Over the storm-tossed waves, the Argonautshad sailed in Argo, their long ship to whereKing Phineus, needy in his old age, reigned—deprived of sight and feeble. When the sonsof Boreas had landed on the shore,and seen the Harpies snatching from the kinghis nourishment, befouling it with beaksobscene, they drove those human-vultures thence.And having suffered hardships and great toils,after the day they rescued the sad kingfrom the vile Harpies, those twin valiant youths,Zetes and Calais came with their chief,the mighty Jason, where the Phasis flows.From the green margin of that river, allthe crew of Argonauts, by Jason led,went to the king Aeetes and requiredthe Golden Fleece, that he received from Phryxus.When they had bargained with him, full of wileshe offered to restore the Golden Fleeceonly to those who might to him return,victorious from hard labors of great risk.Medea, the king's daughter, near his throne,saw Jason, leader of the Argonauts,as he was pressing to secure a prize—and loved at sight with a consuming flame.Although she struggled to suppress her love,unable to restrain herself, she said,“In vain I've striven to subdue my heart:some god it must be, which I cannot tell,is working to destroy my hapless life;or else it is the burning flame of lovethat in me rages. If it is not love,why do the mandates of my father seemtoo harsh? They surely are too harsh. Why doI fear that he may perish whom I haveseen only once? What is the secret causethat I am agitated by such fears?—It is no other than the god of Love.“Thrust from your virgin breast such burning flamesand overcome their hot unhappiness—if I could do so, I should be myself:but some deluding power is holding mehelpless against my will. Desire persuadesme one way, but my reason still persuadesanother way. I see a better courseand I approve, but follow its defeat. —“O royal maiden, why are you consumedwith love for this strange man, and why are youso willing to be carried by the nuptial tiesso far from your own country, where, indeed,are many brave men worthy of your love?“Whether for life or death his numbered hoursare in the mercy of the living Gods,and that he may not suffer risk of death,too well foreseen, now let my prayers prevail—righteously uttered of a generous heartwithout the stress of love. What wicked thinghas Jason done? His handsome person, youth,and noble ways, would move a heart of stone.“Have I a heart of flint, or was I borna tigress to deny him timely aid?—Unless I interpose, he will be slainby the hot breath of brazen-footed bulls,or will be slaughtered by the warriors, sprungmiraculous from earth, or will be givento satisfy the ravenous appetiteof a huge dragon.“Let my gloating eyesbe satiate with his dying agonies!Let me incite the fury of these bulls!Stir to their blood-lust mad-born sons of Earth!Rouse up the never-sleeping dragon's rage!—“Avert it Gods!—“But why should I cry outupon the Gods to save him from such wrong,when, by my actions and my power, myselfmay shield him from all evils?“Such a coursewould wreck the kingdom of my father—and by methe wily stranger would escape from him;and spreading to the wind his ready sailshe would forget and leave me to my fate.—Oh, if he should forget my sacrifice,and so prefer those who neglected him,let him then perish in his treachery.—“But these are idle thoughts: his countenance,reveals innate nobility and grace,that should dispel all fear of treachery,and guarantee his ever-faithful heart.The Gods will witness our united souls,and he shall pledge his faith. Secure of itmy fear will be removed. Be ready, then—and make a virtue of necessity:your Jason owes himself to you; and hemust join you in true wedlock. Then you shallbe celebrated through the land of Greece,by throngs of women, for the man you saved.“Shall I then sail away, and so forsakemy sister, brother, father, Gods, and landthat gave me birth? My father is indeeda stern man, and my native land is alltoo barbarous; my brother is a child,—my sister's goodwill is good help for me;and heaven's supreme god is within my breast.“I shall not so be leaving valued hopes,but will be going surely to great things.And I should gain applause from all the world,as having saved the threatened Argonauts,most noble of the Greeks; and in their land,which certainly is better than my own,become the bride of Jason, for whose loveI should not hesitate to give the world—and in whose love the living Gods rejoiceso greatly; for his sake they would bestowtheir favors on my head, and make the starsmy habitation.“Should I hesitatebecause the wreck-strewn mountains bar the way,and clash together in the Euxine waves;or fear Charybdis, fatal to large ships,that sucks the deep sea in its whirling gulfand spouts far upward, with alternate force,or Scylla, circled with infuriate houndshowling in rage from deep Sicilian waves?“Safe in the shielding arms of him I love,on Jason's bosom leaning, I shall beborne safely over wide and hostile seas;and in his dear embrace forget my fears—or if for anything I suffer dread,it will be only for the one I love.—“Alas, Medea, this vain argumenthas only furnished plausible excusefor criminal desires, and desecratesthe marriage rite. It is a wicked thingto think upon. Before it is too lateforget your passion and deny this guilt.”And after she had said these words, her eyeswere opened to the prize of modesty,chaste virtue, and a pure affection:and Cupid, vanquished, turned away and fled.Then, to an ancient altar of the goddess namedHecate, Perse's daughter took her wayin the deep shadows of a forest. Shewas strong of purpose now, and all the flamesof vanquished passion had died down; but whenshe saw the son of Aeson, dying flamesleaped up again. Her cheeks grew red, then allher face went pale again; as a small sparkwhen hid beneath the ashes, if fed bya breath of wind grows and regains its strength,as it is fanned to life; so now her lovethat had been smoldering, and which you wouldhave thought was almost dead, when she had seeagain his manly youth, blazed up once more.For on that day his graceful person seemedas glorious as a God;—and as she gazed,and fixed her eyes upon his countenance,her frenzy so prevailed, she was convincedthat he was not a mortal. And her eyeswere fascinated; and she could not turnaway from him. But when he spoke to her,and promised marriage, grasping her right hand:she answered, as her eyes suffused with tears;“I see what I will do, and ignoranceof truth will not be my undoing now,but love itself. By my assistance youshall be preserved; but when preserved fulfillyour promise.”He swore that she could trust in him.Then by the goddess of the triple form,Diana, Trivia, or Luna called,and by her sacred groves and fanes, he vowed,and by the hallowed Sun that sees all things,and by his own adventures, and his life,—on these the youthful Jason took his oath.—With this she was assured and quickly gaveto him the magic herbs: he learnt their useand full of joy withdrew into his house.Now when the dawn had dimmed the glittering stars,the people hastened to the sacred fieldof Mars, and on the hills expectant stood.—Arrayed in purple, and in majestydistinguished by his ivory sceptre, satthe king, surrounded by a multitude.Below them on the visioned Field of Mars,huge brazen-footed bulls were breathing forthfrom adamantine nostrils living flames,blasting the verdant herbage in their path!As forges glowing with hot flames resound,or as much quick-lime, burnt in earthen kilns,crackles and hisses as if mad with rage,sprinkled with water, liberating heat;so their hot throats and triple-heated sides,resounding told of pent-up fires within.The son of Aeson went to meet them. Ashe came to meet them the fierce animalsturned on him faces terrible, and sharphorns tipped with iron, and they pawedthe dusty earth with cloven feet, and filledthe place with fiery bellowings. The Minyanswere stark with fear; he went up to the bullsnot feeling their hot breath at all, so greatthe power of his charmed drugs; and while hewas stroking their down-hanging dewlaps witha fearless hand, he placed the yoke down ontheir necks and made them draw the heavy plow,and cut through fields that never felt the steelbefore. The Colchians were amazed and silent;but the loud shouting of the Minyansincreased their hero's courage. Taking thenthe serpent's teeth out of a brazen helmethe sowed them broadcast in the new-plowed field.The moist earth softened these seeds that were steepedin virulent poison and the teeth swelled upand took new forms. And just as in its motheran infant gradually assumes the formof man, and is perfected through all partswithin, and does not come forth to the lighttill fully formed; so, when the forms of menhad been completed in the womb of earthmade pregnant, they rose up from it,and what is yet more wonderful, each oneclashed weapons that had been brought forth with him.When his companions saw the warriors turnas if with one accord, to hurl their spears,sharp-pointed, at the head of Jason, fearunnerved the boldest and their courage failed.So, too, the maid whose sorcery had savedhim from much danger, when she saw the youthencompassed by those raging enemies,and he alone against so many—struckwith sudden panic, she turned ashen white,her bloodless cheeks were blanched; and chilled with fearshe wilted to the ground; and lest the herbs,so lately given him, might fail his needshe added incantations and invokedmysterious arts. While she protected himHe seized upon a heavy stone, and hurledit in the midst of his new enemies—distracted by this cast, and murderous,they turned from him, and clashing their new arms,those earth-born brothers fought among themselvestill all were slaughtered in blood-thirsty strife.Gladly the Greeks acclaimed him conqueror,and pressed around him for the first embrace.Then, too, Medea, barbarous Colchian maid,although her modesty restrained her heart,eagerly longed to fold him in her arms,but careful of her good name, held aloof,—rejoicing in deep, silent love; and sheacknowledged to the Gods her mighty giftof incantations.But the dragon, stillalert,—magnificent and terriblewith gorgeous crest and triple tongue, and fangsbarbed as a javelin, guards the Golden Fleece:and Jason can obtain that quest onlyif slumber may seal up the monster's eyes.—Jason, successful, sprinkled on his crestLethean juices of a magic herb,and then recited thrice the words which bringdeep slumber, potent words which would becalmthe storm-tossed ocean, and would stop the flowof the most rapid rivers of our earth:and slowly slumber sealed the dragon's eyes.While that great monster slept, the hero tookthe Golden Fleece; and proudly sailed awaybearing his treasure and the willing maid,(whose aid had saved him) to his native portIolcus—victorious with the Argonauts. Now when the valiant Argonauts returnedto Thessaly, their happy relatives,fathers and mothers, praised the living Gods;and with their hallowed gifts enhanced the flameswith precious incense; and they offered Jovea sacred bullock, rich with gilded horns.But Jason's father, Aeson, came not downrejoicing to behold his son, for nowworn out with many years, he waited death.And Jason to Medea grieving said:“Dearest, to whom my life and love are due,although your kindness has been great to me,and you have granted more than I should ask,yet one thing more I beg of you; if yourenchantments can accomplish my desire,take from my life some years that I should liveand add them to my father's ending days.”—And as he spoke he could not check his tears.Medea, moved by his affection, thoughthow much less she had grieved for her loved sire:and she replied:—“A wicked thing you ask!Can I be capable of using youin such a manner as to take your lifeand give it to another? Ask not mea thing so dreadful! May the Gods forbid!—I will endeavor to perform for youa task much greater. By the powers of NightI will most certainly return to himthe lost years of your father, but must notdeprive you of your own. — Oh grant the power,great goddess of the triple form, that Imay fail not to accomplish this great deed!”Three nights were wanting for the moon to joinher circling horns and form a perfect orb.When these were passed, the rounded light shone fulland bright upon the earth.—Through the still nightalone, Medea stole forth from the housewith feet bare, and in flowing garment clothed—her long hair unadorned and not confined.Deep slumber has relaxed the world, and allthat's living, animals and birds and men,and even the hedges and the breathing leavesare still—and motionless the laden air.Only the stars are twinkling, and to themshe looks and beckons with imploring hands.Now thrice around she paces, and three timesbesprinkles her long hair with water diptfrom crystal streams, which having doneshe kneels a moment on the cold, bare ground,and screaming three times calls upon the Night,—“O faithful Night, regard my mysteries!O golden-lighted Stars! O softly-moving Moon—genial, your fire succeeds the heated day!O Hecate! grave three-faced queen of thesecharms of enchanters and enchanters, arts!O fruitful Earth, giver of potent herbs!O gentle Breezes and destructive Winds!You Mountains, Rivers, Lakes and sacred Groves,and every dreaded god of silent Night!Attend upon me!—“When my power commands,the rivers turn from their accustomed waysand roll far backward to their secret springs!I speak—and the wild, troubled sea is calm,and I command the waters to arise!The clouds I scatter—and I bring the clouds;I smooth the winds and ruffle up their rage;I weave my spells and I recite my charms;I pluck the fangs of serpents, and I movethe living rocks and twist the rooted oaks;I blast the forests. Mountains at my wordtremble and quake; and from her granite tombsthe liberated ghosts arise as Earthastonished groans! From your appointed ways,O wonder-working Moon, I draw you downagainst the magic-making sound of gongsand brazen vessels of Temesa's ore;I cast my spells and veil the jeweled raysof Phoebus' wain, and quench Aurora's fires.“At my command you tamed the flaming bullswhich long disdained to bend beneath the yoke,until they pressed their necks against the plows;and, subject to my will, you raised up wartill the strong company of dragon-birthwere slaughtered as they fought amongst themselves;and, last, you lulled asleep the warden's eyes—guards of the Golden Fleece—till then awakeand sleeping never—so, deceiving him,you sent the treasure to the Grecian cities!“Witness my need of super-natured herbs,elixirs potent to renew the years of age,giving the bloom of youth.—You shall not failto grant me this; for not in vain the starsare flashing confirmation; not in vainthe flying dragons, harnessed by their necks,from skies descending bring my chariot down.”A chariot, sent from heaven, came to her—and soon as she had stroked the dragons' necks,and shaken in her hands the guiding reins—as soon as she had mounted, she was bornequickly above, through unresisting air.And, sailing over Thessaly, she sawthe vale of Tempe, where the level soilis widely covered with a crumbling chalk—she turned her dragons towards new regions there:and she observed the herbs by Ossa born,the weeds on lofty Pelion, Othrys, Pindusand vast Olympus—and from here she pluckedthe needed roots, or there, the blossoms clippedall with a moon-curved sickle made of brass—many the wild weeds by Apidanus,as well as blue Amphrysus' banks, she chose,and not escaped Enipeus from her search;Peneian stretches and Spercheian banksall yielded what she chose:—and Boebe's shorewhere sway the rushes; and she plucked up grass,a secret grass, from fair Euboean fieldslife-giving virtues in their waving blades,as yet unknown for transformation wroughton Glaucus.All those fields she visited,with ceaseless diligence in quest of charms,nine days and nine nights sought strong herbs,and the swift dragons with their active wings,failed not to guide the chariot where she willed—until they reached her home. The dragons thenhad not been even touched by anything,except the odor of surrounding herbs,and yet they sloughed their skins, the growth of years. She would not cross the threshold of her homenor pass its gates; but, standing in the field,alone beneath the canopy of Heaven,she shunned all contact with her husband, whileshe built up from the ever-living turftwo altars, one of which upon the rightto Hecate was given, but the oneupon the left was sacred then to you,O Hebe, goddess of eternal youth!Festooning woodland boughs and sweet vervainadorned these altars, near by which she dugas many trenches. Then, when all was done,she slaughtered a black ram, and sprinkled with bloodthe thirsty trenches; after which she pouredfrom rich carchesian goblets generous wineand warm milk, grateful to propitious Gods—the Deities of earth on whom she called—entreating, as she did so, Pluto, lordof ghostly shades, and ravished Proserpine,that they should not, in undue haste,deprive her patient's aged limbs of life.When certain she compelled the God's regard,assured her incantations and long prayerswere both approved and heard, she bade her peoplebring out the body of her father-in-law—old Aeson's worn out body—and when shehad buried him in a deep slumber byher spells, as if he were a dead man, shethen stretched him out upon a bed of herbs.She ordered Jason and his servants thence,and warned them not to spy upon her rites,with eyes profane. As soon as they retired,Medea, with disheveled hair and wildabandon, as a Bacchanalian, pacedtimes three around the blazing altars, whileshe dipped her torches, splintered at the top,into the trenches, dark: with blood, and litthe dipt ends in the sacred altar flames.Times three she purified the ancient manwith flames, and thrice with water, and three timeswith sulphur,—as the boiling mixture seethedand bubbled in the brazen cauldron near.And into this, acerbic juices, roots,and flowers and seeds—from vales Hemonian—and mixed elixirs, into which she caststones of strange virtue from the Orient,and sifted sands of ebbing ocean's tide;white hoar-frost, gathered when the moon was full,the nauseating flesh and luckless wingsof the uncanny screech-owl, and the entrailsfrom a mysterious animal that changedfrom wolf to man, from man to wolf again;the scaly sloughing of a water-snake,the medic liver of a long-lived stag,and the hard beak and head of an old crowwhich was alive nine centuries before;these, and a thousand nameless thingsthe foreign sorceress prepared and mixed,and blended all together with a branchof peaceful olive, old and dry with years. —And while she stirred the withered olive branchin the hot mixture, it began to changefrom brown to green; and presently put forthnew leaves, and soon was heavy with a wealthof luscious olives.—As the ever-rising firethrew bubbling froth beyond the cauldron's rim,the ground was covered with fresh verdure — flowersand all luxuriant grasses, and green plants.Medea, when she saw this wonder tookher unsheathed knife and cut the old man's throat;then, letting all his old blood out of himshe filled his ancient veins with rich elixir.As he received it through his lips or wound,his beard and hair no longer white with age,turned quickly to their natural vigor, darkand lustrous; and his wasted form renewed,appeared in all the vigor of bright youth,no longer lean and sallow, for new bloodcoursed in his well-filled veins.—Astonished, whenreleased from his deep sleep, and strong in youth,his memory assured him, such he wasyears four times ten before that day!—Bacchus, from his celestial vantage sawthis marvel, and convinced his nurses mightthen all regain their former vigor, hepled with Medea to restore their youth.The Colchian woman granted his request. but so her malice might be satisfiedMedea feigned she had a quarrel withher husband, and for safety she had fledto Pelias. There, since the king himselfwas heavy with old age, his daughters gaveher generous reception. And these girlsthe shrewd Medea in a short time won,by her false show of friendliness; and whileamong the most remarkable of herachievements she was telling how she hadrejuvenated Aeson, and she dweltparticularly, on that strange event,these daughters were induced to hope that bysome skill like this their father might regainhis lost youth also. And they begged of herthis boon, persuading her to name the price;no matter if it was large. She did notreply at once and seemed to hesitate,and so she held their fond minds in a deepsuspense by her feigned meditation. Whenshe had at length declared she would restorehis youth, she said to them: “That you may havestrong confidence in this my promised boon,the oldest leader of your flock of sheep shall bechanged to a lamb again by my prized drugs.”Straightway a wooly ram, worn out with lengthof untold years was brought, his great horns curvedaround his hollow temples. After shehad cut his scrawny throat with her sharp knifeThessalian, barely staining it with histhin blood, Medea plunged his carcass ina bronze-made kettle, throwing in it atthe same time juices of great potency.These made his body shrink and burnt awayhis two horns, and with horns his years. And nowthin bleating was heard from within the pot;and even while they wondered at the sound,a lamb jumped out and frisking, ran awayto find some udder with its needed milk.Amazed the daughters looked on and, now thatthese promises had been performed, they urgedmore eagerly their first request. Three timesPhoebus unyoked his steeds after their plungein Ebro's stream, and on the fourth night starsshown brilliant on the dark foil of the sky,and then the treacherous daughter of Aeetesset some clear water over a hot fireand put in it herbs of no potency.And now a death-like sleep held the king down,his body all relaxed, and with the kinghis guards, a sleep which incantations withthe potency of magic words had given.The sad king's daughters, as they had been bid,were in his room, and with Medea stoodaround his bed. “Why do you hesitate,”Medea said. “You laggards, come and drawyour swords; let out his old blood thatI may refill his empty veins againwith young blood. In your hands your father's lifeand youth are resting. You, his daughters, musthave love for him, and if the hopes you haveare not all vain, come, do your duty byyour father; drive out old age at the pointof your good weapons; and let out his bloodenfeebled—cure him with the stroke of iron.”Spurred on by these words, as each one of themwas filial she became the leader inthe most unfilial act, and that she mightnot be most wicked did the wicked deed.Not one could bear to see her own blows, sothey turned their eyes away; and every faceaverted so, they blindly struck him withtheir cruel hands. The old man streaming withhis blood, still raised himself on elbow, andhalf mangled tried to get up from his bed;with all those swords around him, he stretched outhis pale arms and he cried: “What will you do,my daughters? What has armed you to the deathof your loved father?” Their wrong courage leftthem, and their hands fell. When he would have saidstill more, Medea cut his throat and plungedhis mangled body into boiling water. Only because her winged dragons sailedswiftly with her up to the lofty sky,escaped Medea punishment for thisunheard of crime.Her chariot sailed aboveembowered Pelion — long the lofty homeof Chiron—over Othrys, and the valemade famous where Cerambus met his fate.Cerambus, by the aid of nymphs, from therewas wafted through the air on wings, when earthwas covered by the overwhelming sea—and so escaped Deucalion's flood, uncrowned.She passed by Pittane upon the left,with its huge serpent-image of hard stone,and also passed the grove called Ida's, wherethe stolen bull was changed by Bacchus' powerinto a hunted stag—in that same valeParis lies buried in the sand; and over fieldswhere Mera warning harked, Medea flew;over the city of Eurypylusupon the Isle of Cos, whose women worethe horns of cattle when from there had gonethe herd of Hercules; and over Rhodesbeloved of Phoebus, where Telchinian tribesdwelt, whose bad eyes corrupting power shot forth;—Jove, utterly despising, thrust them deepbeneath his brother's waves; over the wallsof old Carthaea, where Alcidamashad seen with wonder a tame dove arisefrom his own daughter's body.And she sawthe lakes of Hyrie in Teumesia's Vale,by swans frequented—There to satisfyhis love for Cycnus, Phyllius gavetwo living vultures: shell for him subdueda lion, and delivered it to him;and mastered a great bull, at his command;but when the wearied Phyllius refusedto render to his friend the valued bull.Indignant, the youth said, “You shall regretyour hasty words;” which having said, he leapedfrom a high precipice, as if to death;but gliding through the air, on snow-white wings,was changed into a swan—Dissolved in tears,his mother Hyrie knew not he was saved;and weeping, formed the lake that bears her name.And over Pleuron, where on trembling wingsescaped the mother Combe from her sons,Medea flew; and over the far isleCalauria, sacred to Latona.—Shebeheld the conscious fields whose lawful king,together with his queen were changed to birds.Upon her right Cyllene could be seen;there Menephon, degraded as a beast,outraged his mother. In the distance, shebeheld Cephisius, who lamented longhis hapless grandson, by Apollo changedinto a bloated sea-calf. And she sawthe house where king Eumelus mourned the deathof his aspiring son.—Borne on the wingsof her enchanted dragons, she arrivedat Corinth, whose inhabitants, 'tis said,from many mushrooms, watered by the rainsprang into being.There she spent some years.But after the new wife had been burnt bythe Colchian witchcraft and two seashad seen the king's own palace all aflame,then, savagely she drew her sword, and bathedit in the blood of her own infant sons;by which atrocious act she was revenged;and she, a wife and mother, fled the swordof her own husband, Jason.On the wingsof her enchanted Titan Dragons borne,she made escape, securely, nor delayeduntil she entered the defended wallsof great Minerva's city, at the hourwhen aged Periphas — transformed by Jove,together with his queen, on eagle wingsflew over its encircling walls: with whomthe guilty Halcyone, skimming seassafely escaped, upon her balanced wings.And after these events, Medea wentto Aegeus, king of Athens, where she foundprotection from her enemies for allthis evil done. With added wickednessAegeus, after that, united herto him in marriage.— All unknown to himcame Theseus to his kingly court.—Beforethe time his valor had established peaceon all the isthmus, raved by dual seas.Medea, seeking his destruction, brewedthe juice of aconite, infesting shoresof Scythia, where, 'tis fabled, the plant grewon soil infected by Cerberian teeth.There is a gloomy entrance to a cave,that follows a declivitous descent:there Hercules with chains of adamantdragged from the dreary edge of Tartarusthat monster-watch-dog, Cerberus, which, vainopposing, turned his eyes aslant from light—from dazzling day. Delirious, enraged,that monster shook the air with triple howls;and, frothing, sprinkled as it raved, the fields,once green—with spewing of white poison-foam.And this, converted into plants, sucked upa deadly venom with the nourishmentof former soils,—from which productive grewupon the rock, thus formed, the noxious plant;by rustics, from that cause, named aconite.Medea worked on Aegeus to presenthis own son, Theseus, with a deadly cupof aconite; prevailing by her artso that he deemed his son an enemy.Theseus unwittingly received the cup,but just before he touched it to his lips,his father recognized the sword he wore,for, graven on its ivory hilt was wroughta known device—the token of his race.Astonished, Aegeus struck the poison-cupfrom his devoted son's confiding lips.Medea suddenly escaped from death,in a dark whirlwind her witch-singing raised.Recoiling from such utter wickedness,rejoicing that his son escaped from death,the grateful father kindled altar-fires,and gave rich treasure to the living Gods. —He slaughtered scores of oxen, decked with flowersand gilded horns. The sun has never shoneupon a day more famous in that land,for all the elders and the common folkunited in festivities,—with wineinspiring wit and song;—“O you,” they sang,“Immortal Theseus, victory was yours!Did you not slaughter the huge bull of Crete?“Yes, you did slay the boar of Cromyon —where now the peasant unmolested plows;“And Periphetes, wielder of the club,was worsted when he struggled with your strength;“And fierce Procrustes, matched with youbeside the rapid river, met his death;“And even Cercyon, in Eleusis losthis wicked life—inferior to your might;“And Sinis, a monstrosity of strength,who bent the trunks of trees, and used his might“Against the world for everything that's wrong.For evil, he would force down to the earth,“Pine tops to shoot men's bodies through the air.Even the road to Megara is safe,“For you did hurl the robber Scyron,—sheer—over the cliff. Both land and sea denied“His bones a resting place—as tossed aboutthey changed into the cliffs that bear his name.“How can we tell the number of your deeds,—deeds glorious, that now exceed your years!“For you, brave hero, we give public thanksand prayers; to you we drain our cups of wine!”And all the palace rings with happy songs,and with the grateful prayers of all the people.And sorrow in that city is not known.— But pleasure always is alloyed with grief,and sorrow mingles in the joyous hour.While the king Aegeus and his son rejoiced,Minos prepared for war. He was invinciblein men and ships—and stronger in his rageto wreak due vengeance on the king who slewhis son Androgeus. But first he soughtsome friends to aid his warfare; and he scouredthe sea with a swift fleet—which was his strength.Anaphe and Astypalaea, bothagreed to join his cause—the first one movedby promises, the second by his threats.Level Myconus and the chalky fieldsof Cimolus agreed to aid, and Syroscovered with wild thyme, level Seriphos,Paros of marble cliffs, and that place whichArne the impious Siphnian had betrayed,who having got the gold which in her greedshe had demanded, was changed to a birdwhich ever since that day imagines goldits chief delight—a black-foot black-winged daw.But Oliarus, Didymae, and Tenos,Gyaros, Andros, and Peparethosrich in its glossy olives, gave no aidto the strong Cretan fleet. Sailing from themMinos went to Oenopia, known realmof the Aeacidae.—Men of old timehad called the place Oenopia; but Aeacusstyled it Aegina from his mother's name.At his approach an eager rabble rushedresolved to see and know so great a man.Telamon met him, and his brother,younger than Telamon, and Phocus whowas third in age. Even Aeacus appeared,slow with the weight of years, and asked him whatcould be a reason for his coming there.The ruler of a hundred cities, sighed,as he beheld the sons of Aeacus,for they reminded him of his lost son;—and heavy with his sorrow, he replied:“I come imploring you to take up arms,and aid me in the war against my foes;for I must give that comfort to the shadeof my misfortuned son—whose blood they shed.”But Aeacus replied to Minos, “Nay,it is a vain request you make, for weare bound in strict alliance to the landand people of Cecropia.”Full of rage,because he was denied, the king of Crete,Minos, as he departed from their shoresreplied, “Let such a treaty be your bane.”And he departed with his crafty threat,believing it expedient not to wastehis power in wars until the proper time.Before the ships of Crete had disappeared,before the mist and blue of waves concealedtheir fading outlines from the anxious throngwhich gathered on Oenopian shores, a shipof Athens covered with wide sails appeared,and anchored safely by their friendly shore;and, presently, the mighty Cephalus,well known through all that nation for his deeds,addressed them as he landed, and declaredthe good will of his people. Him the sonsof Aeacus remembered well, althoughthey had not seen him for some untold years.They led him to their father's welcome home;and with him, also, his two comrades went,Clytus and Butes.Center of all eyes,the hero still retained his charm,the customary greetings were exchanged,the graceful hero, bearing in his handsa branch of olive from his native soil,delivered the Athenian message, whichrequested aid and offered for their thoughtthe treaty and the ancestral league betweentheir nations. And he added, Minos soughtnot only conquest of the Athenian statebut sovereignty of all the states of Greece.And when this eloquence had shown his cause;with left hand on his gleaming sceptre's hilt,King Aeacus exclaimed: “Ask not our aid,but take it, Athens; and count boldly yoursall of the force this island holds, and allthings which the state of my affairs supplies.My strength for this war is not light, and Ihave many soldiers for myself and formy enemy. Thanks to the Gods! the timesare happy, giving no excuse for myrefusal.” “May it prove so,” Cephalusreplied, “and may your city multiplyin men: just now as I was landing, Irejoiced to meet youths, fair and matched in age.And yet I miss among them many whomI saw before when last I visitedyour city.” Aeacus then groaned and withsad voice replied: “With weeping we began,but better fortune followed. Would that Icould tell the last of it, and not the first!Giving my heart command that simple wordsand briefly spoken may not long detain.Those happy youths who waited at your need,who smiled upon you and for whom you ask,because their absence grieves your noble mind,they've perished! and their bleaching bonesor scattered ashes, only may remain,sad remnants, impotent, of vanished power,so recently my hope and my resource.“Because this island bears a rival's name,a deadly pestilence was visitedon my confiding people, through the rageof jealous Juno flaming for revenge.This great calamity at first appeareda natural disease—but soon its powerbaffled our utmost efforts. Medicinesavailing not, a reign of terror sweptfrom shore to shore and fearful havoc raged.“Thick darkness, gathered from descending skies,enveloped our devoted land with heatand languid sickness, for the space of fullfour moons.—Four times the Moon increased her size.Hot south winds blew with pestilential breathupon us. At the same time the diseasedinfection reached our needed springs and pools,thousands of serpents crawling over ourdeserted fields, defiled our rivers withtheir poison. The swift power of the diseaseat first was limited to death of dogsand birds and cattle, or among wild beasts.The luckless plowman marvels when he seeshis strong bulls fall while at their taskand sink down in the furrow. Woolly flocksbleat feebly while their wool falls off withouta cause, and while their bodies pine away.The prized horse of high courage, and of greatrenown when on the race-course, has now lostvictorious spirit, and forgetting hisremembered glory groans in his shut stall,doomed for inglorious death. The boar forgetsto rage, the stag to trust his speed; and eventhe famished bear to fight the stronger herd.“Death seizes on the vitals of all life;and in the woods, and in the fields and roadsthe loathsome bodies of the dead corruptthe heavy-hanging air. Even the dogs,the vultures and the wolves refuse to touchthe putrid flesh, there in the sultry sunrotting upon the earth; emitting steams,and exhalations, with a baneful sweepincreasing the dread contagion's wide extent. So spreading, with renewed destruction gainedfrom its own poison, the fierce pestilenceappeared to leap from moulding carcasesof all the brute creation, till it struckthe wretched tillers of the soil, and thenextended its dominion over allthis mighty city.“Always it beganas if the patient's bowels were scorched with flames;red blotches on the body next appeared,and sharp pains in the lungs prevented breath.The swollen tongue would presently loll out,rough and discolored from the gaping mouth,wide-gasping to inhale the noxious air—and show red throbbing veins. The softest bed.And richest covering gave to none relief;but rather, the diseased would bare himselfto cool his burning breast upon the ground,only to heat the earth—and no reliefreturned. And no physician could be found;for those who ministered among the sickwere first to suffer from the dread disease—the cruel malady broke out uponthe very ones who offered remedies.The hallowed art of medicine becamea deadly snare to those who knew it best.“The only safety was in flight; and thosewho were the nearest to the stricken ones,and who most faithfully observed their wants,were always first to suffer as their wards.“And many, certain of approaching death,indulged their wicked passions—recklesslyabandoned and without the sense of shame,promiscuously huddled by the wells,and rivers and cool fountains; but their thirstno water could assuage, and death alonewas able to extinguish their desire.Too weak to rise, they die in water theypollute, while others drink its death.“A madness seizing on them made their bedsbecome most irksome to their tortured nerves.Demented they could not endure the pain,and leaped insanely forth. Or if too weak,the wretches rolled their bodies on the ground,insistent to escape from hated homes—imagined sources of calamity;for, since the cause was hidden and unknown,the horrible locality was blamed.Suspicion seizes on each frail presenceas proof of what can never be resolved.“And many half-dead wretches staggered outon sultry roads as long as they could stand;and others weeping, stretched out on the ground,died in convulsions, as their rolling eyesgazed upwards at the overhanging clouds;under the sad stars they breathed out their souls.“And oh, the deep despair that seized on me,the sovereign of that wretched people! Iwas tortured with a passionate desireto die the same death—And I hated life.“No matter where my shrinking eyes were turned,I saw a multitude of gruesome formsin ghastly attitudes bestrew the ground,scattered as rotten apples that have droppedfrom moving branches, or as acorns thickaround a gnarled oak.“Lift up your eyes!Behold that holy temple! unto Jovelong dedicated!—What availed the prayersof frightened multitudes, or incense burnedon those devoted altars?—In the midstof his most fervent supplications,the husband as he pled for his dear wife,or the fond father for his stricken son,would suddenly, before a word prevailed,die clutching at the altars of his Gods,while holding in his stiffened hand, a sprayof frankincense still waiting for the fire.How often sacrificial bulls have beenbrought to those temples, and while white-robed priestwas pouring offered wine between their horns,have fallen without waiting for the stroke.“While I prepared a sacrifice to Jove,for my behalf, my country and three sons,the victim, ever moaning dismal sounds,before a blow was struck, fell suddenlybeside the altar; and his scanty bloodran thinly from the knives that slaughtered him.His entrails, wanting all the marks of truthwere so diseased, the warnings of the Godscould not be read—the baneful maladyhad penetrated to the heart of life.“And I have seen the carcases of menlie rotting at the sacred temple gates,or by the very altars, where they fell,making death odious to the living Gods.And often I have seen some desperate manend life by his own halter, and so cheatby voluntary death his fear of death,in mad haste to outrun approaching fate.“The bodies of the dead, indecentlywere cast forth, lacking sacred funeral ritesas hitherto the custom. All the gateswere crowded with processions of the dead.Unburied, they might lie upon the ground,or else, deserted, on their lofty pyreswith no one to lament their dismal end,dissolve in their dishonored ashes. Allrestraint forgotten, a mad rabble foughtand took possession of the burning pyres,and even the dead were ravished of their rest.—And who should mourn them wanting, all the soulsof sons and husbands, and of old and young,must wander unlamented: and the landsufficed not for the crowded sepulchers:and the dense forest was denuded of all trees.“Heart-broken at the sight of this great woe,I wailed, ‘O Jupiter! if truth were toldof your sweet comfort in Aegina's arms,if you were not ashamed of me, your son,restore my people, or entomb my corpse,that I may suffer as the ones I love.’—Great lightning flashed around me, and the soundof thunder proved that my complaint was heard.Accepting it, I cried, ‘Let these, Great Jove,the happy signs of your assent, be showngood omens given as a sacred pledge.’“Near by, a sacred oak tree grown from seedbrought thither from Dodona, spread abroadits branches thinly covered with green leaves;and creeping as an army, on the treewe saw a train of ants that carried grain,half-hidden in the deep and wrinkled bark.And while I wondered at the endless lineI said, ‘Good father, give me citizensof equal number for my empty walls.’Soon as I said those words, though not a windwas moving nor a breeze,—the lofty treebegan to tremble, and I heard a soundof motion in its branches. Wonder notthat sudden fear possessed me; and my hairbegan to rise; and I could hardly standfor so my weak knees tottered!—As I madeobeisance to the soil and sacred tree,perhaps I cherished in my heart a thought,that, not acknowledged, cheered me with some hope. “At night I lay exhausted by such thoughts,a deep sleep seized my body, but the treeseemed always present—to my gaze distinctwith all its branches—I could even seethe birds among its leaves; and from its boughs,that trembled in the still air, moving antswere scattered to the ground in troops below;and ever, as they touched the soil, they grewlarger and larger.—As they raised themselves,they stood with upright bodies, and put offtheir lean shapes; and absorbed their many feet:and even as their dark brown color changed,their rounded forms took on a human shape.“When my strange dream departed, I awoke,the vision vanished, I complained to Heavenagainst the idle comfort of such dreams;but as I voiced my own lament, I hearda mighty murmur echoing through the hallsof my deserted palace, and a multitudeof voices in confusion; where the soundof scarce an echo had disturbed the stilldeserted chambers for so many days.“All this I thought the fancy of my dream,until my brave son Telamon, in hastethrew open the closed doorway, as he called,‘Come quickly father, and behold a sightbeyond the utmost of your fondest dreams!’I did go out, and there I saw such meneach in his turn, as I had seen transformedin that weird vision of the moving ants.“They all advanced, and hailed me as their king.So soon as I had offered vows to Jove,I subdivided the deserted farms,and dwellings in the cities to these menmiraculously raised —which now are calledmy Myrmidons, —the living evidenceof my strange vision. You have seen these men;and since that day, their name has been declared,‘Decisive evidence.’ They have retainedthe well-known customs of the days beforetheir transformation. Patiently they toil;they store the profits of their labor; whichthey guard with valiant skill. They'll follow youto any war, well matched in years and courage,and I do promise, when this east wind turns,this wind that favored you and brought you here,and when a south wind favors our design,then my brave Myrmidons will go with you.”
This narrative and many other taleshad occupied the day. As twilight fell,festivities were blended in the night—the night, in turn, afforded sweet repose.Soon as the golden Sun had shown his light,the east wind blowing still, the ships were stayedfrom sailing home. The sons of Pallas cameto Cephalus, who was the elder called;and Cephalus together with the sonsof Pallas, went to see the king. Deep sleepstill held the king; and Phocus who was sonof Aeacus, received them at the gate,instead of Telamon and Peleus whowere marshalling the men for war. Intothe inner court and beautiful apartmentsPhocus conducted the Athenians,and they sat down together. Phocus thenobserved that Cephalus held in his handa curious javelin with golden head,and shaft of some rare wood. And as they talked,he said; “It is my pleasure to explorethe forest in the chase of startled game,and so I've learned the nature of rare woods,but never have I seen the match of thisfrom which was fashioned this good javelin;it lacks the yellow tint of forest ash,it is not knotted like all corner-wood;although I cannot name the kind of wood,my eyes have never seen a javelin-shaftso beautiful as this.”To him replieda friend of Cephalus; “But you will findits beauty is not equal to its worth,for whatsoever it is aimed against,its flight is always certain to the mark,nor is it subject to the shift of chance;and after it has struck, although no handmay cast it back, it certainly returns,bloodstained with every victim.”Then indeed,was Phocus anxious to be told, whence cameand who had given such a precious gift.And Cephalus appeared to tell him all;but craftily was silent on one strangecondition of the fatal gift. As herecalled the mournful fate of his dear wife,his eyes filled up with tears. “Ah, pity me,”he said, “If Fate should grant me many years,I must weep every time that I regardthis weapon which has been my cause of tears;the unforgiven death of my dear wife—ah, would that I had never handled it!“My sweet wife, Procris!—if you could compareher beauty with her sister's—Orithyia's,(ravished by the blustering Boreas)you would declare my wife more beautiful.“'Tis she her sire Erectheus joined to me,'Tis she the god Love also joined to me.They called me happy, and in truth I was,and all pronounced us so until the Godsdecreed it otherwise. Two joyful monthsof our united love were almost passed,when, as the grey light of the dawn dispelled,upon the summit of Hymettus green,Aurora, glorious in her golden robes,observed me busy with encircling nets,trapping the antlered deer.“Against my willincited by desire, she carried meaway with her. Oh, let me not increaseher anger, for I tell you what is true,I found no comfort in her lovely face!And, though she is the very queen of light,and reigns upon the edge of shadowy spacewhere she is nourished on rich nectar-wine,adding delight to beauty, I could giveno heed to her entreaties, for the thoughtof my beloved Procris intervened;and only her sweet name was on my lips.“I told Aurora of our wedding joysand all refreshing joys of love — and myfirst union of my couch deserted now:“Enraged against me, then the goddess said:‘Keep to your Procris, I but trouble you,ungrateful clown! but, if you can be warned,you will no longer wish for her!’ And so,in anger, she returned me to my wife.“Alas, as I retraced the weary way,long-brooding over all Aurora said,suspicion made me doubtful of my wife,so faithful and so fair.—But many thingsreminding me of steadfast virtue, Isuppressed all doubts; until the dreadful thoughtof my long absence filled my jealous mind:from which I argued to the criminaladvances of Aurora; for if she,so lovely in appearance, did concealsuch passion in the garb of innocenceuntil the moment of temptation, howcould I be certain of the purityof even the strongest when the best are frail?“So brooding—every effort I devisedto cause my own undoing. By the meansof bribing presents, favored by disguise,I sought to win her guarded chastity.Aurora had disguised me, and her guiledetermined me to work in subtle snares.“Unknown to all my friends, I paced the streetsof sacred Athens till I reached my home.I hoped to search out evidence of guilt:but everything seemed waiting my return;and all the household breathed an air of grief.“With difficulty I, disguised, obtainedan entrance to her presence by the useof artifices many: and when Ithere saw her, silent in her grief,—amazed,my heart no longer prompted me to testsuch constant love. An infinite desiretook hold upon me. I could scarce restrainan impulse to caress and kiss her. Palewith grief that I was gone, her lovely facein sorrow was more beautiful—the worldhas not another so divinely fair.“Ah, Phocus, it is wonderful to thinkof beauty so surpassing fair it seemsmore lovable in sorrow! Why relateto you how often she repulsed my feignedattempts upon her virtue? To each pleashe said: ‘I serve one man: no matter wherehe may be I will keep my love for one.’“Who but a man insane with jealousy,would doubt the virtue of a loving wife,when tempted by the most insidious wiles,whose hallowed honor was her husband's love?But I, not satisfied with proof complete,would not abandon my depraved desireto poison the pure fountain I should guard;—increasing my temptations, I caused herto hesitate, and covet a rich gift.“Then, angered at my own success I said,discarding all disguise, ‘Behold the manwhose lavish promise has established proof,the witness of your shameful treachery;your absent husband has returned to this!’“Unable to endure a ruined home,where desecration held her sin to view,despairing and in silent shame she fled;and I, the author of that wickednessran after: but enraged at my deceitand hating all mankind, she wandered farin wildest mountains; hunting the wild game.“I grieved at her desertion; and the firesof my neglected love consumed my health;with greater violence my love increased,until unable to endure such pain,I begged forgiveness and acknowledged fault:nor hesitated to declare that Imight yield, the same way tempted, if such greatgifts had been offered to me. When I had madeabject confession and she had avengedher outraged feelings, she came back to meand we spent golden years in harmony.“She gave to me the hound she fondly loved,the very one Diana gave to herwhen lovingly the goddess had declared,‘This hound all others shall excel in speed.’Nor was that gift the only one was givenby kind Diana when my wife was hers,as you may guess—this javelin I hold forth,no other but a goddess could bestow.“Would you be told the story of both giftsattend my words and you shall be amazed,for never such another sad eventhas added sorrow to the grieving world. “After the son of Laius,—Oedipus,—had solved the riddle of the monster-sphinx,so often baffling to the wits of men,and after she had fallen from her hill,mangled, forgetful of her riddling craft;not unrevenged the mighty Themis brookedher loss. Without delay that goddess raisedanother savage beast to ravage Thebes,by which the farmer's cattle were devoured,the land was ruined and its people slain.“Then all the valiant young men of the realm,with whom I also went, enclosed the field(where lurked the monster) in a meshof many tangled nets: but not a strandcould stay its onrush, and it leaped the crestof every barrier where the toils were set.“Already they had urged their eager dogs,which swiftly as a bird it left behind,eluding all the hunters as it fled.“At last all begged me to let slip the leashof straining Tempest; such I called the hound,my dear wife's present. As he tugged and pulledupon the tightened cords, I let them slip:no sooner done, then he was lost to sight;although, wherever struck his rapid feetthe hot dust whirled. Not swifter flies the spear,nor whizzing bullet from the twisted sling,nor feathered arrow from the twanging bow!“A high hill jutted from a rolling plain,on which I mounted to enjoy the sightof that unequalled chase. One moment caught,the next as surely free, the wild beast seemednow here now there, elusive in its flight;swiftly sped onward, or with sudden turndoubled in circles to deceive or gain.With equal speed pursuing at each turn,the rapid hound could neither gain nor lose.Now springing forward and now doubling back,his great speed foiled, he snapped at empty air.“I then turned to my javelin's aid; and whileI poised it in my right hand, turned awaymy gaze a moment as I sought to twinemy practiced fingers in the guiding thongs;but when again I lifted up my eyes,to cast the javelin where the monster sped,I saw two marble statues standing there,transformed upon the plain. One statue seemedto strain in attitude of rapid flight,the other with wide-open jaws was changed,just in the act of barking and pursuit.Surely some God—if any god controls—decreed both equal, neither could succeed.”Now after these miraculous events,it seemed he wished to stop, but Phocus said.“What charge have you against the javelin?”And Cephalus rejoined; “I must relatemy sorrows last; for I would tell you firstthe story of my joys—'Tis sweet to think,upon the gliding tide of those few yearsof married life, when my dear wife and Iwere happy in our love and confidence.No woman could allure me then from her;and even Venus could not tempt my love;all my great passion for my dearest wifewas equalled by the passion she returned.“As early as the sun, when golden raysfirst glittered on the mountains, I would risein youthful ardor, to explore the fieldsin search of game. With no companions, hounds,nor steeds nor nets, this javelin was alonemy safety and companion in my sport.“And often when my right hand felt its weight,a-wearied of the slaughter it had caused,I would come back to rest in the cool shade,and breezes from cool vales—the breeze I wooed,blowing so gently on me in the heat;the breeze I waited for; she was my restfrom labor. I remember, ‘Aura come,’I used to say, ‘Come soothe me, come intomy breast most welcome one, and yes indeed,you do relieve the heat with which I burn.’“And as I felt the sweet breeze of the morn,as if in answer to my song, my fate impelledme further to declare my joy in song;“ ‘You are my comfort, you are my delight!Refresh me, cherish me, breathe on my face!I love you child of lonely haunts and trees!’“Such words I once was singing, not awareof some one spying on me from the trees,who thought I sang to some beloved Nymph,or goddess by the name of Aura—soI always called the breeze.—Unhappy man!The meddling tell-tale went to Procris witha story of supposed unfaithfulness,and slyly told in whispers all he heard.True love is credulous; (and as I heardthe story) Procris in a swoon fell down.When she awakened from her bitter swoon,she ceased not wailing her unhappy fate,and, wretched, moaned for an imagined woe.“So she lamented what was never done!Her woe incited by a whispered tale,she feared the fiction of a harmless name!But hope returning soothed her wretched state;and now, no longer willing to believesuch wrong, unless her own eyes saw it, sherefused to think her husband sinned.“When dawnhad banished night, and I, rejoicing, rangedthe breathing woods, victorious in the huntpaused and said, ‘Come Aura—lovely breeze—relieve my panting breast!’ It seemed I heardthe smothered moans of sorrow as I spoke:but not conceiving harm, I said again;“ ‘Come here, oh my delight!’ And as those wordsfell from my lips, I thought I heard a softsound in the thicket, as of moving leaves;and thinking surely 'twas a hidden beast,I threw this winged javelin at the spot.—“It was my own wife, Procris, and the shaftwas buried in her breast—‘Ah, wretched me!’She cried; and when I heard her well-known voice,distracted I ran towards her,—only to findher bathed in blood, and dying from the woundof that same javelin she had given to me:and in her agony she drew it forth,—ah me! alas! from her dear tender side.“I lifted her limp body to my own,in these blood-guilty arms, and wrapped the woundwith fragments of my tunic, that I torein haste to staunch her blood; and all the whileI moaned, ‘Oh, do not now forsake me—slainby these accursed hands!’“Weak with the lossof blood, and dying, she compelled herselfto utter these few words, ‘It is my death;but let my eyes not close upon this lifebefore I plead with you! — By the dear tiesof sacred marriage; by your god and mine;and if my love for you can move your heart;and even by the cause of my sad death,—my love for you increasing as I die,—ah, put away that Aura you have called,that she may never separate your soul,—your love from me.’“So, by those dying wordsI knew that she had heard me call the nameof Aura, when I wished the cooling breeze,and thought I called a goddess,—cause of allher jealous sorrow and my bitter woe“Alas, too late, I told her the sad truth;but she was sinking, and her little strengthswiftly was ebbing with her flowing blood.As long as life remained her loving gazewas fixed on mine; and her unhappy lifeat last was breathed out on my grieving face.It seemed to me a look of sweet contentwas in her face, as if she feared not death.”In tears he folds these things; and, as they weptin came the aged monarch, Aeacus,and with the monarch his two valiant sons,and troops, new-levied, trained to glorious arms.