet accipiter trepidas urgere columbas. Usque sub Orchomenon Psophidaque Cyllenenque Maenaliosque sinus gelidumque Erymanthon et Elin currere sustinui; nec me velocior ille. Sed tolerare diu cursus ego, viribus impar, non poteram: longi patiens erat ille laboris. Per tamen et campos, per opertos arbore montes,
saxa quoque et rupes et qua via nulla, cucurri. Sol erat a tergo: vidi praecedere longam ante pedes umbram, nisi si timor illa videbat; sed certe sonitusque pedum terrebat et ingens crinales vittas adflabat anhelitus oris. Fessa labore fugae “fer opem, deprendimur” inquam, “armigerae, Diana, tuae, cui saepe dedisti ferre tuos arcus inclusaque tela pharetra.” Mota dea est spissisque ferens e nubibus unam me super iniecit. Lustrat caligine tectam amnis et ignarus circum cava nubila quaerit. Bisque locum, quo me dea texerat inscius ambit
et bis “io Arethusa io Arethusa!” vocavit. Quid mihi tunc animi miserae fuit? anne quod agnae est, siqua lupos audit circum stabula alta frementes, aut lepori, qui vepre latens hostilia cernit ora canum nullosque audet dare corpore motus? Non tamen abscedit: neque enim vestigia cernit longius ulla pedum: servat nubemque locumque. Occupat obsessos sudor mihi frigidus artus, caeruleaeque cadunt toto de corpore guttae, quaque pedem movi, manat lacus, eque capillis ros cadit, et citius, quam nunc tibi facta renarro, in latices mutor. Sed enim cognoscit amatas
amnis aquas, positoque viri, quod sumpserat, ore vertitur in proprias, ut se mihi misceat, undas. Delia rupit humum; caecisque ego mersa cavernis advehor Ortygiam, quae me cognomine divae grata meae superas eduxit prima sub auras.” Hac Arethusa tenus. Geminos dea fertilis angues curribus admovit frenisque coercuit ora et medium caeli terraeque per aera vecta est atque levem currum Tritonida misit in urbem Triptolemo; partimque rudi data semina iussit spargere humo, partim post tempora longa recultae. Iam super Europen sublimis et Asida terram
vectus erat iuvenis; Scythicas advertitur oras. Rex ibi Lyncus erat: regis subit ille penates. Qua veniat, causamque viae nomenque rogatus et patriam, “patria est clarae mihi” dixit “Athenae, Triptolemus nomen. Veni nec puppe per undas, nec pede per terras: patuit mihi pervius aether. Dona fero Cereris latos quae sparsa per agros frugiferas messes alimentaque mitia reddant.” Barbarus invidit; tantique ut muneris auctor ipse sit, hospitio recipit somnoque gravatum adgreditur ferro. Conantem figere pectus lynca Ceres fecit rursusque per aera iussit
Mopsopium iuvenem sacros agitare iugales.” Finierat doctos e nobis maxima cantus. At nymphae vicisse deas Helicona colentes concordi dixere sono. Convicia victae cum iacerent, “quoniam” dixit “certamine vobis supplicium meruisse parum est maledictaque culpae additis et non est patientia libera nobis, ibimus in poenas et, qua vocat ira, sequemur.” Rident Emathides spernuntque minantia verba: conataeque loqui et magno clamore protervas intentare manus, pennas exire per ungues adspexere suos, operiri bracchia plumis;
alteraque alterius rigido concrescere rostro ora videt volucresque novas accedere silvis. Dumque volunt plangi, per bracchia mota levatae aere pendebant, nemorum convicia, picae. Nunc quoque in alitibus facundia prisca remansit raucaque garrulitas studiumque inmane loquendi.”
Book 6
Praebuerat dictis Tritonia talibus aures carminaque Aonidum iustamque probaverat iram. Tum secum “laudare parum est; laudemur et ipsae numina nec sperni sine poena nostra sinamus” Maeoniaeque animum fatis intendit Arachnes, quam sibi lanificae non cedere laudibus artis audierat. Non illa loco neque origine gentis clara, sed arte fuit. Pater huic Colophonius Idmon Phocaico bibulas tingebat murice lanas. Occiderat mater; sed et haec de plebe suoque aequa viro fuerat. Lydas tamen illa per urbes quaesierat studio nomen memorabile, quamvis
orta domo parva parvis habitabat Hypaepis. Huius ut adspicerent opus admirabile, saepe deseruere sui nymphae vineta Timoli, deseruere suas nymphae Pactolides undas. Nec factas solum vestes spectare iuvabat; tum quoque, cum fierent: tantus decor adfuit arti. Sive rudem primos lanam glomerabat in orbes, seu digitis subigebat opus repetitaque longo vellera mollibat nebulas aequantia tractu, sive levi teretem versabat pollice fusum, seu pingebat acu, scires a Pallade doctam. Quod tamen ipsa negat, tantaque offensa magistra
“certet” ait “mecum: nihil est, quod victa recusem.” Pallas anum simulat falsosque in tempora canos addit et infirmos, baculo quos sustinet, artus. Tum sic orsa loqui: “Non omnia grandior aetas, quae fugiamus, habet: seris venit usus ab annis. Consilium ne sperne meum. Tibi fama petatur inter mortales faciendae maxima lanae: cede deae veniamque tuis, temeraria, dictis supplice voce roga: veniam dabit illa roganti.” Adspicit hanc torvis inceptaque fila relinquit, vixque manum retinens confessaque vultibus iram talibus obscuram resecuta est Pallada dictis:
“Mentis inops longaque venis confecta senecta. Et nimium vixisse diu nocet. Audiat istas, siqua tibi nurus est, siqua est tibi filia, voces. Consilii satis est in me mihi. Neve monendo profecisse putes, eadem est sententia nobis. Cur non ipsa venit? cur haec certamina vitat?” Tum dea “venit” ait, formamque removit anilem Palladaque exhibuit. Venerantur numina nymphae Mygdonidesque nurus: sola est non territa virgo. Sed tamen erubuit, subitusque invita notavit ora rubor rursusque evanuit, ut solet aer purpureus fieri, cum primum aurora movetur,
et breve post tempus candescere solis ab ortu. Perstat in incepto stolidaeque cupidine palmae in sua fata ruit: neque enim Iove nata recusat, nec monet ulterius, nec iam certamina differt. Haud mora, constituunt diversis partibus ambae et gracili geminas intendunt stamine telas (tela iugo iuncta est, stamen secernit harundo); inseritur medium radiis subtemen acutis, quod digiti expediunt, atque inter stamina ductum percusso paviunt insecti pectine dentes. Utraque festinant cinctaeque ad pectora vestes bracchia docta movent, studio fallente laborem.
Illic et Tyrium quae purpura sensit aenum texitur et tenues parvi discriminis umbrae, qualis ab imbre solet percussis solibus arcus inficere ingenti longum curvamine caelum: in quo diversi niteant cum mille colores, transitus ipse tamen spectantia lumina fallit; usque adeo quod tangit idem est, tamen ultima distant. Illic et lentum filis inmittitur aurum et vetus in tela deducitur argumentum. Cecropia Pallas scopulum Mavortis in arce pingit et antiquam de terrae nomine litem. Bis sex caelestes medio Iove sedibus altis
augusta gravitate sedent. Sua quemque deorum inscribit facies: Iovis est regalis imago. Stare deum pelagi longoque ferire tridente aspera saxa facit, medioque e vulnere saxi exsiluisse fretum, quo pignore vindicet urbem; at sibi dat clipeum, dat acutae cuspidis hastam, dat galeam capiti, defenditur aegide pectus, percussamque sua simulat de cuspide terram edere cum bacis fetum canentis olivae mirarique deos: operis Victoria finis. Ut tamen exemplis intellegat aemula laudis, quod pretium speret pro tam furialibus ausis,
quattuor in partes certamina quattuor addit, clara colore suo, brevibus distincta sigillis. Threiciam Rhodopen habet angulus unus et Haemum (nunc gelidi montes, mortalia corpora quondam !), nomina summorum sibi qui tribuere deorum. Altera Pygmaeae fatum miserabile matris pars habet: hanc Iuno victam certamine iussit esse gruem populisque suis indicere bella. Pinxit et Antigonen ausam contendere quondam cum magni consorte Iovis, quam regia Iuno in volucrem vertit; nec profuit Ilion illi Laomedonve pater, sumptis quin candida pennis
ipsa sibi plaudat crepitante ciconia rostro. Qui superest solus, Cinyran habet angulus orbum; isque gradus templi, natarum membra suarum, amplectens saxoque iacens lacrimare videtur. Circuit extremas oleis pacalibus oras: is modus est, operisque sua facit arbore finem. Maeonis elusam designat imagine tauri Europam: verum taurum, freta vera putares. Ipsa videbatur terras spectare relictas et comites clamare suas tactumque vereri adsilientis aquae timidasque reducere plantas. Fecit et Asterien aquila luctante teneri,
fecit olorinis Ledam recubare sub alis; addidit, ut satyri celatus imagine pulchram Iuppiter implerit gemino Nycteida fetu, Amphitryon fuerit, cum te, Tirynthia, cepit, aureus ut Danaen, Asopida luserit ignis, Mnemosynen pastor, varius Deoida serpens. Te quoque mutatum torvo, Neptune, iuvenco virgine in Aeolia posuit. Tu visus Enipeus gignis Aloidas, aries Bisaltida fallis; et te flava comas frugum mitissima mater sensit equum, sensit volucrem crinita colubris mater equi volucris, sensit delphina Melantho.
Omnibus his faciemque suam faciemque locorum reddidit. Est illic agrestis imagine Phoebus, utque modo accipitris pennas, modo terga leonis gesserit, ut pastor Macareida luserit Issen; Liber ut Erigonen falsa deceperit uva, ut Saturnus equo geminum Chirona crearit. Ultima pars telae, tenui circumdata limbo, nexilibus flores hederis habet intertextos. Non illud Pallas, non illud carpere Livor possit opus. Doluit successu flava virago et rupit pictas, caelestia crimina, vestes. Utque Cytoriaco radium de monte tenebat,
ter quater Idmoniae frontem percussit Arachnes. Non tulit infelix laqueoque animosa ligavit guttura. Pendentem Pallas miserata levavit atque ita “vive quidem, pende tamen, improba” dixit: “lexque eadem poenae, ne sis secura futuri, dicta tuo generi serisque nepotibus esto.” Post ea discedens sucis Hecateidos herbae sparsit; et extemplo tristi medicamine tactae defluxere comae, cum quis et naris et aures, fitque caput minimum, toto quoque corpore parva est: in latere exiles digiti pro cruribus haerent, cetera venter habet: de quo tamen illa remittit
stamen et antiquas exercet aranea telas. Lydia tota fremit, Phrygiaeque per oppida facti rumor it et magnum sermonibus occupat orbem. Ante suos Niobe thalamos cognoverat illam, tum cum Maeoniam virgo Sipylumque colebat; nec tamen admonita est poena popularis Arachnes cedere caelitibus verbisque minoribus uti. Multa dabant animos: sed enim nec coniugis artes nec genus amborum magnique potentia regni sic placuere illi, quamvis ea cuncta placerent, ut sua progenies; et felicissima matrum dicta foret Niobe, si non sibi visa fuisset.
Nam sata Tiresia venturi praescia Manto per medias fuerat divino concita motu vaticinata vias: “Ismenides, ite frequentes et date Latonae Latonigenisque duobus cum prece tura pia lauroque innectite crinem. Ore meo Latona iubet.” Paretur, et omnes Thebaides iussis sua tempora frondibus ornant turaque dant sanctis et verba precantia flammis. Ecce venit comitum Niobe celeberrima turba, vestibus intexto Phrygiis spectabilis auro, et, quantum ira sinit, formosa: movensque decoro cum capite inmissos umerum per utrumque capillos
constitit; utque oculos circumtulit alta superbos, “quis furor, auditos” inquit “praeponere visis caelestes? aut cur colitur Latona per aras, numen adhuc sine ture meum est? mihi Tantalus auctor, cui licuit soli superorum tangere mensas, Pleiadum soror est genetrix mea, maximus Atlas est avus, aetherium qui fert cervicibus axem; Iuppiter alter avus socero quoque glorior illo. Me gentes metuunt Phrygiae, me regia Cadmi sub domina est, fidibusque mei commissa mariti moenia cum populis a meque viroque reguntur. In quamcumque domus adverti lumina partem,
inmensae spectantur opes. Accedit eodem digna dea facies. Huc natas adice septem et totidem iuvenes et mox generosque nurusque. Quaerite nunc, habeat quam nostra superbia causam, nescio quoque audete satam Titanida Coeo Latonam praeferre mihi, cui maxima quondam exiguam sedem pariturae terra negavit. Nec caelo nec humo nec aquis dea vestra recepta est: exsul erat mundi, donec miserata vagantem “hospita tu terris erras, ego” dixit “in undis” instabilemque locum Delos dedit. Illa duorum facta parens: uteri pars haec est septima nostri.
Sum felix: quis enim neget hoc? felixque manebo: hoc quoque quis dubitet? tutam me copia fecit, Maior sum, quam cui possit Fortuna nocere, multaque ut eripiat, multo mihi plura relinquet. Excessere metum mea iam bona. Fingite demi huic aliquid populo natorum posse meorum, non tamen ad numerum redigar spoliata duorum, Latonae turbam: qua quantum distat ab orba? Ite, satis, propere ite, sacri est laurumque capillis ponite.” Deponunt et sacra infecta relinquunt, quodque licet tacito venerantur murmure numen. Indignata dea est summoque in vertice Cynthi
talibus est dictis gemina cum prole locuta: “En ego vestra parens, vobis animosa creatis, et nisi Iunoni nulli cessura dearum, an dea sim dubitor perque omnia saecula cultis arceor, o nati, nisi vos succurritis, aris. Nec dolor hic solus: diro convicia facto Tantalis adiecit vosque est postponere natis ausa suis, et me, quod in ipsam reccidat, orbam, dixit et exhibuit linguam scelerata paternam.” Adiectura preces erat his Latona relatis: “desine!” Phoebus ait: “poenae mora longa querella est.” Dixit idem Phoebe: celerique per aera lapsu
contigerant tecti Calmeida nubibus arcem. Planus erat lateque patens prope moenia campus, adsiduis pulsatus equis, ubi turba rotarum duraque mollierat subiectas ungula glaebas. Pars ibi de septem genitis Amphione fortes conscendunt in equos Tyrioque rubentia suco terga premunt auroque graves moderantur habenas. E quibus Ismenus, qui matri sarcina quondam prima suae fuerat, dum certum flectit in orbem quadrupedis cursus spumantiaque ora coercet, “ei mihi!” conclamat medioque in pectore fixa tela gerit, frenisque manu moriente remissis
in latus a dextro paulatim defluit armo. Proximus, audito sonitu per inane pharetrae, frena dabat Sipylus, veluti cum praescius imbris nube fugit visa pendentiaque undique rector carbasa deducit, ne qua levis effluat aura. Frena tamen dantem non evitabile telum consequitur; summaque tremens cervice sagitta haesit, et exstabat nudum de gutture ferrum. Ille, ut erat, pronus per crura admissa iubasque volvitur et calido tellurem sanguine foedat. Phaedimus infelix et aviti nominis heres Tantalus, ut solito finem imposuere labori,
transierant ad opus nitidae iuvenale palaestrae; et iam contulerant arto luctantia nexu pectora pectoribus, cum tento concita nervo, sicut erant iuncti, traiecit utrumque sagitta. Ingemuere simul, simul incurvata dolore membra solo posuere, simul suprema iacentes lumina versarunt, animam simul exhalarunt. Adspicit Alphenor laniataque pectora plangens advolat, ut gelidos complexibus adlevet artus, inque pio cadit officio: nam Delius illi intima fatifero rupit praecordia ferro. Quod simul eductum est, pars est pulmonis in hamis
eruta cumque anima cruor est effusus in auras. At non intonsum simplex Damasichthona vulnus adficit. Ictus erat qua crus esse incipit et qua mollia nervosus facit internodia poples. Dumque manu temptat trahere exitiabile telum, altera per iugulum pennis tenus acta sagitta est. Expulit hanc sanguis, seque eiaculatus in altum emicat et longe terebrata prosilit aura. Ultimus Ilioneus non profectura precando bracchia sustulerat, “di” que “o communiter omnes,” dixerat ignarus non omnes esse rogandos “parcite.” Motus erat, cum iam revocabile telum
non fuit, arquitenens. Minimo tamen occidit ille vulnere, non alte percusso corde sagitta. Fama mali populique dolor lacrimaeque suorum tam subitae matrem certam fecere ruinae, mirantem potuisse, irascentemque, quod ausi hoc essent superi, quod tantum iuris haberent. Nam pater Amphion ferro per pectus adacto finierat moriens pariter cum luce dolorem. Heu quantum haec Niobe Niobe distabat ab illa, quae modo Latois populum submoverat aris et mediam tulerat gressus resupina per urbem, invidiosa suis, at nunc miseranda vel hosti.
Corporibus gelidis incumbit et ordine nullo oscula dispensat natos suprema per omnes. A quibus ad caelum liventia bracchia tollens “pascere, crudelis, nostro, Latona, dolore, pascere” ait “satiaque meo tua pectora luctu: efferor. Exsulta victrixque inimica triumpha. Cur autem victrix? miserae mihi plura supersunt, quam tibi felici: post tot quoque funera vinco.” Dixerat, et sonuit contento nervus ab arcu. Qui praeter Nioben unam conterruit omnes: illa malo est audax. Stabant cum vestibus atris ante toros fratrum demisso crine sorores.
E quibus una trahens haerentia viscere tela imposito fratri moribunda relanguit ore: altera solari miseram conata parentem conticuit subito duplicataque vulnere tota est. Haec frustra fugiens collabitur, illa sorori inmoritur, latet haec, illam trepidare videres. Sexque datis leto diversaque vulnera passis ultima restabat. Quam toto corpore mater, tota veste tegens “unam minimamque relinque de multis minimam posco” clamavit “et unam.” Dumque rogat, pro qua rogat, occidit. Orba resedit exanimes inter natos natasque virumque,
deriguitque malis. Nullos movet aura capillos, in vultu color est sine sanguine, lumina maestis stant inmota genis, nihil est in imagine vivum. Ipsa quoque interius cum duro lingua palato congelat, et venae desistunt posse moveri; nec flecti cervix nec bracchia reddere motus nec pes ire potest; intra quoque viscera saxum est. Flet tamen. Et validi circumdata turbine venti in patriam rapta est. Ibi fixa cacumine montis liquitur, et lacrimas etiam nunc marmora manant. Tum vero cuncti manifestam numinis iram femina virque timent cultuque impensius omnes
magna gemelliparae venerantur numina divae, utque fit, a facto propiore priora renarrant. E quibus unus ait: “Lyciae quoque fertilis agris non impune deam veteres sprevere coloni. Res obscura quidem est ignobilitate virorum, mira tamen. Vidi praesens stagnumque locumque prodigio notum. Nam me iam grandior aevo impatiensque viae genitor deducere lectos iusserat inde boves gentisque illius eunti ipse ducem dederat. Cum quo dum pascua lustro, ecce lacu medio sacrorum nigra favilla ara vetus stabat tremulis circumdata cannis.
Restitit et pavido “faveas mihi” murmure dixit dux meus; et simili “faveas” ego murmure dixi. Naiadum Faunine foret tamen ara rogabam indigenaeve dei, cum talia rettulit hospes: “Non hac, o iuvenis, montanum numen in ara est: illa suam vocat hanc, cui quondam regia coniunx orbem interdixit, quam vix erratica Delos orantem accepit, tum cum levis insula nabat. Illic incumbens cum Palladis arbore palmae edidit invita geminos Latona noverca. Hinc quoque Iunonem fugisse puerpera fertur inque suo portasse sinu, duo numina, natos.
Iamque Chimaeriferae, cum sol gravis ureret arva, finibus in Lyciae longo dea fessa labore sidereo siccata sitim conlegit ab aestu, uberaque ebiberant avidi lactantia nati. Forte lacum mediocris aquae prospexit in imis vallibus; agrestes illic fruticosa legebant vimina cum iuncis gratamque paludibus ulvam. Accessit positoque genu Titania terram pressit, ut hauriret gelidos potura liquores. Rustica turba vetat. Dea sic adfata vetantes: “Quid prohibetis aquis? usus communis aquarum est. Nec solem proprium natura nec aera fecit
nec tenues undas: ad publica munera veni. Quae tamen ut detis, supplex peto. Non ego nostros abluere hic artus lassataque membra parabam, sed relevare sitim. Caret os umore loquentis et fauces arent, vixque est via vocis in illis. Haustus aquae mihi nectar erit, vitamque fatebor accepisse simul: vitam dederitis in unda. Hi quoque vos moveant, qui nostro bracchia tendunt parva sinu:” et casu tendebant bracchia nati. Quem non blanda deae potuissent verba movere? Hi tamen orantem perstant prohibere minasque, ni procul abscedat, conviciaque insuper addunt.
Nec satis est, ipsos etiam pedibusque manuque turbavere lacus imoque e gurgite mollem huc illuc limum saltu movere maligno. Distulit ira sitim: neque enim iam filia Coei supplicat indignis nec dicere sustinet ultra verba minora dea, tollensque ad sidera palmas “aeternum stagno” dixit “vivatis in isto.” Eveniunt optata deae: iuvat esse sub undis et modo tota cava submergere membra palude, nunc proferre caput, summo modo gurgite nare, saepe super ripam stagni consistere, saepe in gelidos resilire lacus. Sed nunc quoque turpes
litibus exercent linguas pulsoque pudore, quamvis sint sub aqua, sub aqua maledicere temptant. Vox quoque iam rauca est, inflataque colla tumescunt, ipsaque dilatant patulos convicia rictus. Terga caput tangunt, colla intercepta videntur, spina viret, venter, pars maxima corporis, albet, limosoque novae saliunt in gurgite ranae.”” Sic ubi nescio quis Lycia de gente virorum rettulit exitium, satyri reminiscitur alter, quem Tritoniaca Latous harundine victum adfecit poena. “Quid me mihi detrahis?” inquit: “a piget a non est” clamabat “tibia tanti.”
Clamanti cutis est summos direpta per artus, nec quicquam nisi vulnus erat; cruor undique manat, detectique patent nervi, trepidaeque sine ulla pelle micant venae; salientia viscera posses et perlucentes numerare in pectore fibras. Illum ruricolae, silvarum numina, fauni et satyri fratres et tunc quoque carus Olympus et nymphae flerunt, et quisquis montibus illis lanigerosque greges armentaque bucera pavit. Fertilis inmaduit madefactaque terra caducas concepit lacrimas ac venis perbibit imis; quas ubi fecit aquam, vacuas emisit in auras.
Inde petens rapidum ripis declivibus aequor Marsya nomen habet, Phrygiae liquidissimus amnis. Talibus extemplo redit ad praesentia dictis vulgus et exstinctum cum stirpe Amphiona luget. Mater in invidia est. Hanc tunc quoque dicitur unus flesse Pelops, umeroque, suas a pectore postquam deduxit vestes ebur ostendisse sinistro. Concolor hic umerus nascendi tempore dextro corporeusque fuit: manibus mox caesa paternis membra ferunt iunxisse deos; aliisque repertis, qui locus est iuguli medius summique lacerti, defuit. Impositum est non comparentis in usum
partis ebur, factoque Pelops fuit integer illo. Finitimi proceres coeunt, urbesque propinquae oravere suos ire ad solacia reges, Argosque et Sparte Pelopeiadesque Mycenae et nondum torvae Calydon invisa Dianae Orchomenosque ferax et nobilis aere Corinthus Messeneque ferox Patraeque humilesque Cleonae et Nelea Pylos, neque adhuc Pittheia Troezen, quaeque urbes aliae bimari clauduntur ab Isthmo exteriusque sitae bimari spectantur ab Isthmo. Credere quis posset? solae cessastis Athenae. Obstitit officio bellum, subvectaque ponto
barbara Mopsopios terrebant agmina muros. Threicius Tereus haec auxiliaribus armis fuderat et clarum vincendo nomen habebat. Quem sibi Pandion opibusque virisque potentem et genus a magno ducentem forte Gradivo conubio Procnes iunxit. Non pronuba Iuno, non Hymenaeus adest, non illi Gratia lecto. Eumenides tenuere faces de funere raptas, Eumenides stravere torum, tectoque profanus incubuit bubo thalamique in culmine sedit. Hac ave coniuncti Procne Tereusque, parentes hac ave sunt facti. Gratata est scilicet illis
Thracia, disque ipsi grates egere diemque, quaque data est claro Pandione nata tyranno, quaque erat ortus Itys, festum iussere vocari. Usque adeo latet utilitas. Iam tempora Titan quinque per autumnos repetiti duxerat anni, cum blandita viro Procne “si gratia” dixit “ulla mea est, vel me visendam mitte sorori, vel soror huc veniat! redituram tempore parvo promittes socero: magni mihi muneris instar germanam vidisse dabis.” Iubet ille carinas in freta deduci veloque et remige portus Cecropios intrat Piraeaque litora tangit.
Ut primum soceri data copia, dextera dextrae iungitur, et fausto committitur omine sermo. Coeperat adventus causam, mandata referre coniugis et celeres missae spondere recursus: ecce venit magno dives Philomela paratu, divitior forma: quales audire solemus naidas et dryadas mediis incedere silvis, si modo des illis cultus similesque paratus. Non secus exarsit conspecta virgine Tereus, quam siquis canis ignem supponat aristis, aut frondem positasque cremet faenilibus herbas. Digna quidem facies: sed et hunc innata libido
exstimulat, pronumque genus regionibus illis in venerem est: flagrat vitio gentisque suoque. Impetus est illi comitum corrumpere curam nutricisque fidem, nec non ingentibus ipsam sollicitare datis totumque impendere regnum, aut rapere et saevo raptam defendere bello—, et nihil est quod non effreno captus amore ausit nec capiunt inclusas pectora flammas. Iamque moras male fert cupidoque revertitur ore ad mandata Procnes, et agit sua vota sub illa. Facundum faciebat amor: quotiensque rogabat ulterius iusto Procnen ita velle ferebat.
Addidit et lacrimas, tamquam mandasset et illas. Pro superi, quantum mortalia pectora caecae noctis habent! ipso sceleris molimine Tereus creditur esse pius laudemque a crimine sumit. Quid quod idem Philomela cupit patriosque lacertis blanda tenens umeros, ut eat visura sororem, perque suam contraque suam petit ipsa salutem. Spectat eam Tereus praecontrectatque videndo osculaque et collo circumdata bracchia cernens omnia pro stimulis facibusque ciboque furoris accipit; et quotiens amplectitur illa parentem, esse parens vellet: neque enim minus impius esset.
Vincitur ambarum genitor prece. Gaudet agitque illa patri grates et successisse duabus id putat infelix, quod erit lugubre duabus. Iam labor exiguus Phoebo restabat, equique pulsabant pedibus spatium declivis Olympi: regales epulae mensis et Bacchus in auro ponitur; hinc placido dantur sua corpora somno. At rex Odrysius, quamvis secessit, in illa aestuat, et, repetens faciem motusque manusque, qualia vult fingit quae nondum vidit, et ignes ipse suos nutrit, cura removente soporem. Lux erat, et generi dextram complexus euntis
Pandion comitem lacrimis commendat obortis: “Hanc ego, care gener, quoniam pia causa coegit et voluere ambae, voluisti tu quoque, Tereu, do tibi, perque fidem cognataque pectora supplex, per superos oro, patrio ut tuearis amore et mihi sollicitae lenimen dulce senectae quam primum (omnis erit nobis mora longa) remittas. Tu quoque quam primum (satis est procul esse sororem) si pietas ulla est, ad me, Philomela, redito.” Mandabat pariterque suae dabat oscula natae, et lacrimae mites inter mandata cadebant. Utque fide pignus dextras utriusque poposcit
inter seque datas iunxit natamque nepotemque absentes pro se memori rogat ore salutent; supremumque vale pleno singultibus ore vix dixit timuitque suae praesagia mentis. Ut semel imposita est pictae Philomela carinae, admotumque fretum remis tellusque repulsa est, “vicimus” exclamat, “mecum mea vota feruntur” exsultatque et vix animo sua gaudia differt barbarus et nusquam lumen detorquet ab illa, non aliter, quam cum pedibus praedator obuncis deposuit nido leporem Iovis ales in alto: nulla fuga est capto, spectat sua praemia raptor.
Iamque iter effectum, iamque in sua litora fessis puppibus exierant, cum rex Pandione natam in stabula alta trahit, silvis obscura vetustis, atque ibi pallentem trepidamque et cuncta timentem et iam cum lacrimis, ubi sit germana, rogantem includit: fassusque nefas et virginem et unam vi superat frustra clamato saepe parente, saepe sorore sua, magnis super omnia divis. Illa tremit velut agna pavens, quae saucia cani ore excussa lupi nondum sibi tuta videtur, utque columba suo madefactis sanguine plumis horret adhuc avidosque timet, quibus haeserat, ungues.
Mox ubi mens rediit, passos laniata capillos, lugenti similis, caesis plangore lacertis, intendens palmas “o diris barbare factis, o crudelis” ait “nec te mandata parentis cum lacrimis movere piis nec cura sororis nec mea virginitas nec coniugialia iura! Omnia turbasti: paelex ego facta sororis, tu geminus coniunx, hostis mihi debita Procne. Quin animam hanc, ne quod facinus tibi, perfide, restet, eripis? atque utinam fecisses ante nefandos concubitus vacuas habuissem criminis umbras. Si tamen haec superi cernunt, si numina divum
sunt aliquid, si non perierunt omnia mecum, quandocumque mihi poenas dabis. Ipsa pudore proiecto tua facta loquar. Si copia detur, in populos veniam; si silvis clausa tenebor, implebo silvas et conscia saxa movebo: audiet haec aether, et si deus ullus in illo est.” Talibus ira feri postquam commota tyranni nec minor hac metus est, causa stimulatus utraque quo fuit accinctus, vagina liberat ensem arreptamque coma flexis post terga lacertis vincla pati cogit. Iugulum Philomela parabat spemque suae mortis viso conceperat ense:
ille indignantem et nomen patris usque vocantem luctantemque loqui comprensam forcipe linguam abstulit ense fero. Radix micat ultima linguae, ipsa iacet terraeque tremens inmurmurat atrae; utque salire solet mutilatae cauda colubrae, palpitat et moriens dominae vestigia quaerit. Hoc quoque post facinus (vix ausim credere) fertur saepe sua lacerum repetisse libidine corpus. Sustinet ad Procnen post talia facta reverti. Coniuge quae viso germanam quaerit: at ille dat gemitus fictos commentaque funera narrat, et lacrimae fecere fidem. Velamima Procne
deripit ex umeris auro fulgentia lato induiturque atras vestes et inane sepulcrum constituit falsisque piacula manibus infert et luget non sic lugendae fata sororis. Signa deus bis sex acto lustraverat anno. Quid faciat Philomela? fugam custodia claudit, structa rigent solido stabulorum moenia saxo, os mutum facti caret indice. Grande doloris ingenium est, miserisque venit sollertia rebus. Stamina barbarica suspendit callida tela purpureasque notas filis intexuit albis, indicium sceleris; perfectaque tradidit uni,
utque ferat dominae gestu rogat: illa rogata pertulit ad Procnen, nec scit, quid tradat in illis. Evolvit vestes saevi matrona tyranni fortunaeque suae carmen miserabile legit et (mirum potuisse) silet. Dolor ora repressit, verbaque quaerenti satis indignantia linguae defuerunt; nec flere vacat, sed fasque nefasque confusura ruit, poenaeque in imagine tota est. Tempus erat, quo sacra solent trieterica Bacchi Sithoniae celebrare nurus: nox conscia sacris. Nocte sonat Rhodope tinnitibus aeris acuti, nocte sua est egressa domo regina deique
ritibus instruitur furialiaque accipit arma. Vite caput tegitur, lateri cervina sinistro vellera dependent, umero levis incubat hasta. Concita per silvas turba comitante suarum terribilis Procne furiisque agitata doloris, Bacche, tuas simulat. Venit ad stabula avia tandem exululatque euhoeque sonat portasque refringit germanamque rapit; raptaeque insignia Bacchi induit et vultus hederarum frondibus abdit attonitamque trahens intra sua moenia ducit. Ut sensit tetigisse domum Philomela nefandam, horruit infelix totoque expalluit ore.
Nacta locum Procne sacrorum pignera demit oraque develat miserae pudibunda sororis amplexumque petit. Sed non attollere contra sustinet haec oculos, paelex sibi visa sororis, deiectoque in humum vultu iurare volenti testarique deos, per vim sibi dedecus illud illatum, pro voce manus fuit. Ardet et iram non capit ipsa suam Procne; fletumque sororis corripiens “non est lacrimis hoc” inquit “agendum, sed ferro, sed si quid habes, quod vincere ferrum possit. In omne nefas ego me, germana, paravi. Aut ego, cum facibus regalia tecta cremabo,
artificem mediis inmittam Terea flammis, aut linguam, aut oculos et quae tibi membra pudorem abstulerunt, ferro rapiam, aut per vulnera mille sontem animam expellam. Magnum quodcumque paravi: quid sit, adhuc dubito.” Peragit dum talia Procne, ad matrem veniebat Itys. Quid possit, ab illo admonita est: oculisque tuens inmitibus “a quam es similis patri” dixit. Nec plura locuta triste parat facinus tacitaque exaestuat ira. Ut tamen accessit natus matrique salutem attulit et parvis adduxit colla lacertis mixtaque blanditiis puerilibus oscula iunxit,
mota quidem est genetrix infractaque constitit ira invitique oculi lacrimis maduere coactis: sed simul ex nimia mentem pietate labare sensit, ab hoc iterum est ad vultus versa sororis inque vicem spectans ambos “cur admovet” inquit “alter blanditias, rapta silet altera lingua? Quam vocat hic matrem, cur non vocat illa sororem? Cui sis nupta, vide, Pandione nata, marito. Degeneras: scelus est pietas in coniuge Tereo.” Nec mora, traxit Ityn, veluti Gangetica cervae lactentem fetum per silvas tigris opacas. Utque domus altae partem tenuere remotam,
tendentemque manus et iam sua fata videntem et “mater, mater” clamantem et colla petentem ense ferit Procne, lateri qua pectus adhaeret, nec vultum vertit. Satis illi ad fata vel unum vulnus erat: iugulum ferro Philomela resolvit. Vivaque adhuc animaeque aliquid retinentia membra dilaniant. Pars inde cavis exsultat aenis, pars veribus stridunt: manant penetralia tabo. His adhibet coniunx ignarum Terea mensis et patrii moris sacrum mentita, quod uni fas sit adire viro, comites famulosque removit. Ipse sedens solio Tereus sublimis avito
vescitur inque suam sua viscera congerit alvum. Tantaque nox animi est, “Ityn huc accersite” dixit. Dissimulare nequit crudelia gaudia Procne, iamque suae cupiens exsistere nuntia cladis, “intus habes, quem poscis” ait. Circumspicit ille atque ubi sit quaerit. Quaerenti iterumque vocanti, sicut erat sparsis furiali caede capillis, prosiluit Ityosque caput Philomela cruentum misit in ora patris: nec tempore maluit ullo posse loqui et mentis testari gaudia dictis. Thracius ingenti mensas clamore repellit vipereasque ciet Stygia de valle sorores;
et modo, si posset reserato pectore diras egerere inde dapes inmersaque viscera gestit, flet modo seque vocat bustum miserabile nati, nunc sequitur nudo genitas Pandione ferro. Corpora Cecropidum pennis pendere putares: pendebant pennis. Quarum petit altera silvas, altera tecta subit; neque adhuc de pectore caedis excessere notae, signataque sanguine pluma est. Ille dolore suo poenaeque cupidine velox vertitur in volucrem, cui stant in vertice cristae; prominet inmodicum pro longa cuspide rostrum: nomen epops volucri, facies armata videtur.
Hic dolor ante diem longaeque extrema senectae tempora Tartareas Pandiona misit ad umbras. Sceptra loci rerumque capit moderamen Erechtheus, iustitia dubium validisne potentior armis. Quattuor ille quidem iuvenes totidemque crearat femineae sortis: sed erat par forma duarum. E quibus Aeolides Cephalus te coniuge felix, Procri, fuit; Boreae Tereus Thracesque nocebant, dilectaque diu caruit deus Orithyia, dum rogat et precibus mavult quam viribus uti. Ast ubi blanditiis agitur nihil, horridus ira, quae solita est illi nimiumque domestica vento,
“et merito!” dixit: “quid enim mea tela reliqui, saevitiam et vires iramque animosque minaces, admovique preces, quarum me dedecet usus? Apta mihi vis est: vi tristia nubila pello, vi freta concutio nodosaque robora verto induroque nives et terras grandine pulso. Idem ego cum fratres caelo sum nactus aperto (nam mihi campus is est), tanto molimine luctor, ut medius nostris concursibus insonet aether exsiliantque cavis elisi nubibus ignes. Idem ego cum subii convexa foramina terrae supposuique ferox imis mea terga cavernis,
sollicito manes totumque tremoribus orbem. Hac ope debueram thalamos petiisse, socerque non orandus erat, vi sed faciendus Erechtheus.” Haec Boreas aut his non inferiora locutus excussit pennas: quarum iactatibus omnis adflata est tellus latumque perhorruit aequor. Pulvereamque trahens per summa cacumina pallam verrit humum pavidamque metu caligine tectus Orithyian amans fulvis amplectitur alis. Dum volat, arserunt agitati fortius ignes. Nec prius aerii cursus suppressit habenas, quam Ciconum tenuit populos et moenia raptor.
Illic et gelidi coniunx Actaea tyranni et genetrix facta est, partus enixa gemellos, cetera qui matris, pennas genitoris haberent. Non tamen has una memorant cum corpore natas, barbaque dum rutilis aberat subnixa capillis, implumes Calaisque puer Zetesque fuerunt. Mox pariter pennae ritu coepere volucrum cingere utrumque latus, pariter flavescere malae. Ergo ubi concessit tempus puerile iuventae, vellera cum Minyis nitido radiantia villo per mare non notum prima petiere carina.
Book 7
Iamque fretum Minyae Pagasaea puppe secabant, perpetuaque trahens inopem sub nocte senectam Phineus visus erat, iuvenesque Aquilone creati virgineas volucres miseri senis ore fugarant, multaque perpessi claro sub Iasone tandem contigerant rapidas limosi Phasidos undas. Dumque adeunt regem Phrixeaque vellera poscunt lexque datur Minyis magnorum horrenda laborum, concipit interea validos Aeetias ignes et luctata diu, postquam ratione furorem vincere non poterat, “frustra Medea, repugnas: nescio quis deus obstat” ait; “mirumque, nisi hoc est,
aut aliquid certe simile huic, quod amare vocatur. Nam cur iussa patris nimium mihi dura videntur? Sunt quoque dura nimis. Cur, quem modo denique vidi, ne pereat, timeo? quae tanti causa timoris? Excute virgineo conceptas pectore flammas, si potes, infelix! — Si possem, sanior essem. Sed trahit invitam nova vis, aliudque cupido, mens aliud suadet. Video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor. Quid in hospite, regia virgo, ureris et thalamos alieni concipis orbis? Haec quoque terra potest, quod ames, dare. Vivat an ille occidat, in dis est. Vivat tamen! idque precari
vel sine amore licet: quid enim commisit Iason? Quem, nisi crudelem, non tangat Iasonis aetas et genus et virtus? Quem non, ut cetera desint, ore movere potest? Certe mea pectora movit. At nisi opem tulero, taurorum adflabitur ore concurretque suae segeti, tellure creatis hostibus, aut avido dabitur fera praeda draconi. Hoc ego si patiar, tum me de tigride natam, tum ferrum et scopulos gestare in corde fatebor. Cur non et specto pereuntem oculosque videndo conscelero? Cur non tauros exhortor in illum terrigenasque feros insopitumque draconem?
Di meliora velint. Quamquam non ista precanda, sed facienda mihi. — Prodamne ego regna parentis, atque ope nescio quis servabitur advena nostra, ut per me sospes sine me det lintea ventis virque sit alterius, poenae Medea relinquar? Si facere hoc aliamve potest praeponere nobis, occidat ingratus. Sed non is vultus in illo, non ea nobilitas animo est, ea gratia formae, ut timeam fraudem meritique oblivia nostri. Et dabit ante fidem, cogamque in foedera testes esse deos. Quid tuta times? accingere et omnem pelle moram: tibi se semper debebit Iason,
te face sollemni iunget sibi, perque Pelasgas servatrix urbes matrum celebrabere turba. Ergo ego germanam fratremque patremque deosque et natale solum, ventis ablata, relinquam? Nempe pater saevus, nempe est mea barbara tellus, frater adhuc infans: stant mecum vota sororis, maximus intra me deus est. Non magna relinquam, magna sequar: titulum servatae pubis Achivae notitiamque loci melioris et oppida, quorum hic quoque fama viget, cultusque artesque locorum; quemque ego cum rebus, quas totus possidet orbis, Aesoniden mutasse velim; quo coniuge felix
et dis cara ferar et vertice sidera tangam. Quid, quod nescio qui mediis concurrere in undis dicuntur montes, ratibusque inimica Charybdis nunc sorbere fretum, nunc reddere, cinctaque saevis Scylla rapax canibus Siculo latrare profundo? Nempe tenens, quod amo, gremioque in Iasonis haerens per freta longa ferar: nihil illum amplexa verebor aut, siquid metuam, metuam de coniuge solo. — Coniugiumne vocas speciosaque nomina culpae imponis, Medea, tuae? Quin adspice, quantum adgrediare nefas, et, dum licet, effuge crimen.” Dixit, et ante oculos rectum pietasque pudorque
constiterant, et victa dabat iam terga Cupido. Ibat ad antiquas Hecates Perseidos aras, quas nemus umbrosum secretaque silva tegebat. Et iam fortis erat pulsusque resederat ardor, cum videt Aesoniden exstinctaque flamma reluxit. Erubuere genae, totoque recanduit ore, utque solet ventis alimenta adsumere quaeque parva sub inducta latuit scintilla favilla crescere et in veteres agitata resurgere vires, sic iam lentus amor, iam quem languere putares, ut vidit iuvenem, specie praesentis inarsit. Et casu solito formosior Aesone natus
illa luce fuit: posses ignoscere amanti. Spectat et in vultu veluti tum denique viso lumina fixa tenet nec se mortalia demens ora videre putat, nec se declinat ab illo. Ut vero coepitque loqui dextramque prehendit hospes et auxilium submissa voce rogavit promisitque torum, lacrimis ait illa profusis: “Quid faciam, video (non ignorantia veri decipiet, sed amor): servabere munere nostro; servatus promissa dato.” Per sacra triformis ille deae, lucoque foret quod numen in illo, perque patrem soceri cernentem cuncta futuri
eventusque suos et tanta pericula iurat. Creditus accepit cantatas protinus herbas edidicitque usum, laetusque in tecta recessit. Postera depulerat stellas aurora micantes: conveniunt populi sacrum Mavortis in arvum consistuntque iugis. Medio rex ipse resedit agmine purpureus sceptroque insignis eburno. Ecce adamanteis Vulcanum naribus efflant aeripedes tauri, tactaeque vaporibus herbae ardent; utque solent pleni resonare camini, aut ubi terrena silices fornace soluti concipiunt ignem liquidarum adspergine aquarum,
pectora sic intus clausas volventia flammas gutturaque usta sonant. Tamen illis Aesone natus obvius it. Vertere truces venientis ad ora terribiles vultus praefixaque cornua ferro, pulvereumque solum pede pulsavere bisulco fumificisque locum mugitibus impleverunt. Deriguere metu Minyae: subit ille, nec ignes sentit anhelatos (tantum medicamina possunt), pendulaque audaci mulcet palearia dextra, suppositosque iugo pondus grave cogit aratri ducere et insuetum ferro proscindere campum. Mirantur Colchi, Minyae clamoribus augent
adiciuntque animos. Galea tum sumit aena vipereos dentes et aratos spargit in agros. Semina mollit humus valido praetincta veneno, et crescunt fiuntque sati nova corpora dentes. Utque hominis speciem materna sumit in alvo perque suos intus numeros componitur infans, nec nisi maturus communes exit in auras, sic ubi visceribus gravidae telluris imago effecta est hominis, feto consurgit in arvo, quodque magis mirum est, simul edita concutit arma. Quos ubi viderunt praeacutae cuspidis hastas in caput Haemonii iuvenis torquere parantes,
demisere metu vultumque animumque Pelasgi. Ipsa quoque extimuit, quae tutum fecerat illum; utque peti vidit iuvenem tot ab hostibus unum, palluit et subito sine sanguine frigida sedit; neve parum valeant a se data gramina, carmen auxiliare canit secretasque advocat artes. Ille gravem medios silicem iaculatus in hostes a se depulsum Martem convertit in ipsos. Terrigenae pereunt per mutua vulnera fratres civilique cadunt acie. Gratantur Achivi victoremque tenent avidisque amplexibus haerent. Tu quoque victorem complecti, barbara, velles:
sed te, ne faceres, tenuit reverentia famae. Quod licet, adfectu tacito laetaris agisque carminibus grates et dis auctoribus horum. Pervigilem superest herbis sopire draconem, qui crista linguisque tribus praesignis et uncis dentibus horrendus custos erat arboris aureae. Hunc postquam sparsit Lethaei gramine suci verbaque ter dixit placidos facientia somnos, quae mare turbatum, quae concita flumina sistunt, somnus in ignotos oculos sibi venit, et auro heros Aesonius potitur spolioque superbus muneris auctorem secum, spolia altera, portans
victor Iolciacos tetigit cum coniuge portus. Haemoniae matres pro gnatis dona receptis grandaevique ferunt patres congestaque flamma tura liquefaciunt, inductaque cornibus aurum victima vota cadit. Sed abest gratantibus Aeson, iam propior leto fessusque senilibus annis. Cum sic Aesonides: “O cui debere salutem confiteor, coniunx, quamquam mihi cuncta dedisti excessitque fidem meritorum summa tuorum, si tamen hoc possunt (quid enim non carmina possunt?), deme meis annis et demptos adde parenti.” Nec tenuit lacrimas. Mota est pietate rogantis,
dissimilemque animum subiit Aeeta relictus. Nec tamen adfectus tales confessa “quod” inquit “excidit ore tuo, coniunx, scelus? ergo ego cuiquam posse tuae videor spatium transcribere vitae? Nec sinat hoc Hecate, nec tu petis aequa. Sed isto, quod petis, experiar maius dare munus Iason. Arte mea soceri longum temptabimus aevum, non annis renovare tuis: modo diva triformis adiuvet et praesens ingentibus adnuat ausis.” Tres aberant noctes, ut cornua tota coirent efficerentque orbem. Postquam plenissima fulsit et solida terras spectavit imagine luna,
egreditur tectis vestes induta recinctas, nuda pedem, nudos umeris infusa capillos, fertque vagos mediae per muta silentia noctis incomitata gradus. Homines volucresque ferasque solverat alta quies: nullo cum murmure saepes, inmotaeque silent frondes, silet umidus aer; sidera sola micant. Ad quae sua bracchia tendens ter se convertit, ter sumptis flumine crinem inroravit aquis ternisque ululatibus ora solvit et, in dura submisso poplite terra, “Nox” ait “arcanis fidissima, quaeque diurnis aurea cum luna succeditis ignibus astra,
tuque triceps Hecate, quae coeptis conscia nostris adiutrixque venis cantusque artisque magorum, quaeque magos, Tellus, pollentibus instruis herbis, auraeque et venti montesque amnesque lacusque dique omnes nemorum, dique omnes noctis adeste. Quorum ope, cum volui, ripis mirantibus amnes in fontes rediere suos, concussaque sisto, stantia concutio cantu freta, nubila pello nubilaque induco, ventos abigoque vocoque, vipereas rumpo verbis et carmine fauces, vivaque saxa sua convulsaque robora terra et silvas moveo, iubeoque tremescere montes
et mugire solum manesque exire sepulcris. Te quoque, Luna, traho, quamvis Temesaea labores aera tuos minuant; currus quoque carmine nostro pallet avi, pallet nostris Aurora venenis. Vos mihi taurorum flammas hebetastis et unco impatiens oneris collum pressistis aratro, vos serpentigenis in se fera bella dedistis custodemque rudem somno sopistis et aurum vindice decepto Graias misistis in urbes. Nunc opus est sucis, per quos renovata senectus in florem redeat primosque reconligat annos. Et dabitis. Neque enim micuerunt sidera frustra,
nec frustra volucrum tractus cervice draconum currus adest.” Aderat demissus ab aethere currus. Quo simul adscendit frenataque colla draconum permulsit manibusque leves agitavit habenas, sublimis rapitur subiectaque Thessala Tempe despicit et Threces regionibus applicat angues: et quasque Ossa tulit quasque altus Pelion herbas Othrysque Pindusque et Pindo maior Olympus perspicit, et placitas partim radice revellit, partim succidit curvamine falcis aenae. Multa quoque Apidani placuerunt gramina ripis, multa quoque Amphrysi neque eras inmunis, Enipeu;
nec non Peneos, nec non Spercheides undae contribuere aliquid iuncosaque litora Boebes. Carpsit et Euboica vivax Anthedone gramen, nondum mutato vulgatum corpore Glauci. Et iam nona dies curru pennisque draconum nonaque nox omnes lustrantem viderat agros, cum rediit. Neque erant tacti, nisi odore, dracones, et tamen annosae pellem posuere senectae. Constitit adveniens citra limenque foresque et tantum caelo tegitur refugitque viriles contactus statuitque aras de caespite binas, dexteriore Hecates, ast laeva parte Iuventae.
Has ubi verbenis silvaque incinxit agresti. haud procul egesta scrobibus tellure duabus sacra facit cultrosque in guttura velleris atri conicit et patulas perfundit sanguine fossas. Tum super invergens liquidi carchesia vini alteraque invergens tepidi carchesia lactis verba simul fudit terrenaque numina civit umbrarumque rogat rapta cum coniuge regem, ne properent artus anima fraudare senili. Quos ubi placavit precibusque et murmure longo, Aesonis effetum proferri corpus ad auras iussit et in plenos resolutum carmine somnos,
exanimi similem, stratis porrexit in herbis. Hinc procul Aesoniden, procul hinc iubet ire ministros et monet arcanis oculos removere profanos. Diffugiunt iussi. Passis Medea capillis bacchantum ritu, flagrantes circuit aras multifidasque faces in fossa sanguinis atra tingit et infectas geminis accendit in aris terque senem flamma, ter aqua, ter sulphure lustrat. Interea validum posito medicamen aeno fervet et exsultat spumisque tumentibus albet. Illic Haemonia radices valle resectas seminaque floresque et sucos incoquit atros.
Adicit extremo lapides oriente petitos et quas Oceani refluum mare lavit harenas, addit et exceptas luna pernocte pruinas et strigis infames ipsis cum carnibus alas inque virum soliti vultus mutare ferinos ambigui prosecta lupi; nec defuit illis squamea Cinyphii tenuis membrana chelydri vivacisque iecur cervi; quibus insuper addit ora caputque novem cornicis saecula passae. His et mille aliis postquam sine nomine rebus propositum instruxit mortali barbara maius arenti ramo iampridem mitis olivae
omnia confudit summisque inmiscuit ima. Ecce vetus calido versatus stipes aeno fit viridis primo, nec longo tempore frondes induit et subito gravidis oneratur olivis. At quacumque cavis spumas eiecit aenis ignis et in terram guttae cecidere calentes, vernat humus, floresque et mollia pabula surgunt. Quae simul ac vidit, stricto Medea recludit ense senis iugulum, veteremque exire cruorem passa, replet sucis. Quos postquam combibit Aeson aut ore acceptos aut vulnere, barba comaeque canitie posita nigrum rapuere colorem,
pulsa fugit macies, abeunt pallorque situsque, adiectoque cavae supplentur corpore rugae, membraque luxuriant. Aeson miratur et olim ante quater denos hunc se reminiscitur annos. Viderat ex alto tanti miracula monstri Liber, et admonitus iuvenes nutricibus annos posse suis reddi, capit hoc a Colchide munus. Neve doli cessent, odium cum coniuge falsum Phasias adsimulat Peliaeque ad limina supplex confugit. Atque illam, quoniam gravis ipse senecta est, excipiunt natae. Quas tempore callida parvo Colchis amicitiae mendacis imagine cepit.
Dumque refert inter meritorum maxima, demptos Aesonis esse situs, atque hac in parte moratur, spes est virginibus Pelia subiecta creatis arte suum parili revirescere posse parentem. Idque petunt pretiumque iubent sine fine pacisci. Illa brevi spatio silet et dubitare videtur suspenditque animos ficta gravitate rogantes. Mox ubi pollicita est, “quo sit fiducia maior muneris huius” ait, “qui vestri maximus aevo est dux gregis inter oves, agnus medicamine fiet.” Protinus innumeris effetus laniger annis attrahitur flexo circum cava tempora cornu.
Cuius ut Haemonio marcentia guttura cultro fodit et exiguo maculavit sanguine ferrum, membra simul pecudis validosque venefica sucos mergit in aere cavo: minuunt en corporis artus cornuaque exurunt nec non cum cornibus annos, et tener auditur medio balatus aeno. Nec mora, balatum mirantibus exsilit agnus lascivitque fuga lactantiaque ubera quaerit. Obstipuere satae Pelia: promissaque postquam exhibuere fidem, tum vero impensius instant. Ter iuga Phoebus equis in Hibero flumine mersis dempserat et quarta radiantia nocte micabant
sidera, cum rapido fallax Aeetias igni imponit purum laticem et sine viribus herbas. Iamque neci similis resoluto corpore regem et cum rege suo custodes somnus habebat, quem dederant cantus magicaeque potentia linguae: intrarant iussae cum Colchide limina natae ambierantque torum. “Quid nunc dubitatis inertes? Stringite” ait “gladios veteremque haurite cruorem, ut repleam vacuas iuvenali sanguine venas. In manibus vestris vita est aetasque parentis: si pietas ulla est nec spes agitatis inanes, officium praestate patri telisque senectam
exigite et saniem coniecto emittite ferro.” His, ut quaeque pia est, hortatibus impia prima est, et ne sit scelerata, facit scelus. Haud tamen ictus ulla suos spectare potest, oculosque reflectunt caecaque dant saevis aversae vulnera dextris. Ille, cruore fluens, cubito tamen adlevat artus semilacerque toro temptat consurgere et inter tot medius gladios pallentia bracchia tendens “quid facitis, gnatae? quis vos in fata parentis armat?” ait. Cecidere illis animique manusque. Plura locuturo cum verbis guttura Colchis abstulit et calidis laniatum mersit in undis.
Quod nisi pennatis serpentibus isset in auras, non exempta foret poenae. Fugit alta superque Pelion umbrosum, Philyreia tecta, superque Othryn et eventu veteris loca nota Cerambi. Hic ope nympharum sublatus in aera pennis, cum gravis infuso tellus foret obruta ponto, Deucalioneas effugit inobrutus undas. Aeoliam Pitanen a laeva parte relinquit factaque de saxo longi simulacra draconis, Idaeumque nemus, quo nati furta, iuvencum occuluit Liber falsi sub imagine cervi, quaque pater Corythi parva tumulatus harena est,
et quos Maera novo latratu terruit agros, Eurypylique urbem, qua Coae cornua matres gesserunt tum cum discederet Herculis agmen Phoebeamque Rhodon et Ialysios Telchinas, quorum oculos ipso vitiantes omnia visu Iuppiter exosus fraternis subdidit undis. Transit et antiquae Cartheia moenia Ceae, qua pater Alcidamas placidam de corpore natae miraturus erat nasci potuisse columbam. Inde lacus Hyries videt et Cycneia tempe, quae subitus celebravit olor. Nam Phyllius illic imperio pueri volucresque ferumque leonem
tradiderat domitos; taurum quoque vincere iussus vicerat, et spreto totiens iratus amore praemia poscenti taurum suprema negabat. Ille indignatus “cupies dare” dixit et alto desiluit saxo. Cuncti cecidisse putabant: factus olor niveis pendebat in aere pennis. At genetrix Hyrie, servatum nescia, flendo delicuit stagnumque suo de nomine fecit. Adiacet his Pleuron, in qua trepidantibus alis Ophias effugit natorum vulnera Combe. Inde Calaureae Letoidos adspicit arva, in volucrem versi cum coniuge conscia regis.
Dextera Cyllene est, in qua cum matre Menephron concubiturus erat saevarum more ferarum Cephison procul hinc deflentem fata nepotis respicit, in tumidam phocen ab Apolline versi, Eumelique domum lugentis in aere natum. Tandem vipereis Ephyren Pirenida pennis contigit. Hic aevo veteres mortalia primo corpora vulgarunt pluvialibus edita fungis. Sed postquam Colchis arsit nova nupta venenis, flagrantemque domum regis mare vidit utrumque, sanguine natorum perfunditur impius ensis, ultaque se male mater Iasonis effugit arma.
Hinc Titaniacis ablata draconibus intrat Palladias arces, quae te, iustissima Phene, teque, senex Peripha, pariter videre volantes innixamque novis neptem Polypemonis alis. Excipit hanc Aegeus, facto dammandus in uno; nec satis hospitium est: thalami quoque foedere iungit. Iamque aderat Theseus, proles ignara parenti, et virtute sua bimarem pacaverat Isthmon. Huius in exitium miscet Medea quod olim attulerat secum Scythicis aconiton ab oris. Illud Echidneae memorant e dentibus ortum esse canis. Specus est tenebroso caecus hiatu,
est via declivis, per quam Tirynthius heros restantem contraque diem radiosque micantes obliquantem oculos nexis adamante catenis Cerberon abstraxit; rabida qui concitus ira implevit pariter ternis latratibus auras et sparsit virides spumis albentibus agros. Has concresse putant nactasque alimenta feracis fecundique soli vires cepisse nocendi. Quae quia nascuntur dura vivacia caute, agrestes aconita vocant. Ea coniugis astu ipse parens Aegeus nato porrexit ut hosti. Sumpserat ignara Theseus data pocula dextra,
cum pater in capulo gladii cognovit eburno signa sui generis facinusque excussit ab ore. Effugit illa necem nebulis per carmina motis. At genitor, quamquam laetatur sospite nato, attonitus tamen est ingens discrimine parvo committi potuisse nefas. Fovet ignibus aras muneribusque deos implet, feriuntque secures colla torosa boum vinctorum corpora vittis. Nullus Erechthidis fertur celebratior illo inluxisse dies. Agitant convivia patres et medium vulgus, nec non et carmina, vino ingenium faciente, canunt: “Te, maxime Theseu,
mirata est Marathon Cretaei sanguine tauri; quodque suis securus arat Cromyona colonus, munus opusque tuum est. Tellus Epidauria per te clavigeram vidit Vulcani occumbere prolem, vidit et inmitem Cephisias ora Procrusten, Cercyonis letum vidit Cerealis Eleusin. Occidit ille Sinis, magnis male viribus usus, qui poterat curvare trabes et agebat ab alto ad terram late sparsuras corpora pinus. Tutus ad Alcathoen, Lelegeia moenia, limes composito Scirone patet, sparsisque latronis terra negat sedem, sedem negat ossibus unda;
quae iactata diu fertur durasse vetustas in scopulos: scopulis nomen Scironis inhaeret. Si titulos annosque tuos numerare velimus, facta premant annos. Pro te, fortissime, vota publica suscipimus, Bacchi tibi sumimus haustus.” Consonat adsensu populi precibusque faventum regia, nec tota tristis locus ullus in urbe est. Nec tamen (usque adeo nulla est sincera voluptas, sollicitumque aliquid laetis intervenit) Aegeus gaudia percepit nato secura recepto. Bella parat Minos. Qui quamquam milite, quamquam classe valet, patria tamen est firmissimus ira
Androgeique necem iustis ulciscitur armis. Ante tamen bello vires adquirit amicas, quaque potens habitus, volucri freta classe pererrat. Hinc Anaphen sibi iungit et Astypaleia regna, promissis Anaphen, regna Astypaleia bello; hinc humilem Myconum cretosaque rura Cimoli florentemque thymo Cythnum parvamque Seriphon marmoreamque Paron, quaque impia prodidit Arnen Sithonis (accepto, quod avara poposcerat, auro mutata est in avem, quae nunc quoque diligit aurum, nigra pedes, nigris velata monedula pennis). At non Oliaros Didymaeque et Tenos et Andros
et Gyaros nitidaeque ferax Peparethos olivae Gnosiacas iuvere rates. Latere inde sinistro Oenopiam Minos petit, Aeacideia regna: Oenopiam veteres appellavere, sed ipse Aeacus Aeginam genetricis nomine dixit. Turba ruit tantaeque virum cognoscere famae expetit. Occurrunt illi Telamonque, minorque quam Telamon Peleus, et proles tertia Phocus. Ipse quoque egreditur tardus gravitate senili Aeacus, et quae sit veniendi causa requirit. Admonitus patrii luctus suspirat et illi dicta refert rector populorum talia centum:
“Arma iuves oro pro gnato sumpta piaeque pars sis militiae; tumulo solacia posco.” Huic Asopiades “petis inrita” dixit “et urbi non facienda meae: neque enim coniunctior ulla Cecropidis hac est tellus: ea foedera nobis.” Tristis abit “stabunt” que “tibi tua foedera magno” dixit et utilius bellum putat esse minari quam gerere atque suas ibi praeconsumere vires. Classis ab Oenopiis etiamnum Lyctia muris spectari poterat, cum pleno concita velo Attica puppis adest in portusque intrat amicos, quae Cephalum patriaeque simul mandata ferebat.
Aeacidae longo iuvenes post tempore visum agnovere tamen Cephalum dextrasque dedere inque patris duxere domum. Spectabilis heros et veteris retinens etiamnum pignera formae ingreditur ramumque tenens popularis olivae a dextra laevaque duos aetate minores maior habet, Clyton et Buten, Pallante creatos. Postquam congressus primi sua verba tulerunt, Cecropidae Cephalus peragit mandata rogatque auxilium foedusque refert et iura parentum imperiumque peti totius Achaidos addit. Sic ubi mandatam iuvit facundia causam,
Aeacus, in capulo sceptri nitente sinistra, “ne petite auxilium, sed sumite”, dixit “Athenae; nec dubie vires, quas haec habet insula, vestras ducite; et omnia habet (rerum status iste mearum). Robora non desunt, superat mihi miles et hosti: gratia dis, felix et inexcusabile tempus.” “Immo ita sit,” Cephalus, ”crescat tua civibus opto urbs!” ait. “Adveniens equidem modo gaudia cepi, cum tam pulchra mihi, tam par aetate iuventus obvia processit. Multos tamen inde requiro, quos quondam vidi vestra prius urbe receptus.” Aeacus ingemuit tristique ita voce locutus:
”Flebile principium melior fortuna secuta est. Hanc utinam possem vobis memorare sine illo! Ordine nunc repetam. Neu longa ambage morer vos: ossa cinisque iacent, memori quos mente requiris. Et quota pars illi rerum periere mearum! Dira lues ira populis Iunonis iniquae incidit exosae dictas a paelice terras. Dum visum mortale malum tantaeque latebat causa nocens cladis, pugnatum est arte medendi: exitium superabat opem, quae victa iacebat. Principio caelum spissa caligine terras pressit et ignavos inclusit nubibus aestus;
dumque quater iunctis explevit cornibus orbem luna, quater plenum tenuata retexuit orbem, letiferis calidi spirarunt aestibus austri. Constat et in fontes vitium venisse lacusque, miliaque incultos serpentum multa per agros errasse atque suis fluvios temerasse venenis. Strage canum primo volucrumque oviumque boumque, inque feris subiti deprensa potentia morbi. Concidere infelix validos miratur arator inter opus tauros medioque recumbere sulco; lanigeris gregibus balatus dantibus aegros sponte sua lanaeque cadunt et corpora tabent.
Acer equus quondam magnaeque in pulvere famae degenerat palmas veterumque oblitus honorum ad praesepe gemit leto moriturus inerti. Non aper irasci meminit, non fidere cursu cerva, nec armentis incurrere fortibus ursi. Omnia languor habet; silvisque agrisque viisque corpora foeda iacent, vitiantur odoribus aurae. Mira loquar: non illa canes avidaeque volucres, non cani tetigere lupi; dilapsa liquescunt adflatuque nocent et agunt contagia late. Pervenit ad miseros damno graviore colonos pestis et in magnae dominatur moenibus urbis.
Viscera torrentur primo, flammaeque latentis indicium rubor est et ductus anhelitus ingens. Aspera lingua tumet, tepidisque arentia ventis ora patent, auraeque graves captantur hiatu. Non stratum, non ulla pati velamina possunt, dura sed in terra ponunt praecordia; nec fit corpus humo gelidum, sed humus de corpore fervet. Nec moderator adest, inque ipsos saeva medentes erumpit clades, obsuntque auctoribus artes: quo propior quisque est servitque fidelius aegro, in partem leti citius venit. Utque salutis spes abiit finemque vident in funere morbi,
indulgent animis et nulla, quid utile, cura est: utile enim nihil est. Passim positoque pudore fontibus et fluviis puteisque capacibus haerent, nec sitis est exstincta prius quam vita bibendo. Inde graves multi nequeunt consurgere et ipsis inmoriuntur aquis: aliquis tamen haurit et illas. Tantaque sunt miseris invisi taedia lecti: prosiliunt, aut si prohibent consistere vires, corpora devolvunt in humum: fugiuntque penates quisque suos, sua cuique domus funesta videtur, et quia causa latet, locus est in crimine parvus Semianimes errare viis, dum stare valebant,
adspiceres, flentes alios terraque iacentes lassaque versantes supremo lumina motu: membraque pendentis tendunt ad sidera caeli, hic illic, ubi mors deprenderat, exhalantes. Quid mihi tunc animi fuit? an quod debuit esse, ut vitam odissem et cuperem pars esse meorum? Quo se cumque acies oculorum flexerat, illic vulgus erat stratum, veluti cum putria motis poma cadunt ramis agitataque ilice glandes. Templa vides contra gradibus sublimia longis: Iuppiter illa tenet. Quis non altaribus illis inrita tura dedit? Quotiens pro coniuge coniunx,
pro gnato genitor dum verba precantia dicit, non exoratis animam finivit in aris, inque manu turis pars inconsumpta reperta est! Admoti quotiens templis, dum vota sacerdos concipit et fundit purum inter cornua vinum, haud exspectato ceciderunt vulnere tauri! Ipse ego sacra Iovi pro me patriaque tribusque cum facerem natis, mugitus victima diros edidit et subito conlapsa sine ictibus ullis exiguo tinxit subiectos sanguine cultros. Exta quoque aegra notas veri monitusque deorum perdiderant: tristes penetrant ad viscera morbi.
Ante sacros vidi proiecta cadavera postes, ante ipsas, quo mors foret invidiosior, aras. Pars animam laqueo claudunt mortisque timorem morte fugant ultroque vocant venientia fata. Corpora missa neci nullis de more feruntur funeribus: neque enim capiebant funera portae. Aut inhumata premunt terras aut dantur in altos indotata rogos. Et iam reverentia nulla est, deque rogis pugnant alienisque ignibus ardent. Qui lacriment, desunt; indefletaeque vagantur matrumque nuruumque animae iuvenumque senumque: nec locus in tumulos, nec sufficit arbor in ignes.
Attonitus tanto miserarum turbine rerum, “Iuppiter o!” dixi “si te non falsa loquuntur dicta sub amplexus Aeginae Asopidos isse, nec te, magne pater, nostri pudet esse parentem, aut mihi redde meos aut me quoque conde sepulcro.” Ille notam fulgore dedit tonitruque secundo. “Accipio, sintque ista, precor, felicia mentis signa tuae” dixi. “Quod das mihi, pigneror omen.” Forte fuit iuxta patulis rarissima ramis sacra Iovi quercus de semine Dodonaeo: hic nos frugilegas adspeximus agmine longo grande onus exiguo formicas ore gerentes
rugosoque suum servantes cortice callem. Dum numerum miror, “totidem, pater optime” dixi, “tu mihi da cives et inania moenia supple.” Intremuit ramisque sonum sine flamine motis alta dedit quercus. Pavido mihi membra timore horruerant, stabantque comae. Tamen oscula terrae roboribusque dedi; nec me sperare fatebar: sperabam tamen atque animo mea vota fovebam. Nox subit, et curis exercita corpora somnus occupat: ante oculos eadem mihi quercus adesse et ramos totidem totidemque animalia ramis ferre suis visa est pariterque tremiscere motu
graniferumque agmen subiectis spargere in arvis; crescere quod subito et maius maiusque videri ac se tollere humo rectoque adsistere trunco et maciem numerumque pedum nigrumque colorem ponere et humanam membris inducere formam. Somnus abit: damno vigilans mea visa querorque in superis opis esse nihil. At in aedibus ingens murmur erat, vocesque hominum exaudire videbar iam mihi desuetas. Dum suspicor has quoque somni esse, venit Telamon properus, foribusque reclusis “speque fideque, pater” dixit, “maiora videbis: egredere!” Egredior, qualesque in imagine somni
visus eram vidisse viros, ex ordine tales adspicio noscoque. Adeunt regemque salutant. Vota Iovi solvo populisque recentibus urbem partior et vacuos priscis cultoribus agros, Myrmidonasque voco, nec origine nomina fraudo. Corpora vidisti; mores quos ante gerebant, nunc quoque habent: parcum genus est patiensque laborum quaesitique tenax et quod quaesita reservet. Hi te ad bella pares annis animisque sequentur, cum primum qui te feliciter attulit, eurus” (eurus enim attulerat) “fuerit mutatus in austros.” Talibus atque aliis longum sermonibus illi
implevere diem. Lucis pars ultima mensae est data, nox somnis. Iubar aureus extulerat Sol (flabat adhuc eurus redituraqua vela tenebat): ad Cephalum Pallante sati, cui grandior aetas, ad regem Cephalus simul et Pallante creati conveniunt. Sed adhuc regem sopor altus habebat. Excipit Aeacides illos in limine Phocus: nam Telamon fraterque viros ad bella legebant. Phocus in interius spatium pulchrosque recessus Cecropidas ducit, cum quis simul ipse resedit. Adspicit Aeoliden ignota ex arbore factum ferre manu iaculum, cuius fuit aurea cuspis.
Pauca prius mediis sermonibus ille locutus “sum nemorum studiosus” ait “caedisque ferinae: qua tamen e silva teneas hastile recisum, iamdudum dubito. Certe si fraxinus esset, fulva colore foret; si cornus, nodus inesset. Unde sit, ignoro. Sed non formosius isto viderunt oculi telum iaculabile nostri.” Excipit Actaeis e fratribus alter, et “usum maiorem specie mirabere” dixit “in isto. Consequitur quodcumque petit, fortunaque missum non regit, et revolat nullo referente cruentum.” Tum vero iuvenis Nereius omnia quaerit,
cur sit et unde datum, quis tanti muneris auctor. Quae petit, ille refert. Sed enim (narrare pudori est !), qua tulerit mercede silet; tactusque dolore coniugis amissae lacrimis ita fatur obortis: “Hoc me, nate dea, (quis possit credere?) telum flere facit facietque diu, si vivere nobis fata diu dederint. Hoc me cum coniuge cara perdidit: hoc utinam caruissem munere semper! Procris erat (si forte magis pervenit ad aures Orithyia tuas, raptae soror Orithyiae), si faciem moresque velis conferre duarum, dignior ipsa rapi. Pater hanc mihi iunxit Erechtheus,
hanc mihi iunxit amor. Felix dicebar eramque. Non ita dis visum est, aut nunc quoque forsitan essem. Alter agebatur post sacra iugalia mensis, cum me cornigeris tendentem retia cervis vertice de summo semper florentis Hymetti lutea mane videt pulsis Aurora tenebris invitumque rapit. Liceat mihi vera referre pace deae. Quod sit roseo spectabilis ore, quod teneat lucis, teneat confinia noctis, nectareis quod alatur aquis, ego —Procrin amabam: pectore Procris erat, Procris mihi semper in ore. Sacra tori coitusque novos thalamosque recentes
primaque deserti referebam foedera lecti. Mota dea est et “siste tuas, ingrate, querellas: Procrin habe!” dixit. “Quodsi mea provida mens est, non habuisse voles.” Meque illi irata remisit. Dum redeo mecumque deae memorata retracto, esse metus coepit, ne iura iugalia coniunx non bene servasset. Facies aetasque iubebat credere adulterium; prohibebant credere mores. Sed tamen afueram, sed et haec erat unde redibam, criminis exemplum, sed cuncta timemus amantes. Quaerere quod doleam statuo donisque pudicam sollicitare fidem. Favet huic Aurora timori
inmutatque meam (videor sensisse) figuram. Palladias ineo non cognoscendus Athenas ingrediorque domum. Culpa domus ipsa carebat castaque signa dabat dominoque erat anxia rapto: vix aditus per mille dolos ad Erechthida factus. Ut vidi, obstipui meditataque paene reliqui temptamenta fide. Male me, quin vera faterer, continui, male, quin, ut oportuit, oscula ferrem. Tristis erat (sed nulla tamen formosior illa esse potest tristi) desiderioque calebat coniugis abrepti. Tu conlige, qualis in illa, Phoce, decor fuerit, quam sic dolor ipse decebat.
Quid referam, quotiens temptamina nostra pudici reppulerint mores, quotiens “ego” dixerit “uni servor; ubicumque est, uni mea gaudia servo!” Cui non ista fide satis experientia sano magna foret? Non sum contentus et in mea pugno vulnera, dum census dare me pro nocte loquendo muneraque augendo tandem dubitare coegi. Exclamo: “Male (fictor adest !), male fictus adulter verus eram coniunx! me, perfida, teste teneris!” Illa nihil. Tacito tantummodo victa pudore insidiosa malo cum coniuge limina fugit; offensaque mei genus omne perosa virorum
montibus errabat, studiis operata Dianae. Tum mihi deserto violentior ignis ad ossa pervenit. Orabam veniam et peccasse fatebar et potuisse datis simili succumbere culpae me quoque muneribus, si munera tanta darentur. Haec mihi confesso, laesum prius ulta pudorem, redditur et dulces concorditer exigit annos. Dat mihi praeterea, tamquam se parva dedisset dona, canem munus, quem cum sua traderet illi Cynthia, “currendo superabit” dixerat “omnes.” Dat simul et iaculum, manibus quod (cernis) habemus. Muneris alterius quae sit fortuna, requiris?
Accipe mirandum: novitate movebere facti. Carmina Laiades non intellecta priorum solverat ingeniis, et praecipitata iacebat inmemor ambagum vates obscura suarum. Protinus Aoniis inmittitur altera Thebis pestis, et exitio multi pecorumque suoque rurigenae pavere feram. Vicina iuventus venimus et latos indagine cinximus agros. Illa levi velox superabat retia saltu summaque transibat positarum lina plagarum. Copula detrahitur canibus: quos illa sequentes effugit et celeri non segnior alite ludit.
Poscor et ipse meum consensu Laelapa magno (muneris hoc nomen). Iamdudum vincula pugnat exuere ipse sibi colloque morantia tendit. Vix bene missus erat, nec iam poteramus, ubi esset, scire. Pedum calidus vestigia pulvis habebat, ipse oculis ereptus erat. Non ocior illo hasta nec exutae contorto verbere glandes, nec Gortyniaco calamus levis exit ab arcu. Collis apex medii subiectis inminet arvis: tollor eo capioque novi spectacula cursus, quo modo deprendi, modo se subducere ab ipso vulnere visa fera est. Nec limite callida recto
in spatiumque fugit, sed decipit ora sequentis et redit in gyrum, ne sit suus impetus hosti. Inminet hic sequiturque parem similisque tenenti non tenet et vanos exercet in aera morsus. Ad iaculi vertebar opem. Quod dextera librat dum mea, dum digitos amentis addere tempto, lumina deflexi. Revocataque rursus eodem rettuleram: in medio (mirum) duo marmora campo adspicio: fugere hoc, illud captare putares. Scilicet invictos ambo certamine cursus esse deus voluit, siquis deus adfuit illis.” Hactenus, et tacuit. “Iaculo quod crimen in ipso est?”
Phocus ait. Iaculi sic crimina reddidit ille: “Gaudia principium nostri sunt, Phoce, doloris: illa prius referam. Iuvat o meminisse beati temporis, Aeacida, quo primos rite per annos coniuge eram felix, felix erat illa marito. Mutua cura duos et amor socialis habebat; nec Iovis illa meo thalamos praeferret amori, nec, me quae caperet, non si Venus ipsa veniret, ulla erat: aequales urebant pectora flammae. Sole fere radiis feriente cacumina primis venatum in silvas iuvenaliter ire solebam. Nec mecum famuli nec equi nec naribus acres
ire canes, nec lina sequi nodosa solebant: tutus eram iaculo. Sed cum satiata ferinae dextera caedis erat, repetebam frigus et umbras et quae de gelidis exibat vallibus aura. Aura petebatur medio mihi lenis in aestu, auram exspectabam, requies erat illa labori. “Aura” (recordor enim) “venias” cantare solebam, “meque iuves intresque sinus, gratissima, nostros, utque facis, relevare velis, quibus urimur, aestus.” Forsitan addiderim (sic me mea fata trahebant) blanditias plures et “tu mihi magna voluptas,” dicere sim solitus, “tu me reficisque fovesque,
tu facis, ut silvas, ut amem loca sola; meoque spiritus iste tuus semper captatur ab ore.” Vocibus ambiguis deceptam praebuit aurem nescio quis, nomenque aurae tam saepe vocatum esse putat nymphae: nympham mihi credit amari. Criminis extemplo ficti temerarius index Procrin adit linguaque refert audita susurra. Credula res amor est: subito conlapsa dolore, ut mihi narratur, cecidit; longoque refecta tempore se miseram, se fati dixit iniqui, deque fide questa est; et crimine concita vano quod nihil est, metuit, metuit sine corpore nomen
et dolet infelix veluti de paelice vera. Saepe tamen dubitat speratque miserrima falli indicioque fidem negat et, nisi viderit ipsa, damnatura sui non est delicta mariti. Postera depulerant Aurorae lumina noctem: egredior silvamque peto, victorque per herbas “Aura veni” dixi, “nostroque medere labori.” Et subito gemitus inter mea verba videbar nescio quos audisse: “veni” tamen “optima!” dicens fronde levem rursus strepitum faciente caduca sum ratus esse feram telumque volatile misi. Procris erat; medioque tenens in pectore vulnus
“ei mihi” conclamat. Vox est ubi cognita fidae coniugis, ad vocem praeceps amensque cucurri. Semianimem et sparsas foedantem sanguine vestes et sua (me miserum!) de vulnere dona trahentem invenio, corpusque meo mihi carius ulnis mollibus attollo scissaque a pectore veste vulnera saeva ligo conorque inhibere cruorem, neu me morte sua sceleratum deserat, oro. Viribus illa carens et iam moribunda coegit haec se pauca loqui: “Per nostri foedera lecti perque deos supplex oro superosque meosque, per siquid merui de te bene perque manentem
nunc quoque, cum pereo, causam mihi mortis, amorem, ne thalamis Auram patiare innubere nostris.” Dixit, et errorem tum denique nominis esse et sensi et docui. Sed quid docuisse iuvabat? Labitur, et parvae fugiunt cum sanguine vires. Dumque aliquid spectare potest, me spectat et in me infelicem animam nostroque exhalat in ore; sed vultu meliore mori secura videtur.” Flentibus haec lacrimans heros memorabat: et ecce Aeacus ingreditur duplici cum prole novoque milite, quem Cephalus cum fortibus accipit armis.
Book 8
Iam nitidum retegente diem noctisque fugante tempora Lucifero cadit eurus, et umida surgunt nubila: dant placidi cursum redeuntibus austri Aeacidis Cephaloque, quibus feliciter acti ante exspectatum portus tenuere petitos. Interea Minos Lelegeia litora vastat praetemptatque sui vires Mavortis in urbe Alcathoi, quam Nisus habet, cui splendidus ostro inter honoratos medioque in vertice canos crinis inhaerebat, magni fiducia regni. Sexta resurgebant orientis cornua lunae, et pendebat adhuc belli fortuna: diuque
inter utrumque volat dubiis Victoria pennis. Regia turris erat vocalibus addita muris, in quibus auratam proles Letoia fertur deposuisse lyram: saxo sonus eius inhaesit. Saepe illuc solita est ascendere filia Nisi et petere exiguo resonantia saxa lapillo, tum cum pax esset: bello quoque saepe solebat spectare ex illa rigidi certamina Martis. Iamque mora belli procerum quoque nomina norat armaque equosque habitusque Cydonaeasque pharetras. Noverat ante alios faciem ducis Europaei, plus etiam, quam nosse sat est. Hac iudice Minos,
seu caput abdiderat cristata casside pennis, in galea formosus erat; seu sumpserat aere fulgentem clipeum, clipeum sumpsisse decebat. Torserat adductis hastilia lenta lacertis: laudabat virgo iunctam cum viribus artem. Imposito calamo patulos sinuaverat arcus: sic Phoebum sumptis iurabat stare sagittis. Cum vero faciem dempto nudaverat aere purpureusque albi stratis insignia pictis terga premebat equi spumantiaque ora regebat, vix sua, vix sanae virgo Niseia compos mentis erat. Felix iaculum, quod tangeret ille,
quaeque manu premeret, felicia frena vocabat. Impetus est illi, liceat modo, ferre per agmen virgineos hostile gradus, est impetus illi turribus e summis in Gnosia mittere corpus castra, vel aeratas hosti recludere portas, vel siquid Minos aliud velit. Utque sedebat candida Dictaei spectans tentoria regis, “laeter,” ait “doleamne geri lacrimabile bellum, in dubio est. Doleo, quod Minos hostis amanti est: sed nisi bella forent, numquam mihi cognitus esset. Me tamen accepta poterat deponere bellum obside, me comitem, me pacis pignus haberet.
Si quae te peperit, talis, pulcherrime rerum, qualis es ipsa fuit, merito deus arsit in illa. O ego ter felix, si pennis lapsa per auras Gnosiaci possem castris insistere regis fassaque me flammasque meas, qua dote, rogarem, vellet emi! tantum patrias ne posceret arces. Nam pereant potius sperata cubilia, quam sim proditione potens! — Quamvis saepe utile vinci victoris placidi fecit clementia multis: iusta gerit certe pro nato bella perempto et causaque valet causamque tenentibus armis, et, puto, vincemur. Quis enim manet exitus urbem,
cum suus haec illi reserabit moenia Mavors et non noster amor? Melius sine caede moraque impensaque sui poterit superare cruoris. Non metuam certe, ne quis tua pectora, Minos, vulneret imprudens. Quis enim tam durus, ut in te dirigere inmitem non inscius audeat hastam? Coepta placent, et stat sententia tradere mecum dotalem patriam finemque imponere bello. Verum velle parum est! Aditus custodia servat claustraque portarum genitor tenet: hunc ego solum infelix timeo, solus mea vota moratur. Di facerent, sine patre forem! — Sibi quisque profecto
est deus: ignavis precibus Fortuna repugnat. Altera iamdudum succensa cupidine tanto perdere gauderet quodcumque obstaret amori. Et cur ulla foret me fortior? Ire per ignes et gladios ausim. Nec in hoc tamen ignibus ullis aut gladiis opus est: opus est mihi crine paterno. Illa mihi est auro pretiosior, illa beatam purpura me votique mei factura potentem.” Talia dicenti curarum maxima nutrix nox intervenit, tenebrisque audacia crevit. Prima quies aderat, qua curis fessa diurnis pectora somnus habet: thalamos taciturna paternos
intrat et (heu facinus!) fatali nata parentem crine suum spoliat praedaque potita nefanda per medios hostes (meriti fiducia tanta est) pervenit ad regem. Quem sic adfata paventem est: “Suasit amor facinus. Proles ego regia Nisi Scylla tibi trado patriaeque meosque penates. Praemia nulla peto nisi te. Cape pignus amoris purpureum crinem, nec me nunc tradere crinem, sed patrium tibi crede caput.” Scelerataque dextra munera porrexit. Minos porrecta refugit turbatusque novi respondit imagine facti: “Di te summoveant, o nostri infamia saecli,
orbe suo, tellusque tibi pontusque negetur. Certe ego non patiar Iovis incunabula, Creten, qui meus est orbis, tantum contingere monstrum.” Dixit, et ut leges captis iustissimus auctor hostibus imposuit, classis retinacula solvi iussit et aeratas impelli remige puppes. Scylla freto postquam deductas nare carinas nec praestare ducem sceleris sibi praemia vidit, consumptis precibus violentam transit in iram, intendensque manus, passis furibunda capillis, “quo fugis” exclamat, “meritorum auctore relicta, o patriae praelate meae, praelate parenti?
Quo fugis, inmitis? cuius victoria nostrum et scelus et meritum est. Nec te data munera, nec te noster amor movit, nec quod spes omnis in unum te mea congesta est? Nam quo deserta revertar? In patriam? Superata iacet. Sed finge manere: proditione mea clausa est mihi. Patris ad ora? Quem tibi donavi! Cives odere merentem, finitimi exemplum metuunt: exponimur orbae, terrarum nobis ut Crete sola pateret. Hac quoque si prohibes et nos, ingrate, relinquis, non genetrix Europa tibi ea, sed inhospita Syrtis, Armeniae tigres austroque agitata Charybdis.
Nec Iove tu natus, nec mater imagine tauri ducta tua est (generis falsa est ea fabula !): verus et ferus et captus nullius amore iuvencae, qui te progenuit, taurus fuit. Exige poenas, Nise pater! gaudete malis, modo prodita, nostris moenia! nam fateor, merui et sum digna perire. Sed tamen ex illis aliquis, quos impia laesi, me perimat. Cur, qui vicisti crimine nostro, insequeris crimen? Scelus hoc patriaeque patrique, officium tibi sit. Te vere coniuge digna est, quae torvum ligno decepit adultera taurum discordemque utero fetum tulit. Ecquid ad aures
perveniunt mea dicta tuas? An inania venti verba ferunt idemque tuas, ingrate, carinas? Iam iam Pasiphaen non est mirabile taurum praeposuisse tibi: tu plus feritatis habebas. Me miseram! properare iubet, divulsaque remis unda sonat; mecumque simul mea terra recedit. Nil agis, o frustra meritorum oblite meorum: insequar invitum, puppimque amplexa recurvam per freta longa trahar.” Vix dixerat, insilit undis consequiturque rates, faciente cupidine vires, Gnosiacaeque haeret comes invidiosa carinae. Quam pater ut vidit (nam iam pendebat in aura
et modo factus erat fulvis haliaeetus alis), ibat, ut haerentem rostro laceraret adunco. Illa metu puppim dimisit, et aura cadentem sustinuisse levis, ne tangeret aequora, visa est. Pluma fuit: plumis in avem mutata vocatur ciris, et a tonso est hoc nomen adepta capillo. Vota Iovi Minos taurorum corpora centum solvit, ut egressus ratibus Curetida terram contigit, spoliis decorata est regia fixis. Creverat opprobrium generis, foedumque patebat matris adulterium monstri novitate biformis. Destinat hunc Minos thalamo removere pudorem
multiplicique domo caecisque includere tectis. Daedalus ingenio fabrae celeberrimus artis ponit opus turbatque notas et lumina flexu ducit in errorem variarum ambage viarum. Non secus ac liquidis Phrygius Maeandrus in undis ludit et ambiguo lapsu refluitque fluitque occurrensque sibi venturas adspicit undas, et nunc ad fontes, nunc ad mare versus apertum incertas exercet aquas: ita Daedalus implet innumeras errore vias. Vixque ipse reverti ad limen potuit: tanta est fallacia tecti. Quo postquam geminam tauri iuvenisque figuram
clausit, et Actaeo bis pastum sanguine monstrum tertia sors annis domuit repetita novenis, utque ope virginea nullis iterata priorum ianua difficilis filo est inventa relecto, protinus Aegides rapta Minoide Diam vela dedit comitemque suam crudelis in illo litore destituit. Desertae et multa querenti amplexus et opem Liber tulit; utque perenni sidere clara foret, sumptam de fronte coronam inmisit caelo. Tenues volat illa per auras dumque volat, gemmae nitidos vertuntur in ignes consistuntque loco specie remanente coronae,
qui medius Nixique genu est anguemque tenentis. Daedalus interea Creten longumque perosus exsilium tactusque loci natalis amore clausus erat pelago. “Terras licet” inquit “et undas obstruat: at caelum certe patet; ibimus illac. Omnia possideat, non possidet aera Minos.” Dixit et ignotas animum dimittit in artes naturamque novat. Nam ponit in ordine pennas, a minima coeptas, longam breviore sequenti, ut clivo crevisse putes. Sic rustica quondam fistula disparibus paulatim surgit avenis. Tum lino medias et ceris adligat imas,
atque ita compositas parvo curvamine flectit, ut veras imitetur aves. Puer Icarus una stabat et, ignarus sua se tractare pericla, ore renidenti modo, quas vaga moverat aura, captabat plumas, flavam modo pollice ceram mollibat lusuque suo mirabile patris impediebat opus. Postquam manus ultima coepto imposita est, geminas opifex libravit in alas ipse suum corpus motaque pependit in aura. Instruit et natum “medio” que “ut limite curras, Icare,” ait “moneo, ne, si demissior ibis, unda gravet pennas, si celsior, ignis adurat.
Inter utrumque vola. Nec te spectare Booten aut Helicen iubeo strictumque Orionis ensem: me duce carpe viam.” Pariter praecepta volandi tradit et ignotas umeris accommodat alas. Inter opus monitusque genae maduere seniles, et patriae tremuere manus. Dedit oscula nato non iterum repetenda suo, pennisque levatus ante volat comitique timet, velut ales, ab alto quae teneram prolem produxit in aera nido, hortaturque sequi damnosasque erudit artes et movet ipse suas et nati respicit alas. Hos aliquis tremula dum captat harundine pisces,
aut pastor baculo stivave innixus arator vidit et obstipuit, quique aethera carpere possent credidit esse deos. Et iam Iunonia laeva parte Samos (fuerant Delosque Parosque relictae), dextra Lebinthos erat fecundaque melle Calymne, cum puer audaci coepit gaudere volatu deseruitque ducem caelique cupidine tractus altius egit iter. Rapidi vicinia solis mollit odoratas, pennarum vincula, ceras. Tabuerant cerae: nudos quatit ille lacertos, remigioque carens non ullas percipit auras, oraque caerulea patrium clamantia nomen
excipiuntur aqua: quae nomen traxit ab illo. At pater infelix, nec iam pater, “Icare,” dixit, “Icare,” dixit “ubi es? qua te regione requiram?” “Icare” dicebat: pennas adspexit in undis devovitque suas artes corpusque sepulcro condidit, et tellus a nomine dicta sepulti. Hunc miseri tumulo ponentem corpora nati garrula limoso prospexit ab elice perdix et plausit pennis testataque gaudia cantu est: unica tunc volucris nec visa prioribus annis, factaque nuper avis, longum tibi, Daedale, crimen. Namque huic tradiderat, fatorum ignara, docendam
progeniem germana suam, natalibus actis bis puerum senis, animi ad praecepta capacis. Ille etiam medio spinas in pisce notatas traxit in exemplum ferroque incidit acuto perpetuos dentes et serrae repperit usum. Primus et ex uno duo ferrea bracchia nodo vinxit, ut aequali spatio distantibus illis altera pars staret, pars altera duceret orbem. Daedalus invidit sacraque ex arce Minervae praecipitem misit, lapsum mentitus. At illum quae favet ingeniis excepit Pallas avemque reddidit et medio velavit in aere pennis.
Sed vigor ingenii quondam velocis in alas inque pedes abiit: nomen quod et ante remansit. Non tamen haec alte volucris sua corpora tollit, nec facit in ramis altoque cacumine nidos: propter humum volitat ponitque in saepibus ova antiquique memor metuit sublimia casus. Iamque fatigatum tellus Aetnaea tenebat Daedalon, et sumptis pro supplice Cocalus armis mitis habebatur, iam lamentabile Athenae pendere desierant Thesea laude tributum. Templa coronantur, bellatricemque Minervam cum Iove disque vocant aliis, quos sanguine voto
muneribusque datis et acerris turis honorant. Sparserat Argolicas nomen vaga fama per urbes Theseos, et populi, quos dives Achaia cepit, huius opem magnis imploravere periclis. Huius opem Calydon, quamvis Meleagron haberet, sollicita supplex petiit prece. Causa petendi sus erat, infestae famulus vindexque Dianae. Oenea namque ferunt pleni successibus anni primitias frugum Cereri, sua vina Lyaeo, Palladios flavae latices libasse Minervae. Coeptus ab agricolis superos pervenit ad omnes ambitiosus honor; solas sine ture relictas
praeteritae cessasse ferunt Latoidos aras. Tangit et ira deos. “At non impune feremus, quaeque inhonoratae, non et dicemur inultae” inquit, et Oeneos ultorem spreta per agros misit aprum, quanto maiores herbida tauros non habet Epiros, sed habent Sicula arva minores. Sanguine et igne micant oculi, riget horrida cervix, fervida cum rauco latos stridore per armos spuma fluit, dentes aequantur dentibus Indis, fulmen ab ore venit, frondes adflatibus ardent. Is modo crescentes segetes proculcat in herba, nunc matura metit fleturi vota coloni
et Cererem in spicis intercipit. Area frustra et frustra exspectant promissas horrea messes. Sternuntur gravidi longo cum palmite fetus bacaque cum ramis semper frondentis olivae. Saevit et in pecudes: non has pastorve canisve, non armenta truces possunt defendere tauri. Diffugiunt populi nec se nisi moenibus urbis esse putant tutos, donec Meleagros et una lecta manus iuvenum coiere cupidine laudis: Tyndaridae gemini, spectatus caestibus alter, alter equo, primaeque ratis molitor Iason, et cum Pirithoo, felix concordia, Theseus;
et duo Thestiadae prolesque Aphareia, Lynceus et velox Idas, et iam non femina Caeneus Leucippusque ferox iaculoque insignis Acastus Hippothousque Dryasque et cretus Amyntore Phoenix, Actoridaeque pares et missus ab Elide Phyleus. Nec Telamon aberat magnique creator Achillis cumque Pheretiade et Hyanteo Iolao impiger Eurytion, et cursu invictus Echion, Naryciusque Lelex Panopeusque Hyleusque feroxque Hippasus et primis etiamnum Nestor in annis, et quos Hippocoon antiquis misit Amyclis, Penelopaeque socer cum Parrhasio Ancaeo,
Ampycidesque sagax et adhuc a coniuge tutus Oeclides, nemorisque decus Tegeaea Lycaei. Rasilis huic summam mordebat fibula vestem, crinis erat simplex, nodum conlectus in unum. Ex umero pendens resonabat eburnea laevo telorum custos, arcum quoque laeva tenebat. Talis erat cultu; facies, quam dicere vere virgineam in puero, puerilem in virgine possis. Hanc pariter vidit, pariter Calydonius heros optavit renuente deo flammasque latentes hausit et “o felix, siquem dignabitur” inquit “ista virum.” Nec plura sinit tempusque pudorque
dicere: maius opus magni certaminis urget. Silva frequens trabibus, quam nulla ceciderat aetas, incipit a plano devexaque prospicit arva. Quo postquam venere viri, pars retia tendunt, vincula pars adimunt canibus, pars pressa sequuntur signa pedum cupiuntque suum reperire periclum. Concava vallis erat, quo se demittere rivi adsuerant pluvialis aquae: tenet ima lacunae lenta salix ulvaeque leves iuncique palustres viminaque et longa parvae sub harundine cannae. Hinc aper excitus medios violentus in hostes fertur, ut excussis elisi nubibus ignes.
Sternitur incursu nemus et propulsa fragorem silva dat. Exclamant iuvenes praetentaque forti tela tenent dextra lato vibrantia ferro. Ille ruit spargitque canes, ut quisque furenti obstat, et obliquo latrantes dissipat ictu. Cuspis Echionio primum contorta lacerto vana fuit truncoque dedit leve vulnus acerno. Proxima, si nimiis mittentis viribus usa non foret, in tergo visa est haesura petito: longius it. Auctor teli Pagasaeus Iason. “Phoebe,” ait Ampycides “si te coluique coloque, da mihi quod petitur certo contingere telo!”
Qua potuit, precibus deus adnuit: ictus ab illo est, sed sine vulnere, aper; ferrum Diana volanti abstulerat iaculo: lignum sine acumine venit. Ira feri mota est, nec fulmine lenius arsit: emicat ex oculis, spirat quoque pectore flamma. Utque volat moles adducto concita nervo, cum petit aut muros aut plenas milite turres, in iuvenes certo sic impete vulnificus sus fertur et Hippalmon Pelagonaque, dextra tuentes cornua, prosternit; socii rapuere iacentes. At non letiferos effugit Enaesimus ictus, Hippocoonte satus: trepidantem et terga parantem
vertere succiso liquerunt poplite nervi. Forsitan et Pylius citra Troiana perisset tempora: sed sumpto posita conamine ab hasta arboris insiluit, quae stabat proxima, ramis despexitque, loco tutus, quem fugerat hostem. Dentibus ille ferox in querno stipite tritis inminet exitio fidensque recentibus armis Eurytidae magni rostro femur hausit adunco. At gemini, nondum caelestia sidera, fratres, ambo conspicui, nive candidioribus ambo vectabantur equis, ambo vibrata per auras hastarum tremulo quatiebant spicula motu.
Vulnera fecissent, nisi saetiger inter opacas nec iaculis isset nec equo loca pervia silvas. Persequitur Telamon studioque incautus eundi pronus ab arborea cecidit radice retentus. Dum levat hunc Peleus, celerem Tegeaea sagittam imposuit nervo sinuatoque expulit arcu. Fixa sub aure feri summum destrinxit harundo corpus et exiguo rubefecit sanguine saetas. Nec tamen illa sui successu laetior ictus, quam Meleagros erat. Primus vidisse putatur et primus sociis visum ostendisse cruorem et “meritum” dixisse “feres virtutis honorem.”
Erubuere viri seque exhortantur et addunt cum clamore animos iaciuntque sine ordine tela: turba nocet iactis et, quos petit, impedit ictus. Ecce furens contra sua fata bipennifer Arcas “discite, femineis quid tela virilia praestent, o iuvenes, operique meo concedite!” dixit. “Ipsa suis licet hunc Latonia protegat armis, invita tamen hunc perimet mea dextra Diana.” Talia magniloquo tumidus memoraverat ore ancipitemque manu tollens utraque securim institerat digitis, primos suspensus in artus. Occupat audentem, quaque est via proxima leto,
summa ferus geminos direxit ad inguina dentes. Concidit Ancaeus glomerataque sanguine multo viscera lapsa fluunt: madefacta est terra cruore. Ibat in adversum proles Ixionis hostem Pirithous valida quatiens venabula dextra. Cui “procul” Aegides “o me mihi carior” inquit “pars animae consiste meae! licet eminus esse fortibus: Ancaeo nocuit temeraria virtus.” Dixit et aerata torsit grave cuspide cornum. Quo bene librato votique potente futuro, obstitit abscisa frondosus ab arbore ramus. Misit et Aesonides iaculum: quod casus ab illo
vertit in inmeriti fatum latrantis et inter ilia coniectum tellure per ilia fixum est. At manus Oenidae variat, missisque duabus hasta prior terra, medio stetit altera tergo. Nec mora, dum saevit, dum corpora versat in orbem stridentemque novo spumam cum sanguine fundit, vulneris auctor adest hostemque inritat ad iram splendidaque adversos venabula condit in armos. Gaudia testantur socii clamore secundo victricemque petunt dextrae coniungere dextram inmanemque ferum multa tellure iacentem mirantes spectant, neque adhuc contingere tutum
esse putant; sed tela tamen sua quisque cruentat. Ipse pede imposito caput exitiabile pressit atque ita “sume mei spolium, Nonacria, iuris,” dixit “et in partem veniat mea gloria tecum.” Protinus exuvias rigidis horrentia saetis terga dat et magnis insignia dentibus ora. Illi laetitiae est cum munere muneris auctor: invidere alii, totoque erat agmine murmur. E quibus ingenti tendentes bracchia voce “pone age nec titulos intercipe, femina, nostros,” Thestiadae clamant “nec te fiducia formae decipiat, ne sit longe tibi captus amore
auctor” et huic adimunt munus, ius muneris illi. Non tulit et tumida frendens Mavortius ira “discite, raptores alieni” dixit “honoris, facta minis quantum distent,” hausitque nefando pectora Plexippi nil tale timentia ferro. Toxea, quid faciat, dubium pariterque volentem ulcisci fratrem fraternaque fata timentem haud patitur dubitare diu calidumque priori caede recalfecit consorti sanguine telum. Dona deum templis nato victore ferebat, cum videt exstinctos fratres Althaea referri. Quae plangore dato maestis clamoribus urbem
implet et auratis mutavit vestibus atras. At simul est auctor necis editus, excidit omnis luctus et a lacrimis in poenae versus amorem est. Stipes erat, quem, cum partus enixa iaceret Thestias, in flammam triplices posuere sorores; staminaque impresso fatalia pollice nentes “tempora” dixerunt “eadem lignoque tibique, o modo nate, damus.” Quo postquam carmine dicto excessere deae, flagrantem mater ab igne eripuit ramum sparsitque liquentibus undis. Ille diu fuerat penetralibus abditus imis servatusque tuos, iuvenis, servaverat annos.
Protulit hunc genetrix taedasque et fragmina poni imperat et positis inimicos admovet ignes. Tum conata quater flammis imponere ramum, coepta quater tenuit. Pugnant materque sororque, et diversa trahunt unum duo nomina pectus. Saepe metu sceleris pallebant ora futuri, saepe suum fervens oculis dabat ira ruborem. Et modo nescio quid similis crudele minanti vultus erat, modo quem misereri credere posses. Cumque ferus lacrimas animi siccaverat ardor, inveniebantur lacrimae tamen. Utque carina, quam ventus ventoque rapit contrarius aestus,
vim geminam sentit paretque incerta duobus: Thestias haud aliter dubiis adfectibus errat inque vices ponit positamque resuscitat iram. Incipit esse tamen melior germana parente, et consanguineas ut sanguine leniat umbras, impietate pia est. Nam postquam pestifer ignis convaluit, “rogus iste cremet mea viscera” dixit. Utque manu dira lignum fatale tenebat, ante sepulcrales infelix adstitit aras “poenarum” que “deae triplices, furialibus,” inquit, “Eumenides, sacris vultus advertite vestros. Ulciscor facioque nefas: mors morte pianda est,
in scelus addendum scelus est, in funera funus. Per coacervatos pereat domus impia luctus. An felix Oeneus nato victore fruetur, Thestius orbus erit? Melius lugebitis ambo. Vos modo, fraterni manes animaeque recentes, officium sentite meum magnoque paratas accipite inferias, uteri mala pignera nostri! — Ei mihi! quo rapior? Fratres, ignoscite matri. Deficiunt ad coepta manus. Meruisse fatemur illum, cur pereat: mortis mihi displicet auctor. — Ergo impune feret, vivusque et victor et ipso successu tumidus regnum Calydonis habebit:
vos cinis exiguus gelidaeque iacebitis umbrae? Haud equidem patiar. Pereat sceleratus et ille spemque patris regnumque trahat patriaeque ruinam. Mens ubi materna est? Ubi sunt pia iura parentum et quos sustinui bis mensum quinque labores? O utinam primis arsisses ignibus infans, idque ego passa forem! Vixisti munere nostro: nunc merito moriere tuo. Cape praemia facti bisque datam, primum partu, mox stipite rapto, redde animam — vel me fraternis adde sepulcris! Et cupio et nequeo. Quid agam? modo vulnera fratrum ante oculos mihi sunt et tantae caedis imago,
nunc animum pietas maternaque nomina frangunt. — Me miseram! male vincetis, sed vincite, fratres: dummodo quae dedero vobis solacia vosque ipsa sequar.” Dixit, dextraque aversa trementi funereum torrem medios coniecit in ignes. Aut dedit aut visus gemitus est ipse dedisse stipes, ut invitis correptus ab ignibus arsit. Inscius atque absens flamma Meleagros ab illa uritur et caecis torreri viscera sentit ignibus ac magnos superat virtute dolores. Quod tamen ignavo cadat et sine sanguine leto, maeret et Ancaei felicia vulnera dicit
grandaevumque patrem fratresque piasque sorores cum gemitu sociamque tori vocat ore supremo, forsitan et matrem. Crescunt ignisque dolorque languescuntque iterum: simul est exstinctus uterque, inque leves abiit paulatim spiritus auras paulatim cana prunam velante favilla. Alta iacet Calydon: lugent iuvenesque senesque, vulgusque proceresque gemunt, scissaeque capillos planguntur matres Calydonides Eueninae. Pulvere canitiem genitor vultusque seniles foedat humi fusus spatiosumque increpat aevum. Nam de matre manus diri sibi conscia facti
exegit poenas acto per viscera ferro. Non mihi si centum deus ora sonantia linguis ingeniumque capax totumque Helicona dedisset, tristia persequerer miserarum dicta sororum. Inmemores decoris liventia pectora tundunt, dumque manet corpus, corpus refoventque foventque, oscula dant ipsi, posito dant oscula lecto. Post cinerem cineres haustos ad pectora pressant, adfusaeque iacent tumulo signataque saxo nomina complexae lacrimas in nomina fundunt. Quas Parthaoniae tandem Latonia clade exsatiata domus praeter Gorgenque nurumque
nobilis Alcmenae natis in corpore pennis adlevat et longas per bracchia porrigit alas corneaque ora facit versasque per aera mittit. Interea Theseus sociati parte laboris functus Erechtheas Tritonidos ibat ad arces. Clausit iter fecitque moras Achelous eunti imbre tumens. “Succede meis,” ait “inclite, tectis, Cecropida, nec te committe rapacibus undis: ferre trabes solidas obliquaque volvere magno murmure saxa solent. Vidi contermina ripae cum gregibus stabula alta trahi: nec fortibus illic profuit armentis, nec equis velocibus esse.
Multa quoque hic torrens nivibus de monte solutis corpora turbineo iuvenalia flumine mersit. Tutior est requies, solito dum flumina currant limite, dum tenues capiat suus alveus undas.” Adnuit Aegides, “utar” que “Acheloe, domoque consilioque tuo” respondit; et usus utroque est. Pumice multicavo nec levibus atria tophis structa subit: molli tellus erat umida musco, summa lacunabant alterno murice conchae. Iamque duas lucis partes Hyperione menso discubuere toris Theseus comitesque laborum: hac Ixionides, illa Troezenius heros
parte Lelex, raris iam sparsus tempora canis, quosque alios parili fuerat dignatus honore amnis Acarnanum, laetissimus hospite tanto. Protinus adpositas nudae vestigia nymphae instruxere epulis mensas dapibusque remotis in gemma posuere merum. Tum maximus heros, aequora prospiciens oculis subiecta, “quis” inquit “ille locus?” digitoque ostendit, “et insula nomen quod gerit illa, doce: quamquam non una videtur.” Amnis ad haec “non est” inquit “quod cernitis, unum: quinque iacent terrae: spatium discrimina fallit. Quoque minus spretae factum mirere Dianae,
naides hae fuerant. Quae cum bis quinque iuvencos mactassent rurisque deos ad sacra vocassent, inmemores nostri festas duxere choreas. Intumui, quantusque feror, cum plurimus umquam, tantus eram, pariterque animis inmanis et undis a silvis silvas et ab arvis arva revelli cumque loco nymphas, memores tum denique nostri, in freta provolvi. Fluctus nosterque marisque continuam diduxit humum partesque resolvit in totidem, mediis quot cernis Echinadas undis. Ut tamen ipse vides, procul en procul una recessit insula, grata mihi; Perimelen navita dicit.
Huic ego virgineum dilectae nomen ademi. Quod pater Hippodamas aegre tulit inque profundum propulit e scopulo periturae corpora natae. Excepi nantemque ferens “o proxima mundi regna vagae” dixi “sortite, tridentifer, undae, adfer opem mersaeque precor, feritate paterna da, Neptune, locum; vel sit locus ipsa licebit.” Dum loquor, amplexa est artus nova terra natantes, et gravis increvit mutatis insula membris. Amnis ab his tacuit. Factum mirabile cunctos moverat: inridet credentes, utque deorum spretor erat mentisque ferox, Ixione natus
“ficta refers nimiumque putas Acheloe potentes esse deos” dixit, “si dant adimuntque figuras.” Obstipuere omnes nec talia dicta probarunt, ante omnesque Lelex, animo maturus et aevo, sic ait: “Inmensa est finemque potentia caeli non habet, et quidquid superi voluere, peractum est. Quoque minus dubites, tiliae contermina quercus collibus est Phrygiis modico circumdata muro. Ipse locum vidi; nam me Pelopeia Pittheus misit in arva, suo quondam regnata parenti. Haud procul hinc stagnum est, tellus habitabilis olim, nunc celebres mergis fulicisque palustribus undae.
Iuppiter huc specie mortali cumque parente venit Atlantiades positis caducifer alis. Mille domos adiere locum requiemque petentes, mille domos clausere serae. Tamen una recepit, parva quidem, stipulis et canna tecta palustri; sed pia Baucis anus parilique aetate Philemon illa sunt annis iuncti iuvenalibus, illa consenuere casa paupertatemque fatendo effecere levem nec iniqua mente ferendo. Nec refert, dominos illic famulosne requiras: tota domus duo sunt, idem parentque iubentque. Ergo ubi caelicolae parvos tetigere penates
submissoque humiles intrarunt vertice postes, membra senex posito iussit relevare sedili, quo superiniecit textum rude sedula Baucis. Inque foco tepidum cinerem dimovit et ignes suscitat hesternos foliisque et cortice sicco nutrit et ad flammas anima producit anili. Multifidasque faces ramaliaque arida tecto detulit et minuit parvoque admovit aeno. Quodque suus coniunx riguo conlegerat horto, truncat holus foliis; furca levat illa bicorni sordida terga suis nigro pendentia tigno servatoque diu resecat de tergore partem
exiguam sectamque domat ferventibus undis. Interea medias fallunt sermonibus horas concutiuntque torum de molli fluminis ulva impositum lecto sponda pedibusque salignis. Vestibus hunc velant, quas non nisi tempore festo sternere consuerant: sed et haec vilisque vetusque vestis erat, lecto non indignanda saligno. Accubuere dei. Mensam succincta tremensque ponit anus, mensae sed erat pes tertius impar. Testa parem fecit. Quae postquam subdita clivum sustulit, aequatam mentae tersere virentes. Ponitur hic bicolor sincerae baca Minervae
conditaque in liquida corna autumnalia faece intibaque et radix et lactis massa coacti ovaque non acri leviter versata favilla, omnia fictilibus. Post haec caelatus eodem sistitur argento crater fabricataque fago pocula, qua cava sunt, flaventibus inlita ceris. Parva mora est, epulasque foci misere calentes, nec longae rursus referuntur vina senectae dantque locum mensis paulum seducta secundis. Hic nux, hic mixta est rugosis carica palmis prunaque et in patulis redolentia mala canistris et de purpureis conlectae vitibus uvae.
Candidus in medio favus est. Super omnia vultus accessere boni nec iners pauperque voluntas. Interea totiens haustum cratera repleri sponte sua per seque vident succrescere vina: attoniti novitate pavent manibusque supinis concipiunt Baucisque preces timidusque Philemon et veniam dapibus nullisque paratibus orant. Unicus anser erat, minimae custodia villae: quem dis hospitibus domini mactare parabant. Ille celer penna tardos aetate fatigat eluditque diu tandemque est visus ad ipsos confugisse deos. Superi vetuere necari
“di” que “sumus, meritasque luet vicinia poenas impia” dixerunt; “vobis inmunibus huius esse mali dabitur. Modo vestra relinquite tecta ac nostros comitate gradus et in ardua montis ite simul.” Parent ambo baculisque levati nituntur longo vestigia ponere clivo. Tantum aberant summo, quantum semel ire sagitta missa potest: flexere oculos et mersa palude cetera prospiciunt, tantum sua tecta manere. Dumque ea mirantur, dum deflent fata suorum, illa vetus, dominis etiam casa parva duobus vertitur in templum: furcas subiere columnae,
stramina flavescunt, aurataque tecta videntur caelataeque fores adopertaque marmore tellus. Talia tum placido Saturnius edidit ore: “Dicite, iuste senex et femina coniuge iusto digna, quid optetis.” Cum Baucide pauca locutus iudicium superis aperit commune Philemon: “Esse sacerdotes delubraque vestra tueri poscimus; et quoniam concordes egimus annos, auferat hora duos eadem, ne coniugis umquam busta meae videam neu sim tumulandus ab illa.” Vota fides sequitur. Templi tutela fuere, donec vita data est. Annis aevoque soluti
ante gradus sacros cum starent forte locique narrarent casus, frondere Philemona Baucis, Baucida conspexit senior frondere Philemon Iamque super geminos crescente cacumine vultus mutua, dum licuit reddebant dicta “vale” que “o coniunx” dixere simul, simul abdita texit ora frutex. Ostendit adhuc Thyneius illic incola de gemino vicinos corpore truncos. Haec mihi non vani (neque erat cur fallere vellent) narravere senes: equidem pendentia vidi serta super ramos, ponensque recentia dixi “cura deum di sint, et qui coluere colantur.””
Desierat cunctosque et res et moverat auctor, Thesea praecipue. Quem facta audire volentem mira deum, innixus cubito Calydonius amnis talibus adloquitur: “Sunt, o fortissime, quorum forma semel mota est et in hoc renovamine mansit, sunt, quibus in plures ius est transire figuras, ut tibi, complexi terram maris incola, Proteu. Nam modo te iuvenem, modo te videre leonem; nunc violentus aper, nunc, quem tetigisse timerent, anguis eras, modo te faciebant cornua taurum. Saepe lapis poteras, arbor quoque saepe videri; interdum, faciem liquidarum imitatus aquarum,
flumen eras, interdum undis contrarius ignis. Nec minus Autolyci coniunx, Erysichthone nata, iuris habet. Pater huius erat, qui numina divum sperneret et nullos aris adoleret odores. Ille etiam Cereale nemus violasse securi dicitur et lucos ferro temerasse vetustos. Stabat in his ingens annoso robore quercus, una nemus; vittae mediam memoresque tabellae sertaque cingebant, voti argumenta potentis. Saepe sub hac dryades festas duxere choreas, saepe etiam manibus nexis ex ordine trunci circuiere modum, mensuraque roboris ulnas
quinque ter implebat. Nec non et cetera tantum silva sub hac, silva quantum fuit herba sub omni. Non tamen idcirco ferrum Triopeius illa abstinuit famulosque iubet succidere sacrum robur; et ut iussos cunctari vidit, ab uno edidit haec rapta sceleratus verba securi: “Non dilecta deae solum, sed et ipsa licebit sit dea, iam tanget frondente cacumine terram.” Dixit, et obliquos dum telum librat in ictus, contremuit gemitumque dedit Deoia quercus: et pariter frondes, pariter pallescere glandes coepere ac longi pallorem ducere rami.
Cuius ut in trunco fecit manus impia vulnus, haud aliter fluxit discusso cortice sanguis, quam solet, ante aras ingens ubi victima taurus concidit, abrupta cruor e cervice profundi. Obstipuere omnes, aliquisque ex omnibus audet deterrere nefas saevamque inhibere bipennem. Adspicit hunc “mentis” que “piae cape praemia!” dixit Thessalus, inque virum convertit ab arbore ferrum detruncatque caput repetitaque robora caedit, redditus et medio sonus est de robore talis: “Nympha sub hoc ego sum Cereri gratissima ligno, quae tibi factorum poenas instare tuorum
vaticinor moriens, nostri solacia leti.” Persequitur scelus ille suum, labefactaque tandem ictibus innumeris adductaque funibus arbor corruit et multam prostravit pondere silvam. Attonitae dryades damno nemorumque suoque, omnes germanae, Cererem cum vestibus atris maerentes adeunt poenamque Erysichthonis orant. Adnuit his capitisque sui pulcherrima motu concussit gravidis oneratos messibus agros. Moliturque genus poenae miserabile, si non ille suis esset nulli miserabilis actis, pestifera lacerare Fame. Quae quatenus ipsi
non adeunda deae est (neque enim Cereremque Famemque fata coire sinunt), montani numinis unam talibus agrestem compellat oreada dictis: “Est locus extremis Scythiae glacialis in oris, triste solum, sterilis, sine fruge, sine arbore tellus; Frigus iners illic habitant Pallorque Tremorque et ieiuna Fames. Ea se in praecordia condat sacrilegi scelerata iube; nec copia rerum vincat eam, superetque meas certamine vires. Neve viae spatium te terreat, accipe currus, accipe quos frenis alte moderere dracones.” Et dedit. Illa dato subvecta per aera curru
devenit in Scythiam rigidique cacumine montis (Caucason appellant) serpentum colla levavit quaesitamque Famem lapidoso vidit in agro unguibus et raras vellentem dentibus herbas. Hirtus erat crinis, cava lumina, pallor in ore, labra incana situ, scabrae rubigine fauces, dura cutis, per quam spectari viscera possent; ossa sub incurvis exstabant arida lumbis, ventris erat pro ventre locus, pendere putares pectus et a spinae tantummodo crate teneri. Auxerat articulos macies, genuumque tumebat orbis, et inmodico prodibant tubere tali.
Hanc procul ut vidit (neque enim est accedere iuxta ausa), refert mandata deae: paulumque morata, quamquam aberat longe, quamquam modo venerat illuc, visa tamen sensisse famem retroque dracones egit in Haemoniam, versis sublimis habenis. Dicta Fames Cereris, quamvis contraria semper illius est operi, peragit. Perque aera vento ad iussam delata domum est et protinus intrat sacrilegi thalamos altoque sopore solutum (noctis enim tempus) geminis amplectitur ulnis: seque viro inspirat faucesque et pectus et ora adflat et in vacuis spargit ieiunia venis.
Functaque mandato fecundum deserit orbem inque domos inopes adsueta revertitur antra. Lenis adhuc somnus placidis Erysichthona pennis mulcebat: petit ille dapes sub imagine somni oraque vana movet dentemque in dente fatigat exercetque cibo delusum guttur inani proque epulis tenues nequiquam devorat auras. Ut vero est expulsa quies, furit ardor edendi perque avidas fauces incensaque viscera regnat. Nec mora, quod pontus, quod terra, quod educat aer, poscit et adpositis queritur ieiunia mensis inque epulis epulas quaerit; quodque urbibus esse
quodque satis poterat populo, non sufficit uni, plusque cupit, quo plura suam demittit in alvum. Utque fretum recipit de tota flumina terra nec satiatur aquis peregrinosque ebibit amnes, utque rapax ignis non umquam alimenta recusat innumerasque faces cremat et, quo copia maior est data, plura petit turbaque voracior ipsa est: sic epulas omnes Erysichthonis ora profani accipiunt poscuntque simul. Cibus omnis in illo causa cibi est, semperque locus fit inanis edendo. Iamque fame patrias altaque voragine ventris attenuarat opes, sed inattenuata manebat
tum quoque dira fames, implacataeque vigebat flamma gulae. Tandem, demisso in viscera censu, filia restabat, non illo digna parente. Hanc quoque vendit inops. Dominum generosa recusat et vicina suas tendens super aequora palmas “eripe me domino; qui raptae praemia nobis virginitatis habes” ait. Haec Neptunus habebat. Qui prece non spreta, quamvis modo visa sequenti esset ero, formamque novat vultumque virilem induit et cultus piscem capientibus aptos. Hanc dominus spectans “o qui pendentia parvo aera cibo celas, moderator harundinis,” inquit
“sic mare compositum, sic sit tibi piscis in unda credulus et nullos, nisi fixus, sentiat hamos: quae modo cum vili turbatis veste capillis litore in hoc steterat (nam stantem in litore vidi), dic ubi sit: neque enim vestigia longius exstant.” Illa dei munus bene cedere sensit et a se se quaeri gaudens, his est resecuta rogantem: “Quisquis es, ignoscas; in nullam lumina partem gurgite ab hoc flexi studioque operatus inhaesi. Quoque minus dubites, sic has deus aequoris artes adiuvet, ut nemo iamdudum litore in isto, me tamen excepto, nec femina constitit ulla.”
Credidit et verso dominus pede pressit harenam elususque abiit: illi sua reddita forma est. Ast ubi habere suam transformia corpora sensit, saepe pater dominis Triopeida tradit. At illa nunc equa, nunc ales, modo bos, modo cervus abibat praebebatque avido non iusta alimenta parenti. Vis tamen illa mali postquam consumpserat omnem materiam dederatque gravi nova pabula morbo, ipse suos artus lacero divellere morsu coepit et infelix minuendo corpus alebat. Quid moror externis? Etiam mihi nempe novandi est corporis, o iuvenis, numero finita potestas.
Nam modo qui nunc sum videor, modo flector in anguem, armenti modo dux vires in cornua sumo, — cornua, dum potui! nunc pars caret altera telo frontis, ut ipse vides.” Gemitus sunt verba secuti.
Book 9
Quae gemitus truncaeque deo Neptunius heros causa rogat frontis, cum sic Calydonius amnis coepit inornatos redimitus harundine crines: “Triste petis munus. Quis enim sua proelia victus commemorare velit? Referam tamen ordine. Nec tam turpe fuit vinci, quam contendisse decorum est, magnaque dat nobis tantus solacia victor. Nomine siqua suo fando pervenit ad aures Deianira tuas—quondam pulcherrima virgo multorumque fuit spes invidiosa procorum. Cum quibus ut soceri domus est intrata petiti, “accipe me generum,” dixi “Parthaone nate:”
dixit et Alcides. Alii cessere duobus. Ille Iovem socerum dare se famamque laborum et superata suae referebat iussa novercae. Contra ego “turpe deum mortali cedere” dixi (nondum erat ille deus), “regem me cernis aquarum cursibus obliquis inter tua regna fluentum. Nec gener externis hospes tibi missus ab oris, sed popularis ero et rerum pars una tuarum. Tantum ne noceat, quod me nec regia Iuno odit et omnis abest iussorum poena laborum. Nam, quo te iactas, Alcmena nate, creatum, Iuppiter aut falsus pater est, aut crimine verus.
Matris adulterio patrem petis. Elige, fictum esse Iovem malis, an te per dedecus ortum.” Talia dicentem iamdudum lumine torvo spectat et accensae non fortiter imperat irae verbaque tot reddit: “Melior mihi dextera lingua. Dummodo pugnando superem, tu vince loquendo,” congrediturque ferox. Puduit modo magna locutum cedere: reieci viridem de corpore vestem bracchiaque opposui tenuique a pectore varas in statione manus et pugnae membra paravi. Ille cavis hausto spargit me pulvere palmis inque vicem fulvae tactu flavescit harenae.
Et modo cervicem, modo crura micantia captat, aut captare putes, omnique a parte lacessit. Me mea defendit gravitas frustraque petebar, haud secus ac moles, quam magno murmure fluctus oppugnant: manet illa suoque est pondere tuta. Digredimur paulum rursusque ad bella coimus, inque gradu stetimus, certi non cedere; eratque cum pede pes iunctus, totoque ego pectore pronus et digitos digitis et frontem fronte premebam. Non aliter vidi fortes concurrere tauros, cum pretium pugnae toto nitidissima saltu expetitur coniunx: spectant armenta paventque
nescia, quem maneat tanti victoria regni. Ter sine profectu voluit nitentia contra reicere Alcides a se mea pectora; quarto excutit amplexus adductaque bracchia solvit, inpulsumque manu (certum est mihi vera fateri) protinus avertit tergoque onerosus inhaesit. Siqua fides neque ficta mihi nunc gloria voce quaeritur, inposito pressus mihi monte videbar. Vix tamen inserui sudore fluentia multo bracchia, vix solvi duros a corpore nexus: instat anhelanti prohibetque resumere vires, et cervice mea potitur. Tum denique tellus
pressa genu nostro est, et harenas ore momordi. Inferior virtute meas divertor ad artes, elaborque viro longum formatus in anguem. Qui postquam flexos sinuavi corpus in orbes cumque fero movi linguam stridore bisulcam, risit et inludens nostras Tirynthius artes “cunarum labor est angues superare mearum,” dixit “et ut vincas alios, Acheloe, dracones, pars quota Lernaeae serpens eris unus echidnae? Vulneribus fecunda suis erat illa, nec ullum de centum numero caput est inpune recisum, quin gemino cervix herede valentior esset.
Hanc ego ramosam natis e caede colubris crescentemque malo domui domitamque reclusi. Quid fore te credas, falsum qui versus in anguem arma aliena moves, quem forma precaria celat?” Dixerat, et summo digitorum vincula collo inicit: angebar ceu guttura forcipe pressus, pollicibusque meas pugnabam evellere fauces. Sic quoque devicto restabat tertia tauri forma trucis: tauro mutatus membra rebello. Induit ille toris a laeva parte lacertos, admissumque trahens sequitur depressaque dura cornua figit humo meque alta sternit harena.
Nec satis hoc fuerat: rigidum fera dextera cornu dum tenet, infregit truncaque a fronte revellit. Naides hoc, pomis et odoro flore repletum, sacrarunt, divesque meo Bona Copia cornu est.” Dixerat, et nymphe ritu succincta Dianae, una ministrarum, fusis utrimque capillis, incessit totumque tulit praedivite cornu autumnum et mensas, felicia poma, secundas. Lux subit, et primo feriente cacumina sole discedunt iuvenes: neque enim dum flumina pacem et placidos habeant lapsus totaeque residant, opperiuntur, aquae. Vultus Achelous agrestes
et lacerum cornu mediis caput abdidit undis. Hunc tamen ablati domuit iactura decoris, cetera sospes habet; capitis quoque fronde saligna aut super inposita celatur harundine damnum. At te, Nesse ferox, eiusdem virginis ardor perdiderat volucri traiectum terga sagitta. Namque nova repetens patrios cum coniuge muros venerat Eueni rapidas Iove natus ad undas. Uberior solito, nimbis hiemalibus auctus verticibusque frequens erat atque inpervius amnis. Intrepidum pro se, curam de coniuge agentem Nessus adit, membrisque valens scitusque vadorum,
“officio” que “meo ripa sistetur in illa haec,” ait “Alcide. Tu viribus utere nando!” pallentemque metu fluviumque ipsumque timentem tradidit Aonius pavidam Calydonida Nesso. Mox, ut erat, pharetraque gravis spolioque leonis (nam clavam et curvos trans ripam miserat arcus), “quandoquidem coepi, superentur flumina!” dixit, nec dubitat nec, qua sit clementissimus amnis, quaerit et obsequio deferri spernit aquarum. Iamque tenens ripam, missos cum tolleret arcus, coniugis agnovit vocem: Nessoque paranti fallere depositum “quo te fiducia” clamat
“vana pedum, violente, rapit? Tibi, Nesse biformis, dicimus. Exaudi nec res intercipe nostras! Si te nulla mei reverentia movit, at orbes concubitus vetitos poterant inhibere paterni. Haud tamen effugies, quamvis ope fidis equina: vulnere, non pedibus te consequar.” Ultima dicta res probat, et missa fugientia terga sagitta traicit: exstabat ferrum de pectore aduncum. Quod simul evulsum est, sanguis per utrumque foramen emicuit mixtus Lernaei tabe veneni. Excipit hunc Nessus “neque enim moriemur inulti” secum ait et calido velamina tincta cruore
dat munus raptae velut inritamen amoris. Longa fuit medii mora temporis, actaque magni Herculis inplerant terras odiumque novercae. Victor ab Oechalia Cenaeo sacra parabat vota Iovi, cum Fama loquax praecessit ad aures, Deianira, tuas, quae veris addere falsa gaudet et e minimo sua per mendacia crescit, Amphitryoniaden Ioles ardore teneri. Credit amans, venerisque novae perterrita fama indulsit primo lacrimis flendoque dolorem diffudit miseranda suum; mox deinde “quid autem flemus?” ait “paelex lacrimis laetabitur istis.
Quae quoniam adveniet, properandum aliquidque novandum est, dum licet et nondum thalamos tenet altera nostros. Conquerar an sileam? Repetam Calydona morerne? Excedam tectis an, si nihil amplius, obstem? Quid si me, Meleagre, tuam memor esse sororem forte paro facinus, quantumque iniuria possit femineusque dolor, iugulata paelice testor?” In cursus animus varios abit: omnibus illis praetulit inbutam Nesseo sanguine vestem mittere, quae vires defecto reddat amori. Ignaroque Lichae, quid tradat, nescia, luctus ipsa suos tradit blandisque (miserrima!) verbis,
dona det illa viro, mandat. Capit inscius heros induiturque umeris Lernaeae virus echidnae. Tura dabat primis et verba precantia flammis vinaque marmoreas patera fundebat in aras: incaluit vis illa mali resolutaque flammis Herculeos abiit late dilapsa per artus. Dum potuit, solita gemitum virtute repressit; victa malis postquam est patientia, reppulit aras inplevitque suis nemorosam vocibus Oeten. Nec mora, letiferam conatur scindere vestem: qua trahitur, trahit illa cutem, foedumque relatu, aut haeret membris frustra temptata revelli,
aut laceros artus et grandia detegit ossa. Ipse cruor, gelido ceu quondam lamina candens tincta lacu, stridit coquiturque ardente veneno. Nec modus est: sorbent avidae praecordia flammae, caeruleusque fluit toto de corpore sudor, ambustique sonant nervi: caecaque medullis tabe liquefactis tollens ad sidera palmas “cladibus,” exclamat “Saturnia, pascere nostris, pascere et hanc pestem specta, crudelis, ab alto corque ferum satia. Vel si miserandus et hosti, hoc est, si tibi sum, diris cruciatibus aegram invisamque animam natamque laboribus aufer:
hoc mihi munus erit; decet haec dare dona novercam. Ergo ego foedantem peregrino templa cruore Busirin domui saevoque alimenta parentis Antaeo eripui? Nec me pastoris Hiberi forma triplex, nec forma triplex tua, Cerbere, movit? Vosne, manus, validi pressistis cornua tauri? Vestrum opus Elis habet, vestrum Stymphalides undae Partheniumque nemus? Vestra virtute relatus Thermodontiaco caelatus balteus auro pomaque ab insomni concustodita dracone? Nec mihi Centauri potuere resistere, nec mi Arcadiae vastator aper? Nec profuit hydrae
crescere per damnum geminasque resumere vires? Quid tum? Thracis equos humano sanguine pingues plenaque corporibus laceris praesepia vidi visaque deieci dominumque ipsosque peremi. His elisa iacet moles Nemeaea lacertis, hac caelum cervice tuli. Defessa iubendo est saeva Iovis coniunx: ego sum indefessus agendo. Sed nova pestis adest, cui nec virtute resisti nec telis armisque potest. Pulmonibus errat ignis edax imis perque omnes pascitur artus. At valet Eurystheus!—et sunt qui credere possint esse deos!” Dixit, perque altam saucius Oeten
haud aliter graditur, quam si venabula taurus corpore fixa gerat, factique refugerit auctor. Saepe illum gemitus edentem, saepe frementem, saepe retemptantem totas infringere vestes sternentemque trabes irascentemque videres montibus aut patrio tendentem bracchia caelo. Ecce Lichan trepidum latitantem rupe cavata adspicit, utque dolor rabiem conlegerat omnem, “tune, Licha,” dixit “feralia dona dedisti? Tune meae necis auctor eris?” Tremit ille pavetque pallidus et timide verba excusantia dicit. Dicentem genibusque manus adhibere parantem
corripit Alcides et terque quaterque rotatum mittit in Euboicas tormento fortius undas. Ille per aerias pendens induruit auras, utque ferunt imbres gelidis concrescere ventis, inde nives fieri, nivibus quoque molle rotatis adstringi et spissa glomerari grandine corpus: sic illum validis iactum per inane lacertis exsanguemque metu nec quicquam umoris habentem in rigidos versum silices prior edidit aetas. Nunc quoque in Euboico scopulus brevis eminet alto gurgite et humanae servat vestigia formae; quem, quasi sensurum, nautae calcare verentur
appellantque Lichan.—At tu, Iovis inclita proles, arboribus caesis, quas ardua gesserat Oete, inque pyram structis, arcum pharetramque capacem regnaque visuras iterum Troiana sagittas ferre iubes Poeante satum. Quo flamma ministro est subdita; dumque avidis comprenditur ignibus agger, congeriem silvae Nemeaeo vellere summam sternis et inposita clavae cervice recumbis, haud alio vultu, quam si conviva iaceres inter plena meri redimitus pocula sertis. Iamque valens et in omne latus diffusa sonabat securosque artus contemptoremque petebat
flamma suum; timuere dei pro vindice terrae. Quos ita (sensit enim) laeto Saturnius ore Iuppiter adloquitur: “Nostra est timor iste voluptas, o superi, totoque libens mihi pectore grator, quod memoris populi dicor rectorque paterque, et mea progenies vestro quoque tuta favore est. Nam quamquam ipsius datis hoc inmanibus actis, obligor ipse tamen. Sed enim ne pectora vano fida metu paveant: Oetaeas spernite flammas! Omnia qui vicit, vincet, quos cernitis, ignes nec nisi materna Vulcanum parte potentem sentiet: aeternum est a me quod traxit et expers
atque inmune necis nullaque domabile flamma. Idque ego defunctum terra caelestibus oris accipiam, cunctisque meum laetabile factum dis fore confido. Siquis tamen Hercule, siquis forte deo doliturus erit, data praemia nolet, sed meruisse dari sciet invitusque probabit.” Adsensere dei: coniunx quoque regia visa est cetera non duro, duro tamen ultima vultu dicta tulisse Iovis seque indoluisse notatam. Interea quodcumque fuit populabile flammae Mulciber abstulerat, nec cognoscenda remansit Herculis effigies; nec quicquam ab imagine ductum
matris habet, tantumque Iovis vestigia servat. Utque novus serpens posita cum pelle senecta luxuriare solet squamaque nitere recenti, sic, ubi mortales Tirynthius exuit artus, parte sui meliore viget maiorque videri coepit et augusta fieri gravitate verendus. Quem pater omnipotens inter cava nubila raptum quadriiugo curru radiantibus intulit astris. Sensit Atlas pondus.—Neque adhuc Stheneleius iras solverat Eurystheus odiumque in prole paternum exercebat atrox. At longis anxia curis Argolis Alcmene, questus ubi ponat aniles,
cui referat nati testatos orbe labores, cuive suos casus, Iolen habet. Herculis illam imperiis thalamoque animoque receperat Hyllus inpleratque uterum generoso semine, cum sic incipit Alcmene: “Faveant tibi numina saltem conripiantque moras, tum cum matura vocabis praepositam timidis parientibus Ilithyiam, quam mihi difficilem Iunonis gratia fecit. Namque laboriferi cum iam natalis adesset Herculis et decimum premeretur sidere signum, tendebat gravitas uterum mihi, quodque ferebam, tantum erat, ut posses auctorem dicere tecti
ponderis esse Iovem. Nec iam tolerare labores ulterius poteram: quin nunc quoque frigidus artus, dum loquor, horror habet, parsque est meminisse doloris. Septem ego per noctes, totidem cruciata diebus, fessa malis tendensque ad caelum bracchia magno Lucinam Nixosque pares clamore vocabam. Illa quidem venit, sed praecorrupta meumque quae donare caput Iunoni vellet iniquae. Utque meos audit gemitus, subsedit in illa ante fores ara dextroque a poplite laevum pressa genu digitis inter se pectine iunctis sustinuit partus. Tacita quoque carmina voce
dixit, et inceptos tenuerunt carmina partus. Nitor et ingrato facio convicia demens vana Iovi cupioque mori moturaque duros verba queror silices. Matres Cadmeides adsunt votaque suscipiunt exhortanturque dolentem. Una ministrarum, media de plebe, Galanthis, flava comas, aderat, faciendis strenua iussis, officiis dilecta suis. Ea sensit iniqua nescio quid Iunone geri, dumque exit et intrat saepe fores, divam residentem vidit in ara bracchiaque in genibus digitis conexa tenentem, et “quaecumque es,” ait “dominae gratare: levata est
Argolis Alcmene potiturque puerpera voto.” Exsiluit iunctasque manus pavefacta remisit diva potens uteri: vinclis levor ipsa remissis. Numine decepto risisse Galanthida fama est: ridentem prensamque ipsis dea saeva capillis traxit, et e terra corpus relevare volentem arcuit inque pedes mutavit bracchia primos. Strenuitas antiqua manet, nec terga colorem amisere suum: forma est diversa priori. Quae quia mendaci parientem iuverat ore, ore parit nostrasque domos, ut et ante, frequentat.” Dixit, et admonitu veteris commota ministrae
ingemuit. Quam sic nurus est adfata dolentem: “Te tamen, o genetrix, alienae sanguine vestro rapta movet facies. Quid si tibi mira sororis fata meae referam? quamquam lacrimaeque dolorque impediunt prohibentque loqui. Fuit unica matri (me pater ex alia genuit) notissima forma Oechalidum Dryope. Quam virginitate carentem vimque dei passam Delphos Delumque tenentis excipit Andraemon, et habetur coniuge felix. Est lacus adclivis devexo margine formam litoris efficiens: summum myrteta coronant. Venerat huc Dryope fatorum nescia, quoque
indignere magis, nymphis latura coronas; inque sinu puerum, qui nondum impleverat annum, dulce ferebat onus tepidique ope lactis alebat. Haud procul a stagno Tyrios imitata colores in spem bacarum florebat aquatica lotos. Carpserat hinc Dryope, quos oblectamina nato porrigeret, flores, et idem factura videbar (namque aderam): vidi guttas e flore cruentas decidere et tremulo ramos horrore moveri. Scilicet, ut referunt tardi nunc denique agrestes, Lotis in hanc nymphe, fugiens obscena Priapi, contulerat versos servato nomine, vultus.
Nescierat soror hoc. Quae cum perterrita retro ire et adoratis vellet discedere nymphis, haeserunt radice pedes. Convellere pugnat, nec quicquam nisi summa movet. Subcrescit ab imo totaque paulatim lentus premit inguina cortex. Ut vidit, conata manu laniare capillos, fronde manum implevit: frondes caput omne tenebant. At puer Amphissos (namque hoc avus Eurytus illi addiderat nomen) materna rigescere sentit ubera, nec sequitur ducentem lacteus umor. Spectatrix aderam facti crudelis opemque non poteram tibi ferre, soror; quantumque valebam,
crescentem truncum ramosque amplexa morabar et, fateor, volui sub eodem cortice condi. Ecce vir Andraemon genitorque miserrimus adsunt et quaerunt Dryopen: Dryopen quaerentibus illis ostendi loton. Tepido dant oscula ligno adfusique suae radicibus arboris haerent. Nil nisi iam faciem, quod non foret arbor, habebat cara soror: lacrimae misero de corpore factis inrorant foliis, et, dum licet oraque praestant vocis iter, tales effundit in aera questus: “Siqua fides miseris, hoc me per numina iuro non meruisse nefas: patior sine crimine poenam.
Viximus innocuae: si mentior, arida perdam quas habeo, frondes et caesa securibus urar. Hunc tamen infantem maternis demite ramis et date nutrici; nostraque sub arbore saepe lac facitote bibat nostraque sub arbore ludat! Cumque loqui poterit, matrem facitote salutet, et tristis dicat “latet hoc in stipite mater.” Stagna tamen timeat nec carpat ab arbore flores, et frutices omnes corpus putet esse deorum! Care vale coniunx, et tu, germana, paterque! Qui, siqua est pietas, ab acutae vulnere falcis, a pecoris morsu frondes defendite nostras.
Et quoniam mihi fas ad vos incumbere non est, erigite huc artus et ad oscula nostra venite, dum tangi possunt, parvumque attollite natum. Plura loqui nequeo. Nam iam per candida mollis colla liber serpit, summoque cacumine condor. Ex oculis removete manus: sine munere vestro contegat inductus morientia lumina cortex!” Desierant simul ora loqui, simul esse, diuque corpore mutato rami caluere recentes.” Dumque refert Iole factum mirabile, dumque Eurytidos lacrimas admoto pollice siccat Alcmene (flet et ipsa tamen), conpescuit omnem
res nova tristitiam. Nam limine constitit alto paene puer dubiaque tegens lanugine malas ora reformatus primos Iolaus in annos. Hoc illi dederat Iunonia muneris Hebe, victa viri precibus. Quae cum iurare pararet dona tributuram post hunc se talia nulli, non est passa Themis: “Nam iam discordia Thebae bella movent” dixit “Capaneusque nisi ab Iove vinci haud poterit, fientque pares in vulnere fratres, subductaque suos manes tellure videbit vivus adhuc vates; ultusque parente parentem natus erit facto pius et sceleratus eodem;
attonitusque malis exsul mentisque domusque, vultibus Eumenidum matrisque agitabitur umbris, donec eum coniunx fatale poposcerit aurum, cognatumque latus Phegeius hauserit ensis. Tum demum magno petet hos Acheloia supplex ab Iove Callirhoe natis infantibus annos neve necem sinat esse diu victoris inultam, Iuppiter his motus privignae dona nurusque praecipiet facietque viros inpubibus annis.” Haec ubi faticano venturi praescia dixit ore Themis, vario superi sermone fremebant, et “cur non aliis eadem dare dona liceret”
murmur erat: queritur veteres Pallantias annos coniugis esse sui, queritur canescere mitis Iasiona Ceres, repetitum Mulciber aevum poscit Erichthonio. Venerem quoque cura futuri tangit et Anchisae renovare paciscitur annos. Cui studeat, deus omnis habet, crescitque favore turbida seditio, donec sua Iuppiter ora solvit et “o nostri siqua est reverentia,” dixit “quo ruitis? Tantumne aliquis sibi posse videtur, fata quoque ut superet? Fatis Iolaus in annos, quos egit, rediit, fatis iuvenescere debent Callirhoe geniti, non ambitione nec armis.
Vos etiam, quoque hoc animo meliore feratis, me quoque fata regunt. Quae si mutare valerem, nec nostrum seri curvarent Aeacon anni, perpetuumque aevi florem Rhadamanthus haberet cum Minoe meo, qui propter amara senectae pondera despicitur nec quo prius ordine regnat.” Dicta Iovis movere deos, nec sustinet ullus, cum videat fessos Rhadamanthon et Aeacon annis et Minoa, queri. Qui, dum fuit integer aevi, terruerat magnas ipso quoque nomine gentes. Tunc erat invalidus Deionidenque iuventae robore Miletum Phoeboque parente superbum
pertimuit credensque suis insurgere regnis, haud tamen est patriis arcere penatibus ausus. Sponte fugis, Milete, tua, celerique carina Aegaeas metiris aquas et in Aside terra moenia constituis positoris habentia nomen. Hic tibi, dum sequitur patriae curvamina ripae, filia Maeandri totiens redeuntis eodem cognita Cyanee, praestantia corpora forma, Byblida cum Cauno, prolem est enixa gemellam. Byblis in exemplo est, ut ament concessa puellae: Byblis Apollinei correpta cupidine fratris: non soror ut fratrem, nec qua debebat, amabat.
Illa quidem primo nullos intellegit ignes nec peccare putat, quod saepius oscula iungat, quod sua fraterno circumdet bracchia collo, mendacique diu pietatis fallitur umbra. Paulatim declinat amor, visuraque fratrem culta venit nimiumque cupit formosa videri et siqua est illic formosior, invidet illi. Sed nondum manifesta sibi est nullumque sub illo igne facit votum: verumtamen aestuat intus. Iam dominum appellat, iam nomina sanguinis odit: Byblida iam mavult, quam se vocet ille sororem. Spes tamen obscenas animo demittere non est
ausa suo vigilans: placida resoluta quiete saepe videt, quod amat; visa est quoque iungere fratri corpus et erubuit, quamvis sopita iacebat. Somnus abit: silet illa diu repetitque quietis ipsa suae speciem dubiaque ita mente profatur: “Me miseram! tacitae quid vult sibi noctis imago? Quam nolim rata sit! cur haec ego somnia vidi? Ille quidem est oculis quamvis formosus iniquis et placet, et possim, si non sit frater, amare, et me dignus erat. Verum nocet esse sororem.— Dummodo tale nihil vigilans committere temptem, saepe licet simili redeat sub imagine somnus!
testis abest somno, nec abest imitata voluptas. Pro! Venus et tenera volucer cum matre Cupido, gaudia quanta tuli! quam me manifesta libido contigit! ut iacui totis resoluta medullis! ut meminisse iuvat! quamvis brevis illa voluptas noxque fuit praeceps et coeptis invida nostris. O ego, si liceat mutato nomine iungi, quam bene, Caune, tuo poteram nurus esse parenti! quam bene, Caune, meo poteras gener esse parenti! Omnia, di facerent, essent communia nobis, praeter avos: tu me vellem generosior esses! Nescioquam facies igitur, pulcherrime, matrem:
at mihi, quae male sum quos tu sortita parentes, nil nisi frater eris. Quod obest, id habebimus unum. Quid mihi significant ergo mea visa?—quod autem somnia pondus habent?—an habent et somnia pondus? Di melius!—di nempe suas habuere sorores: Sic Saturnus Opem iunctam sibi sanguine duxit, Oceanus Tethyn, Iunonem rector Olympi. Sunt superis sua iura! Quid ad caelestia ritus exigere humanos diversaque foedera tempto? Aut nostro vetitus de corde fugabitur ardor, aut hoc si nequeo, peream, precor, ante toroque mortua conponar, positaeque det oscula frater.—
Et tamen arbitrium quaerit res ista duorum. Finge placere mihi: scelus esse videbitur illi! At non Aeolidae thalamos timuere sororum! Unde sed hos novi? Cur haec exempla paravi? Quo feror? Obscenae procul hinc discedite flammae, nec, nisi qua fas est germanae, frater ametur!— Si tamen ipse mei captus prior esset amore, forsitan illius possem indulgere furori. Ergo ego, quae fueram non reiectura petentem, ipsa petam! Poterisne loqui? poterisne fateri? Coget amor: potero! vel, si pudor ora tenebit, littera celatos arcana fatebitur ignis:
hoc placet, haec dubiam vicit sententia mentem.” In latus erigitur cubitoque innixa sinistro “viderit: insanos” inquit “fateamur amores. Ei mihi! quo labor? quem mens mea concipit ignem?” et meditata manu componit verba trementi: dextra tenet ferrum, vacuam tenet altera ceram. Incipit et dubitat, scribit damnatque tabellas et notat et delet, mutat culpatque probatque, inque vicem sumptas ponit positasque resumit. Quid velit ignorat; quidquid factura videtur, displicet. In vultu est audacia mixta pudori. Scripta “soror” fuerat, visum est delere sororem
verbaque correctis incidere talia ceris: “Quam, nisi tu dederis, non est habitura salutem, hanc tibi mittit amans: pudet, a! pudet edere nomen. Et si, quid cupiam, quaeris, sine nomine vellem posset agi mea causa meo, nec cognita Byblis ante forem, quam spes votorum certa fuisset. Esse quidem laesi poterat tibi pectoris index et color et macies et vultus et umida saepe lumina nec causa suspiria mota patenti et crebri amplexus, et quae, si forte notasti, oscula sentiri non esse sororia possent: ipsa tamen, quamvis animo grave vulnus habebam,
quamvis intus erat furor igneus, omnia feci (sunt mihi di testes), ut tandem sanior essem, pugnavique diu violenta Cupidinis arma effugere infelix et plus, quam ferre puellam posse putes, ego dura tuli. Superata fateri cogor opemque tuam timidis exposcere votis. Tu servare potes, tu perdere solus amantem: elige, utrum facias! Non hoc inimica precatur, sed quae, cum tibi sit iunctissima, iunctior esse expetit et vinclo tecum propiore ligari. Iura senes norint et, quid liceatque nefasque fasque sit, inquirant legumque examina servent:
conveniens Venus est annis temeraria nostris! Quid liceat, nescimus adhuc et cuncta licere credimus et sequimur magnorum exempla deorum. Nec nos aut durus pater aut reverentia famae aut timor impediet (tantum sit causa timendi!). Dulcia fraterno sub nomine furta tegemus: est mihi libertas tecum secreta loquendi, et damus amplexus et iungimus oscula coram, quantum est, quod desit? Miserere fatentis amores et non fassurae, nisi cogeret ultimus ardor, neve merere meo subscribi causa sepulcro!” Talia nequiquam perarantem plena reliquit
cera manum, summusque in margine versus adhaesit. Protinus inpressa signat sua crimina gemma, quam tinxit lacrimis (linguam defecerat umor), deque suis unum famulis pudibunda vocavit et pavidum blandita “fer has, fidissime, nostro”— dixit, et adiecit longo post tempore “fratri.” Cum daret, elapsae manibus cecidere tabellae. Omine turbata est: misit tamen. Apta minister tempora nactus adit traditque latentia verba. Attonitus subita iuvenis Maeandrius ira proicit acceptas lecta sibi parte tabellas vixque manus retinens trepidantis ab ore ministri
“dum licet, o vetitae scelerate libidinis auctor, effuge!” ait: “qui, si nostrum tua fata pudorem non traherent secum, poenas mihi morte dedisses.” Ille fugit pavidus dominaeque ferocia Cauni dicta refert. Palles audita, Bybli, repulsa, et pavet obsessum glaciali frigore corpus. Mens tamen ut rediit, pariter rediere furores, linguaque vix tales icto dedit aere voces: “Et merito! quid enim temeraria vulneris huius indicium feci? Quid, quae celanda fuerunt, tam cito commisi properatis verba tabellis? Ante erat ambiguis animi sententia dictis
praetemptanda mihi. Ne non sequeretur euntem, parte aliqua veli, qualis foret aura, notare debueram tutoque mari decurrere, quae nunc non exploratis inplevi lintea ventis. Auferor in scopulos igitur subversaque toto obruor oceano, neque habent mea vela recursus. Quid quod et ominibus certis prohibebar amori indulgere meo, tum cum mihi ferre iubenti excidit et fecit spes nostras cera caducas? Nonne vel illa dies fuerat vel tota voluntas, sed potius mutanda dies? Deus ipse monebat signaque certa dabat, si non male sana fuissem.
Et tamen ipsa loqui, nec me committere cerae debueram praesensque meos aperire furores (vidisset lacrimas, vultum vidisset amantis!), plura loqui poteram, quam quae cepere tabellae. Invito potui circumdare bracchia collo et, si reicerer, potui moritura videri amplectique pedes adfusaque poscere vitam. Omnia fecissem, quorum si singula duram flectere non poterant, potuissent omnia, mentem. Forsitan et missi sit quaedam culpa ministri: non adiit apte nec legit idonea, credo, tempora nec petiit horamque animumque vacantem.
Haec nocuere mihi. Neque enim est de tigride natus nec rigidas silices solidumve in pectore ferrum aut adamanta gerit nec lac bibit ille leaenae. Vincetur! Repetendus erit, nec taedia coepti ulla mei capiam, dum spiritus iste manebit. Nam primum, si facta mihi revocare liceret, non coepisse fuit: coepta expugnare secundum est. Quippe nec ille potest, ut iam mea vota relinquam, non tamen ausorum semper memor esse meorum, et, quia desierim, leviter voluisse videbor aut etiam temptasse illum insidiisque petisse; vel certe non hoc, qui plurimus urget et urit
pectora nostra, deo, sed victa libidine credar. Denique iam nequeo nil commisisse nefandum. Et scripsi et petii: temerata est nostra voluntas; ut nihil adiciam, non possum innoxia dici. Quod superest, multum est in vota, in crimina parvum.” Dixit, et (incertae tanta est discordia mentis) cum pigeat temptasse, libet temptare: modumque exit et infelix committit saepe repelli. Mox ubi finis abest, patriam fugit ille nefasque inque peregrina ponit nova moenia terra. Tum vero maestam tota Miletida mente defecisse ferunt, tum vero a pectore vestem
diripuit planxitque suos furibunda lacertos. Iamque palam est demens inconcessamque fatetur spem veneris, siquidem patriam invisosque penates deserit et profugi sequitur vestigia fratris. Utque tuo motae, proles Semeleia, thyrso Ismariae celebrant repetita triennia bacchae, Byblida non aliter latos ululasse per agros Bubasides videre nurus. Quibus illa relictis Caras et armiferos Lelegas Lyciamque pererrat. Iam Cragon et Limyren Xanthique reliquerat undas, quoque Chimaera iugo mediis in partibus ignem, pectus et ora leae, caudam serpentis habebat;
deficiunt silvae, cum tu lassata sequendo concidis et dura positis tellure capillis, Bybli, iaces frondesque tuo premis ore caducas. Saepe etiam nymphae teneris Lelegeides ulnis tollere conantur; saepe, ut medeatur amori, praecipiunt surdaeque adhibent solacia menti: muta iacet viridesque suis tenet unguibus herbas Byblis, et umectat lacrimarum gramina rivus. Naidas his venam, quae numquam arescere posset, subposuisse ferunt: quid enim dare maius habebant? Protinus, ut secto piceae de cortice guttae, utve tenax gravida manat tellure bitumen,
utve sub adventu spirantis lene favoni sole remollescit, quae frigore constitit, unda, sic lacrimis consumpta suis Phoebeia Byblis vertitur in fontem, qui nunc quoque vallibus illis nomen habet dominae nigraque sub ilice manat. Fama novi centum Cretaeas forsitan urbes implesset monstri, si non miracula nuper Iphide mutata Crete propiora tulisset. Proxima Cnosiaco nam quondam Phaestia regno progenuit tellus ignotum nomine Ligdum, ingenua de plebe virum. Nec census in illo nobilitate sua maior, sed vita fidesque
inculpata fuit. Gravidae qui coniugis aures vocibus his monuit, cum iam prope partus adesset: “Quae voveam, duo sunt; minimo ut relevere dolore, utque marem parias; onerosior altera sors est, et vires fortuna negat. Quod abominor, ergo edita forte tuo fuerit si femina partu, (invitus mando: pietas, ignosce!) necetur.” Dixerat, et lacrimis vultus lavere profusis, tam qui mandabat, quam cui mandata dabantur. Sed tamen usque suum vanis Telethusa maritum sollicitat precibus, ne spem sibi ponat in arto. Certa sua est Ligdo sententia. Iamque ferendo
vix erat illa gravem maturo pondere ventrem, cum medio noctis spatio sub imagine somni Inachis ante torum, pompa comitata sacrorum, aut stetit aut visa est. Inerant lunaria fronti cornua cum spicis nitido flaventibus auro et regale decus. Cum qua latrator Anubis sanctaque Bubastis variusque coloribus Apis, quique premit vocem digitoque silentia suadet, sistraque erant numquamque satis quaesitus Osiris plenaque somniferis serpens peregrina venenis. Tum velut excussam somno et manifesta videntem sic adfata dea est: “Pars o Telethusa mearum,
pone graves curas mandataque falle mariti. Nec dubita, cum te partu Lucina levarit, tollere quidquid erit. Dea sum auxiliaris opemque exorata fero, nec te coluisse quereris ingratum numen.” Monuit thalamoque recessit. Laeta toro surgit purasque ad sidera supplex Cressa manus tollens, rata sint sua visa, precatur. Ut dolor increvit, seque ipsum pondus in auras expulit et nata est ignaro femina patre, iussit ali mater puerum mentita: fidemque res habuit, neque erat ficti nisi conscia nutrix. Vota pater solvit nomenque inponit avitum:
Iphis avus fuerat. Gavisa est nomine mater, quod commune foret nec quemquam falleret illo. Inde incepta pia mendacia fraude latebant: cultus erat pueri, facies, quam sive puellae, sive dares puero, fuerat formosus uterque. Tertius interea decimo successerat annus, cum pater, Iphi, tibi flavam despondet Ianthen, inter Phaestiadas quae laudatissima formae dote fuit virgo, Dictaeo nata Teleste. Par aetas, par forma fuit, primasque magistris accepere artes, elementa aetatis, ab isdem. Hinc amor ambarum tetigit rude pectus et aequum
vulnus utrique dedit. Sed erat fiducia dispar: coniugium pactaeque exspectat tempora taedae quamque virum putat esse, virum fore credit Ianthe; Iphis amat, qua posse frui desperat, et auget hoc ipsum flammas, ardetque in virgine virgo; vixque tenens lacrimas “quis me manet exitus” inquit, “cognita quam nulli, quam prodigiosa novaeque cura tenet Veneris? Si di mihi parcere vellent, naturale malum saltem et de more dedissent. Nec vaccam vaccae, nec equas amor urit equarum: urit oves aries, sequitur sua femina cervum. Sic et aves coeunt, interque animalia cuncta
femina femineo conrepta cupidine nulla est. Vellem nulla forem! Ne non tamen omnia Crete monstra ferat, taurum dilexit filia Solis, femina nempe marem: meus est furiosior illo, si verum profitemur, amor! Tamen illa secuta est spem Veneris, tamen illa dolis et imagine vaccae passa bovem est, et erat, qui deciperetur adulter! Huc licet e toto sollertia confluat orbe, ipse licet revolet ceratis Daedalus alis, quid faciet? Num me puerum de virgine doctis artibus efficiet? num te mutabit, Ianthe? Quin animum firmas, teque ipsa reconligis, Iphi,
consiliique inopes et stultos excutis ignes? Quid sis nata, vide, nisi te quoque decipis ipsa, et pete quod fas est, et ama quod femina debes! Spes est, quae capiat, spes est, quae pascit amorem: hanc tibi res adimit. Non te custodia caro arcet ab amplexu nec cauti cura mariti, non patris asperitas, non se negat ipsa roganti: nec tamen est potienda tibi, nec, ut omnia fiant, esse potes felix, ut dique hominesque laborent. Nunc quoque votorum nulla est pars vana meorum, dique mihi faciles, quidquid valuere, dederunt; quodque ego, vult genitor, vult ipsa socerque futurus.
At non vult natura, potentior omnibus istis, quae mihi sola nocet. Venit ecce optabile tempus, luxque iugalis adest, et iam mea fiet Ianthe— nec mihi continget: mediis sitiemus in undis. Pronuba quid Iuno, quid ad haec, Hymenaee, venitis sacra, quibus qui ducat abest, ubi nubimus ambae?” Pressit ab his vocem. Nec lenius altera virgo aestuat, utque celer venias, Hymenaee, precatur. Quod petit haec, Telethusa timens modo tempora differt, nunc ficto languore moram trahit, omina saepe visaque causatur. Sed iam consumpserat omnem materiam ficti, dilataque tempora taedae
institerant, unusque dies restabat. At illa crinalem capiti vittam nataeque sibique detrahit et passis aram complexa capillis “Isi, Paraetonium Mareoticaque arva Pharonque quae colis et septem digestum in cornua Nilum: fer, precor” inquit “opem nostroque medere timori! Te, dea, te quondam tuaque haec insignia vidi cunctaque cognovi, sonitum comitantiaque aera sistrorum, memorique animo tua iussa notavi. Quod videt haec lucem, quod non ego punior, ecce consilium munusque tuum est. Miserere duarum auxilioque iuva!” Lacrimae sunt verba secutae.
Visa dea est movisse suas (et moverat) aras, et templi tremuere fores, imitataque lunam cornua fulserunt, crepuitque sonabile sistrum. Non secura quidem, fausto tamen omine laeta mater abit templo: sequitur comes Iphis euntem, quam solita est, maiore gradu, nec candor in ore permanet, et vires augentur, et acrior ipse est vultus, et incomptis brevior mensura capillis, plusque vigoris adest, habuit quam femina. Nam quae femina nuper eras, puer es. Date munera templis nec timida gaudete fide! Dant munera templis, addunt et titulum; titulus breve carmen habebat:
DONA PUER SOLVIT QUAE FEMINA VOVERAT IPHIS Postera lux radiis latum patefecerat orbem, cum Venus et Iuno sociosque Hymenaeus ad ignes conveniunt, potiturque sua puer Iphis Ianthe.
Book 10
Inde per inmensum croceo velatus amictu aethera digreditur Ciconumque Hymenaeus ad oras tendit et Orphea nequiquam voce vocatur. Adfuit ille quidem, sed nec sollemnia verba nec laetos vultus nec felix attulit omen. Fax quoque, quam tenuit, lacrimoso stridula fumo usque fuit nullosque invenit motibus ignes. Exitus auspicio gravior: nam nupta per herbas dum nova naiadum turba comitata vagatur, occidit in talum serpentis dente recepto. Quam satis ad superas postquam Rhodopeius auras deflevit vates, ne non temptaret et umbras,
ad Styga Taenaria est ausus descendere porta; perque leves populos simulacraque functa sepulcro Persephonen adiit inamoenaque regna tenentem umbrarum dominum. Pulsisque ad carmina nervis sic ait: “O positi sub terra numina mundi, in quem reccidimus, quidquid mortale creamur, si licet et falsi positis ambagibus oris vera loqui sinitis, non huc, ut opaca viderem Tartara, descendi, nec uti villosa colubris terna Medusaei vincirem guttura monstri: causa viae est coniunx, in quam calcata venenum vipera diffudit crescentesque abstulit annos.
Posse pati volui nec me temptasse negabo: vicit Amor. Supera deus hic bene notus in ora est, an sit et hic, dubito. Sed et hic tamen auguror esse; famaque si veteris non est mentita rapinae, vos quoque iunxit Amor. Per ego haec loca plena timoris, per chaos hoc ingens vastique silentia regni, Eurydices, oro, properata retexite fata. Omnia debemur vobis, paulumque morati serius aut citius sedem properamus ad unam. Tendimus huc omnes, haec est domus ultima, vosque humani generis longissima regna tenetis. Haec quoque, cum iustos matura peregerit annos,
iuris erit vestri: pro munere poscimus usum. Quod si fata negant veniam pro coniuge, certum est nolle redire mihi: leto gaudete duorum.” Talia dicentem nervosque ad verba moventem exsangues flebant animae: nec Tantalus undam captavit refugam, stupuitque Ixionis orbis, nec carpsere iecur volucres, urnisque vacarunt Belides, inque tuo sedisti, Sisyphe, saxo. Tunc primum lacrimis victarum carmine fama est Eumenidum maduisse genas. Nec regia coniunx sustinet oranti nec qui regit ima negare, Eurydicenque vocant. Umbras erat illa recentes
inter et incessit passu de vulnere tardo. Hanc simul et legem Rhodopeius accipit Orpheus, ne flectat retro sua lumina, donec Avernas exierit valles: aut inrita dona futura. Carpitur acclivis per muta silentia trames, arduus, obscurus, caligine densus opaca. Nec procul afuerunt telluris margine summae: hic, ne deficeret, metuens avidusque videndi flexit amans oculos; et protinus illa relapsa est, bracchiaque intendens prendique et prendere certans nil nisi cedentes infelix arripit auras. Iamque iterum moriens non est de coniuge quicquam
questa suo: quid enim nisi se quereretur amatam? Supremumque “vale,” quod iam vix auribus ille acciperet, dixit revolutaque rursus eodem est. Non aliter stupuit gemina nece coniugis Orpheus, quam tria qui timidus, medio portante catenas, colla canis vidit, quem non pavor ante reliquit, quam natura prior, saxo per corpus oborto; quique in se crimen traxit voluitque videri Olenos esse nocens, tuque, o confisa figurae, infelix Lethaea, tuae, iunctissima quondam pectora, nunc lapides, quos umida sustinet Ide. Orantem frustraque iterum transire volentem
portitor arcuerat. Septem tamen ille diebus squalidus in ripa Cereris sine munere sedit: cura dolorque animi lacrimaeque alimenta fuere. Esse deos Erebi crudeles questus, in altam se recipit Rhodopen pulsumque aquilonibus Haemum. Tertius aequoreis inclusum piscibus annum finierat Titan, omnemque refugerat Orpheus femineam venerem, seu quod male cesserat illi, sive fidem dederat. Multas tamen ardor habebat iungere se vati, multae doluere repulsae. Ille etiam Thracum populis fuit auctor amorem in teneros transferre mares citraque iuventam
aetatis breve ver et primos carpere flores. Collis erat collemque super planissima campi area, quam viridem faciebant graminis herbae. Umbra loco deerat: qua postquam parte resedit dis genitus vates et fila sonantia movit, umbra loco venit. Non Chaonis afuit arbor. non nemus Heliadum, non frondibus aesculus altis, nec tiliae molles, nec fagus et innuba laurus, et coryli fragiles et fraxinus utilis hastis enodisque abies curvataque glandibus ilex et platanus genialis acerque coloribus impar amnicolaeque simul salices et aquatica lotos
perpetuoque virens buxum tenuesque myricae et bicolor myrtus et bacis caerula tinus. Vos quoque, flexipedes hederae, venistis et una pampineae vites et amictae vitibus ulmi, ornique et piceae pomoque onerata rubenti arbutus et lentae, victoris praemia, palmae et succincta comas hirsutaque vertice pinus, grata deum matri; siquidem Cybeleius Attis exuit hac hominem truncoque induruit illo. Adfuit huic turbae metas imitata cupressus, nunc arbor, puer ante deo dilectus ab illo, qui citharam nervis et nervis temperat arcum.
Namque sacer nymphis Carthaea tenentibus arva ingens cervus erat, lateque patentibus altas ipse suo capiti praebebat cornibus umbras. Cornua fulgebant auro, demissaque in armos pendebant tereti gemmata monilia collo. Bulla super frontem parvis argentea loris vincta movebatur parilique aetate: nitebant auribus e geminis circum cava tempora bacae. Isque metu vacuus naturalique pavore deposito celebrare domos mulcendaque colla quamlibet ignotis manibus praebere solebat. Sed tamen ante alios, Ceae pulcherrime gentis,
gratus erat, Cyparisse, tibi. Tu pabula cervum ad nova, tu liquidi ducebas fontis ad undam, tu modo nectebas varios per cornua flores, nunc eques in tergo residens huc laetus et illuc mollia purpureis frenabas ora capistris. Aestus erat mediusque dies, solisque vapore concava litorei fervebant bracchia cancri: fessus in herbosa posuit sua corpora terra cervus et arborea frigus ducebat ab umbra. Hunc puer imprudens iaculo Cyparissus acuto fixit; et ut saevo morientem vulnere vidit, velle mori statuit. Quae non solacia Phoebus
dixit et ut leviter pro materiaque doleret, admonuit! Gemit ille tamen munusque supremum hoc petit a superis, ut tempore lugeat omni. Iamque per inmensos egesto sanguine fletus in viridem verti coeperunt membra colorem, et modo qui nivea pendebant fronte capilli, horrida caesaries fieri sumptoque rigore sidereum gracili spectare cacumine caelum. Ingemuit tristisque deus “lugebere nobis lugebisque alios aderisque dolentibus” inquit. Tale nemus vates attraxerat inque ferarum concilio medius turba volucrumque sedebat.
Ut satis impulsas temptavit pollice chordas et sensit varios, quamvis diversa sonarent, concordare modos, hoc vocem carmine movit: “Ab Iove, Musa parens, (cedunt Iovis omnia regno!) carmina nostra move! Iovis est mihi saepe potestas dicta prius: cecini plectro graviore Gigantas sparsaque Phlegraeis victricia fulmina campis: nunc opus est leviore lyra, puerosque canamus dilectos superis, inconcessisque puellas ignibus attonitas meruisse libidine poenam. Rex superum Phrygii quondam Ganymedis amore arsit, et inventum est aliquid, quod Iuppiter esse,
quam quod erat, mallet. Nulla tamen alite verti dignatur, nisi quae posset sua fulmina ferre. Nec mora, percusso mendacibus aere pennis abripit Iliaden; qui nunc quoque pocula miscet invitaque Iovi nectar Iunone ministrat. Te quoque, Amyclide, posuisset in aethere Phoebus, tristia si spatium ponendi fata dedissent. Qua licet, aeternus tamen es: quotiensque repellit ver hiemem piscique aries succedit aquoso, tu totiens oreris viridique in caespite flores. Te meus ante omnes genitor dilexit, et orbe in medio positi caruerunt praeside Delphi,
dum deus Eurotan inmunitamque frequentat Sparten. Nec citharae nec sunt in honore sagittae: inmemor ipse sui non retia ferre recusat, non tenuisse canes, non per iuga montis iniqui ire comes, longaque alit adsuetudine flammas. Iamque fere medius Titan venientis et actae noctis erat spatioque pari distabat utrimque: corpora veste levant et suco pinguis olivi splendescunt latique ineunt certamina disci. Quem prius aerias libratum Phoebus in auras misit et oppositas disiecit pondere nubes. Reccidit in solidam longo post tempore terram
pondus et exhibuit iunctam cum viribus artem. Protinus imprudens actusque cupidine lusus tollere Taenarides orbem properabat. At illum dura repercusso subiecit verbere tellus in vultus, Hyacinthe, tuos. Expalluit aeque quam puer ipse deus conlapsosque excipit artus, et modo te refovet, modo tristia vulnera siccat, nunc animam admotis fugientem sustinet herbis. Nil prosunt artes: erat inmedicabile vulnus. Ut siquis violas rigidumve papaver in horto liliaque infringat fulvis horrentia linguis, marcida demittant subito caput illa vietum
nec se sustineant spectentque cacumine terram: sic vultus moriens iacet, et defecta vigore ipsa sibi est oneri cervix umeroque recumbit. “Laberis, Oebalide, prima fraudate iuventa,” Phoebus ait “videoque tuum, mea crimina, vulnus. Tu dolor es facinusque meum: mea dextera leto inscribenda tuo est! Ego sum tibi funeris auctor. Quae mea culpa tamen? Nisi si lusisse vocari culpa potest, nisi culpa potest et amasse vocari. Atque utinam merito vitam tecumque liceret reddere! Quod quoniam fatali lege tenemur, semper eris mecum memorique haerebis in ore.
Te lyra pulsa manu, te carmina nostra sonabunt, flosque novus scripto gemitus imitabere nostros. Tempus et illud erit, quo se fortissimus heros addat in hunc florem folioque legatur eodem.” Talia dum vero memorantur Apollinis ore, ecce cruor, qui fusus humo signaverat herbas, desinit esse cruor, Tyrioque nitentior ostro flos oritur formamque capit quam lilia, si non purpureus color his, argenteus esset in illis. Non satis hoc Phoebo est (is enim fuit auctor honoris): ipse suos gemitus foliis inscribit, et AI AI flos habet inscriptum, funestaque littera dicta est.
Nec genuisse pudet Sparten Hyacinthon, honorque durat in hoc aevi, celebrandaque more priorum annua praelata redeunt Hyacinthia pompa. At si forte roges fecundam Amathunta metallis, an genuisse velit Propoetidas, abnuat aeque atque illos, gemino quondam quibus aspera cornu frons erat: unde etiam nomen traxere Cerastae. Ante fores horum stabat Iovis Hospitis ara; ignarus sceleris quam siquis sanguine tinctam advena vidisset, mactatos crederet illic lactantes vitulos Amathusiacasque bidentes: hospes erat caesus. Sacris offensa nefandis
ipsa suas urbes Ophiusiaque arva parabat deserere alma Venus. “Sed quid loca grata, quid urbes peccavere meae? Quod” dixit “crimen in illis? Exsilio poenam potius gens impia pendat, vel nece, vel siquid medium est mortisque fugaeque. Idque quid esse potest, nisi versae poena figurae?” Dum dubitat, quo mutet eos, ad cornua vultum flexit et admonita est haec illis posse relinqui: grandiaque in torvos transformat membra iuvencos. Sunt tamen obscenae Venerem Propoetides ausae esse negare deam. Pro quo sua, numinis ira, corpora cum forma primae vulgasse feruntur:
utque pudor cessit sanguisque induruit oris, in rigidum parvo silicem discrimine versae. Quas quia Pygmalion aevum per crimen agentes viderat, offensus vitiis, quae plurima menti femineae natura dedit, sine coniuge caelebs vivebat thalamique diu consorte carebat. Interea niveum mira feliciter arte sculpsit ebur formamque dedit, qua femina nasci nulla potest: operisque sui concepit amorem. Virginis est verae facies, quam vivere credas, et, si non obstet reverentia, velle moveri: ars adeo latet arte sua. Miratur et haurit
pectore Pygmalion simulati corporis ignes. Saepe manus operi temptantes admovet, an sit corpus an illud ebur: nec adhuc ebur esse fatetur. Oscula dat reddique putat loquiturque tenetque, et credit tactis digitos insidere membris, et metuit, pressos veniat ne livor in artus. Et modo blanditias adhibet, modo grata puellis munera fert illi conchas teretesque lapillos et parvas volucres et flores mille colorum liliaque pictasque pilas et ab arbore lapsas Heliadum lacrimas; ornat quoque vestibus artus, dat digitis gemmas, dat longa monilia collo:
aure leves bacae, redimicula pectore pendent. Cuncta decent: nec nuda minus formosa videtur. Conlocat hanc stratis concha Sidonide tinctis appellatque tori sociam, acclinataque colla mollibus in plumis, tamquam sensura, reponit. Festa dies Veneris tota celeberrima Cypro venerat, et pandis inductae cornibus aurum conciderant ictae nivea cervice iuvencae, turaque fumabant: cum munere functus ad aras constitit et timide, “si di dare cuncta potestis, sit coniunx, opto” (non ausus “eburnea virgo” dicere) Pygmalion “similis mea” dixit “eburnae.”
Sensit, ut ipsa suis aderat Venus aurea festis, vota quid illa velint; et, amici numinis omen, flamma ter accensa est apicemque per aera duxit. Ut rediit, simulacra suae petit ille puellae incumbensque toro dedit oscula: visa tepere est. Admovet os iterum, manibus quoque pectora temptat: temptatum mollescit ebur positoque rigore subsidit digitis ceditque, ut Hymettia sole cera remollescit tractataque pollice multas flectitur in facies ipsoque fit utilis usu. Dum stupet et dubie gaudet fallique veretur, rursus amans rursusque manu sua vota retractat.
Corpus erat: saliunt temptatae pollice venae. Tum vero Paphius plenissima concipit heros verba, quibus Veneri grates agat, oraque tandem ore suo non falsa premit: dataque oscula virgo sensit et erubuit timidumque ad lumina lumen attollens pariter cum caelo vidit amantem. Coniugio, quod fecit, adest dea. Iamque coactis cornibus in plenum noviens lunaribus orbem illa Paphon genuit, de qua tenet insula nomen. Editus hac ille est, qui, si sine prole fuisset, inter felices Cinyras potuisset haberi. Dira canam: procul hinc natae, procul este parentes!
Aut, mea si vestras mulcebunt carmina mentes, desit in hac mihi parte fides, nec credite factum, vel, si credetis, facti quoque credite poenam. Si tamen admissum sinit hoc natura videri, gratulor huic terrae, quod abest regionibus illis, quae tantum genuere nefas. Sit dives amomo cinnamaque costumque suum sudataque ligno tura ferat floresque alios Panchaia tellus, dum ferat et murram: tanti nova non fuit arbor. Ipse negat nocuisse tibi sua tela Cupido, Myrrha, facesque suas a crimine vindicat isto. Stipite te Stygio tumidisque adflavit echidnis
e tribus una soror. Scelus est odisse parentem: hic amor est odio maius scelus. Undique lecti te cupiunt proceres, totoque oriente iuventus ad thalami certamen adest. Ex omnibus unum elige, Myrrha, virum: dum ne sit in omnibus unus. Illa quidem sentit foedoque repugnat amori et secum “quo mente feror? quid molior?” inquit: “di, precor, et pietas sacrataque iura parentum, hoc prohibete nefas scelerique resistite nostro, — si tamen hoc scelus est. Sed enim damnare negatur hanc venerem pietas, coeuntque animalia nullo cetera delicto. Nec habetur turpe iuvencae
ferre patrem tergo, fit equo sua filia coniunx, quasque creavit init pecudes caper, ipsaque, cuius semine concepta est, ex illo concipit ales. Felices, quibus ista licent! Humana malignas cura dedit leges, et quod natura remittit, invida iura negant. Gentes tamen esse feruntur, in quibus et nato genetrix et nata parenti iungitur, ut pietas geminato crescat amore. Me miseram, quod non nasci mihi contigit illic, fortunaque loci laedor! — Quid in ista revolvor? Spes interdictae discedite! Dignus amari ille, sed ut pater, est. — Ergo si filia magni
non essem Cinyrae, Cinyrae concumbere possem; nunc quia iam meus est, non est meus, ipsaque damno est mihi proximitas: aliena potentior essem. Ire libet procul hinc patriaeque relinquere fines, dum scelus effugiam. Retinet malus ardor amantem, ut praesens spectem Cinyram tangamque loquarque osculaque admoveam, si nil conceditur ultra. Ultra autem spectare aliquid potes, impia virgo? Et quot confundas et iura et nomina, sentis! Tune eris et matris paelex et adultera patris? Tune soror nati genetrixque vocabere fratris? Nec metues atro crinitas angue sorores,
quas facibus saevis oculos atque ora petentes noxia corda vident? At tu, dum corpore non es passa nefas, animo ne concipe, neve potentis concubitu vetito naturae pollue foedus. Velle puta: res ipsa vetat. Pius ille memorque est moris — et o vellem similis furor esset in illo!” Dixerat, at Cinyras, quem copia digna procorum, quid faciat, dubitare facit, scitatur ab ipsa nominibus dictis, cuius velit esse mariti. Illa silet primo, patriisque in vultibus haerens aestuat et tepido suffundit lumina rore. Virginei Cinyras haec credens esse timoris,
flere vetat siccatque genas atque oscula iungit. Myrrha datis nimium gaudet: consultaque, qualem optet habere virum, “similem tibi” dixit. At ille non intellectam vocem conlaudat et “esto tam pia semper” ait. Pietatis nomine dicto demisit vultus sceleris sibi conscia virgo. Noctis erat medium, curasque et corpora somnus solverat. At virgo Cinyreia pervigil igni carpitur indomito furiosaque vota retractat. Et modo desperat, modo vult temptare, pudetque et cupit, et, quid agat, non invenit. Utque securi saucia trabs ingens, ubi plaga novissima restat,
quo cadat, in dubio est omnique a parte timetur: sic animus vario labefactus vulnere nutat huc levis atque illuc momentaque sumit utroque. Nec modus aut requies, nisi mors, reperitur amoris. Mors placet. Erigitur laqueoque innectere fauces destinat et zona summo de poste revincta “care vale Cinyra causamque intellege mortis!” dixit et aptabat pallenti vincula collo. Murmura verborum fidas nutricis ad aures pervenisse ferunt limen servantis alumnae. Surgit anus reseratque fores, mortisque paratae instrumenta videns spatio conclamat eodem
seque ferit scinditque sinus ereptaque collo vincula dilaniat. Tum denique flere vacavit, tum dare complexus laqueique requirere causam. Muta silet virgo terramque inmota tuetur et deprensa dolet tardae conamina mortis. Instat anus canosque suos et inania nudans ubera per cunas alimentaque prima precatur, ut sibi committat, quidquid dolet. Illa rogantem aversata gemit. Certa est exquirere nutrix nec solam spondere fidem: “dic” inquit “opemque me sine ferre tibi; non est mea pigra senectus. Seu furor est, habeo, quae carmine sanet et herbis,
sive aliquis nocuit, magico lustrabere ritu, ira deum sive est, sacris placabilis ira. Quid rear ulterius ? Certe fortuna domusque sospes et in cursu est, vivit genetrixque paterque.” Myrrha, patre audito, suspiria duxit ab imo pectore. Nec nutrix etiamnum concipit ullum mente nefas, aliquemque tamen praesentit amorem; propositique tenax, quodcumque est, orat, ut ipsi indicet, et gremio lacrimantem tollit anili atque ita complectens infirmis membra lacertis “sensimus,” inquit “amas! sed et hic mea (pone timorem) sedulitas erit apta tibi, nec sentiet umquam
hoc pater.” Exsiluit gremio furibunda torumque ore premens “discede, precor, miseroque pudori parce!” ait. Instanti “discede, aut desine” dixit “quaerere, quid doleam: scelus est, quod scire laboras.” Horret anus tremulasque manus annisque metuque tendit et ante pedes supplex procumbit alumnae et modo blanditur, modo, si non conscia fiat, terret; et indicium laquei coeptaeque minatur mortis et officium commisso spondet amori. Extulit illa caput lacrimisque implevit obortis pectora nutricis; conataque saepe fateri saepe tenet vocem, pudibundaque vestibus ora
texit et “o” dixit “felicem coniuge matrem!” Hactenus, et gemuit. Gelidus nutricis in artus ossaque (sensit enim) penetrat tremor, albaque toto vertice canities rigidis stetit hirta capillis. Multaque, ut excuteret diros, si posset, amores, addidit: at virgo scit se non falsa moneri, certa mori tamen est, si non potiatur amore. “Vive,” ait haec “potiere tuo” — et, non ausa “parente” dicere, conticuit promissaque numine firmat. Festa piae Cereris celebrabant annua matres illa, quibus nivea velatae corpora veste primitias frugum dant spicea serta suarum
perque novem noctes venerem tactusque viriles in vetitis numerant. Turba Cenchreis in illa regis adest coniunx, arcanaque sacra frequentat. Ergo legitima vacuus dum coniuge lectus, nacta gravem vino Cinyram male sedula nutrix, nomine mentito veros exponit amores et faciem laudat. Quaesitis virginis annis “par” ait “est Myrrhae.” Quam postquam adducere iussa est utque domum rediit, “gaude mea” dixit “alumna: vicimus.” Infelix non toto pectore sentit laetitiam virgo, praesagaque pectora maerent; sed tamen et gaudet: tanta est discordia mentis.
Tempus erat, quo cuncta silent, interque triones flexerat obliquo plaustrum temone Bootes: ad facinus venit illa suum. Fugit aurea caelo luna, tegunt nigrae latitantia sidera nubes: nox caret igne suo. Primus tegis, Icare, vultus Erigoneque pio sacrata parentis amore. Ter pedis offensi signo est revocata, ter omen funereus bubo letali carmine fecit: it tamen, et tenebrae minuunt noxque atra pudorem; nutricisque manum laeva tenet, altera motu caecum iter explorat. Thalami iam limina tangit, iamque fores aperit, iam ducitur intus: at illi
poplite succiduo genua intremuere, fugitque et color et sanguis, animusque relinquit euntem. Quoque suo propior sceleri est, magis horret, et ausi paenitet, et vellet non cognita posse reverti. Cunctantem longaeva manu deducit et alto admotam lecto cum traderet “accipe,” dixit “ista tua est, Cinyra” devotaque corpora iunxit. Accipit obsceno genitor sua viscera lecto virgineosque metus levat hortaturque timentem. Forsitan aetatis quoque nomine “filia” dixit, dixit et illa “pater,” sceleri ne nomina desint. Plena patris thalamis excedit et impia diro
semina fert utero conceptaque crimina portat. Postera nox facinus geminat. Nec finis in illa est: cum tandem Cinyras, avidus cognoscere amantem post tot concubitus, inlato lumine vidit et scelus et natam, verbisque dolore retentis pendenti nitidum vagina deripit ensem. Myrrha fugit, tenebrisque et caecae munere noctis intercepta neci est: latosque vagata per agros palmiferos Arabas Panchaeaque rura reliquit; perque novem erravit redeuntis cornua lunae, cum tandem terra requievit fessa Sabaea; vixque uteri portabat onus. Tum nescia voti
atque inter mortisque metus et taedia vitae est tales complexa preces: “O siqua patetis numina confessis, merui nec triste recuso supplicium. Sed ne violem vivosque superstes mortuaque exstinctos, ambobus pellite regnis mutataeque mihi vitamque necemque negate.” Numen confessis aliquod patet: ultima certe vota suos habuere deos. Nam crura loquentis terra supervenit, ruptosque obliqua per ungues porrigitur radix, longi firmamina trunci; ossaque robur agunt, mediaque manente medulla sanguis it in sucos, in magnos bracchia ramos,
in parvos digiti, duratur cortice pellis. Iamque gravem crescens uterum perstrinxerat arbor pectoraque obruerat collumque operire parabat, non tulit illa moram venientique obvia ligno subsedit mersitque suos in cortice vultus. Quae quamquam amisit veteres cum corpore sensus, flet tamen, et tepidae manant ex arbore guttae. Est honor et lacrimis, stillataque robore murra nomen erile tenet nulloque tacebitur aevo. At male conceptus sub robore creverat infans quaerebatque viam, qua se genetrice relicta exsereret: media gravidus tumet arbore venter.
Tendit onus matrem: neque habent sua verba dolores, nec Lucina potest parientis voce vocari. Nitenti tamen est similis curvataque crebros dat gemitus arbor lacrimisque cadentibus umet. Constitit ad ramos mitis Lucina dolentes admovitque manus et verba puerpera dixit. Arbor agit rimas et fissa cortice vivum reddit onus, vagitque puer; quem mollibus herbis naides impositum lacrimis unxere parentis. Laudaret faciem Livor quoque. Qualia namque corpora nudorum tabula pinguntur Amorum, talis erat: sed, ne faciat discrimina cultus,
aut huic adde leves, aut illi deme pharetras. Labitur occulte fallitque volatilis aetas, et nihil est annis velocius. Ille sorore natus avoque suo, qui conditus arbore nuper, nuper erat genitus, modo formosissimus infans, iam iuvenis, iam vir, iam se formosior ipso est: iam placet et Veneri matrisque ulciscitur ignes. Namque pharetratus dum dat puer oscula matri, inscius exstanti destrinxit harundine pectus. Laesa manu natum dea reppulit. Altius actum vulnus erat specie primoque fefellerat ipsam. Capta viri forma non iam Cythereia curat
litora, non alto repetit Paphon aequore cinctam piscosamque Gnidon gravidamve Amathunta metallis; abstinet et caelo: caelo praefertur Adonis. Hunc tenet, huic comes est; adsuetaque semper in umbra indulgere sibi formamque augere colendo per iuga, per silvas dumosaque saxa vagatur fine genu vestem ritu succincta Dianae hortaturque canes; tutaeque animalia praedae, aut pronos lepores aut celsum in cornua cervum, aut agitat dammas: a fortibus abstinet apris raptoresque lupos armatosque unguibus ursos vitat et armenti saturatos caede leones.
Te quoque, ut hos timeas, siquid prodesse monendo possit, Adoni, monet, “fortis” que “fugacibus esto” inquit “in audaces non est audacia tuta. Parce meo, iuvenis, temerarius esse periclo, neve feras, quibus arma dedit natura, lacesse, stet mihi ne magno tua gloria. Non movet aetas nec facies nec quae Venerem movere, leones saetigerosque sues oculosque animosque ferarum. Fulmen habent acres in aduncis dentibus apri, impetus est fulvis et vasta leonibus ira, invisumque mihi genus est.” Quae causa, roganti “dicam,” ait “et veteris monstrum mirabere culpae.
Sed labor insolitus iam me lassavit, et ecce opportuna sua blanditur populus umbra, datque torum caespes; libet hac requiescere tecum” (et requievit) “humo” pressitque et gramen et ipsum, inque sinu iuvenis posita cervice reclinis sic ait ac mediis interserit oscula verbis: “Forsitan audieris aliquam certamine cursus veloces superasse viros. Non fabula rumor ille fuit: superabat enim; nec dicere posses, laude pedum formaene bono praestantior esset. Scitanti deus huic de coniuge “coniuge” dixit “nil opus est, Atalanta, tibi: fuge coniugis usum!
nec tamen effugies teque ipsa viva carebis.” Territa sorte dei per opacas innuba silvas vivit et instantem turbam violenta procorum condicione fugat, nec “sum potienda, nisi” inquit “victa prius cursu. Pedibus contendite mecum: praemia veloci coniunx thalamique dabuntur, mors pretium tardis. Ea lex certaminis esto.” Illa quidem inmitis: sed (tanta potentia formae est) venit ad hanc legem temeraria turba procorum. Sederat Hippomenes cursus spectator iniqui et “petitur cuiquam per tanta pericula coniunx?” dixerat ac nimios iuvenum damnarat amores.
Ut faciem et posito corpus velamine vidit, quale meum, vel quale tuum, si femina fias, obstipuit tollensque manus “ignoscite,” dixit “quos modo culpavi. Nondum mihi praemia nota, quae peteretis, erant.” Laudando concipit ignes et, ne quis iuvenum currat velocius, optat invidiaque timet. “Sed cur certaminis huius intemptata mihi fortuna relinquitur?” inquit “audentes deus ipse iuvat.” Dum talia secum exigit Hippomenes, passu volat alite virgo. Quae quamquam Scythica non setius ire sagitta Aonio visa est iuveni, tamen ille decorem
miratur magis; et cursus facit ipse decorem. Aura refert ablata citis talaria plantis, tergaque iactantur crines per eburnea, quaeque poplitibus suberant picto genualia limbo; inque puellari corpus candore ruborem traxerat, haud aliter, quam cum super atria velum candida purpureum simulatas inficit umbras. Dum notat haec hospes, decursa novissima meta est et tegitur festa victrix Atalanta corona. Dant gemitum victi penduntque ex foedere poenas. Non tamen eventu iuvenis deterritus horum constitit in medio, vultuque in virgine fixo
“quid facilem titulum superando quaeris inertes? mecum confer!” ait. “Seu me fortuna potentem fecerit, a tanto non indignabere vinci: namque mihi genitor Megareus Onchestius, illi est Neptunus avus, pronepos ego regis aquarum, nec virtus citra genus est; seu vincar, habebis Hippomene victo magnum et memorabile nomen.” Talia dicentem molli Schoeneia vultu adspicit et dubitat, superari an vincere malit. Atque ita “quis deus hunc formosis” inquit “iniquus perdere vult caraeque iubet discrimine vitae coniugium petere hoc? Non sum, me iudice, tanti. —
Nec forma tangor (poteram tamen hac quoque tangi), sed quod adhuc puer est: non me movet ipse, sed aetas. Quid quod inest virtus et mens interrita leti? Quid quod ab aequorea numeratur origine quartus? Quid quod amat tantique putat conubia nostra, ut pereat, si me fors illi dura negarit? Dum licet, hospes, abi thalamosque relinque cruentos: coniugium crudele meum est. Tibi nubere nulla nolet, et optari potes a sapiente puella. — Cur tamen est mihi cura tui tot iam ante peremptis? Viderit! Intereat, quoniam tot caede procorum admonitus non est agiturque in taedia vitae. —
Occidet hic igitur, voluit quia vivere mecum, indignamque necem pretium patietur amoris? Non erit invidiae victoria nostra ferendae. Sed non culpa mea est. Utinam desistere velles, aut, quoniam es demens, utinam velocior esses! A! quam virgineus puerili vultus in ore est! A! miser Hippomene, nollem tibi visa fuissem! Vivere dignus eras. Quod si felicior essem, nec mihi coniugium fata importuna negarent, unus eras, cum quo sociare cubilia vellem.” Dixerat; utque rudis primoque Cupidine tacta, quid facit ignorans, amat et non sentit amorem.
Iam solitos poscunt cursus populusque paterque, cum me sollicita proles Neptunia voce invocat Hippomenes “Cytherea” que “comprecor, ausis adsit” ait “nostris et quos dedit adiuvet ignes.” Detulit aura preces ad me non invida blandas; motaque sum, fateor. Nec opis mora longa dabatur. Est ager, indigenae Tamasenum nomine dicunt, telluris Cypriae pars optima, quam mihi prisci sacravere senes templisque accedere dotem hanc iussere meis. Medio nitet arbor in arvo, fulva comas, fulvo ramis crepitantibus auro. Hinc tria forte mea veniens decerpta ferebam
aurea poma manu: nullique videnda nisi ipsi Hippomenen adii docuique, quis usus in illis. Signa tubae dederant, cum carcere pronus uterque emicat et summam celeri pede libat harenam. Posse putes illos sicco freta radere passu et segetis canae stantes percurrere aristas. Adiciunt animos iuveni clamorque favorque verbaque dicentum: “Nunc, nunc incumbere tempus! Hippomene, propera! nunc viribus utere totis! pelle moram, vinces!” Dubium, Megareius heros gaudeat, an virgo magis his Schoeneia dictis. O quotiens, cum iam posset transire, morata est
spectatosque diu vultus invita reliquit! Aridus e lasso veniebat anhelitus ore, metaque erat longe. Tum denique de tribus unum fetibus arboreis proles Neptunia misit. Obstipuit virgo, nitidique cupidine pomi declinat cursus aurumque volubile tollit. Praeterit Hippomenes! Resonant spectacula plausu. Illa moram celeri cessataque tempora cursu corrigit atque iterum iuvenem post terga relinquit. Et rursus pomi iactu remorata secundi consequitur transitque virum. Pars ultima cursus restabat; “nunc” inquit “ades, dea muneris auctor!”
inque latus campi, quo tardius illa rediret, iecit ab obliquo nitidum iuvenaliter aurum. An peteret, virgo visa est dubitare: coegi tollere et adieci sublato pondera malo impediique oneris pariter gravitate moraque. Neve meus sermo cursu sit tardior ipso, praeterita est virgo: duxit sua praemia victor. Dignane, cui grates ageret, cui turis honorem ferret, Adoni, fui? — nec grates inmemor egit, nec mihi tura dedit. Subitam convertor in iram; contemptuque dolens, ne sim spernenda futuris, exemplo caveo meque ipsa exhortor in ambos.
Templa, deum Matri quae quondam clarus Echion fecerat ex voto, nemorosis abdita silvis, transibant, et iter longum requiescere suasit. Illic concubitus intempestiva cupido occupat Hippomenen, a numine concita nostro. Luminis exigui fuerat prope templa recessus, speluncae similis, nativo pumice tectus, religione sacer prisca, quo multa sacerdos lignea contulerat veterum simulacra deorum. Hunc init et vetito temerat sacraria probro. Sacra retorserunt oculos; turritaque Mater an Stygia sontes dubitavit mergeret unda.
Poena levis visa est. Ergo modo levia fulvae colla iubae velant, digiti curvantur in ungues, ex umeris armi fiunt, in pectora totum pondus abit, summae cauda verruntur harenae. Iram vultus habet, pro verbis murmura reddunt, pro thalamis celebrant silvas: aliisque timendi dente premunt domito Cybeleia frena leones. Hos tu, care mihi, cumque his genus omne ferarum, quod non terga fugae, sed pugnae pectora praebet, effuge, ne virtus tua sit damnosa duobus.” Illa quidem monuit iunctisque per aera cygnis carpit iter: sed stat monitis contraria virtus.
Forte suem latebris vestigia certa secuti excivere canes, silvisque exire parantem fixerat obliquo iuvenis Cinyreius ictu. Protinus excussit pando venabula rostro sanguine tincta suo trepidumque et tuta petentem trux aper insequitur totosque sub inguine dentes abdidit et fulva moribundum stravit harena. Vecta levi curru medias Cytherea per auras Cypron olorinis nondum pervenerat alis, agnovit longe gemitum morientis et albas flexit aves illuc. Utque aethere vidit ab alto exanimem inque suo iactantem sanguine corpus,
desiluit pariterque sinum pariterque capillos rupit et indignis percussit pectora palmis. Questaque cum fatis “at non tamen omnia vestri iuris erunt” dixit. “Luctus monimenta manebunt semper, Adoni, mei, repetitaque mortis imago annua plangoris peraget simulamina nostri. At cruor in florem mutabitur. An tibi quondam femineos artus in olentes vertere mentas, Persephone, licuit: nobis Cinyreius heros invidiae mutatus erit ?” — Sic fata cruorem nectare odorato sparsit: qui tactus ab illo intumuit sic ut fulvo perlucida caeno
surgere bulla solet. Nec plena longior hora facta mora est, cum flos de sanguine concolor ortus, qualem, quae lento celant sub cortice granum, punica ferre solent. Brevis est tamen usus in illo: namque male haerentem et nimia levitate caducum excutiunt idem, qui praestant nomina, venti.”
Book 11
Carmine dum tali silvas animosque ferarum Threicius vates et saxa sequentia ducit, ecce nurus Ciconum, tectae lymphata ferinis pectora velleribus, tumuli de vertice cernunt Orphea percussis sociantem carmina nervis. E quibus una, leves iactato crine per auras, “en,” ait “en hic est nostri contemptor!” et hastam vatis Apollinei vocalia misit in ora, quae foliis praesuta notam sine vulnere fecit; alterius telum lapis est, qui missus in ipso aere concentu victus vocisque lyraeque est ac veluti supplex pro tam furialibus ausis
ante pedes iacuit. Sed enim temeraria crescunt bella modusque abiit, insanaque regnat Erinys. Cunctaque tela forent cantu mollita, sed ingens clamor et infracto Berecyntia tibia cornu tympanaque et plausus et Bacchei ululatus obstrepuere sono citharae: tum denique saxa non exauditi rubuerunt sanguine vatis. Ac primum attonitas etiamnum voce canentis innumeras volucres anguesque agmenque ferarum Maenades, Orphei titulum, rapuere, theatri. Inde cruentatis vertuntur in Orphea dextris et coeunt ut aves, si quando luce vagantem
noctis avem cernunt. Structoque utrimque theatro ceu matutina cervus periturus harena praeda canum est, vatemque petunt et fronde virentes coniciunt thyrsos non haec in munera factos. Hae glaebas, illae direptos arbore ramos, pars torquent silices. Neu desint tela furori, forte boves presso subigebant vomere terram, nec procul hinc multo fructum sudore parantes dura lacertosi fodiebant arva coloni. Agmine qui viso fugiunt operisque relinquunt arma sui, vacuosque iacent dispersa per agros sarculaque rastrique graves longique ligones.
Quae postquam rapuere ferae cornuque minaci divulsere boves, ad vatis fata recurrunt Tendentemque manus et in illo tempore primum inrita dicentem nec quicquam voce moventem sacrilegae perimunt. Perque os, pro Iuppiter! illud auditum saxis intellectumque ferarum sensibus in ventos anima exhalata recessit. Te maestae volucres, Orpheu, te turba ferarum, te rigidi silices, tua carmina saepe secutae fleverunt silvae, positis te frondibus arbor tonsa comas luxit. Lacrimis quoque flumina dicunt increvisse suis, obstrusaque carbasa pullo
naides et dryades passosque habuere capillos. Membra iacent diversa locis. Caput, Hebre, lyramque excipis, et (mirum!) medio dum labitur amne, flebile nescio quid queritur lyra, flebile lingua murmurat exanimis, respondent flebile ripae. Iamque mare invectae flumen populare relinquunt et Methymnaeae potiuntur litore Lesbi. Hic ferus expositum peregrinis anguis harenis os petit et sparsos stillanti rore capillos. Tandem Phoebus adest morsusque inferre parantem arcet et in lapidem rictus serpentis apertos congelat et patulos, ut erant, indurat hiatus.
Umbra subit terras et quae loca viderat ante, cuncta recognoscit quaerensque per arva piorum invenit Eurydicen cupidisque amplectitur ulnis. Hic modo coniunctis spatiantur passibus ambo, nunc praecedentem sequitur, nunc praevius anteit Eurydicenque suam iam tutus respicit Orpheus. Non impune tamen scelus hoc sinit esse Lyaeus, amissoque dolens sacrorum vate suorum protinus in silvis matres Edonidas omnes, quae videre nefas, torta radice ligavit. utque suum laqueis, quos callidus abdidit auceps, crus ubi commisit volucris sensitque teneri,
plangitur ac trepidans adstringit vincula motu: sic, ut quaeque solo defixa cohaeserat harum, exsternata fugam frustra temptabat; at illam lenta tenet radix exsultantemque coercet, dumque ubi sint digiti, dum pes ubi, quaerit, et ungues, adspicit in teretes lignum succedere suras, et conata femur maerenti plangere dextra, robora percussit: pectus quoque robora fiunt, robora sunt umeri, porrectaque bracchia veros esse putes ramos, et non fallere putando. Nec satis hoc Baccho est: ipsos quoque deserit agros cumque choro meliore sui vineta Timoli
Pactolonque petit, quamvis non aureus illo tempore nec caris erat invidiosus harenis. Hunc adsueta cohors satyri bacchaeque frequentant, at Silenus abest: titubantem annisque meroque ruricolae cepere Phryges vinctumque coronis ad regem duxere Midan, cui Thracius Orpheus orgia tradiderat cum Cecropio Eumolpo. Quem simul agnovit socium comitemque sacrorum, hospitis adventu festum genialiter egit per bis quinque dies et iunctas ordine noctes. Et iam stellarum sublime coegerat agmen Lucifer undecimus, Lydos cum laetus in agros
rex venit et iuveni Silenum reddit alumno. Huic deus optandi gratum, sed inutile, fecit muneris arbitrium, gaudens altore recepto. Ille male usurus donis ait “effice, quidquid corpore contigero fulvum vertatur in aurum.” Adnuit optatis nocituraque munera solvit Liber, et indoluit, quod non meliora petisset. Laetus abit gaudetque malo Berecyntius heros pollicitique fidem tangendo singula temptat Vixque sibi credens non alta fronde virentem ilice detraxit virgam: virga aurea facta est. Tollit humo saxum: saxum quoque palluit auro.
Contigit et glaebam: contactu glaeba potenti massa fit. Arentes Cereris decerpsit aristas: aurea messis erat. Demptum tenet arbore pomum: Hesperidas donasse putes. Si postibus altis admovit digitos, postes radiare videntur. Ille etiam liquidis palmas ubi laverat undis, unda fluens palmis Danaen eludere posset. Vix spes ipse suas animo capit aurea fingens omnia. Gaudenti mensas posuere ministri exstructas dapibus nec tostae frugis egentes. Tum vero, sive ille sua Cerealia dextra munera contigerat, Cerealia dona rigebant,
sive dapes avido convellere dente parabat, lammina fulva dapes admoto dente premebat. Miscuerat puris auctorem muneris undis: fusile per rictus aurum fluitare videres. Attonitus novitate mali, divesque miserque, effugere optat opes et, quae modo voverat, odit. Copia nulla famem relevat; sitis arida guttur urit, et inviso meritus torquetur ab auro Ad caelumque manus et splendida bracchia tollens “da veniam, Lenaee pater! peccavimus,” inquit, “sed miserere, precor, speciosoque eripe damno.” Mite deum numen: Bacchus peccasse fatentem
restituit factique fide data munera solvit “Neve male optato maneas circumlitus auro, vade” ait “ad magnis vicinum Sardibus amnem perque iugum ripae labentibus obvius undis carpe viam, donec venias ad fluminis ortus, spumigeroque tuum fonti, qua plurimus exit, subde caput corpusque simul, simul elue crimen.” Rex iussae succedit aquae: vis aurea tinxit flumen et humano de corpore cessit in amnem. Nunc quoque iam veteris percepto semine venae arva rigent auro madidis pallentia glaebis. Ille, perosus opes, silvas et rura colebat
Panaque montanis habitantem semper in antris. Pingue sed ingenium mansit, nocituraque, ut ante, rursus erant domino stultae praecordia mentis. Nam freta prospiciens late riget arduus alto Tmolus in adscensu, clivoque extensus utroque Sardibus hinc, illinc parvis finitur Hypaepis. Pan ibi dum teneris iactat sua carmina nymphis et leve cerata modulatur harundine carmen, ausus Apollineos prae se contemnere cantus, iudice sub Tmolo certamen venit ad impar. Monte suo senior iudex consedit et aures liberat arboribus: quercu coma caerula tantum
cingitur, et pendent circum cava tempora glandes. Isque deum pecoris spectans “in indice” dixit “nulla mora est.” Calamis agrestibus insonat ille barbaricoque Midan (aderat nam forte canenti) carmine delenit. Post hunc sacer ora retorsit Tmolus ad os Phoebi: vultum sua silva secuta est. Ille caput flavum lauro Parnaside vinctus verrit humum Tyrio saturata murice palla, instrictamque fidem gemmis et dentibus Indis sustinet a laeva; tenuit manus altera plectrum. Artificis status ipse fuit. Tum stamina docto pollice sollicitat, quorum dulcedine captus
Pana iubet Tmolus citharae submittere cannas. Iudicium sanctique placet sententia montis omnibus, arguitur tamen atque iniusta vocatur unius sermone Midae; nec Delius aures humanam stolidas patitur retinere figuram, sed trahit in spatium villisque albentibus implet instabilesque imas facit et dat posse moveri, cetera sunt hominis: partem damnatur in unam induiturque aures lente gradientis aselli. Ille quidem celare cupit, turpisque pudore tempora purpureis temptat velare tiaris. Sed solitus longos ferro resecare capillos
viderat hoc famulus. Qui cum nec prodere visum dedecus auderet, cupiens efferre sub auras, nec posset reticere tamen, secedit humumque effodit et, domini quales adspexerit aures, voce refert parva terraeque inmurmurat haustae, indiciumque suae vocis tellure regesta obruit et scrobibus tacitus discedit opertis. Creber harundinibus tremulis ibi surgere lucus coepit et, ut primum pleno maturuit anno, prodidit agricolam: leni nam motus ab austro obruta verba refert dominique coarguit aures. Ultus abit Tmolo liquidumque per aera vectus
angustum citra pontum Nepheleidos Helles Laomedonteis Latoius adstitit arvis. Dextera Sigei, Rhoetei laeva profundi ara Panomphaeo vetus est sacrata Tonanti. Inde novae primum moliri moenia Troiae Laomedonta videt susceptaque magna labore crescere difficili nec opes exposcere parvas cumque tridentigero tumidi genitore profundi mortalem induitur formam Phrygiaeque tyranno aedificat muros, pactus pro moenibus aurum. Stabat opus: pretium rex infitiatur et addit, perfidiae cumulum, falsis periuria verbis.
“Non impune feres” rector maris inquit et omnes inclinavit aquas ad avarae litora Troiae, inque freti formam terras complevit opesque abstulit agricolis et fluctibus obruit agros. Poena neque haec satis est: regis quoque filia monstro poscitur aequoreo; quam dura ad saxa revinctam vindicat Alcides promissaque munera, dictos poscit equos, tantique operis mercede negata bis periura capit superatae moenia Troiae. Nec pars militiae, Telamon, sine honore recessit, Hesioneque data potitur. Nam coniuge Peleus clarus erat diva: nec avi magis ille superbus
nomine, quam soceri, siquidem Iovis esse nepoti contigit haud uni, coniunx dea contigit uni. Namque senex Thetidi Proteus “dea” dixerat “undae, concipe: mater eris iuvenis, qui fortibus annis acta patris vincet maiorque vocabitur illo.” Ergo, ne quicquam mundus Iove maius haberet, quamvis haud tepidos sub pectore senserat ignes, Iuppiter aequoreae Thetidis conubia fugit in suaque Aeaciden succedere vota nepotem iussit et amplexus in virginis ire marinae. Est sinus Haemoniae curvos falcatus in arcus: bracchia procurrunt, ubi, si foret altior unda,
portus erat (summis inductum est aequor harenis); litus habet solidum, quod nec vestigia servet nec remoretur iter, nec opertum pendeat alga. Myrtea silva subest bicoloribus obsita bacis et specus in medio (natura factus an arte, ambiguum, magis arte tamen), quo saepe venire frenato delphine sedens, Theti, nuda solebas. Illic te Peleus, ut somno vincta iacebas, occupat: et quoniam precibus temptata repugnas, vim parat, innectens ambobus colla lacertis. Quod nisi venisses variatis saepe figuris ad solitas artes, auso foret ille potitus.
Sed modo tu volucris (volucrem tamen ille tenebat), nunc gravis arbor eras (haerebat in arbore Peleus), tertia forma fuit maculosae tigridis: illa territus Aeacides a corpore bracchia solvit. Isque deos pelagi vino super aequora fuso et pecoris fibris et fumo turis adorat, donec Carpathius medio de gurgite vates “Aeacide,” dixit, “thalamis potiere petitis! Tu modo, cum rigido sopita quiescit in antro, ignaram laqueis vincloque innecte tenaci. Nec te decipiat centum mentita figuras, sed preme, quidquid erit, dum, quod fuit ante, reformet!”
Dixerat haec Proteus et condidit aequore vultum admisitque suos in verba novissima fluctus. Pronus erat Titan inclinatoque tenebat Hesperium temone fretum, cum pulchra relecto Nereis ingreditur consueta cubilia saxo. Vix bene virgineos Peleus invaserat artus, illa novat formas, donec sua membra teneri sentit et in partes diversas bracchia tendi. Tum demum ingemuit, “neque” ait “sine numine vincis” exhibita estque Thetis. Confessam amplectitur heros et potitur votis ingentique implet Achille. Felix et nato, felix et coniuge Peleus
et cui, si demas iugulati crimina Phoci, omnia contigerant. Fraterno sanguine sontem expulsumque domo patria Trachinia tellus accipit. Hic regnum sine vi, sine caede regebat Lucifero genitore satus patriumque nitorem ore ferens Ceyx, illo qui tempore maestus dissimilisque sui fratrem lugebat ademptum. Quo postquam Aeacides fessus curaque viaque venit et intravit paucis comitantibus urbem, quosque greges pecorum, quae secum armenta trahebat, haud procul a muris sub opaca valle reliquit, copia cum facta est adeundi prima tyranni,
velamenta manu praetendens supplice, qui sit se quoque satus, memorat, tantum sua crimina celat mentiturque fugae causam: petit, urbe vel agro se iuvet. Hunc contra placido Trachinius ore talibus adloquitur: “Mediae quoque commoda plebi nostra patent, Peleu, nec inhospita regna tenemus. Adicis huic animo momento potentia, clarum nomen avumque Iovem. Ne tempora perde precando! Quod petis, omne feres tuaque haec pro parte vocato, qualiacumque vides! Utinam meliora videres!' Et flebat: moveat tantos quae causa dolores, Peleusque comitesque rogant. Quibus ille profatur:
“Forsitan hanc volucrem, rapto quae vivit et omnes terret aves, semper pennas habuisse putetis: acer erat belloque ferox ad vimque paratus, nomine Daedalion. Illo genitore creatis, qui vocat auroram caeloque novissimus exit, (cura mihi pax est) pacis mihi cura tenendae coniugiique fuit, fratri fera bella placebant: illius virtus reges gentesque subegit, quae nunc Thisbaeas agitat mutata columbas. Nata erat huic Chione. Quae dotatissima forma mille procos habuit, bis septem nubilis annis. Forte revertentes Phoebus Maiaque creatus,
ille suis Delphis, hic vertice Cylleneo, videre hanc pariter, pariter traxere calorem. Spem veneris differt in tempora noctis Apollo, non fert ille moras virgaque movente soporem virginis os tangit: tactu iacet illa potenti vimque dei patitur. Nox caelum sparserat astris: Phoebus anum simulat praereptaque gaudia sumit. Ut sua maturus complevit tempora venter, alipedis de stirpe dei versuta propago nascitur, Autolycus, furtum ingeniosus ad omne, candida de nigris et de candentibus atra qui facere adsuerat, patriae non degener artis;
nascitur e Phoebo (namque est enixa gemellos) carmine vocali clarus citharaque Philammon. Quid peperisse duos et dis placuisse duobus et forti genitore et progenitore Tonanti esse satam prodest? An obest quoque gloria? multis Offuit, huic certe! Quae se praeferre Dianae sustinuit faciemque deae culpavit. At illi ira ferox mota est “factis” que “placebimus” inquit. Nec mora, curvavit cornu nervoque sagittam impulit et meritam traiecit harundine linguam. Lingua tacet, nec vox temptataque verba sequuntur, conantemque loqui cum sanguine vita reliquit.
Quo miser amplexus ego tum patriumque dolorem corde tuli fratrique pio solacia dixi! Quae pater haud aliter quam cautes murmura ponti accipit et natam delamentatur ademptam. Ut vero ardentem vidit, quater impetus illi in medios fuit ire rogos; quater inde repulsus concita membra fugae mandat similisque iuvenco spicula crabronum pressa cervice gerenti, qua via nulla, ruit. Iam tum mihi currere visus plus homine est, alasque pedes sumpsisse putares. Effugit ergo omnes veloxque cupidine leti vertice Parnasi potitur. Miseratus Apollo,
cum se Daedalion saxo misisset ab alto, fecit avem et subitis pendentem sustulit alis oraque adunca dedit, curvos dedit unguibus hamos, virtutem antiquam, maiores corpore vires. Et nunc accipiter, nulli satis aequus, in omnes saevit aves aliisque dolens fit causa dolendi.” Quae dum Lucifero genitus miracula narrat de consorte suo, cursu festinus anhelo advolat armenti custos Phoceus Onetor et “Peleu, Peleu! magnae tibi nuntius adsum cladis” ait. Quodcumque ferat, iubet edere Peleus, pendet et ipse metu trepidi Trachinius oris.
Ille refert: “Fessos ad litora curva iuvencos adpuleram, medio cum Sol altissimus orbe tantum respiceret, quantum superesse videret; parsque boum fulvis genua inclinarat harenis latarumque iacens campos spectabat aquarum, pars gradibus tardis illuc errabat et illuc, nant alii celsoque exstant super aequora collo. Templa mari subsunt nec marmore clara neque auro, sed trabibus densis lucoque umbrosa vetusto. Nereides Nereusque tenent: hos navita ponti edidit esse deos, dum retia litore siccat. Iuncta palus huic est, densis obsessa salictis,
quam restagnantis fecit maris unda paludem. Inde fragore gravi strepitus loca proxima terret belua vasta, lupus! Udisque paludibus exit, oblitus et spumis et sparsus sanguine rictus, fulmineus, rubra suffusus lumina flamma. Qui quamquam saevit pariter rabieque fameque, acrior est rabie: neque enim ieiunia curat caede boum diramque famem finire, sed omne vulnerat armentum sternitque hostiliter omne. Pars quoque de nobis funesto saucia morsu, dum defensamus, leto est data. Sanguine litus undaque prima rubet demugitaeque paludes. —
Sed mora damnosa est, nec res dubitare remittit: dum superest aliquid, cuncti coeamus et arma, arma capessamus coniunctaque tela feramus!” Dixerat agrestis; nec Pelea damna movebant, sed, memor admissi, Nereida conligit orbam damna sua inferias exstincto mittere Phoco. Induere arma viros violentaque sumere tela rex iubet Oetaeus; cum quis simul ipse parabat ire, sed Alcyone coniunx excita tumultu prosilit et, nondum totos ornata capillos, disicit hos ipsos, colloque infusa mariti, mittat ut auxilium sine se, verbisque precatur
et lacrimis, animasque duas ut servet in una. Aeacides illi: “Pulchros, regina, piosque pone metus! Plena est promissi gratia vestri. Non placet arma mihi contra nova monstra moveri: numen adorandum pelagi est.” Erat ardua turris arce focus summa, fessis loca grata carinis. Adscendunt illuc stratosque in litore tauros cum gemitu adspiciunt vastatoremque cruento ore ferum, longos infectum sanguine villos. Inde manus tendens in aperti litora ponti caeruleam Peleus Psamathen, ut finiat iram, orat, opemque ferat; nec vocibus illa rogantis
flectitur Aeacidae: Thetis hanc pro coniuge supplex accepit veniam. Sed enim revocatus ab acri caede lupus perstat, dulcedine sanguinis asper, donec inhaerentem lacerae cervice iuvencae marmore mutavit. Corpus praeterque colorem omnia servavit: lapidis color indicat illum iam non esse lupum, iam non debere timeri. Nec tamen hac profugum consistere Pelea terra fata sinunt: Magnetas adit vagus exul et illic sumit ab Haemonio purgamina caedis Acasto. Interea fratrisque sui fratremque secutis anxia prodigiis turbatus pectora Ceyx,
consulat ut sacras, hominum oblectamina, sortes, ad Clarium parat ire deum; nam templa profanus invia cum Phlegyis faciebat Delphica Phorbas. Consilii tamen ante sui, fidissima, certam te facit, Alcyone; cui protinus intima frigus ossa receperunt, buxoque simillimus ora pallor obit, lacrimisque genae maduere profusis. Ter conata loqui ter fletibus ora rigavit, singultuque pias interrumpente querellas “quae mea culpa tuam,” dixit “carissime, mentem vertit? Ubi est quae cura mei prior esse solebat? Iam potes Alcyone securus abesse relicta?
Iam via longa placet? Iam sum tibi carior absens? At, puto, per terras iter est, tantumque dolebo, non etiam metuam, curaeque timore carebunt. Aequora me terrent et ponti tristis imago: et laceras nuper tabulas in litore vidi, et saepe in tumulis sine corpore nomina legi. Neve tuum fallax animum fiducia tangat, quod socer Hippotades tibi sit, qui carcere fortes contineat ventos et, cum velit, aequora placet! Cum semel emissi tenuerunt aequora venti, nil illis vetitum est, incommendataque tellus omnis et omne fretum est. Caeli quoque nubila vexant
excutiuntque feri rutilos concursibus ignes. Quo magis hos novi (nam novi et saepe paterna parva domo vidi), magis hos reor esse timendos. Quod tua si flecti precibus sententia nullis, care, potest, coniunx, nimiumque es certus eundi, me quoque tolle simul. Certe iactabimur una, nec nisi quae patiar, metuam: pariterque feremus, quidquid erit, pariter super aequora lata feremur.” Talibus Aeolidis dictis lacrimisque movetur sidereus coniunx: neque enim minor ignis in ipso est. Sed neque propositos pelagi dimittere cursus, nec vult Alcyonen in partem adhibere pericli,
multaque respondit timidum solantia pectus. Non tamen idcirco causam probat; addidit illis hoc quoque lenimen, quo solo flexit amantem: “Longa quidem est nobis omnis mora: sed tibi iuro per patrios ignes, si me modo fata remittant, ante reversurum, quam luna bis impleat orbem.” His ubi promissis spes est admota recursus, protinus eductam navalibus aequore tingi armarique suis pinum iubet armamentis. Qua rursus visa, veluti praesaga futuri, horruit Alcyone lacrimasque emisit obortas amplexusque dedit, tristique miserrima tandem
ore “vale” dixit conlapsaque corpore toto est. Ast iuvenes, quaerente moras Ceyce, reducunt ordinibus geminis ad fortia pectora remos aequalique ictu scindunt freta. Sustulit illa umentes oculos, stantemque in puppe relicta concussaque manu dantem sibi signa maritum prima videt redditque notas; ubi terra recessit longius atque oculi nequeunt cognoscere vultus, dum licet, insequitur fugientem lumine pinum. Haec quoque ut haud poterat, spatio submota, videri, vela tamen spectat summo fluitantia malo; ut nec vela videt, vacuum petit anxia lectum
seque toro ponit; renovat lectusque locusque Alcyonae lacrimas et, quae pars, admonet, absit. Portibus exierant, et moverat aura rudentes: obvertit lateri pendentes navita remos cornuaque in summa locat arbore totaque malo carbasa deducit venientesque accipit auras. Aut minus, aut certe medium non amplius aequor puppe secabatur, longeque erat utraque tellus, cum mare sub noctem tumidis albescere coepit fluctibus et praeceps spirare valentius eurus. “Ardua iamdudum demittite cornua” rector clamat “et antemnis totum subnectite velum.”
Hic iubet: impediunt adversae iussa procellae, nec sinit audiri vocem fragor aequoris ullam. Sponte tamen properant alii subducere remos, pars munire latus, pars ventis vela negare. Egerit hic fluctus aequorque refundit in aequor, hic rapit antemnas. Quae dum sine lege geruntur, aspera crescit hiems, omnique e parte feroces bella gerunt venti fretaque indignantia miscent. Ipse pavet nec se, qui sit status, ipse fatetur scire ratis rector, nec, quid iubeatve velitve: tanta mali moles tantoque potentior arte est. Quippe sonant clamore viri, stridore rudentes,
undarum incursu gravis unda, tonitribus aether. Fluctibus erigitur caelumque aequare videtur pontus et inductas adspergine tangere nubes; et modo, cum fulvas ex imo vertit harenas, concolor est illis, Stygia modo nigrior unda, sternitur interdum spumisque sonantibus albet. Ipsa quoque his agitur vicibus Trachinia puppis, et nunc sublimis veluti de vertice montis despicere in valles imumque Acheronta videtur, nunc, ubi demissam curvum circumstetit aequor, suspicere inferno summum de gurgite caelum. Saepe dat ingentem fluctu latus icta fragorem
nec levius pulsata sonat, quam ferreus olim cum laceras aries ballistave concutit arces. Utque solent sumptis incursu viribus ire pectore in arma feri protentaque tela leones, sic ubi se ventis admiserat unda coortis, ibat in arma ratis multoque erat altior illis. Iamque labant cunei, spoliataque tegmine cerae rima patet praebetque viam letalibus undis. Ecce cadunt largi resolutis nubibus imbres, inque fretum credas totum descendere caelum, inque plagas caeli tumefactum adscendere pontum. Vela madent nimbis, et cum caelestibus undis
aequoreae miscentur aquae; caret ignibus aether, caecaque nox premitur tenebris hiemisque suisque. Discutiunt tamen has praebentque micantia lumen fulmina: fulmineis ardescunt ignibus ignes. Dat quoque iam saltus intra cava texta carinae fluctus; et ut miles, numero praestantior omni, cum saepe adsiluit defensae moenibus urbis, spe potitur tandem laudisque accensus amore inter mille viros murum tamen occupat unus, sic, ubi pulsarunt noviens latera ardua fluctus, vastius insurgens decimae ruit impetus undae; nec prius absistit fessam oppugnare carinam,
quam velut in captae descendat moenia navis. Pars igitur temptabat adhuc invadere pinum, pars maris intus erat. Trepidant haud segnius omnes, quam solet urbs, aliis murum fodientibus extra atque aliis murum, trepidare, tenentibus intus. Deficit ars animique cadunt, totidemque videntur, quot veniunt fluctus, ruere atque inrumpere mortes. Non tenet hic lacrimas, stupet hic, vocat ille beatos, funera quos maneant: hic votis numen adorat bracchiaque ad caelum, quod non videt, inrita tollens poscit opem, subeunt illi fraterque parensque, huic cum pignoribus domus et quodcumque relictum est.
Alcyone Ceyca movet, Ceycis in ore nulla nisi Alcyone est; et cum desideret unam, gaudet abesse tamen. Patriae quoque vellet ad oras respicere inque domum supremos vertere vultus, verum ubi sit, nescit; tanta vertigine pontus fervet, et inducta piceis e nubibus umbra omne latet caelum, duplicataque noctis imago est. Frangitur incursu nimbosi turbinis arbor, frangitur et regimen, spoliisque animosa superstes unda, velut victrix, sinuataque despicit undas, nec levius, quam siquis Athon Pindumve revulsos sede sua totos in apertum everterit aequor,
praecipitata cadit pariterque et pondere et ictu mergit in ima ratem; cum qua pars magna virorum, gurgite pressa gravi neque in aera reddita, fato functa suo est: alii partes et membra carinae trunca tenent: tenet ipse manu, qua sceptra solebat, fragmina navigii Ceyx socerumque patremque invocat heu! frustra. Sed plurima nantis in ore Alcyone coniunx: illam meminitque refertque, illius ante oculos ut agant sua corpora fluctus, optat et exanimis manibus tumuletur amicis. Dum natat, absentem, quotiens sinit hiscere fluctus, nominat Alcyonen ipsisque inmurmurat undis.
Ecce super medios fluctus niger arcus aquarum frangitur et rupta mersum caput obruit unda. Lucifer obscurus nec quem cognoscere posses illa luce fuit, quoniamque excedere caelo non licuit, densis texit sua nubibus ora. Aeolis interea tantorum ignara malorum dinumerat noctes, et iam, quas induat ille festinat vestes, iam quas, ubi venerit ille, ipsa gerat, reditusque sibi promittit inanes. Omnibus illa quidem superis pia tura ferebat, ante tamen cunctos Iunonis templa colebat proque viro, qui nullus erat, veniebat ad aras
utque foret sospes coniunx suus utque rediret, optabat, nullamque sibi praeferret; at illi hoc de tot votis poterat contingere solum. At dea non ultra pro functo morte rogari sustinet; utque manus funestas arceat aris, “Iri, meae” dixit “fidissima nuntia vocis, vise soporiferam Somni velociter aulam exstinctique iube Ceycis imagine mittat somnia ad Alcyonen veros narrantia casus.” Dixerat: induitur velamina mille colorum Iris, et arcuato caelum curvamine signans tecta petit iussi sub nube latentia regis.
Est prope Cimmerios longo spelunca recessu, mons cavus, ignavi domus et penetralia Somni: quo numquam radiis oriens mediusve cadensve Phoebus adire potest. Nebulae caligine mixtae exhalantur humo dubiaeque crepuscula lucis. Non vigil ales ibi cristati cantibus oris evocat auroram, nec voce silentia rumpunt sollicitive canes canibusve sagacior anser. Non fera, non pecudes, non moti flamine rami humanaeve sonum reddunt convicia linguae: muta quies habitat; saxo tamen exit ab imo rivus aquae Lethes, per quem cum murmure labens
invitat somnos crepitantibus unda lapillis. Ante fores antri fecunda papavera florent innumeraeque herbae, quarum de lacte soporem nox legit et spargit per opacas umida terras. Ianua nec verso stridores cardine reddit: nulla domo tota, custos in limine nullus. At medio torus est ebeno sublimis in antro, plumeus, unicolor, pullo velamine tectus: quo cubat ipse deus membris languore solutis. Hunc circa passim varias imitantia formas somnia vana iacent totidem, quot messis aristas, silva gerit frondes, eiectas litus harenas.
Quo simul intravit manibusque obstantia virgo somnia dimovit, vestis fulgore reluxit sacra domus, tardaque deus gravitate iacentes vix oculos tollens iterumque iterumque relabens summaque percutiens nutanti pectora mento, excussit tandem sibi se; cubitoque levatus, quid veniat (cognovit enim), scitatur. At illa: “Somne, quies rerum, placidissime, Somne, deorum, pax animi, quem cura fugit, qui corpora duris fessa ministeriis mulces reparasque labori, somnia, quae veras aequent imitantia formas, Herculea Trachine iube sub imagine regis
Alcyonen adeant simulacraque naufraga fingant. Imperat hoc Iuno.” Postquam mandata peregit, Iris abit (neque enim ulterius tolerare soporis vim poterat), labique ut somnum sensit in artus, effugit et remeat per quos modo venerat arcus. At pater e populo natorum mille suorum excitat artificem simulatoremque figurae Morphea: non illic quisquam sollertius alter exprimit incessus vultumque sonumque loquendi. Adicit et vestes et consuetissima cuique verba; sed hic solos homines imitatur, at alter fit fera, fit volucris, fit longo corpore serpens:
hunc Icelon superi, mortale Phobetora vulgus nominat. Est etiam diversae tertius artis Phantasos: ille in humum saxumque undamque trabemque quaeque vacant anima, fallaciter omnia transit. Regibus hi ducibusque suos ostendere vultus nocte solent, populos alii plebemque pererrant. Praeterit hos senior cunctisque e fratribus unum Morphea, qui peragat Thaumantidos edita, Somnus eligit: et rursus molli languore solutus deposuitque caput stratoque recondidit alto. Ille volat nullos strepitus facientibus alis per tenebras intraque morae breve tempus in urbem
pervenit Haemoniam positisque e corpore pennis in faciem Ceycis abit sumptaque figura luridus, exanimi similis, sine vestibus ullis, coniugis ante torum miserae stetit: uda videtur barba viri, madidisque gravis fluere unda capillis. Tum lecto incumbens, fletu super ora profuso, haec ait: “Agnoscis Ceyca, miserrima coniunx? An mea mutata est facies? Nunc respice! nosces inveniesque tuo pro coniuge coniugis umbram. Nil opis, Alcyone, nobis tua vota tulerunt: occidimus! Falso tibi me promittere noli! Nubilus Aegaeo deprendit in aequore navem
auster et ingenti iactatam flamine solvit, oraque nostra, tuum frustra clamantia nomen, implerunt fluctus. Non haec tibi nuntiat auctor ambiguus, non ista vagis rumoribus audis: ipse ego fata tibi praesens mea naufragus edo. Surge, age, da lacrimas lugubriaque indue nec me indeploratum sub inania Tartara mitte.” Adicit his vocem Morpheus, quam coniugis illa crederet esse sui: fletus quoque fundere veros visus erat, gestumque manus Ceycis habebat. Ingemit Alcyone, lacrimas movet atque lacertos per somnum, corpusque petens amplectitur auras
exclamatque “mane! quo te rapis? ibimus una!” Voce sua specieque viri turbata soporem excutit et primo, si sit, circumspicit, illic, qui modo visus erat: nam moti voce ministri intulerant lumen. Postquam non invenit usquam, percutit ora manu laniatque a pectore vestes pectoraque ipsa ferit, nec crines solvere curat: scindit et altrici, quae luctus causa, roganti “nulla est Alcyone, nulla est!” ait. “Occidit una cum Ceyce suo! Solantia tollite verba! Naufragus interiit! Vidi agnovique manusque ad discedentem cupiens retinere, tetendi.
Umbra fuit, — sed et umbra tamen manifesta virique vera mei! Non ille quidem, si quaeris, habebat adsuetos vultus, nec quo prius, ore nitebat: pallentem nudumque et adhuc umente capillo infelix vidi. Stetit hoc miserabilis ipse ecce loco!” (et quaerit, vestigia siqua supersint) “Hoc erat, hoc, animo quod divinante timebam, et ne me fugeres, ventos sequerere, rogabam. At certe vellem, quoniam periturus abibas, me quoque duxisses! Multum fuit utile tecum ire mihi: neque enim de vitae tempore quicquam non simul egissem, nec mors discreta fuisset.
Nunc absens perii, iactor quoque fluctibus absens, et sine me me pontus habet. Crudelior ipso sit mihi mens pelago, si vitam ducere nitar longius et tanto pugnem superesse dolori. Sed neque pugnabo, nec te, miserande, relinquam et tibi nunc saltem veniam comes, inque sepulcro si non urna, tamen iunget nos littera: si non ossibus ossa meis, at nomen nomine tangam.” Plura dolor prohibet, verboque intervenit omni plangor, et attonito gemitus a corde trahuntur. Mane erat, egreditur tectis ad litus et illum maesta locum repetit, de quo spectarat euntem.
Dumque moratur ibi, dumque “hic retinacula solvit, hoc mihi discedens dedit oscula litore” dicit, prospicit: in liquida, spatio distante, tuetur nescio quid quasi corpus, aqua. Primoque, quid illud esset, erat dubium; postquam paulum appulit unda, et, quamvis aberat, corpus tamen esse liquebat, qui foret, ignorans, quia naufragus, omine mota est et, tamquam ignoto lacrimam daret, “heu! miser” inquit “quisquis es, et siqua est coniunx tibi !” Fluctibus actum fit propius corpus; quod quo magis illa tuetur, hoc minus et minus est mentis sua, iamque propinquae admotum terrae, iam quod cognoscere posset,
cernit: erat coniunx. “Ille est!” exclamat et una ora, comas, vestem lacerat tendensque trementes ad Ceyca manus “sic, o carissime coniunx, sic ad me, miserande, redis?” ait. Adiacet undis facta manu moles, quae primas aequoris undas frangit et incursus quae praedelassat aquarum. Insilit huc, mirumque fuit potuisse: volabat percutiensque levem modo natis aera pennis stringebat summas ales miserabilis undas. Dumque volat, maesto similem plenumque querellae ora dedere sonum tenui crepitantia rostro. Ut vero tetigit mutum et sine sanguine corpus,
dilectos artus amplexa recentibus alis frigida nequiquam duro dedit oscula rostro. Senserit hoc Ceyx, an vultum motibus undae tollere sit visus, populus dubitabat: at ille senserat, et tandem superis miserantibus, ambo alite mutantur. Fatis obnoxius isdem tunc quoque mansit amor, nec coniugiale solutum est foedus in alitibus: coeunt fiuntque parentes, perque dies placidos hiberno tempore septem incubat Alcyone pendentibus aequore nidis. Tunc iacet unda maris: ventos custodit et arcet Aeolus egressu praestatque nepotibus aequor.
Hos aliquis senior iunctim freta lata volantes spectat et ad finem servatos laudat amores; proximus, aut idem, si fors tulit, “hic quoque,” dixit “quem mare carpentem substrictaque crura gerentem adspicis” (ostendens spatiosum in guttura mergum), “regia progenies: sunt si descendere ad ipsum ordine perpetuo quaeris, sunt huius origo Ilus et Assaracus raptusque Iovi Ganymedes Laomedonque senex Priamusque novissima Troiae tempora sortitus. Frater fuit Hectoris iste: qui nisi sensisset prima nova fata iuventa, forsitan inferius non Hectore nomen haberet,
quamvis est illum proles enixa Dymantis, Aesacon umbrosa furtim peperisse sub Ida fertur Alexirhoe, Granico nata bicorni. Oderat hic urbes nitidaque remotus ab aula secretos montes et inambitiosa colebat rura nec Iliacos coetus nisi rarus adibat. Non agreste tamen nec inexpugnabile amori pectus habens silvas captatam saepe per omnes adspicit Hesperien patria Cebrenida ripa iniectos umeris siccantem sole capillos. Visa fugit nymphe, veluti perterrita fulvum cerva lupum longeque lacu deprensa relicto
accipitrem fluvialis anas; quam Troius heros insequitur celeremque metu celer urget amore: ecce latens herba coluber fugientis adunco dente pedem strinxit virusque in corpore liquit; cum vita suppressa fuga est: amplectitur amens exanimem clamatque “piget, piget esse secutum! Sed non hoc timui, neque erat mihi vincere tanti. Perdidimus miseram nos te duo: vulnus ab angue, a me causa data est. Ego sum sceleratior illo, qui tibi morte mea mortis solacia mittam.” Dixit et e scopulo, quem rauca subederat unda, decidit in pontum. Tethys miserata cadentem
molliter excepit nantemque per aequora pennis texit, et optatae non est data copia mortis. Indignatur amans invitum vivere cogi obstarique animae misera de sede volenti exire. Utque novas umeris adsumpserat alas, subvolat atque iterum corpus super aequora mittit. Pluma levat casus: furit Aesacos inque profundum pronus abit letique viam sine fine retemptat. Fecit amor maciem: longa internodia crurum, longa manet cervix, caput est a corpore longe; aequor amat nomenque manet, quia mergitur, illi.”
Book 12
Nescius adsumptis Priamus pater Aesacon alis vivere lugebat, tumulo quoque nomen habenti inferias dederat cum fratribus Hector inani. Defuit officio Paridis praesentia tristi, postmodo qui rapta longum cum coniuge bellum attulit in patriam; coniurataeque sequuntur mille rates gentisque simul commune Pelasgae. Nec dilata foret vindicta, nisi aequora saevi invia fecissent venti Boeotaque tellus Aulide piscosa puppes tenuisset ituras. Hic patrio de more Iovi cum sacra parassent, ut vetus accensis incanduit ignibus ara,
serpere caeruleum Danai videre draconem in platanum, coeptis quae stabat proxima sacris. Nidus erat volucrum bis quattuor arbore summa: quas simul et matrem circum sua damna volantem corripuit serpens avidoque recondidit ore. Obstipuere omnes. At veri providus augur Thestorides “vincemus” ait, “gaudete, Pelasgi! Troia cadet, sed erit nostri mora longa laboris,” atque novem volucres in belli digerit annos. Ille, ut erat virides amplexus in arbore ramos, fit lapis et servat serpentis imagine saxum. Permanet Aoniis Nereus violentus in undis
bellaque non transfert; et sunt qui parcere Troiae Neptunum credant, quia moenia fecerat urbi. At non Thestorides: nec enim nescitve tacetve sanguine virgineo placandam virginis iram esse deae. Postquam pietatem publica causa rexque patrem vicit castumque datura cruorem flentibus ante aram stetit Iphigenia ministris, victa dea est nubemque oculis obiecit et inter officium turbamque sacri vocesque precantum supposita fertur mutasse Mycenida cerva. Ergo ubi, qua decuit, lenita est caede Diana, et pariter Phoebes, pariter maris ira recessit,
accipiunt ventos a tergo mille carinae multaque perpessae Phrygia potiuntur harena. Orbe locus medio est inter terrasque fretumque caelestesque plagas, triplicis confinia mundi, unde quod est usquam, quamvis regionibus absit, inspicitur, penetratque cavas vox omnis ad aures. Fama tenet summaque domum sibi legit in arce, innumerosque aditus ac mille foramina tectis addidit et nullis inclusit limina portis: nocte dieque patet. Tota est ex aere sonanti, tota fremit vocesque refert iteratque quod audit. Nulla quies intus nullaque silentia parte,
nec tamen est clamor, sed parvae murmura vocis, qualia de pelagi, siquis procul audiat, undis esse solent, qualemve sonum, cum Iuppiter atras increpuit nubes, extrema tonitrua reddunt. Atria turba tenet: veniunt, leve vulgus, euntque mixtaque cum veris passim commenta vagantur milia rumorum confusaque verba volutant. E quibus hi vacuas inplent sermonibus aures, hi narrata ferunt alio; mensuraque ficti crescit, et auditis aliquid novus adicit auctor. Illic Credulitas, illic temerarius Error vanaque Laetitia est consternatique Timores
Seditioque recens dubioque auctore Susurri. Ipsa, quid in caelo rerum pelagoque geratur et tellure, videt totumque inquirit in orbem. Fecerat haec notum Graias cum milite forti adventare rates, neque inexspectatus in armis hostis adest: prohibent aditus litusque tuentur Troes, et Hectorea primus fataliter hasta, Protesilae, cadis, commissaque proelia magno stant Danais, fortisque animae nece cognitus Hector. Nec Phryges exiguo, quid Achaica dextera possit sanguine senserunt. Et iam Sigea rubebant litora, iam leto proles Neptunia Cygnus
mille viros dederat, iam curru instabat Achilles totaque Peliacae sternebat cuspidis ictu agmina, perque acies aut Cygnum aut Hectora quaerens congreditur Cygno (decimum dilatus in annum Hector erat): tum colla iugo canentia pressos exhortatus equos currum direxit in hostem concutiensque suis vibrantia tela lacertis “quisquis es, o iuvenis” dixit “solamen habeto mortis, ab Haemonio quod sis iugulatus Achille.” Hactenus Aeacides; vocem gravis hasta secuta est. Sed quamquam certa nullus fuit error in hasta, nil tamen emissi profecit acumine ferri
utque hebeti pectus tantummodo contudit ictu. “Nate dea, nam te fama praenovimus,” inquit ille “quid a nobis vulnus miraris abesse?” (mirabatur enim) “non haec, quam cernis, equinis fulva iubis cassis neque onus cava parma sinistrae auxilio mihi sunt: decor est quaesitus ab istis. Mars quoque ob hoc capere arma solet! Removebitur omne tegminis officium, tamen indestrictus abibo. Est aliquid non esse satum Nereide, sed qui Nereaque et natas et totum temperat aequor.” Dixit et haesurum clipei curvamine telum misit in Aeaciden, quod et aes et proxima rupit
terga novena boum, decimo tamen orbe moratum est. Excutit hoc heros rursusque trementia forti tela manu torsit: rursus sine vulnere corpus sincerumque fuit! Nec tertia cuspis apertum et se praebentem valuit destringere Cygnum. Haud secus exarsit, quam circo taurus aperto, cum sua terribili petit inritamina cornu, poeniceas vestes, elusaque vulnera sentit. Num tamen exciderit ferrum, considerat hastae: haerebat ligno. “Manus est mea debilis ergo, quasque” ait “ante habuit vires, effudit in uno? Nam certe valuit, vel cum Lyrnesia primus
moenia deieci, vel cum Tenedonque suoque Eetioneas inplevi sanguine Thebas, vel cum purpureus populari caede Caicus fluxit opusque meae bis sensit Telephus hastae. Hic quoque tot caesis, quorum per litus acervos et feci et video, valuit mea dextra valetque.” Dixit et, ante actis veluti male crederet, hastam misit in adversum Lycia de plebe Menoeten loricamque simul subiectaque pectora rupit. Quo plangente gravem moribundo pectore terram extrahit illud idem calido de vulnere telum atque ait: “Haec manus est, haec, qua modo vicimus, hasta:
utar in hoc isdem; sit in hoc, precor, exitus idem!” Sic fatus Cygnum repetit, nec fraxinus errat inque umero sonuit non evitata sinistro, inde velut muro solidaque a caute repulsa est; qua tamen ictus erat, signatum sanguine Cygnum viderat et frustra fuerat gavisus Achilles: vulnus erat nullum, sanguis fuit ille Menoetae! Tum vero praeceps curru fremebundus ab alto desilit et nitido securum comminus hostem ense petens parmam gladio galeamque cavari cernit et in duro laedi quoque corpore ferrum! Haud tulit ulterius, clipeoque adversa reducto
ter quater ora viri, capulo cava tempora pulsat cedentique sequens instat turbatque ruitque attonitoque negat requiem: pavor occupat illum, ante oculosque natant tenebrae, retroque ferenti aversos passus medio lapis obstitit arvo. Quem super inpulsum resupino corpore Cygnum vi multa vertit terraeque adflixit Achilles. Tum clipeo genibusque premens praecordia duris vincla trahit galeae: quae presso subdita mento elidunt fauces et respiramen utrumque eripiunt animae. Victum spoliare parabat: arma relicta videt; corpus deus aequoris albam
contulit in volucrem, cuius modo nomen habebat. Hic labor, haec requiem multorum pugna dierum attulit, et positis pars utraque substitit armis. Dumque vigil Phrygios servat custodia muros et vigil Argolicas servat custodia fossas, festa dies aderat, qua Cygni victor Achilles Pallada mactatae placabat sanguine vaccae. Cuius ut inposuit prosecta calentibus aris et dis acceptus penetravit in aethera nidor, sacra tulere suam, pars est data cetera mensis. Discubuere toris proceres et corpora tosta carne replent vinoque levant curasque sitimque.
Non illos citharae, non illos carmina vocum longave multifori delectat tibia buxi, sed noctem sermone trahunt, virtusque loquendi materia est: pugnas referunt hostisque suasque, inque vices adita atque exhausta pericula saepe commemorare iuvat,— quid enim loqueretur Achilles, aut quid apud magnum potius loquerentur Achillem? Proxima praecipue domito victoria Cygno in sermone fuit. Visum mirabile cunctis, quod iuvenis corpus nullo penetrabile telo invictumque a vulnere erat ferrumque terebat. Hoc ipse Aeacides, hoc mirabantur Achivi,
cum sic Nestor ait: “Vestro fuit unicus aevo contemptor ferri nulloque forabilis ictu Cygnus. At ipse olim patientem vulnera mille corpore non laeso Perrhaebum Caenea vidi, Caenea Perrhaebum, qui factis inclitus Othryn incoluit; quoque id mirum magis esset in illo, femina natus erat.” Monstri novitate feruntur quisquis adest, narretque rogant. Quos inter Achilles: “Dic age! nam cunctis eadem est audire voluntas, o facunde senex, aevi prudentia nostri, quis fuerit Caeneus, cur in contraria versus, qua tibi militia, cuius certamine pugnae
cognitus, a quo sit victus, si victus ab ullo est.” Tum senior: “Quamvis obstet mihi tarda vetustas, multaque me fugiant primis spectata sub annis, plura tamen memini. Nec, quae magis haereat ulla pectore res nostro est inter bellique domique acta tot. Ac siquem potuit spatiosa senectus spectatorem operum multorum reddere, vixi annos bis centum; nunc tertia vivitur aetas. Clara decore fuit proles Elateia Caenis, Thessalidum virgo pulcherrima, perque propinquas perque tuas urbes (tibi enim popularis, Achille), multorum frustra votis optata procorum.
Temptasset Peleus thalamos quoque forsitan illos, sed iam aut contigerant illi conubia matris, aut fuerant promissa, tuae. Nec Caenis in ullos denupsit thalamos secretaque litora carpens aequorei vim passa dei est (ita fama ferebat), utque novae Veneris Neptunus gaudia cepit, “sint tua vota licet” dixit “secura repulsae: elige, quid voveas!” (eadem hoc quoque fama ferebat). “Magnum” Caenis ait “facit haec iniuria votum; tale pati iam posse nihil; da, femina ne sim: omnia praestiteris.” Graviore novissima dixit verba sono, poteratque viri vox illa videri,
sicut erat; nam iam voto deus aequoris alti adnuerat dederatque super, ne saucius ullis vulneribus fieri ferrove occumbere posset. Munere laetus abit studiisque virilibus aevum exigit Atracides Peneiaque arva pererrat. Duxerat Hippodamen audaci Ixione natus, nubigenasque feros positis ex ordine mensis arboribus tecto discumbere iusserat antro. Haemonii proceres aderant, aderamus et ipsi, festaque confusa resonabat regia turba. Ecce canunt Hymenaeon, et ignibus atria fumant, cinctaque adest virgo matrum nuruumque caterva;
praesignis facie. Felicem diximus illa coniuge Pirithoum: quod paene fefellimus omen. Nam tibi, saevorum saevissime Centaurorum, Euryte, quam vino pectus, tam virgine visa ardet, et ebrietas geminata libidine regnat. Protinus eversae turbant convivia mensae, raptaturque comis per vim nova nupta prehensis. Eurytus Hippodamen, alii, quam quisque probabant, aut poterant, rapiunt, captaeque erat urbis imago. Femineo clamore sonat domus: ocius omnes surgimus, et primus “quae te vecordia,” Theseus “Euryte, pulsat” ait, “qui me vivente lacessas
Pirithoum violesque duos ignarus in uno?” Ille nihil contra (neque enim defendere verbis talia facta potest), sed vindicis ora protervis insequitur manibus generosaque pectora pulsat. Forte fuit iuxta signis exstantibus asper antiquus crater; quem vastum vastior ipso sustulit Aegides adversaque misit in ora. Sanguinis ille globos pariter cerebrumque merumque vulnere et ore vomens madida resupinus harena calcitrat. Ardescunt germani caede bimembres certatimque omnes uno ore “arma, arma” loquuntur. Vina dabant animos, et prima pocula pugna
missa volant fragilesque cadi curvique lebetes, res epulis quondam, tum bello et caedibus aptae. Primus Ophionides Amycus penetralia donis haud timuit spoliare suis et primus ab aede lampadibus densum rapuit funale coruscis, elatumque alte, veluti qui candida tauri rumpere sacrifica molitur colla securi, inlisit fronti Lapithae Celadontis et ossa non cognoscendo confusa relinquit in ore. Exsiluere oculi, disiectisque ossibus oris acta retro naris medioque est fixa palato. Hunc pede convulso mensae Pellaeus acernae
stravit humi Pelates deiecto in pectora mento, cumque atro mixtos sputantem sanguine dentes vulnere Tartareas geminato mittit ad umbras. Proximus ut steterat, spectans altaria vultu fumida terribili “cur non” ait “utimur istis?” cumque suis Gryneus inmanem sustulit aram ignibus et medium Lapitharum iecit in agmen depressitque duos, Brotean et Orion: Orio mater erat Mycale, quam deduxisse canendo saepe reluctantis constabat cornua lunae. “Non inpune feres, teli modo copia detur!” dixerat Exadius telique habet instar, in alta
quae fuerant pinu votivi cornua cervi. Figitur hinc duplici Gryneus in lumina ramo eruiturque oculos, quorum pars cornibus haeret, pars fluit in barbam concretaque sanguine pendet. Ecce rapit mediis flagrantem Rhoetus ab aris pruniceum torrem dextraque a parte Charaxi tempora perstringit fulvo protecta capillo. Correpti rapida, veluti seges arida, flamma arserunt crines, et vulnere sanguis inustus terribilem stridore sonum dedit, ut dare ferrum igne rubens plerumque solet, quod forcipe curva cum faber eduxit, lacubus demittit: at illud
stridet et in tepida submersum sibilat unda. Saucius hirsutis avidum de crinibus ignem excutit inque umeros limen tellure revulsum tollit, onus plaustri, quod ne permittat in hostem, ipsa facit gravitas: socium quoque saxea moles oppressit spatio stantem propiore Cometen. Gaudia nec retinet Rhoetus: “Sic, conprecor,” inquit “cetera sit fortis castrorum turba tuorum!” semicremoque novat repetitum stipite vulnus, terque quaterque gravi iuncturas verticis ictu rupit, et in liquido sederunt ossa cerebro. Victor ad Euagrum Corythumque Dryantaque transit;
e quibus ut prima tectus lanugine malas procubuit Corythus, “puero quae gloria fuso parta tibi est?” Euagrus ait, nec dicere Rhoetus plura sinit rutilasque ferox in aperta loquentis condidit ora viri perque os in pectora flammas. Te quoque, saeve Drya, circum caput igne rotato insequitur; sed non in te quoque constitit idem exitus: adsiduae successu caedis ovantem, qua iuncta est umero cervix, sude figis obusta. Ingemuit duroque sudem vix osse revellit Rhoetus et ipse suo madefactus sanguine fugit. Fugit et Orneus Lycabasque et saucius armo
dexteriore Medon et cum Pisenore Thaumas, quique pedum nuper certamine vicerat omnes Mermeros (accepto tum vulnere tardius ibat!), et Pholus et Melaneus et Abas praedator aprorum, quique suis frustra bellum dissuaserat augur, Astylos: ille etiam metuenti vulnera Nesso “ne fuge! ad Herculeos” inquit “servaberis arcus.” At non Eurynomus Lycidasque et Areos et Imbreus effugere necem: quos omnes dextra Dryantis perculit adversos. Adversum tu quoque, quamvis terga fugae dederas, vulnus, Crenaee, tulisti; nam grave respiciens inter duo lumina ferrum,
qua naris fronti committitur, accipis, imae. In tanto fremitu cunctis sine fine iacebat sopitus venis et inexperrectus Aphidas languentique manu carchesia mixta tenebat, fusus in Ossaeae villosis pellibus ursae. Quem procul ut vidit frustra nulla arma moventem, inserit amento digitos “miscenda” que dixit “cum Styge vina bibes!” Phorbas; nec plura moratus in iuvenem torsit iaculum, ferrataque collo fraxinus, ut casu iacuit resupinus, adacta est. Mors caruit sensu, plenoque e gutture fluxit inque toros inque ipsa niger carchesia sanguis.
Vidi ego Petraeum conantem tollere terra glandiferam quercum; quam dum conplexibus ambit et quatit huc illuc labefactaque robora iactat, lancea Pirithoi costis inmissa Petraei pectora cum duro luctantia robore fixit. Pirithoi cecidisse Lycum virtute ferebant, Pirithoi virtute Chromin. Sed uterque minorem victori titulum quam Dictys Helopsque dederunt: fixus Helops iaculo, quod pervia tempora fecit et missum a dextra laevam penetravit ad aurem; Dictys, ab ancipiti delapsus acumine montis, dum fugit instantem trepidans Ixione natum,
decidit in praeceps et pondere corporis ornum ingentem fregit suaque induit ilia fractae. Victor adest Aphareus saxumque e monte revulsum mittere conatur: mittentem stipite querno occupat Aegides cubitique ingentia frangit ossa; nec ulterius dare corpus inutile leto aut vacat aut curat tergoque Bienoris alti insilit haud solito quemquam portare nisi ipsum, opposuitque genu costis prensamque sinistra caesariem retinens vultum minitantiaque ora robore nodoso praeduraque tempora fregit: robore Nedymnum iaculatoremque Lycopen
sternit et inmissa protectum pectora barba Hippason et summis exstantem Riphea silvis Thereaque, Haemoniis qui prensos montibus ursos ferre domum vivos indignantesque solebat. Haud tulit utentem pugnae successibus ultra Thesea Demoleon: solido divellere dumo annosam pinum magno molimine temptat; quod quia non potuit, praefractam misit in hostem. Sed procul a telo Theseus veniente recessit Pallados admonitu: credi sic ipse volebat. Non tamen arbor iners cecidit; nam Crantoris alti abscidit iugulo pectusque umerumque sinistrum.
Armiger ille tui fuerat genitoris, Achille, quem Dolopum rector, bello superatus, Amyntor Aeacidae dederat pacis pignusque fidemque. Hunc procul ut foedo disiectum vulnere Peleus vidit, “at inferias, iuvenum gratissime Crantor, accipe” ait, validoque in Demoleonta lacerto fraxineam misit, mentis quoque viribus, hastam. Quae laterum cratem praerupit et ossibus haerens intremuit. Trahit ille manu sine cuspide lignum (id quoque vix sequitur), cuspis pulmone retenta est. Ipse dolor vires animo dabat: aeger in hostem erigitur pedibusque virum proculcat equinis.
Excipit ille ictus galea clipeoque sonanti defensatque umeros praetentaque sustinet arma perque armos uno duo pectora perforat ictu. Ante tamen leto dederat Phlegraeon et Hylen eminus, Iphinoum conlato Marte Claninque; additur his Dorylas, qui tempora tecta gerebat pelle lupi saevique vicem praestantia teli cornua vara boum multo rubefacta cruore. Huic ego (nam vires animus dabat) “adspice,” dixi, “quantum concedant nostro tua cornua ferro!” et iaculum torsi; quod cum vitare nequiret, opposuit dextram passurae vulnera fronti:
adfixa est cum fronte manus. Fit clamor, at illum haerentem Peleus et acerbo vulnere victum (stabat enim propior) mediam ferit ense sub alvum. Prosiluit terraque ferox sua viscera traxit tractaque calcavit calcataque rupit et illis crura quoque inpediit et inani concidit alvo. Nec te pugnantem tua, Cyllare, forma redemit, si modo naturae formam concedimus illi: barba erat incipiens, barbae color aureus, aurea ex umeris medios coma dependebat in armos. Gratus in ore vigor; cervix umerique manusque pectoraque artificum laudatis proxima signis,
et quacumque vir est; nec equi mendosa sub illo deteriorque viro facies: da colla caputque, Castore dignus erit; sic tergum sessile, sic sunt pectora celsa toris. Totus pice nigrior atra; candida cauda tamen, color est quoque cruribus albus. Multae illum petiere sua de gente, sed una abstulit Hylonome, qua nulla decentior inter semiferos altis habitavit femina silvis. Haec et blanditiis et amando et amare fatendo Cyllaron una tenet; cultus quoque, quantus in illis esse potest membris, ut sit coma pectine levis, ut modo rore maris, modo se violave rosave
inplicet, interdum candentia lilia gestet, bisque die lapsis Pagasaeae vertice silvae fontibus ora lavet, bis flumine corpora tingat, nec nisi quae deceant electarumque ferarum aut umero aut lateri praetendat vellera laevo. Par amor est illis: errant in montibus una, antra simul subeunt; et tum Lapitheia tecta intrarant pariter, pariter fera bella gerebant. Auctor in incerto est: iaculum de parte sinistra venit et inferius qua collo pectora subsunt, Cyllare, te fixit; parvo cor vulnere laesum corpore cum toto post tela educta refrixit.
Protinus Hylonome morientes excipit artus inpositaque manu vulnus fovet oraque ad ora admovet atque animae fugienti obsistere temptat. Ut videt exstinctum, dictis, quae clamor ad aures arcuit ire meas, telo, quod inhaeserat illi, incubuit moriensque suum conplexa maritum est. Ante oculos stat et ille meos, qui sena leonum vinxerat inter se conexis vellera nodis, Phaeocomes, hominemque simul protectus equumque. Codice qui misso, quem vix iuga bina moverent, Tectaphon Oleniden a summo vertice fregit. Ast ego, dum parat hic armis nudare iacentem,
(scit tuus hoc genitor) gladium spoliantis in ima ilia demisi. Chthonius quoque Teleboasque ense iacent nostro: ramum prior ille bifurcum gesserat, hic iaculum; iaculo mihi vulnera fecit: signa vides! adparet adhuc vetus inde cicatrix. Tunc ego debueram capienda ad Pergama mitti, tum poteram magni, si non superare, morari Hectoris arma meis! Illo sed tempore nullus, aut puer Hector erat, nunc me mea deficit aetas. Quid tibi victorem gemini Periphanta Pyraethi, Ampyca quid referam, qui quadrupedantis Echecli fixit in adverso cornum sine cuspide vultu?
Vecte Pelethronium Macareus in pectus adacto stravit Erigdupum, memini et venabula condi inguine Nesseis manibus coniecta Cymeli. Nec tu credideris tantum cecinisse futura Ampyciden Mopsum: Mopso iaculante biformis accubuit frustraque loqui temptavit Hodites ad mentum lingua mentoque ad guttura fixo. Quinque neci Caeneus dederat, Styphelumque Bromumque Antimachumque Elymumque securiferumque Pyraechmen: vulnera non memini, numerum nomenque notavi. Provolat Emathii spoliis armatus Alesi, quem dederat leto, membris et corpore Latreus
maximus: huic aetas inter iuvenemque senemque, vis iuvenalis erat, variabant tempora cani. Qui clipeo gladioque Macedoniaque sarisa conspicuus faciemque obversus in agmen utrumque armaque concussit certumque equitavit in orbem verbaque tot fudit vacuas animosus in auras: “Et te, Caeni, feram? Nam tu mihi femina semper, tu mihi Caenis eris. Nec te natalis origo commonuit, mentemque subit, quo praemia facto quaque viri falsam speciem mercede parasti? Quid sis nata, vide, vel quid sis passa, columque, i, cape cum calathis et stamina pollice torque:
bella relinque viris.” Iactanti talia Caeneus extentum cursu missa latus eruit hasta, qua vir equo commissus erat. Furit ille dolore nudaque Phyllei iuvenis ferit ora sarisa. Non secus haec resilit, quam tecti a culmine grando, aut siquis parvo feriat cava tympana saxo. Comminus adgreditur laterique recondere duro luctatur gladium: gladio loca pervia non sunt. “Haud tamen effugies! medio iugulaberis ense, quandoquidem mucro est hebes” inquit et in latus ensem obliquat longaque amplectitur ilia dextra. Plaga facit gemitus in corpore marmoris icti,
fractaque dissiluit percusso lammina callo. Ut satis inlaesos miranti praebuit artus, “nunc age,” ait Caeneus, “nostro tua corpora ferro temptemus!” capuloque tenus demisit in armos ensem fatiferum caecumque in viscera movit versavitque manu vulnusque in vulnere fecit. Ecce ruunt vasto rabidi clamore bimembres telaque in hunc omnes unum mittuntque feruntque. Tela retusa cadunt: manet inperfossus ab omni inque cruentatus Caeneus Elateius ictu. Fecerat attonitos nova res. “Heu dedecus ingens!” Monychus exclamat, “populus superamur ab uno
vixque viro: quamquam ille vir est, nos segnibus actis quod fuit ille, sumus! Quid membra inmania prosunt? Quid geminae vires et quod fortissima rerum in nobis duplex natura animalia iunxit? Nec nos matre dea, nec nos Ixione natos esse reor, qui tantus erat, Iunonis ut altae spem caperet: nos semimari superamur ab hoste! Saxa trabesque super totosque involvite montes vivacemque animam missis elidite silvis! silva premat fauces, et erit pro vulnere pondus.” Dixit et insanis deiectam viribus austri forte trabem nactus validum coniecit in hostem
exemplumque fuit, parvoque in tempore nudus arboris Othrys erat, nec habebat Pelion umbras. Obrutus inmani tumulo sub pondere Caeneus aestuat arboreo congestaque robora duris fert umeris. Sed enim postquam super ora caputque crevit onus neque habet, quas ducat, spiritus auras, deficit interdum, modo se super aera frustra tollere conatur iactasque evolvere silvas, interdumque movet, veluti, quam cernimus, ecce, ardua si terrae quatiatur motibus Ide. Exitus in dubio est: alii sub inania corpus Tartara detrusum silvarum mole ferebant;
abnuit Ampycides medioque ex aggere fulvis vidit avem pennis liquidas exire sub auras, quae mihi tum primum, tunc est conspecta supremum. Hanc ubi lustrantem leni sua castra volatu Mopsus et ingenti circum clangore sonantem adspexit pariterque animis oculisque secutus “o salve” dixit, “Lapithaeae gloria gentis, maxime vir quondam, sed nunc avis unica, Caeneu!” Credita res auctore suo est: dolor addidit iram, oppressumque aegre tulimus tot ab hostibus unum; nec prius abstitimus ferro exercere dolorem, quam data pars leto, partem fuga noxque removit.”
Haec inter Lapithas et semihomines Centauros proelia Tlepolemus Pylio referente dolorem praeteriti Alcidae tacito non pertulit ore atque ait: “Herculeae mirum est oblivia laudis acta tibi, senior! Certe mihi saepe referre nubigenas domitos a se pater esse solebat.” Tristis ad haec Pylius: “Quid me meminisse malorum cogis et obductos oculis rescindere luctus inque tuum genitorem odium offensasque fateri? Ille quidem maiora fide, di! gessit et orbem inplevit meritis, quod mallem posse negare: sed neque Deiphobum nec Polydamanta nec ipsum
Hectora laudamus—quis enim laudaverit hostem? Ille tuus genitor Messenia moenia quondam stravit et inmeritas urbes Elimque Pylumque diruit inque meos ferrum flammamque penatis inpulit, utque alios taceam, quos ille peremit, bis sex Nelidae fuimus, conspecta iuventus: bis sex Herculeis ceciderunt me minus uno viribus; atque alios vinci potuisse ferendum est: mira Periclymeni mors est, cui posse figuras sumere, quas vellet, rursusque reponere sumptas Neptunus dederat, Nelei sanguinis auctor. Hic ubi nequiquam est formas variatus in omnes,
vertitur in faciem volucris, quae fulmina curvis ferre solet pedibus divum gratissima regi; Viribus usus avis pennis rostroque redunco hamatisque viri laniaverat unguibus ora: tendit in hunc nimium certos Tirynthius arcus atque inter nubes sublimia membra ferentem pendentemque ferit, lateri qua iungitur ala; nec grave vulnus erat sed rupti vulnere nervi deficiunt motumque negant viresque volandi. Decidit in terram, non concipientibus auras infirmis pennis, et qua levis haeserat alae, corporis adfixi pressa est gravitate sagitta
perque latus summum iugulo est exacta sinistro. Nunc videor debere tui praeconia rebus Herculis, o Rhodiae rector pulcherrime classis? Nec tamen ulterius, quam fortia facta silendo ulciscor fratres: solida est mihi gratia tecum.” Haec postquam dulci Neleius edidit ore, a sermone senis repetito munere Bacchi surrexere toris: nox est data cetera somno. At deus, aequoreas qui cuspide temperat undas, in volucrem corpus nati Phaethontida versum mente dolet patria saevumque perosus Achillem exercet memores plus quam civiliter iras,
iamque fere tracto duo per quinquennia bello talibus intonsum conpellat Sminthea dictis: “O mihi de fratris longe gratissime natis, inrita qui mecum posuisti moenia Troiae, ecquid, ubi has iamiam casuras adspicis arces, ingemis? Aut ecquid tot defendentia muros milia caesa doles? Ecquid, ne persequar omnes, Hectoris umbra subit circum sua Pergama tracti? cum tamen ille ferox belloque cruentior ipso vivit adhuc, operis nostri populator, Achilles. Det mihi se! faxo, triplici quid cuspide possim, sentiat; at quoniam concurrere comminus hosti
non datur, occulta necopinum perde sagitta!” Adnuit atque animo pariter patruique suoque Delius indulgens nebula velatus in agmen pervenit Iliacum mediaque in caede virorum rara per ignotos spargentem cernit Achivos tela Parim fassusque deum “Quid spicula perdis sanguine plebis?” ait. “Siqua est tibi cura tuorum, vertere in Aeaciden caesosque ulciscere fratres!” Dixit et ostendens sternentem Troica ferro corpora Peliden, arcus obvertit in illum certaque letifera direxit spicula dextra. Quod Priamus gaudere senex post Hectora posset,
hoc fuit: ille igitur tantorum victor, Achille, victus es a timido Graiae raptore maritae! At si femineo fuerat tibi Marte cadendum, Thermodontiaca malles cecidisse bipenni! Iam timor ille Phrygum, decus et tutela Pelasgi nominis, Aeacides, caput insuperabile bello, arserat: armarat deus idem idemque cremabat; iam cinis est, et de tam magno restat Achille nescio quid parvam, quod non bene conpleat urnam: at vivit totum quae gloria conpleat orbem! Haec illi mensura viro respondet, et hac est par sibi Pelides nec inania Tartara sentit.
Ipse etiam, ut, cuius fuerit, cognoscere posses bella movet clipeus, deque armis arma feruntur. Non ea Tydides, non audet Oileos Aiax, non minor Atrides, non bello maior et aevo poscere, non alii: solis Telamone creato Laerteque fuit tantae fiducia laudis. A se Tantalides onus invidiamque removit Argolicosque duces mediis considere castris iussit et arbitrium litis traiecit in omnes.
Book 13
Consedere duces, et vulgi stante corona surgit ad hos clipei dominus septemplicis Aiax, utque erat impatiens irae, Sigeia torvo litora respexit classemque in litore vultu intendensque manus “agimus, pro Iuppiter!” inquit “ante rates causam, et mecum confertur Ulixes! At non Hectoreis dubitavit cedere flammis, quas ego sustinui, quas hac a classe fugavi. Tutius est igitur fictis contendere verbis, quam pugnare manu! Sed nec mihi dicere promptum, nec facere est isti: quantumque ego Marte feroci quantum acie valeo, tantum valet iste loquendo.
Nec memoranda tamen vobis mea facta, Pelasgi, esse reor: vidistis enim. Sua narret Ulixes, quae sine teste gerit, quorum nox conscia sola est. Praemia magna peto, fateor; sed demit honorem aemulus: Aiaci non est tenuisse superbum, sit licet hoc ingens, quidquid speravit Ulixes. Iste tulit pretium iam nunc temptaminis huius, quod, cum victus erit, mecum certasse feretur. Atque ego, si virtus in me dubitabilis esset, nobilitate potens essem, Telamone creatus, moenia qui forti Troiana sub Hercule cepit litoraque intravit Pagasaea Colcha carina.
Aeacus huic pater est, qui iura silentibus illic reddit, ubi Aeoliden saxum grave Sisyphon urget. Aeacon agnoscit summus prolemque fatetur Iuppiter esse suam: sic a Iove tertius Aiax. Nec tamen haec series in causam prosit, Achivi, si mihi cum magno non est communis Achille: frater erat, fraterna peto! Quid sanguine cretus Sisyphio furtisque et fraude simillimus illi inseris Aeacidis alienae nomina gentis? An quod in arma prior nulloque sub indice veni, arma neganda mihi, potiorque videbitur ille, ultima qui cepit detrectavitque furore
militiam ficto, donec sollertior isto et sibi inutilior timidi commenta retexit Naupliades animi vitataque traxit ad arma? Optima num sumat, quia sumere noluit ulla: nos inhonorati et donis patruelibus orbi, obtulimus quia nos ad prima pericula, simus? Atque utinam aut verus furor ille, aut creditus esset, nec comes hic Phrygias umquam venisset ad arces hortator scelerum. Non te, Poeantia proles, expositum Lemnos nostro cum crimine haberet! Qui nunc, ut memorant, silvestribus abditus antris saxa moves gemitu Laertiadaeque precaris
quae meruit: quae, si di sunt, non vana precaris! Et nunc ille eadem nobis iuratus in arma, heu! pars una ducum, quo successore sagittae Herculis utuntur, fractus morboque fameque velaturque aliturque avibus, volucresque petendo debita Troianis exercet spicula fatis. Ille tamen vivit, quia non comitavit Ulixen; mallet et infelix Palamedes esse relictus: viveret aut certe letum sine crimine haberet! Quem male convicti nimium memor iste furoris prodere rem Danaam finxit fictumque probavit crimen et ostendit, quod iam praefoderat, aurum.
Ergo aut exsilio vires subduxit Achivis, aut nece: sic pugnat, sic est metuendus Ulixes. Qui licet eloquio fidum quoque Nestora vincat, haud tamen efficiet, desertum ut Nestora crimen esse rear nullum. Qui cum imploraret Ulixem vulnere tardus equi fessusque senilibus annis, proditus a socio est. Non haec mihi crimina fingi scit bene Tydides, qui nomine saepe vocatum corripuit trepidoque fugam exprobravit amico. Adspiciunt oculis superi mortalia iustis! En eget auxilio, qui non tulit, utque reliquit, sic linquendus erat: legem sibi dixerat ipse.
Conclamat socios: adsum videoque trementem pallentemque metu et metuentem morte futura; opposui molem clipei texique iacentem servavique animam (minimum est hic laudis) inertem. Si perstas certare, locum redeamus in illum: redde hostem vulnusque tuum solitumque timorem post clipeumque late et mecum contende sub illo! At postquam eripui, cui standi vulnera vires non dederant, nullo tardatus vulnere fugit. Hector adest secumque deos in proelia ducit, quaque ruit, non tu tantum terreris, Ulixe, sed fortes etiam: tantum trahit ille timoris.
Hunc ego sanguineae successu caedis ovantem eminus ingenti resupinum pondere fudi, hunc ego poscentem, cum quo concurreret, unus sustinui, sortemque meam vovistis, Achivi, et vestrae valuere preces! Si quaeritis huius fortunam pugnae, non sum superatus ab illo. Ecce ferunt Troes ferrumque ignesque Iovemque in Danaas classes: ubi nunc facundus Ulixes? Nempe ego mille meo protexi pectore puppes, spem vestri reditus: date pro tot navibus arma! Quod si vera licet mihi dicere, quaeritur istis, quam mihi, maior honos, coniunctaque gloria nostra est,
atque Aiax armis, non Aiaci arma petuntur. Conferat his Ithacus Rhesum imbellemque Dolona Priamidenque Helenum rapta cum Pallade captum: luce nihil gestum est, nihil est Diomede remoto. Si semel ista datis meritis tam vilibus arma, dividite, et pars sit maior Diomedis in illis! Quo tamen haec Ithaco, qui clam, qui semper inermis rem gerit et furtis incautum decipit hostem? Ipse nitor galeae claro radiantis ab auro insidias prodet manifestabitque latentem. Sed neque Dulichius sub Achillis casside vertex pondera tanta feret, nec non onerosa gravisque
Pelias hasta potest imbellibus esse lacertis, nec clipeus vasti concretus imagine mundi conveniet timidae nataeque ad furta sinistrae: debilitaturum quid te petis, Improbe, munus? Quod tibi si populi donaverit error Achivi, cur spolieris, erit, non cur metuaris ab hoste, et fuga, qua sola cunctos, timidissime, vincis, tarda futura tibi est gestamina tanta trahenti. Adde quod iste tuus, tam raro proelia passus, integer est clipeus: nostro, qui tela ferendo mille patet plagis, novus est successor habendus. Denique (quid verbis opus est?) spectemur agendo!
Arma viri fortis medios mittantur in hostes: inde iubete peti et referentem ornate relatis?” Finierat Telamone satus vulgique secutum ultima murmur erat, donec Laertius heros adstitit atque oculos paulum tellure moratos sustulit ad proceres exspectatoque resolvit ora sono; neque abest facundis gratia dictis. “Si mea cum vestris valuissent vota, Pelasgi, non foret ambiguus tanti certaminis heres, tuque tuis armis, nos te poteremur, Achille. Quem quoniam non aequa mihi vobisque negarunt fata” (manuque simul veluti lacrimantia tersit
lumina), “quis magno melius succedit Achilli, quam per quem magnus Danais successit Achilles? Huic modo ne prosit, quod, uti est, hebes esse videtur, neve mihi noceat, quod vobis semper, Achivi, profuit ingenium, meaque haec facundia, siqua est, quae nunc pro domino, pro vobis saepe locuta est, invidia careat, bona nec sua quisque recuset. Nam genus et proavos et quae non fecimus ipsi, vix ea nostra voco; sed enim quia rettulit Aiax esse Iovis pronepos, nostri quoque sanguinis auctor Iuppiter est, totidemque gradus distamus ab illo. Nam mihi Laertes pater est, Arcesius illi,
Iuppiter huic, neque in his quisquam damnatus et exsul. Est quoque per matrem Cyllenius addita nobis altera nobilitas: deus est in utroque parente. Sed neque materno quod sum generosior ortu, nec mihi quod pater est fraterni sanguinis insons, proposita arma peto: meritis expendite causam, dummodo, quod fratres Telamon Peleusque fuerunt, Aiacis meritum non sit nec sanguinis ordo, sed virtutis honor spoliis quaeratur in istis! Aut si proximitas primusque requiritur heres, est genitor Peleus, est Pyrrhus filius illi. Quis locus Aiaci? Phthiam haec Scyrumve ferantur!
Nec minus est isto Teucer patruelis Achilli: num petit ille tamen? num si petat, auferat illa? Ergo operum quoniam nudum certamen habetur: plura quidem feci, quam quae comprendere dictis in promptu mihi sit; rerum tamen ordine ducar. Praescia venturi genetrix Nereia leti dissimulat cultu natum, et deceperat omnes, in quibus Aiacem, sumptae fallacia vestis. Arma ego femineis animum motura virilem mercibus inserui, neque adhuc proiecerat heros virgineos habitus, cum parmam hastamque tenenti “nate dea,” dixi “tibi se peritura reservant
Pergama! quid dubitas ingentem evertere Troiam?” iniecique manum fortemque ad fortia misi. Ergo opera illius mea sunt: ego Telephon hasta pugnantem domui, victum orantemque refeci; quod Thebae cecidere, meum est, me credite Lesbon, me Tenedon Chrysenque et Cillan, Apollinis urbes, et Scyrum cepisse, mea concussa putate procubuisse solo Lyrnesia moenia dextra, utque alias taceam, qui saevum perdere posset Hectora, nempe dedi: per me iacet inclitus Hector. Illis haec armis, quibus est inventus Achilles, arma peto: vivo dederam, post fata reposco. —
Ut dolor unius Danaos pervenit ad omnes Aulidaque Euboicam complerunt mille carinae, exspectata diu, nulla aut contraria classi flamina erant, duraeque iubent Agamemnona sortes inmeritam saevae natam mactare Dianae. Denegat hoc genitor divisque irascitur ipsis atque in rege tamen pater est. Ego mite parentis ingenium verbis ad publica commoda verti. Nunc equidem (fateor, fassoque ignoscat Atrides!) difficilem tenui sub iniquo iudice causam. Hunc tamen utilitas populi fraterque datique summa movet sceptri, laudem ut cum sanguine penset.
Mittor et ad matrem, quae non hortanda, sed astu decipienda fuit: quo si Telamonius isset, orba suis essent etiamnum lintea ventis. Mittor et Iliacas audax orator ad arces, visaque et intrata est altae mihi curia Troiae (plenaque adhuc erat illa viris), interritus egi, quam mihi mandarat communis Graecia causam, accusoque Parim praedamque Helenamque reposco et moveo Priamum Priamoque Antenora iunctum. At Paris et fratres et qui rapuere sub illo, ni tenuere manus (scis hoc, Menelae) nefandas, primaque lux nostri tecum fuit illa pericli.
Longa referre mora est, quae consilioque manuque utiliter feci spatiosi tempore belli. Post acies primas urbis se moenibus hostes continuere diu, nec aperti copia Martis ulla fuit: decimo demum pugnavimus anno. Quid facis interea, qui nil nisi proelia, nosti? Quis tuus usus erat? Nam si mea facta requiris, hostibus insidior, fossas munimine cingo, consolor socios, ut longi taedia belli mente ferant placida, doceo, quo simus alendi armandique modo, mittor, quo postulat usus. Ecce Iovis monitu, deceptus imagine somni,
rex iubet incepti curam dimittere belli. Ille potest auctore suam defendere vocem: non sinat hoc Aiax delendaque Pergama poscat, quodque potest, pugnet! Cur non remoratur ituros? Cur non arma capit? det, quod vaga turba sequatur! Non erat hoc nimium numquam nisi magna loquenti. Quid quod et ipse fugit? Vidi, puduitque videre, cum tu terga dares inhonestaque vela parares. Nec mora, “quid facitis? quae vos dementia” dixi “concitat, o socii? captam dimittite Troiam! Quidve domum fertis decimo, nisi dedecus, anno?” Talibus atque aliis, in quae dolor ipse disertum
fecerat, aversos profuga de classe reduxi. nec Telamoniades etiam nunc hiscere quicquam audet, at ausus erat reges incessere dictis Thersites etiam, per me haud impune protervus! Erigor et trepidos cives exhortor in hostem amissamque mea virtutem voce reposco. Tempore ab hoc, quodcumque potest fecisse videri fortiter iste, meum est, qui dantem terga retraxi. Denique de Danais quis te laudatve petitve? At sua Tydides mecum communicat acta, me probat et socio semper confidit Ulixe. Est aliquid, de tot Graiorum milibus unum
a Diomede legi (nec me sors ire iubebat !), si tamen et spreto noctisque hostisque periclo ausum eadem, quae nos, Phrygia de gente Dolona interimo, non ante tamen, quam cuncta coegi prodere, et edidici, quid perfida Troia pararet. Omnia cognoram, nec, quod specularer, habebam, et iam promissa poteram cum laude reverti. Haud contentus eo petii tentoria Rhesi inque suis ipsum castris comitesque peremi atque ita captivo victor votisque potitus ingredior curru laetos imitante triumphos; cuius equos pretium pro nocte poposcerat hostis,
arma negate mihi, fueritque benignior Aiax! Quid Lycii referam Sarpedonis agmina ferro devastata meo? Cum multo sanguine fudi Coeranon Iphitiden et Alastoraque Chromiumque Alcandrumque Haliumque Noemonaque Prytanimque, exitioque dedi cum Chersidamante Thoona et Charopem fatisque inmitibus Ennomon actum quique minus celebres nostra sub moenibus urbis procubuere manu. Sunt et mihi vulnera, cives, ipso pulchra loco; nec vanis credite verbis: adspicite en!” vestemque manu deduxit et “haec sunt pectora semper” ait “vestris exercita rebus.
At nil impendit per tot Telamonius annos sanguinis in socios et habet sine vulnere corpus! Quid tamen hoc refert, si se pro classe Pelasga arma tulisse refert contra Troasque Iovemque? Confiteorque, tulit (neque enim benefacta maligne detractare meum est), sed ne communia solus occupet atque aliquem vobis quoque reddat honorem, reppulit Actorides sub imagine tutus Achillis Troas ab arsuris cum defensore carinis. Ausum etiam Hectoreis solum concurrere telis se putat, oblitus regisque ducumque meique, nonus in officio et praelatus munere sortis.
Sed tamen eventus vestrae, fortissime, pugnae quis fuit? Hector abit violatus vulnere nullo! Me miserum, quanto cogor meminisse dolore temporis illius, quo Graium murus, Achilles procubuit! Nec me lacrimae luctusque timorque tardarunt, quin corpus humo sublime referrem. His umeris, his, inquam, umeris ego corpus Achillis. et simul arma tuli, quae nunc quoque ferre laboro! Sunt mihi, quae valeant in talia pondera, vires, est animus certe vestros sensurus honores. Scilicet idcirco pro nato caerula mater ambitiosa suo fuit, ut caelestia dona,
artis opus tantae, rudis et sine pectore miles indueret? neque enim clipei caelamina novit, Oceanum et terras cumque alto sidera caelo Pleiadasque hyadasque inmunemque aequoris arcton diversasque urbes nitidumque Orionis ensem: Quid quod me duri fugientem munera belli arguit incepto serum accessisse labori, nec se magnanimo maledicere sentit Achilli? Si simulasse vocas crimen, simulavimus ambo; si mora pro culpa est, ego sum maturior illo. Me pia detinuit coniunx, pia mater Achillem, primaque sunt illis data tempora, cetera vobis.
Haud timeo, si iam nequeam defendere, crimen cum tanto commune viro: deprensus Ulixis ingenio tamen ille, at non Aiacis Ulixes! Neve in me stolidae convicia fundere linguae admiremur eum, vobis quoque digna pudore obicit. An falso Palameden crimine turpe est accusasse mihi, vobis damnasse decorum? Sed neque Naupliades facinus defendere tantum tamque patens valuit, nec vos audistis in illo crimina: vidistis, pretioque obiecta patebant. Nec Poeantiaden quod habet Vulcania Lemnos, esse reus merui: factum defendite vestrum,
consensistis enim. Nec me suasisse negabo, ut se subtraheret bellique viaeque labori temptaretque feros requie finire dolores. Paruit et vivit! Non haec sententia tantum fida, sed et felix, cum sit satis esse fidelem. Quem quoniam vates delenda ad Pergama poscunt, ne mandate mihi: melius Telamonius ibit eloquioque virum morbis iraque furentem molliet aut aliqua producet callidus arte. Ante retro Simois fluet et sine frondibus Ide stabit et auxilium promittet Achaia Troiae, quam, cessante meo pro vestris pectore rebus,
Aiacis stolidi Danais sollertia prosit! Sis licet infestus sociis regique mihique, dure Philoctete, licet exsecrere meumque devoveas sine fine caput cupiasque dolenti me tibi forte dari nostrumque haurire cruorem, te tamen adgrediar mecumque reducere nitar, tamque tuis potiar (faveat Fortuna!) sagittis, quam sum Dardanio, quem cepi, vate potitus, quam responsa deum Troianaque fata retexi, quam rapui Phrygiae signum penetrale Minervae hostibus e mediis. Et se mihi comparat Aiax? Nempe capi Troiam prohibebant fata sine illo:
fortis ubi est Aiax? Ubi sunt ingentia magni verba viri? Cur hic metuis? cur audet Ulixes ire per excubias et se committere nocti perque feros enses non tantum moenia Troum, verum etiam summas arces intrare suaque eripere aede deam raptamque adferre per hostes? Quae nisi fecissem, frustra Telamone creatus gestasset laeva taurorum tergora septem. Illa nocte mihi Troiae victoria parta est, Pergama tunc vici, cum vinci posse coegi! Desine Tydiden vultuque et murmure nobis ostentare meum: pars est sua laudis in illo.
Nec tu, cum socia clipeum pro classe tenebas, solus eras: tibi turba comes, mihi contigit unus. Qui nisi pugnacem sciret sapiente minorem esse nec indomitae deberi praemia dextrae, ipse quoque haec peteret, peteret moderatior Aiax Eurypylusque ferox claroque Andraemone natus, nec minus Idomeneus patriaque creatus eadem Meriones, peteret maioris frater Atridae: quippe manu fortes nec sunt tibi Marte secundi, consiliis cessere meis. Tibi dextera bello utilis: ingenium est, quod eget moderamine nostro; tu vires sine mente geris, mihi cura futuri;
tu pugnare potes, pugnandi tempora mecum eligit Atrides; tu tantum corpore prodes, nos animo; quantoque ratem qui temperat, anteit remigis officium, quanto dux milite maior, tantum ego te supero; nec non in corpore nostro pectora sunt potiora manu: vigor omnis in illis. At vos, o proceres, vigili date praemia vestro, proque tot annorum cura, quibus anxius egi, hunc titulum meritis pensandum reddite nostris. Iam labor in fine est: obstantia fata removi altaque posse capi faciendo Pergama cepi. Per spes nunc socias casuraque moenia Troum
perque deos oro, quos hosti nuper ademi, per siquid superest, quod sit sapienter agendum, siquid adhuc audax ex praecipitique petendum est, este mei memores! Aut si mihi non datis arma, huic date!” — et ostendit signum fatale Minervae. Mota manus procerum est, et quid facundia posset, re patuit, fortisque viri tulit arma disertus. Hectora qui solus, qui ferrum ignesque Iovemque sustinuit totiens, unam non sustinet iram, invictumque virum vicit dolor: arripit ensem et “meus hic certe est! an et hunc sibi poscit Ulixes? Hoc” ait “utendum est in me mihi, quique cruore
saepe Phrygum maduit, domini nunc caede madebit, ne quisquam Aiacem possit superare nisi Aiax.” Dixit et in pectus tum demum vulnera passum, qua patuit ferro, letalem condidit ensem. Nec valuere manus infixum educere telum: expulit ipse cruor, rubefactaque sanguine tellus purpureum viridi genuit de caespite florem, qui prius Oebalio fuerat de vulnere natus; littera communis mediis pueroque viroque incripta est foliis, haec nominis, illa querellae. Victor ad Hypsipyles patriam clarique Thoantis et veterum terras infames caede virorum
vela dat, ut referat Tirynthia tela, sagittas. Quae postquam ad Graios, domino comitante, revexit, imposita estque fero tandem manus ultima bello, Ilion ardebat, neque adhuc consederat ignis, exiguumque senis Priami Iovis ara cruorem combiberat tracta atque comis antistita Phoebi non profecturas tendebat ad aethera palmas. Dardanidas matres patriorum signa deorum, dum licet, amplexas succensaque templa tenentes invidiosa trahunt victores praemia Grai. Mittitur Astyanax illis de turribus, unde pugnantem pro se proavitaque regna tuentem
saepe videre patrem monstratum a matre solebat. Iamque viam suadet boreas, flatuque secundo carbasa mota sonant, iubet uti navita ventis. “Troia, vale! rapimur” clamant, dant oscula terrae Troades et patriae fumantia tecta relinquunt. Ultima conscendit classem (miserabile visu!) in mediis Hecube natorum inventa sepulcris: prensantem tumulos atque ossibus oscula dantem Dulichiae traxere manus, tamen unius hausit inque sinu cineres secum tulit Hectoris haustos; Hectoris in tumulo canum de vertice crinem, inferias inopes, crinem lacrimasque reliquit.
Est, ubi Troia fuit, Phrygiae contraria tellus, Bistoniis habitata viris: Polymestoris illic regia dives erat, cui te commisit alendum clam, Polydore, pater Phrygiisque removit ab armis, consilium sapiens, sceleris nisi praemia magnas adiecisset opes, animi inritamen avari. Ut cecidit fortuna Phrygum, capit impius ensem rex Thracum iuguloque sui demisit alumni et, tamquam tolli cum corpore crimina possent, exanimem scopulo subiectas misit in undas. Litore Threicio classem religarat Atrides, dum mare pacatum, dum ventus amicior esset.
Hic subito, quantus cum viveret esse solebat, exit humo late rupta similisque minanti temporis illius vultum referebat Achilles, quo ferus iniustum petiit Agamemnona ferro, “inmemores” que “mei disceditis” inquit “Achivi, obrutaque est mecum virtutis gratia nostrae? Ne facite! utque meum non sit sine honore sepulcrum, placet Achilleos mactata Polyxena manes!” Dixit, et inmiti sociis parentibus umbrae, rapta sinu matris, quam iam prope sola fovebat, fortis et infelix et plus quam femina virgo ducitur ad tumulum diroque fit hostia busto.
Quae memor ipsa sui, postquam crudelibus aris admota est sensitque sibi fera sacra parari, utque Neoptolemum stantem ferrumque tenentem utque suo vidit figentem lumina vultu, utere iamdudum generoso sanguine!” dixit, “nulla mora est: aut tu iugulo vel pectore telum conde meo! (iugulumque simul pectusque retexit) Mors tantum vellem matrem mea fallere posset! Mater obest minuitque necis mihi gaudia, quamvis non mea mors illi, verum sua vita gemenda est. Vos modo, ne Stygios adeam non libera manes, ite procul, si iusta peto, tactuque viriles
virgineo removete manus! Acceptior illi, quisquis is est, quem caede mea placare paratis, liber erit sanguis. Siquos tamen ultima nostri verba movent oris (Priami vos filia regis, nunc captiva rogat), genetrici corpus inemptum reddite, neve auro redimat ius triste sepulcri, sed lacrimis! Tunc, cum poterat, redimebat et auro.” Dixerat, at populus lacrimas, quas illa tenebat, non tenet; ipse etiam flens invitusque sacerdos praebita coniecto rupit praecordia ferro. Illa super terram defecto poplite labens pertulit intrepidos ad fata novissima vultus.
Tunc quoque cura fuit partes velare tegendas, cum caderet, castique decus servare pudoris. Troades excipiunt deploratosque recensent Priamidas et quid dederit domus una cruoris, teque gemunt, virgo, teque, o modo regia coniunx, regia dicta parens, Asiae florentis imago, nunc etiam praedae mala sors, quam victor Ulixes esse suam nollet, nisi quod tamen Hectora partu edideras: dominum matri vix repperit Hector! Quae corpus complexa animae tam fortis inane, quas totiens patriae dederat natisque viroque, huic quoque dat lacrimas lacrimas in vulnera fundit
osculaque ore tegit consuetaque pectora plangit canitiemque suam concreto in sanguine verrens plura quidem, sed et haec laniato pectore dixit: “Nata, tuae (quid enim superest?) dolor ultime matris, nata, iaces, videoque tuum, mea vulnera, pectus, et ne perdiderim quemquam sine caede meorum, tu quoque vulnus habes! At te, quia femina, rebar a ferro tutam: cecidisti et femina ferro, totque tuos idem fratres, te perdidit idem, exitium Troiae nostrique orbator, Achilles. At postquam cecidit Paridis Phoebique sagittis, “nunc certe,” dixi, “non est metuendus Achilles!rsquo;
Nunc quoque mi metuendus erat: cinis ipse sepulti in genus hoc saevit, tumulo quoque sensimus hostem. Aeacidae fecunda fui! Iacet Ilion ingens, eventuque gravi finita est publica clades, — sed finita tamen; soli mihi Pergama restant, in cursuque meus dolor est: modo maxima rerum, tot generis natisque potens nuribusque viroque, nunc trahor exul, inops, tumulis avulsa meorum, Penelopae munus; quae me data pensa trahentem matribus ostendens Ithacis “haec Hectoris illa est clara parens, haec est” dicet “Priameia coniunx!” Postque tot amissos tu nunc, quae sola levabas
maternos luctus, hostilia busta piasti! Inferias hosti peperi! Quo ferrea resto? Quidve moror? Quo me servas, annosa senectus? Quo, di crudeles, nisi uti nova funera cernam, vivacem differtis anum? Quis posse putaret felicem Priamum post diruta Pergama dici? Felix morte sua est, nec te, mea nata, peremptam adspicit et vitam pariter regnumque reliquit. At, puto, funeribus dotabere, regia virgo, condeturque tuum monumentis corpus avitis. Non haec est fortuna domus: tibi munera matris contingent fletus peregrinaeque haustus harenae!
Omnia perdidimus: superest, cur vivere tempus in breve sustineam, proles gratissima matri, nunc solus, quondam minimus de stirpe virili, has datus Ismario regi Polydorus in oras. Quid moror interea crudelia vulnera lymphis abluere et sparsos inmiti sanguine vultus?” Dixit et ad litus passu processit anili, albentes lacerata comas. “Date, Troades, urnam” dixerat infelix, liquidas hauriret ut undas: adspicit eiectum Polydori in litore corpus factaque Threiciis ingentia vulnera telis! Troades exclamant: obmutuit illa dolore,
et pariter vocem lacrimasque introrsus obortas devorat ipse dolor, duroque simillima saxo torpet et adversa figit modo lumina terra, interdum torvos sustollit ad aethera vultus, nunc positi spectat vultum, nunc vulnera nati vulnera praecipue, seque armat et instruit iram.” Qua simul exarsit, tamquam regina maneret, ulcisci statuit poenaeque in imagine tota est, utque furit catulo lactente orbata leaena signaque nacta pedum sequitur, quem non videt, hostem, sic Hecube, postquam cum luctu miscuit iram, non oblita animorum, annorum oblita suorum,
vadit ad artificem dirae, Polymestora, caedis conloquiumque petit: nam se monstrare relictum velle latens illi, quod nato redderet, aurum. Credidit Odrysius praedaeque adsuetus amore in secreta venit. Tum blando callidus ore “tolle moras, Hecube,” dixit, “da munera nato! Omne fore illius quod das, quod et ante dedisti, per superos iuro.” Spectat truculenta loquentem falsaque iurantem tumidaque exaestuat ira atque ita correpto captivarum agmina matrum invocat et digitos in perfida lumina condit expellitque genis oculos (facit ira nocentem)
immergitque manus, foedataque sanguine sonti non lumen (neque enim superest), loca luminis haurit. Clade sui Thracum gens inritata tyranni Troada telorum lapidumque incessere iactu coepit. At haec missum rauco cum murmure saxum morsibus insequitur, rictuque in verba parato latravit, conata loqui: locus exstat et ex re nomen habet, veterumque diu memor illa malorum tum quoque Sithonios ululavit maesta per agros. illius Troasque suos hostesque Pelasgos, illius fortuna deos quoque moverat omnes, sic omnes, ut et ipsa Iovis coniunxque sororque
eventus Hecubam meruisse negaverit illos. Non vacat Aurorae, quamquam isdem faverat armis, cladibus et casu Troiaeque Hecubaeque moveri. Cura deam proprior luctusque domesticus angit Memnonis amissi, Phrygiis quem lutea campis vidit Achillea pereuntem cuspide mater: vidit, et ille rubor, quo matutina rubescunt tempora, palluerat, latuitque in nubibus aether. At non impositos supremis ignibus artus sustinuit spectare parens, sed crine soluto, sicut erat, magni genibus procumbere non est dedignata Iovis lacrimisque has addere voces:
“Omnibus inferior, quas sustinet aureus aether (nam mihi sunt totum rarissima templa per orbem), diva tamen veni, non ut delubra diesque des mihi sacrificos caliturasque ignibus aras. Si tamen adspicias, quantum tibi femina praestem, tum cum luce nova noctis confinia servo, praemia danda putes; sed non ea cura neque hic est nunc status Aurorae, meritos ut poscat honores: Memnonis orba mei venio, qui fortia frustra pro patruo tulit arma suo primisque sub annis occidit a forti, sic vos voluistis, Achille. Da, precor, huic aliquem, solacia mortis, honorem,
summe deum rector, maternaque vulnera leni.” Iuppiter adnuerat, cum Memnonis arduus alto corruit igne rogus nigrique volumine fumi infecere diem (veluti cum flumina natas exhalant nebulas, nec sol admittitur infra); atra favilla volat glomerataque corpus in unum densetur faciemque capit sumitque calorem atque animam ex igni (levitas sua praebuit alas), et primo similis volucri, mox vera volucris insonuit pennis: pariter sonuere sorores innumerae, quibus est eadem natalis origo, terque rogum lustrant, et consonus exit in auras
ter plangor: quarto seducunt castra volatu. Tam duo diversa populi de parte feroces bella gerunt rostrisque et aduncis unguibus iras exercent alasque adversaque pectora iactant inferiaeque cadunt cineri cognata sepulto corpora seque viro forti meminere creatas. praepetibus subitis nomen facit auctor: ab illo Memnonides dictae, cum sol duodena peregit signa, parentali moriturae voce rebellant. Ergo aliis latrasse Dymantida flebile visum est: luctibus est Aurora suis intenta, piasque nunc quoque dat lacrimas et toto rorat in orbe.
Non tamen eversam Troiae cum moenibus esse spem quoque fata sinunt: sacra et, sacra altera, patrem fert umeris, venerabile onus, Cythereius heros: de tantis opibus praedam pius eligit illam Ascaniumque suum profugaque per aequora classe fertur ab Antandro scelerataque limina Thracum et Polydoreo manantem sanguine terram linquit et utilibus ventis aestuque secundo intrat Apollineam sociis comitantibus urbem. Hunc Anius, quo rege homines, antistite Phoebus rite colebatur, temploque domoque recepit urbemque ostendit delubraque nota duasque
Latona quondam stirpes pariente retentas. Ture dato flammis vinoque in tura profuso caesarumque boum fibris de more crematis regia tecta petunt positisque tapetibus altis munera cum liquido capiunt Cerealia Baccho. Tum pius Anchises: “O Phoebi lecte sacerdos, fallor, an et natum, cum primum haec moenia vidi, bisque duas natas, quantum reminiscor, habebas?” Huic Anius niveis circumdata tempora vittis concutiens et tristis ait: “Non falleris, heros maxime: vidisti natorum quinque parentem, quem nunc (tanta homines rerum inconstantia versat!)
paene vides orbum. Quod enim mihi filius absens auxilium, quem dicta suo de nomine tellus Andros habet pro patre locumque et regna tenentem? Delius augurium dedit huic, dedit altera Liber femineae stirpi voto maiora fideque munera: nam tactu natarum cuncta mearum in segetem laticemque meri canaeque Minervae transformabantur, divesque erat usus in illis. Hoc ubi cognovit Troiae populator Atrides, ne non ex aliqua vestram sensisse procellam nos quoque parte putes, armorum viribus usus abstrahit invitas gremio genitoris, alantque
imperat Argolicam caelesti munere classem. Effugiunt, quo quaeque potest: Euboea duabus, et totidem natis Andros fraterna petita est. Miles adest et, ni dedantur, bella minatur. Victa metu pietas: consortia corpora poenae dedidit (et timido possis ignoscere fratri: non hic Aeneas, non, qui defenderet Andron, Hector erat, per quem decimum durastis in annum); iamque parabantur captivis vincla lacertis: illae tollentes etiamnum libera caelo bracchia “Bacche pater, fer opem!” dixere, tulitque muneris auctor opem, — si miro perdere more
ferre vocatur opem, nec qua ratione figuram perdiderint, potui scire aut nunc dicere possum; summa mali nota est: pennas sumpsere tuaeque coniugis in volucres, niveas abiere columbas.” Talibus atque aliis postquam convivia dictis implerunt, mensa somnum petiere remota, cumque die surgunt adeuntque oracula Phoebi: qui petere antiquam matrem cognataque iussit litora; prosequitur rex et dat munus ituris, Anchisae sceptrum, chlamydem pharetramque nepoti, cratera Aeneae, quem quondam transtulit illi hospes ab Aoniis Therses Ismenius oris.
Miserat hunc illi Therses, fabricaverat Alcon Hyleus et longo caelaverat argumento. Urbs erat, et septem posses ostendere portas: hae pro nomine erant et, quae foret illa, docebant. Ante urbem exequiae tumulique ignesque rogique effusaeque comas et apertae pectora matres significant luctum: nymphae quoque flere videntur siccatosque queri fontes, sine frondibus arbor nuda riget, rodunt arentia saxa capellae. Ecce facit mediis natas Orione Thebis, agmen femineum, iugulo dare pectus aperto, illas demisso per inertia vulnera telo
pro populo cecidisse suo pulchrisque per urbem funeribus ferri celebrique in parte cremari, tum de virginea geminos exire favilla, ne genus intereat, iuvenes, quos fama Coronos nominat, et cineri materno ducere pompam. Hactenus antiquo signis fulgentibus aere, summus inaurato crater erat asper acantho. Nec leviora datis Troiani dona remittunt dantque sacerdoti custodem turis acerram, dant pateram claramque auro gemmisque coronam. Inde recordati Teucros a sanguine Teucri ducere principium, Cretam tenuere locique
ferre diu nequiere Iovem, centumque relictis urbibus Ausonios optant contingere portus: saevit hiems iactatque viros, Strophadumque receptos portubus infidis exterruit ales Aello. Et iam Dulichios portus Ithacamque Samonque Neritiasque domus, regnum fallacis Ulixis, praeter erant vecti: certatam lite deorum Ambraciam versique vident sub imagine saxum iudicis, Actiaco quae nunc ab Apolline nota est, vocalemque sua terram Dodonida quercu Chaoniosque sinus, ubi nati rege Molosso inpia subiectis fugere incendia pennis.
Proxima Phaeacum felicibus obsita pomis rura petunt, Epiros ab his regnataque vati Buthrotos Phrygio simulataque Troia tenetur. Inde futurorum certi, quae cuncta fideli Priamides Helenus monitu praedixerat, intrant Sicaniam: tribus haec excurrit in aequora pinnis, e quibus imbriferos est versa Pachynos ad austros, mollibus expositum zephyris Lilybaeon, ad arctos aequoris expertes spectat boreamque Peloros. Hac subeunt Teucri, et remis aestuque secundo sub noctem potitur Zanclaea classis harena. Scylla latus dextrum, laevum inrequieta Charybdis
infestat: vorat haec raptas revomitque carinas, illa feris atram canibus succingitur alvum, virginis ora gerens, et, si non omnia vates ficta reliquerunt aliquo quoque tempore virgo. Hanc multi petiere proci; quibus illa repulsis ad pelagi nymphas, pelagi gratissima nymphis, ibat et elusos iuvenum narrabat amores. Quam, dum pectendos praebet Galatea capillos, talibus adloquitur, referens suspiria, dictis: “Te tamen, o virgo, genus haud inmite virorum expetit, utque facis, potes his impune negare; At mihi, cui pater est Nereus, quam caerula Doris
enixa est, quae sum turba quoque tuta sororum, non nisi per luctus licuit Cyclopis amorem effugere,” — et lacrimae vocem impediere loquentis. Quas ubi marmoreo detersit pollice virgo et solata deam est, “refer, o carissima,” dixit. “neve tui causam tege (sic sum fida) doloris!” Nereis his contra resecuta Crataeide natam est: “Acis erat Fauno nymphaque Symaethide cretus, magna quidem patrisque sui matrisque voluptas, nostra tamen maior: nam me sibi iunxerat uni. Pulcher et octonis iterum natalibus actis signarat teneras dubia lanugine malas.
Hunc ego, me Cyclops nulla cum fine petebat. En si quaesieris, odium Cyclopis, amorne Acidis in nobis fuerit praesentior, edam: par utrumque fuit. Pro quanta potentia regni est, Venus alma, tui! Nempe ille inmitis et ipsis horrendus silvis et visus ab hospite nullo impune et magni cum dis contemptor Olympi, quid sit amor, sensit validaque cupidine captus uritur, oblitus pecorum antrorumque suorum. Iamque tibi formae, iamque est tibi cura placendi, iam rigidos pectis rastris, Polypheme, capillos, iam libet hirsutam tibi falce recidere barbam
et spectare feros in aqua et componere vultus. Caedis amor feritasque sitisque inmensa cruoris cessant, et tutae veniunt abeuntque carinae. Telemus interea Siculam delatus ad Aetnen, Telemus Eurymides, quem nulla fefellerat ales, terribilem Polyphemon adit “lumen” que, “quod unum fronte geris media, rapiet tibi” dixit “Ulixes!” Risit et “o vatum stolidissime, falleris,” inquit, “altera iam rapuit!” Sic frustra vera monentem spernit et aut gradiens ingenti litora passu degravat aut fessus sub opaca revertitur antra. Prominet in pontum cuneatus acumine longo
collis utrumque latus circumfluit aequoris unda; huc ferus ascendit Cyclops mediusque resedit, lanigerae pecudes nullo ducente secutae. Cui postquam pinus, baculi quae praebuit usum, ante pedes posita est, antemnis apta ferendis, sumptaque harundinibus compacta est fistula centum, senserunt toti pastoria sibila montes, senserunt undae; latitans ego rupe meique Acidis in gremio residens procul auribus hausi talia dicta meis auditaque verba notavi: “Candidior folio nivei, Galatea, ligustri, floridior pratis, longa procerior alno,
splendidior vitro, tenero lascivior haedo, levior adsiduo detritis aequore conchis, solibus hibernis, aestiva gratior umbra, nobilior pomis, platano conspectior alta, lucidior glacie, matura dulcior uva, mollior et cygni plumis et lacte coacto saevior indomitis eadem Galatea iuvencis, durior annosa quercu, fallacior undis, lentior et salicis virgis et vitibus albis, his inmobilior scopulis, violentior amne, laudato pavone superbior, acrior igni, asperior tribulis, feta truculentior ursa,
surdior aequoribus, calcato inmitior hydro, et, quod praecipue vellem tibi demere possem. Non tantum cervo claris latratibus acto, verum etiam ventis volucrique fugacior aura! At bene si noris, pigeat fugisse morasque ipsa tuas damnes et me retinere labores. Sunt mihi, pars montis, vivo pendentia saxo antra, quibus nec sol medio sentitur in aestu nec sentitur hiems; sunt poma gravantia ramos, sunt auro similes longis in vitibus uvae, sunt et purpureae: tibi et has servamus et illas. Ipsa tuis manibus silvestri nata sub umbra
mollia fraga leges, ipsa autumnalia corna prunaque, non solum nigro liventia suco, verum etiam generosa novasque imitantia ceras. Nec tibi castaneae me coniuge, nec tibi deerunt arbutei fetus: omnis tibi serviet arbor. Hoc pecus omne meum est, multae quoque vallibus errant, multas silva tegit, multae stabulantur in antris. Nec, si forte roges, possim tibi dicere, quot sint: pauperis est numerare pecus! De laudibus harum nil mihi credideris: praesens potes ipse videre, ut vix circueant distentum cruribus uber. Sunt, fetura minor, tepidis in ovilibus agni,
sunt quoque, par aetas, aliis in ovilibus haedi. Lac mihi semper adest niveum: pars inde bibenda servatur, partem liquefacta coagula durant. Nec tibi deliciae faciles vulgataque tantum munera contingent, dammae leporesque caperque parve columbarum demptusve cacumine nidus: inveni geminos, qui tecum ludere possint, inter se similes, vix ut dignoscere possis, villosae catulos in summis montibus ursae, inveni et dixi “dominae servabimus istos!” Iam modo caeruleo nitidum caput exsere ponto, iam, Galatea, veni, nec munera despice nostra.
Certe ego me novi liquidaeque in imagine vidi nuper aquae, placuitque mihi mea forma videnti. Adspice, sim quantus! Non est hoc corpore maior Iuppiter in caelo: nam vos narrare soletis, nescio quem regnare Iovem. Coma plurima torvos prominet in vultus umerosque, ut lucus, obumbrat. Nec mea quod rigidis horrent densissima saetis corpora, turpe puta turpis sine frondibus arbor, turpis equus, nisi colla iubae flaventia velent; barba viros hirtaeque decent in corpore saetae. Unum est in media lumen mihi fronte, sed instar ingentis clipei. Quid? non haec omnia magnus
Sol videt e caelo? Soli tamen unicus orbis! Adde, quod in vestro genitor meus aequore regnat: hunc tibi do socerum; tantum miserere precesque supplicis exaudi! tibi enim succumbimus uni. Quique Iovem et caelum sperno et penetrabile fulmen, Nerei, te veneror: tua fulmine saevior ira est. — Atque ego contemptus essem patientior huius, si fugeres omnes; sed cur Cyclope repulso Acin amas praefersque meis complexibus Acin? Ille tamen placeatque sibi placeatque licebit, quod nollem, Galatea, tibi; modo copia detur, sentiet esse mihi tanto pro corpore vires!
Viscera viva traham divisaque membra per agros perque tuas spargam (sic se tibi misceat!) undas. Uror enim, laesusque exaestuat acrior ignis, cumque suis videor translatam viribus Aetnam pectore ferre meo: nec tu, Galatea, moveris.” Talia nequiquam questus (nam cuncta videbam) surgit et ut taurus vacca furibundus adempta, stare nequit silvaque et notis saltibus errat: cum ferus ignaros nec quicquam tale timentes me videt atque Acin “video” que exclamat “et ista ultima sit, faciam, veneris concordia vestrae!” Tantaque vox, quantam Cyclops iratus habere
debuit, illa fuit: clamore perhorruit Aetne. Ast ego vicino pavefacta sub aequore mergor, terga fugae dederat conversa Symaethius heros et “fer opem, Galatea, precor, mihi! ferte, parentes” dixerat “et vestris periturum admittite regnis!” Insequitur Cyclops partemque e monte revulsam mittit, et extremus quamvis pervenit ad illum, angulus is molis totum tamen obruit Acin. At nos, quod fieri solum per fata licebat, fecimus, ut vires adsumeret Acis avitas. Puniceus de mole cruor manabat, et intra temporis exiguum rubor evanescere coepit
fitque color primo turbati fluminis imbre purgaturque mora; tum moles tacta dehiscit, vivaque per rimas proceraque surgit harundo, osque cavum saxi sonat exsultantibus undis: miraque res, subito media tenus exstitit alvo incinctus iuvenis flexis nova cornua cannis, qui, nisi quod maior, quod toto caerulus ore, Acis erat. Sed sic quoque erat tamen Acis, in amnem versus, et antiquum tenuerunt flumina nomen.” Desierat Galatea loqui, coetuque soluto discedunt placidisque natant Nereides undis. Scylla redit (neque enim medio se credere ponto
audet) et aut bibula sine vestibus errat harena, aut, ubi lassata est, seductos nacta recessus gurgitis, inclusa sua membra refrigerat unda. Ecce fretum scindens alti novus incola ponti, nuper in Euboica versis Anthedone membris, Glaucus adest visaeque cupidine virginis haeret et quaecumque putat fugientem posse morari verba refert; fugit illa tamen veloxque timore pervenit in summum positi prope litora montis. Ante fretum est ingens, apicem conlectus in unum, longa sub arboribus convexus in aequora vertex: constitit hic, et tuta loco, monstrumne deusne
ille sit, ignorans, admiraturque colorem caesariemque umeros subiectaque terga tegentem, ultimaque excipiat quod tortilis inguina piscis. Sensit et innitens, quae stabat proxima, moli, “non ego prodigium nec sum fera belua, virgo, sed deus” inquit “aquae: nec maius in aequore Proteus ius habet et Triton Athamantiadesque Palaemon. Ante tamen mortalis eram, sed, scilicet altis deditus aequoribus, tantum exercebar in illis. Nam modo ducebam ducentia retia pisces, nunc in mole sedens moderabar harundine linum. Sunt viridi prato confinia litora, quorum
altera pars undis, pars altera cingitur herbis, quas neque cornigerae morsu laesere iuvencae, nec placidae carpsistis oves hirtaeve capellae; non apis inde tulit conlectos semine flores, non data sunt capiti genialia serta, neque umquam falciferae secuere manus; ego primus in illo caespite consedi, dum lina madentia sicco, utque recenserem captivos ordine pisces, insuper exposui, quos aut in retia casus aut sua credulitas in aduncos egerat hamos. Res similis fictae (sed quid mihi fingere prodest?): gramine contacto coepit mea praeda moveri
et mutare latus terraque, ut in aequore, niti. Dumque moror mirorque simul, fugit omnis in undas turba suas dominumque novum litusque relinquunt. Obstipui dubitoque diu causamque requiro, num deus hoc aliquis, num sucus fecerit herbae. “Quae” tamen “has” inquam “vires habet herba?”,manuque pabula decerpsi decerptaque dente momordi. Vix bene combiberant ignotos guttura sucos, cum subito trepidare intus praecordia sensi alteriusque rapi naturae pectus amore, nec potui restare diu “repetenda” que “numquam terra, vale!” dixi corpusque sub aequora mersi.
Di maris exceptum socio dignantur honore, utque mihi quaecumque feram mortalia, demant, Oceanum Tethynque rogant: ego lustror ab illis, et purgante nefas noviens mihi carmine dicto pectora fluminibus iubeor supponere centum; nec mora, diversis lapsi de partibus amnes totaque vertuntur supra caput aequora nostrum. Hactenus acta tibi possum memoranda referre, hactenus haec memini, nec mens mea cetera sensit. Quae postquam rediit, alium me corpore toto ac fueram nuper, neque eundem mente recepi. Hanc ego tum primum viridem ferrugine barbam
caesariemque meam, quam longa per aequora verro, ingentesque umeros et caerula bracchia vidi cruraque pinnigero curvata novissima pisce. Quid tamen haec species, quid dis placuisse marinis, quid iuvat esse deum, si tu non tangeris istis?” Talia dicentem, dicturum plura, reliquit Scylla deum; furit ille inritatusque repulsa prodigiosa petit Titanidos atria Circes.
Book 14
Iamque Giganteis iniectam faucibus Aetnen arvaque Cyclopum, quid rastra, quid usus aratri nescia nec quicquam iunctis debentia bubus, liquerat Euboicus tumidarum cultor aquarum, liquerat et Zanclen adversaque moenia Rhegi navifragumque fretum, gemino quod litore pressum Ausoniae Siculaeque tenet confinia terrae. Inde manu magna Tyrrhena per aequora raptus herbiferos adiit colles atque atria Glaucus Sole satae Circes, variarum plena ferarum. Quam simul adspexit, dicta acceptaque salute, “diva, dei miserere, precor! nam sola levare
tu potes hunc,” dixit “videar modo dignior esse! Quanta sit herbarum, Titani, potentia, nulli quam mihi cognitius, qui sum mutatus ab illis. Neve mei non nota tibi sit causa furoris: litore in Italico, Messenia moenia contra, Scylla mihi visa est; pudor est promissa precesque blanditiasque meas contemptaque verba referre. At tu, sive aliquod regnum est in carmine, carmen ore move sacro, sive expugnantior herba est, utere temptatis operosae viribus herbae. Nec medeare mihi sanesque haec vulnera mando, fineque nil opus est: partem ferat illa caloris.”
At Circe (neque enim flammis habet aptius ulla talibus ingenium, seu causa est huius in ipsa, seu Venus indicio facit hoc offensa paterno) talia verba refert. “Melius sequerere volentem optantemque eadem parilique cupidine captam. Dignus eras ultro (poteras certeque) rogari, et, si spem dederis, mihi crede, rogaberis ultro. Neu dubites adsitque tuae fiducia formae: en ego, cum dea sim, nitidi cum filia Solis, gramine cum tantum, tantum quoque carmine possim, ut tua sim, voveo; spernentem sperne, sequenti redde vices unoque duas ulciscere facto!”
Talia temptanti “prius” inquit “in aequore frondes” Glaucus “et in summis nascentur montibus algae, sospite quam Scylla nostri mutentur amores!” Indignata dea est, et laedere quatenus ipsum non poterat (nec vellet amans), irascitur illi, quae sibi praelata est, venerisque offensa repulsa protinus horrendis infamia pabula sucis conterit et tritis Hecateia carmina miscet caerulaque induitur velamina perque ferarum agmen adulantum media procedit ab aula, oppositumque petens contra Zancleia saxa Rhegion ingreditur ferventes aestibus undas,
in quibus ut solida ponit vestigia terra summaque decurrit pedibus super aequora siccis. Parvus erat gurges, curvos sinuatus in arcus, grata quies Scyllae; quo se referebat ab aestu et maris et caeli, medio cum plurimus orbe sol erat et minimas a vertice fecerat umbras. Hunc dea praevitiat portentificisque venenis inquinat, hic pressos latices radice nocenti spargit et obscurum verborum ambage novorum ter noviens carmen magico demurmurat ore. Scylla venit mediaque tenus descenderat alvo, cum sua foedari latrantibus inguina monstris
adspicit ac primo credens non corporis illas esse sui partes refugitque abigitque timetque ora proterva canum, sed quos fugit, attrahit una et corpus quaerens femorum crurumque pedumque, Cerbereos rictus pro partibus invenit illis: statque canum rabie subiectaque terga ferarum inguinibus truncis uteroque exstante coercet. Flevit amans Glaucus nimiumque hostiliter usae viribus herbarum fugit conubia Circes; Scylla loco mansit cumque est data copia primum, in Circes odium sociis spoliavit Ulixen; mox eadem Teucras fuerat mersura carinas,
ni prius in scopulum, qui nunc quoque saxeus exstat, transformata foret: scopulum quoque navita vitat. Hunc ubi Troianae remis avidamque Charybdim evicere rates, cum iam prope litus adesset Ausonium, Libycas vento referuntur ad oras. Excipit Aenean illic animoque domoque non bene discidium Phrygii latura mariti Sidonis; inque pyra sacri sub imagine facta incubuit ferro deceptaque decipit omnes. Rursus harenosae fugiens nova moenia terrae ad sedes Erycis fidumque relatus Acesten sacrificat tumulumque sui genitoris honorat;
quasque rates Iris Iunonia paene cremarat, solvit et Hippotadae regnum terrasque calenti sulphure fumantes Acheloiadumque relinquit Sirenum scopulos, orbataque praeside pinus Inarimen Prochytenque legit sterilique locatas colle Pithecusas, habitantum nomine dictas. Quippe deum genitor, fraudem et periuria quondam Cercopum exosus gentisque admissa dolosae, in deforme viros animal mutavit, ut idem dissimiles homini possent similesque videri, membraque contraxit naresque a fronte resimas contudit et rugis peraravit anilibus ora
totaque velatos flaventi corpora villo misit in has sedes nec non prius abstulit usum verborum et natae dira in periuria linguae: posse queri tantum rauco stridore reliquit. Has ubi praeteriit et Parthenopeia dextra moenia deseruit, laeva de parte canori Aeolidae tumulum et, loca feta palustribus undis, litora Cumarum vivacisque antra Sibyllae intrat, et ut manes veniat per Averna paternos, orat. At illa diu vultum tellure moratum erexit tandemque deo furibunda recepto “magna petis” dixit, “vir factis maxime, cuius
dextera per ferrum est, pietas spectata per ignes. Pone tamen, Troiane, metum: potiere petitis Elysiasque domos et regna novissima mundi me duce cognosces simulacraque cara parentis. Invia virtuti nulla est via!” Dixit et auro fulgentem ramum silva Iunonis Avernae monstravit iussitque suo divellere trunco. Paruit Aeneas et formidabilis Orci vidit opes atavosque suos umbramque senilem magnanimi Anchisae; didicit quoque iura locorum, quaeque novis essent adeunda pericula bellis. Inde ferens lassos adverso tramite passus
cum duce Cumaea mollit sermone laborem. Dumque iter horrendum per opaca crepuscula carpit, “seu dea tu praesens, seu dis gratissima” dixit, “numinis instar eris semper mihi meque fatebor muneris esse tui, quae me loca mortis adire, quae loca me visae voluisti evadere mortis. Pro quibus aerias meritis evectus ad auras templa tibi statuam, tribuam tibi turis honores.” Respicit hunc vates et suspiratibus haustis “nec dea sum” dixit “nec sacri turis honore humanum dignare caput; neu nescius erres, lux aeterna mihi carituraque fine dabatur,
si mea virginitas Phoebo patuisset amanti. Dum tamen hanc sperat dum praecorrumpere donis me cupit, “elige” ait, “virgo Cumaea, quid optes: optatis potiere tuis.” Ego pulveris hausti ostendi cumulum: quot haberet corpora pulvis, tot mihi natales contingere vana rogavi; excidit, ut peterem iuvenes quoque protinus annos. Hos tamen ille mihi dabat aeternamque iuventam, si venerem paterer: contempto munere Phoebi innuba permaneo; sed iam felicior aetas terga dedit, tremuloque gradu venit aegra senectus, quae patienda diu est (nam iam mihi saecula septem
acta vides): superest, numeros ut pulveris aequem, ter centum messes, ter centum musta videre. Tempus erit, cum de tanto me corpore parvam longa dies faciet consumptaque membra senecta ad minimum redigentur onus: nec amata videbor nec placuisse deo; Phoebus quoque forsitan ipse vel non cognoscet vel dilexisse negabit: usque adeo mutata ferar, nullique videnda, voce tamen noscar; vocem mihi fata relinquent.” Talia convexum per iter memorante Sibylla sedibus Euboicam Stygiis emergit in urbem Troius Aeneas sacrisque ex more litatis
litora adit nondum nutricis habentia nomen. Hic quoque substiterat per taedia longa laborum Neritius Macareus, comes experientis Ulixei; desertum quondam mediis e rupibus Aetnae noscit Achaemeniden improvisoque repertum vivere miratus “qui de casusve deusve servat, Achaemenide? cur” inquit “barbara Graium prora vehit? petitur vestra quae terra carina?” Talia quaerenti iam non hirsutus amictu, iam suus et spinis conserto tegmine nullis, fatur Achaemenides: “Iterum Polyphemon et illos adspiciam fluidos humano sanguine rictus,
hac mihi si potior domus est Ithacique carina, si minus Aenean veneror genitore nec umquam esse satis potero, praestem licet omnia, gratus. Quod loquor et spiro caelumque et sidera solis respicio, possimne ingratus et impius esse? Ille dedit, quod non anima haec Cyclopis in ora venit, et ut iam nunc lumen vitale relinquam, aut tumulo aut certe non illa condar in alvo. Quid mihi tunc animi (nisi si timor abstulit omnem sensum animumque) fuit, cum vos petere alta relictus aequora conspexi? Volui inclamare, sed hosti prodere me timui: vestrae quoque clamor Ulixis
paene rati nocuit. Vidi, cum monte revulsum inmanem scopulum medias permisit in undas; vidi iterum veluti tormenti viribus acta vasta Giganteo iaculantem saxa lacerto et, ne deprimeret fluctus ventusve carinam, pertimui, iam me non esse oblitus in illa. Ut vero fuga vos a certa morte reduxit, ille quidem totam gemebundus obambulat Aetnam praetemptatque manu silvas et luminis orbus rupibus incursat foedataque bracchia tabo in mare protendens gentem exsecratur Achivam atque ait: “O si quis referat mihi casus Ulixem
aut aliquem e sociis, in quem mea saeviat ira, viscera cuius edam, cuius viventia dextra membra mea laniem, cuius mihi sanguis inundet guttur et elisi trepident sub dentibus artus: quam nullum aut leve sit damnum mihi lucis ademptae!” Haec et plura ferox; me luridus occupat horror spectantem vultus etiamnum caede madentes crudelesque manus et inanem luminis orbem membraque et humano concretam sanguine barbam. mors erat ante oculos, minimum tamen ipsa doloris: et iam prensurum, iam nunc mea viscera rebar in sua mersurum, mentique haerebat imago
temporis illius, quo vidi bina meorum ter quater adfligi sociorum corpora terrae, cum super ipse iacens hirsuti more leonis visceraque et carnes cumque albis ossa medullis semianimesque artus avidam condebat in alvum. Me tremor invasit: stabam sine sanguine maestus; mandentemque videns eiectantemque cruentas ore dapes et frusta mero glomerata vomentem talia fingebam misero mihi fata parari perque dies multos latitans omnemque tremescens ad strepitum, mortemque timens cupidusque moriri, glande famem pellens et mixta frondibus herba,
solus, inops, exspes, leto poenaeque relictus hanc procul adspexi longo post tempore navem oravique fugam gestu ad litusque cucurri — et movi. Graiumque ratis Troiana recepit! Tu quoque pande tuos, comitum gratissime, casus et ducis et turbae, quae tecum est credita ponto.” Aeolon ille refert Tusco regnare profundo, Aeolon Hippotaden, cohibentem carcere ventos; quos bovis inclusos tergo, memorabile munus, Dulichium sumpsisse ducem flatuque secundo lucibus isse novem et terram adspexisse petitam; proxima post nonam cum sese aurora moveret,
invidia socios praedaeque cupidine victos, esse ratos aurum, dempsisse ligamina ventis; cum quibus isse retro, per quas modo venerat undas, Aeoliique ratem portus repetisse tyranni. “Inde Lami veterem Laestrygonis” inquit “in urbem venimus. Antiphates terra regnabat in illa. Missus ad hunc ego sum, numero comitante duorum, vixque fuga quaesita salus comitique mihique: tertius e nobis Laestrygonis impia tinxit ora cruore suo. Fugientibus instat et agmen concitat Antiphates. Coeunt et saxa trabesque coniciunt merguntque viros merguntque carinas.
Una tamen, quae nos ipsumque vehebat Ulixen, effugit. Amissa sociorum parte dolentes multaque conquesti terris adlabimur illis, quas procul hinc cernis (procul hinc, mihi crede, videnda insula, visa mihi!), tuque o iustissime Troum, nate dea (neque enim finito Marte vocandus hostis es, Aenea), moneo, fuge litora Circes. Nos quoque Circaeo religata in litore pinu, Antiphatae memores inmansuetique Cyclopis, ire negabamus vel tecta ignota subire; sorte sumus lecti, sors me fidumque Politen Eurylochumque simul nimiique Elpenora vini
bisque novem socios Circaea ad moenia misit. Quae simul attigimus stetimusque in limine tecti, mille lupi mixtaeque lupis ursique leaeque occursu fecere metum, sed nulla timenda nullaque erat nostro factura in corpore vulnus. Quin etiam blandas movere per aera caudas nostraque adulantes comitant vestigia, donec excipiunt famulae perque atria marmore tecta ad dominam ducunt: pulchro sedet illa recessu, sollemni solio, pallamque induta nitentem insuper aurato circumvelatur amictu. Nereides nymphaeque simul, quae vellera motis
nulla trahunt digitis nec fila sequentia ducunt: gramina disponunt sparsosque sine ordine flores secernunt calathis variasque coloribus herbas; ipsa quod hae faciunt opus, exigit, ipsa, quis usus quove sit in folio, quae sit concordia mixtis, novit et advertens pensas examinat herbas. Haec ubi nos vidit, dicta acceptaque salute, diffudit vultus et reddidit omina voce. Nec mora, misceri tosti iubet hordea grani mellaque vimque meri cum lacte coagula passo, quique sub hac lateant furtim dulcedine, sucos adicit. Accipimus sacra data pocula dextra.
Quae simul arenti sitientes hausimus ore, et tetigit summos virga dea dira capillos, (et pudet et referam!) saetis horrescere coepi nec iam posse loqui, pro verbis edere raucum murmur et in terram toto procumbere vultu; osque meum sensi pando occallescere rostro, colla tumere toris, et qua modo pocula parte sumpta mihi fuerant, illa vestigia feci, cumque eadem passis (tantum medicamina possunt!) claudor hara, solumque suis caruisse figura vidimus Eurylochum: solus data pocula fugit. Quae nisi vitasset, pecoris pars una manerem
nunc quoque saetigeri, nec tantae cladis ab illo certior ad Circen ultor venisset Ulixes. Pacifer huic dederat florem Cyllenius album, moly vocant superi, nigra radice tenetur; tutus eo monitisque simul caelestibus intrat ille domum Circes, et ad insidiosa vocatus pocula, conantem virga mulcere capillos reppulit et stricto pavidam deterruit ense. Inde fides dextraeque datae, thalamoque receptus coniugii dotem sociorum corpora poscit. Spargimur ignotae sucis melioribus herbae percutimurque caput conversae verbere virgae,
verbaque dicuntur dictis contraria verbis. Quo magis illa canit, magis hoc tellure levati erigimur, saetaeque cadunt, bifidosque relinquit rima pedes, redeunt umeri et subiecta lacertis bracchia sunt: flentem flentes amplectimur ipsi haeremusque ducis collo nec verba locuti ulla priora sumus quam nos testantia gratos. Annua nos illic tenuit mora, multaque praesens tempore tam longo vidi, multa auribus hausi, hoc quoque cum multis, quod clam mihi rettulit una quattuor e famulis ad talia sacra paratis. Cum duce namque meo Circe dum sola moratur,
illa mihi niveo factum de marmore signum ostendit iuvenale, gerens in vertice picum, aede sacra positum multisque insigne coronis. Quis foret et quare sacra coleretur in aede, cur hanc ferret avem, quaerenti et scire volenti “accipe” ait “Macareu, dominaeque potentia quae sit hinc quoque disce meae: tu dictis adice mentem! Picus in Ausoniis, proles Saturnia terris rex fuit, utilium bello studiosus equorum; forma viro, quam cernis, erat: licet ipse decorem adspicias fictaque probes ab imagine veram. Par animus formae; nec adhuc spectasse per annos
quinquennem poterat Graia quater Elide pugnam. Ille suos dryadas Latiis in montibus ortas verterat in vultus, illum fontana petebant numina, naiades, quas Albula, quasque Numici, quas Anienis aquae cursuque brevissimus Almo Narve tulit praeceps et opacae Farfarus umbrae, quaeque colunt Scythicae stagnum nemorale Dianae finitimosque lacus; spretis tamen omnibus unam ille colit nymphen, quam quondam in colle Palati dicitur Ionio peperisse Venilia Iano. Haec ubi nubilibus primum maturuit annis, praeposito cunctis Laurenti tradita Pico est,
rara quidem facie, sed rarior arte canendi, unde Canens dicta est: silvas et saxa movere et mulcere feras et flumina longa morari ore suo volucresque vagas retinere solebat. Quae dum feminea modulatur carmina voce, exierat tecto Laurentes Picus in agros, indigenas fixurus apros, tergumque premebat acris equi, laevaque hastilia bina ferebat, poeniceam fulvo chlamydem contractus ab auro. Venerat in silvas et filia Solis easdem, utque novas legeret fecundis collibus herbas, nomine dicta suo Circaea reliquerat arva.
Quae simul ac iuvenem, virgultis abdita, vidit, obstipuit: cecidere manu, quas legerat, herbae, flammaque per totas visa est errare medullas. Ut primum valido mentem conlegit ab aestu, quid cuperet, fassura fuit: ne posset adire, cursus equi fecit circumfususque satelles. “Non” ait “effugies, vento rapiare licebit, si modo me novi, si non evanuit omnis herbarum virtus et non mea carmina fallunt.” Dixit et effigiem, nullo cum corpore, falsi finxit apri praeterque oculos transcurrere regis iussit et in densum trabibus nemus ire videri,
plurima qua silva est et equo loca pervia non sunt. Haud mora: continuo praedae petit inscius umbram Picus equique celer spumantia terga relinquit spemque sequens vanam silva pedes errat in alta. Concipit illa preces et verba precantia dicit ignotosque deos ignoto carmine adorat, quo solet et niveae vultum confundere Lunae et patrio capiti bibulas subtexere nubes. Tum quoque cantato densetur carmine caelum, et nebulas exhalat humus, caecisque vagantur limitibus comites, et abest custodia regis. Nacta locum tempusque “per, o, tua lumina” dixit,
“quae mea ceperunt, perque hanc, pulcherrime, formam, quae facit, ut supplex tibi sim dea, consule nostris ignibus et socerum, qui pervidet omnia, Solem accipe, nec durus Titanida despice Circen!” Dixerat. Ille ferox ipsamque precesque relinquit et “quaecumque es” ait, “non sum tuus: altera captum me tenet et teneat per longum, comprecor, aevum! Nec venere externa socialia foedera laedam, dum mihi Ianigenam servabunt fata Canentem!” Saepe retemptatis precibus Titania frustra “non impune feres, neque” ait “reddere Canenti, laesaque quid faciat, quid amans, quid femina disces.”
Tum bis ad occasum, bis se convertit ad ortus, ter iuvenem baculo tetigit, tria carmina dixit. Ille fugit, sed se solito velocius ipse currere miratur: pennas in corpore vidit, seque novam subito Latiis accedere silvis indignatus avem duro fera robora rostro figit et iratus longis dat vulnera ramis. Purpureum chlamydis pennae traxere colorem, fibula quod fuerat vestemque momorderat aurum, pluma fit, et fulvo cervix praecingitur auro, nec quicquam antiquum Pico nisi nomina restat. Interea comites, clamato saepe per agros
nequiquam Pico nullaque in parte reperto, inveniunt Circen (nam iam tenuaverat auras passaque erat nebulas ventis ac sole recludi) criminibusque premunt veris regemque reposcunt vimque ferunt saevisque parant incessere telis. Illa nocens spargit virus sucosque veneni et Noctem noctisque deos Ereboque chaoque convocat et longis Hecaten ululatibus orat: exsiluere loco (dictu mirabile) silvae, ingemuitque solum, vicinaque palluit arbor, sparsaque sanguineis maduerunt pabula guttis, et lapides visi mugitus edere raucos,
et latrare canes et humus serpentibus atris squalere et tenues animae volitare videntur. Attonitum monstris vulgus pavet: illa paventis ora venenata tetigit mirantia virga, cuius ab attactu variarum monstra ferarum in iuvenes veniunt: nulli sua mansit imago. Sparserat occiduus Tartessia litora Phoebus, et frustra coniunx oculis animoque Canentis exspectatus erat: famuli populusque per omnes discurrunt silvas atque obvia lumina portant; nec satis est nymphae flere et lacerare capillos et dare plangorem (facit et tamen omnia) seque
proripit ac Latios errat vesana per agros. Sex illam noctes, tetidem redeuntia solis lumina viderunt inopem somnique cibique per iuga, per valles, qua fors ducebat, euntem. Ultimus adspexit Thybris luctuque viaque fessam et iam longa ponentem corpora ripa. Illic cum lacrimis ipso modulata dolore verba sono tenui maerens fundebat, ut olim carmina iam moriens canit exequialia cygnus. Luctibus extremis teneras liquefacta medullas tabuit inque leves paulatim evanuit auras; fama tamen signata loco est, quem rite Canentem
nomine de nymphae veteres dixere Camenae.” Talia multa mihi longum narrata per annum visaque sunt. Resides et desuetudine tardi rursus inire fretum, rursus dare vela iubemur. Ancipitesque vias et iter Titania vastum dixerat et saevi restare pericula ponti. Pertimui, fateor, nactusque hoc litus adhaesi.” Finierat Macareus. Urnaque Aeneia nutrix condita marmoreo tumulo breve carmen habebat: HIC ME CAIETAM NOTAE PIETATIS ALUMNUS EREPTAM ARGOLICO QUO DEBUIT IGNE CREMAVIT. Solvitur herboso religatus ab aggere funis,
et procul insidias infamataeque relinquunt tecta deae lucosque petunt, ubi nubilus umbra in mare cum flava prorumpit Thybris harena; Faunigenaeque domo potitur nataque Latini, non sine Marte tamen: bellum cum gente feroci suscipitur, pactaque furit pro coniuge Turnus. Concurrit Latio Tyrrhenia tota, diuque ardua sollicitis victoria quaeritur armis. Auget uterque suas externo robore vires, et multi Rutulos, multi Troiana tuentur castra. Neque Aeneas Euandri ad moenia frustra, at Venulus frustra profugi Diomedis ad urbem
venerat: ille quidem sub Iapyge maxima Dauno moenia condiderat dotaliaque arva tenebat. Sed Venulus Turni postquam mandata peregit auxilium petiit, vires Aetolius heros excusat: nec se aut soceri committere pugnae velle sui populos, aut quos e gente suorum armet habere ullos, “neve haec commenta putetis, admonitu quamquam luctus renoventur amari perpetiar memorare tamen. Postquam alta cremata est Ilion et Danaas paverunt Pergama flammas, Naryciusque heros, a virgine virgine rapta, quam meruit poenam solus, digessit in omnes,
spargimur et ventis inimica per aequora rapti fulmina, noctem, imbres, iram caelique marisque perpetimur Danai cumulumque Capherea cladis. Neve morer referens tristes ex ordine casus, Graecia tum potuit Priamo quoque flenda videri. Me tamen armiferae servatum cura Minervae fluctibus eripuit, patriis sed rursus ab agris pellor, et antiquo memores de vulnere poenas exigit alma Venus, tantosque per alta labores aequora sustinui, tantos terrestribus armis, ut mihi felices sint illi saepe vocati, quos communis hiems importunusque Caphereus
mersit aquis, vellemque horum pars una fuissem. Ultima iam passi comites belloque fretoque deficiunt finemque rogant erroris, at Acmon fervidus ingenio, tum vero et cladibus asper, “quid superest, quod iam patientia nostra recuset ferre, viri?” dixit; “quid habet Cytherea, quod ultra (velle puta!) faciat? Nam dum peiora timentur, est locus in vulnus: sors autem ubi pessima rerum, sub pedibus timor est securaque summa malorum. Audiat ipsa licet, et, quod facit, oderit omnes sub Diomede viros, odium tamen illius omnes spernimus: et magno stat magna potentia nobis!”
Talibus iratam Venerem Pleuronius Acmon instimulat verbis stimulisque resuscitat iram. Dicta placent paucis: numeri maioris amici Acmona corripimus; cui respondere volenti vox pariter vocisque via est tenuata, comaeque in plumas abeunt, plumis nova colla teguntur pectoraque et tergum, maiores bracchia pennas accipiunt, cubitusque leves sinuatur in alas. Magna pedis digitos pars occupat, oraque cornu indurata rigent finemque in acumine ponunt. Hunc Lycus, hunc Idas et cum Rhexenore Nycteus, hunc miratur Abas: et dum mirantur, eandem
accipiunt faciem, numerusque ex agmine maior subvolat et remos plausis circumvolat alis. Si volucrum quae sit dubiarum forma, requiris, ut non cygnorum, sic albis proxima cygnis. Vix equidem has sedes et Iapygis arida Dauni arva gener teneo minima cum parte meorum.” Hactenus Oenides. Venulus Calydonia regna Peucetiosque sinus Messapiaque arva relinquit. In quibus antra videt, quae multa nubila silva et levibus cannis manantia semicaper Pan nunc tenet, at quodam tenuerunt tempore nymphae. Apulus has illa pastor regione fugatas
terruit et primo subita formidine movit, mox, ubi mens rediit et contempsere sequentem, ad numerum motis pedibus duxere choreas. Improbat has pastor, saltuque imitatus agresti addidit obscenis convicia rustica dictis, nec prius os tacuit, quam guttura condidit arbor: arbore enim sucoque licet cognoscere mores; quippe notam linguae bacis oleaster amaris exhibet: asperitas verborum cessit in illas. Hinc ubi legati rediere, negata ferentes arma Aetola sibi, Rutuli sine viribus illis bella instructa gerunt, multumque ab utraque cruoris
parte datur; fert ecce avidas in pinea Turnus texta faces, ignesque timent, quibus unda pepercit. Iamque picem et ceras alimentaque cetera flammae Mulciber urebat perque altum ad carbasa malum ibat, et incurvae fumabant transtra carinae: cum memor has pinus Idaeo vertice caesas sancta deum genetrix tinnitibus aera pulsi aeris et inflati complevit murmure buxi, perque leves domitis invecta leonibus auras “inrita sacrilega iactas incendia dextra, Turne!” ait. “Eripiam, nec me patiente cremabit ignis edax nemorum partes et membra meorum.”
Intonuit dicente dea, tonitrumque secuti cum saliente graves ceciderunt grandine nimbi, aeraque et tumidum subitis concursibus aequor Astraei turbant et eunt in proelia fratres. E quibus alma parens unius viribus usa stuppea praerupit Phrygiae retinacula puppis fertque rates pronas medioque sub aequore mergit; robore mollito lignoque in corpora verso in capitum facies puppes mutantur aduncae, in digitos abeunt et crura natantia remi, quodque prius fuerat, latus est mediisque carina subdita navigiis spinae mutatur in usum,
lina comae molles, antemnae bracchia fiunt, caerulus, ut fuerat, color est; quasque ante timebant, illas virgineis exercent lusibus undas naides aequoreae durisque in montibus ortae molle fretum celebrant nec eas sua tangit origo. Non tamen oblitae, quam multa pericula saepe pertulerint pelago, iactatis saepe carinis supposuere manus, nisi siqua vehebat Achivos: cladis adhuc Phrygiae memores, odere Pelasgos Neritiaeque ratis viderunt fragmina laetis vultibus et laetis videre rigescere puppem vultibus Alcinoi saxumque increscere ligno.
Spes erat, in nymphas animata classe marinas, posse metu monstri Rutulum desistere bello: perstat, habetque deos pars utraque, quodque deorum est instar, habent animos; nec iam dotalia regna nec sceptrum soceri, nec te, Lavinia virgo, sed vicisse petunt deponendique pudore bella gerunt, tandemque Venus victricia nati arma videt, Turnusque cadit, cadit Ardea, Turno sospite dicta potens. Quem postquam barbarus ensis abstulit et tepida latuerunt tecta favilla, congerie e media tum primum cognita praepes subvolat et cineres plausis everberat alis.
Et sonus et macies et pallor et omnia, captam quae deceant urbem, nomen quoque mansit in illa urbis; et ipsa suis deplangitur Ardea pennis. Iamque deos omnes ipsamque Aeneia virtus Iunonem veteres finire coegerat iras, cum, bene fundatis opibus crescentis Iuli, tempestivus erat caelo Cythereius heros: ambieratque Venus superos, colloque parentis circumfusa sui “numquam mihi” dixerat “ullo tempore dure pater, nunc sis mitissimus, opto, Aeneaeque meo, qui te de sanguine nostro fecit avum, quamvis parvum des, optime, numen,
dummodo des aliquod: satis est inamabile regnum adspexisse semel, Stygios semel isse per amnes.” Adsensere dei, nec coniunx regia vultus immotos tenuit placatoque adnuit ore; tum pater “estis” ait “caelesti numine digni, quaeque petis, pro quoque petis: cape, nata, quod optas!” Fatus erat: gaudet gratesque agit illa parenti, perque leves auras iunctis invecta columbis litus adit Laurens, ubi tectus harundine serpit in freta flumineis vicina Numicius undis. Hunc iubet Aeneae, quaecumque obnoxia morti, abluere et tacito deferre sub aequora cursu;
corniger exsequitur Veneris mandata suisque, quidquid in Aenea fuerat mortale, repurgat et respergit aquis: pars optima restitit illi. Lustratum genetrix divino corpus odore unxit et ambrosia cum dulci nectare mixta contigit os fecitque deum, quem turba Quirini nuncupat Indigetem temploque arisque recepit. Inde sub Ascanii dicione binominis Alba resque Latina fuit. Succedit Silvius illi. Quo satus antiquo tenuit repetita Latinus nomina cum sceptro. Clarus subit Alba Latinum. Epytus ex illo est; post hunc Capetusque Capysque,
sed Capys ante fuit. Regnum Tiberinus ab illis cepit et in Tusci demersus fluminis undis nomina fecit aquae; de quo Remulusque feroxque Acrota sunt geniti. Remulus maturior annis fulmineo periit, imitator fulminis, ictu. Fratre suo sceptrum moderatior Acrota forti tradit Aventino, qui, quo regnarat, eodem monte iacet positus tribuitque vocabula monti. Iamque Palatinae summam Proca gentis habebat. Rege sub hoc Pomona fuit, qua nulla Latinas inter hamadryadas coluit sollertius hortos nec fuit arborei studiosior altera fetus.
Unde tenet nomen: non silvas illa nec amnes, rus amat et ramos felicia poma ferentes. Nec iaculo gravis est, sed adunca dextera falce, qua modo luxuriem premit et spatiantia passim bracchia compescit, fisso modo cortice lignum inserit et sucos alieno praestat alumno; nec sentire sitim patitur bibulaeque recurvas radicis fibras labentibus inrigat undis: hic amor, hoc studium; veneris quoque nulla cupido est. Vim tamen agrestum metuens pomaria claudit intus et accessus prohibet refugitque viriles. Quid non et satyri, saltatibus apta iuventus,
fecere et pinu praecincti cornua Panes Silenusque, suis semper iuvenalior annis, quique deus fures vel falce vel inguine terret, ut poterentur ea? Sed enim superabat amando hos quoque Vertumnus neque erat felicior illis. O quotiens habitu duri messoris aristas corbe tulit verique fuit messoris imago! Tempora saepe gerens faeno religata recenti desectum poterat gramen versasse videri; saepe manu stimulos rigida portabat, ut illum iurasses fessos modo disiunxisse iuvencos. Falce data frondator erat vitisque putator;
induerat scalas: lecturum poma putares; miles erat gladio, piscator harundine sumpta. Denique per multas aditum sibi saepe figuras repperit, ut caperet spectatae gaudia formae. Ille etiam picta redimitus tempora mitra, innitens baculo, positis per tempora canis, adsimulavit anum cultosque intravit in hortos pomaque mirata est “tanto” que “potentior!” inquit, paucaque laudatae dedit oscula, qualia numquam vera dedisset anus, glaebaque incurva resedit suspiciens pandos autumni pondere ramos. Ulmus erat contra speciosa nitentibus uvis:
quam socia postquam pariter cum vite probavit, “at si staret” ait “caelebs sine palmite truncus, nil praeter frondes, quare peteretur, haberet; haec quoque, quae iuncta est, vitis requiescit in illo: si non nupta foret, terrae acclinata iaceret. Tu tamen exemplo non tangeris arboris huius concubitusque fugis nec te coniungere curas. Atque utinam velles! Helene non pluribus esset sollicitata procis nec quae Lapitheia movit proelia nec coniunx nimium tardantis Ulixei. Nunc quoque, cum fugias averserisque petentes, mille viri cupiunt et semideique deique
et quaecumque tenent Albanos numina montes. Sed tu, si sapies, si te bene iungere anumque hanc audire voles, quae te plus omnibus illis, plus quam credis, amo, vulgares reice taedas Vertumnumque tori socium tibi selige! pro quo me quoque pignus habes (neque enim sibi notior ille est, quam mihi); nec passim toto vagus errat in orbe: haec loca magna colit; nec, uti pars magna procorum, quam modo vidit, amat: tu primus et ultimus illi ardor eris, solique suos tibi devovet annos. Adde, quod est iuvenis, quod naturale decoris munus habet formasque apte fingetur in omnes,
et quod erit iussus, iubeas licet omnia, fiet. Quid quod amatis idem? quod, quae tibi poma coluntur, primus habet laetaque tenet tua munera dextra? Sed neque iam fetus desiderat arbore demptos, nec, quas hortus alit, cum sucis mitibus herbas, nec quicquam, nisi te; miserere ardentis et ipsum, quod petit, ore meo praesentem crede precari ultoresque deos et pectora dura perosam Idalien memoremque time Rhamnusidis iram! Quoque magis timeas (etenim mihi multa vetustas scire dedit), referam tota notissima Cypro facta, quibus flecti facile et mitescere possis.
Viderat a veteris generosam sanguine Teucri Iphis Anaxareten, humili de stirpe creatus, viderat et totis perceperat ossibus aestum luctatusque diu, postquam ratione furorem vincere non potuit, supplex ad limina venit et modo nutrici miserum confessus amorem, ne sibi dura foret, per spes oravit alumnae, et modo de multis blanditus cuique ministris sollicita petiit propensum voce favorem; saepe ferenda dedit blandis sua verba tabellis, interdum madidas lacrimarum rore coronas postibus intendit posuitque in limine duro
molle latus tristisque serae convicia fecit. Saevior illa freto surgente cadentibus Haedis, durior et ferro, quod Noricus excoquit ignis, et saxo, quod adhuc vivum radice tenetur, spernit et inridet factisque inmitibus addit verba superba ferox et spe quoque fraudat amantem. Non tulit impatiens longi tormenta doloris Iphis et ante fores haec verba novissima dixit: “Vincis, Anaxarete, neque erunt tibi taedia tandem ulla ferenda mei: laetos molire triumphos et Paeana voca nitidaque incingere lauru! Vincis enim, moriorque libens: age, ferrea, gaude!
Certe aliquid laudare mei cogeris amoris, Non tamen ante tui curam fugisse memento, quam vitam, geminaque simul mihi luce carendum est. Nec tibi fama mei ventura est nuntia leti: ipse ego, ne dubites, adero praesensque videbor, corpore ut exanimi crudelia lumina pascas. Si tamen, o superi, mortalia facta videtis, este mei memores (nihil ultra lingua precari sustinet) et longo facite ut narremur in aevo, et, quae dempsistis vitae, date tempora famae!” Dixit, et ad postes ornatos saepe coronis umentes oculos et pallida bracchia tollens,
cum foribus laquei religaret vincula summis, “haec tibi serta placent, crudelis et impia?” dixit, inseruitque caput, sed tum quoque versus ad illam, atque onus infelix elisa fauce pependit. Icta pedum motu est adapertaque ianua factum prodidit. Exclamant famuli frustraque levatum (nam pater occiderat) referunt ad limina matris; accipit illa sinu complexaque frigida nati membra sui postquam miserarum verba parentum edidit et matrum miserarum facta peregit, funera ducebat mediam lacrimosa per urbem luridaque arsuro portabat membra feretro.
Forte viae vicina domus, qua flebilis ibat pompa, fuit, duraeque sonus plangoris ad aures venit Anaxaretae, quam iam deus ultor agebat: mota “tamen videamus” ait “miserabile funus” et patulis iniit tectum sublime fenestris; vixque bene impositum lecto prospexerat Iphin, deriguere oculi, calidusque e corpore sanguis inducto pallore fugit, conataque retro ferre pedes haesit, conata avertere vultus hoc quoque non potuit, paulatimque occupat artus, quod fuit in duro iam pridem pectore, saxum. Neve ea ficta putes, dominae sub imagine signum
servat adhuc Salamis: Veneris quoque nomine templum Prospicientis habet. — Quorum memor, o mea, lentos pone, precor, fastus et amanti iungere, nymphe. Sic tibi nil vernum nascentia frigus adurat poma nec excutiant rapidi florentia venti!' Haec ubi nequiquam formae deus aptus anili edidit, in iuvenem rediit et anilia demit instrumenta sibi talisque apparuit illi, qualis ubi oppositas nitidissima solis imago evicit nubes nullaque obstante reluxit, vimque parat: sed vi non est opus, inque figura capta dei nymphe est et mutua vulnera sensit.
Proximus Ausonias iniusti miles Amuli rexit opes, Numitorque senex amissa nepotis munere regna capit, festisque Palilibus urbis moenia conduntur, Tatiusque patresque Sabini bella gerunt, arcisque via Tarpeia reclusa dignam animam poena congestis exuit armis. Inde sati Curibus tacitorum more luporum ore premunt voces et corpora victa sopore invadunt portasque petunt, quas obice firmo clauserat Iliades: unam tamen ipsa reclusit nec strepitum verso Saturnia cardine fecit. Sola Venus portae cecidisse repagula sensit
et clausura fuit, nisi quod rescindere numquam dis licet acta deum. Iano loca iuncta tenebant naides Ausoniae gelido rorantia fonte: has rogat auxilium, nec nymphae iusta petentem sustinuere deam venasque et flumina fontis elicuere sui; nondum tamen invia Iani ora patentis erant, neque iter praecluserat unda: lurida supponunt fecundo sulphura fonti incenduntque cavas fumante bitumine venas. Viribus his aliisque vapor penetravit ad ima fontis, et Alpino modo quae certare rigori audebatis aquae, non ceditis ignibus ipsis!
Flammifera gemini fumant adspergine postes, portaque, nequiquam rigidis promissa Sabinis, fonte fuit praestructa novo, dum Martius arma indueret miles; quae postquam Romulus ultro obtulit, et strata est tellus Romana Sabinis corporibus strata estque suis, generique cruorem sanguine cum soceri permiscuit impius ensis, pace tamen sisti bellum nec in ultima tantum decertare placet Tatiumque accedere regno. Occiderat Tatius, populisque aequata duobus, Romule, iura dabas, posita cum casside Mavors talibus adfatur divumque hominumque parentem:
“Tempus adest, genitor, quoniam fundamine magno res Romana valet et praeside pendet ab uno, praemia (sunt promissa mihi dignoque nepoti!) solvere et ablatum terris imponere caelo. Tu mihi concilio quondam praesente deorum (nam memoro memorique animo pia verba notavi) “unus erit, quem tu tolles in caerula caeli” dixisti: rata sit verborum summa tuorum!” Adnuit omnipotens et nubibus aera caecis occuluit tonitruque et fulgure terruit orbem: quae sibi promissae sensit rata signa rapinae innixusque hastae pressos temone cruento
impavidus conscendit equos Gradivus et ictu verberis increpuit pronusque per aera lapsus constitit in summo nemorosi colle Palati reddentemque suo non regia iura Quiriti abstulit Iliaden: corpus mortale per auras dilapsum tenues, ceu lata plumbea funda missa solet medio glans intabescere caelo. Pulchra subit facies et pulvinaribus altis dignior, est qualis trabeati forma Quirini. Flebat ut amissum coniunx, cum regia Iuno Irin ad Hersiliam descendere limite curvo imperat et vacuae sua sic mandata referre:
“O et de Latio, o et de gente Sabina praecipuum, matrona, decus, dignissima tanti ante fuisse viri, coniunx nunc esse Quirini, siste tuos fletus et, si tibi cura videndi coniugis est, duce me lucum pete, colle Quirini qui viret et templum Romani regis obumbrat.” Paret et in terram pictos delapsa per arcus Hersilien iussis compellat vocibus Iris. Illa verecundo vix tollens lumina vultu “o, dea, namque mihi nec, quae sis, dicere promptum est, et liquet esse deam, duc, o duc” inquit “et offer coniugis ora mihi, quem si modo posse videre
fata semel dederint, caelum accepisse fatebor.” Nec mora, Romuleos cum virgine Thaumantea ingreditur colles: ibi sidus ab aethere lapsum decidit in terras, a cuius lumine flagrans Hersilie crines cum sidere cessit in auras. Hanc manibus notis Romanae conditor urbis excipit et priscum pariter cum corpore nomen mutat Horamque vocat, quae nunc dea iuncta Quirino est.
Book 15
Quaeritur interea quis tantae pondera molis sustineat tantoque queat succedere regi: destinat imperio clarum praenuntia veri fama Numam; non ille satis cognosse Sabinae gentis habet ritus: animo maiora capaci concipit et, quae sit rerum natura, requirit. Huius amor curae, patria Curibusque relictis, fecit ut Herculei penetraret ad hospitis urbem. Graia quis Italicis auctor posuisset in oris moenia, quaerenti sic e senioribus unus rettulit indigenis, veteris non inscius aevi: “Dives ab Oceano bubus Iove natus Hiberis
litora felici tenuisse Lacinia cursu fertur et, armento teneras errante per herbas, ipse domum magni nec inhospita tecta Crotonis intrasse et requie longum relevasse laborem atque ita discedens “aevo” dixisse “nepotum hic locus urbis erit”; promissaque vera fuerunt. Nam fuit Argolico generatus Alemone quidam Myscelos, illius dis acceptissimus aevi. Hunc super incumbens pressum gravitate soporis claviger adloquitur: “Lapidosas Aesaris undas i, pete diversi! Patrias, age, desere sedes!” et, nisi paruerit multa ac metuenda minatur;
post ea discedunt pariter somnusque deusque. Surgit Alemonides tacitaque recentia mente visa refert, pugnatque diu sententia secum: numen abire iubet, prohibent discedere leges, poenaque mors posita est patriam mutare volenti. Candidus Oceano nitidum caput abdiderat Sol, et caput extulerat densissima sidereum Nox: visus adesse idem deus est eademque monere et, nisi paruerit, plura et graviora minari. Pertimuit patriumque simul transferre parabat in sedes penetrale novas: fit murmur in urbe, spretarumque agitur legum reus; utque peracta est
causa prior crimenque patens sine teste probatum, squalidus ad superos tollens reus ora manusque “o cui ius caeli bis sex fecere labores, fer, precor” inquit, “opem! nam tu mihi criminis auctor.” Mos erat antiquus niveis atrisque lapillis, his damnare reos, illis absolvere culpa; tunc quoque sic lata est sententia tristis, et omnis calculus inmitem demittitur ater in urnam. Quae simul effudit numerandos versa lapillos, omnibus e nigro color est mutatus in album, candidaque Herculeo sententia numine facta solvit Alemoniden. Grates agit ille parenti
Amphitryoniadae, ventisque faventibus aequor navigat Ionium, Sallentinumque Neretum praeterit et Sybarin Crimisenque et Iapygis arva; vixque pererratis, quae spectant litora, terris, invenit Aesarei fatalia fluminis ora nec procul hinc tumulum, sub quo sacrata Crotonis ossa tegebat humus, iussaque ibi moenia terra condidit et nomen tumulati traxit in urbem.” Talia constabat certa primordia fama esse loci positaeque Italis in finibus urbis. Vir fuit hic, ortu Samius, sed fugerat una et Samon et dominos odioque tyrannidis exsul
sponte erat, isque, licet caeli regione remotos, mente deos adiit et quae natura negabat visibus humanis, oculis ea pectoris hausit, cumque animo et vigili perspexerat omnia cura, in medium discenda dabat coetusque silentum dictaque mirantum magni primordia mundi et rerum causas et, quid natura, docebat, quid deus, unde nives, quae fulminis esset origo, Iuppiter an venti discussa nube tonarent, quid quateret terras, qua sidera lege mearent — et quodcumque latet; primusque animalia mensis arguit imponi, primus quoque talibus ora
docta quidem solvit, sed non et credita, verbis: “Parcite, mortales, dapibus temerare nefandis corpora! Sunt fruges, sunt deducentia ramos pondere poma suo tumidaeque in vitibus uvae, sunt herbae dulces, sunt quae mitescere flamma mollirique queant; nec vobis lacteus umor eripitur, nec mella thymi redolentia flore: prodiga divitias alimentaque mitia tellus suggerit atque epulas sine caede et sanguine praebet. Carne ferae sedant ieiunia, nec tamen omnes: quippe equus et pecudes armentaque gramine vivunt. At quibus ingenium est inmansuetumque ferumque,
Armeniae tigres iracundique leones cumque lupis ursi, dapibus cum sanguine gaudent. Heu quantum scelus est in viscera viscera condi congestoque avidum pinguescere corpore corpus alteriusque animantem animantis vivere leto! Scilicet in tantis opibus, quas optima matrum terra parit, nil te nisi tristia mandere saevo vulnera dente iuvat ritusque referre Cyclopum, nec, nisi perdideris alium, placare voracis et male morati poteris ieiunia ventris? At vetus illa aetas, cui fecimus aurea nomen, fetibus arboreis et, quas humus educat, herbis
fortunata fuit nec polluit ora cruore. Tunc et aves tutae movere per aera pennas, et lepus impavidus mediis erravit in arvis, nec sua credulitas piscem suspenderat hamo: cuncta sine insidiis nullamque timentia fraudem plenaque pacis erant. Postquam non utilis auctor victibus invidit, quisquis fuit ille, deorum corporeasque dapes avidam demersit in alvum, fecit iter sceleri, primoque e caede ferarum incaluisse potest maculatum sanguine ferrum (idque satis fuerat), nostrumque petentia letum corpora missa neci salva pietate fatemur:
sed quam danda neci, tam non epulanda fuerunt. Longius inde nefas abiit, et prima putatur hostia sus meruisse mori, quia semina pando eruerit rostro spemque interceperit anni. Vite caper morsa Bacchi mactatus ad aras dicitur ultoris; nocuit sua culpa duobus! Quid meruistis oves, placidum pecus, inque tuendos natum homines, pleno quae fertis in ubere nectar, mollia quae nobis vestras velamina lanas praebetis vitaque magis quam morte iuvatis? Quid meruere boves, animal sine fraude dolisque, innocuum, simplex, natum tolerare labores?
Inmemor est demum nec frugum munere dignus, qui potuit curvi dempto modo pondere aratri ruricolam mactare suum, qui trita labore illa, quibus totiens durum renovaverat arvum, tot dederat messes, percussit colla securi. Nec satis est, quod tale nefas committitur: ipsos inscripsere deos sceleri, numenque supernum caede laboriferi credunt gaudere iuvenci. Victima labe carens et praestantissima forma (nam placuisse nocet) vittis insignis et auro sistitur ante aras auditque ignara precantem imponique suae videt inter cornua fronti,
quas coluit, fruges percussaque sanguine cultros inficit in liquida praevisos forsitan unda. Protinus ereptas viventi pectore fibras inspiciunt mentesque deum scrutantur in illis: unde (fames homini vetitorum tanta ciborum!) audetis vesci, genus o mortale? Quod, oro, ne facite, et monitis animos advertite nostris! Cumque boum dabitis caesorum membra palato, mandere vos vestros scite et sentite colonos. Et quoniam deus ora movet, sequar ora moventem rite deum Delphosque meos ipsumque recludam aethera et augustae reserabo oracula mentis.
Magna nec ingeniis investigata priorum quaeque diu latuere, canam; iuvat ire per alta astra, iuvat terris et inerti sede relicta nube vehi validique umeris insistere Atlantis palantesque homines passim ac rationis egentes despectare procul trepidosque obitumque timentes sic exhortari seriemque evolvere fati: O genus attonitum gelidae formidine mortis, quid Styga, quid manes et nomina vana timetis, materiem vatum, falsique pericula mundi? Corpora, sive rogus flamma, seu tabe vetustas abstulerit, mala posse pati non ulla putetis!
Morte carent animae, semperque priore relicta sede novis domibus vivunt habitantque receptae. Ipse ego (nam memini) Troiani tempore belli Panthoides Euphorbus eram, cui pectore quondam haesit in adverso gravis hasta minoris Atridae: cognovi clipeum, laevae gestamina nostrae, nuper Abanteis templo Iunonis in Argis. Omnia mutantur, nihil interit: errat et illinc huc venit, hinc illuc, et quoslibet occupat artus spiritus eque feris humana in corpora transit inque feras noster nec tempore deperit ullo; utque novis facilis signatur cera figuris
nec manet ut fuerat nec formas servat easdem, sed tamen ipsa eadem est: animam sic semper eandem esse, sed in varias doceo migrare figuras. Ergo, ne pietas sit victa cupidine ventris, parcite, vaticinor, cognatas caede nefanda exturbare animas, nec sanguine sanguis alatur! Et quoniam magno feror aequore plenaque ventis vela dedi: nihil est toto, quod perstet, in orbe. Cuncta fluunt, omnisque vagans formatur imago; ipsa quoque adsiduo labuntur tempora motu, non secus ac flumen, neque enim consistere flumen nec levis hora potest, sed ut unda impellitur unda
urgeturque eadem veniente urgetque priorem, tempora sic fugiunt pariter pariterque sequuntur et nova sunt semper; nam quod fuit ante, relictum est, fitque quod haud fuerat, momentaque cuncta novantur. Cernis et emensas in lucem tendere noctes, et iubar hoc nitidum nigrae succedere nocti. Nec color est idem caelo, cum lassa quiete cuncta iacent media, cumque albo Lucifer exit clarus equo rursusque alius, cum praevia lucis tradendum Phoebo Pallantias inficit orbem. Ipse dei clipeus, terra cum tollitur ima, mane rubet, terraque, rubet cum conditur ima,
candidus in summo est, melior natura quod illic aetheris est terraeque procul contagia fugit. Nec par aut eadem nocturnae forma Dianae esse potest umquam, semperque hodierna sequente, si crescit, minor est, maior, si contrahit orbem. Quid? non in species succedere quattuor annum adspicis, aetatis peragentem imitamina nostrae? Nam tener ac lactens puerique simillimus aevo vere novo est: tunc herba nitens et roboris expers turget et insolida est et spe delectat agrestes. Omnia tunc florent, florumque coloribus almus ludit ager, neque adhuc virtus in frondibus ulla est.
Transit in aestatem post ver robustior annus fitque valens iuvenis: neque enim robustior aetas ulla nec uberior, nec quae magis ardeat, ulla est. Excipit autumnus, posito fervore iuventae maturus mitisque, inter iuvenemque senemque temperie medius, sparsus quoque tempora canis. Inde senilis hiems tremulo venit horrida passu, aut spoliata suos, aut quos habet, alba capillos. Nostra quoque ipsorum semper requieque sine ulla corpora vertuntur, nec, quod fuimusve sumusve, cras erimus; fuit illa dies, qua semina tantum spesque hominum primae matrisque habitavimus alvo.
Artifices natura manus admovit et angi corpora visceribus distentae condita matris noluit eque domo vacuas emisit in auras. Editus in lucem iacuit sine viribus infans; mox quadrupes rituque tulit sua membra ferarum, paulatimque tremens et nondum poplite firmo constitit adiutis aliquo conamine nervis. Inde valens veloxque fuit spatiumque iuventae transit et emeritis medii quoque temporis annis labitur occiduae per iter declive senectae. Subruit haec aevi demoliturque prioris robora, fletque Milon senior, cum spectat inanes
(illos, qui fuerant solidorum mole tororum Herculeis similes!) fluidos pendere lacertos; Flet quoque, ut in speculo rugas adspexit aniles, Tyndaris et secum, cur sit bis rapta, requirit. Tempus edax rerum, tuque, invidiosa vetustas, omnia destruitis, vitiataque dentibus aevi paulatim lenta consumitis omnia morte. Haec quoque non perstant, quae nos elementa vocamus, quasque vices peragant, (animos adhibete!) docebo. Quattuor aeternus genitalia corpora mundus continet; ex illis duo sunt onerosa suoque pondere in inferius, tellus atque unda, feruntur,
et totidem gravitate carent nulloque premente alta petunt, aer atque aere purior ignis. Quae quamquam spatio distant, tamen omnia fiunt ex ipsis et in ipsa cadunt, resolutaque tellus in liquidas rarescit aquas, tenuatus in auras aeraque umor abit, dempto quoque pondere rursus in superos aer tenuissimus emicat ignes. Inde retro redeunt, idemque retexitur ordo; ignis enim densum spissatus in aera transit, hic in aquas, tellus glomerata cogitur unda. Nec species sua cuique manet, rerumque novatrix ex aliis alias reddit natura figuras:
nec perit in toto quicquam, mihi credite, mundo, sed variat faciemque novat, nascique vocatur incipere esse aliud, quam quod fuit ante, morique desinere illud idem. Cum sint huc forsitan illa, haec translata illuc, summa tamen omnia constant. Nil equidem durare diu sub imagine eadem crediderim: sic ad ferrum venistis ab auro, saecula, sic totiens versa est fortuna locorum. Vidi ego, quod fuerat quondam solidissima tellus, esse fretum, vidi factas ex aequore terras: et procul a pelago conchae iacuere marinae, et vetus inventa est in montibus ancora summis.
Quodque fuit campus, vallem decursus aquarum fecit, et eluvie mons est deductus in aequor, eque paludosa siccis humus aret harenis, quaeque sitim tulerant, stagnata paludibus ument. Hic fontes natura novos emisit, at illic clausit, et antiquis tam multa tremoribus orbis flumina prosiliunt aut excaecata residunt. Sic ubi terreno Lycus est epotus hiatu, exsistit procul hinc alioque renascitur ore: Sic modo combibitur, tecto modo gurgite lapsus redditur Argolicis ingens Erasinus in arvis, et Mysum, capitisque sui ripaeque prioris
paenituisse ferunt, alia nunc ire Caicum; nec non Sicanias volvens Amenanus harenas nunc fluit, interdum suppressis fontibus aret. Ante bibebatur, nunc, quas contingere nolis, fundit Anigros aquas, postquam, nisi vatibus omnis eripienda fides, illic lavere bimembres vulnera, clavigeri quae fecerat Herculis arcus. Quid? non et Scythicis Hypanis de montibus ortus, qui fuerat dulcis, salibus vitiatur amaris? Fluctibus ambitae fuerant Antissa Pharosque et Phoenissa Tyros, quarum nunc insula nulla est. Leucada continuam veteres habuere coloni:
nunc freta circueunt. Zancle quoque iuncta fuisse dicitur Italiae, donec confinia pontus abstulit et media tellurem reppulit unda. Si quaeras Helicen et Burin, Achaidas urbes, invenies sub aquis, et adhuc ostendere nautae inclinata solent cum moenibus oppida mersis. Est prope Pittheam tumulus Troezena, sine ullis arduus arboribus, quondam planissima campi area, nunc tumulus; nam (res horrenda relatu!) vis fera ventorum, caecis inclusa cavernis, exspirare aliqua cupiens luctataque frustra liberiore frui caelo, cum carcere rima
nulla foret toto nec pervia flatibus esset, extentam tumefecit humum, ceu spiritus oris tendere vesicam solet aut derepta bicorni terga capro; tumor ille loci permansit et alti collis habet speciem longoque induruit aevo. Plurima cum subeant audita et cognita nobis, pauca super referam. Quid? non et lympha figuras datque capitque novas? Medio tua, corniger Ammon, unda die gelida est, ortuque obituque calescit. Admotis Athamanas aquis accendere lignum narratur, minimos cum luna recessit in orbes. Flumen habent Cicones, quod potum saxea reddit
viscera, quod tactis inducit marmora rebus. Crathis et huic Sybaris, nostris conterminus oris electro similes faciunt auroque capillos. Quodque magis mirum est, sunt qui non corpora tantum, verum animos etiam valeant mutare liquores. Cui non audita est obscenae Salmacis undae Aethiopesque lacus? Quos siquis faucibus hausit, aut furit, aut patitur mirum gravitate soporem. Clitorio quicumque sitim de fonte levavit, vina fugit gaudetque meris abstemius undis, seu vis est in aqua calido contraria vino, sive, quod indigenae memorant, Amythaone natus,
Proetidas attonitas postquam per carmen et herbas eripuit furiis, purgamina mentis in illas misit aquas odiumque meri permansit in undis. Huic fluit effectu dispar Lyncestius amnis; quem quicumque parum moderato gutture traxit, haud aliter titubat, quam si mera vina bibisset. Est locus Arcadiae (Pheneum dixere priores), ambiguis suspectus aquis, quas nocte timeto: nocte nocent potae, sine noxa luce bibuntur. Sic alias aliasque lacus et flumina vires concipiunt, tempusque fuit, quo navit in undis, nunc sedet Ortygie. Timuit concursibus Argo
undarum sparsas Symplegadas elisarum, quae nunc inmotae perstant ventisque resistunt. Nec, quae sulphureis ardet fornacibus, Aetne ignea semper erit, neque enim fuit ignea semper. Nam sive est animal tellus et vivit habetque spiramenta locis flammam exhalantia multis, spirandi mutare vias, quotiensque movetur, has finire potest, illas aperire cavernas; sive leves imis venti cohibentur in antris saxaque cum saxis et habentem semina flammae materiam iactant, ea concipit ictibus ignem, antra relinquentur sedatis frigida ventis;
sive bitumineae rapiunt incendia vires luteave exiguis ardescunt sulphura fumis: nempe ubi terra cibos alimentaque pinguia flammae non dabit absumptis per longum viribus aevum naturaeque suum nutrimen deerit edaci, non feret illa famem desertaque deseret ignis. Esse viros fama est in Hyperborea Pallene, qui soleant levibus velari corpora plumis, olim Tritoniacam noviens subiere paludem. Haud equidem credo: sparsae quoque membra venenis exercere artes Scythides memorantur easdem. Siqua fides rebus tamen est addenda probatis,
nonne vides, quaecumque mora fluidoque calore corpora tabescunt, in parva animalia verti? I quoque, delectos mactatos obrue tauros (cognita res usu) de putri viscere passim florilegae nascuntur apes, quae more parentum rura colunt operique favent in spemque laborant; pressus humo bellator equus crabronis origo est; concava litoreo si demas bracchia cancro, cetera supponas terrae, de parte sepulta scorpius exibit caudaque minabitur unca; quaeque solent canis frondes intexere filis agrestes tineae (res observata colonis)
ferali mutant cum papilione figuram. Semina limus habet virides generantia ranas, et generat truncas pedibus, mox apta natando cura dat, utque eadem sint longis saltibus apta, posterior superat partes mensura priores. Nec catulus, partu quem reddidit ursa recenti, sed male viva caro est: lambendo mater in artus fingit et in formam, quantam capit ipsa, reducit. Nonne vides, quos cera tegit sexangula, fetus melliferarum apium sine membris corpora nasci et serosque pedes serasque adsumere pennas? Iunonis volucrem, quae cauda sidera portat,
armigerumque Iovis Cythereiadasque columbas et genus omne avium mediis e partibus ovi, ni sciret fieri, quis nasci posse putaret? Sunt qui, cum clauso putrefacta est spina sepulcro, mutari credant humanas angue medullas. Haec tamen ex aliis generis primordia ducunt: una est, quae reparet seque ipsa reseminet, ales. Assyrii phoenica vocant; non fruge neque herbis, sed turis lacrimis et suco vivit amomi. Haec ubi quinque suae complevit saecula vitae, ilicis in ramis tremulaeque cacumine palmae unguibus et puro nidum sibi construit ore.
Quo simul ac casias et nardi lenis aristas quassaque cum fulva substravit cinnama murra, se super imponit finitque in odoribus aevum. Inde ferunt, totidem qui vivere debeat annos, corpore de patrio parvum phoenica renasci. Cum dedit huic aetas vires, onerique ferendo est, ponderibus nidi ramos levat arboris altae fertque pius cunasque suas patriumque sepulcrum, perque leves auras Hyperionis urbe potitus ante fores sacras Hyperionis aede reponit. Si tamen est aliquid mirae novitatis in istis, alternare vices et quae modo femina tergo
passa marem est, nunc esse marem miremur hyaenam; id quoque, quod ventis animal nutritur et aura, protinus adsimulat, tetigit quoscumque colores. Victa racemifero lyncas dedit India Baccho: e quibus, ut memorant, quidquid vesica remisit, vertitur in lapides et congelat aere tacto. Sic et curalium quo primum contigit auras tempore, durescit: mollis fuit herba sub undis. Desinet ante dies et in alto Phoebus anhelos aequore tinget equos, quam consequar omnia verbis in species translata novas: sic tempora verti cernimus atque illas adsumere robora gentes,
concidere has. Sic magna fuit censuque virisque perque decem potuit tantum dare sanguinis annos, nunc humilis veteres tantummodo Troia ruinas et pro divitiis tumulos ostendit avorum. Nunc quoque Dardaniam fama est consurgere Romam, Appenninigenae quae proxima Thybridis undis mole sub ingenti rerum fundamina ponit: haec igitur formam crescendo mutat et olim immensi caput orbis erit. Sic dicere vates faticinasque ferunt sortes quantumque recordor, dixerat Aeneae, cum res Troiana labaret, Priamides Helenus flenti dubioque salutis:
“Nate dea, si nota satis praesagia nostrae mentis habes, non tota cadet te sospite Troia! Flamma tibi ferrumque dabunt iter: ibis et una Pergama rapta feres, donec Troiaeque tibique externum patrio contingat amicius arvum. Urbem etiam cerno Phrygios debere nepotes, quanta nec est nec erit nec visa prioribus annis. Hanc alii proceres per saecula longa potentem, sed dominam rerum de sanguine natus Iuli efficiet; quo cum tellus erit usa, fruentur aetheriae sedes, caelumque erit exitus illi.” Haec Helenum cecinisse penatigero Aeneae
mente memor refero, cognataque moenia laetor crescere et utiliter Phrygibus vicisse Pelasgos. Ne tamen oblitis ad metam tendere longe exspatiemur equis, caelum et quodcumque sub illo est, inmutat formas tellusque et quidquid in illa est: nos quoque, pars mundi, quoniam non corpora solum, verum etiam volucres animae sumus inque ferinas possumus ire domos pecudumque in corpora condi, corpora, quae possunt animas habuisse parentum aut fratrum aut aliquo iunctorum foedere nobis aut hominum certe, tuta esse et honesta sinamus neve Thyesteis cumulemus viscera mensis!
Quam male consuescit, quam se parat ille cruori impius humano, vituli qui guttura cultro rumpit et inmotas praebet mugitibus aures, aut qui vagitus similes puerilibus haedum edentem iugulare potest, aut alite vesci, cui dedit ipse cibos! Quantum est, quod desit in istis ad plenum facinus? Quo transitus inde paratur? Bos aret aut mortem senioribus imputet annis, horriferum contra borean ovis arma ministret, ubera dent saturae manibus pressanda capellae! Retia cum pedicis laqueosque artesque dolosas tollite nec volucrem viscata fallite virga,
nec formidatis cervos includite pennis, nec celate cibis uncos fallacibus hamos! Perdite, siqua nocent, verum haec quoque perdite tantum: ora vacent epulis alimentaque mitia carpant!” Talibus atque aliis instructum pectora dictis in patriam remeasse ferunt ultroque petitum accepisse Numam populi Latiaris habenas. Coniuge qui felix nympha ducibusque Camenis sacrificos docuit ritus gentemque feroci adsuetam bello pacis traduxit ad artes. Qui postquam senior regnumque aevumque peregit, exstinctum Latiaeque nurus populusque patresque
deflevere Numam; nam coniunx urbe relicta vallis Aricinae densis latet abdita silvis sacraque Oresteae gemitu questuque Dianae impedit: a! quotiens nymphae nemorisque lacusque, ne faceret, monuere et consolantia verba dixerunt. Quotiens flenti Theseius heros “siste modum!” dixit, “ne que enim fortuna querenda sola tua est; similes aliorum respice casus: mitius ista feres, utinamque exempla dolentem non mea te possent relevare! Sed et mea possunt. Fando aliquem Hippolytum vestras puto, contigit aures credulitate patris, sceleratae fraude novercae
occubuisse neci: mirabere, vixque probabo, sed tamen ille ego sum. Me Pasiphaeia quondam temptatum frustra patrium temerare cubile, quod voluit, voluisse, infelix crimine verso (indiciine metu magis offensane repulsae?) damnavit, meritumque nihil pater eicit urbe hostilique caput prece detestatur euntis. Pittheam profugo curru Troezena petebam, iamque Corinthiaci carpebam litora ponti, cum mare surrexit, cumulusque inmanis aquarum in montis speciem curvari et crescere visus et dare mugitus summoque cacumine findi.
Corniger hinc taurus ruptis expellitur undis, pectoribusque tenus molles erectus in auras naribus et patulo partem maris evomit ore. Corda pavent comitum. Mihi mens interrita mansit exsiliis contenta suis: cum colla feroces ad freta convertunt adrectisque auribus horrent quadrupedes monstrique metu turbantur et altis praecipitant currum scopulis; ego ducere vana frena manu spumis albentibus oblita luctor et retro lentas tendo resupinus habenas. Nec vires tamen has rabies superasset equorum. ni rota, perpetuum qua circumvertitur axem,
stipitis occursu fracta ac disiecta fuisset. Excutior curru, lorisque tenentibus artus viscera viva trahi nervosque in stipe teneri, membra rapi partim, partim reprensa relinqui, ossa gravem dare fracta sonum fessamque videres exhalari animam nullasque in corpore partes, noscere quas posses; unumque erat omnia vulnus. Num potes aut audes cladi componere nostrae, nympha, tuam? Vidi quoque luce carentia regna et lacerum fovi Phlegethontide corpus in unda, nec nisi Apollineae valido medicamine prolis reddita vita foret; quam postquam fortibus herbis
atque ope Paeonia Dite indignante recepi, tum mihi, ne praesens augerem muneris huius invidiam, densas obiecit Cynthia nubes, utque forem tutus possemque impune videri, addidit aetatem nec cognoscenda reliquit ora mihi Cretenque diu dubitavit habendam traderet an Delon: Delo Creteque relictis hic posuit nomenque simul, quod possit equorum admonuisse, iubet deponere, “qui” que “fuisti Hippolytus” dixit, “nunc idem Virbius esto!” Hoc nemus inde colo, de disque minoribus unus numine sub dominae lateo atque accenseor illi.”
Non tamen Egeriae luctus aliena levare damna valent, montisque iacens radicibus imis liquitur in lacrimas, donec pietate dolentis mota soror Phoebi gelidum de corpore fontem fecit et aeternas artus tenuavit in undas. Et nymphas tetigit nova res, et Amazone natus haud aliter stupuit, quam cum Tyrrhenus arator fatalem glaebam mediis adspexit in arvis sponte sua primum nulloque agitante moveri, sumere mox hominis terraeque amittere formam oraque venturis aperire recentia fatis (indigenae dixere Tagen, qui primus Etruscam
edocuit gentem casus aperire futuros); utve Palatinis haerentem collibus olim cum subito vidit frondescere Romulus hastam, quae radice nova, non ferro stabat adacto et iam non telum, sed lenti viminis arbor non exspectatas dabat admirantibus umbras; aut sua fluminea cum vidit Cipus in unda cornua (vidit enim) falsamque in imagine credens esse fidem, digitis ad frontem saepe relatis, quae vidit, tetigit, nec iam sua lumina damnans restitit, ut victor domito veniebat ab hoste, ad caelumque manus et eodem lumina tollens
“quiquid” ait, “superi, monstro portenditur isto, seu laetum est, patriae laetum populoque Quirini, sive minax, mihi sit!” viridique e caespite factas placat odoratis herbosas ignibus aras vinaque dat pateris mactatarumque bidentum, quid sibi significent, trepidantia consulit exta. Quae simul adspexit Tyrrhenae gentis haruspex, magna quidem rerum molimina vidit in illis, non manifesta tamen. Cum vero sustulit acre a pecudis fibris ad Cipi cornua lumen, “rex” ait, “o salve! Tibi enim, tibi, Cipe, tuisque hic locus et Latiae parebunt cornibus arces.
Tu modo rumpe moras portasque intrare patentes adpropera! sic fata iubent; namque urbe receptus rex eris et sceptro tutus potiere perenni.” Rettulit ille pedem torvamque a moenibus urbis avertens faciem “procul a! procul omina” dixit “talia di pellant! Multoque ego iustius aevum exsul agam, quam me videant Capitolia regem!” Dixit et extemplo populumque gravemque senatum convocat, ante tamen pacali cornua lauro velat; et aggeribus factis a milite forti insistit priscosque deos e more precatus “est” ait “hic unus, quem vos nisi pellitis urbe,
rex erit. Is qui sit, signo, non nomine dicam: cornua fronte gerit. Quem vobis indicat augur, si Romam intrarit, famularia iura daturum. Ille quidem potuit portas inrumpere apertas, sed nos obstitimus, quamvis coniunctior illo nemo mihi est. Vos urbe virum prohibete, Quirites, vel, si dignus erit, gravibus vincite catenis, aut finite metum fatalis morte tyranni!” Qualia succinctis, ubi trux insibilat eurus, murmura pinetis fiunt, aut qualia fluctus aequorei faciunt, siquis procul audiat illos, tale sonat populus; sed per confusa frementis
verba tamen vulgi vox eminet una “quis ille est?”, et spectant frontes praedictaque cornua quaerunt. Rursus ad hos Cipus “quem poscitis” inquit, “habetis” et dempta capiti, populo prohibente, corona exhibuit gemino praesignia tempora cornu. Demisere oculos omnes gemitumque dedere atque illud meritis clarum (quis credere possit?) inviti videre caput; nec honore carere ulterius passi, festam imposuere coronam. At proceres, quoniam muros intrare vetaris, ruris honorati tantum tibi, Cipe, dedere, quantum depresso subiectis bubus aratro
complecti posses ad finem lucis ab ortu, cornuaque aeratis miram referentia formam postibus insculpunt, longum mansura per aevum. Pandite nunc, Musae, praesentia numina vatum (scitis enim, nec vos fallit spatiosa vetustas,) unde Coroniden circumflua Thybridis alti insula Romuleae sacris adiecerit urbis. Dira lues quondam Latias vitiaverat auras, pallidaque exsangui squalebant corpora morbo. Funeribus fessi postquam mortalia cernunt temptamenta nihil, nihil artes posse medentum, auxilium caeleste petunt mediamque tenentes
orbis humum Delphos adeunt, oracula Phoebi, utque salutifera miseris succurrere rebus sorte velit tantaeque urbis mala finiat, orant: et locus et laurus et, quas habet ipse, pharetras intremuere simul, cortinaque reddidit imo hanc adyto vocem pavefactaque pectora movit: “Quod petis hinc, propiore loco, Romane, petisses, et pete nunc propiore loco! nec Apolline vobis, qui minuat luctus, opus est, sed Apolline nato. Ite bonis avibus prolemque accersite nostram!” Iussa dei prudens postquam accepere senatus, quam colat, explorant, iuvenis Phoebeius urbem,
quique petant ventis Epidauria litora mittunt. Quae simul incurva missi tetigere carina, concilium Graiosque patres adiere, darentque, oravere, deum, qui praesens funera gentis finiat Ausoniae: certas ita dicere sortes. Dissidet et variat sententia, parsque negandum non putat auxilium, multi retinere suamque non emittere opem nec numina tradere suadent: dum dubitant, seram pepulere crepuscula lucem, umbraque telluris tenebras induxerat orbi, cum deus in somnis opifer consistere visus ante tuum, Romane, torum, sed qualis in aede
esse solet, baculumque tenens agreste sinistra caesariem longae dextra deducere barbae et placido tales emittere pectore voces: “Pone metus! Veniam simulacraque nostra relinquam. Hunc modo serpentem, baculum qui nexibus ambit, perspice et usque nota visu, ut cognoscere possis! Vertar in hunc, sed maior ero tantusque videbor, in quantum verti caelestia corpora debent.” Extemplo cum voce deus, cum voce deoque somnus abit, somnique fugam lux alma secuta est. Postera sidereos aurora fugaverat ignes: incerti, quid agant, proceres ad templa petiti
perveniunt operosa dei, quaque ipse morari sede velit, signis caelestibus indicet, orant. Vix bene desierant, cum cristis aureus altis in serpente deus praenuntia sibila misit adventuque suo signumque arasque foresque marmoreumque solum fastigiaque aurea movit pectoribusque tenus media sublimis in aede constitit atque oculos circumtulit igne micantes. Territa turba pavet. Cognovit numina castos evinctus vitta crines albente sacerdos: “En deus est deus est! Animis linguisque favete, quisquis ades!” dixit. “Sis, o pulcherrime, visus
utiliter populosque iuves tua sacra colentes !” Quisquis adest, visum venerantur numen, et omnes verba sacerdotis referunt geminata piumque Aeneadae praestant et mente et voce favorem. Adnuit his motisque deus rata pignora cristis et repetita dedit vibrata sibila lingua. Tum gradibus nitidis delabitur oraque retro flectit et antiquas abiturus respicit aras adsuetasque domos habitataque templa salutat. Inde per iniectis adopertam floribus ingens serpit humum flectitque sinus mediamque per urbem tendit ad incurvo munitos aggere portus.
Restitit hic agmenque suum turbaeque sequentis officium placido visus dimittere vultu corpus in Ausonia posuit rate: numinis illa sensit onus, pressa estque dei gravitate carina; Aeneadae gaudent caesoque in litore tauro torta coronatae solvunt retinacula navis. Impulerat levis aura ratem: deus eminet alte, impositaque premens puppim cervice recurvam caeruleas despectat aquas modicisque per aequor Ionium zephyris sextae Pallantidos ortu Italiam tenuit praeterque Lacinia templo nobilitata deae Scylaceaque litora fertur;
linquit Iapygiam laevisque Amphrisia remis saxa fugit, dextra praerupta Celennia parte, Romethiumque legit Caulonaque Naryciamque, evincitque fretum Siculique angusta Pelori Hippotadaeque domos regis Temesesque metalla, Leucosiamque petit tepidique rosaria Paesti. Inde legit Capreas promunturiumque Minervae et Surrentino generosos palmite colles Herculeamque urbem Stabiasque et in otia natam Parthenopen et ab hac Cumaeae templa Sibyllae. Hinc calidi fontes lentisciferumque tenetur Liternum multamque trahens sub gurgite harenam
Volturnus niveisque frequens Sinuessa columbis Minturnaeque graves et quam tumulavit alumnus Antiphataeque domus Trachasque obsessa palude et tellus Circaea et spissi litoris Antium. Huc ubi veliferam nautae advertere carinam (asper enim iam pontus erat), deus explicat orbes perque sinus crebros et magna volumina labens templa parentis init flavum tangentia litus. Aequore placato patrias Epidaurius aras linquit et hospitio iuncti sibi numinis usus litoream tractu squamae crepitantis harenam sulcat et innixus moderamine navis in alta
puppe caput posuit, donec Castrumque sacrasque Lavini sedes Tiberinaque ad ostia venit. Huc omnis populi passim matrumque patrumque obvia turba ruit, quaeque ignes, Troica, servant, Vesta, tuos, laetoque deum clamore salutant. Quaque per adversas navis cita ducitur undas, tura super ripas aris ex ordine factis parte ab utraque sonant et odorant aera fumis, ictaque coniectos incalfacit hostia cultros. Iamque caput rerum, Romanam intraverat urbem: erigitur serpens summoque acclinia malo colla movet sedesque sibi circumspicit aptas.
Scinditur in geminas partes circumfluus amnis (Insula nomen habet), laterumque a parte duorum porrigit aequales media tellure lacertos. Huc se de Latia pinu Phoebeius anguis contulit et finem, specie caeleste resumpta, luctibus imposuit venitque salutifer urbi. Hic tamen accessit delubris advena nostris: Caesar in urbe sua deus est; quem Marte togaque praecipuum non bella magis finita triumphis resque domi gestae properataque gloria rerum in sidus vertere novum stellamque comantem, quam sua progenies; neque enim de Caesaris actis
ullum maius opus, quam quod pater exstitit huius: scilicet aequoreos plus est domuisse Britannos perque papyriferi septemflua flumina Nili victrices egisse rates Numidasque rebelles Cinyphiumque Iubam Mithridateisque tumentem nominibus Pontum populo adiecisse Quirini et multos meruisse, aliquos egisse triumphos, quam tantum genuisse virum? Quo praeside rerum humano generi, superi, favistis abunde! Ne foret hic igitur mortali semine cretus, ille deus faciendus erat. Quod ut aurea vidit Aeneae genetrix, vidit quoque triste parari
pontifici letum et coniurata arma moveri, palluit et cunctis, ut cuique erat obvia, divis “adspice” dicebat, “quanta mihi mole parentur insidiae quantaque caput cum fraude petatur, quod de Dardanio solum mihi restat Iulo. Solane semper ero iustis exercita curis, quam modo Tydidae Calydonia vulneret hasta, nunc male defensae confundant moenia Troiae, quae videam natum longis erroribus actum iactarique freto sedesque intrare silentum bellaque cum Turno gerere, aut, si vera fatemur, cum Iunone magis? Quid nunc antiqua recordor
damna mei generis? Timor hic meminisse priorum non sinit: en acui sceleratos cernitis enses? Quos prohibete, precor, facinusque repellite, neve caede sacerdotis flammas exstinguite Vestae!” Talia nequiquam toto Venus anxia caelo verba iacit superosque movet, qui rumpere quamquam ferrea non possunt veterum decreta sororum, signa tamen luctus dant haud incerta futuri. Arma ferunt inter nigras crepitantia nubes terribilesque tubas auditaque cornua caelo praemonuisse nefas; solis quoque tristis imago lurida sollicitis praebebat lumina terris.
Saepe faces visae mediis ardere sub astris, saepe inter nimbos guttae cecidere cruentae. Caerulus et vultum ferrugine Lucifer atra sparsus erat, sparsi Lunares sanguine currus. Tristia mille locis Stygius dedit omina bubo, mille locis lacrimavit ebur, cantusque feruntur auditi sanctis et verba minantia lucis. Victima nulla litat magnosque instare tumultus fibra monet, caesumque caput reperitur in extis. Inque foro circumque domos et templa deorum nocturnos ululasse canes umbrasque silentum erravisse ferunt motamque tremoribus urbem.
Non tamen insidias venturaque vincere fata praemonitus potuere deum, strictique feruntur in templum gladii; neque enim locus ullus in urbe ad facinus diramque placet nisi curia, caedem. Tum vero Cytherea manu percussit utraque pectus et Aeneaden molitur condere nube, qua prius infesto Paris est ereptus Atridae et Diomedeos Aeneas fugerat enses. Talibus hanc genitor: “Sola insuperabile fatum, nata, movere paras? Intres licet ipsa sororum tecta trium: cernes illic molimine vasto ex aere et solido rerum tabularia ferro,
quae neque concussum caeli neque fulminis iram nec metuunt ullas tuta atque aeterna ruinas. Invenies illic incisa adamante perenni fata tui generis: legi ipse animoque notavi et referam, ne sis etiamnum ignara futuri. Hic sua complevit, pro quo, Cytherea, laboras, tempora, perfectis, quos terrae debuit, annis. Ut deus accedat caelo templisque colatur, tu facies natusque suus, qui nominis heres impositum feret unus onus caesique parentis nos in bella suos fortissimus ultor habebit. Illius auspiciis obsessae moenia pacem
victa petent Mutinae, Pharsalia sentiet illum. Emathiique iterum madefient caede Philippi, et magnum Siculis nomen superabitur undis, Romanique ducis coniunx Aegyptia taedae non bene fisa cadet, frustraque erit illa minata, servitura suo Capitolia nostra Canopo. Quid tibi barbariem, gentesque ab utroque iacentes oceano numerem? Quodcumque habitabile tellus sustinet, huius erit: pontus quoque serviet illi! Pace data terris animum ad civilia vertet iura suum legesque feret iustissimus auctor exemploque suo mores reget inque futuri
temporis aetatem venturorumque nepotum prospiciens prolem sancta de coniuge natam ferre simul nomenque suum curasque iubebit, nec nisi cum senior Pylios aequaverit annos, aetherias sedes cognataque sidera tanget. Hanc animam interea caeso de corpore raptam fac iubar, ut semper Capitolia nostra forumque divus ab excelsa prospectet Iulius aede.” Vix ea fatus erat, media cum sede senatus constitit alma Venus, nulli cernenda, suique Caesaris eripuit membris neque in aera solvi passa recentem animam caelestibus intulit astris.
Dumque tulit, lumen capere atque ignescere sensit emisitque sinu: luna volat altius illa, flammiferumque trahens spatioso limite crinem stella micat natique videns bene facta fatetur esse suis maiora et vinci gaudet ab illo. Hic sua praeferri quamquam vetat acta paternis, libera fama tamen nullisque obnoxia iussis invitum praefert unaque in parte repugnat: sic magni cedit titulis Agamemnonis Atreus, Aegea sic Theseus, sic Pelea vicit Achilles; denique, ut exemplis ipsos aequantibus utar, sic et Saturnus minor est Iove: Iuppiter arces
temperat aetherias et mundi regna triformis, terra sub Augusto est; pater est et rector uterque. Di, precor, Aeneae comites, quibus ensis et ignis cesserunt, dique Indigetes genitorque Quirine urbis et invicti genitor Gradive Quirini, Vestaque Caesareos inter sacrata penates, et cum Caesarea tu, Phoebe domestice, Vesta, quique tenes altus Tarpeias Iuppiter arces, quosque alios vati fas appellare piumque est: tarda sit illa dies et nostro serior aevo, qua caput Augustum, quem temperat, orbe relicto accedat caelo faveatque precantibus absens!
Iamque opus exegi, quod nec Iovis ira nec ignis nec poterit ferrum nec edax abolere vetustas. Cum volet, illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis huius ius habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat aevi: parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennis astra ferar, nomenque erit indelebile nostrum, quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris, ore legar populi, perque omnia saecula fama, siquid habent veri vatum praesagia, vivam.
Ars Amatoria
Book 1
In Cupid's school, whoe'er would take degree Must learn his rudiments by reading me, Seamen with sailing art their vessels move; Art guides the chariot: art instructs to love. Of ships and chariots others know the rule; But I am master in Love's mighty school. Cupid indeed is obstinate and wild, A stubborn god; but yet the god's a child: Easy to govern in his tender age, Like fierce Achilles in his pupilage: That hero, born for conquest, trembling stood Before the centaur, and receiv'd the rod.
As Chiron mollified his cruel mind With art; and taught his warlike hands to wind The silver strings of his melodious lyre; So love's fair goddess does my soul inspire To teach her softer arts; to sooth the mind, And smooth the rugged breasts of human kind. Yet Cupid and Achilles, each with scorn And rage were fill'd; and both were goddess-born. The bull reclaim'd and yolk'd, the burden draws: The horse receives the bit within his jaws. And stubborn love shall bend beneath my sway, Tho' struggling oft he tries to disobey.
He shakes his torch, he wounds me with his darts; But vain his force, and vainer are his arts. The more he burns my soul, or wounds my sight, The more he teaches to revenge the spite. I boast no aid the Delphian god affords, Nor auspice from the flight of chattering birds, Nor Clio, nor her sisters, have I seen, As Hesiod saw them on the shady green: Experience makes my work a truth so tried, You may believe; and Venus be my guide. Far hence ye vestals be, who bind your hair; And wives, who gowns below your ancles wear.
I sing the brothels loose and unconfin'd, Th' unpunishable pleasures of the kind; Which all alike for love or money find. You, who in Cupid's roll inscribe your name, First seek an object worthy of your flame; Then strive, with art, your lady's mind to gain; And last, provide your love may long remain. On these three precepts all my work shall move: These are the rules and principles of love. Before your youth with marriage is oppress't, Make choice of one who suits your humour best And such a damsel drops not from the sky;
She must be sought for with a curious eye. The wary angler, in the winding brook, Knows what the fish, and where to bait his hook. The fowler and the huntsman know by name The certain haunts and harbour of their game. So must the lover beat the likeliest grounds; Th' Assemblies where his quarries most abound: Nor shall my novice wander far astray; These rules shall put him in the ready way. Thou shalt not fail around the continent, As far as Perseus or as Paris went: For Rome alone affords thee such a store,
As all the world can hardly shew thee more. The face of heav'n with fewer stars is crown'd, Than beauties in the Roman sphere are found. Whether thy love is bent on blooming youth, On dawning sweetness, in unartful truth; Or courts the juicy joys of riper growth; Here may'st thou find thy full desires in both: Or if autumnal beauties please thy sight (An age that knows to give and take delight;) Millions of matrons, of the graver sort, In common prudence, will not balk the sport. In summer's heats thou need'st but only go
To Pompey's cool and shady portico; Or Concord's fane; or that proud edifice Whose turrets near the bawdy suburbs rise; Or to that other portico, where stands The cruel father urging his commands. And fifty daughters wait the time of rest, To plunge their poniards in the bridegroom's breast. Or Venus' temple; where, on annual nights, They mourn Adonis with Assyrian rites. Nor shun the Jewish walk, where the foul drove On sabbaths rest from everything but love. Nor Isis' temple; for that sacred whore
Makes others, what to Jove she was before; And if the hall itself be not belied, E'en there the cause of love is often tried; Near it at least, or in the palace yard, From whence the noisy combatants are heard. The crafty counsellors, in formal gown, There gain another's cause, but lose their own. Their eloquence is nonpluss'd in the suit; And lawyers, who had words at will, are mute. Venus from her adjoining temple smiles To see them caught in their litigious wiles; Grave senators lead home the youthful dame,
Returning clients when they patrons came. But above all, the Playhouse is the place; There's choice of quarry in that narrow chace: There take thy stand, and sharply looking out, Soon may'st thou find a mistress in the rout, For length of time or for a single bout. The Theatres are berries for the fair; Like ants or mole-hills thither they repair; Like bees to hives so numerously they throng, It may be said they to that place belong: Thither they swarm who have the public voice; There choose, if plenty not distracts thy choice.
To see, and to be seen, in heaps they run; Some to undo, and some to be undone. From Romulus the rise of plays began, To his new subjects a commodious man; Who, his unmarried soldiers to supply, Took care the commonwealth should multiply; Providing Sabine women for his braves, Like a true king, to get a race of slaves. His playhouse, not of Parian marble made, Nor was it spread with purple sails for shade; The stage with rushes or with leaves they strew'd; No scenes in prospect, no machining god.
On rows of homely turf they sat to see, Crown'd with the wreaths of ev'ry common tree. There, while they sit in rustic majesty, Each lover had his mistress in his eye; And whom he saw most suiting to his mind, For joys of matrimonial rape design'd. Scarce could they wait the plaudit in their haste; But ere the dances and the song were past, The monarch gave the signal from his throne, And rising, bade his merry men fall on. The martial crew, like soldiers, ready press'd, Just at the word (the word too was the best),
With joyful cries each other animate; Some choose, and some at hazard seize their mate. As doves from eagles, or from wolves the lambs, So from their lawless lovers fly the dames. Their fear was one, but not one face of fear: Some rend the lovely tresses of the hair: Some shriek, and some are struck with dumb despair. Her absent mother one invokes in vain; One stands amaz'd, not daring to complain; The nimbler trust their feet, the slow remain. But nought availing, all are captives led, Trembling and blushing, to the genial bed.
She who too long resisted or denied, The lusty lover made by force a bride, And with superior strength compell'd her to his side, Then sooth'd her thus! "My soul's far better part, Cease weeping, nor afflict thy tender heart; For what thy father to thy mother was, That faith to thee, that solemn vow I pass ! Thus Romulus became so popular; This was the way to thrive in peace and war; To pay his army, and fresh whores to bring: Who wouldn't fight for such a gracious king! Thus love in theatres did first improve,
And theatres are still the scene of love. Nor shun the chariots and the courser's race; The circus is no inconvenient place. No need is there of talking on the hands; Nor nods, nor signs, which lovers understand. But boldly next the fair your seat provide, Close as ye can to hers-and side by side. Pleas'd or unpleas'd, no matter, crowding sit; For so the laws of public shows permit. Then find occasion to begin discourse; Enquire whose chariot this, and whose that horse? To whatsoever side she is inclin'd,
Suit all her inclinations to her mind; Like what she likes, from thence your court begin. And whom she favours, wish that he may win. But when the statues of the deities In chariots roll'd, appear before the prize; When Venus comes, with deep devotion rise. If dust be on her lap, or grains of sand, Brush both away with your officious hand. If none there be, yet brush that nothing thence, And still to touch her lap make some pretence. Touch any thing of hers, and if her train Sweep on the ground, let it not sweep in vain;
But gently take it up and wipe it clean; And while you wipe it, with observing eyes, Who knows but you may see her naked thighs! Observe who sits behind her, and beware, Lest his encroaching knees should press the fair Light service takes light minds, for some can tell Of favours won by laying cushions well; By fanning faces some their fortunes meet, And some by laying footstools for their feet. These overtures of love the circus gives, Nor at the sword play less the lover thrives; For there the son of Venus fights his prize,
And deepest wounds are oft receiv'd from eyes. One, while the crowd their acclamations make, Or while he bets and puts his ring to stake, Is struck from far and feels the flying dart, And of the spectacle is made a part. Caesar would represent a naval fight, For his own honour and for Rome's delight. From either sea the youths and maidens come, And all the world was then contain'd in Rome! In this vast concourse, in this choice of game, What Roman heart but felt a foreign flame! Once more our prince prepares to make us glad,
And the remaining east to Rome will add. Rejoice, ye Roman soldiers, in your urns, Your ensigns from the Parthians shall return, And the slain Crassi shall no longer mourn. A youth is sent those trophies to demand, Ard bears his father's thunders in his hand; Doubt not th' imperial boy in wars unseen, In childhood all of Caesar's race are men. Celestial seeds shoot out before their day, Prevent their years, and brook no dull delay. Thus infant Hercules the snakes did press, And in his cradle did his sire confess.
Bacchus a boy, yet like a hero fought, And early spoils from conquer'd India brought. Thus you your father's troops shall lead to fight, And thus shall vanquish in your father's right. These rudiments you to your lineage owe; Born to increase your titles as you grow. Brethren you had, revenge your brethren slain; You have a father, and his rights maintain. Arm'd by your country's parent and your own, Redeem your country and restore his throne. Your enemies assert an impious cause; You fight both for divine and human laws.
Already in their cause they are o'ercome; Subject them too, by force of arms, to Rome. Great father Mars with greater Caesar join, To give a prosperous omen to your line; One of you is, and one shall be divine. I prophesy you shall, you shall o'ercome; My verse shall bring you back in triumph home: Speak in my verse, exhort to loud alarms; 0, were my numbers equal to your arms, Then would I sing the Parthians' overthrow; Their shot averse sent from a flying bow The Parthians, who already flying fight,
Already give an omen of their flight. 0, when will come the day, by heaven designed, When thou, the best and fairest of mankind, Drawn by white horses, shalt in triumph ride, With conquer'd slaves attending on thy side; Slaves that no longer can be safe in flight: O glorious object, O surprising sight, O day of public joy, too good to end in night! On such a day, if thou, and next to thee, Some beauty sits the spectacle to see; If she enquires the names of conquer'd kings, Of mountains, rivers, and of hidden springs,
Answer to all thou know'st; and if need be, Of things unknown seem to speak knowingly: This is Euphrates, crown'd with reeds; and there Flows the swift Tigris, with his sea-green hair. Invent new names of things unknown before: Call this Armenia, that the Caspian shore; Call this a Mede, and that a Parthian youth; Talk probably,-no matter for the truth. In feasts, as at our shows, new means abound; More pleasure there, than that of wine, is found. The Paphian goddess there her ambush lays; And love, betwixt the horns of Bacchus plays:
Desires increase at ev'ry swilling draught; Brisk vapour add new vigour to the thought. There Cupid's purple wings no flight afford, But wet with wine, he flutters on the board. He shakes his pinions, but he cannot move; Fix'd he remains, and turns a maudlin love. Wine warms the blood, and makes the spirits flow; Care flies, and wrinkles from the forehead go; Exalts the poor, invigorates the weak, Gives mirth and laughter, and a rosy cheek. Bold truth it speaks; and spoken, dare maintain; And brings our old simplicity again.
Love sparkles in the cup and fills it higher; Wine feeds the flames, and fuel adds to fire. But choose no mistress in thy drunken fit; Wine gilds too much their beauties and their wit. Nor trust thy judgment when the tapers dance; But sober, and by day thy suit advance. By daylight Paris judg'd the beauteous three; And for the fairest did the prize decree. Night is a cheat, and all deformities Are hid, or lessen'd, in her dark disguise. The sun's fair light each error will confess, In face, in shape, in jewels, and in dress.
Why name I ev'ry place where youths abound? 'Tis loss of time; and a true fruitful ground. The Baian baths, where ships at anchor ride, And wholesome streams from sulphur fountains glide; Where wounded youths are by experience taught, The waters are less healthful than they thought, Or Dian's fane, which near the suburb lies; Where priests, for their promotion, fight a prize. That maiden goddess is love's mortal foe, And much from her his subjects undergo. Thus far the sportful muse, with myrtle bound, Has sung where lovely lasses may be found,
Now let me sing, how she who wounds your mind, With art, may be to cure your wounds inclined. Young nobles, to my laws attention lend, And all you vulgar of my school attend. First then believe, all women may be won; Attempt with confidence, the work is done. The grasshopper shall first forbear to sing In summer season, or the birds in spring; Than women can resist your flatt'ring skill; E'en she will yield who swears she never will. To secret pleasures both the sexes move; But women most, who most dissemble, love;
'Twere best for us, if they would first declare; Avow their passion, and submit to prayer. The cow by looing tells the bull her flame; The neighing mare invites her stallion to the game. Man is more temp'rate in his lust than they; And more than woman can his passion sway. Biblis, we know, did first her love declare, And had recourse to death in her despair. Her brother she, her father Myrrha sought; And lov'd; but lov'd not as a daughter ought. Now from a tree she stills her od'rous tears; Which yet the name of her who shed 'em bear.
In Ida's shady vale a bull appeared, White as the snow, the fairest of the herd; A beauty spot of black there only rose, Betwixt his equal horns and ample brows; The love and wish of all the Cretan cows. The queen beheld him as his head he rear'd; And envied ev'ry leap he gave the herd. A secret fire she nourished in her breast; And hated ev'ry heifer he caress'd. A story known, and known for true, I tell; Nor Crete, though lying, can the truth conceal. She cut him grass (so much can love command)
She strok'd, she fed him with her royal hand; Was pleas'd in pastures with the herd to roam, And Minos by the bull was overcome. Cease, Queen, with gems t'adorn thy beauteous brows, The monarch of thy heart no jewel knows. Nor in thy glass compose thy looks and eyes; Secure from all thy charms thy lover lies: Yet trust thy mirror, when it tells thee true, Thou art no heifer to allure his view. Soon wouldst thou quit thy royal diadem To thy fair rivals; to be horned like them. If Minos please, no lover seek to find;
If not, at least seek one of human kind. The wretched queen the Cretan court forsakes; In woods and wilds her habitation makes; She curses ev'ry beauteous cow she sees; "Ah, why dost thou my lord and master please! And think'st, ungrateful creature as thou art, With frisking awkardly to gain his heart." She said; and straight commands with frowning look, To put her, undeserving, to the yoke. Or feigns some holy rites of sacrifice, And sees her rival's death with joyful eyes; Then when the bloody priest has done his part,
Pleas'd, in her hand she holds the beating heart; Nor from a scornful taunt can scarce refrain, Go, fool, and strive to please my love again" Now she would be Europa.—Io now; (One bare a bull. and one was made a cow.) Yet she at last her brutal bliss obtain'd, And in a wooden cow the bull sustained; Fill'd with his seed, accomplish'd her desire, Till, by his form, the son betray'd the sire. If Atreus' wife to incest had not run, (But ah, how hard it is to love but one!) His coursers Phoebus had not driv'n away,
To shun that sight, and interrupt the day. Thy daughter, Nissus, pull'd thy purple hair; And barking sea-dogs yet her bowels tear. At sea and land Atrides sav'd his life; Yet fell a prey to his adult'rous wife. Who knows not what revenge Medea sought, When the slain offspring bore the father's fault! Thus Phoenix did a woman's love bewail; And thus Hippolytus by Phaedra fell. These crimes revengeful matrons did commit! Hotter their lust, and sharper is their wit. Doubt not from them an easy victory;
Scarce of a thousand dames will one deny. All women are content that men should woo; She who complains, and she who will not do. Rest then secure, whate'er thy luck may prove, Not to be hated for declaring love: And yet how canst thou miss, since womankind Is frail and vain; and still to change inclin'd? Old husbands, and stale gallants, they despise; And more another's than their own they prize. A larger crop adorns our neighbour's field, More milk his kine from swelling udders yield. First gain the maid; by her thou shalt be sure
A free access, and easy to procure; Who knows what to her office does belong, Is in the secret, and can hold her tongue, Bribe her with gifts, with promises, and pray'rs; For her good word goes far in love affairs. The time and fit occasion leave to her, When she most amply can thy suit prefer. The time for maids to fire their lady's blood Is when they find her in a merry mood. When all things at her wish and pleasure move; Her heart is open then, and free to love. Then mirth and wantonness to lust betray,
And smooth the passage to the lover's way. Troy stood the siege, when fill'd with anxious care One merry fit concluded all the war. If some fair rival vex her jealous mind, Offer thy service to revenge in kind. Instruct the damsel, while she combs her hair, To raise the choler of that injur'd fair; And sighing, make her mistress understand She has the means of vengeance in her hand. Then, naming thee, thy humble suit prefer; And swear thou languishest and diest for her. Then let her lose no time, but push at all;
For women soon are rais'd, and soon they fall. Give their first fury leisure to relent, They melt like ice, and suddenly repent. T' enjoy the maid, will that thy suit advance? 'Tis a hard question, and a doubtful chance. One maid corrupted, bawds the better for't; Another for herself would keep the sport. Thy bus'ness may be furthered or delay'd, But by my counsel, let alone the maid E'en tho' she should consent to do the feat; The profit's little, and the danger great. I will not lead thee through a rugged road,
But where the way lies open, safe and broad, Yet if thou find'st her very much thy friend, And her good face her diligence commend, Let the fair mistress have the first embrace, And let the maid come after in her place. But this I will advise, and mark my words, For 'tis the best advice my skill affords; If needs thou with the damsel wilt begin, Before th' attempt is made, make sure to win; For then the secret better will be kept, And she can tell no tales when once she's dipt. 'Tis for the fowler's int'rest to beware,
The bird intangled, should not 'scape the snare. The fish once prick'd avoids the bearded hook, And spoils the sport of all the neighb'ring brook. But if the wench be thine, she makes thy way, And for thy sake, her mistress will betray; Tell all she knows, and all she hears her say Keep well the counsel of thy faithful spy; So shalt thou learn whene'er she treads awry. All things the stations of their seasons keep; And certain times there are to sow and reap. Ploughmen and sailors for the season stay, One to plough land, and one to plough the sea;
So should the lover wait the lucky day. Then stop thy suit, it hurts not thy design; But think another hour she may be thine. And when she celebrates her birth at home, Or when she views the public shows of Rome; Know all thy visits then are troublesome. Defer thy work, and put not then to sea, For that's a boding and a stormy day. Else take thy time, and when thou canst, begin; To break a Jewish sabbath, think no sin; Nor e'en on superstitious days abstain; Nor when the Romans were at Allia slain.
Ill omens in her frowns are understood; When she's in humour, ev'ry day is good. But than her birthday seldom comes a worse, When bribes and presents must be sent of course; And that's a bloody day that costs thy purse. Be stanch; yet parsimony will be vain: The craving sex will still the lover drain. No skill can shift them off, nor art remove; They will be begging when they know we love. The merchant comes upon th' appointed day, Who shall before thy face his wares display. To choose for her she craves thy kind advice,
Then begs again to bargain for the price; But when she has her purchase in her eye, She hugs thee close, and kisses thee to buy; "'Tis what I want, and 'tis a pen'orth too; In many years I will not trouble you." If you complain you have no ready coin,- No matter, 'tis but writing of a line; A little bill, not to be paid at sight: (Now curse the time when thou wert taught to write.) She keeps her birthday; you must send the cheer: And she'll be born a hundred times a year. With daily lies she dribs thee into cost;
That ear-ring dropt a stone, that ring is lost. They often borrow what they never pay; What e'er you lend her, think it thrown away. Had I ten mouths and tongues to tell each art, All would be wearied ere I told a part. By letters, not by words, thy love begin; And ford the dangerous passage with thy pen; If to her heart thou aim'st to find the way, Extremely flatter and extremely pray. Priam by pray'rs did Hector's body gain; Nor is an angry god invok'd in vain. With promis'd gifts her early mind bewitch,
For e'en the poor in promise may be rich. Vain hopes awhile her appetite will stay; 'Tis a deceitful, but commodious way. Who gives is mad ; but make her still believe 'Twill come, and that's the cheapest way to give. E'en barren lands fair promises afford, But the lean harvest cheats the starving lord. Buy not thy first employment, lest it prove Of bad example to thy future love ; But get it gratis, and she'll give thee more, For fear of losing what she gave before. The losing gamester shakes the box in vain,
And bleeds, and loses on, in hopes to gain. Write then, and in thy letter, as I said, Let her with mighty promises be fed. Cydyppe by a letter was betray'd, Writ on an apple to th' unwary maid; She read herself into a marriage vow, (And every cheat in love the gods allow.) Learn eloquence, ye noble youth of Rome,- It will not only at the bar o'ercome: Sweet words the people and the senate move; But the chief end of eloquence is love. But in thy letter hide thy moving arts,
Affect not to be thought a man of parts; None but vain fools to simple women preach: A learned letter oft has made a breach. In a familiar style your thoughts convey, And write such things as, present, you would say; Such words as from the heart may seem to move; 'Tis wit enough to make her think you love. If seal'd she sends it back, and will not read, Yet hope, in time, the business may succeed. In time the steer will to the yoke submit, In time the restive horse will bear the bit. E'en the hard ploughshare use will wear away,
And stubborn steel in length of time decay. Water is soft and marble hard, and yet We see soft water through hard marble eat. Though late, yet Troy at length in flames expir'd; And ten years more, Penelope had tir'd. Perhaps she writes, and answers with disdain, And sharply bids you not to write again: What she requires, she fears you would accord; The jilt would not be taken at her word. Meantime, if she be carried in her chair, Approach, but do not seem to know she's there: Speak softly, to delude the standers by;
Or, if aloud, then speak ambiguously. If sauntering in the portico she walk, Move slowly too, for that's a time for talk; And sometimes follow, sometimes be her guide, But when the crowds permit, go side by side. Nor in the playhouse let her sit alone, For she's the playhouse and the play in one; There thou may'st ogle, or by signs advance Thy hand, and seem to touch her hand by chance. Admire the dancer who her liking gains, And pity in the play the lover's pails ; For her sweet sake the loss of time despise,
Sit while she sits, and when she rises rise. But dress not like a fop, nor curl your hair, Nor with a pumice make your body bare; Leave those effeminate and useless toys To eunuchs, who can give no solid joys. Neglect becomes a man-this Theseus found; Uncurl'd, uncomb'd, the nymphs his wishes crowned. The rough Hippolytus was Phaedra's care, And Venus thought the rude Adonis fair. Be not too finical, but yet be clean, And wear well fashioned clothes, like other men; Let not your teeth be yellow or be foul,
Nor in wide shoes your feet too loosely roll. Of a black muzzle and long beard beware, And let a skilful barber cut your hair; Your nails be pick'd from dirt, and even par'd; Nor let your nasty nostrils bud with beard. Cure your unsav'ry breath; gargle your throat; And free your armpits from the ram and goat. Dress not, in short, too little or too much; And be not wholly French nor wholly Dutch. Now Bacchus calls me to his jolly rites: Who would not follow when a god invites? He helps the poet, and his pen inspires;
Kind and indulgent to his former fires. Fair Ariadne wander'd on the shore Forsaken now; and Theseus loves no more; Loose was her gown, dishevel'd was her hair, Her bosom naked, and her feet were bare; Exclaiming, on the water's brink she stood, Her briny tears augment the briny flood; She shriek'd and wept, and both became her face, No posture could that heav'nly form disgrace. She beat her breast: - "The traitor's gone," said she; "What shall become of poor forsaken me? What shall become-" She had not time for more,
The sounding cymbals rattled on the shore. She swoons for fear, she falls upon the ground; No vital heat was in her body found. The Mimallonian dames about her stood, And scudding satyrs ran before their god. Silenus on his ass did next appear, And held upon the mane (the god was clear). The drunken sire pursues, the dames retire; Sometimes the drunken dames pursue the drunken sire. At last he topples over on the plain; The satyrs laugh, and bid him rise again. And now the god of wine came driving on,
High on his chariot by swift tigers drawn. Her colour, voice, and sense forsook the fair; Thrice did her trembling limbs for flight prepare, And thrice affrighted did her flight forbear. She shook like leaves of corn when tempests blow, Or slender reeds that in the marshes grow. To whom the god-" Compose thy fearful mind; In me a truer husband thou shalt find. With heav'n I will endow thee, and thy star Shall with propitious light be seen afar, And guide on seas the doubtful mariner." He said; and from his chariot leaping light,
Lest the grim tigers should the nymph affright, His brawny arms around her waist he threw, (For gods whate'er they please with ease can do,) And swiftly bore her thence; th' attending throng Shout at the sight, and sing the nuptial song. Now in full bowls her sorrow she may steep; The bridegroom's liquor lays the bride asleep. But thou, when flowing cups in triumph ride, And the lov'd nymph is seated by thy side, Invoke the god and all the mighty powers, That wine may not defraud thy genial hours. Then in ambiguous words thy suit prefer,
Which she may know were all address'd to her. In liquid purple letters write her name, Which she may read, and reading find the flame. Then may your eyes confess your mutual fires, (For eyes have tongues, and glances tell desires ;) Whene'er she drinks, be first to take the cup; And where she laid her lips, the blessing sup. When she to carving does her hand advance, Put out thy own, and touch it as by chance. Thy service e'en the husband must attend; (A husband is a most convenient friend.) Seat the fool cuckold in the highest place,
And with thy garland his dull temples grace' Whether below or equal in degree, Let him be lord of all the company, And what he says be seconded by thee. Tis common to deceive thro' friendship's name, But common though it be, 'tis still to blame; Thus factors frequently their trust betray, And to themselves their masters' gains convey. Drink to a certain pitch, and then give o'er; Thy tongue and feet may stumble, drinking more. Of drunken quarrels in her sight beware; Pot valour only serves to fright the fair.
Eurytion justly fell, by wine oppress't, For his rude riot at a wedding-feast. Sing, if you have a voice; and shew your parts In dancing, if endu'd with dancing arts. Do anything within your power to please; Nay, e'en affect a seeming drunkenness; Clip every word; and if by chance you speak Too home, or if too broad a jest you break, In your excuse the company will join, And lay the fault upon the force of wine. True drunkenness is subject to offend, But when 'tis feign'd 'tis oft a lover's friend:
Then safely you may praise her beauteous face, And call him happy who is in her grace; Her husband thinks himself the man design'd, But curse the cuckold in your secret mind. When all are risen and prepar'd to go, Mix with the crowd and tread upon her toe; This is the proper time to make thy court, For now she's in the vein, and fit for sport. Lay bashfulness, that rustic virtue, by; To manly confidence thy thoughts apply. On fortune's foretop timely fix thy hold; Now speak and speed. for Venus loves the bold.
No rules of rhetoric here I need afford; Only begin, and trust the following word: It will be witty of its own accord. Act well the lover; let thy speech abound In dying words, that represent thy wound; Distrust not her belief; she will be mov'd: All women think they merit to be lov'd. Sometimes a man begins to love in jest, And after feels the torment he possess't. For your own sakes be pitiful, ye fair, For a feign'd passion may a true prepare. By flatteries we prevail on womankind,
As hollow banks by streams are undermin'd: Tell her her face is fair, her eyes are sweet; Her taper fingers praise, and little feet. Such praises e'en the chaste are pleas'd to hear; Both maids and matrons hold their beauty dear. Once naked Pallas with Jove's queen appear'd, And still they grieve that Venus was preferr'd. Praise the proud peacock, and lie spreads his train: Be silent, and lie pulls it in again. Pleas'd is the courser in his rapid race; Applaud his running, and he mends his pace. But largely promise and devoutly swear,
And, if need be, call ev'ry god to hear. Jove sits above, forgiving with a smile The perjuries that easy maids beguile. He swore to Juno by the Stygian lake; Forsworn, lie dares not an example make, Or punish falsehood, for his own dear sake. 'Tis for our interest the gods should be; Let us believe them; I believe they see, And both reward and punish equally. Not that they live above like lazy drones, Or kings below, supine upon their thrones; Lead then your lives as present in their sight;
Be just in dealings, and defend the right; By fraud betray not, nor oppress by might. But 'tis a venial sin to cheat the fair; All men have liberty of conscience there. On cheating nymphs a cheat is well design'd, 'Tis a profane and a deceitful kind. 'Tis said that Egypt for nine years was dry, Nor Nile did floods, nor heav'n did rain supply. That slaughter'd guests would kindly moisture bring. The king replied, "On thee the lot shall fall; Be thou, my guest, the sacrifice for all." Thus Phalaris Perillus taught to low,
And made him season first the brazen cow. A rightful doom, the laws of nature cry, 'Tis, the artificers of death should die. Thus justly women suffer by deceit, Their practice authorises us to cheat. Beg her, with tears, thy warm desires to grant; For tears will pierce a heart of adamant. If tears will not be squeezed, then rub your eye, Or 'noint the lids, and seem at least to cry. Kiss, if you can; resistance if she make, And will not give you kisses, let her take. " Fy, fy, you naughty man," are words of course;
She struggles but to be subdu'd by force. Kiss only soft, I charge you, and beware With your hard bristles not to brush the fair. He who has gain'd a kiss, and gains no more, Deserves to lose the bliss he got before. If once she kiss, her meaning is exprest; There wants but little pushing for the rest; Which if thou dost not gain, by strength or art, The name of clown then suits with thy desert; 'Tis downright dulness, and a shameful part. Perhaps she calls it force, but if she 'scape, She will not thank you for th' omitted rape.
The sex is cunning to conceal their fires; They would be forc'd e'en to their own desires. They seem t' accuse you with a down-cast sight, But in their souls confess you did them right. Who might be forc'd, and yet untouch'd depart, Thank with their tongues, but curse you with their heart. Fair Phoebe and her sister did prefer, To their dull mates, the noble ravisher. What Deidamia did in days of yore, The tale is old but worth the telling o'er. When Venus had the golden apple gain'd, And the just judge fair Helen had obtained;
When she with triumph was at Troy receiv'd, The Trojans joyful, while the Grecians griev'd: They vow'd revenge of violated laws, And Greece was arming in the cuckold's cause; Achilles, by his mother warn'd from war, Disguis'd his sex, and lurk'd among the fair. What means Aeacides to spin and sew ? With spear and sword in field thy valour show! And leaving this, the noble Pallas know. Why dost thou in that hand the distaff wield, Which is more worthy to sustain the shield? Or with that other draw the woolly twine,
The same the fates for lector's thread assign? Banish thy falchion in thy powerful hand, Which can alone the pond'rous lance command. In the same room by chance the royal maid Was lodg'd, and, by his seeming sex, betrayed, Close to her side the youthful hero laid. I know not how his courtship he began; But, to her cost, she found it was a man. 'Tis thought she struggled, but withal 'tis thought Her wish was to be conquer'd, when she fought. For when disclos'd, and hast'ning to the field, He laid his distaff down and took the shield,
With tears her humble suit she did prefer, And thought to stay the grateful ravisher. She sighs, she sobs, she begs him not to part; And now 'tis nature what before was art. She strives by force her lover to detain, And wishes to be ravish'd once again. This is the sex; they will not first begin, But when compelled, are pleas'd to suffer sin. Is there, who thinks that woman first should woo? Lay by thy self-conceit, thou foolish beau. Begin, and save their modesty the shame; 'Tis well for thee, if they receive thy flame.
'Tis decent for a man to speak his mind; They but expect th' occasion to be kind. Ask, that thou may'st enjoy; she waits for this: And on thy first advance depends thy bliss. E'en Jove himself was forc'd to sue for love; None of the nymphs did first solicit Jove. But if you find your pray'rs increase her pride, Strike sail awhile, and wait another tide. They fly when we pursue; but make delay. And when they see you shaken, they will stay. Sometimes it profits to conceal your end; Name not yourself her lover, but her friend.
How many skittish girls have thus been caught? He prov'd a lover, who a friend was thought. Sailors by sun and wind are swarthy made; A tann'd complexion best becomes their trade. 'Tis a disgrace to ploughmen to be fair; Bluff cheeks they have, and weather-beaten hair. Th' ambitious youth who seeks an olive crown, Is sun-burnt with his daily toil, and brown; But if the lover hopes to be in grace, Wall be his looks, and meagre be his face. That colour from the fair compassion draws; She thinks you sick, and thinks herself the cause.
Orion wander'd in the woods for love. His paleness did the nymphs to pity move; His gastly visage argu'd hidden love. Nor fail a night-cap in full health to wear; Neglect thy dress, and discompose thy hair. All things are decent, that in love avail. Read long by night, and study to be pale. Forsake your food, refuse your needful rest; Be miserable that you may be blest. Shall I complain, or shall I warn you most? Faith, truth, and friendship, in the world are lost; A little and an empty name they boast.
Trust not thy friend, much less thy mistress praise; If he believe, thou man'st a rival raise. 'Tis true, Patroclus, by no lust misled, Sought not to stain his dear companion's bed. Nor Pylades Hermione embrac'd; Ev'n Phaedra to Pirithous still was chaste. But hope not thou, in this vile age to find Those rare examples of a faithful mind. The sea shall sooner with sweet honey flow; Or from the furze pears and apples grow. We sin with gust, we love by fraud to gain, And find a pleasure in our fellow's pain.
From rival foes you may the fair defend; But would you ward the blow, beware your friend. Beware your brother, and your next of kin; But from your bosom friend your care begin. Here had I ended, but experience finds, That sundry women are of sundry minds; With various crotchets fill'd, and hard to please, They therefore must be caught by various ways. All things are not produced in any soil; This ground for wine is proper, that for oil. So 'tis in men, but more in woman-kind; Diff'rent in face, in manners, and in mind.
But wise men shift their sails with ev'ry wind; As changeful Proteus varied oft his shape, And did in sundry forms and figures 'scape. A running stream, a standing tree became, A roaring lion, or a bleating lamb. Some fish with harpoons, some with darts, are struck, Some drawn with nets, some hang upon the hook; So turn thyself; and imitating them, Try several tricks, and change thy stratagem. One rule will not for diff'rent ages hold; The jades grow cunning, as they grow more old. Then talk not bawdy to the bashful maid;
Broad words will make her innocence afraid. Nor to an ign'rant girl of learning speak; She thinks you conjure when you talk in Greek. And hence 'tis often seen, the simple shun The learn'd, and into vile embraces run. Part of my task is done, and part to do: But here 'tis time to rest myself and you.
Book 2
Now Io Paean sing! now wreaths prepare! And with repeated Ios fill the air: The prey is fall'n in my successful toils, My artful nets inclose the lovely spoils. My numbers now, ye smiling lovers, crown, And make your poet deathless in renown: With lasting fame my verse shall be enroll'd, And I preferr'd to all the bards of old. Thus Paris from the warlike Spartans bore Their ravish'd bride to Ida's distant shore. Victorious Pelops thus in triumph drove The vanquish'd maid, and thus enjoy'd his love.
Stay, eager youth! your bark's but under sail; The distant port requires a prosp'rous gale. 'Tis not enough the yielding beauty's found, And with my aid your artful passion crown'd; The conquests our successful conduct gain'd, With art must be secur'd, by arts maintain'd. The glory's more to guard than win the prize, There all the toil and threatening danger lies. If ever, Cupid, now indulgent prove; O Venus! aid, thou charming queen of love! Kind Erato, let thy auspicious name Inspire the work, and raise my gen'rous flame.
The labour's great! a method I design For love, and will the fetter'd god confine; The god that roves the spacious world around, In ev'ry clime, and distant region found; Active and light, his wings elude our guard, And to confine a deity is hard. His guest from flight Minos inclos'd around, Yet he with wings a daring passage found. Thus Daedalus her offspring first confin'd; Who, with a bull, in lewd embraces join'd: Her teeming womb the horrid crime confess'd; Big with a human bull, half man half beast.
Said he, " Just Minos, best of human kind, Thy mercy let a prostrate exile find: By fates compell'd my native shores to fly, Permit me, where I durst not live, to die, Enlarge my son, if you neglect my tears, And show compassion to his blooming years: Let not the youth a long confinement mourn, Oh, free the son, or let his sire return!" Thus he implor'd, but still implor'd in vain, Nor could the freedom that he sought, obtain. Convinc'd at length; " Now, Daedalus," he cried, "Here's subject for thy art that's yet untried.
Minos the earth commands, and guards the sea, No pass the land affords, the deep no way: Heav'n's only free, we'll heav'n's auspicious height Attempt to pass, where kinder fates invite; Favor, ye powers above, my daring flight!" Misfortunes oft prove to inventions kind, Instruct our wit, and aid the lab'ring mind: For who can credit men, in wild despair, Should force a passage thro' the yielding air? Feathers for wings design'd the artists chose, And bound with thread his forming pinions close; With temper'd wax the pointed end he wrought,
And to perfection his new labors brought. The finish'd wings his smiling offspring views, Admires the work, not conscious of their use: To whom the father said, "Observe aright, Observe, my son, these instruments of flight. In vain the tyrant our escape retards, The heavens he cannot, all but heav'n he guards: Tho' earth and seas elude a father's care, These wings shall waft us through the spacious air. Nor shall my son celestial signs survey, Far from the radient virgin take your way; Or where Bootes the chill'd north commands,
And with his fau chion dread Orion stands: I'll go before, me still retain in sight, Where'er I lead securely make your flight. For should we upward soar too near the sun, Dissolv'd with heat the liquid wax will run; Or near the seas an humbler flight maintain, Our plumes will suffer by the streaming main. A medium keep, the winds observe aright; The winds will aid your advantageous flight." He caution'd thus, and thus inform'd him long, As careful birds instruct their tender young; The spreading wings then to his shoulders bound,
His body pois'd, and rais'd him from the ground. Prepar'd for flight, his aged arms embrace The tender youth, whilst tears o'erflow his face. A hill there was, from whence the anxious pair Essay'd their wings, and forth they launch'd air; Now his expanded plumes the artist plies, Regards his son, and leads along the skies; Pleas'd with the novelty of flight, the boy Bounds in the air, and upward springs with joy. The angler views them from the distant strand, And quits the labors of his trembling hand; Samos they past, and Naxos in their flight,
And Delos, with Apollo's presence bright. Now on their right Lebintho's shores they found, For fruitful lakes and shady groves renown'd. When the aspiring boy forgot his fears, Rash with hot youth and unexperienc'd years; Upwards he soar'd, maintain'd a lofty stroke, And his directing father's way forsook. The wax, of heat impatient, melted run, Nor could his wings sustain the blaze of sun. From heaven he views the fatal depths below, Whilst killing fears prevent the distant blow. His struggling arms now no resistance find,
Nor poise the body nor receive the wind. Falling, his father he implores in vain, To aid his flight, and sinking limbs sustain; His name invokes, till the expiring sound Far in the floods with Icarus was drown'd. The parent mourns, a parent now no more, And seeks the absent youth on ev'ry shore; "Where's my lov'd son, my Icarus?" he cries, "Say in what distant region of the skies, Or faithless clime the youthful wand'rer flies;" Then view'd his pinions scatter'd o'er the stream. The shore his bones received, the waves his name.
Minos with walls attempted to detain His flying guests, but did attempt in vain; Yet the wing'd god shall to our rules submit, And Cupid yield to more prevailing wit. Thessalian arts in vain rash lovers use, In vain with drugs the scornful maid abuse; The skilfull'st potions ineffectual prove. Useless are magic remedies in love; Could charms prevail, Circe had prov'd her art, And fond Medea fix'd her Jason's heart; Nor tempt with philters the disdainful dame; They rage inspire, create a frantic flame:
Abstain from guilt, all vicious arts remove, And make your passion worthy of her love. Distrust your empty form and boasted face, The nymph engage a thousand nobler ways; To fix her vanquish'd heart entirely thine, Accomplish'd graces to your native join. Beauty's but frail, a charm that soon decays, Its lustre fades as rolling years increase, And age still triumphs o'er the ruin'd face. This truth the fair but short liv'd-lily shows, And prickles that survive the faded rose. Learn, lovely boy, be with instruction wise!
Beauty and youth misspent are past advice. Then cultivate thy mind with wit and fame, Those lasting charms survive the funeral flame. With arts and sciences your breast improve, Of high import are languages in love: The fam'd Ulysses was not fair nor young, But eloquent and charming with his tongue: And yet with him contented beauties strove, And ev'ry sea-nymph sought the hero's love. Calypso mourn'd when he forsook her shores, And with fond waves detain'd his hasty oars, Oft she enquir'd of ruin'd Ilium's fate,
Making him oft the wondrous tale relate; Which with such grace his florid tongue could frame, The story still was new, tho' still the same. Now standing on the shores, " Again declare," Calypso cried, "your fam'd exploits in war." lie with a wand, a slender wand he bore, Delineates ev'ry action on the shore. "Here's Troy," says he, then draws the walls in sand. "There Simois flows, here my battalions stand. A field there was," and then describes the field, "Where Dolon, with rewards deceiv'd, we kill'd. Just thus entrench'd imagine Rhesus lies,
And here we make his warlike steeds our prize." Much he describ'd, when a destructive wave Wash'd off the slender Troy, and rolling gave To Rhesus and his tents one common grave. Long with delight his charming tongue she heard, The well-rais'd passion in her looks appear'd: The goddess weeps to view his spreading sails, So much a soldier with the sex prevails. Distrust thy form, fond youth, and learn to know, There's more requir'd in love than empty show. With just disdain she treats the haughty mind, 'Tis complaisance that makes a beauty kind.
The hawk we hate that always lives in arms, The raging wolf that ev'ry flock alarms: But the mild swallow none with toils infest, And none the soft Chaonian birds molest. Debates avoid, and rude contention shun; A woman's with submissive language won. Let the wife rail, and injur'd husband swear, Such freedoms are allow'd the married pair; Discord and strife to nuptial beds belong, The portion justifies a clam'rous tongue. With tender vows the yielding maid endear, And let her only sighs and wishes hear;
Contrive with words and actions to delight, Still charm her ear, and still oblige her sight. I no instructions to the rich impart, He needs not, that presents, my useless art: The giving lover's handsome, valiant, wise, His happy fortune is above advice. And, wanting wealth, with melting language move, His honour storms a stubborn damsel's door; I'm cautious to affront, because I'm poor. With pleasing arts I court, with arts possess; Or if I'm bounteous, 'tis in promises. Enrag'd, I ruffl'd once Corinna's hair,
Long was I banish'd by the injur'd fair; Long mournful nights for this consum'd alone, Nor could my tears the furious maid atone. Weeping, she vow'd, a suit of point I tore; Falsely she vow'd, but I must purchase more. Make not your guilty master's crime your own, But by my punishment my error shun. Indecent fury from her sight remove, No passion let your mistress know, but love. Yet if the haughty nymph's unkind, and coy, Or shuns your sight; have patience, and enjoy. By slow degrees we bend the stubborn bough;
What force resists, with art will pliant grow. In vain we stem a torrent's rapid force, But swim with ease, complying with its course. By gentler arts we savage beasts reclaim, And lions, bulls, and furious tigers tame. Fiercely Atlanta o er the forest rov'd, Cruel and wild, and yet at last she lov'd. Melanion long deplor'd his hopeless flame, And weeping, in the woods pursu'd the scornful dame. On his submissive neck her toils he wore, And with his mistress chased the dreadful boar. Arm'd to the woods I bid you not repair,
Nor follow over hills the savage fair: My soft injunctions less severe you'll find, Easy to learn, and fram'd to ev'ry mind. Her wishes never, nor her will withstand; Submit, you conquer; serve, and you'll command. Her words approve, deny what she denies, Like where she likes, and where she scorns, despise. Laugh when she smiles; when sad, dissolve in tears; Let ev'ry gesture sympathize with hers. If she delights, as women will, in play, Her stakes return, your ready losings pay. When she's at cards, or rattling dice she throws,
Connive at cheats, and generously lose. A smiling winner let the nymph remain, Let your pleas'd mistress every conquest gain. In heat, with an umbrella ready stand; When walking, offer your officious hand. Her trembling hands, tho' you sustain the cold. Cherish, and to your warmer bosom hold. Think no inferior office a disgrace, No action that a mistress gains is base. The hero that eluded Juno's spite, And every monster overcame in fight; That pass'd so many bloody labours o'er,
And well deserv'd that heav'n whose weight he bore; Amidst Ionian damsels carding stands, And grasps the distaff in obedient hands; In all commands the haughty dame obeys: And who disdains to act like Hercules? If she's at law, be sure commend the laws; Solicit with the judge, or plead her cause. With patience at the assignation wait; Early appear, attend her coming late. Whene'er she wants a messenger, away, And her commands with flying feet obey. When late from supper she's returning home,
And calls her servant, as a servant come. She for the country's air retires from towns; You want a coach or horse, why foot it down: Let not the sultry season of the year, The falling snows, or constant rains deter. Love is a warfare, and ignoble sloth Seems equally contemptible in both: In both are watchings, duels, anxious cares, The soldier thus, and thus the lover fares; With rain he's drench'd, with piercing tempests shakes, And on the colder earth his lodging takes. Fame says that Phoebus kept Admetus' herd,
And coarsely in an humble cottage far'd; No servile offices the god denied: Learn this ye lovers, and renounce your pride. When all access is to your mistress hard, When ev'ry door's secur'd, and window barr'd, The roof untile, some desp'rate passage find; You cannot be too bold to make her kind: Oh, how she'll clasp you when the dangers o'er, And value your deserving passion more. Thus thro' the boisterous seas Leander mov'd, Not to possess, but show how much he lov'd. Nor blushing think how low you condescend
To court her maids, and make each slave your friend; Each by their names familiarly salute, And beg them to promote your am'rous suit. Perhaps a bribe's requir'd; your bounty show, And from your slender fortunes part below. A double bribe the chambermaid secures, And when the fav'rite's gain'd, the fair is yours. She'll add, to everything you do, a grace, And watch the wanton hours, and time her praise. When servants merry make, and feast, and play, Then give her something to keep holiday. Retain them ev'ry one, the porter most,
And her who nightly guards the happy coast I no profuse nor costly gifts commend, But choose and time it well, whate'er you send. Provide the product of the early year, And let your boy the rural present bear; Tell her 'twas fresh, and from your manor brought, Tho' stale, and in the suburb market bought: The first ripe cluster let your mistress eat, With chesnut, melons, or fair peaches, treat; Some larger fish, or choicer fowl, present; They recommend your passion where they're sent. 'Tis with these arts the childless miser's caught,
Thus future legacies are basely bought; But may his name with infamy be curst, That practis'd them on love, and women first. In tender sonnets most your flame rehearse, But who, alas! of late are mov'd by verse? Women a wealthy treating fool admire, Applaud your wit,-but costly gifts require. This is the golden age, all worship gold; Honours are purchas'd, love and beauty sold. Should Homer come with his harmonious train, And not present, Homer's turn'd out again. Some of the sex have sense, their number's small,
Most ignorant, yet vain pretenders all: Flatter alike, smooth empty stanzas send, They seldom sense, but sound and rhyme commend. Should you with art compose each polish'd line, And make her, like your numbers, all divine, Yet she'll a treat or worthless toy prefer To all the immortal poet's boasted care. But he that covets to retain her heart, Let him apply his flattery with art; With lasting raptures on her beauty gaze, And make her form the subject of his praise. Purple commend, when she's in purple dress'd;
In scarlet, swear she looks in scarlet best; Array'd in gold, her graceful mien adore, Vowing those eyes transcend the sparkling ore. With prudence place each compliment aright; Tho' clad in crape, let homely crape delight. In sorted colours, praise a varied dress; In night-clothes or commode let either please. Or when she combs or when she curls her hair, Commend her curious art and gallant air. Singing, her voice, dancing, her steps, admire; Applaud when she desists, and still desire. Let all her words and actions wonder raise;
View her with raptures, and with raptures praise Fierce as Medusa though your mistress prove, These arts will teach the stubborn beauty love. Be cautious lest you overact your part, And temper your hypocrisy with art; Let no false action give your words the lie, For once deceiv'd, she's ever after shy. In Autumn oft, when the luxurious year Purples the grape, and shows the vintage near; When sultry heats, when colder blasts arise, And bodies languish with inconstant skies; If vitious heav'n infects her tender veins,
And in her tainted blood some fever reigns; Then your kind vows, your pious care bestow, The blessings you expect to reap then sow; Think nothing nauseous in her loath'd disease, But with your ready hand contrive to please; Weep in her sight, then fonder kisses give, And let her burning lips your tears receive; Much for her safety vow, but louder speak, Let the nymph hear the lavish vows you make. As health returns, so let your joys appear; Oft smile with hope, and oft confess your fear. This in her breast remains, these pleasing charms
Secure a passage to her grateful arms. Reach nothing nauseous to her taste or sight, Officious only when you most delight. Nor bitter draughts nor hated med'cines give, Let her from rivals what she loaths receive. Those prosperous winds that launch'd our boat from shore, When out at sea assists its course no more: Time will your knowledge in our art improve, Give strength and vigour to your forming love. The dreadful bull was but a calf when young; The lofty oak but from an acorn sprung; From narrow springs the noblest currents flow,
But swell their floods, and spread 'em as they go. Be conversant with love, no toils refuse, And conquer all fatigues with frequent use: Still let her hear your sighs, your passion view And night and day the flying maid pursue. Then pause awhile; by fallow fields we gain; A thirsty soil receives the welcome rain. Phyllis was calm while with Demophoon bless'd, His absence wounded most her raging breast: Thus his chaste consort for Ulysses burn'd, And Laodamia thus her absent husband mourn'd, With speed return, you're ruined by delays,
Some happy youth may soon supply your place. When Sparta's prince was from his Helen gone, Could Helen be content to lie alone? She in his bed receiv'd her am'rous guest, And nightly clasp'd him to her panting breast. Unthinking cuckold, to a proverb blind! What, trust a beau and a fair wife behind! Let furious hawks thy trembling turtles keep, And to the mountain wolves commit thy sheep: Helen is guiltless, and the lover's crime But what yourself would act another time. The youth was pressing, the dull husband gone;
Let ev'ry woman make the case her own. Who could a prince, by Venus sent, refuse? The cuckold's negligence is her excuse. But not the foaming boar whom spears surround, Revenging on the dogs his mortal wound; Nor lioness, whose young receives the breast; Nor viper by unwary footsteps press'd; Nor drunkard by th' Aonian god possess'd, Transcend the woman's rage, by fury led, To find a rival in her injur'd bed. With fire and sword she flies; the frantic dame Disdains the thought of tenderness or shame.
Her offspring's blood enrag'd Medea spilt; A cruel mother, for the father's guilt: And Progne's unrelenting fury proves That dire revenge pursues neglected loves. Where sacred ties of honour are destroy'd, Such errors cautious lovers must avoid. Think not my precepts constancy enjoin; Venus avert! far nobler's my design. At large enjoy, conceal your passion well; Nor use the modish vanity to tell: Avoid presenting of suspected toys, Nor to an hour confine your varied joys;
Desert the shades you did frequent before, Nor make them conscious to a new amour The nymph, when she betrays, disdains your guilt, And by such falsehood taught, she learns to jilt. While with a wife Atrides liv'd content, Their loves were mutual, and she innocent; But when inflam'd with every charming face, Her lewdness still maintain'd an equal pace. Chryses, as fame had told her, pray'd in vain, Nor could by gifts his captive girl obtain; Mournful Briseis, thy complaints she heard, And how his lust the tedious war deferr'd.
This tamely heard, but with resentment view'd The victor by his beauteous slave subdu'd; With rage she saw her own neglected charms, And took Aegisthus to her injur'd arms. To lust and shame by his example led, Who durst so openly profane her bed. What you conceal, her more observing eye Perhaps betrays: with oaths the fact deny, And boldly give her jealousy the lie. Not too submissive seem, nor over kind; These are the symptoms of a guilty mind: But no caresses, no endearments spare;
Enjoyment pacifies the angry fair. There are, that strong provoking potions praise, And nature with pernicious med'cines raise; Nor drugs, nor herbs, will what you fancy prove, And I pronounce 'em pois'nous all in love. Some pepper bruis'd with seeds of nettle join, And clary steep in bowls of mellow wine: Venus is most averse to forced delights, Extorted flames pollute her genial rites. With fishes' spawn thy feeble nerves recruit, And with eringo's hot salacious root; The goddess worshipp'd by th' Erycian swains,
Megara's white shallot, so faint, disdains. New eggs they take, and honey's liquid juice, And leaves and apples of the pine infuse. Prescribe no more, my muse, nor med'cine give, Beauty and youth need no provocative. You that conceal'd your secret crimes before, Proclaim them now, now publish each amour. Nor tax me with inconstancy; we find The driving bark requires a veering wind: Now northern blasts we court, now southern gales, And ev'ry point befriends our shifted sails. Thus chariot drivers with a flowing rein
Direct their steeds, then curb them in again. Indulgence oft corrupts the faithless dame, Secure from rivals she neglects your flame; The mind without variety is cloy'd, And nauseates pleasures it has long enjoy'd. But as a fire whose wasted strength declines, Converts to ashes and but faintly shines, When sulphur's brought the spreading flames return, And glowing embers with fresh fury burn: A rival thus th' ungrateful maid reclaims, Revives desire, and feeds her dying flames. Oft make her jealous, give your fondness o'er,
And teaze her often with some new amour. Happy, thrice happy youth, with pleasure bless'd, Too great, too exquisite to be express'd, That view'st the anguish of her jealous breast Whene'er thy guilt the slighted beauty knows, She swoons; her voice, and then her colour goes. Oft would my furious nymph, in burning rage, Assault my locks, and with her nails engage; Then now she'd weep, what piercing glances east, And vow to hate the perjur'd wretch at last. Let not your mistress long your falsehood mourn; Neglected fondness sill to fury turn.
But kindly clasp her in your arms again, And on your breast her drooping head sustain; Whilst weeping kiss, amidst her tears enjoy, And with excess of bliss her rage destroy. Let her a while lament, a while complain, Then die with pleasure, as she died with pain. Enjoyment cures her with its powerful charms, She'll sign a pardon in your active arms. First nature lay an undigested mass, Heaven, earth, and ocean, wore one common face; Then vaulted heav'n was fram'd, waves, earth, inclos'd; And chaos was in beauteous forms dispos'd;
The beasts inhabit woods, the birds the air, And to their floods the scaly fry repair. Mankind alone enjoyed no certain place, On rapine lived, a rude unpolish'd race; Caves were their houses, herbs their food and bed, Whilst each a savage from the other fled. Love first disarm'd the fierceness of their mind, And in one bed the men and women join'd. The youth was eager, but unskill'd in joy, Nor was the unexperienc'd virgin coy; They knew no courtship, no instructor found, Yet they enjoy'd, and bless'd the pleasing wound.
The birds with consorts propagate their kind, And sporting fish their finny beauties find; In am'rous fold the wanton serpents twine, And dogs with their salacious females join. The lusty bull delights his frisking dames, And more lascivious goat her male inflames. Mares furious grow with love, their boundaries force, Plunging thro' waves to meet the neighing horse. Go on, brave youth, thy gen'rous vigor try, To the resenting maid this charm apply; Love's soft'ning pleasures ev'ry grief remove, There's nothing that can make your peace like love.
From drugs and philters no redress you'll find, But nature with your mistress will be kind. The love that's unconstrain'd will long endure, Machaon's art was false, but mine is sure. Whilst thus I sung, inflam'd with nobler fire, I heard the great Apollo's tuneful lyre; His hand a branch of spreading laurel bore, And on his head a laurel wreath he wore; Around he cast diffusive rays of light, Confessing all the god to human sight, " Thou master of lascivious arts," he said, "To my frequented fane thy pupils lead;
And there inscrib'd in characters of gold, This celebrated sentence you'll behold. 'First know yourself ;' who to himself is known, Shall love with conduct, and his wishes crown. Where nature has a handsome face bestow'd, Or graceful shape, let both be often show'd: Let men of wit and humor silence shun, The artist sing, and soldier bluster on; Of long harangues ye eloquent take heed, Nor thy damn'd works thou teazing poet read." Thus Phoebus spake: ajust obedience give, And these injunctions from a god receive.
I mysteries unfold; to my advice Attend, ye vulgar lovers, and grow wise. The thriving grain in harvest often fails, Oft prosp'rous winds turn adverse to our sails; Few are the pleasures, tho' the toils are great; With patience must submissive lovers wait. What hares on Athos, bees on Hybla feed, Or berries on the circling ivy breed? As shells on sandy shores, as stars above, So num'rous are the sure fatigues of love. The lady's gone abroad, you're told; tho' seen, Distrust your eyes, believe her not within.
Her lodgings on the promis'd night are close, Resent it not, but on the earth repose. Her maid will cry with an insulting tone, "'What makes you saunter here? you sot, begone." With moving words the cruel nymph entreat, And place your garland on the bolted gate. Why do I light and vulgar precepts use? A nobler subject now inspires my muse; Approaching joys I sing; ye youths, draw near; Listen ye happy lovers and give ear; The labor's great, and daring is my song. Labors and great attempts to love belong.
As from the sacred oracles of Jove Receive these grand mysterious truths in love. Look down when she the ogling spark invites, Nor touch the conscious tablets when she writes. Appear not jealous tho' she's much from home, Let her at pleasure go, unquestion'd come. This crafty husbands to their wives permit, And learn, when she's engag'd, to wink at it. I own my frailties modestly confess; And blushing, give those precepts I transgress; Shall I, with patience, the known signal hear, Retire, and leave a happy rival there!
What, tamely suffer the provoking wrong, And be afraid to use my hands or tongue! Corinna's husband kiss'd her in my sight; I beat the saucy fool, and seiz'd my right. I, like a fury, for my nymph engage, And like a madman, when I miss her, rage. My passion still prevails, convinc'd I yield! He that submits to this is better skill'd. Expose not, tho' you find her guilty flame, Lest she abandon modesty and shame; Conceal her faults, no secret crimes upbraid; Nothing's so fond as a suspected maid.
Discover'd love increases with despair, When both alike the guilt and scandal share: All sense of modesty they lose in time, Whilst each encourages the other's crime. In heav'n this story's fam'd above the rest, Amongst th' immortal drolls a standing jest. How, Vulcan two transgressing lovers caught And ev'ry god a pleas'd spectator brought. Great Mars for Venus felt a guilty flame, Neglected war, and own'd a lover's name, To his desires the queen of love inclin'd; No nymph in heav'n's so willing, none so kind.
Oft the lascivious fair, with scornful pride, Would Vulcan's foot and sooty hands deride; Yet both with decency their passion bore, And modestly conceal'd the close amour, But by the sun betray'd in their embrace, (For what escapes the sun's observing rays?) He told th' affronted god of his disgrace. Ah foolish sun! and much unskill'd in love, Thou hast an ill example set above! Never a fair offending nymph betray, She'll gratefully oblige you ev'ry way: The crafty spouse around his bed prepares
Nets that deceive the eye, and secret snares: A journey feigns, the impatient lovers met, And naked were expos'd in Vulcan's net. The gods deride the criminals in chains, And scarce from tears the queen of love refrains; Nor could her hands conceal her guilty face, She wants that cover for another place. To burly Mars a gay spectator said, " Why so uneasy in that envied bed? On me transfer your chains; I'll freely come For your release, and suffer in your room." At length, kind Neptune, freed by thy desires,
Mars goes for Crete, to Paphos she retires, Their loves augmented with revengeful fires; Now conversant with infamy and shame, They set no bounds to their licentious flame. But honest Vulcan, what was thy pretence, To act so much unlike a god of sense? They sin in public, you the shame repent, Convinc'd that love increase with punishment. Tho' in your pow'r, a rival ne'er expose, Never his intercepted joys disclose: This I command, Venus commands the same, Who hates the snares she once sustain'd with shame.
What impious wretch will Ceres' rites expose, Or Juno's solemn mysteries disclose! His witty torments Tantalus deserves, That thirsts in waves and viewing banquets starves. But Venus most in secresy delights: Away, ye babblers, from her silent rites! No pomp her mysteries attend, no noise! No sounding brass proclaims the latent joys! With folded arms the happy pair possess, Nor should the fond betraying tongue confess Those raptures, which no language can express. When naked Venus casts her robes aside,
The parts obscene her hands extended hide; No girl on propagating beasts will gaze, But hangs her head, and turns away her face. We darken'd beds and doors for love provide; What nature cannot, decent habit hide. Love darkens courts, at most a glimm'ring light, To raise our joys, and just oblige the sight. Ere happy men beneath the roof were laid, When oaks provided them with food and shade, Some gloomy cave receiv'd the wanton pair; For light too modest, and unshaded air! From public view they decently retir'd,
And secretly perform'd what love inspir'd. Now scarce a modish fop about the town, But boasts with whom, how oft, and where 'twas done; They taste no pleasure, relish no delight, Till they recount what pass'd the happy night. But men of honour always thought is base, To prostitute each kinder nymph's embrace: To blast her fame, and vainly hurt his own, And furnish scandal for a lewd lampoon. And here I must some guilty arts excuse, And disingenuous shifts that lovers use, To wrong the chaste and innocent abuse.
When long repuls'd they find their courtship vain, Her character with infamy they stain; Denied her person they debauch her fame, And brand her innocence with public shame. Go, jealous fool, the injur'd beauty guard, Let ev'ry door be lock'd, and window barr'd! The suff'ring nymph remains expos'd to wrong, Her name's a prostitute to ev'ry tongue; For malice with joy the lie receive, Report, and what it wishes true, believe. With care conceal whatever defects you find, To all her faults seem like a lover blind.
Naked Andromeda when Perseus view'd, He saw her faults, but yet pronounc'd them good. Andromache was tall, yet some report Her Hector was so blind he thought her short. At first what's nauseous lessens by degrees; Young loves are nice, and difficult to please. The infant plant that bears a tender rind, Reels to and fro with ev'ry breath of wind; But shooting upward to a tree at last, It stems the storm, and braves the strongest blast Time will defects and blemishes endear, And make them lovely to your eyes appear:
Unusual scents at first may give offence; Time reconciles them to the vanquish'd sense. Her vices soften with some kinder phrase; If she is swarthy as the negro's face, Call it a graceful brown, and that complexion praise. The ruddy lass must be like Venus fair, Or like Minerva that has yellow hair. If pale and meagre, praise her shape and youth, Active when small, when gross she's plump and smooth. Ev'ry excess by soft'ning terms disguise, And in some neighb'ring virtue hide each vibe. Nor ask her age, consult no register,
Under whose reign she's born, or what's the year! If fading youth chequers her hair with white, Experience makes her perfect in delight; In her embrace sublimer joys are found, A fruitful soil, and cultivated ground! The hours enjoy whilst youth and pleasures last, Age hurries on, and death pursues too fast. Or plough the seas, or cultivate the land, Or wield the sword in thy advent'rous hand; Or much in love thy nervous strength employ, Embrace the fair, the grateful maid enjoy; Pleasure and wealth reward thy pleasing pains,
The labour's great, but greater far the gains. Add their experience in affairs of love, For years and practice do alike improve, Their arts repair the injuries of time, And still preserve them in their charming prime; In varied ways they act the pleasure o'er, Not pictur'd postures can instruct you more. They want no courtship to provoke delight, But meet your warmth with eager appetite; Give me enjoyment, when the willing dame Glows with desires, and burns with equal flame. I love to hear the soft transporting joys,
The frequent sighs, the tender murm'ring voice; To see her eyes with varied pleasures move, And all the nymph confess the pow'r of love. Nature's not thus indulgent to the young, These joys alone to riper years belong; Who youth enjoys, drinks crude unready wine, Let age your girl and sprightly juice refine, Mellow their sweets, and make the taste divide. To Helen who'd Hermione prefer, Or Gorge think beyond her mother fair; But he that covets the experienc'd dame, Shall crown his joys and triumph in his flame.
One conscious bed receives the happy pair; Retire, my muse; the door demands thy care. What charming words, what tender things are said, What language flows without the useless aid! There shall the roving hand employment find, Inspire new flames, and make e'en virgins kind. Thus Hector did Andromache delight, Hector in love victorious, as in fight. When weary from the field Achilles came, Thus with delays he rais'd Briseis' flame; Ah, could those arms, those fatal hands, delight! Inspire kind thoughts, and raise thy appetite!
Coulds't thou, fond maid, be charm'd with his embrace, Stain'd with the blood of half thy royal race. Nor yet with speed the fleeting pleasures waste, Still moderate your love's impetuous haste; The bashful virgin, tho' appearing coy, Detains your hand, and hugs the proffer'd joy. Then view her eyes, with humid lustre bright, Sparkling with rage, and trembling with delight; Her kind complaints, her melting accents hear, The eye she charms, and wounds the list'ning ear. Defer not then the clasping nymphs embrace, But with her love maintain an equal pace;
Raise to her heights the transports of your soul, And fly united to the happy goal. Observe these precepts when with leisure bless'd No threatening fears your private hours molest. When danger's near, your active force employ, And urge with eager speed the hasty joy. Then ply your oars, then practise this advice, And strain with whip and spur to gain the prize. The work's complete, triumphant palms prepare With flow'ry deaths adorn my flowing hair. As to the Greeks was Poldalirius' art, To heal with med'cines the afflicted part;
Nestor's advice, Achilles' arms in field, Automedon for chariot-driving skill'd; As Calchas could explain the mystic bird, And Telemon could wield the brandish'd sword; Such to the town my fam'd instructions prove, So much am I renown'd for arts of love. Me ev'ry youth shall praise, extol my name, And o'er the globe diffuse my lasting fame. I arms provide against the scornful fair; Thus Vulcan arm'd Achilles for the war. Whatever youth shall with my aid o'ercome, And lead his Amazon in triumph home;
Let him that conquers and enjoys the dame, In gratitude for his instructed flame, Inscribe the spoils with my auspicious name. The tender girls my precepts next demand, Them I commit to a more skilful hand.
Book 3
The men are arm'd, and for the fight prepare, And now we must instruct and arm the fair. Both sexes, well appointed, take the field, And mighty love determine which shall yield. Man were ignoble when thus arm'd to show Unequal force against a naked foe; No glory from such conquest can be gain'd, And odds are always by the brave disdain'd. "But," some exclaim, " what phrensy rules your mind? Would you increase the craft of womankind ? Teach them new wiles and arts? As well you may Instruct a snake to bite, or wolf to prey."
But sure too hard a censure they pursue Who charge on all the failings of a few; Examine first impartially each fair, Then, as she merits, or condemn or spare. If Menelaus, and the king of men, With justice of their sister-wives complain; If false Eriphyle forsook her faith, And for reward procur'd her husband's death; Penelope was loyal still, and chaste, Tho' twenty years her lord in absence pass'd. Reflect how Laodamia's truth was tried, Who, tho' in bloom of youth and beauty's pride,
To share her husband's fate untimely died. Think how Alceste's piety was prov'd, Who lost her life to save the man she lov'd. Receive me, Capaneus," Evadne cried; "Nor death itself our nuptials shall divide! To join thy ashes pleas'd I shall expire;" She said, and leap'd amidst the fun'ral fire. Virtue herself a goddess we confess, Both female in her name and in her dress; No wonder then, if to her sex inclin'd, She cultivates with care a female mind. But these exalted souls exceed the reach
Of that soft art which I pretend to teach. My tender bark requires a gentle gale, A little wind will fill a little sail. Of sportful loves I sing, and shew what ways The willing nymph must use her bliss to raise, And how to captivate the man she'd please. Woman is soft, and of a tender heart, Apt to receive, and to retain love's dart; Man has a breast robust, and more secure, It wounds him not so deep, nor hits so sure. Men oft are false, and, if you search with care, You'll find less fraud imputed to the fair.
The faithless Jason from Medea fled And made Creusa partner of his bed. Bright Ariadne, on an unknown shore, Thy absence, perjur'd Theseus, did deplore. If then the wild inhabitants of air Forbore her tender lovely limbs to tear, It was not owing, Theseus, to thy care. Enquire the cause, and let Demophoon tell Why Phyllis by a fate untimely fell. Nine times, in vain, upon the promis'd day, She sought th' appointed shore, and view'd the sea; Her fall the fading trees consent to mourn,
And shed their leaves round her lamented urn. The prince so far for piety renown'd, To thee, Eliza, was unfaithful found; To thee forlorn, and languishing with grief, His sword alone he left, thy last relief. Ye ruin'd nymphs, shall I the cause impart Of all your woes? 'Twas want of needful art; Love, of itself, too quickly will expire, But powerful art perpetuates desire. Women had yet their ignorance bewail'd, Had not this art by Venus been reveal'd. Before my sight the Cyprian goddess shone
And thus she said, "What have poor woman done! Why is that weak, defenceless sex expos'd; On ev'ry side, by men well arm'd, inclos'd? Twice are the men instructed by thy muse, Nor must she now to teach the sex refuse. The bard who injur'd Helen in his song, Recanted after, and redress'd the wrong. And you, if on my favour you depend, The cause of woman, while you live, defend." This said, a myrtle sprig, which berries bore, She gave me (for a myrtle wreath she wore.) The gift receiv'd, my sense enlighten'd grew,
And from her presence inspiration drew. Attend, ye nymphs, by wedlock unconfin'd, And hear my precepts, while she prompts my mind. E'en now, in bloom of youth, and beauty's prime, Beware of coming age, nor waste your time; Now, while you may, and rip'ning years invite, Enjoy the seasonable, sweet delight; For rolling years, like stealing waters, glide, For hope to stop their ever ebbing tide; Think not hereafter will the loss repay; For ev'ry morrow will the taste decay, And leave less relish than the former day
I've seen the time, when, on that wither'd thorn, The blooming rose vied with the blushing morn. With fragrant wreaths I thence have decked my head, And see how leafless now, and how decay'd! And you, who now the love-sick youth reject, Will prove in age, what pains attend neglect. None, then will press upon your midnight hours, Nor wake to strew your street with morning flow'rs. Then nightly knockings at your doors will cease, Whose noiseless hammer, then, may rest in peace. Alas, how soon a clear complexion fades! How soon a wrinkled skin plump flesh invades!
And what avails it, tho' the fair one swears She from her infancy had some grey hairs ? She grows all hoary in a few more years, And then the venerable truth appears. The snake his skin, the deer his horns may cast, And both renew their youth and vigor past; But no receipt can human-kind relieve, Doom'd to decrepit age, without reprieve. Then crop the flow'r which yet invites your eye, And which, ungather'd, on its stalk must die. Besides, the tender sex is form'd to bear, And frequent births too soon will youth impair;
Continual harvest wears the fruitful field, And earth itself decays, too often till'd. Thou didst not, Cynthia, scorn the Latmian swain; Nor thou, Aurora, Cephalus disdain; The Paphian Queen, who, for Adonis' fate So deeply mourn'd, and who laments him yet, Has not been found inexorable since; Witness Harmonia, and the Dardan prince. Then take example, mortals, from above, And like immortals live, and like 'em love. Refuse not those delights, which men require, Nor let your lovers languish with desire.
False tho' they prove, what loss can you sustain? Thence let a thousand take, 'twill all remain. Tho' constant use, e'en flint and steel impairs, What you employ no diminution fears, Who would, to light a torch, their torch deny? Or who can dread drinking an ocean dry? Still women lose, you cry, if men obtain; What do they lose, that's worthy to retain? Think not this said to prostrate the sex, But undeceive whom needless fears perplex. Thus far the gentle breeze supplies our sail, Now launch'd to sea we ask a brisker gale.
And, first, we treat of dress. The well-dress'd vine Produces plumpest grapes, and richest wine; And plenteous crops of golden grain are found, Alone, to grace uncultivated ground. Beauty's the gift of gods, the sex's pride! Yet to how many is that gift deny'd? Art helps a face; a face, tho' heav'nly fair, May quickly fade for want of needful care. In ancient days, if women slighted dress, Then men were ruder too, and lik'd it less. If Hector's spouse was clad in stubborn stuff, A soldier's wife became it well enough.
Ajax, to shield his ample breast, provides Seven lusty bulls, and tans their sturdy hides; And might not he, d'ye think, be well caress'd, And yet his wife not elegantly dress'd? With rude simplicity Rome first was built, Which now we see adorned, and gilt. This capitol with that of old compare; Some other Jove you'd think was worship'd there. That lofty pile where senates dictate law, When Tatius reign'd, was poorly thatch'd with straw; And where Apollo's fane refulgent stands, Was heretofore a tract of pasture lands.
Let ancient manners other men delight; But me the modern please, as more polite. Not that materials now in gold are wrought, And distant shores for orient pearls are sought; Not for, that hills exhaust their marble veins, And structures rise whose bulks the sea retains; But that the world is civilis'd of late, And polish'd from the rust of former date. Let not the nymph with pendants load her ear, Nor in embroid'ry, or brocade, appear; Too rich a dress may sometimes check desire, And cleanliness more animate love's fire,
The hair dispos'd, may gain or lose a grace, And much become or misbecome the face. What suits your features of your glass enquire; For no one rule is fixed for head attire, A face too long should part and flat the hair. Lest upward comb'd, the length too much appear: So Laodamia dress'd. A face too round Should show the ears, and with a tour be crown'd. On either shoulder, one, her locks displays; Adorn'd like Phoebus, when he sings his lays; Another, all her tresses tie behind; So dressed, Diana hunts the fearful hind.
Dishevelled locks most graceful are to some; Others, the binding fillets more become: Some plait, like spiral shells, their braided hair, Others, the loose and waving curl prefer. But to recount the several dresses worn, Which artfully each several face adorn, Were endless as to tell the leaves on trees, The beasts on Alpine hills, or Hybla bees. Many there are who seem to slight all care, And with a pleasing negligence ensnare: Whole mornings, oft in such a dress are spent, And all is art, that looks like accident.
With such disorder Iole was grac'd, When great Alcides first the nymph embrac'd. So Ariadne came to Bacchus' bed, When with the conqueror from Crete she fled. Nature indulgent to the sex, repays The losses they sustain by various ways. Men ill supply those hairs they shed in age, Lost like autumnal leaves when north winds rage. Women with juice of herbs gray locks disguise, And art gives colour which with nature vies; The well-wove tours they wear, their own art thought, But only are their own, as what they've bought.
Nor need they blush to buy heads ready dress'd, And choose at public shops what suits 'em best. Costly apparel let the fair one fly, Enrich'd with gold, or with the Tyrian dye, What folly must in such expense appear, When more becoming colors are less dear! One with a die is ting'd of lovely blue, Such as through air serene the sky we view, With yellow lustre see another spread, As if the golden fleece compos'd the thread. Some of the sea green wave the cast display; With this the nymphs their beauteous forms array;
And some the saffron hue will well adorn; Such is the mantle of the blushing morn. Of myrtle-berries, one, the tincture shows, In this, of amethysts, the purple glows, And that more imitates the paler rose. Nor Thracian cranes forget, whose silv'ry plumes Give patterns which employ the mimic looms. Nor almond nor the chesnut dye disclaim, Nor others which from wax derive their name. As fields you find, with various flowers o'erspread, When vineyards bud, and winter's frost is fled; So various are the colours you may try,
Of which the thirsty wool imbibes the dye. Try ev'ry one; what best becomes you wear, For no complexion all alike can bear. If fair the skin, black may become it best, In black the lovely fair Briseis dress'd; If brown the nymph, let her be cloth'd in white, Andromeda so charm'd the wond'ring sight. I need not warn you of too powerful smells, Which sometimes health or kindly heat expels; Nor from your tender legs to pluck with care The casual growth of all unseemly hair. Tho' not to nymphs of Caucasus I sing,
Nor such who taste remote the Mysian spring, Yet let me warn you that thro' no neglect You let your teeth disclose the least defect. You know the use of white to make you fair, And how with red lost colour to repair; Imperfect eyebrows you by art can mend, And skin, when wanting, o'er a scar extend; Nor need the fair one be asham'd, who tries By art to add new lustre to her eyes. A little book I've made, but with great care, How to preserve the face, and how repair. In that, the nymphs by time or chance annoy'd,
May see what pains to please 'em I've employ'd, But still beware that from your lover's eye You keep conceal'd the med'cines you apply: Tho' art assists, yet must that art be hid, Lest whom it would invite it should forbid. Who would not take offence to see a face All daub'd and dripping with the melted grease? And tho' your unguents bear th' Athenian name, The wool's unsav'ry scent is still the same. Marrow of stags, nor your pomatums try, Nor clean your furry teeth when men are by; For many things, when done, afford delight,
Which yet, while doing, may offend the sight. E'en Myro's statues, which for art surpass All others, once were but a shapeless mass; Rude was that gold which now in rings is worn, As once the robe you wear was wool unshorn; Think, how that stone rough in the quarry grew, Which now a perfect Venus shews to view. While we suppose you sleep, repair your face, Lock'd from observers, in some secret place; Add the last hand before yourselves you show, Your need of art why should your lover know? For many things when most conceal'd are best,
And few of strict enquiry bear the test. Those figures which in theatres are seen, Gilded without, are common wood within. But no spectators are allow'd to pry Till all is finished which allures the eye. Yet, I must own, it oft affords delight To have the fair one comb her hair in sight; To view the flowing honours of her head Fall on her neck, and o'er her shoulders spread. But let her look that she with care avoid All fretful humours while she's so employ'd; Let her not still undo, with peevish haste,
All that her woman does, who does her best. I hate a vixen that her maid assails, And scratches with her bodkin or her nails; While the poor girl in blood and tears must mourn, And her heart curses what her hands adorn, Let her who has no hair, or has but some, Plant sentinels before her dressing-room; Or in the fane of the good goddess dress, Where all the male kind are debarr'd access. 'Tis said that I (but 'tis a tale devis'd) A lady at her toilet once surpris'd, Who starting, snatch'd in haste the tour she wore,
And in her hurry placed the hinder part before. But on our foes fall ev'ry such disgrace, Or barb'rous beauties of the Parthian race. Ungraceful 'tis to see without a horn The lofty hart whom branches best adorn, A leafless tree, or an unverdant mead, And as ungraceful is a hairless head. But think not these instructions are design'd For first-rate beauties of the finish'd kind; Not to a Semele, or a Leda bright, Nor an Europa, these my rules I write; Nor the fair Helen do I teach, whose charms
Stirr'd up Atrides and all Greece to arms; Thee to regain well was that war begun, And Paris well defended what he won: What lover or what husband would not fight In such a cause, where both are in the right? The crowd I teach, some homely and some fair, But of the former sort the larger share. The handsome least require the help of art, Rich in themselves, and pleas'd with nature's part. When calm the sea, at ease the pilot lies, But all his skill exerts when storms arise. Faults in your person or your face correct;
And few are seen that have not some defect. The nymph too short her seat should seldom quit, Lest when she stands she may be thought to sit; And when extended on her couch she lies, Let length of petticoats conceal her size. The lean of thick wrought stuff her clothes should choose, And fuller made than what the plumper use. If pale, let her the crimson juice apply; If swarthy, to the Pharian varnish fly. A leg too lank tight garters still must wear, Nor should an ill-shap'd foot be ever bare. Round shoulders, bolster'd, will appear the least;
And lacing straight confines too full a breast. Whose fingers are too fat, and nails too coarse, Should always shun much gesture in discourse; And you whose breath is touch'd, this caution take, Nor fasting, nor too near another, speak. Let not the nymph with laughter much abound, Whose teeth are black, uneven, or unsound. You'd hardly think how much on this depends, And how a laugh or spoils a face or mends. Gape not too wide, lest you disclose your gums, And lose the dimple which the cheek becomes. Nor let your sides too long concussions shake,
Lest you the softness of the sex forsake: In some, distortions quite the face disguise; Another laughs, that you would think she cries. In one, too hoarse a voice we hear betray'd; Another's is as harsh as if she bray'd. What cannot art attain! Many, with ease, Have learn'd to weep, both when and how they please. Others thro' affectation lisp; and find In imperfection charms to catch mankind. Neglect no means which may promote your end; Now learn what way of walking recommends. Too masculine a motion shocks the sight;
But female grace allures with strange delight. One has an artful swing and jut behind, Which helps her coats to catch the swelling wind; Swell'd with the wanton wind, they loosely flow, And ev'ry step and graceful motion show. Another, like an Umbrian's sturdy spouse, Strides all the space her petticoats allows. Between extremes, in this, a mean adjust, Nor show too nice a gait, nor too robust. If snowy white your neck, you still should wear That, and the shoulder of the left arm bare; Such sights ne'er fail to fire my am'rous heart,
And make me pant to kiss the naked part. Sirens, tho' monsters of the stormy main, Can ships, when under sail, with songs detain: Scarce could Ulysses by his friends be bound, When first he listen'd to the charming sound, Singing insinuates, learn all ye maids; Oft when a face forbids, a voice persuades. Whether on theatres loud strains we hear, Or in Ruelles some soft Egyptian air. Well shall she sing, of whom I make my choice, And with her lute accompany her voice. The rocks were stirr'd, the beasts to listen staid
When on his lyre melodious Orpheus play'd, Even Cerberus and hell that sound obey'd, And stones officious were thy walls to raise. 0, Thebes, attracted by Amphion's lays. The dolphin, dumb itself, thy voice admir'd, And was, Arion, by thy songs inspir'd. Of sweet Callimachus the works rehearse, And real Philetas and Anacreon's verse, Terentian plays may much the mind improve; But softest Sappho best instructs to love. Propertius, Gallus, and Tibullus read, And let Varronian verse to these succeed.
Then mighty Maro's work with care peruse; Of all the Latians boards the noblest muse, Even I, 'tis possible, in after-days, May 'scape oblivion, and be nam'd with these. My labour'd lines, some readers may approve, Since I've instructed either sex in love. Whatever book you read of this soft art, Read with a lover's voice and lover's heart. Tender epistles too, by me are fram'd, A work before unthought of, and unnam'd. Such was your sacred will, 0, tuneful nine! Such thine Apollo, and Lycreus, thine!
Still unaccomplish'd may the maid be thought, Who gracefully to dance was never taught: That active dancing may to love engage, Witness the well-kept dancers of the stage. Of some odd trifles I'm asham'd to tell, Tho' it becomes the sex to trifle well; To raffle prettily, or slur a die, Implies both cunning and dexterity; Nor is't amiss at chess to be expert, For games most thoughtful, sometimes most divert. Learn ev'ry game, you'll find it prove of use; Parties begun at play may love produce:
But easier 'tis to learn how bets to lay, Than how to keep your temper while you play. Unguarded then, each breast is open laid, And while the head's intent, the heart's betray'd. Then base desire of gain, then rage appears, Quarrels and brawls arise, and anxious fears; Then clamours and revilings reach the sky, While losing gamsters all the gods defy. They grieve, and curse, and storm, nay weep at last. Good Jove avert such shameful faults as these, From ev'ry nymph whose heart's inclin'd to please Soft recreations fit the female kind;
Nature, for men, has rougher sports design'd: To wield the sword and hurl the pointed spear; To stop or turn the steed in full career. Tho' martial fields ill suit your tender frames, Nor may you swim in Tiber's rapid streams; Yet when Sol's burning wheels from Leo drive, And at the glowing Virgin's sign arrive, 'Tis both allow'd and fit you should repair, To pleasant walks, and breathe refreshing air. To Pompey's gardens, or the shady groves Which Caesar honours, and which Phoebus loves: Phoebus, who sunk the proud Egyptian fleet,
And made Augustus' victory complete. Or seek those shades, where monuments of fame Are raised to Livia's or Octavia's name; Or where Agrippa first adorn'd the ground, When he with naval victory was crown'd. To Isis' fine, to theatres resort; And in the circus see the noble sport. In ev'ry public place, by turns be shown; In vain you're fair while you remain unknown. Should you in singing, Thamyras transcend; Your voice unheard, who will your skill commend! Had not Appelles drawn the sea-born queen,
Her beauties still beneath the waves had been. Poets inspir'd write only for a name, And think their labours well repay'd with fame. In former days, I own, the poets were Of gods and king the most peculiar care: Majestic awe was in the name allow'd, And they with rich possessions were endowed Ennius with honours was by Scipio grac'd, And next his own the poets statue plac'd. But now their ivy crowns bear no esteem, And all their learning's thought an idle dream. Still there's a pleasure that proceeds from praise:
What could the high renown of Homer raise, But that he sung his Iliad's deathless lays? Who could have been of Danae's charms assur'd, Had she grown old, within her tow'r immur'd? This, as a rule, let ev'ry nymph pursue, That 'tis her int'rest oft' to come in view. A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one. So, let the fair the gazing crowd assail, That over one, at least, she may prevail. In ev'ry place to please, be all her thought; Where, sometimes, least we think, the fish is caught.
Sometimes, all day, we hunt the tedious foil, Anon, the stag himself shall seek the toil. How could Andromeda once doubt relief, Whose charms were heighten'd and adorn'd by grief? The widow'd fair, who sees her lord expire, While yet she weeps, may kindle new desire, And Hymen's torch relight the fun'ral fire. Beware of men who are too sprucely dress'd; And look, you fly with speed a fop profess'd. Such tools to you, and to a thousand more, Will tell the same dull story o'er and o'er. This way add that, unsteadily they rove,
And never fixed, are fugitives in love. Such flutt'ring things all women sure should hate, Light as themselves, and more effeminate. Believe me, all I say is for your good; Had Priam been believ'd, Troy still had stood. Many, with base designs, will passions feign, Who know no love, but sordid love of gain. But let not powder'd heads, nor essenc'd hair, Your well-believing, easy hearts ensnare. Rich clothes are oft by common sharpers worn, And diamond rings felonious hands adorn. So may your lover burn with fierce desire
Your jewels to enjoy, and best attire. Poor Chloe robb'd, runs crying thro' the streets; And as she runs," Give me my own," repeats. How often, Venus, hast thou heard such cries, And laugh'd amidst thy Appian votaries? Some, so notorious are their very name, Must ev'ry nymph whom they frequent defame. Be warn'd by ills which others have destroy'd, And faithless men with constant care avoid. Trust not a Theseus, fair Athenian maid, Who has so oft th' attesting gods betray'd. And thou, Demophoon, heir to Theseus' crimes,
Hast lost thy credit to all future times. Promise for promise equally afford, But once a contract made, keep well your word. For she for any act of hell is fit, And undismayed may sacrilege commit; With impious hands could quench the vestal fire Poison her husband in her arms for hire, Who first to take a lover's gift complies, And then defrauds him, and his claim denies. But hold, my muse, check thy unruly horse, And more in sight pursue th' intended course. If love epistles tender lines impart,
And billet-doux are sent to sound your heart, Let all such letters by a faithful maid, Or confident, be secretly convey'd. Soon from the words you'll judge, if read with care, When feign'd a passion is, and when sincere. Ere in return you write some time require; Delays, if not too long, increase desire; Nor let the pressing youth with ease obtain, Nor yet refuse him with too rude disdain. Now let his hopes, now let his fears increase, But by degrees, let fear to hope give place. Be sure avoid set phrases when you write,
The usual way of speech is more polite. How have I seen the puzzl'd lover vex'd, To read a letter with hard words perplex'd; A style too coarse takes from a handsome face, And makes us wish an uglier in its place. But since (tho' chastity be not your care) You from your husband still would hide th' affair, Write to no stranger till his truth be tried; Nor in a foolish messenger confide. What agonies that woman undergoes, Whose hand the traitor threatens to expose; Who rashly trusting, dreads to be deceiv'd,
And lives for ever to that dread enslav'd! Such treachery can never be surpass'd, For those discoveries, sure as light'ning, blast. Might I advise, fraud shou'd with fraud be paid; Let arms repel all who with arms invade. But since your letters may be brought to light, What if in sev'ral hands you learn to write? My curse on him who first the sex betray'd, And this advice so necessary made. Nor let your pocket-book two hands contain, First rub your lover's out, then write again. Still one contrivance more remains behind,
Which you may use as a convenient blind; As if to women writ, your letters frame, And let your friend, to you subscribe a female name. Now, greater things to tell, my muse prepare, And clap on all the sail the bark can bear. Let no rude passions in your looks find place; For fury will deform the finest face; It swells the lips, and blackens all the veins, While in the eye a Gorgon horror reigns. While on her flute divine Minerva play'd, And in a fountain saw the change it made, Swelling her cheek: she flung it quick aside,
"Nor is thy music so much worth," she cried. Look in your glass when you with anger glow, And you'll confess, you scarce yourself can know. Nor with excessive pride insult the sight, For gentle looks alone to love invite. Believe it as a truth that's daily tried, There's nothing more detestable than pride. How have I seen some airs disgust create, "Like things which by antipathy we hate!" Let looks with looks, and smiles with smiles be paid, And when your lover bows incline your head. So love preluding plays at first with hearts,
And after wounds with deeper-piercing darts. Nor me a melancholy mistress charms; Let sad Tecmessa weep in Ajax' arms. Let mournful beauties sullen heroes move; We cheerful men like gaiety in love. Let Hector in Andromache delight, Who, in bewailing Troy, wastes all the night. Had they not both born children (to be plain) I ne'er could think they'd with their husbands lain. I no idea in my mind can frame, That either one or t'other doleful dame, Could toy, could fondle, or could call their lords
"My life, my soul ;" or speak endearing words. Why from comparisons should I refrain Or fear small things by greater to explain? Observe what conduct prudent generals use, And how their several officers they choose; To one a charge of infantry commit, Another for the horse is thought more fit. So you your sev'ral lovers should select, And as you find 'em qualified, direct. The wealthy lover store of gold should send; The lawyer should, in courts, your case defend. We, who write verse, with verse alone shouldbribe;
Most apt to love is all the tuneful tribe. By us, your fame shall thro' the world be blaz'd; So Nemesis, so Cynthia's name was rais'd. From east to west Lycoris' praises ring; Nor are Corinna's silent, whom we sing. No fraud the poet's sacred breast can bear; Mild are his manners, and his heart sincere, Nor wealth he seeks, nor feels ambition's fires, But shuns the bar; and books and shades requires. Too faithfully, alas ! we know to love, With ease we fix, but we with pain remove; Our softer studies with our souls combine,
And both to tenderness our hearts incline. Be gentle, virgins, to the poets pray'r, The god that fills him, and the muse revere; Something divine is in us, and from heav'n Th' inspiring spirit can alone be given. 'Tis sin a price from poets to exact, But 'tis a sin no woman fears to act; Yet hide, howe'er, your avarice from sight, Lest you too soon your new admirer fright. As skilful riders rein, with diff'rent force, A new-back'd courser and a well-train'd horse, Do you by diffrent management engage
The man in years, and youth of greener age. This, while the wiles of love are yet unknown, Will gladly cleave to you, and you alone; With kind caresses oft indulge the boy, And all the harvest of his heart enjoy. Alone, thus bless'd, of rivals most beware; Nor love nor empire can a partner bear. Men more discreetly love, when more mature, And many things, which youth disdains, endure; No windows break, nor houses set on fire, Nor tear their own, or mistress's attire. In youth, the boiling blood gives fury vent,
But men in years more calmly wrong resent; As wood when green, or as a torch when wet, They slowly burn, but long retain their heat. More bright is youthful flame, but sooner dies; Then swiftly seize the joy that swiftly flies. Thus, all betraying to the beauteous foe, How surely to enslave ourselves we show. To trust a traitor you'll no scruple make, Who is a traitor only for your sake. Who yields too soon will soon her lover lose; Would you retain him long ? then long refuse. Oft at your door make him for entrance wait;
There let him lie, and threaten and entreat. When cloy'd with sweets, bitters the taste restore; Ships by fair winds are sometimes run ashore; Hence springs the coldness in a married life; The husband when he pleases has his wife. Bar but your gate, and let your porter cry, "Here's no admittance, sir; I must deny;" The very husband, — so repuls'd, will find A growing inclination to be kind. Thus far with foils you've sought those laid aside; I now sharp weapons for the sex provide, Nor doubt not 'gainst myself to see 'em tried.
When first a lover you design to charm, Beware lest jealousies his soul alarm; Make him believe with all the skill you can, That he and only he's the happy man. Anon, by due degrees, small doubts create, And let him fear some rival's better fate. Such little arts make love its vigour hold, Which else would languish, and too soon grow old. Then strains the courser to outstrip the wind, When one before him runs, and one he hears behind. Love, when extinct, suspicions may revive; I own when mine's secure 'tis scarce alive.
Yet no precaution to this rule belongs; Let us at most suspect, not prove our wrongs. Sometimes your lover, to incite the more, Pretends your husband's spies beset the door; Tho' free as Thais, still affect a fright, For seeming danger heightens the delight. Oft let the youth in thro' your windows steal, Tho' he might enter at the door as well; And sometimes let your maid surprise pretend, And beg you in some hole to hide your friend: Yet ever and anon dispel his fear, And let him taste of happiness sincere;
Lest, quite dishearten'd with too much fatigue, He should grow weary of the dull intrigue. But I forgot to tell how you may try Both to evade the husband and the spy. That wives should of their husbands stand in awe, Agrees with justice, modesty, and law; But that a mistress may be lawful prize, None but her keeper I am sure denies. For such fair nymphs these precepts are design'd, Which ne'er can fail, join'd with a willing mind. Tho' stuck with Argus' eyes your keeper were, Advis'd by me you shall elude his care.
When you to wash or bathe retire from eight, Can he observe what letters then you write? Or can his caution against such provide, Which in her breast your confidant may hide! Can he that note beneath her garter view, Or that which more conceal'd is in her shoe ? Yet, these perceived, you may her back undress, And writing on her skin your mind express. New milk, or pointed spires of flax when green, Will ink supply, and letters mark unseen. Fair will the paper, show, nor can be read, Till all the writing 's with warm ashes spread.
Acresius was with all his care betray'd, And in his tow'r of brass a grandsire made. Can spies avail when you to plays resort, Or in the circus view the noble sport? Or can you be to Isis' fane pursu'd, Or Cybele's, whose rights all men exclude? Tho' watchful servants to the Bagnio come, They're ne'er admitted to the bathing-room. Or when some sudden sickness you pretend, May you not take to your sick bed a friend? False keys a private passage may procure, If not, there are more ways besides the door.
Sometimes with wine your watchful follower treat; When drunk, you may with ease his care defeat: Or, to prevent too sudden a surprise, Prepare a sleeping draught to seal his eyes; Or let your maid, still longer time to gain, An inclination for his person feign; With faint resistance let her drill him on, And, after competent delays, be won. But what need all these various doubtful wiles, Since gold the greatest vigilance beguiles? Believe me, men and gods with gifts are pleas'd, E'en angry Jove with offerings is appeas'd;
With presents fools and wise alike are caught; Give but enough, the husband may be bought, But let we warn you, when you bribe a spy, That you for ever his connivance buy; Pay him his price at once, for with such men You'll know no end of giving now and then. Once, I remember, I with cause complain'd Of jealousy occasion'd by a friend. Believe me, apprehensions of that kind Are not alone to our false sex confin'd. Trust not too far your she-companion's truth, Lest she sometimes should intercept the youth;
The very confidant that lends the bed, May entertain your lover in your stead. Nor keep a servant with too fair a face, For such I've known supply her lady's place. But whither do I run with heedless rage, Teaching the foe unequal war to wage? Did ever bird the fowler's net prepare? Was ever hound instructed by the hare? But all self-ends and int'rests set apart, I'll faithfully proceed to teach my art; Defenceless and unarm'd expose my life, And for the Lemnian ladies whet the knife.
Perpetual fondness of your lover feign, Nor will you find it hard belief to gain; Full of himself, he your design will aid! To what we wish 'tis easy to persuade. With dying eyes his face and form survey, Then sigh, and wonder he so long could stay; Now, drop a tear your sorrows to assuage, Anon, reproach him, and pretend to rage. Such proofs as these will all distrust remove, And make him pity your excessive love. Scarce to himself will he forbear to cry, "How can I let this poor fond creature die?"
But chiefly one such fond behaviour fires, Who courts his glass, and his own charms admires. Proud of the homage to his merit done, He'll think a goddess might with ease be won. Light wrongs be sure you still with mildness bear, Nor straight fly out when you a rival fear. Let not your passions o'er your sense prevail, Nor credit lightly ev'ry idle tale. Let Procris' fate a sad example be Of what effects attend credulity. Near where his purple head Hymettus shows, And flow'ring hills, a sacred fountain flows;
With soft and verdant turf the soil is spread, And sweetly smelling shrubs the ground o'ershade. There rosemary and bays their odours join, And with the fragrant myrtle's scent combine. There tamarisks with thick-leav'd box are found, And cytisus and garden pines abound. While through the boughs soft winds of Zephyr pass, Tremble the leaves and tender tops of grass. Hither would Cephalus retreat to rest, When tir'd with hunting, or with heat oppress'd; And, thus, to air the panting youth would pray; Come, gentle Aura, come, this heat allay."
But some tale-bearing too officious friend, By chance o'erheard him as he thus complain'd; Who with the news to Procris quick repair'd, Repeating word for word what she had heard. Soon as the news of Aura reach'd her ears, With jealousy surpris'd. and fainting fears, Her rosy colour fled her lovely face, And agonies like death supplied the place; Pale she appear'd as are the falling leaves When first the vine the winter's blast receives. Of ripen'd quinces, such the yellow hue, Or, when unripe, we cornel-berries view.
Reviving from her swoon, her robes she tore, Nor her own faultless face to wound forbore; Now all dishevell'd to the woods she flies, With Bacchanalian fury in her eyes. Thither arriv'd, she leaves below her friends, And all alone the shady hill ascends. What fully, Procris, o'er thy mind prevail'd? What rage, thus fatally to lie conceal'd? "Who'er this Aura be," such was thy thought, "She now shall in the very fact be caught " Anon thy heart repents its rash designs, And now to go, and now to stay, inclines;
Thus love with doubts perplexes still thy mind, And makes thee seek what thou must dread to find. But still the rival's name rings in thy ears, And more suspicious still the place appears; But more than all, excessive love deceives, Which all it fears too easily believes. And now a chillness runs thro' ev'ry vein, Soon as she saw where Cephalus had lain. 'Twas noon when he again retir'd, to shun The scorching ardour of the mid-day's sun; With water first he sprinkled o'er his face Which glow'd with heat; then sought his usual place.
Procris, with anxious but with silent care, View'd him extended, with his bosom bare; And heard him soon th' accustom'd words repeat, " Come Zephyr, Aura come, allay this heat." Soon as she found her error, from the word, Her colour and her temper were restor'd; With joy she rose to clasp him in her arms, But Cephalus the rustling noise alarms; Some beast he thinks he in the bushes hears, And straight his arrows and his bow prepares. Hold, hold, unhappy youth!-I call in vain; With thy own hand thou hast thy Procris slain
" Me, me," she cries, " thou'st wounded with thy dart; But Cephalus was wont to wound this heart. Yet lighter on my ashes earth will lie, Since, tho' untimely, I unrivall'd die! Come, close with thy dear hand my eyes in death; Jealous of air, to air I yield my breath." Close to his heavy heart her cheek he laid, And wash'd with streaming tears the wound he made; At length the springs of life their currents leave, And her last gasp her husband's lips receive. Now to pursue our voyage we must provide, Till safe to port our weary bark we guide.
You may expect, perhaps, I now should teach What rules to treats and entertainments reach. Come not the first, invited to a feast; Rather come last, as a more grateful guest, For that of which we fear to be depriv'd, Meets with the surest welcome when arriv'd. Besides, complexions of a coarser kind, From candle-light no small advantage find. During the time you eat, observe some grace, Nor let your unwip'd hands besmear your face; Nor yet too squeamishly your meat avoid, Lest we suspect you were in private cloy'd.
Of all extremes in either kind forbear And still, before your belly's full, beware. No glutton nymph, however fair, can wound, Tho' more than Helen she in charms abound. I own I think of wire the moderate use More suits the sex, and sooner finds excuse; It warms the blood, adds lustre to the eyes, And wine and love have always been allies. But carefully from all intemperance keep, Nor drink till you see double, lisp, or sleep; For in such sleeps brutalities are done, Which, tho' you loath, you have no pow'r to shun.
And now th' instructed nymph from table led, Should next be taught how to behave in bed;— But modesty forbids: nor more my muse With weary wings the labour'd flight pursues; Her purple swans unyok'd, the chariot leave, And needful rest (their journey done) receive. Thus, with impartial care, my art I show, And equal arms on either sex bestow; White men and maids, who by my rules improve, Ovid, must own, their master is in love.
Book 1
Siquis in hoc artem populo non novit amandi, Hoc legat et lecto carmine doctus amet. Arte citae veloque rates remoque moventur, Arte leves currus: arte regendus amor. Curribus Automedon lentisque erat aptus habenis, Tiphys in Haemonia puppe magister erat: Me Venus artificem tenero praefecit Amori; Tiphys et Automedon dicar Amoris ego. Ille quidem ferus est et qui mihi saepe repugnet: Sed puer est, aetas mollis et apta regi. Phillyrides puerum cithara perfecit Achillem, Atque animos placida contudit arte feros.
Qui totiens socios, totiens exterruit hostes, Creditur annosum pertimuisse senem. Quas Hector sensurus erat, poscente magistro Verberibus iussas praebuit ille manus. Aeacidae Chiron, ego sum praeceptor Amoris: Saevus uterque puer, natus uterque dea. Sed tamen et tauri cervix oneratur aratro, Frenaque magnanimi dente teruntur equi; Et mihi cedet Amor, quamvis mea vulneret arcu Pectora, iactatas excutiatque faces. Quo me fixit Amor, quo me violentius ussit, Hoc melior facti vulneris ultor ero:
Non ego, Phoebe, datas a te mihi mentiar artes, Nec nos aëriae voce monemur avis, Nec mihi sunt visae Clio Cliusque sorores Servanti pecudes vallibus, Ascra, tuis: Usus opus movet hoc: vati parete perito; Vera canam: coeptis, mater Amoris, ades! Este procul, vittae tenues, insigne pudoris, Quaeque tegis medios, instita longa, pedes. Nos venerem tutam concessaque furta canemus, Inque meo nullum carmine crimen erit. Principio, quod amare velis, reperire labora, Qui nova nunc primum miles in arma venis.
Proximus huic labor est placitam exorare puellam: Tertius, ut longo tempore duret amor. Hic modus, haec nostro signabitur area curru: Haec erit admissa meta terenda rota. Dum licet, et loris passim potes ire solutis, Elige cui dicas 'tu mihi sola places.' Haec tibi non tenues veniet delapsa per auras: Quaerenda est oculis apta puella tuis. Scit bene venator, cervis ubi retia tendat, Scit bene, qua frendens valle moretur aper; Aucupibus noti frutices; qui sustinet hamos, Novit quae multo pisce natentur aquae:
Tu quoque, materiam longo qui quaeris amori, Ante frequens quo sit disce puella loco. Non ego quaerentem vento dare vela iubebo, Nec tibi, ut invenias, longa terenda via est. Andromedan Perseus nigris portarit ab Indis, Raptaque sit Phrygio Graia puella viro, Tot tibi tamque dabit formosas Roma puellas, 'Haec habet' ut dicas 'quicquid in orbe fuit.' Gargara quot segetes, quot habet Methymna racemos, Aequore quot pisces, fronde teguntur aves, Quot caelum stellas, tot habet tua Roma puellas: Mater in Aeneae constitit urbe sui.
Seu caperis primis et adhuc crescentibus annis, Ante oculos veniet vera puella tuos: Sive cupis iuvenem, iuvenes tibi mille placebunt. Cogeris voti nescius esse tui: Seu te forte iuvat sera et sapientior aetas, Hoc quoque, crede mihi, plenius agmen erit. Tu modo Pompeia lentus spatiare sub umbra, Cum sol Herculei terga leonis adit: Aut ubi muneribus nati sua munera mater Addidit, externo marmore dives opus. Nec tibi vitetur quae, priscis sparsa tabellis, Porticus auctoris Livia nomen habet:
Quaque parare necem miseris patruelibus ausae Belides et stricto stat ferus ense pater. Nec te praetereat Veneri ploratus Adonis, Cultaque Iudaeo septima sacra Syro. Nec fuge linigerae Memphitica templa iuvencae: Multas illa facit, quod fuit ipsa Iovi. Et fora conveniunt (quis credere possit?) amori: Flammaque in arguto saepe reperta foro: Subdita qua Veneris facto de marmore templo Appias expressis aëra pulsat aquis, Illo saepe loco capitur consultus Amori, Quique aliis cavit, non cavet ipse sibi:
Illo saepe loco desunt sua verba diserto, Resque novae veniunt, causaque agenda sua est. Hunc Venus e templis, quae sunt confinia, ridet: Qui modo patronus, nunc cupit esse cliens. Sed tu praecipue curvis venare theatris: Haec loca sunt voto fertiliora tuo. Illic invenies quod ames, quod ludere possis, Quodque semel tangas, quodque tenere velis. Ut redit itque frequens longum formica per agmen, Granifero solitum cum vehit ore cibum, Aut ut apes saltusque suos et olentia nactae Pascua per flores et thyma summa volant,
Sic ruit ad celebres cultissima femina ludos: Copia iudicium saepe morata meum est. Spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipsae: Ille locus casti damna pudoris habet. Primus sollicitos fecisti, Romule, ludos, Cum iuvit viduos rapta Sabina viros. Tunc neque marmoreo pendebant vela theatro, Nec fuerant liquido pulpita rubra croco; Illic quas tulerant nemorosa Palatia, frondes Simpliciter positae, scena sine arte fuit; In gradibus sedit populus de caespite factis, Qualibet hirsutas fronde tegente comas.
Respiciunt, oculisque notant sibi quisque puellam Quam velit, et tacito pectore multa movent. Dumque, rudem praebente modum tibicine Tusco, Ludius aequatam ter pede pulsat humum, In medio plausu (plausus tunc arte carebant) Rex populo praedae signa petita dedit. Protinus exiliunt, animum clamore fatentes, Virginibus cupidas iniciuntque manus. Ut fugiunt aquilas, timidissima turba, columbae, Ut fugit invisos agna novella lupos: Sic illae timuere viros sine more ruentes; Constitit in nulla qui fuit ante color.
Nam timor unus erat, facies non una timoris: Pars laniat crines, pars sine mente sedet; Altera maesta silet, frustra vocat altera matrem: Haec queritur, stupet haec; haec manet, illa fugit; Ducuntur raptae, genialis praeda, puellae, Et potuit multas ipse decere timor. Siqua repugnarat nimium comitemque negabat, Sublatam cupido vir tulit ipse sinu, Atque ita 'quid teneros lacrimis corrumpis ocellos? Quod matri pater est, hoc tibi' dixit 'ero.' Romule, militibus scisti dare commoda solus: Haec mihi si dederis commoda, miles ero.
Scilicet ex illo sollemnia more theatra Nunc quoque formosis insidiosa manent. Nec te nobilium fugiat certamen equorum; Multa capax populi commoda Circus habet. Nil opus est digitis, per quos arcana loquaris, Nec tibi per nutus accipienda nota est: Proximus a domina, nullo prohibente, sedeto, Iunge tuum lateri qua potes usque latus; Et bene, quod cogit, si nolis, linea iungi, Quod tibi tangenda est lege puella loci. Hic tibi quaeratur socii sermonis origo, Et moveant primos publica verba sonos.
Cuius equi veniant, facito, studiose, requiras: Nec mora, quisquis erit, cui favet illa, fave. At cum pompa frequens caelestibus ibit eburnis, Tu Veneri dominae plaude favente manu; Utque fit, in gremium pulvis si forte puellae Deciderit, digitis excutiendus erit: Etsi nullus erit pulvis, tamen excute nullum: Quaelibet officio causa sit apta tuo. Pallia si terra nimium demissa iacebunt, Collige, et inmunda sedulus effer humo; Protinus, officii pretium, patiente puella Contingent oculis crura videnda tuis.
Respice praeterea, post vos quicumque sedebit, Ne premat opposito mollia terga genu. Parva leves capiunt animos: fuit utile multis Pulvinum facili composuisse manu. Profuit et tenui ventos movisse tabella, Et cava sub tenerum scamna dedisse pedem. Hos aditus Circusque novo praebebit amori, Sparsaque sollicito tristis harena foro. Illa saepe puer Veneris pugnavit harena, Et qui spectavit vulnera, vulnus habet. Dum loquitur tangitque manum poscitque libellum Et quaerit posito pignore, vincat uter,
Saucius ingemuit telumque volatile sensit, Et pars spectati muneris ipse fuit. Quid, modo cum belli navalis imagine Caesar Persidas induxit Cecropiasque rates? Nempe ab utroque mari iuvenes, ab utroque puellae Venere, atque ingens orbis in Urbe fuit. Quis non invenit turba, quod amaret, in illa? Eheu, quam multos advena torsit amor! Ecce, parat Caesar domito quod defuit orbi Addere: nunc, oriens ultime, noster eris. Parthe, dabis poenas: Crassi gaudete sepulti, Signaque barbaricas non bene passa manus.
Ultor adest, primisque ducem profitetur in annis, Bellaque non puero tractat agenda puer. Parcite natales timidi numerare deorum: Caesaribus virtus contigit ante diem. Ingenium caeleste suis velocius annis Surgit, et ignavae fert male damna morae. Parvus erat, manibusque duos Tirynthius angues Pressit, et in cunis iam Iove dignus erat. Nunc quoque qui puer es, quantus tum, Bacche, fuisti, Cum timuit thyrsos India victa tuos? Auspiciis annisque patris, puer, arma movebis, Et vinces annis auspiciisque patris:
Tale rudimentum tanto sub nomine debes, Nunc iuvenum princeps, deinde future senum; Cum tibi sint fratres, fratres ulciscere laesos: Cumque pater tibi sit, iura tuere patris. Induit arma tibi genitor patriaeque tuusque: Hostis ab invito regna parente rapit; Tu pia tela feres, sceleratas ille sagittas: Stabit pro signis iusque piumque tuis. Vincuntur causa Parthi: vincantur et armis; Eoas Latio dux meus addat opes. Marsque pater Caesarque pater, date numen eunti: Nam deus e vobis alter es, alter eris.
Auguror, en, vinces; votivaque carmina reddam, Et magno nobis ore sonandus eris. Consistes, aciemque meis hortabere verbis; O desint animis ne mea verba tuis! Tergaque Parthorum Romanaque pectora dicam, Telaque, ab averso quae iacit hostis equo. Qui fugis ut vincas, quid victo, Parthe, relinquis? Parthe, malum iam nunc Mars tuus omen habet. Ergo erit illa dies, qua tu, pulcherrime rerum, Quattuor in niveis aureus ibis equis. Ibunt ante duces onerati colla catenis, Ne possint tuti, qua prius, esse fuga.
Spectabunt laeti iuvenes mixtaeque puellae, Diffundetque animos omnibus ista dies. Atque aliqua ex illis cum regum nomina quaeret, Quae loca, qui montes, quaeve ferantur aquae, Omnia responde, nec tantum siqua rogabit; Et quae nescieris, ut bene nota refer. Hic est Euphrates, praecinctus harundine frontem: Cui coma dependet caerula, Tigris erit. Hos facito Armenios; haec est Danaëia Persis: Urbs in Achaemeniis vallibus ista fuit. Ille vel ille, duces; et erunt quae nomina dicas, Si poteris, vere, si minus, apta tamen.
Dant etiam positis aditum convivia mensis: Est aliquid praeter vina, quod inde petas. Saepe illic positi teneris adducta lacertis Purpureus Bacchi cornua pressit Amor: Vinaque cum bibulas sparsere Cupidinis alas, Permanet et capto stat gravis ille loco. Ille quidem pennas velociter excutit udas: Sed tamen et spargi pectus amore nocet. Vina parant animos faciuntque caloribus aptos: Cura fugit multo diluiturque mero. Tunc veniunt risus, tum pauper cornua sumit, Tum dolor et curae rugaque frontis abit.
Tunc aperit mentes aevo rarissima nostro Simplicitas, artes excutiente deo. Illic saepe animos iuvenum rapuere puellae, Et Venus in vinis ignis in igne fuit. Hic tu fallaci nimium ne crede lucernae: Iudicio formae noxque merumque nocent. Luce deas caeloque Paris spectavit aperto, Cum dixit Veneri 'vincis utramque, Venus.' Nocte latent mendae, vitioque ignoscitur omni, Horaque formosam quamlibet illa facit. Consule de gemmis, de tincta murice lana, Consule de facie corporibusque diem.
Quid tibi femineos coetus venatibus aptos Enumerem? numero cedet harena meo. Quid referam Baias, praetextaque litora velis, Et quae de calido sulpure fumat aqua? Hinc aliquis vulnus referens in pectore dixit 'Non haec, ut fama est, unda salubris erat.' Ecce suburbanae templum nemorale Dianae Partaque per gladios regna nocente manu: Illa, quod est virgo, quod tela Cupidinis odit, Multa dedit populo vulnera, multa dabit. Hactenus, unde legas quod ames, ubi retia ponas, Praecipit imparibus vecta Thalea rotis.
Nunc tibi, quae placuit, quas sit capienda per artes, Dicere praecipuae molior artis opus. Quisquis ubique, viri, dociles advertite mentes, Pollicitisque favens, vulgus, adeste meis. Prima tuae menti veniat fiducia, cunctas Posse capi; capies, tu modo tende plagas. Vere prius volucres taceant, aestate cicadae, Maenalius lepori det sua terga canis, Femina quam iuveni blande temptata repugnet: Haec quoque, quam poteris credere nolle, volet. Utque viro furtiva venus, sic grata puellae: Vir male dissimulat: tectius illa cupit.
Conveniat maribus, nequam nos ante rogemus, Femina iam partes victa rogantis agat. Mollibus in pratis admugit femina tauro: Femina cornipedi semper adhinnit equo. Parcior in nobis nec tam furiosa libido: Legitimum finem flamma virilis habet. Byblida quid referam, vetito quae fratris amore Arsit et est laqueo fortiter ulta nefas? Myrrha patrem, sed non qua filia debet, amavit, Et nunc obducto cortice pressa latet: Illius lacrimis, quas arbore fundit odora, Unguimur, et dominae nomina gutta tenet.
Forte sub umbrosis nemorosae vallibus Idae Candidus, armenti gloria, taurus erat, Signatus tenui media inter cornua nigro: Una fuit labes, cetera lactis erant. Illum Cnosiadesque Cydoneaeque iuvencae Optarunt tergo sustinuisse suo. Pasiphaë fieri gaudebat adultera tauri; Invida formosas oderat illa boves. Nota cano: non hoc, centum quae sustinet urbes, Quamvis sit mendax, Creta negare potest. Ipsa novas frondes et prata tenerrima tauro Fertur inadsueta subsecuisse manu.
It comes armentis, nec ituram cura moratur Coniugis, et Minos a bove victus erat. Quo tibi, Pasiphaë, pretiosas sumere vestes? Ille tuus nullas sentit adulter opes. Quid tibi cum speculo, montana armenta petenti? Quid totiens positas fingis, inepta, comas? Crede tamen speculo, quod te negat esse iuvencam. Quam cuperes fronti cornua nata tuae! Sive placet Minos, nullus quaeratur adulter: Sive virum mavis fallere, falle viro! In nemus et saltus thalamo regina relicto Fertur, ut Aonio concita Baccha deo.
A, quotiens vaccam vultu spectavit iniquo, Et dixit 'domino cur placet ista meo? Aspice, ut ante ipsum teneris exultet in herbis: Nec dubito, quin se stulta decere putet.' Dixit, et ingenti iamdudum de grege duci Iussit et inmeritam sub iuga curva trahi, Aut cadere ante aras commentaque sacra coegit, Et tenuit laeta paelicis exta manu. Paelicibus quotiens placavit numina caesis, Atque ait, exta tenens 'ite, placete meo!' Et modo se Europen fieri, modo postulat Io, Altera quod bos est, altera vecta bove.
Hanc tamen implevit, vacca deceptus acerna, Dux gregis, et partu proditus auctor erat. Cressa Thyesteo si se abstinuisset amore (Et quantum est uno posse carere viro?), Non medium rupisset iter, curruque retorto Auroram versis Phoebus adisset equis. Filia purpureos Niso furata capillos Pube premit rabidos inguinibusque canes. Qui Martem terra, Neptunum effugit in undis, Coniugis Atrides victima dira fuit. Cui non defleta est Ephyraeae flamma Creüsae, Et nece natorum sanguinolenta parens?
Flevit Amyntorides per inania lumina Phoenix: Hippolytum pavidi diripuistis equi. Quid fodis inmeritis, Phineu, sua lumina natis? Poena reversura est in caput ista tuum. Omnia feminea sunt ista libidine mota; Acrior est nostra, plusque furoris habet. Ergo age, ne dubita cunctas sperare puellas; Vix erit e multis, quae neget, una, tibi. Quae dant quaeque negant, gaudent tamen esse rogatae: Ut iam fallaris, tuta repulsa tua est. Sed cur fallaris, cum sit nova grata voluptas Et capiant animos plus aliena suis?
Fertilior seges est alienis semper in agris, Vicinumque pecus grandius uber habet. Sed prius ancillam captandae nosse puellae Cura sit: accessus molliet illa tuos. Proxima consiliis dominae sit ut illa, videto, Neve parum tacitis conscia fida iocis. Hanc tu pollicitis, hanc tu corrumpe rogando: Quod petis, ex facili, si volet illa, feres. Illa leget tempus (medici quoque tempora servant) Quo facilis dominae mens sit et apta capi. Mens erit apta capi tum, cum laetissima rerum Ut seges in pingui luxuriabit humo.
Pectora dum gaudent nec sunt adstricta dolore, Ipsa patent, blanda tum subit arte Venus. Tum, cum tristis erat, defensa est Ilios armis: Militibus gravidum laeta recepit equum. Tum quoque temptanda est, cum paelice laesa dolebit: Tum facies opera, ne sit inulta, tua. Hanc matutinos pectens ancilla capillos Incitet, et velo remigis addat opem, Et secum tenui suspirans murmure dicat 'At, puto, non poteras ipsa referre vicem.' Tum de te narret, tum persuadentia verba Addat, et insano iuret amore mori.
Sed propera, ne vela cadant auraeque residant: Ut fragilis glacies, interit ira mora. Quaeris, an hanc ipsam prosit violare ministram? Talibus admissis alea grandis inest. Haec a concubitu fit sedula, tardior illa, Haec dominae munus te parat, illa sibi. Casus in eventu est: licet hic indulgeat ausis, Consilium tamen est abstinuisse meum. Non ego per praeceps et acuta cacumina vadam, Nec iuvenum quisquam me duce captus erit. Si tamen illa tibi, dum dat recipitque tabellas, Corpore, non tantum sedulitate placet,
Fac domina potiare prius, comes illa sequatur: Non tibi ab ancilla est incipienda venus. Hoc unum moneo, siquid modo creditur arti, Nec mea dicta rapax per mare ventus agit: Aut non temptaris aut perfice! tollitur index, Cum semel in partem criminis ipsa venit. Non avis utiliter viscatis effugit alis; Non bene de laxis cassibus exit aper. Saucius arrepto piscis teneatur ab hamo: Perprime temptatam, nec nisi victor abi. Sed bene celetur: bene si celabitur index, Notitiae suberit semper amica tuae.
Tempora qui solis operosa colentibus arva, Fallitur, et nautis aspicienda putat; Nec semper credenda ceres fallacibus arvis, Nec semper viridi concava puppis aquae, Nec teneras semper tutum captare puellas: Saepe dato melius tempore fiet idem. Sive dies suberit natalis, sive Kalendae, Quas Venerem Marti continuasse iuvat, Sive erit ornatus non ut fuit ante sigillis, Sed regum positas Circus habebit opes, Differ opus: tunc tristis hiems, tunc Pliades instant, Tunc tener aequorea mergitur Haedus aqua;
Tunc bene desinitur: tunc siquis creditur alto, Vix tenuit lacerae naufraga membra ratis. Tu licet incipias qua flebilis Allia luce Vulneribus Latiis sanguinolenta fluit, Quaque die redeunt, rebus minus apta gerendis, Culta Palaestino septima festa Syro. Magna superstitio tibi sit natalis amicae: Quaque aliquid dandum est, illa sit atra dies. Cum bene vitaris, tamen auferet; invenit artem Femina, qua cupidi carpat amantis opes. Institor ad dominam veniet discinctus emacem, Expediet merces teque sedente suas:
Quas illa, inspicias, sapere ut videare, rogabit: Oscula deinde dabit; deinde rogabit, emas. Hoc fore contentam multos iurabit in annos, Nunc opus esse sibi, nunc bene dicet emi. Si non esse domi, quos des, causabere nummos, Littera poscetur — ne didicisse iuvet. Quid, quasi natali cum poscit munera libo, Et, quotiens opus est, nascitur illa, sibi? Quid, cum mendaci damno maestissima plorat, Elapsusque cava fingitur aure lapis? Multa rogant utenda dari, data reddere nolunt: Perdis, et in damno gratia nulla tuo.
Non mihi, sacrilegas meretricum ut persequar artes, Cum totidem linguis sint satis ora decem. Cera vadum temptet, rasis infusa tabellis: Cera tuae primum conscia mentis eat. Blanditias ferat illa tuas imitataque amantem Verba; nec exiguas, quisquis es, adde preces. Hectora donavit Priamo prece motus Achilles; Flectitur iratus voce rogante deus. Promittas facito: quid enim promittere laedit? Pollicitis dives quilibet esse potest. Spes tenet in tempus, semel est si credita, longum: Illa quidem fallax, sed tamen apta dea est.
Si dederis aliquid, poteris ratione relinqui: Praeteritum tulerit, perdideritque nihil. At quod non dederis, semper videare daturus: Sic dominum sterilis saepe fefellit ager: Sic, ne perdiderit, non cessat perdere lusor, Et revocat cupidas alea saepe manus. Hoc opus, hic labor est, primo sine munere iungi; Ne dederit gratis quae dedit, usque dabit. Ergo eat et blandis peraretur littera verbis, Exploretque animos, primaque temptet iter. Littera Cydippen pomo perlata fefellit, Insciaque est verbis capta puella suis.
Disce bonas artes, moneo, Romana iuventus, Non tantum trepidos ut tueare reos; Quam populus iudexque gravis lectusque senatus, Tam dabit eloquio victa puella manus. Sed lateant vires, nec sis in fronte disertus; Effugiant voces verba molesta tuae. Quis, nisi mentis inops, tenerae declamat amicae? Saepe valens odii littera causa fuit. Sit tibi credibilis sermo consuetaque verba, Blanda tamen, praesens ut videare loqui. Si non accipiet scriptum, inlectumque remittet, Lecturam spera, propositumque tene.
Tempore difficiles veniunt ad aratra iuvenci, Tempore lenta pati frena docentur equi: Ferreus adsiduo consumitur anulus usu, Interit adsidua vomer aduncus humo. Quid magis est saxo durum, quid mollius unda? Dura tamen molli saxa cavantur aqua. Penelopen ipsam, persta modo, tempore vinces: Capta vides sero Pergama, capta tamen. Legerit, et nolit rescribere? cogere noli: Tu modo blanditias fac legat usque tuas. Quae voluit legisse, volet rescribere lectis: Per numeros venient ista gradusque suos.
Forsitan et primo veniet tibi littera tristis, Quaeque roget, ne se sollicitare velis. Quod rogat illa, timet; quod non rogat, optat, ut instes; Insequere, et voti postmodo compos eris. Interea, sive illa toro resupina feretur, Lecticam dominae dissimulanter adi, Neve aliquis verbis odiosas offerat auris, Qua potes ambiguis callidus abde notis. Seu pedibus vacuis illi spatiosa teretur Porticus, hic socias tu quoque iunge moras: Et modo praecedas facito, modo terga sequaris, Et modo festines, et modo lentus eas:
Nec tibi de mediis aliquot transire columnas Sit pudor, aut lateri continuasse latus; Nec sine te curvo sedeat speciosa theatro: Quod spectes, umeris adferet illa suis. Illam respicias, illam mirere licebit: Multa supercilio, multa loquare notis. Et plaudas, aliquam mimo saltante puellam: Et faveas illi, quisquis agatur amans. Cum surgit, surges; donec sedet illa, sedebis; Arbitrio dominae tempora perde tuae. Sed tibi nec ferro placeat torquere capillos, Nec tua mordaci pumice crura teras.
Ista iube faciant, quorum Cybeleïa mater Concinitur Phrygiis exululata modis. Forma viros neglecta decet; Minoida Theseus Abstulit, a nulla tempora comptus acu. Hippolytum Phaedra, nec erat bene cultus, amavit; Cura deae silvis aptus Adonis erat. Munditie placeant, fuscentur corpora Campo: Sit bene conveniens et sine labe toga: Lingula ne rigeat, careant rubigine dentes, Nec vagus in laxa pes tibi pelle natet: Nec male deformet rigidos tonsura capillos: Sit coma, sit trita barba resecta manu.
Et nihil emineant, et sint sine sordibus ungues: Inque cava nullus stet tibi nare pilus. Nec male odorati sit tristis anhelitus oris: Nec laedat naris virque paterque gregis. Cetera lascivae faciant, concede, puellae, Et siquis male vir quaerit habere virum. Ecce, suum vatem Liber vocat; hic quoque amantes Adiuvat, et flammae, qua calet ipse, favet. Cnosis in ignotis amens errabat harenis, Qua brevis aequoreis Dia feritur aquis. Utque erat e somno tunica velata recincta, Nuda pedem, croceas inreligata comas,
Thesea crudelem surdas clamabat ad undas, Indigno teneras imbre rigante genas. Clamabat, flebatque simul, sed utrumque decebat; Non facta est lacrimis turpior illa suis. Iamque iterum tundens mollissima pectora palmis 'Perfidus ille abiit; quid mihi fiet?' ait. 'Quid mihi fiet?' ait: sonuerunt cymbala toto Litore, et adtonita tympana pulsa manu. Excidit illa metu, rupitque novissima verba; Nullus in exanimi corpore sanguis erat. Ecce Mimallonides sparsis in terga capillis: Ecce leves satyri, praevia turba dei:
Ebrius, ecce, senex pando Silenus asello Vix sedet, et pressas continet ante iubas. Dum sequitur Bacchas, Bacchae fugiuntque petuntque Quadrupedem ferula dum malus urget eques, In caput aurito cecidit delapsus asello: Clamarunt satyri 'surge age, surge, pater.' Iam deus in curru, quem summum texerat uvis, Tigribus adiunctis aurea lora dabat: Et color et Theseus et vox abiere puellae: Terque fugam petiit, terque retenta metu est. Horruit, ut graciles, agitat quas ventus, aristae, Ut levis in madida canna palude tremit.
Cui deus 'en, adsum tibi cura fidelior' inquit: 'Pone metum: Bacchi, Cnosias, uxor eris. Munus habe caelum; caelo spectabere sidus; Saepe reges dubiam Cressa Corona ratem.' Dixit, et e curru, ne tigres illa timeret, Desilit; inposito cessit harena pede: Implicitamque sinu (neque enim pugnare valebat) Abstulit; in facili est omnia posse deo. Pars 'Hymenaee' canunt, pars clamant 'Euhion, euhoe!' Sic coeunt sacro nupta deusque toro. Ergo ubi contigerint positi tibi munera Bacchi, Atque erit in socii femina parte tori,
Nycteliumque patrem nocturnaque sacra precare, Ne iubeant capiti vina nocere tuo. Hic tibi multa licet sermone latentia tecto Dicere, quae dici sentiat illa sibi: Blanditiasque leves tenui perscribere vino, Ut dominam in mensa se legat illa tuam: Atque oculos oculis spectare fatentibus ignem: Saepe tacens vocem verbaque vultus habet. Fac primus rapias illius tacta labellis Pocula, quaque bibet parte puella, bibas: Et quemcumque cibum digitis libaverit illa, Tu pete, dumque petis, sit tibi tacta manus.
Sint etiam tua vota, viro placuisse puellae: Utilior vobis factus amicus erit. Huic, si sorte bibes, sortem concede priorem: Huic detur capiti missa corona tuo. Sive erit inferior, seu par, prior omnia sumat: Nec dubites illi verba secunda loqui. Tuta frequensque via est, per amici fallere nomen: Tuta frequensque licet sit via, crimen habet. Inde procurator nimium quoque multa procurat, Et sibi mandatis plura videnda putat. Certa tibi a nobis dabitur mensura bibendi: Officium praestent mensque pedesque suum.
Iurgia praecipue vino stimulata caveto, Et nimium faciles ad fera bella manus. Occidit Eurytion stulte data vina bibendo; Aptior est dulci mensa merumque ioco. Si vox est, canta: si mollia brachia, salta: Et quacumque potes dote placere, place. Ebrietas ut vera nocet, sic ficta iuvabit: Fac titubet blaeso subdola lingua sono, Ut, quicquid facias dicasve protervius aequo, Credatur nimium causa fuisse merum. Et bene dic dominae, bene, cum quo dormiat illa; Sed, male sit, tacita mente precare, viro.
At cum discedet mensa conviva remota, Ipsa tibi accessus turba locumque dabit. Insere te turbae, leviterque admotus eunti Velle latus digitis, et pede tange pedem. Conloquii iam tempus adest; fuge rustice longe Hinc pudor; audentem Forsque Venusque iuvat. Non tua sub nostras veniat facundia leges: Fac tantum cupias, sponte disertus eris. Est tibi agendus amans, imitandaque vulnera verbis; Haec tibi quaeratur qualibet arte fides. Nec credi labor est: sibi quaeque videtur amanda; Pessima sit, nulli non sua forma placet.
Saepe tamen vere coepit simulator amare, Saepe, quod incipiens finxerat esse, fuit. Quo magis, o, faciles imitantibus este, puellae: Fiet amor verus, qui modo falsus erat. Blanditiis animum furtim deprendere nunc sit, Ut pendens liquida ripa subestur aqua. Nec faciem, nec te pigeat laudare capillos Et teretes digitos exiguumque pedem: Delectant etiam castas praeconia formae; Virginibus curae grataque forma sua est. Nam cur in Phrygiis Iunonem et Pallada silvis Nunc quoque iudicium non tenuisse pudet?
Laudatas ostendit avis Iunonia pinnas: Si tacitus spectes, illa recondit opes. Quadrupedes inter rapidi certamina cursus Depexaeque iubae plausaque colla iuvant. Nec timide promitte: trahunt promissa puellas; Pollicito testes quoslibet adde deos. Iuppiter ex alto periuria ridet amantum, Et iubet Aeolios inrita ferre notos. Per Styga Iunoni falsum iurare solebat Iuppiter; exemplo nunc favet ipse suo. Expedit esse deos, et, ut expedit, esse putemus; Dentur in antiquos tura merumque focos;
Nec secura quies illos similisque sopori Detinet; innocue vivite: numen adest; Reddite depositum; pietas sua foedera servet: Fraus absit; vacuas caedis habete manus. Ludite, si sapitis, solas impune puellas: Hac minus est una fraude tuenda fides. Fallite fallentes: ex magna parte profanum Sunt genus: in laqueos quos posuere, cadant. Dicitur Aegyptos caruisse iuvantibus arva Imbribus, atque annos sicca fuisse novem, Cum Thrasius Busirin adit, monstratque piari Hospitis adfuso sanguine posse Iovem.
Illi Busiris 'fies Iovis hostia primus,' Inquit 'et Aegypto tu dabis hospes aquam.' Et Phalaris tauro violenti membra Perilli Torruit: infelix inbuit auctor opus. Iustus uterque fuit: neque enim lex aequior ulla est, Quam necis artifices arte perire sua. Ergo ut periuras merito periuria fallant, Exemplo doleat femina laesa suo. Et lacrimae prosunt: lacrimis adamanta movebis: Fac madidas videat, si potes, illa genas. Si lacrimae (neque enim veniunt in tempore semper) Deficient, uda lumina tange manu.
Quis sapiens blandis non misceat oscula verbis? Illa licet non det, non data sume tamen. Pugnabit primo fortassis, et 'improbe' dicet: Pugnando vinci se tamen illa volet. Tantum ne noceant teneris male rapta labellis, Neve queri possit dura fuisse, cave. Oscula qui sumpsit, si non et cetera sumet, Haec quoque, quae data sunt, perdere dignus erit. Quantum defuerat pleno post oscula voto? Ei mihi, rusticitas, non pudor ille fuit. Vim licet appelles: grata est vis ista puellis: Quod iuvat, invitae saepe dedisse volunt.
Quaecumque est veneris subita violata rapina, Gaudet, et inprobitas muneris instar habet. At quae cum posset cogi, non tacta recessit, Ut simulet vultu gaudia, tristis erit. Vim passa est Phoebe: vis est allata sorori; Et gratus raptae raptor uterque fuit. Fabula nota quidem, sed non indigna referri, Scyrias Haemonio iuncta puella viro. Iam dea laudatae dederat mala praemia formae Colle sub Idaeo vincere digna duas: Iam nurus ad Priamum diverso venerat orbe, Graiaque in Iliacis moenibus uxor erat:
Iurabant omnes in laesi verba mariti: Nam dolor unius publica causa fuit. Turpe, nisi hoc matris precibus tribuisset, Achilles Veste virum longa dissimulatus erat. Quid facis, Aeacide? non sunt tua munera lanae; Tu titulos alia Palladis arte petas. Quid tibi cum calathis? clipeo manus apta ferendo est: Pensa quid in dextra, qua cadet Hector, habes? Reïce succinctos operoso stamine fusos! Quassanda est ista Pelias hasta manu. Forte erat in thalamo virgo regalis eodem; Haec illum stupro comperit esse virum.
Viribus illa quidem victa est, ita credere oportet: Sed voluit vinci viribus illa tamen. Saepe 'mane!' dixit, cum iam properaret Achilles; Fortia nam posita sumpserat arma colo. Vis ubi nunc illa est? Quid blanda voce moraris Auctorem stupri, Deïdamia, tui? Scilicet ut pudor est quaedam coepisse priorem, Sic alio gratum est incipiente pati. A! nimia est iuveni propriae fiducia formae, Expectat siquis, dum prior illa roget. Vir prior accedat, vir verba precantia dicat: Excipiet blandas comiter illa preces.
Ut potiare, roga: tantum cupit illa rogari; Da causam voti principiumque tui. Iuppiter ad veteres supplex heroïdas ibat: Corrupit magnum nulla puella Iovem. Si tamen a precibus tumidos accedere fastus Senseris, incepto parce referque pedem. Quod refugit, multae cupiunt: odere quod instat; Lenius instando taedia tolle tui. Nec semper veneris spes est profitenda roganti: Intret amicitiae nomine tectus amor. Hoc aditu vidi tetricae data verba puellae: Qui fuerat cultor, factus amator erat.
Candidus in nauta turpis color, aequoris unda Debet et a radiis sideris esse niger: Turpis et agricolae, qui vomere semper adunco Et gravibus rastris sub Iove versat humum. Et tibi, Palladiae petitur cui fama coronae, Candida si fuerint corpora, turpis eris. Palleat omnis amans: hic est color aptus amanti; Hoc decet, hoc stulti non valuisse putant. Pallidus in Side silvis errabat Orion, Pallidus in lenta naïde Daphnis erat. Arguat et macies animum: nec turpe putaris Palliolum nitidis inposuisse comis.
Attenuant iuvenum vigilatae corpora noctes Curaque et in magno qui fit amore dolor. Ut voto potiare tuo, miserabilis esto, Ut qui te videat, dicere possit 'amas.' Conquerar, an moneam mixtum fas omne nefasque? Nomen amicitia est, nomen inane fides. Ei mihi, non tutum est, quod ames, laudare sodali; Cum tibi laudanti credidit, ipse subit. At non Actorides lectum temeravit Achillis: Quantum ad Pirithoum, Phaedra pudica fuit. Hermionam Pylades quo Pallada Phoebus, amabat, Quodque tibi geminus, Tyndari, Castor, erat.
Siquis idem sperat, laturas poma myricas Speret, et e medio flumine mella petat. Nil nisi turpe iuvat: curae sua cuique voluptas: Haec quoque ab alterius grata dolore venit. Heu facinus! non est hostis metuendus amanti; Quos credis fidos, effuge, tutus eris. Cognatum fratremque cave carumque sodalem: Praebebit veros haec tibi turba metus. Finiturus eram, sed sunt diversa puellis Pectora: mille animos excipe mille modis. Nec tellus eadem parit omnia; vitibus illa Convenit, haec oleis; hac bene farra virent.
Pectoribus mores tot sunt, quot in ore figurae; Qui sapit, innumeris moribus aptus erit, Utque leves Proteus modo se tenuabit in undas, Nunc leo, nunc arbor, nunc erit hirtus aper. Hi iaculo pisces, illi capiuntur ab hamis: Hos cava contento retia fune trahunt. Nec tibi conveniet cunctos modus unus ad annos: Longius insidias cerva videbit anus. Si doctus videare rudi, petulansve pudenti, Diffidet miserae protinus illa sibi. Inde fit, ut quae se timuit committere honesto, Vilis ad amplexus inferioris eat.
Pars superat coepti, pars est exhausta laboris. Hic teneat nostras ancora iacta rates.
Book 2
Dicite 'io Paean!' et 'io' bis dicite 'Paean!' Decidit in casses praeda petita meos; Laetus amans donat viridi mea carmina palma, Praelata Ascraeo Maeonioque seni. Talis ab armiferis Priameïus hospes Amyclis Candida cum rapta coniuge vela dedit; Talis erat qui te curru victore ferebat, Vecta peregrinis Hippodamia rotis. Quid properas, iuvenis? mediis tua pinus in undis Navigat, et longe quem peto portus abest. Non satis est venisse tibi me vate puellam: Arte mea capta est, arte tenenda mea est.
Nec minor est virtus, quam quaerere, parta tueri: Casus inest illic; hoc erit artis opus. Nunc mihi, siquando, puer et Cytherea, favete, Nunc Erato, nam tu nomen amoris habes. Magna paro, quas possit Amor remanere per artes, Dicere, tam vasto pervagus orbe puer. Et levis est, et habet geminas, quibus avolet, alas: Difficile est illis inposuisse modum. Hospitis effugio praestruxerat omnia Minos: Audacem pinnis repperit ille viam. Daedalus ut clausit conceptum crimine matris Semibovemque virum semivirumque bovem,
'Sit modus exilio,' dixit 'iustissime Minos: Accipiat cineres terra paterna meos. Et quoniam in patria, fatis agitatus iniquis, Vivere non potui, da mihi posse mori. Da reditum puero, senis est si gratia vilis: Si non vis puero parcere, parce seni.' Dixerat haec; sed et haec et multo plura licebat Dicere: regressus non dabat ille viro. Quod simul ut sensit, 'nunc, nunc, o Daedale,' dixit: 'Materiam, qua sis ingeniosus, habes. Possidet et terras et possidet aequora Minos: Nec tellus nostrae nec patet unda fugae.
Restat iter caeli: caelo temptabimus ire. Da veniam coepto, Iupiter alte, meo: Non ego sidereas adfecto tangere sedes: Qua fugiam dominum, nulla, nisi ista, via est. Per Styga detur iter, Stygias transnabimus undas; Sunt mihi naturae iura novanda meae.' Ingenium mala saepe movent: quis crederet umquam Aërias hominem carpere posse vias? Remigium volucrum disponit in ordine pinnas, Et leve per lini vincula nectit opus, Imaque pars ceris adstringitur igne solutis, Finitusque novae iam labor artis erat.
Tractabat ceramque puer pinnasque renidens, Nescius haec umeris arma parata suis. Cui pater 'his' inquit 'patria est adeunda carinis, Hac nobis Minos effugiendus ope. Aëra non potuit Minos, alia omnia clausit; Quem licet, inventis aëra rumpe meis. Sed tibi non virgo Tegeaea comesque Bootae Ensiger Orion aspiciendus erit: Me pinnis sectare datis; ego praevius ibo: Sit tua cura sequi; me duce tutus eris. Nam sive aetherias vicino sole per auras Ibimus, impatiens cera caloris erit:
Sive humiles propiore freto iactabimus alas, Mobilis aequoreis pinna madescet aquis. Inter utrumque vola; ventos quoque, nate, timeto, Quaque ferent aurae, vela secunda dato.' Dum monet, aptat opus puero, monstratque moveri, Erudit infirmas ut sua mater aves. Inde sibi factas umeris accommodat alas, Perque novum timide corpora librat iter. Iamque volaturus parvo dedit oscula nato, Nec patriae lacrimas continuere genae. Monte minor collis, campis erat altior aequis: Hinc data sunt miserae corpora bina fugae.
Et movet ipse suas, et nati respicit alas Daedalus, et cursus sustinet usque suos. Iamque novum delectat iter, positoque timore Icarus audaci fortius arte volat. Hos aliquis, tremula dum captat arundine pisces, Vidit, et inceptum dextra reliquit opus. Iam Samos a laeva (fuerant Naxosque relictae Et Paros et Clario Delos amata deo) Dextra Lebinthos erat silvisque umbrosa Calymne Cinctaque piscosis Astypalaea vadis, Cum puer, incautis nimium temerarius annis, Altius egit iter, deseruitque patrem.
Vincla labant, et cera deo propiore liquescit, Nec tenues ventos brachia mota tenent. Territus a summo despexit in aequora caelo: Nox oculis pavido venit oborta metu. Tabuerant cerae: nudos quatit ille lacertos, Et trepidat nec, quo sustineatur, habet. Decidit, atque cadens 'pater, o pater, auferor!' inquit, Clauserunt virides ora loquentis aquae. At pater infelix, nec iam pater, 'Icare!' clamat, 'Icare,' clamat 'ubi es, quoque sub axe volas?' 'Icare' clamabat, pinnas aspexit in undis. Ossa tegit tellus: aequora nomen habent.
Non potuit Minos hominis conpescere pinnas; Ipse deum volucrem detinuisse paro. Fallitur, Haemonias siquis decurrit ad artes, Datque quod a teneri fronte revellit equi. Non facient, ut vivat amor, Medeïdes herbae Mixtaque cum magicis nenia Marsa sonis. Phasias Aesoniden, Circe tenuisset Ulixem, Si modo servari carmine posset amor. Nec data profuerint pallentia philtra puellis: Philtra nocent animis, vimque furoris habent. Sit procul omne nefas; ut ameris, amabilis esto: Quod tibi non facies solave forma dabit:
Sis licet antiquo Nireus adamatus Homero, Naïadumque tener crimine raptus Hylas, Ut dominam teneas, nec te mirere relictum, Ingenii dotes corporis adde bonis. Forma bonum fragile est, quantumque accedit ad annos Fit minor, et spatio carpitur ipsa suo. Nec violae semper nec hiantia lilia florent, Et riget amissa spina relicta rosa. Et tibi iam venient cani, formose, capilli, Iam venient rugae, quae tibi corpus arent. Iam molire animum, qui duret, et adstrue formae: Solus ad extremos permanet ille rogos.
Nec levis ingenuas pectus coluisse per artes Cura sit et linguas edidicisse duas. Non formosus erat, sed erat facundus Ulixes, Et tamen aequoreas torsit amore deas. A quotiens illum doluit properare Calypso, Remigioque aptas esse negavit aquas! Haec Troiae casus iterumque iterumque rogabat: Ille referre aliter saepe solebat idem. Litore constiterant: illic quoque pulchra Calypso Exigit Odrysii fata cruenta ducis. Ille levi virga (virgam nam forte tenebat) Quod rogat, in spisso litore pingit opus.
'Haec' inquit 'Troia est' (muros in litore fecit): 'Hic tibi sit Simois; haec mea castra puta. Campus erat' (campumque facit), 'quem caede Dolonis Sparsimus, Haemonios dum vigil optat equos. Illic Sithonii fuerant tentoria Rhesi: Hac ego sum captis nocte revectus equis.' Pluraque pingebat, subitus cum Pergama fluctus Abstulit et Rhesi cum duce castra suo. Tum dea 'quas' inquit 'fidas tibi credis ituro, Perdiderint undae nomina quanta, vides?' Ergo age, fallaci timide confide figurae, Quisquis es, aut aliquid corpore pluris habe.
Dextera praecipue capit indulgentia mentes; Asperitas odium saevaque bella movet. Odimus accipitrem, quia vivit semper in armis, Et pavidum solitos in pecus ire lupos. At caret insidiis hominum, quia mitis, hirundo, Quasque colat turres, Chaonis ales habet. Este procul, lites et amarae proelia linguae: Dulcibus est verbis mollis alendus amor. Lite fugent nuptaeque viros nuptasque mariti, Inque vicem credant res sibi semper agi; Hoc decet uxores; dos est uxoria lites: Audiat optatos semper amica sonos.
Non legis iussu lectum venistis in unum: Fungitur in vobis munere legis amor. Blanditias molles auremque iuvantia verba Adfer, ut adventu laeta sit illa tuo. Non ego divitibus venio praeceptor amandi: Nil opus est illi, qui dabit, arte mea; Secum habet ingenium, qui, cum libet, 'accipe' dicit; Cedimus: inventis plus placet ille meis. Pauperibus vates ego sum, quia pauper amavi; Cum dare non possem munera, verba dabam. Pauper amet caute: timeat maledicere pauper, Multaque divitibus non patienda ferat.
Me memini iratum dominae turbasse capillos: Haec mihi quam multos abstulit ira dies! Nec puto, nec sensi tunicam laniasse; sed ipsa Dixerat, et pretio est illa redempta meo. At vos, si sapitis, vestri peccata magistri Effugite, et culpae damna timete meae. Proelia cum Parthis, cum culta pax sit amica, Et iocus, et causas quicquid amoris habet. Si nec blanda satis, nec erit tibi comis amanti, Perfer et obdura: postmodo mitis erit. Flectitur obsequio curvatus ab arbore ramus: Frangis, si vires experiere tuas.
Obsequio tranantur aquae: nec vincere possis Flumina, si contra, quam rapit unda, nates. Obsequium tigresque domat Numidasque leones; Rustica paulatim taurus aratra subit. Quid fuit asperius Nonacrina Atalanta? Succubuit meritis trux tamen illa viri. Saepe suos casus nec mitia facta puellae Flesse sub arboribus Milaniona ferunt; Saepe tulit iusso fallacia retia collo, Saepe fera torvos cuspide fixit apros: Sensit et Hylaei contentum saucius arcum: Sed tamen hoc arcu notior alter erat.
Non te Maenalias armatum scandere silvas, Nec iubeo collo retia ferre tuo: Pectora nec missis iubeo praebere sagittis; Artis erunt cauto mollia iussa meae. Cede repugnanti: cedendo victor abibis: Fac modo, quas partes illa iubebit, agas. Arguet, arguito; quicquid probat illa, probato; Quod dicet, dicas; quod negat illa, neges. Riserit, adride; si flebit, flere memento; Imponat leges vultibus illa tuis. Seu ludet, numerosque manu iactabit eburnos, Tu male iactato, tu male iacta dato:
Seu iacies talos, victam ne poena sequatur, Damnosi facito stent tibi saepe canes: Sive latrocinii sub imagine calculus ibit, Fac pereat vitreo miles ab hoste tuus. Ipse tene distenta suis umbracula virgis, Ipse fac in turba, qua venit illa, locum. Nec dubita tereti scamnum producere lecto, Et tenero soleam deme vel adde pedi. Saepe etiam dominae, quamvis horrebis et ipse, Algenti manus est calfacienda sinu. Nec tibi turpe puta (quamvis sit turpe, placebit), Ingenua speculum sustinuisse manu.
Ille, fatigata praebendo monstra noverca Qui meruit caelum, quod prior ipse tulit, Inter Ioniacas calathum tenuisse puellas Creditur, et lanas excoluisse rudes. Paruit imperio dominae Tirynthius heros: I nunc et dubita ferre, quod ille tulit. Iussus adesse foro, iussa maturius hora Fac semper venias, nec nisi serus abi. Occurras aliquo, tibi dixerit: omnia differ, Curre, nec inceptum turba moretur iter. Nocte domum repetens epulis perfuncta redibit: Tum quoque pro servo, si vocat illa, veni.
Rure erit, et dicet 'venias': Amor odit inertes: Si rota defuerit, tu pede carpe viam. Nec grave te tempus sitiensque Canicula tardet, Nec via per iactas candida facta nives. Militiae species amor est; discedite, segnes: Non sunt haec timidis signa tuenda viris. Nox et hiems longaeque viae saevique dolores Mollibus his castris et labor omnis inest. Saepe feres imbrem caelesti nube solutum, Frigidus et nuda saepe iacebis humo. Cynthius Admeti vaccas pavisse Pheraei Fertur, et in parva delituisse casa.
Quod Phoebum decuit, quem non decet? exue fastus, Curam mansuri quisquis amoris habes. Si tibi per tutum planumque negabitur ire, Atque erit opposita ianua fulta sera, At tu per praeceps tecto delabere aperto: Det quoque furtivas alta fenestra vias. Laeta erit, et causam tibi se sciet esse pericli; Hoc dominae certi pignus amoris erit. Saepe tua poteras, Leandre, carere puella: Transnabas, animum nosset ut illa tuum. Nec pudor ancillas, ut quaeque erit ordine prima, Nec tibi sit servos demeruisse pudor.
Nomine quemque suo (nulla est iactura) saluta, Iunge tuis humiles, ambitiose, manus. Sed tamen et servo (levis est inpensa) roganti Porrige Fortunae munera parva die: Porrige et ancillae, qua poenas luce pependit Lusa maritali Gallica veste manus. Fac plebem, mihi crede, tuam; sit semper in illa Ianitor et thalami qui iacet ante fores. Nec dominam iubeo pretioso munere dones: Parva, sed e parvis callidus apta dato. Dum bene dives ager, cum rami pondere nutant, Adferat in calatho rustica dona puer.
Rure suburbano poteris tibi dicere missa, Illa vel in Sacra sint licet empta via. Adferat aut uvas, aut quas Amaryllis amabat — At nunc castaneas non amat illa nuces. Quin etiam turdoque licet missaque columba Te memorem dominae testificere tuae. Turpiter his emitur spes mortis et orba senectus. A, pereant, per quos munera crimen habent! Quid tibi praecipiam teneros quoque mittere versus? Ei mihi, non multum carmen honoris habet. Carmina laudantur, sed munera magna petuntur: Dummodo sit dives, barbarus ipse placet.
Aurea sunt vere nunc saecula: plurimus auro Venit honos: auro conciliatur amor. Ipse licet venias Musis comitatus, Homere, Si nihil attuleris, ibis, Homere, foras. Sunt tamen et doctae, rarissima turba, puellae; Altera non doctae turba, sed esse volunt. Utraque laudetur per carmina: carmina lector Commendet dulci qualiacumque sono; His ergo aut illis vigilatum carmen in ipsas Forsitan exigui muneris instar erit. At quod eris per te facturus, et utile credis, Id tua te facito semper amica roget.
Libertas alicui fuerit promissa tuorum: Hanc tamen a domina fac petat ille tua: Si poenam servo, si vincula saeva remittis, Quod facturus eras, debeat illa tibi: Utilitas tua sit, titulus donetur amicae: Perde nihil, partes illa potentis agat. Sed te, cuicumque est retinendae cura puellae, Attonitum forma fac putet esse sua. Sive erit in Tyriis, Tyrios laudabis amictus: Sive erit in Cois, Coa decere puta. Aurata est? ipso tibi sit pretiosior auro; Gausapa si sumpsit, gausapa sumpta proba.
Astiterit tunicata, 'moves incendia' clama, Sed timida, caveat frigora, voce roga. Conpositum discrimen erit, discrimina lauda: Torserit igne comam, torte capille, place. Brachia saltantis, vocem mirare canentis, Et, quod desierit, verba querentis habe. Ipsos concubitus, ipsum venerere licebit Quod iuvat, et quae dat gaudia voce notes. Ut fuerit torva violentior illa Medusa, Fiet amatori lenis et aequa suo. Tantum, ne pateas verbis simulator in illis, Effice, nec vultu destrue dicta tuo.
Si latet, ars prodest: adfert deprensa pudorem, Atque adimit merito tempus in omne fidem. Saepe sub autumnum, cum formosissimus annus, Plenaque purpureo subrubet uva mero, Cum modo frigoribus premimur, modo solvimur aestu, Aëre non certo, corpora languor habet. Illa quidem valeat; sed si male firma cubarit, Et vitium caeli senserit aegra sui, Tunc amor et pietas tua sit manifesta puellae, Tum sere, quod plena postmodo falce metas. Nec tibi morosi veniant fastidia morbi, Perque tuas fiant, quae sinet ipsa, manus.
Et videat flentem, nec taedeat oscula ferre, Et sicco lacrimas conbibat ore tuas. Multa vove, sed cuncta palam; quotiesque libebit, Quae referas illi, somnia laeta vide. Et veniat, quae lustret anus lectumque locumque, Praeferat et tremula sulpur et ova manu. Omnibus his inerunt gratae vestigia curae: In tabulas multis haec via fecit iter. Nec tamen officiis odium quaeratur ab aegra: Sit suus in blanda sedulitate modus: Neve cibo prohibe, nec amari pocula suci Porrige: rivalis misceat illa tuus.
Sed non cui dederas a litore carbasa vento, Utendum, medio cum potiere freto. Dum novus errat amor, vires sibi colligat usu: Si bene nutrieris, tempore firmus erit. Quem taurum metuis, vitulum mulcere solebas: Sub qua nunc recubas arbore, virga fuit: Nascitur exiguus, sed opes adquirit eundo, Quaque venit, multas accipit amnis aquas. Fac tibi consuescat: nil adsuetudine maius: Quam tu dum capias, taedia nulla fuge. Te semper videat, tibi semper praebeat aures; Exhibeat vultus noxque diesque tuos.
Cum tibi maior erit fiducia, posse requiri, Cum procul absenti cura futurus eris, Da requiem: requietus ager bene credita reddit, Terraque caelestes arida sorbet aquas. Phyllida Demophoon praesens moderatius ussit: Exarsit velis acrius illa datis. Penelopen absens sollers torquebat Ulixes; Phylacides aberat, Laodamia, tuus. Sed mora tuta brevis: lentescunt tempore curae, Vanescitque absens et novus intrat amor. Dum Menelaus abest, Helene, ne sola iaceret, Hospitis est tepido nocte recepta sinu.
Quis stupor hic, Menelaë, fuit? tu solus abibas, Isdem sub tectis hospes et uxor erant. Accipitri timidas credis, furiose, columbas? Plenum montano credis ovile lupo? Nil Helene peccat, nihil hic committit adulter: Quod tu, quod faceret quilibet, ille facit. Cogis adulterium dando tempusque locumque; Quid nisi consilio est usa puella tuo? Quid faciat? vir abest, et adest non rusticus hospes, Et timet in vacuo sola cubare toro. Viderit Atrides: Helenen ego crimine solvo: Usa est humani commoditate viri.
Sed neque fulvus aper media tam saevus in ira est, Fulmineo rabidos cum rotat ore canes, Nec lea, cum catulis lactentibus ubera praebet, Nec brevis ignaro vipera laesa pede, Femina quam socii deprensa paelice lecti: Ardet et in vultu pignora mentis habet. In ferrum flammasque ruit, positoque decore Fertur, ut Aonii cornibus icta dei. Coniugis admissum violataque iura marita est Barbara per natos Phasias ulta suos. Altera dira parens haec est, quam cernis, hirundo: Aspice, signatum sanguine pectus habet.
Hoc bene compositos, hoc firmos solvit amores; Crimina sunt cautis ista timenda viris. Nec mea vos uni damnat censura puellae: Di melius! vix hoc nupta tenere potest. Ludite, sed furto celetur culpa modesto: Gloria peccati nulla petenda sui est. Nec dederis munus, cognosse quod altera possit, Nec sint nequitiae tempora certa tuae. Et, ne te capiat latebris sibi femina notis, Non uno est omnis convenienda loco; Et quotiens scribes, totas prius ipse tabellas Inspice: plus multae, quam sibi missa, legunt.
Laesa Venus iusta arma movet, telumque remittit, Et, modo quod questa est, ipse querare, facit. Dum fuit Atrides una contentus, et illa Casta fuit: vitio est improba facta viri. Audierat laurumque manu vittasque ferentem Pro nata Chrysen non valuisse sua: Audierat, Lyrnesi, tuos, abducta, dolores, Bellaque per turpis longius isse moras. Haec tamen audierat: Priameïda viderat ipsa: Victor erat praedae praeda pudenda suae. Inde Thyestiaden animo thalamoque recepit, Et male peccantem Tyndaris ulta virum.
Quae bene celaris, siqua tamen acta patebunt, Illa, licet pateant, tu tamen usque nega. Tum neque subiectus, solito nec blandior esto: Haec animi multum signa nocentis habent: Sed lateri ne parce tuo: pax omnis in uno est; Concubitu prior est infitianda venus. Sunt, qui praecipiant herbas, satureia, nocentes Sumere; iudiciis ista venena meis; Aut piper urticae mordacis semine miscent, Tritaque in annoso flava pyrethra mero; Sed dea non patitur sic ad sua gaudia cogi, Colle sub umbroso quam tenet altus Eryx.
Candidus, Alcathoi qui mittitur urbe Pelasga, Bulbus et, ex horto quae venit, herba salax Ovaque sumantur, sumantur Hymettia mella, Quasque tulit folio pinus acuta nuces. Docta, quid ad magicas, Erato, deverteris artes? Interior curru meta terenda meo est. Qui modo celabas monitu tua crimina nostro, Flecte iter, et monitu detege furta meo. Nec levitas culpanda mea est: non semper eodem Impositos vento panda carina vehit. Nam modo Threïcio Borea, modo currimus Euro, Saepe tument Zephyro lintea, saepe Noto.
Aspice, ut in curru modo det fluitantia rector Lora, modo admissos arte retentet equos. Sunt quibus ingrate timida indulgentia servit, Et, si nulla subest aemula, languet amor. Luxuriant animi rebus plerumque secundis, Nec facile est aequa commoda mente pati. Ut levis absumptis paulatim viribus ignis Ipse latet, summo canet in igne cinis, Sed tamen extinctas admoto sulpure flammas Invenit, et lumen, quod fuit ante, redit: Sic, ubi pigra situ securaque pectora torpent, Acribus est stimulis eliciendus amor.
Fac timeat de te, tepidamque recalface mentem: Palleat indicio criminis illa tui; O quater et quotiens numero conprendere non est Felicem, de quo laesa puella dolet: Quae, simul invitas crimen pervenit ad aures, Excidit, et miserae voxque colorque fugit. Ille ego sim, cuius laniet furiosa capillos: Ille ego sim, teneras cui petat ungue genas, Quem videat lacrimans, quem torvis spectet ocellis, Quo sine non possit vivere, posse velit. Si spatium quaeras, breve sit, quo laesa queratur, Ne lenta vires colligat ira mora;
Candida iamdudum cingantur colla lacertis, Inque tuos flens est accipienda sinus. Oscula da flenti, Veneris da gaudia flenti, Pax erit: hoc uno solvitur ira modo. Cum bene saevierit, cum certa videbitur hostis, Tum pete concubitus foedera, mitis erit. Illic depositis habitat Concordia telis: Illo, crede mihi, Gratia nata loco est. Quae modo pugnarunt, iungunt sua rostra columbae, Quarum blanditias verbaque murmur habet. Prima fuit rerum confusa sine ordine moles, Unaque erat facies sidera, terra, fretum;
Mox caelum impositum terris, humus aequore cincta est Inque suas partes cessit inane chaos; Silva feras, volucres aer accepit habendas, In liquida, pisces, delituistis aqua. Tum genus humanum solis errabat in agris, Idque merae vires et rude corpus erat; Silva domus fuerat, cibus herba, cubilia frondes: Iamque diu nulli cognitus alter erat. Blanda truces animos fertur mollisse voluptas: Constiterant uno femina virque loco; Quid facerent, ipsi nullo didicere magistro: Arte Venus nulla dulce peregit opus.
Ales habet, quod amet; cum quo sua gaudia iungat, Invenit in media femina piscis aqua; Cerva parem sequitur, serpens serpente tenetur, Haeret adulterio cum cane nexa canis; Laeta salitur ovis: tauro quoque laeta iuvenca est: Sustinet inmundum sima capella marem; In furias agitantur equae, spatioque remota Per loca dividuos amne sequuntur equos. Ergo age et iratae medicamina fortia praebe: Illa feri requiem sola doloris habent: Illa Machaonios superant medicamina sucos: His, ubi peccaris, restituendus eris.
Haec ego cum canerem, subito manifestus Apollo Movit inauratae pollice fila lyrae. In manibus laurus, sacris inducta capillis Laurus erat; vates ille videndus adit. Is mihi 'Lascivi' dixit 'praeceptor Amoris, Duc, age, discipulos ad mea templa tuos, Est ubi diversum fama celebrata per orbem Littera, cognosci quae sibi quemque iubet. Qui sibi notus erit, solus sapienter amabit, Atque opus ad vires exiget omne suas. Cui faciem natura dedit, spectetur ab illa: Cui color est, umero saepe patente cubet:
Qui sermone placet, taciturna silentia vitet: Qui canit arte, canat; qui bibit arte, bibat. Sed neque declament medio sermone diserti, Nec sua non sanus scripta poeta legat!' Sic monuit Phoebus: Phoebo parete monenti; Certa dei sacro est huius in ore fides. Ad propiora vocor. Quisquis sapienter amabit Vincet, et e nostra, quod petet, arte feret. Credita non semper sulci cum faenore reddunt, Nec semper dubias adiuvat aura rates; Quod iuvat, exiguum, plus est, quod laedat amantes; Proponant animo multa ferenda suo.
Quot lepores in Atho, quot apes pascuntur in Hybla, Caerula quot bacas Palladis arbor habet, Litore quot conchae, tot sunt in amore dolores; Quae patimur, multo spicula felle madent. Dicta erit isse foras: intus fortasse videre est: Isse foras, et te falsa videre puta. Clausa tibi fuerit promissa ianua nocte: Perfer et inmunda ponere corpus humo. Forsitan et vultu mendax ancilla superbo Dicet 'quid nostras obsidet iste fores?' Postibus et durae supplex blandire puellae, Et capiti demptas in fore pone rosas.
Cum volet, accedes: cum te vitabit, abibis; Dedecet ingenuos taedia ferre sui. 'Effugere hunc non est' quare tibi possit amica Dicere? non omni tempore sensus obest. Nec maledicta puta, nec verbera ferre puellae Turpe, nec ad teneros oscula ferre pedes. Quid moror in parvis? Animus maioribus instat; Magna canam: toto pectore, vulgus, ades. Ardua molimur, sed nulla, nisi ardua, virtus: Difficilis nostra poscitur arte labor. Rivalem patienter habe, victoria tecum Stabit: eris magni victor in arce Iovis.
Haec tibi non hominem, sed quercus crede Pelasgas Dicere: nil istis ars mea maius habet. Innuet illa, feras; scribet, ne tange tabellas: Unde volet, veniat; quoque libebit, eat. Hoc in legitima praestant uxore mariti, Cum, tener, ad partes tu quoque, somne, venis. Hac ego, confiteor, non sum perfectus in arte; Quid faciam? monitis sum minor ipse meis. Mene palam nostrae det quisquam signa puellae, Et patiar, nec me quo libet ira ferat? Oscula vir dederat, memini, suus: oscula questus Sum data; barbaria noster abundat amor.
Non semel hoc vitium nocuit mihi: doctior ille, Quo veniunt alii conciliante viri. Sed melius nescisse fuit: sine furta tegantur, Ne fugiat ficto fassus ab ore pudor. Quo magis, o iuvenes, deprendere parcite vestras: Peccent, peccantes verba dedisse putent. Crescit amor prensis; ubi par fortuna duorum est, In causa damni perstat uterque sui. Fabula narratur toto notissima caelo, Mulciberis capti Marsque Venusque dolis. Mars pater, insano Veneris turbatus amore, De duce terribili factus amator erat.
Nec Venus oranti (neque enim dea mollior ulla est) Rustica Gradivo difficilisque fuit. A, quotiens lasciva pedes risisse mariti Dicitur, et duras igne vel arte manus. Marte palam simul est Vulcanum imitata, decebat, Multaque cum forma gratia mixta fuit. Sed bene concubitus primos celare solebant. Plena verecundi culpa pudoris erat. Indicio Solis (quis Solem fallere possit?) Cognita Vulcano coniugis acta suae. Quam mala, Sol, exempla moves! Pete munus ab ipsa Et tibi, si taceas, quod dare possit, habet.
Mulciber obscuros lectum circaque superque Disponit laqueos: lumina fallit opus. Fingit iter Lemnon; veniunt ad foedus amantes: Impliciti laqueis nudus uterque iacent. Convocat ille deos; praebent spectacula capti: Vix lacrimas Venerem continuisse putant. Non vultus texisse suos, non denique possunt Partibus obscenis opposuisse manus. Hic aliquis ridens 'in me, fortissime Mavors, Si tibi sunt oneri, vincula transfer!' ait. Vix precibus, Neptune, tuis captiva resolvit Corpora: Mars Thracen occupat, illa Paphon.
Hoc tibi pro facto, Vulcane: quod ante tegebant, Liberius faciunt, ut pudor omnis abest: Saepe tamen demens stulte fecisse fateris, Teque ferunt artis paenituisse tuae. Hoc vetiti vos este; vetat deprensa Dione Insidias illas, quas tulit ipsa, dare. Nec vos rivali laqueos disponite, nec vos Excipite arcana verba notata manu. Ista viri captent, si iam captanda putabunt, Quos faciet iustos ignis et unda viros. En, iterum testor: nihil hic, nisi lege remissum Luditur: in nostris instita nulla iocis.
Quis Cereris ritus ausit vulgare profanis, Magnaque Threïcia sacra reperta Samo? Exigua est virtus praestare silentia rebus: At contra gravis est culpa tacenda loqui. O bene, quod frustra captatis arbore pomis Garrulus in media Tantalus aret aqua! Praecipue Cytherea iubet sua sacra taceri: Admoneo, veniat nequis ad illa loquax. Condita si non sunt Veneris mysteria cistis, Nec cava vesanis ictibus aera sonant, At sic inter nos medio versantur in usu, Se tamen inter nos ut latuisse velint.
Ipsa Venus pubem, quotiens velamina ponit, Protegitur laeva semireducta manu. In medio passimque coit pecus: hoc quoque viso Avertit vultus nempe puella suos. Conveniunt thalami furtis et ianua nostris, Parsque sub iniecta veste pudenda latet: Et si non tenebras, ad quiddam nubis opacae Quaerimus, atque aliquid luce patente minus. Tum quoque, cum solem nondum prohibebat et imbrem Tegula, sed quercus tecta cibumque dabat, In nemore atque antris, non sub Iove, iuncta voluptas; Tanta rudi populo cura pudoris erat.
At nunc nocturnis titulos inponimus actis, Atque emitur magno nil, nisi posse loqui! Scilicet excuties omnes, ubi quaeque, puellas, Cuilibet ut dicas 'haec quoque nostra fuit,' Nec desint, quas tu digitis ostendere possis? Ut quamque adtigeris, fabula turpis erit? Parva queror: fingunt quidam, quae vera negarent, Et nulli non se concubuisse ferunt. Corpora si nequeunt, quae possunt, nomina tangunt, Famaque non tacto corpore crimen habet. I nunc, claude fores, custos odiose puellae, Et centum duris postibus obde seras!
Quid tuti superest, cum nominis extat adulter, Et credi quod non contigit esse, cupit? Nos etiam veros parce profitemur amores, Tectaque sunt solida mystica furta fide. Parcite praecipue vitia exprobrare puellis, Utile quae multis dissimulasse fuit. Nec suus Andromedae color est obiectus ab illo, Mobilis in gemino cui pede pinna fuit. Omnibus Andromache visa est spatiosior aequo: Unus, qui modicam diceret, Hector erat. Quod male fers, adsuesce, feres bene; multa vetustus Leniet, incipiens omnia sentit amor.
Dum novus in viridi coalescit cortice ramus, Concutiat tenerum quaelibet aura, cadet: Mox eadem ventis, spatio durata, resistet, Firmaque adoptivas arbor habebit opes. Eximit ipsa dies omnes e corpore mendas, Quodque fuit vitium, desinit esse mora. Ferre novae nares taurorum terga recusant: Adsiduo domitas tempore fallit odor. Nominibus mollire licet mala: fusca vocetur, Nigrior Illyrica cui pice sanguis erit: Si straba, sit Veneri similis: si rava, Minervae: Sit gracilis, macie quae male viva sua est;
Dic habilem, quaecumque brevis, quae turgida, plenam, Et lateat vitium proximitate boni. Nec quotus annus eat, nec quo sit nata, require, Consule, quae rigidus munera Censor habet: Praecipue si flore caret, meliusque peractum Tempus, et albentes iam legit illa comas. Utilis, o iuvenes, aut haec, aut serior aetas: Iste feret segetes, iste serendus ager. Dum vires annique sinunt, tolerate labores: Iam veniet tacito curva senecta pede. Aut mare remigiis, aut vomere findite terras, Aut fera belligeras addite in arma manus,
Aut latus et vires operamque adferte puellis: Hoc quoque militia est, hoc quoque quaerit opes. Adde, quod est illis operum prudentia maior, Solus et artifices qui facit, usus adest: Illae munditiis annorum damna rependunt, Et faciunt cura, ne videantur anus. Utque velis, venerem iungunt per mille figuras: Invenit plures nulla tabella modos. Illis sentitur non inritata voluptas: Quod iuvet, ex aequo femina virque ferant. Odi concubitus, qui non utrumque resolvunt; Hoc est, cur pueri tangar amore minus.
Odi quae praebet, quia sit praebere necesse, Siccaque de lana cogitat ipsa sua. Quae datur officio, non est mihi grata voluptas: Officium faciat nulla puella mihi. Me voces audire iuvat sua gaudia fassas, Quaeque morer meme sustineamque rogent. Aspiciam dominae victos amentis ocellos: Langueat, et tangi se vetet illa diu. Haec bona non primae tribuit natura iuventae, Quae cito post septem lustra venire solent. Qui properant, nova musta bibant: mihi fundat avitum Consulibus priscis condita testa merum.
Nec platanus, nisi sera, potest obsistere Phoebo, Et laedunt nudos prata novella pedes. Scilicet Hermionen Helenae praeponere posses, Et melior Gorge, quam sua mater, erat? At venerem quicumque voles adtingere seram, Si modo duraris, praemia digna feres. Conscius, ecce, duos accepit lectus amantes: Ad thalami clausas, Musa, resiste fores. Sponte sua sine te celeberrima verba loquentur, Nec manus in lecto laeva iacebit iners. Invenient digiti, quod agant in partibus illis, In quibus occulte spicula tingit Amor.
Fecit in Andromache prius hoc fortissimus Hector, Nec solum bellis utilis ille fuit. Fecit et in capta Lyrneside magnus Achilles, Cum premeret mollem lassus ab hoste torum. Illis te manibus tangi, Briseï, sinebas, Imbutae Phrygia quae nece semper erant. An fuit hoc ipsum, quod te, lasciva, iuvaret, Ad tua victrices membra venire manus? Crede mihi, non est veneris properanda voluptas, Sed sensim tarda prolicienda mora. Cum loca reppereris, quae tangi femina gaudet, Non obstet, tangas quo minus illa, pudor.
Aspicies oculos tremulo fulgore micantes, Ut sol a liquida saepe refulget aqua. Accedent questus, accedet amabile murmur, Et dulces gemitus aptaque verba ioco. Sed neque tu dominam velis maioribus usus Desere, nec cursus anteat illa tuos; Ad metam properate simul: tum plena voluptas, Cum pariter victi femina virque iacent. Hic tibi versandus tenor est, cum libera dantur Otia, furtivum nec timor urget opus. Cum mora non tuta est, totis incumbere remis Utile, et admisso subdere calcar equo.
Finis adest operi: palmam date, grata iuventus, Sertaque odoratae myrtea ferte comae. Quantus apud Danaos Podalirius arte medendi, Aeacides dextra, pectore Nestor erat, Quantus erat Calchas extis, Telamonius armis, Automedon curru, tantus amator ego. Me vatem celebrate, viri, mihi dicite laudes, Cantetur toto nomen in orbe meum. Arma dedi vobis: dederat Vulcanus Achilli; Vincite muneribus, vicit ut ille, datis. Sed quicumque meo superarit Amazona ferro, Inscribat spoliis 'Naso magister erat.'
Ecce, rogant tenerae, sibi dem praecepta, puellae: Vos eritis chartae proxima cura meae!
Book 3
Arma dedi Danais in Amazonas; arma supersunt, Quae tibi dem et turmae, Penthesilea, tuae. Ite in bella pares; vincant, quibus alma Dione Faverit et toto qui volat orbe puer. Non erat armatis aequum concurrere nudas; Sic etiam vobis vincere turpe, viri. Dixerit e multis aliquis 'quid virus in angues Adicis, et rabidae tradis ovile lupae?' Parcite paucarum diffundere crimen in omnes; Spectetur meritis quaeque puella suis. Si minor Atrides Helenen, Helenesque sororem Quo premat Atrides crimine maior habet,
Si scelere Oeclides Talaioniae Eriphylae Vivus et in vivis ad Styga venit equis, Est pia Penelope lustris errante duobus Et totidem lustris bella gerente viro. Respice Phylaciden et quae comes isse marito Fertur et ante annos occubuisse suos. Fata Pheretiadae coniunx Pagasaea redemit: Proque viro est uxor funere lata viri. 'Accipe me, Capaneu! cineres miscebimus' inquit Iphias, in medios desiluitque rogos. Ipsa quoque et cultu est et nomine femina Virtus: Non mirum, populo si placet illa suo.
Nec tamen hae mentes nostra poscuntur ab arte: Conveniunt cumbae vela minora meae. Nil nisi lascivi per me discuntur amores; Femina praecipiam quo sit amanda modo. Femina nec flammas nec saevos excutit arcus; Parcius haec video tela nocere viris. Saepe viri fallunt: tenerae non saepe puellae, Paucaque, si quaeras, crimina fraudis habent. Phasida iam matrem fallax dimisit Iason: Venit in Aesonios altera nupta sinus. Quantum in te, Theseu, volucres Ariadna marinas Pavit, in ignoto sola relicta loco!
Quaere, novem cur una viae dicantur, et audi Depositis silvas Phyllida flesse comis. Et famam pietatis habet, tamen hospes et ensem Praebuit et causam mortis, Elissa, tuae. Quid vos perdiderit, dicam? nescistis amare: Defuit ars vobis; arte perennat amor. Nunc quoque nescirent: sed me Cytherea docere Iussit, et ante oculos constitit ipsa meos. Tum mihi 'Quid miserae' dixit 'meruere puellae? Traditur armatis vulgus inerme viris. Illos artifices gemini fecere libelli: Haec quoque pars monitis erudienda tuis.
Probra Therapnaeae qui dixerat ante maritae, Mox cecinit laudes prosperiore lyra. Si bene te novi (cultas ne laede puellas!) Gratia, dum vives, ista petenda tibi est.' Dixit, et e myrto (myrto nam vincta capillos Constiterat) folium granaque pauca dedit; Sensimus acceptis numen quoque: purior aether Fulsit, et e toto pectore cessit onus. Dum facit ingenium, petite hinc praecepta, puellae, Quas pudor et leges et sua iura sinunt. Venturae memores iam nunc estote senectae: Sic nullum vobis tempus abibit iners.
Dum licet, et vernos etiamnum educitis annos, Ludite: eunt anni more fluentis aquae; Nec quae praeteriit, iterum revocabitur unda, Nec quae praeteriit, hora redire potest. Utendum est aetate: cito pede labitur aetas, Nec bona tam sequitur, quam bona prima fuit. Hos ego, qui canent, frutices violaria vidi: Hac mihi de spina grata corona data est. Tempus erit, quo tu, quae nunc excludis amantes, Frigida deserta nocte iacebis anus, Nec tua frangetur nocturna ianua rixa, Sparsa nec invenies limina mane rosa.
Quam cito (me miserum!) laxantur corpora rugis, Et perit in nitido qui fuit ore color. Quasque fuisse tibi canas a virgine iuras, Spargentur subito per caput omne comae. Anguibus exuitur tenui cum pelle vetustas, Nec faciunt cervos cornua iacta senes: Nostra sine auxilio fugiunt bona; carpite florem, Qui, nisi carptus erit, turpiter ipse cadet. Adde, quod et partus faciunt breviora iuventae Tempora: continua messe senescit ager. Latmius Endymion non est tibi, Luna, rubori, Nec Cephalus roseae praeda pudenda deae.
Ut Veneri, quem luget adhuc, donetur Adonis: Unde habet Aenean Harmoniamque suos? Ite per exemplum, genus o mortale, dearum, Gaudia nec cupidis vestra negate viris. Ut iam decipiant, quid perditis? omnia constant; Mille licet sumant, deperit inde nihil. Conteritur ferrum, silices tenuantur ab usu: Sufficit et damni pars caret illa metu. Quis vetet adposito lumen de lumine sumi? Quisve cavo vastas in mare servet aquas? Et tamen ulla viro mulier 'non expedit' inquit? Quid, nisi quam sumes, dic mihi, perdis aquam?
Nec vos prostituit mea vox, sed vana timere Damna vetat: damnis munera vestra carent. Sed me flaminibus venti maioris iturum, Dum sumus in portu, provehat aura levis. Ordior a cultu; cultis bene Liber ab uvis Provenit, et culto stat seges alta solo. Forma dei munus: forma quota quaeque superbit? Pars vestrum tali munere magna caret. Cura dabit faciem; facies neglecta peribit, Idaliae similis sit licet illa deae. Corpora si veteres non sic coluere puellae, Nec veteres cultos sic habuere viros;
Si fuit Andromache tunicas induta valentes, Quid mirum? duri militis uxor erat. Scilicet Aiaci coniunx ornata venires, Cui tegumen septem terga fuere boum? Simplicitas rudis ante fuit: nunc aurea Roma est, Et domiti magnas possidet orbis opes. Aspice quae nunc sunt Capitolia, quaeque fuerunt: Alterius dices illa fuisse Iovis. Curia, concilio quae nunc dignissima tanto, De stipula Tatio regna tenente fuit. Quae nunc sub Phoebo ducibusque Palatia fulgent, Quid nisi araturis pascua bubus erant?
Prisca iuvent alios: ego me nunc denique natum Gratulor: haec aetas moribus apta meis. Non quia nunc terrae lentum subducitur aurum, Lectaque diverso litore concha venit: Nec quia decrescunt effosso marmore montes, Nec quia caeruleae mole fugantur aquae: Sed quia cultus adest, nec nostros mansit in annos Rusticitas, priscis illa superstes avis. Vos quoque nec caris aures onerate lapillis, Quos legit in viridi decolor Indus aqua, Nec prodite graves insuto vestibus auro, Per quas nos petitis, saepe fugatis, opes.
Munditiis capimur: non sint sine lege capilli: Admotae formam dantque negantque manus. Nec genus ornatus unum est: quod quamque decebit Eligat, et speculum consulate ante suum. Longa probat facies capitis discrimina puri: Sic erat ornatis Laodamia comis. Exiguum summa nodum sibi fronte relinqui, Ut pateant aures, ora rotunda volunt. Alterius crines umero iactentur utroque: Talis es adsumpta, Phoebe canore, lyra. Altera succinctae religetur more Dianae, Ut solet, attonitas cum petit illa feras.
Huic decet inflatos laxe iacuisse capillos: Illa sit adstrictis impedienda comis; Hanc placet ornari testudine Cyllenea: Sustineat similes fluctibus illa sinus. Sed neque ramosa numerabis in ilice glandes, Nec quot apes Hyblae, nec quot in Alpe ferae, Nec mihi tot positus numero conprendere fas est: Adicit ornatus proxima quaeque dies. Et neglecta decet multas coma; saepe iacere Hesternam credas; illa repexa modo est. Ars casum simulat; sic capta vidit ut urbe Alcides Iolen, 'hanc ego' dixit 'amo.'
Talem te Bacchus Satyris clamantibus euhoe Sustulit in currus, Cnosi relicta, suos. O quantum indulget vestro natura decori, Quarum sunt multis damna pianda modis! Nos male detegimur, raptique aetate capilli, Ut Borea frondes excutiente, cadunt. Femina canitiem Germanis inficit herbis, Et melior vero quaeritur arte color: Femina procedit densissima crinibus emptis, Proque suis alios efficit aere suos. Nec rubor est emisse; palam venire videmus Herculis ante oculos virgineumque chorum.
Quid de veste loquar? Nec vos, segmenta, requiro Nec te, quae Tyrio murice, lana, rubes. Cum tot prodierint pretio leviore colores, Quis furor est census corpore ferre suos! Aëris, ecce, color, tum cum sine nubibus aër, Nec tepidus pluvias concitat auster aquas: Ecce, tibi similis, quae quondam Phrixon et Hellen Diceris Inois eripuisse dolis; Hic undas imitatur, habet quoque nomen ab undis: Crediderim nymphas hac ego veste tegi. Ille crocum simulat: croceo velatur amictu, Roscida luciferos cum dea iungit equos:
Hic Paphias myrtos, hic purpureas amethystos, Albentesve rosas, Threïciamve gruem; Nec glandes, Amarylli, tuae, nec amygdala desunt; Et sua velleribus nomina cera dedit. Quot nova terra parit flores, cum vere tepenti Vitis agit gemmas pigraque fugit hiemps, Lana tot aut plures sucos bibit; elige certos: Nam non conveniens omnibus omnis erit. Pulla decent niveas: Briseïda pulla decebant: Cum rapta est, pulla tum quoque veste fuit. Alba decent fuscas: albis, Cepheï, placebas: Sic tibi vestitae pressa Seriphos erat.
Quam paene admonui, ne trux caper iret in alas, Neve forent duris aspera crura pilis! Sed non Caucasea doceo de rupe puellas, Quaeque bibant undas, Myse Caice, tuas. Quid si praecipiam ne fuscet inertia dentes, Oraque suscepta mane laventur aqua? Scitis et inducta candorem quaerere creta: Sanguine quae vero non rubet, arte rubet. Arte supercilii confinia nuda repletis, Parvaque sinceras velat aluta genas. Nec pudor est oculos tenui signare favilla, Vel prope te nato, lucide Cydne, croco.
Est mihi, quo dixi vestrae medicamina formae, Parvus, sed cura grande, libellus, opus; Hinc quoque praesidium laesae petitote figurae; Non est pro vestris ars mea rebus iners. Non tamen expositas mensa deprendat amator Pyxidas: ars faciem dissimulata iuvat. Quem non offendat toto faex inlita vultu, Cum fluit in tepidos pondere lapsa sinus? Oesypa quid redolent? quamvis mittatur Athenis Demptus ab inmundo vellere sucus ovis. Nec coram mixtas cervae sumpsisse medullas, Nec coram dentes defricuisse probem;
Ista dabunt formam, sed erunt deformia visu: Multaque, dum fiunt, turpia, facta placent; Quae nunc nomen habent operosi signa Myronis Pondus iners quondam duraque massa fuit; Anulus ut fiat, primo conliditur aurum; Quas geritis vestis, sordida lana fuit; Cum fieret, lapis asper erat: nunc, nobile signum, Nuda Venus madidas exprimit imbre comas. Tu quoque dum coleris, nos te dormire putemus; Aptius a summa conspiciere manu. Cur mihi nota tuo causa est candoris in ore? Claude forem thalami! quid rude prodis opus?
Multa viros nescire decet; pars maxima rerum Offendat, si non interiora tegas. Aurea quae splendent ornato signa theatro, Inspice, contemnes: brattea ligna tegit; Sed neque ad illa licet populo, nisi facta, venire, Nec nisi summotis forma paranda viris. At non pectendos coram praebere capillos, Ut iaceant fusi per tua terga, veto. Illo praecipue ne sis morosa caveto Tempore, nec lapsas saepe resolve comas. Tuta sit ornatrix; odi, quae sauciat ora Unguibus et rapta brachia figit acu.
Devovet, ut tangit, dominae caput illa, simulque Plorat in invisas sanguinolenta comas. Quae male crinita est, custodem in limine ponat, Orneturve Bonae semper in aede deae. Dictus eram subito cuidam venisse puellae: Turbida perversas induit illa comas. Hostibus eveniat tam foedi causa pudoris, Inque nurus Parthas dedecus illud eat. Turpe pecus mutilum, turpis sine gramine campus, Et sine fronde frutex, et sine crine caput. Non mihi venistis, Semele Ledeve, docendae, Perque fretum falso, Sidoni, vecta bove,
Aut Helene, quam non stulte, Menelaë, reposcis, Tu quoque non stulte, Troice raptor, habes; Turba docenda venit, pulchrae turpesque puellae: Pluraque sunt semper deteriora bonis. Formosae non artis opem praeceptaque quaerunt: Est illis sua dos, forma sine arte potens; Cum mare compositum est, securus navita cessat: Cum tumet, auxiliis adsidet ille suis. Rara tamen mendo facies caret: occule mendas, Quaque potes vitium corporis abde tui. Si brevis es, sedeas, ne stans videare sedere: Inque tuo iaceas quantulacumque toro;
Hic quoque, ne possit fieri mensura cubantis, Iniecta lateant fac tibi veste pedes. Quae nimium gracilis, pleno velamina filo Sumat, et ex umeris laxus amictus eat. Pallida purpureis spargat sua corpora virgis, Nigrior ad Pharii confuge piscis opem. Pes malus in nivea semper celetur aluta: Arida nec vinclis crura resolve suis. Conveniunt tenues scapulis analemptrides altis: Angustum circa fascia pectus eat. Exiguo signet gestu, quodcumque loquetur, Cui digiti pingues et scaber unguis erit.
Cui gravis oris odor numquam ieiuna loquatur, Et semper spatio distet ab ore viri. Si niger aut ingens aut non erit ordine natus Dens tibi, ridendo maxima damna feres. Quis credat? discunt etiam ridere puellae, Quaeritur aque illis hac quoque parte decor. Sint modici rictus, parvaeque utrimque lacunae, Et summos dentes ima labella tegant. Nec sua perpetuo contendant ilia risu, Sed leve nescio quid femineumque sonent. Est, quae perverso distorqueat ora cachinno: Risu concussa est altera, flere putes.
Illa sonat raucum quiddam atque inamabile ridet, Ut rudit a scabra turpis asella mola. Quo non ars penetrat? discunt lacrimare decenter, Quoque volunt plorant tempore, quoque modo. Quid, cum legitima fraudatur littera voce, Blaesaque fit iusso lingua coacta sono? In vitio decor est: quaerunt male reddere verba; Discunt posse minus, quam potuere, loqui. Omnibus his, quoniam prosunt, inpendite curam: Discite femineo corpora ferre gradu. Est et in incessu pars non temnenda decoris: Allicit ignotos ille fugatque viros.
Haec movet arte latus, tunicisque fluentibus auras Accipit, expensos fertque superba pedes: Illa velut coniunx Umbri rubicunda mariti Ambulat, ingentes varica fertque gradus. Sed sit, ut in multis, modus hic quoque: rusticus alter Motus, concesso mollior alter erit. Pars umeri tamen ima tui, pars summa lacerti Nuda sit, a laeva conspicienda manu. Hoc vos praecipue, niveae, decet: hoc ubi vidi, Oscula ferre umero, qua patet usque, libet. Monstra maris Sirenes erant, quae voce canora Quamlibet admissas detinuere rates.
His sua Sisyphides auditis paene resolvit Corpora, nam sociis inlita cera fuit. Res est blanda canor: discant cantare puellae: Pro facie multis vox sua lena fuit. Et modo marmoreis referant audita theatris, Et modo Niliacis carmina lusa modis. Nec plectrum dextra, citharam tenuisse sinistra Nesciat arbitrio femina docta meo. Saxa ferasque lyra movit Rhodopeïus Orpheus, Tartareosque lacus tergeminumque canem. Saxa tuo cantu, vindex iustissime matris, Fecerunt muros officiosa novos.
Quamvis mutus erat, voci favisse putatur Piscis, Arioniae fabula nota lyrae. Disce etiam duplici genialia nablia palma Verrere: conveniunt dulcibus illa iocis. Sit tibi Callimachi, sit Coi nota poetae, Sit quoque vinosi Teïa Musa senis; Nota sit et Sappho (quid enim lascivius illa?), Cuive pater vafri luditur arte Getae. Et teneri possis carmen legisse Properti, Sive aliquid Galli, sive, Tibulle, tuum: Dictaque Varroni fulvis insignia villis Vellera, germanae, Phrixe, querenda tuae:
Et profugum Aenean, altae primordia Romae, Quo nullum Latio clarius extat opus. Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis, Nec mea Lethaeis scripta dabuntur aquis: Atque aliquis dicet 'nostri lege culta magistri Carmina, quis partes instruit ille duas: Deve tribus libris, titulus quos signat Amorum, Elige, quod docili molliter ore legas: Vel tibi composita cantetur Epistola voce: Ignotum hoc aliis ille novavit opus.' O ita, Phoebe, velis! ita vos, pia numina vatum, Insignis cornu Bacche, novemque deae!
Quis dubitet, quin scire velim saltare puellam, Ut moveat posito brachia iussa mero? Artifices lateris, scenae spectacula, amantur: Tantum mobilitas illa decoris habet. Parva monere pudet, talorum dicere iactus Ut sciat, et vires, tessera missa, tuas: Et modo tres iactet numeros, modo cogitet, apte Quam subeat partem callida, quamque vocet. Cautaque non stulte latronum proelia ludat, Unus cum gemino calculus hoste perit, Bellatorque sua prensus sine compare bellat, Aemulus et coeptum saepe recurrit iter.
Reticuloque pilae leves fundantur aperto, Nec, nisi quam tolles, ulla movenda pila est. Est genus, in totidem tenui ratione redactum Scriptula, quot menses lubricus annus habet: Parva tabella capit ternos utrimque lapillos, In qua vicisse est continuasse suos. Mille facesse iocos; turpe est nescire puellam Ludere: ludendo saepe paratur amor. Sed minimus labor est sapienter iactibus uti: Maius opus mores composuisse suos. Tum sumus incauti, studioque aperimur in ipso, Nudaque per lusus pectora nostra patent;
Ira subit, deforme malum, lucrique cupido, Iurgiaque et rixae sollicitusque dolor: Crimina dicuntur, resonat clamoribus aether, Invocat iratos et sibi quisque deos: Nulla fides, tabulaeque novae per vota petuntur; Et lacrimis vidi saepe madere genas. Iuppiter a vobis tam turpia crimina pellat, In quibus est ulli cura placere viro. Hos ignava iocos tribuit natura puellis; Materia ludunt uberiore viri. Sunt illis celeresque pilae iaculumque trochique Armaque et in gyros ire coactus equus.
Nec vos Campus habet, nec vos gelidissima Virgo, Nec Tuscus placida devehit amnis aqua. At licet et prodest Pompeias ire per umbras, Virginis aetheriis cum caput ardet equis; Visite laurigero sacrata Palatia Phoebo: Ille Paraetonicas mersit in alta rates; Quaeque soror coniunxque ducis monimenta pararunt, Navalique gener cinctus honore caput; Visite turicremas vaccae Memphitidos aras, Visite conspicuis terna theatra locis; Spectentur tepido maculosae sanguine harenae, Metaque ferventi circueunda rota.
Quod latet, ignotum est: ignoti nulla cupido: Fructus abest, facies cum bona teste caret. Tu licet et Thamyram superes et Amoebea cantu, Non erit ignotae gratia magna lyrae. Si Venerem Cous nusquam posuisset Apelles, Mersa sub aequoreis illa lateret aquis. Quid petitur sacris, nisi tantum fama, poetis? Hoc votum nostri summa laboris habet. Cura deum fuerant olim regumque poetae: Praemiaque antiqui magna tulere chori. Sanctaque maiestas et erat venerabile nomen Vatibus, et largae saepe dabantur opes.
Ennius emeruit, Calabris in montibus ortus, Contiguus poni, Scipio magne, tibi. Nunc ederae sine honore iacent, operataque doctis Cura vigil Musis nomen inertis habet. Sed famae vigilare iuvat: quis nosset Homerum, Ilias aeternum si latuisset opus? Quis Danaën nosset, si semper clusa fuisset, Inque sua turri perlatuisset anus? Utilis est vobis, formosae, turba, puellae. Saepe vagos ultra limina ferte pedes. Ad multas lupa tendit oves, praedetur ut unam, Et Iovis in multas devolat ales aves.
Se quoque det populo mulier speciosa videndam: Quem trahat, e multis forsitan unus erit. Omnibus illa locis maneat studiosa placendi, Et curam tota mente decoris agat. Casus ubique valet; semper tibi pendeat hamus: Quo minime credas gurgite, piscis erit. Saepe canes frustra nemorosis montibus errant, Inque plagam nullo cervus agente venit. Quid minus Andromedae fuerat sperare revinctae, Quam lacrimas ulli posse placere suas? Funere saepe viri vir quaeritur; ire solutis Crinibus et fletus non tenuisse decet.
Sed vitate viros cultum formamque professos, Quique suas ponunt in statione comas. Quae vobis dicunt, dixerunt mille puellis: Errat et in nulla sede moratur amor. Femina quid faciat, cum sit vir levior ipsa, Forsitan et plures possit habere viros? Vix mihi credetis, sed credite: Troia maneret, Praeceptis Priamo si foret usa satae. Sunt qui mendaci specie grassentur amoris, Perque aditus talis lucra pudenda petant. Nec coma vos fallat liquido nitidissima nardo, Nec brevis in rugas lingula pressa suas:
Nec toga decipiat filo tenuissima, nec si Anulus in digitis alter et alter erit. Forsitan ex horum numero cultissimus ille Fur sit, et uratur vestis amore tuae. 'Redde meum!' clamant spoliatae saepe puellae, 'Redde meum!' toto voce boante foro. Has, Venus, e templis multo radiantibus auro Lenta vides lites Appiadesque tuae. Sunt quoque non dubia quaedam mala nomina fama: Deceptae multi crimen amantis habent. Discite ab alterius vestras timuisse querellis; Ianua fallaci ne sit aperta viro.
Parcite, Cecropides, iuranti credere Theseo: Quos faciet testes, fecit et ante, deos. Et tibi, Demophoon, Theseï criminis heres, Phyllide decepta nulla relicta fides. Si bene promittent, totidem promittite verbis: Si dederint, et vos gaudia pacta date. Illa potest vigiles flammas extinguere Vestae, Et rapere e templis, Inachi, sacra tuis, Et dare mixta viro tritis aconita cicutis, Accepto venerem munere siqua negat. Fert animus propius consistere: supprime habenas, Musa, nec admissis excutiare rotis.
Verba vadum temptent abiegnis scripta tabellis: Accipiat missas apta ministra notas. Inspice: quodque leges, ex ipsis collige verbis, Fingat, an ex animo sollicitusque roget. Postque brevem rescribe moram: mora semper amantes Incitat, exiguum si modo tempus habet. Sed neque te facilem iuveni promitte roganti, Nec tamen e duro quod petit ille nega. Fac timeat speretque simul, quotiensque remittes, Spesque magis veniat certa minorque metus. Munda, sed e medio consuetaque verba, puellae, Scribite: sermonis publica forma placet;
A! quotiens dubius scriptis exarsit amator, Et nocuit formae barbara lingua bonae! Sed quoniam, quamvis vittae careatis honore, Est vobis vestros fallere cura viros, Ancillae puerique manu perarate tabellas, Pignora nec iuveni credite vestra novo. Perfidus ille quidem, qui talia pignora servat, Sed tamen Aetnaei fulminis instar habent. Vidi ego pallentes isto terrore puellas Servitium miseras tempus in omne pati. Iudice me fraus est concessa repellere fraudem, Armaque in armatos sumere iura sinunt.
Ducere consuescat multas manus una figuras, (A! pereant, per quos ista monenda mihi) Nec nisi deletis tutum rescribere ceris, Ne teneat geminas una tabella manus. Femina dicatur scribenti semper amator: Illa sit in vestris, qui fuit ille, notis. Si licet a parvis animum ad maiora referre, Plenaque curvato pandere vela sinu, Pertinet ad faciem rabidos compescere mores: Candida pax homines, trux decet ira feras. Ora tument ira: nigrescunt sanguine venae: Lumina Gorgoneo saevius igne micant.
'I procul hinc,' dixit 'non es mihi, tibia, tanti,' Ut vidit vultus Pallas in amne suos. Vos quoque si media speculum spectetis in ira, Cognoscat faciem vix satis ulla suam. Nec minus in vultu damnosa superbia vestro: Comibus est oculis alliciendus amor. Odimus inmodicos (experto credite) fastus: Saepe tacens odii semina vultus habet. Spectantem specta, ridenti mollia ride: Innuet, acceptas tu quoque redde notas. Sic ubi prolusit, rudibus puer ille relictis Spicula de pharetra promit acuta sua.
Odimus et maestas: Tecmessam diligat Aiax; Nos hilarem populum femina laeta capit. Numquam ego te, Andromache, nec te, Tecmessa, rogarem, Ut mea de vobis altera amica foret. Credere vix videor, cum cogar credere partu, Vos ego cum vestris concubuisse viris. Scilicet Aiaci mulier maestissima dixit 'Lux mea' quaeque solent verba iuvare viros? Quis vetat a magnis ad res exempla minores Sumere, nec nomen pertimuisse ducis? Dux bonus huic centum commisit vite regendos, Huic equites, illi signa tuenda dedit:
Vos quoque, de nobis quem quisque erit aptus ad usum, Inspicite, et certo ponite quemque loco. Munera det dives: ius qui profitebitur, adsit: Facundus causam saepe clientis agat: Carmina qui facimus, mittamus carmina tantum: Hic chorus ante alios aptus amare sumus. Nos facimus placitae late praeconia formae: Nomen habet Nemesis, Cynthia nomen habet: Vesper et Eoae novere Lycorida terrae: Et multi, quae sit nostra Corinna, rogant. Adde, quod insidiae sacris a vatibus absunt, Et facit ad mores ars quoque nostra suos.
Nec nos ambitio, nec amor nos tangit habendi: Contempto colitur lectus et umbra foro. Sed facile haeremus, validoque perurimur aestu, Et nimium certa scimus amare fide. Scilicet ingenium placida mollitur ab arte, Et studio mores convenienter eunt. Vatibus Aoniis faciles estote, puellae: Numen inest illis, Pieridesque favent. Est deus in nobis, et sunt commercia caeli: Sedibus aetheriis spiritus ille venit. A doctis pretium scelus est sperare poetis; Me miserum! scelus hoc nulla puella timet.
Dissimulate tamen, nec prima fronte rapaces Este: novus viso casse resistet amans. Sed neque vector equum, qui nuper sensit habenas, Comparibus frenis artificemque reget, Nec stabiles animos annis viridemque iuventam Ut capias, idem limes agendus erit. Hic rudis et castris nunc primum notus Amoris, Qui tetigit thalamos praeda novella tuos, Te solam norit, tibi semper inhaereat uni: Cingenda est altis saepibus ista seges. Effuge rivalem: vinces, dum sola tenebis; Non bene cum sociis regna Venusque manent.
Ille vetus miles sensim et sapienter amabit, Multaque tironi non patienda feret: Nec franget postes, nec saevis ignibus uret, Nec dominae teneras adpetet ungue genas, Nec scindet tunicasve suas tunicasve puellae, Nec raptus flendi causa capillus erit. Ista decent pueros aetate et amore calentes; Hic fera composita vulnera mente feret. Ignibus heu lentis uretur, ut umida faena, Ut modo montanis silva recisa iugis. Certior hic amor est: brevis et fecundior ille; Quae fugiunt, celeri carpite poma manu.
Omnia tradantur: portas reseravimus hosti; Et sit in infida proditione fides. Quod datur ex facili, longum male nutrit amorem: Miscenda est laetis rara repulsa iocis. Ante fores iaceat, 'crudelis ianua!' dicat, Multaque summisse, multa minanter agat. Dulcia non ferimus: suco renovemur amaro; Saepe perit ventis obruta cumba suis; Hoc est, uxores quod non patiatur amari: Conveniunt illas, cum voluere, viri; Adde forem, et duro dicat tibi ianitor ore 'Non potes,' exclusum te quoque tanget amor.
Ponite iam gladios hebetes: pugnetur acutis; Nec dubito, telis quin petar ipse meis. Dum cadit in laqueos captus quoque nuper amator, Solum se thalamos speret habere tuos. Postmodo rivalem partitaque foedera lecti Sentiat: has artes tolle, senescet amor. Tum bene fortis equus reserato carcere currit, Cum quos praetereat quosque sequatur habet. Quamlibet extinctos iniuria suscitat ignes: En, ego (confiteor!) non nisi laesus amo. Causa tamen nimium non sit manifesta doloris, Pluraque sollicitus, quam sciet, esse putet.
Incitat et ficti tristis custodia servi, Et nimium duri cura molesta viri. Quae venit ex tuto, minus est accepta voluptas: Ut sis liberior Thaide, finge metus. Cum melius foribus possis, admitte fenestra, Inque tuo vultu signa timentis habe. Callida prosiliat dicatque ancilla 'perimus!' Tu iuvenem trepidum quolibet abde loco. Admiscenda tamen venus est secura timori, Ne tanti noctes non putet esse tuas. Qua vafer eludi possit ratione maritus, Quaque vigil custos, praeteriturus eram.
Nupta virum timeat: rata sit custodia nuptae; Hoc decet, hoc leges iusque pudorque iubent. Te quoque servari, modo quam vindicta redemit, Quis ferat? Ut fallas, ad mea sacra veni! Tot licet observent (adsit modo certa voluntas), Quot fuerant Argo lumina, verba dabis. Scilicet obstabit custos, ne scribere possis, Sumendae detur cum tibi tempus aquae? Conscia cum possit scriptas portare tabellas, Quas tegat in tepido fascia lata sinu? Cum possit sura chartas celare ligatas, Et vincto blandas sub pede ferre notas?
Caverit haec custos, pro charta conscia tergum Praebeat, inque suo corpore verba ferat. Tuta quoque est fallitque oculos e lacte recenti Littera: carbonis pulvere tange, leges. Fallet et umiduli quae fiet acumine lini, Ut ferat occultas pura tabella notas. Adfuit Acrisio servandae cura puellae: Hunc tamen illa suo crimine fecit avum. Quid faciat custos, cum sint tot in urbe theatra, Cum spectet iunctos illa libenter equos, Cum sedeat Phariae sistris operata iuvencae, Quoque sui comites ire vetantur, eat,
Cum fuget a templis oculos Bona Diva virorum, Praeterquam siquos illa venire iubet? Cum, custode foris tunicas servante puellae, Celent furtivos balnea multa iocos, Cum, quotiens opus est, fallax aegrotet amica, Et cedat lecto quamlibet aegra suo, Nomine cum doceat, quid agamus, adultera clavis, Quasque petas non det ianua sola vias? Fallitur et multo custodis cura Lyaeo, Illa vel Hispano lecta sit uva iugo; Sunt quoque, quae faciant altos medicamina somnos, Victaque Lethaea lumina nocte premant;
Nec male deliciis odiosum conscia tardis Detinet, et longa iungitur ipsa mora. Quid iuvat ambages praeceptaque parva movere, Cum minimo custos munere possit emi? Munera, crede mihi, capiunt hominesque deosque: Placatur donis Iuppiter ipse datis. Quid sapiens faciet, stultus cum munere gaudet? Ipse quoque accepto munere mutus erit. Sed semel est custos longum redimendus in aevum: Saepe dabit, dederit quas semel ille manus. Questus eram, memini, metuendos esse sodales: Non tangit solos ista querella viros.
Credula si fueris, aliae tua gaudia carpent, Et lepus hic aliis exagitatus erit. Haec quoque, quae praebet lectum studiosa locumque Crede mihi, mecum non semel illa fuit. Nec nimium vobis formosa ancilla ministret: Saepe vicem dominae praebuit illa mihi. Quo feror insanus? quid aperto pectore in hostem Mittor, et indicio prodor ab ipse meo? Non avis aucupibus monstrat, qua parte petatur: Non docet infestos currere cerva canes. Viderit utilitas: ego coepta fideliter edam: Lemniasin gladios in mea fata dabo.
Efficite (et facile est), ut nos credamus amari: Prona venit cupidis in sua vota fides. Spectet amabilius iuvenem, suspiret ab imo Femina, tam sero cur veniatque roget: Accedant lacrimae, dolor et de paelice fictus, Et laniet digitis illius ora suis: Iamdudum persuasus erit; miserebitur ultro, Et dicet 'cura carpitur ista mei.' Praecipue si cultus erit speculoque placebit, Posse suo tangi credet amore deas. Sed te, quaecumque est, moderate iniuria turbet, Nec sis audita paelice mentis inops.
Nec cito credideris: quantum cito credere laedat, Exemplum vobis non leve Procris erit. Est prope purpureos colles florentis Hymetti Fons sacer et viridi caespite mollis humus: Silva nemus non alta facit; tegit arbutus herbam, Ros maris et lauri nigraque myrtus olent: Nec densum foliis buxum fragilesque myricae, Nec tenues cytisi cultaque pinus abest. Lenibus inpulsae zephyris auraque salubri Tot generum frondes herbaque summa tremit. Grata quies Cephalo: famulis canibusque relictis Lassus in hac iuvenis saepe resedit humo,
'Quae' que 'meos releves aestus,' cantare solebat 'Accipienda sinu, mobilis aura, veni.' Coniugis ad timidas aliquis male sedulus aures Auditos memori detulit ore sonos; Procris ut accepit nomen, quasi paelicis, Aurae, Excidit, et subito muta dolore fuit; Palluit, ut serae lectis de vite racemis Pallescunt frondes, quas nova laesit hiemps, Quaeque suos curvant matura cydonia ramos, Cornaque adhuc nostris non satis apta cibis. Ut rediit animus, tenues a pectore vestes Rumpit, et indignas sauciat ungue genas;
Nec mora, per medias passis furibunda capillis Evolat, ut thyrso concita Baccha, vias. Ut prope perventum, comites in valle relinquit, Ipsa nemus tacito clam pede fortis init. Quid tibi mentis erat, cum sic male sana lateres, Procri? quis adtoniti pectoris ardor erat? Iam iam venturam, quaecumque erat Aura, putabas Scilicet, atque oculis probra videnda tuis. Nunc venisse piget (neque enim deprendere velles), Nunc iuvat: incertus pectora versat amor. Credere quae iubeant, locus est et nomen et index, Et quia mens semper quod timet, esse putat.
Vidit ut oppressa vestigia corporis herba, Pulsantur trepidi corde micante sinus. Iamque dies medius tenues contraxerat umbras, Inque pari spatio vesper et ortus erant: Ecce, redit Cephalus silvis, Cyllenia proles, Oraque fontana fervida pulsat aqua. Anxia, Procri, lates: solitas iacet ille per herbas, Et 'zephyri molles auraque' dixit 'ades!' Ut patuit miserae iucundus nominis error, Et mens et rediit verus in ora color. Surgit, et oppositas agitato corpore frondes Movit, in amplexus uxor itura viri:
Ille feram movisse ratus, iuvenaliter artus Corripit, in dextra tela fuere manu. Quid facis, infelix? non est fera, supprime tela! Me miserum! iaculo fixa puella tuo est. 'Ei mihi!' conclamat 'fixisti pectus amicum. Hic locus a Cephalo vulnera semper habet. Ante diem morior, sed nulla paelice laesa: Hoc faciet positae te mihi, terra, levem. Nomine suspectas iam spiritus exit in auras: Labor, eo, cara lumina conde manu!' Ille sinu dominae morientia corpora maesto Sustinet, et lacrimis vulnera saeva lavat:
Exit, et incauto paulatim pectore lapsus Excipitur miseri spiritus ore viri. Sed repetamus opus: mihi nudis rebus eundum est, Ut tangat portus fessa carina suos. Sollicite expectas, dum te in convivia ducam, Et quaeris monitus hac quoque parte meos. Sera veni, positaque decens incede lucerna: Grata mora venies; maxima lena mora est. Etsi turpis eris, formosa videbere potis, Et latebras vitiis nox dabit ipsa tuis. Carpe cibos digitis: est quiddam gestus edendi: Ora nec immunda tota perungue manu.
Neve domi praesume dapes, sed desine citra Quam capis; es paulo quam potes esse minus; Priamides Helenen avide si spectet edentem, Oderit, et dicat 'stulta rapina mea est.' Aptius est, deceatque magis potare puellas: Cum Veneris puero non male, Bacche, facis. Hoc quoque, qua patiens caput est, animusque pedesque Constant: nec, quae sunt singula, bina vide. Turpe iacens mulier multo madefacta Lyaeo: Digna est concubitus quoslibet illa pati. Nec somnis posita tutum succumbere mensa: Per somnos fieri multa pudenda solent.
Ulteriora pudet docuisse: sed alma Dione 'Praecipue nostrum est, quod pudet' inquit 'opus.' Nota sibi sit quaeque: modos a corpore certos Sumite: non omnes una figura decet. Quae facie praesignis erit, resupina iaceto: Spectentur tergo, quis sua terga placent. Milanion umeris Atalantes crura ferebat: Si bona sunt, hoc sunt accipienda modo. Parva vehatur equo: quod erat longissima, numquam Thebaïs Hectoreo nupta resedit equo. Strata premat genibus, paulum cervice reflexa, Femina per longum conspicienda latus.
Cui femur est iuvenale, carent quoque pectora menda, Stet vir, in obliquo fusa sit ipsa toro. Nec tibi turpe puta crinem, ut Phylleïa mater, Solvere, et effusis colla reflecte comis. Tu quoque, cui rugis uterum Lucina notavit, Ut celer aversis utere Parthus equis. Mille modi veneris; simplex minimique laboris, Cum iacet in dextrum semisupina latus. Sed neque Phoebei tripodes nec corniger Ammon Vera magis vobis, quam mea Musa, canet: Siqua fides arti, quam longo fecimus usu, Credite: praestabunt carmina nostra fidem.
Sentiat ex imis venerem resoluta medullis Femina, et ex aequo res iuvet illa duos. Nec blandae voces iucundaque murmura cessent, Nec taceant mediis improba verba iocis. Tu quoque, cui veneris sensum natura negavit, Dulcia mendaci gaudia finge sono. Infelix, cui torpet hebes locus ille, puella, Quo pariter debent femina virque frui. Tantum, cum finges, ne sis manifesta, caveto: Effice per motum luminaque ipsa fidem. Quam iuvet, et voces et anhelitus arguat oris; A! pudet, arcanas pars habet ista notas.
Gaudia post Veneris quae poscet munus amantem, Illa suas nolet pondus habere preces.... Nec lucem in thalamos totis admitte fenestris; Aptius in vestro corpore multa latent. Lusus habet finem: cygnis descendere tempus, Duxerunt collo qui iuga nostra suo. Ut quondam iuvenes, ita nunc, mea turba, puellae Inscribant spoliis "Naso magister erat."