Metamorphoses

Ovid

Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.

Daphne, the daughter of a River God
was first beloved by Phoebus, the great God
of glorious light. 'Twas not a cause of chance
but out of Cupid's vengeful spite that she
was fated to torment the lord of light.
For Phoebus, proud of Python's death, beheld
that impish god of Love upon a time
when he was bending his diminished bow,
and voicing his contempt in anger said;
“What, wanton boy, are mighty arms to thee,
great weapons suited to the needs of war?
The bow is only for the use of those
large deities of heaven whose strength may deal
wounds, mortal, to the savage beasts of prey;
and who courageous overcome their foes.—
it is a proper weapon to the use
of such as slew with arrows Python, huge,
whose pestilential carcase vast extent
covered. Content thee with the flames thy torch
enkindles (fires too subtle for my thought)
and leave to me the glory that is mine.”
to him, undaunted, Venus, son replied;
“O Phoebus, thou canst conquer all the world
with thy strong bow and arrows, but with this
small arrow I shall pierce thy vaunting breast!
And by the measure that thy might exceeds
the broken powers of thy defeated foes,
so is thy glory less than mine.” No more
he said, but with his wings expanded thence
flew lightly to Parnassus, lofty peak.
There, from his quiver he plucked arrows twain,
most curiously wrought of different art;
one love exciting, one repelling love.
The dart of love was glittering, gold and sharp,
the other had a blunted tip of lead;
and with that dull lead dart he shot the Nymph,
but with the keen point of the golden dart
he pierced the bone and marrow of the God.
Immediately the one with love was filled,
the other, scouting at the thought of love,
rejoiced in the deep shadow of the woods,
and as the virgin Phoebe (who denies
the joys of love and loves the joys of chase)
a maiden's fillet bound her flowing hair,—
and her pure mind denied the love of man.
Beloved and wooed she wandered silent paths,
for never could her modesty endure
the glance of man or listen to his love.
Her grieving father spoke to her, “Alas,
my daughter, I have wished a son in law,
and now you owe a grandchild to the joy
of my old age.” But Daphne only hung
her head to hide her shame. The nuptial torch
seemed criminal to her. She even clung,
caressing, with her arms around his neck,
and pled, “My dearest father let me live
a virgin always, for remember Jove
did grant it to Diana at her birth.”
But though her father promised her desire,
her loveliness prevailed against their will;
for, Phoebus when he saw her waxed distraught,
and filled with wonder his sick fancy raised
delusive hopes, and his own oracles
deceived him.—As the stubble in the field
flares up, or as the stacked wheat is consumed
by flames, enkindled from a spark or torch
the chance pedestrian may neglect at dawn;
so was the bosom of the god consumed,
and so desire flamed in his stricken heart.
He saw her bright hair waving on her neck;—
“How beautiful if properly arranged! ”
He saw her eyes like stars of sparkling fire,
her lips for kissing sweetest, and her hands
and fingers and her arms; her shoulders white
as ivory;—and whatever was not seen
more beautiful must be.
Swift as the wind
from his pursuing feet the virgin fled,
and neither stopped nor heeded as he called;
“O Nymph! O Daphne! I entreat thee stay,
it is no enemy that follows thee—
why, so the lamb leaps from the raging wolf,
and from the lion runs the timid faun,
and from the eagle flies the trembling dove,
all hasten from their natural enemy
but I alone pursue for my dear love.
Alas, if thou shouldst fall and mar thy face,
or tear upon the bramble thy soft thighs,
or should I prove unwilling cause of pain!
“The wilderness is rough and dangerous,
and I beseech thee be more careful—I
will follow slowly.—Ask of whom thou wilt,
and thou shalt learn that I am not a churl—
I am no mountain dweller of rude caves,
nor clown compelled to watch the sheep and goats;
and neither canst thou know from whom thy feet
fly fearful, or thou wouldst not leave me thus.
“The Delphic Land, the Pataraean Realm,
Claros and Tenedos revere my name,
and my immortal sire is Jupiter.
The present, past and future are through me
in sacred oracles revealed to man,
and from my harp the harmonies of sound
are borrowed by their bards to praise the Gods.
My bow is certain, but a flaming shaft
surpassing mine has pierced my heart—
untouched before. The art of medicine
is my invention, and the power of herbs;
but though the world declare my useful works
there is no herb to medicate my wound,
and all the arts that save have failed their lord.,”

But even as he made his plaint, the Nymph
with timid footsteps fled from his approach,
and left him to his murmurs and his pain.
Lovely the virgin seemed as the soft wind
exposed her limbs, and as the zephyrs fond
fluttered amid her garments, and the breeze
fanned lightly in her flowing hair. She seemed
most lovely to his fancy in her flight;
and mad with love he followed in her steps,
and silent hastened his increasing speed.
As when the greyhound sees the frightened hare
flit over the plain:—With eager nose outstretched,
impetuous, he rushes on his prey,
and gains upon her till he treads her feet,
and almost fastens in her side his fangs;
but she, whilst dreading that her end is near,
is suddenly delivered from her fright;
so was it with the god and virgin: one
with hope pursued, the other fled in fear;
and he who followed, borne on wings of love,
permitted her no rest and gained on her,
until his warm breath mingled in her hair.
Her strength spent, pale and faint, with pleading eyes
she gazed upon her father's waves and prayed,
“Help me my father, if thy flowing streams
have virtue! Cover me, O mother Earth!
Destroy the beauty that has injured me,
or change the body that destroys my life.”
Before her prayer was ended, torpor seized
on all her body, and a thin bark closed
around her gentle bosom, and her hair
became as moving leaves; her arms were changed
to waving branches, and her active feet
as clinging roots were fastened to the ground—
her face was hidden with encircling leaves.—
Phoebus admired and loved the graceful tree,
(For still, though changed, her slender form remained)
and with his right hand lingering on the trunk
he felt her bosom throbbing in the bark.
He clung to trunk and branch as though to twine.
His form with hers, and fondly kissed the wood
that shrank from every kiss.
And thus the God;
“Although thou canst not be my bride, thou shalt
be called my chosen tree, and thy green leaves,
O Laurel! shall forever crown my brows,
be wreathed around my quiver and my lyre;
the Roman heroes shall be crowned with thee,
as long processions climb the Capitol
and chanting throngs proclaim their victories;
and as a faithful warden thou shalt guard
the civic crown of oak leaves fixed between
thy branches, and before Augustan gates.
And as my youthful head is never shorn,
so, also, shalt thou ever bear thy leaves
unchanging to thy glory.,”
Here the God,
Phoebus Apollo, ended his lament,
and unto him the Laurel bent her boughs,
so lately fashioned; and it seemed to him
her graceful nod gave answer to his love.

There is a grove in Thessaly, enclosed
on every side with crags, precipitous,—
on which a forest grows—and this is called
the Vale of Tempe—through this valley flows
the River Peneus, white with foaming waves,
that issue from the foot of Pindus, whence
with sudden fall up gather steamy clouds
that sprinkle mist upon the circling trees,
and far away with mighty roar resound.
It is the abode, the solitary home,
that mighty River loves, where deep in gloom
of rocky cavern, he resides and rules
the flowing waters and the water nymphs
abiding there. All rivers of that land
now hasten thither, doubtful to console
or flatter Daphne's parent: poplar crowned
Sperchios, swift Enipeus and the wild
Amphrysos, old Apidanus and Aeas,
with all their kindred streams that wandering maze
and wearied seek the ocean. Inachus
alone is absent, hidden in his cave
obscure, deepening his waters with his tears—
most wretchedly bewailing, for he deems
his daughter Io lost. If she may live
or roam a spirit in the nether shades
he dares not even guess but dreads
for Jove not long before had seen her while
returning from her father's stream, and said;
“O virgin, worthy of immortal Jove,
although some happy mortal's chosen bride,—
behold these shades of overhanging trees,
and seek their cool recesses while the sun
is glowing in the height of middle skies—”
and as he spoke he pointed out the groves—
“But should the dens of wild beasts frighten you,
with safety you may enter the deep woods,
conducted by a God—not with a God
of small repute, but in the care of him
who holds the heavenly scepter in his hand
and fulminates the trackless thunder bolts.—
forsake me not! ” For while he spoke she fled,
and swiftly left behind the pasture fields
of Lerna, and Lyrcea's arbours, where
the trees are planted thickly. But the God
called forth a heavy shadow which involved
the wide extended earth, and stopped her flight
and ravished in that cloud her chastity.
Meanwhile, the goddess Juno gazing down
on earth's expanse, with wonder saw the clouds
as dark as night enfold those middle fields
while day was bright above. She was convinced
the clouds were none composed of river mist
nor raised from marshy fens. Suspicious now,
from oft detected amours of her spouse,
she glanced around to find her absent lord,
and quite convinced that he was far from heaven,
she thus exclaimed; “This cloud deceives my mind,
or Jove has wronged me.” From the dome of heaven
she glided down and stood upon the earth,
and bade the clouds recede. But Jove had known
the coming of his queen. He had transformed
the lovely Io, so that she appeared
a milk white heifer—formed so beautiful
and fair that envious Juno gazed on her.
She queried: “Whose? what herd? what pasture fields?”
As if she guessed no knowledge of the truth.
And Jupiter, false hearted, said the cow
was earth begotten, for he feared his queen
might make inquiry of the owner's name.
Juno implored the heifer as a gift.—
what then was left the Father of the Gods?
'Twould be a cruel thing to sacrifice
his own beloved to a rival's wrath.
Although refusal must imply his guilt
the shame and love of her almost prevailed;
but if a present of such little worth
were now denied the sharer of his couch,
the partner of his birth, 'twould prove indeed
the earth born heifer other than she seemed—
and so he gave his mistress up to her.
Juno regardful of Jove's cunning art,
lest he might change her to her human form,
gave the unhappy heifer to the charge
of Argus, Aristorides, whose head
was circled with a hundred glowing eyes;
of which but two did slumber in their turn
whilst all the others kept on watch and guard.
Whichever way he stood his gaze was fixed
on Io—even if he turned away
his watchful eyes on Io still remained.
He let her feed by day; but when the sun
was under the deep world he shut her up,
and tied a rope around her tender neck.
She fed upon green leaves and bitter herbs
and on the cold ground slept—too often bare,
she could not rest upon a cushioned couch.
She drank the troubled waters. Hoping aid
she tried to stretch imploring arms to Argus,
but all in vain for now no arms remained;
the sound of bellowing was all she heard,
and she was frightened with her proper voice.
Where former days she loved to roam and sport,
she wandered by the banks of Inachus:
there imaged in the stream she saw her horns
and, startled, turned and fled. And Inachus
and all her sister Naiads knew her not,
although she followed them, they knew her not,
although she suffered them to touch her sides
and praise her.
When the ancient Inachus
gathered sweet herbs and offered them to her,
she licked his hands, kissing her father's palms,
nor could she more restrain her falling tears.
If only words as well as tears would flow,
she might implore his aid and tell her name
and all her sad misfortune; but, instead,
she traced in dust the letters of her name
with cloven hoof; and thus her sad estate
was known.

“Ah wretched me! ” her father cried;
and as he clung around her horns and neck
repeated while she groaned, “Ah wretched me!
Art thou my daughter sought in every clime?
When lost I could not grieve for thee as now
that thou art found; thy sighs instead of words
heave up from thy deep breast, thy longings give
me answer. I prepared the nuptial torch
and bridal chamber, in my ignorance,
since my first hope was for a son in law;
and then I dreamed of children from the match:
but now the herd may furnish thee a mate,
and all thy issue of the herd must be.
Oh that a righteous death would end my grief!—
it is a dreadful thing to be a God!
Behold the lethal gate of death is shut
against me, and my growing grief must last
throughout eternity.”
While thus he moaned
came starry Argus there, and Io bore
from her lamenting father. Thence he led
his charge to other pastures; and removed
from her, upon a lofty mountain sat,
whence he could always watch her, undisturbed.
The sovereign god no longer could endure
to witness Io's woes. He called his son,
whom Maia brightest of the Pleiades
brought forth, and bade him slay the star eyed guard,
argus. He seized his sleep compelling wand
and fastened waving wings on his swift feet,
and deftly fixed his brimmed hat on his head:—
lo, Mercury, the favoured son of Jove,
descending to the earth from heaven's plains,
put off his cap and wings,— though still retained
his wand with which he drove through pathless wilds
some stray she goats, and as a shepherd fared,
piping on oaten reeds melodious tunes.
Argus, delighted with the charming sound
of this new art began; “Whoever thou art,
sit with me on this stone beneath the trees
in cooling shade, whilst browse the tended flock
abundant herbs; for thou canst see the shade
is fit for shepherds.” Wherefore, Mercury
sat down beside the keeper and conversed
of various things—passing the laggard hours.—
then soothly piped he on the joined reeds
to lull those ever watchful eyes asleep;
but Argus strove his languor to subdue,
and though some drowsy eyes might slumber, still
were some that vigil kept. Again he spoke,
(for the pipes were yet a recent art)
“I pray thee tell what chance discovered these.”
To him the God, “ A famous Naiad dwelt
among the Hamadryads, on the cold
Arcadian summit Nonacris, whose name
was Syrinx. Often she escaped the Gods,
that wandered in the groves of sylvan shades,
and often fled from Satyrs that pursued.
Vowing virginity, in all pursuits
she strove to emulate Diana's ways:
and as that graceful goddess wears her robe,
so Syrinx girded hers that one might well
believe Diana there. Even though her bow
were made of horn, Diana's wrought of gold,
vet might she well deceive.
“Now chanced it Pan.
Whose head was girt with prickly pines, espied
the Nymph returning from the Lycian Hill,
and these words uttered he: ”—But Mercury
refrained from further speech, and Pan's appeal
remains untold. If he had told it all,
the tale of Syrinx would have followed thus:—
but she despised the prayers of Pan, and fled
through pathless wilds until she had arrived
the placid Ladon's sandy stream, whose waves
prevented her escape. There she implored
her sister Nymphs to change her form: and Pan,
believing he had caught her, held instead
some marsh reeds for the body of the Nymph;
and while he sighed the moving winds began
to utter plaintive music in the reeds,
so sweet and voice like that poor Pan exclaimed;
“Forever this discovery shall remain
a sweet communion binding thee to me.”—
and this explains why reeds of different length,
when joined together by cementing wax,
derive the name of Syrinx from the maid.

Such words the bright god Mercury would say;
but now perceiving Argus' eyes were dimmed
in languorous doze, he hushed his voice and touched
the drooping eyelids with his magic wand,
compelling slumber. Then without delay
he struck the sleeper with his crescent sword,
where neck and head unite, and hurled his head,
blood dripping, down the rocks and rugged cliff.
Low lies Argus: dark is the light of all
his hundred eyes, his many orbed lights
extinguished in the universal gloom
that night surrounds; but Saturn's daughter spread
their glister on the feathers of her bird,
emblazoning its tail with starry gems.
Juno made haste, inflamed with towering rage,
to vent her wrath on Io; and she raised
in thought and vision of the Grecian girl
a dreadful Fury. Stings invisible,
and pitiless, she planted in her breast,
and drove her wandering throughout the globe.
The utmost limit of her laboured way,
O Nile, thou didst remain. Which, having reached,
and placed her tired knees on that river's edge,
she laid her there, and as she raised her neck
looked upward to the stars, and groaned and wept
and mournfully bellowed: trying thus to plead,
by all the means she had, that Jupiter
might end her miseries. Repentant Jove
embraced his consort, and entreated her
to end the punishment: “Fear not,” he said,
“For she shall trouble thee no more.” He spoke,
and called on bitter Styx to hear his oath.
And now imperial Juno, pacified,
permitted Io to resume her form,—
at once the hair fell from her snowy sides;
the horns absorbed, her dilate orbs decreased;
the opening of her jaws contracted; hands
appeared and shoulders; and each transformed hoof
became five nails. And every mark or form
that gave the semblance of a heifer changed,
except her fair white skin; and the glad Nymph
was raised erect and stood upon her feet.
But long the very thought of speech, that she
might bellow as a heifer, filled her mind
with terror, till the words so long forgot
for some sufficient cause were tried once more.

and since that time, the linen wearing throng
of Egypt have adored her as a God;
for they believe the seed of Jove prevailed;
and when her time was due she bore to him
a son called Epaphus; who also dwells
in temples with his mother in that land.
Now Phaethon, whose father was the Sun,
was equal to his rival, Epaphus,
in mind and years; and he was glad to boast
of wonders, nor would yield to Epaphus
for pride of Phoebus, his reputed sire.
Unable to endure it, Io's son
thus mocked him; “Poor, demented fellow, what
will you not credit if your mother speaks,
you are so puffed up with the fond conceit
of your imagined sire, the Lord of Day.”
shame crimsoned in his cheeks, but Phaethon
withholding rage, reported all the taunts
of Epaphus to Clymene his mother:
“'Twill grieve you, mother, I, the bold and free,
was silent; and it shames me to report
this dark reproach remains unchallenged. Oh,
if I am born of race divine, give proof
of that illustrious descent and claim
my right to Heaven.” Around his mother's neck
he drew his arms, and by the head of Merops,
and by his own, and by the nuptial torch
of his beloved sisters, he implored
for some true token of his origin.
Or moved by Phaethon's importuned words,
or by the grievous charge, who might declare?
She raised her arms to Heaven, and gazing full
upon the broad sun said; “I swear to you
by yonder orb, so radiant and bright,
which both beholds and hears us while we speak,
that you are his begotten son.—You are
the child of that great light which sways the world:
and if I have not spoken what is true,
let not mine eyes behold his countenance,
and let this fatal moment be the last
that I shall look upon the light of day!
Nor will it weary you, my son, to reach
your father's dwelling; for the very place
where he appears at dawn is near our land.
Go, if it please you, and the very truth
learn from your father.” Instantly sprang forth
exultant Phaethon. Overjoyed with words
so welcome, he imagined he could leap
and touch the skies. And so he passed his land
of Ethiopia, and the Indies, hot
beneath the tawny sun, and there he turned
his footsteps to his father's Land of Dawn.

Glowing with gold, flaming with carbuncles
on stately columns raised, refulgent shone
the palace of the Sun, with polished dome
of ivory gleaming, and with portals twain
of burnished silver. And the workmanship
exceeded all the wealth of gems and gold;
for there had Mulciber engraved the seas
encircling middle earth; the round of earth,
and heaven impending over the land.
And there
amid the waves were azure deities:
melodious Triton and elusive Proteus; there
Aegeaan pressing with his arms the backs.
Of monstrous whales; and Doris in the sea
and all her daughters; some amid the waves
and others sitting on the bank to dry
their sea-green hair, and others borne about
by fishes. Each was made to show a fair
resemblance to her sisters—yet not one
appearance was assigned to all—they seemed
as near alike as sisters should in truth.
And men and cities, woods and savage beasts,
and streams and nymphs, and sylvan deities
were carved upon the land; and over these
an image of the glittering sky was fixed;—
six signs were on the right, six on the left.
Here when audacious Phaethon arrived
by steep ascending paths, without delay
he entered in the shining palace-gates
of his reputed parent, making haste
to stand in his paternal presence. There,
unable to endure the dazzling light,
he waited at a distance.
Phoebus sat,
arrayed in royal purple, on a throne
that glittered with the purest emeralds.—
there to the left and right, Day, Month and Year,
time and the Hours, at equal distance stood;
and vernal Spring stood crowned with wreathed flowers;
and naked Summer stood with sheaves of wheat;
and Autumn stood besmeared with trodden grapes;
and icy Winter rough with hoary hair.
And from the midst, with orbs that view the world,
Phoebus beheld the trembling youth, fear-struck,
in mute amazement, and he said; “Declare
the reason of thy journey. What wilt thou
in this my palace, Phaethon my child
beloved?”
And to him replied the youth;
“O universal light of all the world,
my father Phoebus, if thy name be mine,
if Clymene has not concealed her sin
beneath some pretext, give to me, my sire,
a token to declare thy fatherhood
which may establish my assured descent,
and leave no dark suspicions in our minds.”—
then Phoebus from his shining brows cast down
his circling rays; called Phaethon to him,
and as he held him to his breast replied;
“O child most worthy of thy sire, the truth
was told thee by thy mother; wherefore doubts
to dissipate, consider thy desire,
and ask of me that I may freely give:
yea, let the Nether Lake, beyond our view,
(which is the oath of Gods inviolate)
be witness to my word.”
When this was said
the happy youth at once began to plead
command and guidance of his father's steeds,
wing-footed, and his chariot for a day.
But Phoebus much repented that he sware,
and thrice and four times shook his radiant head;
“Ah, would I might refuse my plighted word;
and oh, that it were lawful to deny
the promised boon.—For I confess, O son,
this only I should keep from thee—and yet
'Tis lawful to dissuade. It is unsafe
to satisfy thy will. It is a great
request, O Phaethon, which neither suits
thy utmost strength nor tender years; for thou
art mortal, and thou hast aspired to things
immortal. Ignorance has made thy thought
transcend the province of the Gods. I vaunt
no vain exploits; but only I can stand
securely on the flame-fraught axle-tree:
even the Ruler of Olympian Gods,
who hurls fierce lightnings with his great right hand,
may never dare to drive this chariot,
and what art thou to equal mighty Jove?
“The opening path is steep and difficult,
for scarcely can the steeds, refreshed at dawn,
climb up the steeps: and when is reached the height,
extreme of midmost Heaven, and sea and earth
are viewed below, my trembling breast is filled
with fearful apprehensions: and requires
the last precipitous descent a sure
command. Then, also, Tethys, who receives
me in her subject waves, is wont to fear
lest I should fall disastrous. And around
the hastening sky revolves in constant whirl,
drawing the lofty stars with rapid twist.
“I struggle on. The force that overcomes
the heavenly bodies overwhelms me not,
and I am borne against that rapid globe.
Suppose the chariot thine: what canst thou do?
Canst thou drive straight against the twisted pole
and not be carried from the lofty path
by the swift car? Art thou deceived to think
there may be groves and cities of the Gods,
and costly temples wondrously endowed?
“The journey is beset with dreadful snares
and shapes of savage animals. If thou
shouldst hold upon thy way without mistake
yet must thy journey be through Taurus' horns,
and through the Bow Haemonian, and the jaws
of the fierce Lion, and the cruel arms
of Scorpion, bent throughout a vast expanse,—
and Cancer's curving arms reversely bent.
“It is no easy task for thee to rule
the mettled four-foot steeds, enflamed in fires
that kindle in their breasts, forth issuing
in breathings from their mouths and nostrils hot;—
I scarce restrain them, as their struggling necks
pull on the harness, when their heated fires
are thus aroused.
“And, O my son, lest I
may be the author of a baneful gift,
beware, and as the time permits recall
thy rash request. Forsooth thou hast besought
undoubted signs of thy descent from me?
My fears for thee are certain signs that thou
art of my race—by my paternal fears
'Tis manifest I am thy father. Lo!
Behold my countenance! and oh, that thou
couldst even pierce my bosom with thine eyes,
and so discover my paternal cares!
“Look round thee on the treasured world's delights
and ask the greatest blessing of the sky,
or sea or land, and thou shalt suffer no
repulse: but only this I must deplore,
which rightly named would be a penalty
and not an honour.—Thou hast made request
of punishment and not a gift indeed.
O witless boy! why dost thou hold my neck
with thy caressing arms? For, doubt it not,
as I have sworn it by the Stygian Waves,
whatever thou shalt wish, it shall be given—
but thou shouldst wish more wisely.”

So were all
his admonitions said, availing naught;
for Phaethon resisted his advice,
and urged again his claim, and eagerly burned
to use the chariot. Wherefore, Phoebus long
delaying and reluctant, took the youth
to view the spacious chariot, gift of Vulcan.—
gold was the axle and the beam was gold,
the great Wheel had a golden tire and spokes
of silver; chrysolites and diamonds
reflected from the spangled yoke the light
of Phoebus.
While aspiring Phaethon admired
the glittering chariot and its workmanship,
the vigilant Aurora opened forth
her purple portals from the ruddy east,
disclosing halls replete with roses. All
the stars took flight, while Lucifer, the last
to quit his vigil, gathered that great host
and disappeared from his celestial watch.
And when his father, Phoebus, saw the earth
and the wide universe in glowing tints
arrayed, as waned the Moon's diminished horns,
far-distant, then he bade the nimble Hours
to yoke the steeds.—At once the Deities
accomplished his commands, and led the steeds,
ambrosia-fed and snorting flames, from out
their spacious stalls; and fixed their sounding bits.
Then with a hallowed drug the father touched
the stripling's face, to make him proof against
the rapid flame, and wrought around his hair
the sun-rays. But, foreboding grief, he said,
while many a sigh heaved from his anxious breast;
“If thou canst only heed thy father's voice—
be sparing of the whip and use with nerve
the reins; for of their own accord the steeds
will hasten. Difficult are they to check
in full career. Thou must not drive the car
directly through five circles, for the track
takes a wide curve, obliquely, and is bound
by the extreme edge of three zones.—It avoids
the Southern Pole, and it avoids the Bear
that roams around the north. The way is plain;
the traces of the Wheel are manifest.
“Observe with care that both the earth and sky
have their appropriate heat—Drive not too low,
nor urge the chariot through the highest plane;
for if thy course attain too great a height
thou wilt consume the mansions of the sky,
and if too low the land will scorch with heat.
“Take thou the middle plane, where all is safe;
nor let the Wheel turn over to the right
and bear thee to the twisted Snake! nor let
it take thee to the Altar on the left—
so close to earth—but steer the middle course.—
to Fortune I commit thy fate, whose care
for thee so reckless of thyself I pray.
“While I am speaking humid night has touched
the margin of Hesperian shores. 'Tis not
for us to idle; we are called away;—
when bright Aurora shines the darkness flies.
Take up the reins! But if thy stubborn breast
be capable of change use not our car,
but heed my counsel while the time permits,
and while thy feet are on a solid base,
but not, according to thy foolish wish,
pressing the axle. Rather let me light
the world beneath thy safe and wondering gaze.”
But Phaethon with youthful vigor leaped,
and in the light-made chariot lightly stood:
and he rejoiced, and with the reins in hand
thanked his reluctant parent.
Instantly
Eous, Aethon, Pyrois and Phlegon,
the winged horses of the Sun, gave vent
to flame-like neighs that filled the shaking air;
they pawed the barriers with their shining hoofs.
Then Tethys, witless of her grandson's fate
let back the barriers,—and the universe
was theirs to traverse. Taking the well-known road,
and moving through the air with winged feet,
they pierced resisting clouds, and spreading wide
their pinions soared upon the eastern wind,
far-wafted from that realm. But Phaethon,
so easy of their yoke, lost all control,
and the great car was tossed,—as tapered ships
when lightened of their ballast toss and heave
unsteady in the surging seas: the car
leaped lightly in the air, and in the heights
was tossed unsteady as an empty shell.
Soon as the steeds perceived it, with a rush
impetuous, they left the beaten track;
regardless of all order and control;
and Phaethon filled with fear, knew not to guide
with trusted reins, nor where the way might be—
nor, if he knew, could he control their flight.
Warmed in the sunshine, never felt before,
the gelid Triones attempted vain
to bathe in seas forbid: the Serpent cold
and torpid by the frozen Pole, too cold
for contest, warmed, and rage assumed from heat
bootes, troubled by the heat, took flight,
impeded by his wain.
And as from skies
of utmost height unhappy Phaethon
beheld the earth receding from his view,
a pallor spread his cheeks with sudden fear;
his knees began to quake; and through the flare
of vast effulgence darkness closed his eyes.
Now vainy he regrets he ever touched
his father's steeds, and he is stunned with grief
that so entreating he prevailed to know
his true descent. He rather would be called
the son of Merops. As a ship is tossed
by raging Boreas, when the conquered helm
has been abandoned, and the pilot leaves
the vessel to his vows and to the Gods;
so, helpless, he is borne along the sky.
What can he? Much of heaven remains behind;
a longer distance is in front of him—
each way is measured in his anxious mind.—
at first his gaze is fixed upon the west,
which fate has destined he shall never reach,
and then his eyes turn backward to the east.—
so, stupefied and dazed he neither dares
to loose the bits, nor tighten on the reins,
and he is ignorant of the horses' names.

He sees horrific wonders scattered round,
and images of hideous animals.—
and there's a spot where Scorpion bends his claws
in double circles, and with tail and arms
on either side, stretches his limbs throughout
the space of two Celestial Signs; and when
the lad beheld him, steeped in oozing slime
of venom, swart, and threatening to strike
grim wounds with jagged spear-points, he was lost;
and, fixed in chills of horror, dropped the reins.
When these they felt upon their rising backs,
the startled steeds sprang forthwith; and, unchecked,
through atmospheres of regions unexplored,
thence goaded by their unchecked violence,
broke through the lawful bounds, and rushed upon
the high fixed stars. They dragged the chariot
through devious ways, and soared amid the heights;
dashed down deep pathways, far, precipitous,
and gained a level near the scorching earth.
Phoebe is wondering that her brother's steeds
run lower than her own, and sees the smoke
of scorching clouds. The highest altitudes
are caught in flames, and as their moistures dry
they crack in chasms. The grass is blighted; trees
are burnt up with their leaves; the ripe brown crops
give fuel for self destruction—Oh what small
complaints! Great cities perish with their walls,
and peopled nations are consumed to dust—
the forests and the mountains are destroyed.
Cilician Taurus, Athos and Tmolus,
and Oeta are burning; and the far-famed Ida
and all her cooling rills are dry and burning,
and virgin Helicon, and Hoemos—later
Oeagrius called—and Aetna with tremendous,
redoubled flames, and double-peaked Parnassus,
Sicilian Eryx, Cynthus—Othrys, pine-clad,
and Rhodope, deprived his snowy mantle,
and Dindyma and Mycale and Mimas,
and Mount Cithaeron, famed for sacred rites:
and Scythia, though a land of frost, is burning,
and Caucasus,—and Ossa burns with Pindus,—
and greater than those two Olympus burns—
the lofty Alps, the cloud-topped Apennines.
And Phaethon, as he inhaled the air,
burning and scorching as a furnace blast,
and saw destruction on the flaming world,
and his great chariot wreathed in quenchless fires,
was suddenly unable to endure the heat,
the smoke and cinders, and he swooned away.—
if he had known the way, those winged steeds
would rush as wild unguided.—
then the skin
of Ethiopians took a swarthy hue,
the hot blood tingling to the surface: then
the heat dried up the land of Libya;
dishevelled, the lorn Nymphs, lamenting, sought
for all their emptied springs and lakes in vain;
Boeotia wailed for Dirce's cooling wave,
and Argos wailed for Amymone's stream—
and even Corinth for the clear Pyrene.
Not safer from the flames were distant streams;—
the Tanais in middle stream was steaming
and old Peneus and Teuthrantian Caicus,
Ismenus, rapid and Arcadian Erymanthus;
and even Xanthus destined for a second burning,
and tawny-waved Lycormas, and Meander,
turning and twisting, and Thracian Melas burns,
and the Laconian Eurotas burns,
the mighty Babylonian Euphrates,
Orontes and the Ganges, swift Thermodon,
Ister and Phasis and Alpheus boil.
The banks of Spercheus burn, the gold of Tagus
is melting in the flames. The swans whose songs
enhanced the beauties of Maeonian banks
are scalded in the Cayster's middle wave.
The Nile affrighted fled to parts remote,
and hid his head forever from the world:
now empty are his seven mouths, and dry
without or wave or stream; and also dry
Ismenian Hebrus, Strymon and the streams
of Hesper-Land, the rivers Rhine and Rhone,
and Po, and Tiber, ruler of the world.
And even as the ground asunder burst,
the light amazed in gloomy Tartarus
the King Infernal and his Spouse. The sea
contracted and his level waste became
a sandy desert. The huge mountain tops,
once covered by the ocean's waves, reared up,
by which the scattered Cyclades increased.
Even the fishes sought for deeper pools;—
the crooked dolphins dared not skip the waves;
the lifeless sea-calves floated on the top;
and it is even famed that Nereus hid
with Doris and her daughters, deep below
in seething caverns. With a dauntless mien
thrice Neptune tried to thrust his arms above
the waters;—thrice the heated air overcame
his courage.
Then the genial Earth, although
surrounded by the waters of the sea,
was parched and dry; for all her streams had hid
deep in the darkness of her winding caves.—
she lifted her productive countenance,
up to her rounded neck, and held her palms
on her sad brows; and as the mountains huge
trembled and tottered, beneath her wonted plane
declined she for a space—and thus began,
with parched voice;
“If this is thy decree,
O, Highest of the Gods,—if I have sinned
why do thy lightnings linger? For if doomed
by fires consuming I to perish must,
let me now die in thy celestial flames—
hurled by thine arm—and thus alleviate,
by thine omnipotence, this agony.
“How difficult to open my parched mouth,
and speak these words! (the vapours choking her),
behold my scorching hair, and see the clouds
of ashes falling on my blinded eyes,
and on my features! What a recompense
for my fertility! How often I
have suffered from the wounds of crooked plows
and rending harrows—tortured year by year!
For this I give to cattle juicy leaves
and fruits to man and frankincense to thee!
“Suppose destruction is my just award
what have the waters and thy brother done?
Why should thy brother's cooling waves decrease
and thus recede so distant from the skies?
If not thy brother's good nor mine may touch
thy mercy, let the pity of thy Heaven,
for lo, the smoking poles on either side
attest, if flames consume them or destroy,
the ruin of thy palace. Atlas, huge,
with restive shoulders hardly can support
the burning heavens. If the seas and lands
together perish and thy palace fall,
the universe confused will plunge once more
to ancient Chaos. Save it from this wreck—
if anything survive the fury of the flames.”

So made the tortured Earth an end of speech;
and she was fain to hide her countenance
in caves that border on the nether night.
But now the Almighty Father, having called
to witness all the Gods of Heaven, and him
who gave the car, that, else his power be shown,
must perish all in dire confusion, high
he mounted to the altitude from which
he spreads the mantling clouds, and fulminates
his dreadful thunders and swift lightning-bolts
terrific.—Clouds were none to find on the earth,
and the surrounding skies were void of rain.—
Jove, having reached that summit, stood and poised
in his almighty hand a flashing dart,
and, hurling it, deprived of life and seat
the youthful charioteer, and struck with fire
the raging flames— and by the same great force
those flames enveloping the earth were quenched,
and he who caused their fury lost his life.
Frantic in their affright the horses sprang
across the bounded way and cast their yokes,
and through the tangled harness lightly leaped.
And here the scattered harness lay, and there
the shattered axle, wrenched from off the pole,
and various portions of the broken car;
spokes of the broken Wheel were scattered round.
And far fell Phaethon with flaming hair;
as haply from the summer sky appears
a falling star, although it never drops
to startled earth.—Far distant from his home
the deep Eridanus received the lad
and bathed his foaming face. His body charred
by triple flames Hesperian Naiads bore,
still smoking, to a tomb, and this engraved
upon the stone; “Here Phaethon's remains
lie buried. He who drove his father's car
and fell, although he made a great attempt.”
Filled with consuming woe, his father hid
his countenance which grief had overcast.
And now, surpassing our belief, they say
a day passed over with no glowing sun;—
but light-affording flames appeared to change
disaster to the cause of good.
Amazed,
the woeful Clymene, when she had moaned
in grief, amid her lamentations tore
her bosom, as across the world she roamed,
at first to seek his lifeless corpse, and then
his bones. She wandered to that distant land
and found at last his bones ensepulchred.
There, clinging to the grave she fell and bathed
with many tears his name on marble carved,
and with her bosom warmed the freezing
stone.
And all the daughters of the Sun went there
giving their tears, alas a useless gift;—
they wept and beat their breasts, and day and night
called, “Phaethon,” who heard not any sound
of their complaint:—and there they lay foredone,
all scattered round the tomb.
The silent moon
had four times joined her horns and filled her disk,
while they, according to an ancient rite,
made lamentation. Prone upon the ground,
the eldest, Phaethusa, would arise
from there, but found her feet were growing stiff;
and uttered moan. Lampetia wished to aid
her sister but was hindered by new roots;
a third when she would tear her hair, plucked forth
but leaves: another wailed to find her legs
were fastened in a tree; another moaned
to find her arms to branches had been changed.
And while they wondered, bark enclosed their thighs,
and covered their smooth bellies, and their breasts,
and shoulders and their hands, but left untouched
their lips that called upon their mother's name.
What can she do for them? Hither she runs
and thither runs, wherever frenzy leads.
She kisses them, alas, while yet she may!
But not content with this, she tried to hale
their bodies from the trees; and she would tear
the tender branches with her hands, but lo!
The blood oozed out as from a bleeding wound;
and as she wounded them they shrieked aloud,
“Spare me! O mother spare me; in the tree
my flesh is torn! farewell! farewell! farewell!”
And as they spoke the bark enclosed their lips.
Their tears flow forth, and from the new-formed
boughs
amber distils and slowly hardens in the sun;
and far from there upon the waves is borne
to deck the Latin women.
Cycnus, son
of Sthenelus, by his maternal house
akin to Phaethon, and thrice by love
allied, beheld this wonderful event.—
he left his kingdom of Liguria,
and all its peopled cities, to lament
where the sad sisters had increased the woods,
beside the green banks of Eridanus.
There, as he made complaint, his manly voice
began to pipe a treble, shrill; and long
gray plumes concealed his hair. A slender neck
extended from his breast, and reddening toes
were joined together by a membrane. Wings
grew from his sides, and from his mouth was made
a blunted beak. Now Cycnus is a swan,
and yet he fears to trust the skies and Jove,
for he remembers fires, unjustly sent,
and therefore shuns the heat that he abhors,
and haunts the spacious lakes and pools and streams
that quench the fires.
In squalid garb, meanwhile,
and destitute of all his rays, the sire
of Phaethon, as dark as when eclipse bedims
his Wheel, abhors himself and hates the light,
shuns the bright day, gives up his mind to grief,
adds passion to his woe, denies the earth
his countenance, and thus laments; “My lot
was ever restless from the dawn of time,
and I am weary of this labour, void
and endless. Therefore, let who will urge forth
my car, light-bearing, and if none may dare,
when all the Gods of Heaven acknowledge it,
let Jove himself essay the task. Perchance,
when he takes up the reins, he may forget
his dreadful lightning that bereaves of child
a father's love; and as he tries the strength
of those flame-footed steeds will know, in truth,
the lad who failed to guide my chariot
deserved not death.”
But all the Deities
encircle Phoebus as he makes complaint,
and with their supplications they entreat
him not to plunge the world in darkness. Jove
would find excuses for the lightning-bolt,
hurled from his hand, and adds imperious threats
to his entreaties. Phoebus calls his steeds,
frenzied with their maddening fires, and
breaks
their fury, as he vents with stinging lash
his rage upon them, and in passion lays
on them the death of Phaethon his son.

Now after Phaethon had suffered death
for the vast ruin wrought by scorching flames,
all the great walls of Heaven's circumference,
unmeasured, views the Father of the Gods,
with searching care, that none impaired by heat
may fall in ruins. Well assured they stand
in self-sustaining strength, his view, at last,
on all the mundane works of man is turned;—
his loving gaze long resting on his own
Arcadia. And he starts the streams and springs
that long have feared to flow; paints the wide earth
with verdant fields; covers the trees with leaves,
and clothes the injured forests in their green.
While wandering in the world, he stopped amazed,
when he beheld the lovely Nymph, Calisto,
and fires of love were kindled in his breast.
Calisto was not clothed in sumptuous robes,
nor did she deck her hair in artful coils;
but with a buckle she would gird her robe,
and bind her long hair with a fillet white.
She bore a slender javelin in her hand,
or held the curving bow; and thus in arms
as chaste Diana, none of Maenalus
was loved by that fair goddess more than she.
But everything must change. When bright the sun
rolled down the sky, beyond his middle course,
she pierced a secret thicket, known to her,
and having slipped the quiver from her arm,
she loosed the bended bow, and softly down
upon the velvet turf reclining, pressed
her white neck on the quiver while she slept.
When Jupiter beheld her, negligent
and beautiful, he argued thus, “How can
my consort, Juno, learn of this? And yet,
if chance should give her knowledge, what care I?
Let gain offset the scolding of her tongue!”
This said, the god transformed himself and took
Diana's form—assumed Diana's dress
and imitating her awoke the maid,
and spoke in gentle tones, “What mountain slope,
O virgin of my train, hath been thy chase?”
Which, having heard, Calisto, rose and said,
“Hail, goddess! greater than celestial Jove!
I would declare it though he heard the words.”
Jove heard and smiled, well pleased to be preferred
above himself, and kissed her many times,
and strained her in his arms, while she began
to tell the varied fortunes of her hunt.—
but when his ardent love was known to her,
she struggled to escape from his embrace:
ah, how could she, a tender maid, resist
almighty Jove?—Be sure, Saturnia
if thou hadst only witnessed her thy heart
had shown more pity!—
Jupiter on wings,
transcendent, sought his glorious heights;
but she, in haste departing from that grove,
almost forgot her quiver and her bow.
Behold, Diana, with her virgin train,
when hunting on the slopes of Maenalus,
amidst the pleasures of exciting sport,
espied the Nymph and called her, who, afraid
that Jove apparelled in disguise deceived,
drew backward for a moment, till appeared
to her the lovely Nymphs that followed: thus,
assured deceit was none, she ventured near.
Alas, how difficult to hide disgrace!
She could not raise her vision from the ground,
nor as the leader of the hunting Nymphs,
as was her wont, walk by the goddess' side.
Her silence and her blushes were the signs
of injured honour. Ah Diana, thou,
if thou wert not a virgin, wouldst perceive
and pity her unfortunate distress.
The Moon's bent horns were rising from their ninth
sojourn, when, fainting from Apollo's flames,
the goddess of the Chase observed a cool
umbrageous grove, from which a murmuring stream
ran babbling gently over golden sands.
When she approved the spot, lightly she struck
her foot against the ripples of the stream,
and praising it began; “Far from the gaze
of all the curious we may bathe our limbs,
and sport in this clear water.” Quickly they
undid their garments,—but Calisto hid
behind the others, till they knew her state.—
Diana in a rage exclaimed, “Away!
Thou must not desecrate our sacred springs!”
And she was driven thence.