Glowing with gold, flaming with carbuncleson stately columns raised, refulgent shonethe palace of the Sun, with polished domeof ivory gleaming, and with portals twainof burnished silver. And the workmanshipexceeded all the wealth of gems and gold;for there had Mulciber engraved the seasencircling middle earth; the round of earth,and heaven impending over the land.And thereamid the waves were azure deities:melodious Triton and elusive Proteus; thereAegeaan pressing with his arms the backs.Of monstrous whales; and Doris in the seaand all her daughters; some amid the wavesand others sitting on the bank to drytheir sea-green hair, and others borne aboutby fishes. Each was made to show a fairresemblance to her sisters—yet not oneappearance was assigned to all—they seemedas near alike as sisters should in truth.And men and cities, woods and savage beasts,and streams and nymphs, and sylvan deitieswere carved upon the land; and over thesean image of the glittering sky was fixed;—six signs were on the right, six on the left.Here when audacious Phaethon arrivedby steep ascending paths, without delayhe entered in the shining palace-gatesof his reputed parent, making hasteto 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 thronethat 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; “Declarethe reason of thy journey. What wilt thouin this my palace, Phaethon my childbeloved?”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 sinbeneath some pretext, give to me, my sire,a token to declare thy fatherhoodwhich may establish my assured descent,and leave no dark suspicions in our minds.”—then Phoebus from his shining brows cast downhis circling rays; called Phaethon to him,and as he held him to his breast replied;“O child most worthy of thy sire, the truthwas told thee by thy mother; wherefore doubtsto 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 saidthe happy youth at once began to pleadcommand 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 denythe promised boon.—For I confess, O son,this only I should keep from thee—and yet'Tis lawful to dissuade. It is unsafeto satisfy thy will. It is a greatrequest, O Phaethon, which neither suitsthy utmost strength nor tender years; for thouart mortal, and thou hast aspired to thingsimmortal. Ignorance has made thy thoughttranscend the province of the Gods. I vauntno vain exploits; but only I can standsecurely 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 earthare viewed below, my trembling breast is filledwith fearful apprehensions: and requiresthe last precipitous descent a surecommand. Then, also, Tethys, who receivesme in her subject waves, is wont to fearlest I should fall disastrous. And aroundthe hastening sky revolves in constant whirl,drawing the lofty stars with rapid twist.“I struggle on. The force that overcomesthe 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 poleand not be carried from the lofty pathby the swift car? Art thou deceived to thinkthere may be groves and cities of the Gods,and costly temples wondrously endowed?“The journey is beset with dreadful snaresand shapes of savage animals. If thoushouldst hold upon thy way without mistakeyet must thy journey be through Taurus' horns,and through the Bow Haemonian, and the jawsof the fierce Lion, and the cruel armsof Scorpion, bent throughout a vast expanse,—and Cancer's curving arms reversely bent.“It is no easy task for thee to rulethe mettled four-foot steeds, enflamed in firesthat kindle in their breasts, forth issuingin breathings from their mouths and nostrils hot;—I scarce restrain them, as their struggling neckspull on the harness, when their heated firesare thus aroused.“And, O my son, lest Imay be the author of a baneful gift,beware, and as the time permits recallthy rash request. Forsooth thou hast besoughtundoubted signs of thy descent from me?My fears for thee are certain signs that thouart of my race—by my paternal fears'Tis manifest I am thy father. Lo!Behold my countenance! and oh, that thoucouldst even pierce my bosom with thine eyes,and so discover my paternal cares!“Look round thee on the treasured world's delightsand ask the greatest blessing of the sky,or sea or land, and thou shalt suffer norepulse: but only this I must deplore,which rightly named would be a penaltyand not an honour.—Thou hast made requestof punishment and not a gift indeed.O witless boy! why dost thou hold my neckwith 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 allhis admonitions said, availing naught;for Phaethon resisted his advice,and urged again his claim, and eagerly burnedto use the chariot. Wherefore, Phoebus longdelaying and reluctant, took the youthto view the spacious chariot, gift of Vulcan.—gold was the axle and the beam was gold,the great Wheel had a golden tire and spokesof silver; chrysolites and diamondsreflected from the spangled yoke the lightof Phoebus.While aspiring Phaethon admiredthe glittering chariot and its workmanship,the vigilant Aurora opened forthher purple portals from the ruddy east,disclosing halls replete with roses. Allthe stars took flight, while Lucifer, the lastto quit his vigil, gathered that great hostand disappeared from his celestial watch.And when his father, Phoebus, saw the earthand the wide universe in glowing tintsarrayed, as waned the Moon's diminished horns,far-distant, then he bade the nimble Hoursto yoke the steeds.—At once the Deitiesaccomplished his commands, and led the steeds,ambrosia-fed and snorting flames, from outtheir spacious stalls; and fixed their sounding bits.Then with a hallowed drug the father touchedthe stripling's face, to make him proof againstthe rapid flame, and wrought around his hairthe 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 nervethe reins; for of their own accord the steedswill hasten. Difficult are they to checkin full career. Thou must not drive the cardirectly through five circles, for the tracktakes a wide curve, obliquely, and is boundby the extreme edge of three zones.—It avoidsthe Southern Pole, and it avoids the Bearthat roams around the north. The way is plain;the traces of the Wheel are manifest.“Observe with care that both the earth and skyhave their appropriate heat—Drive not too low,nor urge the chariot through the highest plane;for if thy course attain too great a heightthou 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 rightand bear thee to the twisted Snake! nor letit take thee to the Altar on the left—so close to earth—but steer the middle course.—to Fortune I commit thy fate, whose carefor thee so reckless of thyself I pray.“While I am speaking humid night has touchedthe margin of Hesperian shores. 'Tis notfor us to idle; we are called away;—when bright Aurora shines the darkness flies.Take up the reins! But if thy stubborn breastbe 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 lightthe 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 handthanked his reluctant parent.InstantlyEous, Aethon, Pyrois and Phlegon,the winged horses of the Sun, gave ventto flame-like neighs that filled the shaking air;they pawed the barriers with their shining hoofs.Then Tethys, witless of her grandson's fatelet back the barriers,—and the universewas theirs to traverse. Taking the well-known road,and moving through the air with winged feet,they pierced resisting clouds, and spreading widetheir 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 shipswhen lightened of their ballast toss and heaveunsteady in the surging seas: the carleaped lightly in the air, and in the heightswas tossed unsteady as an empty shell.Soon as the steeds perceived it, with a rushimpetuous, they left the beaten track;regardless of all order and control;and Phaethon filled with fear, knew not to guidewith 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 vainto bathe in seas forbid: the Serpent coldand torpid by the frozen Pole, too coldfor contest, warmed, and rage assumed from heatbootes, troubled by the heat, took flight,impeded by his wain.And as from skiesof utmost height unhappy Phaethonbeheld the earth receding from his view,a pallor spread his cheeks with sudden fear;his knees began to quake; and through the flareof vast effulgence darkness closed his eyes.Now vainy he regrets he ever touchedhis father's steeds, and he is stunned with griefthat so entreating he prevailed to knowhis true descent. He rather would be calledthe son of Merops. As a ship is tossedby raging Boreas, when the conquered helmhas been abandoned, and the pilot leavesthe 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 daresto 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 clawsin double circles, and with tail and armson either side, stretches his limbs throughoutthe space of two Celestial Signs; and whenthe lad beheld him, steeped in oozing slimeof venom, swart, and threatening to strikegrim 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 uponthe high fixed stars. They dragged the chariotthrough 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 steedsrun lower than her own, and sees the smokeof scorching clouds. The highest altitudesare caught in flames, and as their moistures drythey crack in chasms. The grass is blighted; treesare burnt up with their leaves; the ripe brown cropsgive fuel for self destruction—Oh what smallcomplaints! 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 Idaand all her cooling rills are dry and burning,and virgin Helicon, and Hoemos—laterOeagrius 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 steedswould rush as wild unguided.—then the skinof Ethiopians took a swarthy hue,the hot blood tingling to the surface: thenthe heat dried up the land of Libya;dishevelled, the lorn Nymphs, lamenting, soughtfor 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 steamingand 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 Tagusis melting in the flames. The swans whose songsenhanced the beauties of Maeonian banksare 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 drywithout or wave or stream; and also dryIsmenian Hebrus, Strymon and the streamsof 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 Tartarusthe King Infernal and his Spouse. The seacontracted and his level waste becamea 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 hidwith Doris and her daughters, deep belowin seething caverns. With a dauntless mienthrice Neptune tried to thrust his arms abovethe waters;—thrice the heated air overcamehis courage.Then the genial Earth, althoughsurrounded by the waters of the sea,was parched and dry; for all her streams had hiddeep in the darkness of her winding caves.—she lifted her productive countenance,up to her rounded neck, and held her palmson her sad brows; and as the mountains hugetrembled and tottered, beneath her wonted planedeclined she for a space—and thus began,with parched voice;“If this is thy decree,O, Highest of the Gods,—if I have sinnedwhy do thy lightnings linger? For if doomedby 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 cloudsof ashes falling on my blinded eyes,and on my features! What a recompensefor my fertility! How often Ihave suffered from the wounds of crooked plowsand rending harrows—tortured year by year!For this I give to cattle juicy leavesand fruits to man and frankincense to thee!“Suppose destruction is my just awardwhat have the waters and thy brother done?Why should thy brother's cooling waves decreaseand thus recede so distant from the skies?If not thy brother's good nor mine may touchthy mercy, let the pity of thy Heaven,for lo, the smoking poles on either sideattest, if flames consume them or destroy, the ruin of thy palace. Atlas, huge, with restive shoulders hardly can supportthe burning heavens. If the seas and landstogether perish and thy palace fall, the universe confused will plunge once moreto 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 countenancein caves that border on the nether night.But now the Almighty Father, having calledto witness all the Gods of Heaven, and himwho gave the car, that, else his power be shown,must perish all in dire confusion, highhe mounted to the altitude from whichhe spreads the mantling clouds, and fulminateshis dreadful thunders and swift lightning-boltsterrific.—Clouds were none to find on the earth, and the surrounding skies were void of rain.—Jove, having reached that summit, stood and poisedin his almighty hand a flashing dart, and, hurling it, deprived of life and seatthe youthful charioteer, and struck with firethe raging flames— and by the same great forcethose flames enveloping the earth were quenched,and he who caused their fury lost his life.Frantic in their affright the horses sprangacross the bounded way and cast their yokes,and through the tangled harness lightly leaped.And here the scattered harness lay, and therethe 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 appearsa falling star, although it never dropsto startled earth.—Far distant from his homethe deep Eridanus received the ladand bathed his foaming face. His body charredby triple flames Hesperian Naiads bore,still smoking, to a tomb, and this engravedupon the stone; “Here Phaethon's remainslie buried. He who drove his father's carand fell, although he made a great attempt.”Filled with consuming woe, his father hidhis countenance which grief had overcast.And now, surpassing our belief, they saya day passed over with no glowing sun;—but light-affording flames appeared to changedisaster to the cause of good.Amazed,the woeful Clymene, when she had moanedin grief, amid her lamentations toreher bosom, as across the world she roamed,at first to seek his lifeless corpse, and thenhis bones. She wandered to that distant landand found at last his bones ensepulchred.There, clinging to the grave she fell and bathedwith many tears his name on marble carved,and with her bosom warmed the freezing stone.And all the daughters of the Sun went theregiving their tears, alas a useless gift;—they wept and beat their breasts, and day and nightcalled, “Phaethon,” who heard not any soundof their complaint:—and there they lay foredone,all scattered round the tomb.The silent moonhad 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 arisefrom there, but found her feet were growing stiff;and uttered moan. Lampetia wished to aidher sister but was hindered by new roots;a third when she would tear her hair, plucked forthbut leaves: another wailed to find her legswere fastened in a tree; another moanedto 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 untouchedtheir lips that called upon their mother's name.What can she do for them? Hither she runsand thither runs, wherever frenzy leads.She kisses them, alas, while yet she may!But not content with this, she tried to haletheir bodies from the trees; and she would tearthe 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 treemy flesh is torn! farewell! farewell! farewell!”And as they spoke the bark enclosed their lips.Their tears flow forth, and from the new-formedboughsamber distils and slowly hardens in the sun;and far from there upon the waves is borneto deck the Latin women.Cycnus, sonof Sthenelus, by his maternal houseakin to Phaethon, and thrice by loveallied, beheld this wonderful event.—he left his kingdom of Liguria,and all its peopled cities, to lamentwhere the sad sisters had increased the woods,beside the green banks of Eridanus.There, as he made complaint, his manly voicebegan to pipe a treble, shrill; and longgray plumes concealed his hair. A slender neckextended from his breast, and reddening toeswere joined together by a membrane. Wingsgrew from his sides, and from his mouth was madea 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 streamsthat quench the fires.In squalid garb, meanwhile,and destitute of all his rays, the sireof Phaethon, as dark as when eclipse bedimshis Wheel, abhors himself and hates the light,shuns the bright day, gives up his mind to grief,adds passion to his woe, denies the earthhis countenance, and thus laments; “My lotwas ever restless from the dawn of time,and I am weary of this labour, voidand endless. Therefore, let who will urge forthmy 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 forgethis dreadful lightning that bereaves of childa father's love; and as he tries the strengthof those flame-footed steeds will know, in truth,the lad who failed to guide my chariotdeserved not death.”But all the Deitiesencircle Phoebus as he makes complaint,and with their supplications they entreathim not to plunge the world in darkness. Jovewould find excuses for the lightning-bolt,hurled from his hand, and adds imperious threatsto his entreaties. Phoebus calls his steeds,frenzied with their maddening fires, and breakstheir fury, as he vents with stinging lashhis rage upon them, and in passion layson them the death of Phaethon his son.

Now after Phaethon had suffered deathfor 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 heatmay fall in ruins. Well assured they standin self-sustaining strength, his view, at last,on all the mundane works of man is turned;—his loving gaze long resting on his ownArcadia. And he starts the streams and springsthat long have feared to flow; paints the wide earthwith 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 armsas chaste Diana, none of Maenaluswas loved by that fair goddess more than she.But everything must change. When bright the sunrolled 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 downupon the velvet turf reclining, pressedher white neck on the quiver while she slept.When Jupiter beheld her, negligentand beautiful, he argued thus, “How canmy 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 tookDiana'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 preferredabove himself, and kissed her many times,and strained her in his arms, while she beganto 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, resistalmighty Jove?—Be sure, Saturniaif thou hadst only witnessed her thy hearthad 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, afraidthat Jove apparelled in disguise deceived,drew backward for a moment, till appearedto 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 signsof injured honour. Ah Diana, thou,if thou wert not a virgin, wouldst perceiveand pity her unfortunate distress.The Moon's bent horns were rising from their ninthsojourn, when, fainting from Apollo's flames,the goddess of the Chase observed a coolumbrageous grove, from which a murmuring streamran babbling gently over golden sands.When she approved the spot, lightly she struckher foot against the ripples of the stream,and praising it began; “Far from the gazeof all the curious we may bathe our limbs,and sport in this clear water.” Quickly theyundid their garments,—but Calisto hidbehind 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-Godher altered mien; but she for ripening timewithheld severe resentment. Now delaywas needless for distracted Juno heardCalisto of the god of Heaven had bornea boy called Arcas. Full of jealous rage,her eyes and thoughts enkindled as she cried;“And only this was wanting to completeyour wickedness, that you should bear a sonand flaunt abroad the infamy of Jove!Unpunished you shall not escape, for Iwill spoil the beauty that has made you proudand dazzled Jupiter with wanton art.”So saying, by her forehead's tresses seizedthe goddess on her rival; and she draggedher roughly to the ground. Pleading she raisedher suppliant arms and begged for mercy.—Whileshe pled, black hair spread over her white limbs;her hands were lengthened into feet, and clawslong-curving tipped them; snarling jaws deformedthe mouth that Jove had kissed. And lest her prayersand 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 remainsher understanding, though her body, thustransformed, makes her appear a savage bear.—her sorrows are expressed in many a groan,repeated as she lifts her hands—if wemay call them so—repeated as she liftsthem towards the stars and skies, ungrateful Joveregarding; 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 criesof hounds; and many a time she fled in fear,a huntress from the hunters, or she hidfrom savage animals; forgetting hertransformed condition. Changed into a bear,she fled affrighted from the bears that hauntthe rugged mountains; and she feared and fledthe wolves,—although her father was a wolf.When thrice five birthdays rounded out the youthof Arcas, offspring of Lycaon's child,he hunted in the forest of his choice;where, hanging with his platted nets the treesof Erymanthian forest, he espiedhis 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 backto pierce his mother's breast with wounding spear.—but not permitting it the god of Heavenaverted, 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 amidthe starry host.Juno on high beheldCalisto crowned with glory—great with rageher bosom heaved. She flew across the sea,to hoary Tethys and to old Oceanus,whom all the Gods revere, and thus to themin answer to their words she made address;“And is it wondered that the Queen of Godscomes hither from ethereal abodes?My rival sits upon the Throne of Heaven:yea, when the wing of Night has darkenedlet my fair word be deemed of no repute,if you behold not in the height of Heaventhose new made stars, now honoured to my shame,conspicuous; fixed in the highest dome of spacethat circles the utmost axis of the world.“Who, then, should hesitate to put affronton Juno? matchless goddess! each offenseredounds in benefit! Who dreads her rage?Oh boundless powers! Oh unimagined deeds!My enemy assumes a goddess' formwhen my decree deprives her human shape;—and thus the guilty rue their chastisement!“Now let high Jove to human shape transformthis hideous beast, as once before he changedhis Io from a heifer.—Let him nowdivorce his Juno and consort with her,and lead Calisto to his couch, and takethat wolf, Lycaon, for a father-in-law!“Oh, if an injury to me, your child,may move your pity! drive the Seven Starsfrom waters crystalline and azure-tint,and your domain debar from those that shinein 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 childof Saturn, with her peacocks many-hued:her peacocks, by the death of Argus limned,so gay were made when black as midnight turnedthy 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 guardwith watchful cries the Capitol: as whiteas swans that haunt the streams. Disgrace reversedthe raven's hue from white to black, becauseoffense was given by his chattering tongue.O glorious Phoebus! dutiful to thee,Coronis of Larissa, fairest maidof all Aemonia, was a grateful charm,a joy to thee whilst faithful to thy love,—while none defamed her chastity. But whenthe Raven, bird of Phoebus, learned the Nymphhad been unfaithful, mischief-bent that bird,spreading his white wings, hastened to impartthe sad news to his master. After himthe prattling Crow followed with flapping wings,eager to learn what caused the Raven's haste.Concealing nothing, with his busy tonguethe 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 fidelitythat caused my downfall. For, it came to pass,within a basket, fashioned of small twigs,Minerva had enclosed that spawn; begotwithout a mother, Ericthonius;which to the wardship of three virgins, bornof double-natured Cecrops, she consignedwith this injunction, ‘Look ye not therein,nor learn the secret.’—“But I saw their deedswhile hidden in the leaves of a great treetwo of the sisters, Herse and Pandrosos,observed the charge, but scoffing at their fears,the third, Aglauros, with her nimble handsuntied the knotted cords, and there discloseda serpent and an infant. This I toldMinerva; but in turn, she took awayher long protection, and degraded mebeneath the boding Owl.—My punishmentshould warn the birds how many dangers theyincur from chattering tongues.“Not my desireimpelled me to report to her, nor didI crave protection; which, if thou wilt askMinerva, though enraged she must confirm.And when is told to thee what lately fameestablished, thou wilt not despise the Crow. “Begot by Coronaeus, who was lordof all the land of Phocis, I was oncea royal virgin, sought by suitors richand powerful. But beauty proved the causeof my misfortune; for it came to pass,as I was slowly walking on the sandsthat skirt the merge of ocean, where was oftmy wont to roam, the god of Ocean gazedimpassioned, and with honied words imploredmy love—but finding that I paid no heed,and all his words despised, he fumed with rageand followed me.“I fled from that sea-shore,to fields of shifting sands that all my stepsdelayed: and in despair upon the Godsand all mankind I called for aid, but Iwas quite alone and helpless. Presentlythe chaste Minerva, me, a virgin, heardand me assistance gave: for as my armsimplored the Heavens, downy feathers grewfrom out the flesh; and as I tried to castmy mantle from my shoulders, wings appearedupon my tender sides; and as I stroveto beat my naked bosom with my hands,nor hands remained nor naked breast to beat.“I ran, and as I sped the sands no moredelayed me; I was soaring from the ground;and as I winged the air, Minerva choseme for a life-companion; but alas,although my life was blameless, fate or chancedeprived me of Minerva's loving aid;for soon Nictimene succeeded meto her protection and deserved esteem.—it happened in this way,—Nictimenecommitted the most wicked crimes, for whichMinerva changed her to the bird of night—and ever since has claimed her as her owninstead of me; and this despite the deedfor which she shuns the glorious light of day,and conscious of her crime conceals her shamein the dark night—Minerva's Owl now called.All the glad birds of day, indignant shun,and chase her from the skies.”But now repliedthe Raven to the Crow, that talked so much,“A mischief fall upon your prating headfor this detention of my flight. Your wordsand warnings I despise.” With which retorthe winged upon his journey, swiftly thencein haste, despite the warning to informhis patron, Phoebus, how he saw the fairCoronis with a lad of Thessaly.And when Apollo, Phoebus, heard the talethe 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 benthis certain bow, pierced with a deadly shaftthat bosom which so often he had pressedagainst 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! punishmentis justly mine! but wherefore didst thou notawait the hour of birth? for by my deathan innocent is slain.” This said, her soulexpired with her life-blood, and death congealedher drooping form.Sadly the love-lore Godrepents his jealous deed; regrets too latehis 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 facemay tide of woe bedew. So grieves the poor dam,when, swinging from his right the flashing ax,the butcher with a sounding blow dividesthe hollow temples of her sucking calf.Yet, after Phoebus poured the fragrant myrrh,sweet perfumes on her breast, that now once moreagainst his own he pressed, and after allthe prematurely hastened rites were done,he would not suffer the offspring of his loinsto mingle with her ashes, but he pluckedfrom out the flames, forth from the mother's thighshis child, unborn, and carried to the caveof double-natured Chiron.Then to himhe called the silly raven, high in hopesof large requital due for all his words;but, angry with his meddling ways, the Godturned the white feathers of that bird to blackand then forbade forever more to perchamong the favoured birds whose plumes are white.

Chiron, the Centaur, taught his pupil; proudthat he was honoured by that God-like charge.Behold, his lovely daughter, who was bornbeside the margin of a rapid stream,came forward, with her yellow hair as goldadown her shoulders.—She was known by nameOcyroe. The hidden things that Fateconceals, she had the power to tell; for notcontent 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 childof Phoebus and Coronis, while her soulwas gifted, with prophetic voice she said;“O thou who wilt bestow on all the worldthe 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 Deitiesthou 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 birthwith pledge of an immortal life, informedwith ever-during strength, when biting flamesof torment from the baneful serpent's bloodare coursing in thy veins, thou shalt implorea welcome death; and thy immortal lifethe Gods shall suffer to the power of death.—and the three Destinies shall cut thy thread.”She would continue these prophetic wordsbut tears unbidden trickled down her face;and, as it seemed her sighs would break her heart,she thus bewailed; “The Fates constrain my speechand I can say no more; my power has gone.Alas, my art, although of little forceand doubtful worth, has brought upon my headthe wrath of Heaven.“Oh wherefore did I knowto cast the future? Now my human formputs on another shape, and the long grassaffords me needed nourishment. I wantto 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 confusedand scarcely understood; and soon her speechwas only as the whinny of a mare.Down to the meadow's green her arms were stretched;her fingers joined together, and smooth hoofsmade of five nails a single piece of horn.Her face and neck were lengthened, and her hairswept downward as a tail; the scattered locksthat clung around her neck were made a mane,tossed over to the right. Her voice and shapewere altogether changed, and since that daythe change has given her a different name.

In vain her hero father, Chiron, prayedthe 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 fieldsof 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 reedsof seven sizes, brooding over the deathof Hymenaeus, lost from his delight;while mournful ditties on the reeds were tuned,—his kine, forgotten, strayed away to grazeover the plains of Pylos. Mercuryobserved them, unattended, and from thencedrove them away and hid them in the forest.So deftly did he steal them, no one knewor noticed save an ancient forester,well known to all the neighbor-folk, by themcalled Battus. He was keeper of that wood,and that green pasture where the blooded maresof rich Neleus grazed.As Mercurydistrusted him, he led him to one sideand 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 stonemake mention of the theft.” And as he spoke,he pointed to a stone.The son of Jovepretended to depart, but quickly changedhis 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 seensome cattle pass, I pray thee give thy help,and tell me of the theft.” So the rewardwas 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 betraymyself? Dost thou bewray me to myself?”The god indignant turned his perjured breastinto 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 brightCaduceus-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 citadelof 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 kiteswoops round the smoking entrails, while the priestsenclose 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 wingsaround his keen desire. So, the bright Godcircled those towers, Actaean, round and round,in mazey circles, greedy as the bird.As much as Lucifer outshines the starsthat emulate the glory of his rays,as greatly as bright Phoebe pales thy light,O lustrous Lucifer! so far surpassedin beauty the fair maiden Herse, allthose lovely virgins of that sacred train,departing joyous from Minerva's grove.The Son of Jove, astonished, while he wheeledon balanced pinions through the yielding air,burned hot; as oft from Balearic slingthe 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 wayhe went without disguise, in confidenceof his celestial grace. But though he knewhis face was beautiful, he combed his hair,and fixed his flowing raiment, that the fringeof radiant gold appeared. And in his handhe waved his long smooth wand, with which he givesthe wakeful sleep or waketh ridded eyes.He proudly glanced upon his twinkling feetthat 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 shelland ivory and precious woods inlaid;and there, devoted to Minerva's praise,three well known sisters dwelt. Upon the rightdwelt Pandrosos and over on the leftAglauros dwelt, and Herse occupiedthe room between those two.When Mercurydrew near to them, Aglauros first espiedthe God, and ventured to enquire his name,and wherefore he was come. Then gracious spoketo her in answer the bright son of Jove;“Behold the god who carries through the airthe mandates of almighty Jupiter!But I come hither not to waste my timein idle words, but rather to beseechthy kindness and good aid, that I may winthe love of thy devoted sister Herse.”Aglauros, on the son of Jupiter,gazed with those eyes that only lately viewedthe guarded secret of the yellow-hairedMinerva, and demanded as her pricegold of great weight; before he paid deniedadmittance of the house.Minerva turned,with orbs of stern displeasure, towards the maidAglauros; and her bosom heaved with sighsso deeply laboured that her Aegis-shieldwas shaken on her valiant breast. For sheremembered when Aglauros gave to viewher charge, with impious hand, that monster formwithout a mother, maugre Nature's law,what time the god who dwells on Lemnos loved.—now to requite the god and sister; herto punish whose demand of gold was great;Minerva to the Cave of Envy sped.Dark, hideous with black gore, her dread abodeis hidden in the deepest hollowed cave,in utmost limits where the genial sunmay never shine, and where the breathing windsmay never venture; dismal, bitter cold,untempered by the warmth of welcome fires,involved forever in abounding gloom.When the fair champion came to this abodeshe stood before its entrance, for she deemedit 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 doorsflew open, and, behold, within was Envyravening the flesh of vipers, self-begot,the nutriment of her depraved desires.—when the great goddess met her evil gazeshe 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, girtwith 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 snaressweet 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 scornshe thus commanded her with winged words;“Instil thy poison in Aglauros, childof Cecrops; I command thee; do my will.”She spake; and spurning with her spear the grounddeparted; and the sad and furtive-eyedenvy 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 landand the great cities. When her eyes beheldthe glorious citadel of Athens, greatin 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 heartwith jagged thorns, and breathed upon her facea noxious venom; and distilled through allthe marrow of her bones, and in her lungs,a poison blacker than the ooze of pitch.And lest the canker of her poisoned soulmight spread unchecked throughout increasing space,she caused a vision of her sister's formto rise before her, happy with the Godwho shone in his celestial beauty. Allappeared more beautiful than real life.—when the most wretched daughter of Cecropshad seen the vision secret torment seizedon 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 happinessshe burned, as thorny bushes are consumedwith 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 mindby 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 hometo intercept the God, who as he nearedspoke softly in smooth blandishment.“Enough,” she said, “I will not move from hereuntil 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 touchof 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 kneeswere stiffened? and her nails turned pale and cold;her veins grew pallid as the blood congealed.And even as the dreaded cancer spreadsthrough all the body, adding to its taintthe flesh uninjured; so, a deadly chillentered by slow degrees her breast, and stoppedher breathing, and the passages of life.She did not try to speak, but had she madean effort to complain there was not lefta passage for her voice. Her neck was changedto rigid stone, her countenance felt hard;she sat a bloodless statue, but of stonenot marble-white—her mind had stained it black.

So from the land of Pallas went the God,his great revenge accomplished on the headof impious Aglauros; and he soaredon 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 (whichadores thy mother's star upon the left)when there, drive over to the sounding shorethat royal herd, which far away is fedon mountain grass.—he spoke, and instantlythe herd was driven from the mountain side;then headed for the shore, as Jove desired,—to where the great king's daughter often wentin 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 bulland 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 hungbetween his shoulders; and his polished horns,so small and beautifully set, appearedthe artifice of man; fashioned as fairand 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 apartuntil her virgin fears were quieted;then, near him, fragrant flowers in her handshe offered,—tempting, to his gentle mouth:and then the loving god in his great joykissed 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 grewhe 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 downupon the bull's broad back. Then by degreesthe 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 hornwith her right hand, and, steadied by the left,held on his ample back—and in the breezeher waving garments fluttered as they went.