But when he saw his strengthwas yielding to the multitude, he said,“Since you have forced disaster on yourselves,why should I hesitate to save myself?—O friends, avert your faces if ye standbefore me!” And he raised Medusa,s head.Thescelus answered him; “Seek other dupesto chase with wonders!” Just as he preparedto hurl the deadly javelin from his hand,he stood, unmoving in that attitude,a marble statue.Ampyx, close to him,exulting in a mighty spirit, madea lunge to pierce Lyncides in the breast;but, as his sword was flashing in the air,his right arm grew so rigid, there he stoodunable to draw back or thrust it forth.But Nileus, who had feigned himself begotby seven-fold Nile, and carved his shield with goldand silver streams, alternate seven, shouted;“Look, look! O Perseus, him from whom I sprung!And you shall carry to the silent shadesa mighty consolation in your death,that you were slain by such a one as I.”But in the midst of boasting, the last wordswere silenced; and his open mouth, althoughincapable of motion, seemed intentto utter speech.Then Eryx, chiding says;“Your craven spirits have benumbed you, notMedusa's poison.—Come with me and strikethis youthful mover of magician charmsdown to the ground.”—He started with a rush;the earth detained his steps; it held him fast;he could not speak; he stood, complete with arms,a statue.Such a penalty was theirs,and justly earned; but near by there was one,aconteus, who defending Perseus, sawmedusa as he fought; and at the sightthe soldier hardened to an upright stone.—Assured he was alive, Astyagesnow struck him with his long sword, but the bladeresounded with a ringing note; and there,astonished at the sound, Astyages,himself, assumed that nature; and remainedwith wonder pictured on his marble face.And not to weary with the names of men,sprung from the middle classes, there remainedtwo hundred warriors eager for the fight—as soon as they could see Medusa's face,two hundred warriors stiffened into stone.At last, repentant, Phineus dreads the war,unjust, for in a helpless fright he seesthe statues standing in strange attitudes;and, recognizing his adherents, callson each by name to rescue from that death.Still unbelieving he begins to touchthe bodies, nearest to himself, and allare hard stone.Having turned his eyes away,he stretched his hands and arms obliquely backto Perseus, and confessed his wicked deeds;and thus imploring spoke;“Remove, I pray,O Perseus, thou invincible, removefrom me that dreadful Gorgon: take awaythe stone-creating countenance of thyunspeakable Medusa! For we warrednot out of hatred, nor to gain a throne,but clashed our weapons for a woman's sake.—“Thy merit proved thy valid claim, and timegave argument for mine. It grieves me notto yield, O bravest, only give me life,and all the rest be thine.” Such words imploredthe craven, never daring to addresshis eyes to whom he spoke.And thus returnedthe valiant Perseus; “I will grant to you,O timid-hearted Phineus! as behovesyour conduct; and it should appear a gift,magnanimous, to one who fears to move.—Take courage, for no steel shall violateyour carcase; and, moreover, you shall bea monument, that ages may recordyour unforgotten name. You shall be seenthus always, in the palace where residesmy father-in-law, that my surrendered spousemay soften her great grief when she but seesthe darling image of her first betrothed.”He spoke, and moved Medusa to that sidewhere Phineus had turned his trembling face:and as he struggled to avert his gazehis neck grew stiff; the moisture of his eyeswas hardened into stone.—And since that dayhis timid face and coward eyes and hands,forever shall be guilty as in life.After such deeds, victorious Perseus turned,and sought the confines of his native land;together with his bride; which, having reached,he punished Proetus—who by force of armshad routed his own brother from the throneof Argos. By his aid Acrisius,although his undeserving parent, gainedhis citadels once more: for Proetus failed,with all his arms and towers unjustly held,to quell the grim-eyed monster, snake-begin.Yet not the valour of the youth, upheldby many labours, nor his grievous wrongshave softened you, O Polydectes! kingof Little Seriphus; but bitter hateungoverned, rankles in your hardened heart—there is no limit to your unjust rage.Even his praises are defamed by youand all your arguments are given to proveMedusa's death a fraud.—Perseus rejoined;“By this we give our true pledge of the truth,avert your eyes!” And by Medusa's facehe made the features of that impious kinga bloodless stone.

Through all these mighty deedsPallas, Minerva, had availed to guideher gold-begotten brother. Now she sped,surrounded in a cloud, from Seriphus,while Cynthus on the right, and Gyarusfar faded from her view. And where a path,high over the deep sea, leads the near way,she winged the air for Thebes, and Heliconhaunt of the Virgin Nine.High on that mountshe stayed her flight, and with these words bespokethose well-taught sisters; “Fame has given to methe knowledge of a new-made fountain—giftof Pegasus, that fleet steed, from the bloodof dread Medusa sprung—it opened whenhis hard hoof struck the ground.—It is the causethat brought me.—For my longing to have seenthis fount, miraculous and wonderful,grows not the less in that myself did seethe swift steed, nascent from maternal blood.”To which Urania thus; “Whatever the causethat brings thee to our habitation, thou,O goddess, art to us the greatest joy.And now, to answer thee, reports are true;this fountain is the work of Pegasus,”And having said these words, she gladly thenceconducted Pallas to the sacred streams.And Pallas, after she had long admiredthat fountain, flowing where the hoof had struck,turned round to view the groves of ancient trees;the grottoes and the grass bespangled, richwith flowers unnumbered—all so beautifulshe deemed the charm of that localitya fair surrounding for the studious daysof those Mnemonian Maids.But one of themaddressed her thus; “O thou whose valour gavethy mind to greater deeds! if thou hadst stoopedto us, Minerva, we had welcomed theemost worthy of our choir! Thy words are true;and well hast thou approved the joys of art,and this retreat. Most happy would we beif only we were safe; but wickednessadmits of no restraint, and everythingaffrights our virgin minds; and everywherethe dreadful Pyrenaeus haunts our sight;—scarcely have we recovered from the shock.“That savage, with his troops of Thrace. had seizedthe lands of Daulis and of Phocis, wherehe ruled in tyranny; and when we soughtthe Temples of Parnassus, he observedus on our way;—and knowing our estate,pretending to revere our sacred lives,he said; ‘O Muses, I beseech you pause!Choose now the shelter of my roof and shunthe heavy stars that teem with pouring rain;nor hesitate, for often the glorious Godshave entered humbler homes.’“Moved by his words,and by the growing storm, we gave assent,and entered his first house. But presentlythe storm abated, and the southern windwas conquered by the north; the black clouds fled,and soon the skies were clear.“At once we soughtto quit the house, but Pyrenaeus closedall means of exit,—and prepared to forceour virtue. Instantly we spread our wings,and so escaped; but on a lofty towerhe stood, as if to follow, and exclaimed;‘A path for you marks out a way for me.,and quite insane, he leaped down from the topof that high tower.—Falling on his face,the bones were crushed, and as his life ebbed outthe ground was crimsoned with his wicked blood.”So spoke the Muse. And now was heard the soundof pennons in the air, and voices, too,gave salutations from the lofty trees.Minerva, thinking they were human tongues,looked up in question whence the perfect words;but on the boughs, nine ugly magpies perched,those mockers of all sounds, which now complainedtheir hapless fate. And as she wondering stood,Urania, goddess of the Muse, rejoined;—“Look, those but lately worsted in disputeaugment the number of unnumbered birds.—Pierus was their father, very richin lands of Pella; and their mother (calledEvippe of Paeonia) when she broughtthem forth, nine times evoked, in labours nine,Lucina's aid.—Unduly puffed with pride,because it chanced their number equalled ours,these stupid sisters, hither to engagein wordy contest, fared through many towns;—through all Haemonia and Achaia cameto us, and said;—‘Oh, cease your empty songs,attuned to dulcet numbers, that deceivethe vulgar, untaught throng. If aught is yoursof confidence, O Thespian Deitiescontend with us: our number equals yours.We will not be defeated by your arts;nor shall your songs prevail.—Then, conquered, giveHyantean Aganippe; yield to usthe Medusean Fount;—and should we fail,we grant Emathia's plains, to where uprisePaeonia's peaks of snow.—Let chosen Nymphsaward the prize—.’ 'Twas shameful to contend;it seemed more shameful to submit. At once,the chosen Nymphs swore justice by their streams,and sat in judgment on their thrones of rock.“At once, although the lot had not been cast,the leading sister hastened to begin.—She chanted of celestial wars; she gavethe Giants false renown; she gave the Godssmall credit for great deeds.—She droned out, ‘Forth,those deepest realms of earth, Typhoeus came,and filled the Gods with fear. They turned their backsin flight to Egypt; and the wearied rout,where Great Nile spreads his seven-channeled mouth,were there received.—Thither the earth-begotTyphoeus hastened: but the Gods of Heavendeceptive shapes assumed.—Lo, Jupiter,(As Libyan Ammon's crooked horns attest)was hidden in the leader of a flock;Apollo in a crow; Bacchus in a goat;Diana in a cat; Venus in a fish;Saturnian Juno in a snow-white cow;Cyllenian Hermes in an Ibis' wings.’—Such stuff she droned out from her noisy mouth:and then they summoned us; but, haply, timepermits thee not, nor leisure thee permits,that thou shouldst hearken to our melodies.”“Nay doubt it not,” quoth Pallas, “but relateyour melodies in order.” And she satbeneath the pleasant shadows of the grove.And thus again Urania; “On our sidewe trusted all to one.” Which having said,Calliope arose. Her glorious hairwas bound with ivy. She attuned the chords,and chanted as she struck the sounding strings:—

“First Ceres broke with crooked plow the glebe;first gave to earth its fruit and wholesome food;first gave the laws;—all things of Ceres came;of her I sing; and oh, that I could tellher worth in verse; in verse her worth is due.“Because he dared to covet heavenly thronesTyphoeus, giant limbs are weighted downbeneath Sicilia's Isle—vast in extent—how often thence he strains and strives to rise?But his right hand Pachynus holds; his legs are pressedby Lilybaeus, Aetna weights his head.Beneath that ponderous mass Typhoeus lies,flat on his back; and spues the sands on high;and vomits flames from his ferocious mouth.He often strives to push the earth away,the cities and the mountains from his limbs—by which the lands are shaken. Even the king,that rules the silent shades is made to quake,for fear the earth may open and the ground,cleft in wide chasms, letting in the day,may terrify the trembling ghosts. Afraidof this disaster, that dark despot lefthis gloomy habitation; carried forthby soot-black horses, in his gloomy car.“He circumspectly viewed Sicilia's vastfoundations.—Having well explored and provedno part was shattered; having laid asidehis careful fears, he wandered in those parts.“Him, Venus, Erycina, in her mountthus witnessed, and embraced her winged son,and said, ‘O Cupid! thou who art my son—my arms, my hand, my strength; take up those arms,by which thou art victorious over all,and aim thy keenest arrow at the heartof that divinity whom fortune gavethe last award, what time the triple realm,by lot was portioned out.‘The Gods of Heavenare overcome by thee; and Jupiter,and all the Deities that swim the deep,and the great ruler of the Water-Gods:why, then, should Tartarus escape our sway—the third part of the universe at stake—by which thy mother's empire and thy ownmay be enlarged according to great need.‘How shameful is our present lot in Heaven,the powers of love and I alike despised;for, mark how Pallas has renounced my sway,besides Diana, javelin-hurler—sowill Ceres' daughter choose virginity,if we permit,—that way her hopes incline.Do thou this goddess Proserpine, unitein marriage to her uncle. Venus spoke;—“Cupid then loosed his quiver, and of allits many arrows, by his mother's aid,selected one; the keenest of them all;the least uncertain, surest from the string:and having fixed his knee against the bow,bent back the flexile horn.—The flying shaftstruck Pluto in the breast.“There is a lakeof greatest depth, not far from Henna's walls,long since called Pergus; and the songs of swans,that wake Cayster, rival not the notesof swans melodious on its gliding waves:a fringe of trees, encircling as a wreathits compassed waters, with a leafy veildenies the heat of noon; cool breezes blowbeneath the boughs; the humid ground is sprentwith purpling flowers, and spring eternal reigns.“While Proserpine once dallied in that grove,plucking white lilies and sweet violets,and while she heaped her basket, while she filledher bosom, in a pretty zeal to strivebeyond all others; she was seen, beloved,and carried off by Pluto—such the hasteof sudden love. “The goddess, in great fear,called on her mother and on all her friends;and, in her frenzy, as her robe was rent,down from the upper edge, her gathered flowersfell from her loosened tunic.—This mishap,so perfect was her childish innocence,increased her virgin grief.—“The ravisherurged on his chariot, and inspired his steeds;called each by name, and on their necks and manesshook the black-rusted reins. They hastened throughdeep lakes, and through the pools of Palici,which boiling upward from the ruptured earthsmell of strong sulphur. And they bore him thenceto where the sons of Bacchus, who had sailedfrom twin-sea Corinth, long ago had builta city's walls between unequal ports.

“Midway between the streams of Cyaneand Arethusa lies a moon-like pool,of silvered narrow horns. There stood the Nymph,revered above all others in that land,whose name was Cyane. From her that pondwas always called. And as she stood, concealedin middle waves that circled her white thighs,she recognized the God, and said; ‘O thoushalt go no further, Pluto, thou shalt notby force alone become the son-in-lawof Ceres. It is better to beseecha mother's aid than drag her child away!And this sustains my word, if I may thuscompare great things with small, Anapis lovedme also; but he wooed and married meby kind endearments; not by fear, as thouhast terrified this girl.’ So did she speak;and stretching out her arms on either sideopposed his way.“The son of Saturn blazedwith uncontrolled rage; and urged his steeds,and hurled his royal scepter in the pool.Cast with a mighty arm it pierced the deeps.The smitten earth made way to Tartarus;—it opened a wide basin and receivedthe plunging chariot in the midst.—But nowthe mournful Cyane began to grieve,because from her against her fountain-rightsthe goddess had been torn. The deepening woundstill rankled in her breast, and she dissolvedin many tears, and wasted in those waveswhich lately were submissive to her rule.“So you could see her members waste away:her hones begin to bend; her nails get soft;her azure hair, her fingers, legs and feet,and every slender part melt in the pool:so brief the time in which her tender limbswere changed to flowing waves; and after themher back and shoulders, and her sides and breastsdissolved and vanished into rivulets:and while she changed, the water slowly filledher faulty veins instead of living blood—and nothing that a hand could hold remained.“Now it befell when Proserpine was lost,her anxious mother sought through every landand every sea in vain. She rested not.Aurora, when she came with ruddy locks,might never know, nor even Hesperus,if she might deign to rest.—She lit two pinesfrom Aetna's flames and held one in each hand,and restless bore them through the frosty glooms:and when serene the day had dimmed the starsshe sought her daughter by the rising sun;and when the sun declined she rested not.“Wearied with labour she began to thirst,for all this while no streams had cooled her lips;when, as by chance, a cottage thatched with strawgladdened her sight. Thither the goddess went,and, after knocking at the humble door,waited until an ancient woman came;who, when she saw the goddess and had heardher plea for water, gave her a sweet drink,but lately brewed of parched barley-meal;and while the goddess quaffed this drink a boy,of bold and hard appearance, stood beforeand laughed and called her greedy. While he spokethe angry goddess sprinkled him with meal,mixed with the liquid which had not been drunk.“His face grew spotted where the mixture struck,and legs appeared where he had arms before,a tail was added to his changing trunk;and lest his former strength might cause great harm,all parts contracted till he measured lessthan common lizards. While the ancient damewondered and wept and strove for one caress,the reptile fled and sought a lurking place.—His very name describes him to the eye,a body starred with many coloured spots.“What lands, what oceans Ceres wandered then,would weary to relate. The bounded worldwas narrow for the search. Again she passedthrough Sicily; again observed all signs;and as she wandered came to Cyane,who strove to tell where Proserpine had gone,but since her change, had neither mouth nor tongue,and so was mute. And yet the Nymph made plainby certain signs what she desired to say:for on the surface of the waves she showeda well-known girdle Proserpine had lost,by chance had dropped it in that sacred pool;which when the goddess recognized, at last,convinced her daughter had been forced from her,she tore her streaming locks, and frenzied struckher bosom with her palms. And in her rage,although she wist not where her daughter was,she blamed all countries and cried out againsttheir base ingratitude; and she declaredthe world unworthy of the gift of corn:but Sicily before all other lands,for there was found the token of her loss.“For that she broke with savage hand the plows,which there had turned the soil, and full of wrathleveled in equal death the peasant and his ox—both tillers of the soil—and made decreethat land should prove deceptive to the seed,and rot all planted germs.—That fertile isle,so noted through the world, becomes a waste;the corn is blighted in the early blade;excessive heat, excessive rain destroys;the winds destroy, the constellations harm;the greedy birds devour the scattered seeds;thistles and tares and tough weeds choke the wheat.

“For this the Nymph, Alpheian, raised her headabove Elean waves; and having firstpushed back her dripping tresses from her brows,back to her ears, she thus began to speak;‘O mother of the virgin, sought throughoutthe globe! O mother of nutritious fruits!Let these tremendous labours have an end;do not increase the violence of thy wrathagainst the Earth, devoted to thy sway,and not deserving blame; for only forcecompelled the Earth to open for that wrong.Think not my supplication is to aidmy native country; hither I am comean alien: Pisa is my native land,and Elis gave me birth. Though I sojourna stranger in this isle of Sicilyit yet delights me more than all the world.‘I, Arethusa, claim this isle my home,and do implore thee keep my throne secure,O greatest of the Gods! A better hour,when thou art lightened of thy cares, will come,and when thy countenance again is kind;and then may I declare what cause removedme from my native place—and through the wavesof such a mighty ocean guided meto find Ortygia.‘Through the porous earthby deepest caverns, I uplift my headand see unwonted stars. Now it befell,as I was gliding far beneath the world,where flow dark Stygian streams, I sawthy Proserpine. Although her countenancebetrayed anxiety and grief, a queen She reignedsupremely great in that opacous worldqueen consort mighty to the King of Hell.’“Astonished and amazed, as thunderstruck,when Proserpina's mother heard these words,long while she stood till great bewildermentgave way to heavy grief. Then to the skies,ethereal, she mounted in her carand with beclouded face and streaming hairstood fronting Jove, opprobrious. ‘I have comeO Jupiter, a suppliant to thee,both for my own offspring as well as thine.If thy hard heart deny a mother grace,yet haply as a father thou canst feelsome pity for thy daughter; and I praythy care for her may not be valued lessbecause my groaning travail brought her forth.—My long-sought daughter has at last been found,if one can call it, found, when certain lossmore certain has been proved; or so may deemthe knowledge of her state.—But I may bearhis rude ways, if again he bring her back.‘Thy worthy child should not be forced to weda bandit-chief, nor should my daughter's charmsreward his crime.’ She spoke;—and Jupitertook up the word; ‘This daughter is a care,a sacred pledge to me as well as thee;but if it please us to acknowledge truth,this is a deed of love and injures not.And if, O goddess, thou wilt not oppose,such law-son cannot compass our disgrace:for though all else were wanting, naught can needJove's brother, who in fortune yields to nonesave me. But if thy fixed desire compeldissent, let Proserpine return to Heaven;however, subject to the binding law,if there her tongue have never tasted food—a sure condition, by the Fates decreed.’he spoke; but Ceres was no less resolvedto lead her daughter thence.“Not so the Fatespermit.—The virgin, thoughtless while she strayedamong the cultivated Stygian fields,had broken fast. While there she plucked the fruitby bending a pomegranate tree, and plucked,and chewed seven grains, picked from the pallid rind;and none had seen except Ascalaphus—him Orphne, famed of all Avernian Nymphs,had brought to birth in some infernal cave,days long ago, from Acheron's embrace—he saw it, and with cruel lips debarredyoung Proserpine's return. Heaving a sigh,the Queen of Erebus, indignant changedthat witness to an evil bird: she turnedhis head, with sprinkled Phlegethonian lymph,into a beak, and feathers, and great eyes;his head grew larger and his shape, deformed,was cased in tawny wings; his lengthened nailsbent inward;—and his sluggish armsas wings can hardly move. So he becamethe vilest bird; a messenger of grief;the lazy owl; sad omen to mankind.“The telltale's punishment was only just;O Siren Maids, but wherefore thus have yethe feet and plumes of birds, although remainyour virgin features? Is it from the daywhen Proserpina gathered vernal flowers;because ye mingled with her chosen friends?And after she was lost, in vain ye soughtthrough all the world; and wished for wings to waftyou over the great deep, that soon the seamight feel your great concern.—The Gods were kind:ye saw your limbs grow yellow, with a growthof sudden-sprouting feathers; but becauseyour melodies that gently charm the ear,besides the glory of your speech, might losethe blessing, of a tongue, your virgin faceand human voice remained.“But Jupiter,the mediator of these rival claims,urged by his brother and his grieving sister,divided the long year in equal parts.Now Proserpina, as a Deity,of equal merit, in two kingdoms reigns:—for six months with her mother she abides,and six months with her husband.—Both her mindand her appearance quickly were transformed;for she who seemed so sad in Pluto's eyes,now as a goddess beams in joyful smiles;so, when the sun obscured by watery mistconquers the clouds, it shines in splendour forth.

“And genial Ceres, full of joy, that nowher daughter was regained, began to speak;‘Declare the reason of thy wanderings,O Arethusa! tell me wherefore thouwert made a sacred stream.’ The waters gaveno sound; but soon that goddess raised her headfrom the deep springs; and after sue had driedher green hair with her hand, with fair addressshe told the ancient amours of that streamwhich flows through Elis.—‘I was one amongthe Nymphs of old Achaia,’—so she said—‘And none of them more eager sped than I,along the tangled pathways; and I fixedthe hunting-nets with zealous care.—AlthoughI strove not for the praise that beauty gives,and though my form was something stout for grace,it had the name of being beautiful.‘So worthless seemed the praise, I took no joyin my appearance—as a country lassI blushed at those endowments which would givedelight to others—even the power to pleaseseemed criminal.—And I remember whenreturning weary from Stymphal fan woods,and hot with toil, that made the glowing sunseem twice as hot, I chanced upon a stream,that flowed without a ripple or a soundso smoothly on, I hardly thought it moved.‘The water was so clear that one could seeand count the pebbles in the deepest parts,and silver willows and tall poplar trees,nourished by flowing waters, spread their shadeover the shelving banks. So I approached,and shrinkingly touched the cool stream with my feet;and then I ventured deeper to my knees;and not contented doffed my fleecy robes,and laid them on a bending willow tree.Then, naked, I plunged deeply in the stream,and while I smote the water with my hands,and drew it towards me, striking boldly forth,moving my body in a thousand ways,I thought I heard a most unusual sound,a murmuring noise beneath the middle stream.‘Alarmed, I hastened to the nearest bank,and as I stood upon its edge, these wordshoarsely Alpheus uttered from his waves;‘Oh, whither dost thou hasten?’ and again,‘Oh, whither dost thou hasten?’ said the voice.‘Just as I was, I fled without my clothes,for I had left them on the other bank;which, when he saw, so much the more inflamed,more swiftly he pursued: my nakednesswas tempting to his gaze. And thus I ran;and thus relentlessly he pressed my steps:so from the hawk the dove with trembling wings;and so, the hawk pursues the frightened dove.‘Swiftly and long I fled, with winding course,to Orchamenus, Psophis and Cyllene,and Maenalus and Erymanthus cold,and Elis. Neither could he gain by speed,although his greater strength must soon prevail,for I not longer could endure the strain.‘Still I sped onward through the fields and woods,by tangled wilds and over rocks and crags;and as I hastened from the setting sun,I thought I saw a growing shadow movebeyond my feet; it may have been my fearimagined it, but surely now I heardthe sound of footsteps: I could even feelhis breathing on the loose ends of my hair;and I was terrified. At last, worn outby all my efforts to escape, I cried;‘Oh, help me—thou whose bow and quivered dartsI oft have borne—thy armour-bearer calls—O chaste Diana help,—or I am lost.’‘It moved the goddess, and she gathered upa dense cloud, and encompassed me about.—The baffled River circled round and round,seeking to find me, hidden in that cloud—twice went the River round, and twice cried out,‘Ho, Arethusa! Arethusa, Ho!’‘What were my wretched feelings then? Could Ibe braver than the Iamb that hears the wolves,howling around the high-protecting fold?Or than the hare, which lurking in the bushknows of the snarling hounds and dares not move?And yet, Alpheus thence would not depart,for he could find no footprints of my flight.‘He watched the cloud and spot, and thus besieged,a cold sweat gathered on my trembling limbs.The clear-blue drops, distilled from every pore,made pools of water where I moved my feet,and dripping moisture trickled from my hair.—Much quicker than my story could be told,my body was dissolved to flowing streams.—But still the River recognized the waves,and for the love of me transformed his shapefrom human features to his proper streams,that so his waters might encompass mine.‘Diana, therefore, opened up the ground,in which I plunged, and thence through gloomy caveswas carried to Ortygia—blessed isle!To which my chosen goddess gave her name!Where first I rose amid the upper air!’“Thus Arethusa made an end of speech:and presently the fertile goddess yokedtwo dragons to her chariot: she curbedtheir mouths with bits: they bore her through the air,in her light car betwixt the earth and skies,to the Tritonian citadel, and toTriptolemus, to whom she furnished seed,that he might scatter it in wasted lands,and in the fallow fields; which, after longneglect, again were given to the plow.“After he had traveled through uncharted skies,over wide Europe and vast Asian lands,he lit upon the coast of Scythia, wherea king called Lyncus reigned. And there, at oncehe sought the palace of that king, who said;‘Whence come you, stranger, wherefore in this land?Come, tell to me your nation and your name.’“And after he was questioned thus, he said,‘I came from far-famed Athens and they callmy name Triptolemus. I neither cameby ship through waves, nor over the dry land;for me the yielding atmosphere makes way.—I bear the gifts of Ceres to your land,which scattered over your wide realm may yieldan ample harvest of nutritious food.’“The envious Lyncus, wishing to appearthe gracious author of all benefits,received the unsuspecting youth with smiles;but when he fell into a heavy sleepthat savage king attacked him with a sword—but while attempting to transfix his guest,the goddess Ceres changed him to a lynx:—and once again she sent her favoured youthto drive her sacred dragons through the clouds.“The greatest of our number ended thusher learned songs; and with concordant voicethe chosen Nymphs adjudged the Deities,on Helicon who dwell, should be proclaimedthe victors.“But the vanquished nine beganto scatter their abuse; to whom rejoinedthe goddess; ‘Since it seems a trifling thingthat you should suffer a deserved defeat,and you must add unmerited abuseto heighten your offence, and since by thisappears the end of our endurance, weshall certainly proceed to punish youaccording to the limit of our wrath.’“But these Emathian sisters laughed to scornour threatening words; and as they tried to speak,and made great clamour, and with shameless handsmade threatening gestures, suddenly stiff quillssprouted from out their finger-nails, and plumesspread over their stretched arms; and they could seethe mouth of each companion growing outinto a rigid beak.—And thus new birdswere added to the forest.—While they madecomplaint, these Magpies that defile our groves,moving their stretched-out arms, began to float,suspended in the air. And since that timetheir ancient eloquence, their screaming notes,their tiresome zeal of speech have all remained.”

Book 6

All this Minerva heard; and she approvedtheir songs and their resentment; but her heartwas brooding thus, “It is an easy thingto praise another, I should do as they:no creature of the earth should ever slightthe majesty that dwells in me,—withoutjust retribution.”—So her thought was turnedupon the fortune of Arachne — proud,who would not ever yield to her the praisewon by the art of deftly weaving wool,a girl who had not fame for place of birth,nor fame for birth, but only fame for skill!For it was well known that her father dweltin Colophon; where, at his humble trade,he dyed in Phocean purples, fleecy wool.Her mother, also of the lower class,had died. Arachne in a mountain townby skill had grown so famous in the Landof Lydia, that unnumbered curious nymphseager to witness her dexterity,deserted the lush vineyards of Timolus;or even left the cool and flowing streamsof bright Pactolus, to admire the cloth,or to observe her deftly spinning wool.So graceful was her motion then,—if shewas twisting the coarse wool in little balls,or if she teased it with her finger-tips,or if she softened the fine fleece, drawn forthin misty films, or if she twirled the smoothround spindle with her energetic thumb,or if with needle she embroidered cloth;—in all her motions one might well perceivehow much Minerva had instructed her:but this she ever would deny, displeasedto share her fame; and said, “Let her contendin art with me; and if her skill prevails,I then will forfeit all!”Minerva heard,and came to her, disguised with long grey hair,and with a staff to steady her weak limbs.She seemed a feeble woman, very old,and quavered as she said, “Old age is notthe cause of every ill; experience comeswith lengthened years; and, therefore, you should notdespise my words. It is no harm in youto long for praise of mortals, whenyour nimble hands are spinning the soft wool,—but you should not deny Minerva's art—and you should pray that she may pardon you,for she will grant you pardon if you ask.”Arachne, scowling with an evil face.Looked at the goddess, as she dropped her thread.She hardly could restrain her threatening hand,and, trembling in her anger, she repliedto you, disguised Minerva:“Silly fool,—worn out and witless in your palsied age,a great age is your great misfortune!— Letyour daughter and your son's wife—if the Godshave blessed you—let them profit by your words;within myself, my knowledge is containedsufficient; you need not believe that youradvice does any good; for I am quiteunchanged in my opinion. Get you gone,—advise your goddess to come here herself,and not avoid the contest!”Instantly,the goddess said, “Minerva comes to you!”And with those brief words, put aside the shapeof the old woman, and revealed herself,Minerva, goddess.All the other Nymphsand matrons of Mygdonia worshiped her;but not Arachne, who defiant stood;—although at first she flushed up—then went pale—then blushed again, reluctant.—So, at first,the sky suffuses, as Aurora moves,and, quickly when the glorious sun comes up,pales into white.She even rushed uponher own destruction, for she would not givefrom her desire to gain the victory.Nor did the daughter of almighty Jovedecline: disdaining to delay with words,she hesitated not.And both, at once,selected their positions, stretched their webswith finest warp, and separated warp with sley.The woof was next inserted in the webby means of the sharp shuttles, whichtheir nimble fingers pushed along, so drawnwithin the warp, and so the teeth notched inthe moving sley might strike them.—Both, in haste,girded their garments to their breasts and movedtheir skilful arms, beguiling their fatiguein eager action.Myriad tints appearedbesides the Tyrian purple—royal dye,extracted in brass vessels.—As the bow,that spans new glory in the curving sky,its glittering rays reflected in the rain,spreads out a multitude of blended tints,in scintillating beauty to the sightof all who gaze upon it; — so the threads,inwoven, mingled in a thousand tints,harmonious and contrasting; shot with gold:and there, depicted in those shining webs,were shown the histories of ancient days:—Minerva worked the Athenian Hill of Mars,where ancient Cecrops built his citadel,and showed the old contention for the nameit should be given.—Twelve celestial Godssurrounded Jupiter, on lofty thrones;and all their features were so nicely drawn,that each could be distinguished.—Jupiterappeared as monarch of those judging Gods.There Neptune, guardian of the sea, was showncontending with Minerva. As he struckthe Rock with his long trident, a wild horsesprang forth which he bequeathed to man. He claimedhis right to name the city for that gift.And then she wove a portrait of herself,bearing a shield, and in her hand a lance,sharp-pointed, and a helmet on her head—her breast well-guarded by her Aegis: thereshe struck her spear into the fertile earth,from which a branch of olive seemed to sprout,pale with new clustered fruits.—And those twelve Gods,appeared to judge, that olive as a giftsurpassed the horse which Neptune gave to man.And, so Arachne, rival of her fame,might learn the folly of her mad attempt,from the great deeds of ancient histories,and what award presumption must expect,Minerva wove four corners with life scenesof contest, brightly colored, but of sizediminutive.

In one of these was shownthe snow-clad mountains, Rhodope,and Haemus, which for punishment were changedfrom human beings to those rigid forms,when they aspired to rival the high Gods.And in another corner she describedthat Pygmy, whom the angry Juno changedfrom queen-ship to a crane; because she thoughtherself an equal of the living Gods,she was commanded to wage cruel warsupon her former subjects. In the third,she wove the story of Antigone,who dared compare herself to Juno, queenof Jupiter, and showed her as she wastransformed into a silly chattering stork,that praised her beauty, with her ugly beak.—Despite the powers of Ilion and her sireLaomedon, her shoulders fledged white wings.And so, the third part finished, there was leftone corner, where Minerva deftly workedthe story of the father, Cinyras;—as he was weeping on the temple steps,which once had been his daughter's living limbs.And she adorned the border with designsof peaceful olive—her devoted tree—which having shown, she made an end of work.Arachne, of Maeonia, wove, at firstthe story of Europa, as the bulldeceived her, and so perfect was her art,it seemed a real bull in real waves.Europa seemed to look back towards the landwhich she had left; and call in her alarmto her companions—and as if she fearedthe touch of dashing waters, to draw upher timid feet, while she was sitting onthe bull's back.And she wove Asteria seizedby the assaulting eagle; and beneath the swan'swhite wings showed Leda lying by the stream:and showed Jove dancing as a Satyr, whenhe sought the beautiful Antiope,to whom was given twins; and how he seemedAmphitryon when he deceived Alcmena;and how he courted lovely Danaeluring her as a gleaming shower of gold;and poor Aegina, hidden in his flame,jove as a shepherd with Mnemosyne;and beautiful Proserpina, involvedby him, apparent as a spotted snake.And in her web, Arachne wove the scenesof Neptune:—who was shown first as a bull,when he was deep in love with virgin Arnethen as Enipeus when the giant twins,Aloidae, were begot; and as the ramthat gambolled with Bisaltis; as a horseloved by the fruitful Ceres, golden haired,all-bounteous mother of the yellow grain;and as the bird that hovered round snake-hairedMedusa, mother of the winged horse;and as the dolphin, sporting with the Nymph,Melantho.—All of these were woven trueto life, in proper shades.And there she showedApollo, when disguised in various forms:as when he seemed a rustic; and as whenhe wore hawk-wings, and then the tawny skinof a great lion; and once more when hedeluded Isse, as a shepherd lad.And there was Bacchus, when he was disguisedas a large cluster of fictitious grapes;deluding by that wile the beautifulErigone;—and Saturn, as a steed,begetter of the dual-natured Chiron.And then Arachne, to complete her work,wove all around the web a patterned edgeof interlacing flowers and ivy leaves.Minerva could not find a fleck or flaw—even Envy can not censure perfect art—enraged because Arachne had such skillshe ripped the web, and ruined all the scenesthat showed those wicked actions of the Gods;and with her boxwood shuttle in her hand,struck the unhappy mortal on her head,—struck sharply thrice, and even once again.Arachne's spirit, deigning not to brooksuch insult, brooded on it, till she tieda cord around her neck, and hung herself.Minerva, moved to pity at the sight,sustained and saved her from that bitter death;but, angry still, pronounced another doom:“Although I grant you life, most wicked one,your fate shall be to dangle on a cord,and your posterity forever shalltake your example, that your punishmentmay last forever!” Even as she spoke,before withdrawing from her victim's sight,she sprinkled her with juice—extract of herbsof Hecate.At once all hair fell off,her nose and ears remained not, and her headshrunk rapidly in size, as well as allher body, leaving her diminutive.—Her slender fingers gathered to her sidesas long thin legs; and all her other partswere fast absorbed in her abdomen—whenceshe vented a fine thread;—and ever since,Arachne, as a spider, weaves her web.

All Lydia was astonished at her fatethe Rumor spread to Phrygia, soon the worldwas filled with fear and wonder. Niobehad known her long before,—when in Maeonianear to Mount Sipylus; but the sad fatewhich overtook Arachne, lost on her,she never ceased her boasting and refusedto honor the great Gods.So many thingsincreased her pride: She loved to boasther husband's skill, their noble family,the rising grandeur of their kingdom. Suchfelicities were great delights to her;but nothing could exceed the haughty wayshe boasted of her children: and, in truth,Niobe might have been adjudged on earth,the happiest mother of mankind, if pridehad not destroyed her wit.It happened then,that Manto, daughter of Tiresias,who told the future; when she felt the fireof prophecy descend upon her, rushedupon the street and shouted in the midst:“You women of Ismenus! go and giveto high Latona and her children, twain,incense and prayer. Go, and with laurel wreatheyour hair in garlands, as your sacred prayersarise to heaven. Give heed, for by my speechLatona has ordained these holy rites.”At once, the Theban women wreathe their browswith laurel, and they cast in hallowed flamethe grateful incense, while they supplicateall favors of the ever-living Gods.And while they worship, Niobe comes there,surrounded with a troup that follow her,and most conspicuous in her purple robe,bright with inwoven threads of yellow gold.Beautiful in her anger, she tosses backher graceful head. The glory of her hairshines on her shoulders. Standing forth,she looks upon them with her haughty eyes,and taunts them, “Madness has prevailed on youto worship some imagined Gods of Heaven,which you have only heard of; but the Godsthat truly are on earth, and can be seen,are all neglected! Come, explain to me,why is Latona worshiped and adored,and frankincense not offered unto me?For my divinity is known to you.“Tantalus was my father, who aloneapproached the tables of the Gods in heaven;my mother, sister of the Pleiades,was daughter of huge Atlas, who supportsthe world upon his shoulders; I can boastof Jupiter as father of my sire,I count him also as my father-in-law.The peoples of my Phrygia dread my power,and I am mistress of the palace builtby Cadmus. By my husband, I am queenof those great walls that reared themselvesto the sweet music of his sounding lyre.We rule together all the people theyencompass and defend. And everywheremy gaze is turned, an evidence of wealthis witnessed.“In my features you can seethe beauty of a goddess, but abovethat majesty is all the glory dueto me, the mother of my seven sonsand daughters seven. And the time will comewhen by their marriage they will magnifythe circle of my power invincible.“All must acknowledge my just cause of prideand must no longer worship, in despiteof my superior birth, this deity,a daughter of ignoble Coeus, whomone time the great Earth would not even grantsufficient space for travail: whom the Heavens,the Land, the Sea together once compelledto wander, hopeless on all hostile shores!Throughout the world she found herself rebuffed,till Delos, sorry for the vagrant, said,‘Homeless you roam the lands, and I the seas!’And even her refuge always was adrift.“And there she bore two children, who, comparedwith mine, are but as one to seven. Whodenies my fortunate condition?—Whocan doubt my future?—I am surely safe.“The wealth of my abundance is too strongfor Fortune to assail me. Let her ragedespoil me of large substance; yet so muchwould still be mine, for I have risen abovethe blight of apprehension. But, supposea few of my fair children should be taken!Even so deprived, I could not be reducedto only two, as this Latona, who,might quite as well be childless.—Get you gonefrom this insensate sacrifice. Make haste!Cast off the wreathing laurels from your brows!”They plucked the garlands from their hair, and leftthe sacrifice, obedient to her will,although in gentle murmurs they adoredthe goddess Niobe had so defamed.Latona, furious when she heard the speech,flew swiftly to the utmost peak of Cynthus,and spoke to her two children in these words:“Behold your mother, proud of having bornesuch glorious children! I will yieldprestige before no goddess—save aloneimmortal Juno! I have been debased,and driven for all ages from my own—my altars, unto me devoted long,and so must languish through eternity,unless by you sustained. Nor is this all;.That daughter of Tantalus, bold Niobe,has added curses to her evil deeds,and with a tongue as wicked as her sire's,has raised her base-born children over mine.Has even called me childless! A sad fatemore surely should be hers! Oh, I entreat”—But Phoebus answered her, “No more complaintis necessary, for it only servesto hinder the swift sequel of her doom.”And with the same words Phoebe answered her.And having spoken, they descended throughthe shielding shadows of surrounding clouds,and hovered on the citadel of Cadmus.

There, far below them, was a level plainwhich swept around those walls; where trampling steeds,with horny hoofs, and multitudinous wheels,had beaten a wide track. And on the fieldthe older sons of Niobe on steedsemblazoned with bright dyes and harness richwith studded gold were circling.—One of these,Ismenus, first-born of his mother, whilecontrolling his fleet courser's foaming mouth,cried out, “Ah wretched me!” A shaft had piercedthe middle of his breast; and as the reinsdropped slowly on the rapid courser's neck,his drooping form fell forward to the ground.Not far from him, his brother, Sipylus,could hear the whistling of a fatal shaft,and in his fright urged on the plunging steed:as when the watchful pilot, sensibleof storms approaching, crowds on sail,hoping to catch a momentary breeze,so fled he, urging an impetuous flight;but, while he fled the shaft, unerring, flew;transfixed him with its quivering death; struck wherethe neck supports the head and the sharp pointprotruded from his throat. In his swift flight,as he was leaning forward, he was struck;and, rolling over the wild horse's neckpitched to the ground, and stained it with his blood.Unhappy Phaedimus, and Tantalus,(So named from his maternal grandsire) nowhad finished coursing on the track, and smooth.Shining with oil, were wrestling in the field;and while those brothers struggled—breast to breast—another arrow, hurtling from the sky,pierced them together, just as they were clinched.The mingled sound that issued from two throatswas like a single groan. Convulsed with pain,the wrestlers fell together on the ground,where, stricken with a double agony,rolling their eyeballs, they sobbed out their lives.Alphenor saw them die—beating his breastin agony—ran to lift in his armstheir lifeless bodies cold—while doing thishe fell upon them. Phoebus struck him so,piercing his midriff in a vital part,with fatal shot, which, when he pulled it forth,dragged with its barb a torn clot of his lung—his blood and life poured out upon the air.The youthful Damasicthon next was struck,not only once; an arrow pierced his legjust where the sinews of the thigh begin,and as he turned and stooped to pluck it out,another keen shaft shot into his neck,up to the fletching.—The blood drove it out,and spouted after it in crimson jets.Then, Ilioneus, last of seven sons,lifted his unavailing arms in prayer,and cried, “O Universal Deities,gods of eternal heaven, spare my life!”—Besought too late, Apollo of the Bow,could not prevail against the deadly shaft,already on its way: and yet his will,compellant, acted to retard its flight,so that it cut no deeper than his heart.The rumors of an awful tragedy,—the wailings of sad Niobe's loved friends,—the terror of her grieving relatives,—all gave some knowledge of her sudden loss:but so bewildered and enraged her mind,that she could hardly realize the Godshad privilege to dare against her might.Nor would she, till her lord, Amphion, thrusthis sword deep in his breast, by which his lifeand anguish both were ended in dark night.Alas, proud Niobe, once haughty queen!Proud Niobe who but so lately droveher people from Latona's altars, while,moving majestic through the midst, she hearstheir plaudits, now so bitterly debased,her meanest enemy may pity her!—She fell upon the bodies of her sons,and in a frenzy of maternal grief,kissed their unfeeling lips. Then unto Heavenwith arms accusing, railed upon her foe:“Glut your revenge! Latona, glut your rage!Yea, let my lamentations be your joy!Go—satiate your flinty heart with death!Are not my seven sons all dead? Am Inot waiting to be carried to my grave?—exult and triumph, my victorious foe!Victorious? Nay!—Much more remains to mein all my utmost sorrow, than to you,you gloater upon vengeance—Undismayed,I stand victorious in my Field of Woe!”no sooner had she spoken, than the cordtwanged from the ever-ready bow; and allwho heard the fatal sound, again were filledwith fear,—save Niobe, in misery bold,—defiant in misfortune.—Clothed in black,the sisters of the stricken brothers stood,with hair disheveled, by the funeral biers.And one while plucking from her brother's hearta shaft, swooned unto death, fell on her face—on her dear brother's corpse. Another girl,while she consoled her mother, suddenly,was stricken with an unseen, deadly wound;and doubled in convulsions, closed her lips,tight held them, till both breath and life were lost.Another, vainly rushed away from death—she met it, and pitched head-first to the ground;and still another died upon her corse,another vainly sought a secret death,and, then another slipped beyond's life's edge.So, altogether, six of seven died—each victim, strickened in a different way.One child remained. Then in a frenzy-fearthe mother, as she covered her with allher garments and her body, wailed—“Oh, leaveme this one child! the youngest of them all!My darling daughter—only leave me one!”But even while she was entreating for its life—the life was taken from her only child.Childless— she crouched beside her slaughtered sons,her lifeless daughters, and her husband's corpse.The breeze not even moved her fallen hair,a chill of marble spread upon her flesh,beneath her pale, set brows, her eyes moved not,her bitter tongue turned stiff in her hard jaws,her lovely veins congealed, and her stiff neckand rigid hands could neither bend nor move.—her limbs and body, all were changed to stone.Yet ever would she weep: and as her tearswere falling she was carried from the place,enveloped in a storm and mighty wind,far, to her native land, where fixed upona mountain summit she dissolves in tears,—and to this day the marble drips with tears.

All men and women, after this event,feared to incur Latona's fateful wrath,and worshiped with more zeal the Deity,mother of twins.—And, as it is the wayof men to talk of many other thingsafter a strong occurrence, they recalledwhat other deeds the goddess had performed;—and one of them recited this event:'Twas in the ancient days of long-ago,—some rustics, in the fertile fields of Lycia,heedless, insulted the goddess to their harm:—perhaps you've never heard of this event,because those country clowns were little known.The event was wonderful, but I can vouchthe truth of it. I visited the placeand I have seen the pool of water, wherehappened the miracle I now relate.My good old father, then advanced in years,incapable of travel, ordered meto fetch some cattle—thoroughbreds—from there,and had secured a Lycian for my guide,as I traversed the pastures, with the man,it chanced, I saw an ancient altar,—grimedwith sacrificial ashes—in the midstof a large pool, with sedge and reeds around,a-quiver in the breeze. And there my guidestood on the marge, and with an awe-struck voicebegan to whisper, “Be propitious, hearmy supplications, and forget not me!”And I, observing him, echoed the words,“Forget not me!” which, having done, I turnedto him and said, “Whose altar can this be?Perhaps a sacred altar of the Fauns,or of the Naiads, or a native God?”To which my guide replied, “Young man, such Godsmay not be worshiped at this altar. Shewhom once the royal Juno drove awayto wander a harsh world, alone permitsthis altar to be used: that goddess whomthe wandering Isle of Delos, at the timeit drifted as the foam, almost refuseda refuge.There Latona, as she leanedagainst a palm-tree—and against the treemost sacred to Minerva, brought forth twins,although their harsh step-mother, Juno, stroveto interfere.—And from the island forcedto fly by jealous Juno, on her breastshe bore her children, twin Divinities.At last, outwearied with the toil, and parchedwith thirst—long-wandering in those heated daysover the arid land of Lycia, wherewas bred the dire Chimaera— at the timeher parching breasts were drained, she saw this poolof crystal water, shimmering in the vale.Some countrymen were there to gather reeds,and useful osiers, and the bulrush, foundwith sedge in fenny pools. To them approachedLatona, and she knelt upon the mergeto cool her thirst, with some refreshing water.But those clowns forbade her and the goddess cried,as they so wickedly opposed her need:“Why do you so resist my bitter thirst?The use of water is the sacred rightof all mankind, for Nature has not madethe sun and air and water, for the soleestate of any creature; and to Herkind bounty I appeal, although of youI humbly beg the use of it. Not heredo I intend to bathe my wearied limbs.I only wish to quench an urgent thirst,for, even as I speak, my cracking lipsand mouth so parched, almost deny me words.A drink of water will be like a draughtof nectar, giving life; and I shall oweto you the bounty and my life renewed.—ah, let these tender infants, whose weak armsimplore you from my bosom, but inclineyour hearts to pity!” And just as she spoke,it chanced the children did stretch out their armsand who would not be touched to hear such words,as spoken by this goddess, and refuse?But still those clowns persisted in their wrongagainst the goddess; for they hindered her,and threatened with their foul, abusive tonguesto frighten her away—and, worse than all,they even muddied with their hands and feetthe clear pool; forcing the vile, slimy dregsup from the bottom, in a spiteful way,by jumping up and down.—Enraged at this,she felt no further thirst, nor would she deignto supplicate again; but, feeling allthe outraged majesty of her high state,she raised her hands to Heaven, and exclaimed,“Forever may you live in that mud-pool!”The curse as soon as uttered took effect,and every one of them began to swimbeneath the water, and to leap and plungedeep in the pool.—Now, up they raise their heads,now swim upon the surface, now they squatthemselves around the marshy margent, nowthey plump again down to the chilly deeps.And, ever and again, with croaking throats,indulge offensive strife upon the banks,or even under water, boom abuse.Their ugly voices cause their bloated necksto puff out; and their widened jaws are madestill wider in the venting of their spleen.Their backs, so closely fastened to their heads,make them appear as if their shrunken neckshave been cut off. Their backbones are dark green;white are their bellies, now their largest part.—Forever since that time, the foolish frogsmuddy their own pools, where they leap and dive.