Time gliding by without our knowledge cheats us,and nothing can be swifter than the years.That son of sister and grandfather, whowas lately hidden in his parent tree,just lately born, a lovely baby-boyis now a youth, now man more beautifulthan during growth. He wins the love of Venusand so avenges his own mother's passion.For while the goddess' son with quiver heldon shoulder, once was kissing his loved mother,it chanced unwittingly he grazed her breastwith a projecting arrow. Instantlythe wounded goddess pushed her son away;but the scratch had pierced her deeper than she thoughtand even Venus was at first deceived.Delighted with the beauty of the youth,she does not think of her Cytherian shoresand does not care for Paphos, which is girtby the deep sea, nor Cnidos, haunts of fish,nor Amathus far-famed for precious ores.Venus, neglecting heaven, prefers Adonisto heaven, and so she holds close to his waysas his companion, and forgets to restat noon-day in the shade, neglecting careof her sweet beauty. She goes through the woods,and over mountain ridges and wild fields,rocky and thorn-set, bare to her white kneesafter Diana's manner. And she cheersthe 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, awayfrom ravenous wolves; and she avoids the bearsof frightful claws, and lions glutted withthe blood of slaughtered cattle.She warns you,Adonis, to beware and fear them. If her fearsfor you were only heeded! “Oh be brave,”she says, “against those timid animalswhich fly from you; but courage is not safeagainst the bold. Dear boy, do not be rash,do not attack the wild beasts which are armedby nature, lest your glory may cost megreat sorrow. Neither youth nor beauty northe deeds which have moved Venus have effecton lions, bristling boars, and on the eyesand tempers of wild beasts. Boars have the forceof lightning in their curved tusks, and the rageof tawny lions is unlimited.I fear and hate them all.”When he inquiresthe reason, she says: “I will tell it; youwill be surprised to learn the bad resultcaused by an ancient crime.—But I am wearywith unaccustomed toil; and see! a poplarconvenient, offers a delightful shadeand this lawn gives a good couch. Let us restourselves here on the grass.” So saying, shereclined upon the turf and, pillowingher head against his breast and mingling kisseswith her words, she told him the following tale:

Perhaps you may have heard of a swift maid,who ran much faster than swift-footed mencontesting in the race. What they have toldis not an idle tale.—She did excelthem all—and you could not have saidwhether her swift speed or her beauty wasmore worthy of your praise. When this maid onceconsulted with an oracle, of herfate after marriage, the god answered her:“You, Atalanta, never will have needof 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 throngsof suitors. “I will not be won,” she said,“Till I am conquered first in speed. Contestthe race with me. A wife and couch shall bothbe given to reward the swift, but deathmust recompense the one who lags behind.This must be the condition of a race.”Indeed she was that pitiless, but suchthe power of beauty, a rash multitudeagreed to her harsh terms.Hippomeneshad come, a stranger, to the cruel race,with condemnation in his heart againstthe 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 formdisrobed for perfect running, such a formas mine, Adonis, or as yours—if youwere woman—he was so astonished heraised up his hands and said, “Oh pardon mebrave men whom I was blaming, I could notthen realize the value of the prizeyou strove for.” And as he is praising her,his own heart leaping with love's fire, he hopesno 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 raceuntried? Divinity helps those who dare.”But while the hero weighed it in his mindthe virgin flew as if her feet had wings.Although she seemed to him in flight as swiftas any Scythian arrow, he admiredher beauty more; and her swift speed appearedin her most beautiful. The breeze bore backthe streamers on her flying ankles, whileher hair was tossed back over her white shoulders;the bright trimmed ribbons at her knees were fluttering,and over her white girlish body camea pink flush, just as when a purple awningacross a marble hall gives it a wealthof borrowed hues. And while Hippomenesin wonder gazed at her, the goal was reached;and Atalanta crowned victoriouswith festal wreath.—But all the vanquished youthspaid 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 victoryover such weaklings? Try your fate with me!If fortune fail to favor you, how couldit 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 worthhas not disgraced the fame of my descent.If you should prove victorious againstthis combination, you will have achieveda great enduring name—the only onewho ever bested great Hippomenes.”While he was speaking, Atalanta's gazegrew softer, in her vacillating hopesto 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 seekwedlock 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 couldbe moved by it—I must consider heis but a boy. It is not he himselfwho moves me, but his youth. Sufficient causefor thought are his great courage and his soulfearless 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 greatimportance, he would perish if his fatedenied my marriage to him? O strange boy,go from me while you can; abandon hopeof this alliance stained with blood—A matchwith me is fatal. Other maids will notrefuse to wed you, and a wiser girlwill gladly seek your love.—But what concernis it of mine, when I but think of thosewho have already perished! Let him lookto it himself; and let him die. Since heis not warned by his knowledge of the fateof many other suitors, he declaresquite plainly, he is weary of his life.—“Shall he then die, because it must be hisone hope to live with me? And suffer deaththough undeserved, for me because he loves?My victory will not ward off the hate,the odium of the deed! But it is nota fault of mine.—Oh fond, fond man, I wouldthat you had never seen me! But you areso madly set upon it, I could wishyou may prove much the swifter! Oh how dearhow lovable is his young girlish face!—ah, doomed Hippomenes, I only wishmischance had never let you see me! Youare truly worthy of a life on earth.If I had been more fortunate, and notdenied a happy marriage day; I wouldnot 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, allloudly demanded the accustomed race.A suppliant, the young Hippomenesinvoked me with his anxious voice, “I prayto you, O Venus, Queen of Love, be nearand help my daring—smile upon the loveyou 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 callthe Field Tamasus—the most prized of allthe fertile lands of Cyprus. This rich field,in ancient days, was set apart for me,by chosen elders who decreed it shouldenrich my temples yearly. In this fieldthere 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 aidHippomenes. While quite invisibleto all but him, I taught him how to usethose golden apples for his benefit.

The trumpet soon gave signal for the raceand both of them crouching flashed quickly forthand skimmed the surface of the sandy coursewith flying feet. You might even think those twocould graze the sea with unwet feet and passover 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 sureto win!” It must be doubted who was mostrejoiced by those brave words, Megareus' son,or Schoeneus' daughter. Oh, how often, whenshe could have passed him, she delayed her speed;and after gazing long upon his facereluctantly again would pass him! Nowdry panting breath came from his weary throat—the goal still far away.—Then Neptune's scionthrew one of three gold apples. Atalantawith wonder saw it—eager to possessthe shining fruit, she turned out of her course,picked up the rolling gold. Hippomenespassed by her, while spectators roared applause.Increasing speed, she overcame delay,made up for time lost, and again she leftthe youth behind. She was delayed againbecause 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 doubtwhether 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 beyondthe race itself,—the maiden was outstripped;Hippomenes then led his prize away.Adonis, did I not deserve his thankswith tribute of sweet incense? But he wasungrateful, 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 mustnot be despised at any future time.I told myself 'twas only right to makea just example of them. They were neara temple, hidden in the forest, whichglorious Echion in remembered timehad built to Rhea, Mother of the gods,in payment of a vow. So, wearied fromthe distance traveled, they were glad to havea 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 byreligious veneration of the past.Within the shadows of that place, a priesthad stationed many wooden imagesof olden gods. The lovers entered thereand desecrated it. The imageswere scandalized, and turned their eyes away.The tower-crowned Mother, Cybele, at firstprepared to plunge the guilty pair beneaththe waves of Styx, but such a punishmentseemed light. And so their necks, that had been smooth.Were covered instantly with tawny manes;their fingers bent to claws; their arms were changedto fore-legs; and their bosoms held their weight;and with their tails they swept the sandy ground.Their casual glance is anger, and insteadof words they utter growls. They haunt the woods,a bridal-room to their ferocious taste.And now fierce lions they are terribleto all of life; except to Cybele;whose harness has subdued their champing jaws.My dear Adonis keep away from allsuch savage animals; avoid all thosewhich do not turn their fearful backs in flightbut 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 snoutfirst struck the spear-shaft from his bleeding side;and, while the trembling youth was seeking whereto find a safe retreat, the savage beastraced after him, until at last he sankhis deadly tusk deep in Adonis' groin;and stretched him dying on the yellow sand.And now sweet Aphrodite, borne through airin her light chariot, had not yet arrivedat Cyprus, on the wings of her white swans.Afar she recognized his dying groans,and turned her white birds towards the sound. And whendown looking from the lofty sky, she sawhim 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 everythingis 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 deathshall cause an imitation of my grief.“Your blood, Adonis, will become a flowerperennial. Was it not allowed to youPersephone, to transform Menthe's limbsinto sweet fragrant mint? And can this changeof my loved hero be denied to me?”Her grief declared, she sprinkled his blood withsweet-smelling nectar, and his blood as soonas touched by it began to effervesce,just as transparent bubbles always risein rainy weather. Nor was there a pausemore than an hour, when from Adonis, blood,exactly of its color, a loved flowersprang up, such as pomegranates give to us,small trees which later hide their seeds beneatha tough rind. But the joy it gives to manis short-lived, for the winds which give the flowerits 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 breastsconcealed 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 hairwas tossed upon the light breeze shouted, “See!Here is the poet who has scorned our love!”Then hurled her spear at the melodious mouthof 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 overpoweredby 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 tambourinesand clapping hands and Bacchanalian yells,with hideous discords drowned his voice and harp.—at last the stones that heard his song no morefell crimson with the Thracian poet's blood.Before his life was taken, the maenads turnedtheir 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 nightbeneath the sun. And as the savage dogsrush on the doomed stag, loosed some bright fore-noon,on blood-sand of the amphitheatre;they rushed against the bard, with swifthurled thyrsi which, adorned with emerald leaveshad not till then been used for cruelty.And some threw clods, and others branches tornfrom trees; and others threw flint stones at him,and, that no lack of weapons might restraintheir savage fury then, not far from thereby chance they found some oxen which turned upthe soil with ploughshares, and in fields nearbywere strong-armed peasants, who with eager sweatworked for the harvest as they dug hard fields;and all those peasants, when they saw the troopof frantic women, ran away and lefttheir implements of labor strown upondeserted fields—harrows and heavy rakesand their long spadesafter the savage mobhad seized upon those implements, and tornto 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 imploredtheir mercy—the first and only time his voicehad no persuasion. O great Jupiter!Through those same lips which had controlled the rocksand 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 thesethat 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 hairwore garments of dark color.His torn limbswere scattered in strange places. Hebrus thenreceived 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 soundand mournfully the river's banks replied:onward borne by the river to the seathey left their native stream and reached the shoreof Lesbos at Methymna. Instantly,a furious serpent rose to attack the headof Orpheus, cast up on that foreign sand—the hair still wet with spray. Phoebus at lastappeared and saved the head from that attack:before the serpent could inflict a sting,he drove it off, and hardened its wide jawsto rigid stone.Meanwhile the fleeting shadeof Orpheus had descended under earth:remembering now those regions that he sawwhen there before, he sought Eurydicethrough fields frequented by the blest; and whenhe 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 wickednessof those who slaughtered Orpheus to remainunpunished. Grieving for the loss of hisloved bard of sacred rites, at once he boundwith twisted roots the feet of everyoneof those Edonian women who had causedthe 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 latethat it is held, then vainly beats its wings,and fluttering only makes more tight the noosewith every struggle; so each woman-fiendwhose feet were sinking in the soil, when sheattempted flight, was held by deepening roots.And while she looks down where her toes and nailsand feet should be, she sees wood growing upfrom them and covering all her graceful legs.Full of delirious grief, endeavoringto smite with right hand on her changing thigh,she strikes on solid oak. Her tender breastand shoulders are transformed to rigid oak.You would declare that her extended armsare real branches of a forest tree,and such a thought would be the very truth.

And not content with this, Bacchus resolvedto leave that land, and with a worthier trainwent to the vineyards of his own Tmolusand to Pactolus, though the river wasnot golden, nor admired for precious sands.His usual throng of Satyrs and of Bacchanalssurrounded him; but not Silenus, whowas then detained from him. The Phrygian folkhad captured him, as he was staggering, faintwith palsied age and wine. And after theybound him in garlands, they led him to their kingMidas, to whom with the CecropianEumolpus, Thracian Orpheus had shown allthe Bacchic rites. When Midas recognizedhis old time friend Silenus, who had beenso often his companion in the ritesof Bacchus, he kept joyful festival,with his old comrade, twice five days and nights.Upon the eleventh day, when Luciferhad dimmed the lofty multitude of stars,King Midas and Silenus went from therejoyful together to the Lydian lands.There Midas put Silenus carefullyunder the care of his loved foster-child,young Bacchus. He with great delight, becausehe 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 changeat once to yellow gold.” Bacchus agreedto 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 worthof Bacchus' word by touching everything.Doubtful himself of his new power, he pulleda twig down from a holm-oak, growing ona low hung branch. The twig was turned to gold.He lifted up a dark stone from the groundand it turned pale with gold. He touched a clodand by his potent touch the clod becamea mass of shining gold. He plucked some ripe,dry spears of grain, and all that wheat he touchedwas golden. Then he held an apple whichhe gathered from a tree, and you would thinkthat the Hesperides had given it.If he but touched a lofty door, at onceeach door-post seemed to glisten. When he washedhis hands in liquid streams, the lustrous dropsupon his hands might have been those which onceastonished Danae. He could not nowconceive 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 withhis right hand, instantly the gift of Ceresstiffened to gold; or if he tried to bitewith hungry teeth a tender bit of meat,the dainty, as his teeth but touched it, shoneat once with yellow shreds and flakes of gold.And wine, another gift of Bacchus, whenhe mixed it in pure water, can be seenin his astonished mouth as liquid gold.Confounded by his strange misfortune—richand wretched—he was anxious to escapefrom his unhappy wealth. He hated allhe had so lately longed for. Plenty couldnot lessen hunger and no remedyrelieved his dry, parched throat. The hated goldtormented 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, departto the stream that flows by that great town of Sardisand upward trace its waters, as they glidepast 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 plungedbeneath the water at the river's source.And the gold virtue granted by the god,as it departed from his body, tingedthe stream with gold. And even to this houradjoining fields, touched by this ancient veinof gold, are hardened where the river flowsand colored with the gold that Midas left.

Abhorring riches he inhabitedthe woods and fields, and followed Pan who dwellsalways in mountain-caves: but still obtuseremained, from which his foolish mind again,by an absurd decision, harmed his life.He followed Pan up to the lofty mountTmolus, which from its great height looks faracross the sea. Steep and erect it standsbetween great Sardis and the small Hypaepa.While Pan was boasting there to mountain nymphsof his great skill in music, and while hewas warbling a gay tune upon the reeds,cemented with soft wax, in his conceithe dared to boast to them how he despisedApollo's music when compared with his—.At last to prove it, he agreed to standagainst Apollo in a contest whichit was agreed should be decided byTmolus as their umpire.This old godsat down on his own mountain, and first easedhis ears of many mountain growing trees,oak leaves were wreathed upon his azure hairand 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 turnedto Phoebus, and the forest likewise turnedjust as he moved. Apollo's golden lockswere richly wreathed with fresh Parnassian laurel;his robe of Tyrian purple swept the ground;his left hand held his lyre, adorned with gemsand Indian ivory. His right hand heldthe plectrum—as an artist he stood therebefore Tmolus, while his skilful thumbtouching the strings made charming melody.Delighted with Apollo's artful touch,Tmolus ordered Pan to hold his reedsexcelled by beauty of Apollo's lyre.That judgment of the sacred mountain godpleased all those present, all but Midas, whoblaming Tmolus called the award unjust.The Delian god forbids his stupid earsto hold their native human shape;and, drawing them out to a hideous length,he fills them with gray hairs, and makes them bothunsteady, 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, worea purple turban over both, which hidhis foul disgrace from laughter. But one daya servant, who was chosen to cut his hairwith steel, when it was long, saw his disgrace.He did not dare reveal what he had seen,but eager, to disclose the secret, duga shallow hole, and in a low voice toldwhat kind of ears were on his master's head.All this he whispered in the hollow earthhe dug, and then he buried all he saidby throwing back the loose earth in the holeso everything was silent when he left.A grove thick set with quivering reedsbegan to grow there, and when it matured,about twelve months after that servant left,the grove betrayed its planter. For, moved bya gentle South Wind, it repeated allthe words which he had whispered, and disclosedfrom earth the secret of his master's ears.

His vengence now complete, Latona's sonborne through the liquid air, departed fromTmolus, and then rested on the landof Laomedon, this side the narrow seadividing Phrygia from the land of Thrace.The promontory of Sigaeum rightand on the left Rhoetaeum loftily arose;and at that place an ancient altar hadbeen dedicated to great Jove, the godPanomphaean. And near that place he sawlaomedon, beginning then to buildthe walls of famous Troy. He was convincedthe task exceeded all the power of man,requiring great resource. Together withthe trident-bearing father of the deep,he assumed a mortal form: and those two godsagreed to labor for a sum of goldand built the mighty wall. But that false kingrefused all payment, adding perjuryto his false bargaining. Neptune, enraged,said, “You shall not escape your punishment.”And he drove all his waters high uponthe shores of Troy—built there through perfidy.The sad land seemed a sea: the hard-earned wealthof all its farmers was destroyedand overwhelmed by furious waves.This awful punishment was not enough.The daughter of the king was soon requiredas food for a sea-monster—. Hesionewas chained to rugged rocks. But Herculesdelivered from all harm the royal maidand justly he demanded of the king,her father, payment of the promised steeds;but that perfidious king refused to keephis promise. Hercules enraged, becauseall payment was denied to him for hisgreat service, captured the twice-perjured wallsof 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 brideand he was prouder of his father-in-lawthan of his grandsire. Since not he alonewas grandson of great Jove, but he alonewas 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 youthwho by heroic actions will surpassthe deeds of his own father, and your sonshall be superior to his father's power.”So Jupiter, although the flame of lovefor Thetis burned his breast, would not embracethe lovely daughter of the sea, and urgedhis 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 armsproject out in the waves, as if to forma harbor; but the water is not deep—although enough to hide a shoal of sand.It has a firm shore which will not retaina foot's impression, nor delay the step—no seaweeds grow in that vicinity.There is a grove of myrtle near that placethick-hung with berries, blended of twin shades.A cave within the middle of that groveis found, and whether it was formed by artor nature is not known, although it seemsa work of art. There Thetis often went,quite naked, seated on her dolphin, whichwas harnessed. Peleus seized her there when shewas fast asleep: and after he had triedto win her by entreaties, while she longcontinued to resist him, he resolvedto conquer her by violence, and seizedher neck with both arms. She resorted thento all her usual art, and often changed: her shape as it was known, so that he failedin 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 gavethem sacrifice of sheep entrails, and smokeof frankincense. He ceased not, till at lastthe prophet of Carpathia, as he roseup from a deep wave, said, “Hark unto me,O son of Aeacus! and you shall havethe bride your heart desires: when she at restlies sleeping in the cool wave, you must bindher while she is unwary, with strong cordsand complicated bonds, And never lether arts deceive you when she imitatesa hundred varied forms, but hold her fast,whatever she may seem, until she shallat length assume the shape she had at first.”So Proteus cautioned him, and hid his facebeneath the waves as his last words were said.Now Titan was descending and the poleof his bright chariot as it downward bentilluminated 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 perservereduntil convinced she could not overcome his hold—for her two arms were forced apart—she groaned and said, “You could not overcomeme in this way, but some divinityhas given you the power.” Then she appearedas Thetis: and, when Peleus saw her nowdeprived of all deceptions, he embracedher and was father of the great Achilles.

Great Peleus' heart was filled with happiness;because of his great son and Thetis hisdear wife: he was blest in everything, exceptin killing Phocus. The Trachinian landreceived him guilty of his brother's blood;when he fled, banished from his native home.There Ceyx, who had the fine countenanceof Lucifer his father, reigned as king,without the cost of violence or blood.Before this time his days had always givenhim 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 herdshe had brought with him, not far from the wallsof that city, where Ceyx long had reigned.He entered with an olive branch all swathedin woolen fillets, symbol of good will,and with a suppliant hand disclosed his name.He told the monarch who he was, alsohis 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 enjoyour bounties and our hospitality,and you bring with you powers which compellattention and respect. Your name is soillustrious, and is not Jupiteryour grandsire? Do not lose your time by suchentreaties. Everything you may desireis yours as soon as known, and all you seeis partly yours, but in how sad a state!”And then he wept. When Peleus and his friendsasked 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 isas 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 forthAurora, and withdraws the last of allthe shining stars of heaven.—My brother nameddaedalion, son of that great star, was fondof cruel warfare, while I cherished peaceand loved the quiet of my married life.This brother, powerful in the art of war,subdued strong kings and nations.—And 'tis hetransformed 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 Chioneso beautiful she pleased a thousand men,when she had reached the marriageable ageof twice seven years. It happened by some chancethat Phoebus and the son of Maia, whoreturned—one from his Delphi, the other fromCyllene's heights—beheld this lovely maidboth at the same time, and were both inflamedwith passion. Phoebus waited till the night.Hermes could not endure delay and withthe 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 gainedthe joy he had deferred until that hour.“When her mature womb had completed timeAutolycus was born, a crafty son,who certainly inherited the skillof 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 obtainbecause 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 daysbecause she vaunted that she did surpassDiana's beauty and decried her charms:the goddess in hot anger answered her,sarcastically, ‘If my face cannotgive 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 vainto speak or make a sound, and while she triedher 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 lossof his dear daughter, snatched away from him.“Ah! when he saw her burning, he was filledwith such an uncontrolled despair, he rushedfour times to leap upon the blazing pyre;and after he had been four times repulsed,he turned and rushed away in headlong flightthrough trackless country, as a bullock flees,his swollen neck pierced with sharp hornet-stings,it seemed to me he ran beyond the speedof any human being. You would thinkhis feet had taken wings, he left us farbehind and swift in his desire for deathhe stood at last upon Parnassus' height.“Apollo pitied him.—And when Daedalionleaped over the steep cliff, Apollo's powertransformed him to a bird; supported himwhile he was hovering in the air uponuncertain 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 strengthgreater than usual in birds. He changedto a fierce hawk; cruel to all, he ventshis rage on other birds. Grieving himselfhe 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 herdswhich Peleus had assigned to him, ran upwith panting speed; and cried out as he ran,“Peleus, Peleus! I bring you dreadful news!”Peleus asked him to tell what had gone wrongand with King Ceyx he listened in suspense.

“I drove the weary bullocks to the shore,”Onetor then began, “About the timewhen the high burning Sun in middle course,could look back on as much as might be seenremaining: and some cattle had then benttheir knees on yellow sand; and as they laymight view the expanse of water stretched beyond.Some with slow steps were wandering here and there,and others swimming, stretched their lofty necksabove the waves. A temple near that seawas fair to view, although 'twas not adornedwith gold nor marble. It was richly madeof beams, and shaded with an ancient grove.“A sailor, while he dried his nets uponthe shore nearby, declared that aged Nereuspossessed it with his Nereids, as the godswho ruled the neighboring waters. Very nearit is a marsh, made by the encroaching waves,all thickly covered with low willow trees.“From there a loud uncanny crashing soundalarms the neighborhood. A monster-wolf!All stained with mud he breaks forth from the marsh,his thundering jaws thick-covered with vile foamand clotted blood—his fierce eyes flashing flamesof crimson: and though he was raging, bothwith fury and with hunger, the true causeof his fierce passions was Ferocity.“He never paused to sate his ravenous hungerwith 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 delayis 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 losshad no effect on Peleus, though severe,for he, remembering his red crime, believedthe Nereid had given him that loss—a just misfortune, as an offeringto the departed Phocus. After this,King Ceyx, while he put his armor on,ordered his men to arm themselves with theirbest weapons, and to follow his command.But his fond wife, Halcyone, arousedby such a tumult, ran to him in haste;in such haste that her hair was still unfinished,and such as had been done, she threwin wild disorder.—Clinging to the neckof her loved husband, she entreated himwith words and tears, to send his men along.But keep himself at home and so to savetwo lives in one.But Peleus said “O queen,'Tis sweet and commendable in you to fearbut 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 mustbe properly adored.”A lofty toweris near there, and upon its extreme heighta 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 Psamatheto lay aside her wrath and give him aid.But she was deaf to any word of Peleusentreating her, and would not offer aid,till Thetis, interceding on behalfof 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 tasteof new sweet blood; till Psamathe, while hewas seizing the last mangled heifer's neck,transformed him to hard marble. Every partof that ferocious monster's shape remainedbut 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 permitthe banished Peleus to continue there,in this land governed by the friendly king.A wandering exile, he proceeded northinto Magnesia; and was purifiedof guilt by King Acastus of that land.

King Ceyx, disturbed by his loved brother's fateand 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 unsafebecause of Phorbas and his Phlegyans.Before he went he told his faithful queen,his dear Halcyone. She felt at onceterror 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 sobsdelayed her voice, until at last she said:—“What fault of mine, my dearest, has so changedyour usual thoughts? Where is that care for methat always has stood first? Can you leave mefor this long journey with no anxious fear—Halcyone, forsaken in these halls?Will this long journey be a pleasant changebecause 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 fearthe sea affrights me with its tragic face.Just lately I observed some broken planksupon our seashore, and I've read and readthe names of seamen on their empty tombs!“Oh, let no false assurance fill your mindbecause your father-in-law is Aeolus.Who in a dungeon shuts the stormful windsand smoothes at will the troubled ocean wavessoon 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 seaare disregarded by them. They insulteven the clouds of heaven and their wildconcussions urge the lightnings to strike fires.The more I know of them, for I knewthem in my childhood and I often sawthem from my father's home, the more I fear.“But, O dear husband! if this new resolvecan not be altered by my prayers and fears,and if you are determined, take me, too:some comfort may be gained, if in the stormswe may be tossed together. I shall fearonly the ills that really come to us,together we can certainly endurediscomforts till we gain that distant land.”Such words and tears of the daughter of Aeolusgave Ceyx, famed son of the Morning Star,much thought and sorrow; for the flame of loveburned in his heart as strongly as in hers.Reluctant to give up the voyage, even moreto make Halcyone his partner onthe dangerous sea, he answered her complaintsin many ways to pacify her breast,but could not comfort her until at lasthe said, “This separation from your lovewill be most sorrowful; and so I swearto you, as witnessed by the sacred fireof my Star-father, if the fates permitmy safe return, I will come back to youbefore the moon has rounded twice her orb.”These promises gave hope of his return.Without delay he ordered a ship shouldbe drawn forth from the dock, launched in the sea,and properly supplied against the needsof travel.—Seeing this, Halcyone,as if aware of future woe, shuddered,wept, and embraced him, and in extreme woesaid 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 oarsback towards their hardy breasts, cutting the waveswith equal strokes. She raised her weeping eyesand saw her husband on the high-curved stern.He by his waving hand made signs to her,and she returned his signals. Then the shipmoved farther from the shore until her eyescould not distinguish his loved countenance.Still, while she could, she followed with her gazethe fading hull; and, when that too was lostfar in the distance, she remained and gazedat the white topsails, waving from the mast.But, when she could no longer see the sails,with anxious heart she sought her lonely couchand laid herself upon it. Couch and roomrenewed her sorrow and reminded herhow much of life was absent on the sea.The ship had left the harbor, and the breezeshook the taut rigging. Now the captain badethe idle oars be drawn up to the sides.They ran the pointed sailyards up the mastand with spread canvas caught the coming breeze.Perhaps the ship had not sailed half her course,on every side the land was out of sightin fact at a great distance, when, towards darkthe 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 sailstight to the yards!”—He ordered, but the stormbore all his words away, his voice could notbe heard above the roaring of the sea.But of their own accord some sailors rushedto draw the oars in, others to securethe sides from danger, and some strove to pullthe sails down from the wind. One pumps the wavesup from the hold, and pours the rushing seaagain into the sea; another takesthe yards off.—While such things are being donewithout command or order, the wild stormincreases, and on every side fierce windswage a destructive warfare, which stirs upthe furious waters to their utmost power.Even the captain, terrified, confessedhe 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 menshouted above the rattled cordage shocks,and heavy waves were dashed against huge waves,and ail the sky reverberated withterrific thunders. The deep sea upturnedtremendous billows, which appeared to reachso near the heaven they touched the heavy cloudswith foam of their tossed waters.—At one time,while the great billows churned up yellow sandfrom off the bottom, the wild rolling waveswere of that color. At another timethey were more black than water of the Styx.Sometimes they levelled, white with lashing foam.