Metamorphoses
Ovid
Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.
- Time gliding by without our knowledge cheats us,
- and nothing can be swifter than the years.
- That son of sister and grandfather, who
- was lately hidden in his parent tree,
- just lately born, a lovely baby-boy
- is now a youth, now man more beautiful
- than during growth. He wins the love of Venus
- and so avenges his own mother's passion.
- For while the goddess' son with quiver held
- on shoulder, once was kissing his loved mother,
- it chanced unwittingly he grazed her breast
- with a projecting arrow. Instantly
- the wounded goddess pushed her son away;
- but the scratch had pierced her deeper than she thought
- and even Venus was at first deceived.
- Delighted with the beauty of the youth,
- she does not think of her Cytherian shores
- and does not care for Paphos, which is girt
- by the deep sea, nor Cnidos, haunts of fish,
- nor Amathus far-famed for precious ores.
- Venus, neglecting heaven, prefers Adonis
- to heaven, and so she holds close to his ways
- as his companion, and forgets to rest
- at noon-day in the shade, neglecting care
- of her sweet beauty. She goes through the woods,
- and over mountain ridges and wild fields,
- rocky and thorn-set, bare to her white knees
- after Diana's manner. And she cheers
- the hounds, intent to hunt for harmless prey,
- such as the leaping hare, or the wild stag,
- high-crowned with branching antlers, or the doe.—
- she keeps away from fierce wild boars, away
- from ravenous wolves; and she avoids the bears
- of frightful claws, and lions glutted with
- the blood of slaughtered cattle.
- She warns you,
- Adonis, to beware and fear them. If her fears
- for you were only heeded! “Oh be brave,”
- she says, “against those timid animals
- which fly from you; but courage is not safe
- against the bold. Dear boy, do not be rash,
- do not attack the wild beasts which are armed
- by nature, lest your glory may cost me
- great sorrow. Neither youth nor beauty nor
- the deeds which have moved Venus have effect
- on lions, bristling boars, and on the eyes
- and tempers of wild beasts. Boars have the force
- of lightning in their curved tusks, and the rage
- of tawny lions is unlimited.
- I fear and hate them all.”
- When he inquires
- the reason, she says: “I will tell it; you
- will be surprised to learn the bad result
- caused by an ancient crime.—But I am weary
- with unaccustomed toil; and see! a poplar
- convenient, offers a delightful shade
- and this lawn gives a good couch. Let us rest
- ourselves here on the grass.” So saying, she
- reclined upon the turf and, pillowing
- her head against his breast and mingling kisses
- with her words, she told him the following tale:
- Perhaps you may have heard of a swift maid,
- who ran much faster than swift-footed men
- contesting in the race. What they have told
- is not an idle tale.—She did excel
- them all—and you could not have said
- whether her swift speed or her beauty was
- more worthy of your praise. When this maid once
- consulted with an oracle, of her
- fate after marriage, the god answered her:
- “You, Atalanta, never will have need
- of husband, who will only be your harm.
- For your best good you should avoid the tie;
- but surely you will not avoid your harm;
- and while yet living you will lose yourself.”
- She was so frightened by the oracle,
- she lived unwedded in far shaded woods;
- and with harsh terms repulsed insistent throngs
- of suitors. “I will not be won,” she said,
- “Till I am conquered first in speed. Contest
- the race with me. A wife and couch shall both
- be given to reward the swift, but death
- must recompense the one who lags behind.
- This must be the condition of a race.”
- Indeed she was that pitiless, but such
- the power of beauty, a rash multitude
- agreed to her harsh terms.
- Hippomenes
- had come, a stranger, to the cruel race,
- with condemnation in his heart against
- the racing young men for their headstrong love;
- and said, “Why seek a wife at such a risk?”
- But when he saw her face, and perfect form
- disrobed for perfect running, such a form
- as mine, Adonis, or as yours—if you
- were woman—he was so astonished he
- raised up his hands and said, “Oh pardon me
- brave men whom I was blaming, I could not
- then realize the value of the prize
- you strove for.” And as he is praising her,
- his own heart leaping with love's fire, he hopes
- no young man may outstrip her in the race;
- and, full of envy, fears for the result.
- “But why,” he cries, “is my chance in the race
- untried? Divinity helps those who dare.”
- But while the hero weighed it in his mind
- the virgin flew as if her feet had wings.
- Although she seemed to him in flight as swift
- as any Scythian arrow, he admired
- her beauty more; and her swift speed appeared
- in her most beautiful. The breeze bore back
- the streamers on her flying ankles, while
- her hair was tossed back over her white shoulders;
- the bright trimmed ribbons at her knees were fluttering,
- and over her white girlish body came
- a pink flush, just as when a purple awning
- across a marble hall gives it a wealth
- of borrowed hues. And while Hippomenes
- in wonder gazed at her, the goal was reached;
- and Atalanta crowned victorious
- with festal wreath.—But all the vanquished youths
- paid the death-penalty with sighs and groans,
- according to the stipulated bond.
- Not frightened by the fate of those young men,
- he stood up boldly in the midst of all;
- and fixing his strong eyes upon the maiden, said:
- “Where is the glory in an easy victory
- over such weaklings? Try your fate with me!
- If fortune fail to favor you, how could
- it shame you to be conquered by a man?
- Megareus of Onchestus is my father,
- his grandsire, Neptune, god of all the seas.
- I am descendant of the King of Waves:
- and add to this, my name for manly worth
- has not disgraced the fame of my descent.
- If you should prove victorious against
- this combination, you will have achieved
- a great enduring name—the only one
- who ever bested great Hippomenes.”
- While he was speaking, Atalanta's gaze
- grew softer, in her vacillating hopes
- to conquer and be conquered; till at last,
- her heart, unbalanced, argued in this way:
- “It must be some god envious of youth,
- wishing to spoil this one prompts him to seek
- wedlock with me and risk his own dear life.
- I am not worth the price, if I may judge.
- His beauty does not touch me—but I could
- be moved by it—I must consider he
- is but a boy. It is not he himself
- who moves me, but his youth. Sufficient cause
- for thought are his great courage and his soul
- fearless of death. What of his high descent;—
- great grandson of the King of all the seas?
- What of his love for me that has such great
- importance, he would perish if his fate
- denied my marriage to him? O strange boy,
- go from me while you can; abandon hope
- of this alliance stained with blood—A match
- with me is fatal. Other maids will not
- refuse to wed you, and a wiser girl
- will gladly seek your love.—But what concern
- is it of mine, when I but think of those
- who have already perished! Let him look
- to it himself; and let him die. Since he
- is not warned by his knowledge of the fate
- of many other suitors, he declares
- quite plainly, he is weary of his life.—
- “Shall he then die, because it must be his
- one hope to live with me? And suffer death
- though undeserved, for me because he loves?
- My victory will not ward off the hate,
- the odium of the deed! But it is not
- a fault of mine.—Oh fond, fond man, I would
- that you had never seen me! But you are
- so madly set upon it, I could wish
- you may prove much the swifter! Oh how dear
- how lovable is his young girlish face!—
- ah, doomed Hippomenes, I only wish
- mischance had never let you see me! You
- are truly worthy of a life on earth.
- If I had been more fortunate, and not
- denied a happy marriage day; I would
- not share my bed with any man but you.”
- All this the virgin Atalanta said;
- and knowing nothing of the power of love,
- she is so ignorant of what she does,
- she loves and does not know she is in love.
- Meanwhile her father and the people, all
- loudly demanded the accustomed race.
- A suppliant, the young Hippomenes
- invoked me with his anxious voice, “I pray
- to you, O Venus, Queen of Love, be near
- and help my daring—smile upon the love
- you have inspired!” The breeze, not envious,
- wafted this prayer to me; and I confess,
- it was so tender it did move my heart—
- I had but little time to give him aid.
- There is a field there which the natives call
- the Field Tamasus—the most prized of all
- the fertile lands of Cyprus. This rich field,
- in ancient days, was set apart for me,
- by chosen elders who decreed it should
- enrich my temples yearly. In this field
- there grows a tree, with gleaming golden leaves,
- and all its branches crackle with bright gold.
- Since I was coming from there, by some chance,
- I had three golden apples in my hand,
- which I had plucked. With them I planned to aid
- Hippomenes. While quite invisible
- to all but him, I taught him how to use
- those golden apples for his benefit.
- The trumpet soon gave signal for the race
- and both of them crouching flashed quickly forth
- and skimmed the surface of the sandy course
- with flying feet. You might even think those two
- could graze the sea with unwet feet and pass
- over the ripened heads of standing grain.
- Shouts of applause gave courage to the youth:
- the cheering multitude cried out to him:—
- “Now is the time to use your strength. Go on!
- Hippomenes! Bend to the work! You're sure
- to win!” It must be doubted who was most
- rejoiced by those brave words, Megareus' son,
- or Schoeneus' daughter. Oh, how often, when
- she could have passed him, she delayed her speed;
- and after gazing long upon his face
- reluctantly again would pass him! Now
- dry panting breath came from his weary throat—
- the goal still far away.—Then Neptune's scion
- threw one of three gold apples. Atalanta
- with wonder saw it—eager to possess
- the shining fruit, she turned out of her course,
- picked up the rolling gold. Hippomenes
- passed by her, while spectators roared applause.
- Increasing speed, she overcame delay,
- made up for time lost, and again she left
- the youth behind. She was delayed again
- because he tossed another golden apple.
- She followed him, and passed him in the race.
- The last part of the course remained. He cried
- “Be near me, goddess, while I use your gift.”
- With youthful might he threw the shining gold,
- in an oblique direction to the side,
- so that pursuit would mean a slow return.
- The virgin seemed to hesitate, in doubt
- whether to follow after this third prize.
- I forced her to turn for it; take it up;
- and, adding weight to the gold fruit, she held,
- impeded her with weight and loss of time.
- For fear my narrative may stretch beyond
- the race itself,—the maiden was outstripped;
- Hippomenes then led his prize away.
- Adonis, did I not deserve his thanks
- with tribute of sweet incense? But he was
- ungrateful, and, forgetful of my help,
- he gave me neither frankincense nor thanks.
- Such conduct threw me into sudden wrath,
- and, fretting at the slight, I felt I must
- not be despised at any future time.
- I told myself 'twas only right to make
- a just example of them. They were near
- a temple, hidden in the forest, which
- glorious Echion in remembered time
- had built to Rhea, Mother of the gods,
- in payment of a vow. So, wearied from
- the distance traveled, they were glad to have
- a needed rest. Hippomenes while there,
- was seized with love his heart could not control.—
- a passion caused by my divinity.
- Quite near the temple was a cave-like place,
- covered with pumice. It was hallowed by
- religious veneration of the past.
- Within the shadows of that place, a priest
- had stationed many wooden images
- of olden gods. The lovers entered there
- and desecrated it. The images
- were scandalized, and turned their eyes away.
- The tower-crowned Mother, Cybele, at first
- prepared to plunge the guilty pair beneath
- the waves of Styx, but such a punishment
- seemed light. And so their necks, that had been smooth.
- Were covered instantly with tawny manes;
- their fingers bent to claws; their arms were changed
- to fore-legs; and their bosoms held their weight;
- and with their tails they swept the sandy ground.
- Their casual glance is anger, and instead
- of words they utter growls. They haunt the woods,
- a bridal-room to their ferocious taste.
- And now fierce lions they are terrible
- to all of life; except to Cybele;
- whose harness has subdued their champing jaws.
- My dear Adonis keep away from all
- such savage animals; avoid all those
- which do not turn their fearful backs in flight
- but offer their bold breasts to your attack,
- lest courage should be fatal to us both.
- Indeed she warned him. — Harnessing her swans,
- she traveled swiftly through the yielding air;
- but his rash courage would not heed advice.
- By chance his dogs, which followed a sure track,
- aroused a wild boar from his hiding place;
- and, as he rushed out from his forest lair,
- Adonis pierced him with a glancing stroke.
- Infuriate, the fierce boar's curved snout
- first struck the spear-shaft from his bleeding side;
- and, while the trembling youth was seeking where
- to find a safe retreat, the savage beast
- raced after him, until at last he sank
- his deadly tusk deep in Adonis' groin;
- and stretched him dying on the yellow sand.
- And now sweet Aphrodite, borne through air
- in her light chariot, had not yet arrived
- at Cyprus, on the wings of her white swans.
- Afar she recognized his dying groans,
- and turned her white birds towards the sound. And when
- down looking from the lofty sky, she saw
- him nearly dead, his body bathed in blood,
- she leaped down—tore her garment—tore her hair —
- and beat her bosom with distracted hands.
- And blaming Fate said, “But not everything
- is at the mercy of your cruel power.
- My sorrow for Adonis will remain,
- enduring as a lasting monument.
- Each passing year the memory of his death
- shall cause an imitation of my grief.
- “Your blood, Adonis, will become a flower
- perennial. Was it not allowed to you
- Persephone, to transform Menthe's limbs
- into sweet fragrant mint? And can this change
- of my loved hero be denied to me?”
- Her grief declared, she sprinkled his blood with
- sweet-smelling nectar, and his blood as soon
- as touched by it began to effervesce,
- just as transparent bubbles always rise
- in rainy weather. Nor was there a pause
- more than an hour, when from Adonis, blood,
- exactly of its color, a loved flower
- sprang up, such as pomegranates give to us,
- small trees which later hide their seeds beneath
- a tough rind. But the joy it gives to man
- is short-lived, for the winds which give the flower
- its name, Anemone, shake it right down,
- because its slender hold, always so weak,
- lets it fall to the ground from its frail stem.
- While with his songs, Orpheus, the bard of Thrace,
- allured the trees, the savage animals,
- and even the insensate rocks, to follow him;
- Ciconian matrons, with their raving breasts
- concealed in skins of forest animals,
- from the summit of a hill observed him there,
- attuning love songs to a sounding harp.
- One of those women, as her tangled hair
- was tossed upon the light breeze shouted, “See!
- Here is the poet who has scorned our love!”
- Then hurled her spear at the melodious mouth
- of great Apollo's bard: but the spear's point,
- trailing in flight a garland of fresh leaves,
- made but a harmless bruise and wounded not.
- The weapon of another was a stone,
- which in the very air was overpowered
- by the true harmony of his voice and lyre,
- and so disabled lay before his feet,
- as asking pardon for that vain attempt.
- The madness of such warfare then increased.
- All moderation is entirely lost,
- and a wild Fury overcomes the right.—
- although their weapons would have lost all force,
- subjected to the power of Orpheus' harp,
- the clamorous discord of their boxwood pipes,
- the blaring of their horns, their tambourines
- and clapping hands and Bacchanalian yells,
- with hideous discords drowned his voice and harp.—
- at last the stones that heard his song no more
- fell crimson with the Thracian poet's blood.
- Before his life was taken, the maenads turned
- their threatening hands upon the many birds,
- which still were charmed by Orpheus as he sang,
- the serpents, and the company of beasts—
- fabulous audience of that worshipped bard.
- And then they turned on him their blood-stained hands:
- and flocked together swiftly, as wild birds,
- which, by some chance, may see the bird of night
- beneath the sun. And as the savage dogs
- rush on the doomed stag, loosed some bright fore-noon,
- on blood-sand of the amphitheatre;
- they rushed against the bard, with swift
- hurled thyrsi which, adorned with emerald leaves
- had not till then been used for cruelty.
- And some threw clods, and others branches torn
- from trees; and others threw flint stones at him,
- and, that no lack of weapons might restrain
- their savage fury then, not far from there
- by chance they found some oxen which turned up
- the soil with ploughshares, and in fields nearby
- were strong-armed peasants, who with eager sweat
- worked for the harvest as they dug hard fields;
- and all those peasants, when they saw the troop
- of frantic women, ran away and left
- their implements of labor strown upon
- deserted fields—harrows and heavy rakes
- and their long spades
- after the savage mob
- had seized upon those implements, and torn
- to pieces oxen armed with threatening horns,
- they hastened to destroy the harmless bard,
- devoted Orpheus; and with impious hate,
- murdered him, while his out-stretched hands implored
- their mercy—the first and only time his voice
- had no persuasion. O great Jupiter!
- Through those same lips which had controlled the rocks
- and which had overcome ferocious beasts,
- his life breathed forth, departed in the air.
- The mournful birds, the stricken animals,
- the hard stones and the weeping woods, all these
- that often had followed your inspiring voice,
- bewailed your death; while trees dropped their green leaves,
- mourning for you, as if they tore their hair.
- They say sad rivers swelled with their own tears—
- naiads and dryads with dishevelled hair
- wore garments of dark color.
- His torn limbs
- were scattered in strange places. Hebrus then
- received his head and harp—and, wonderful!
- While his loved harp was floating down the stream,
- it mourned for him beyond my power to tell.
- His tongue though lifeless, uttered a mournful sound
- and mournfully the river's banks replied:
- onward borne by the river to the sea
- they left their native stream and reached the shore
- of Lesbos at Methymna. Instantly,
- a furious serpent rose to attack the head
- of Orpheus, cast up on that foreign sand—
- the hair still wet with spray. Phoebus at last
- appeared and saved the head from that attack:
- before the serpent could inflict a sting,
- he drove it off, and hardened its wide jaws
- to rigid stone.
- Meanwhile the fleeting shade
- of Orpheus had descended under earth:
- remembering now those regions that he saw
- when there before, he sought Eurydice
- through fields frequented by the blest; and when
- he found her, folded her in eager arms.
- Then lovingly they wandered side by side,
- or he would follow when she chose to lead,
- or at another time he walked in front,
- looking back, safely,—at Eurydice.
- Bacchus would not permit the wickedness
- of those who slaughtered Orpheus to remain
- unpunished. Grieving for the loss of his
- loved bard of sacred rites, at once he bound
- with twisted roots the feet of everyone
- of those Edonian women who had caused
- the crime of Orpheus' death.
- Their toes grew long.
- He thrust the sharp points in the solid earth.
- As when a bird entangled in a snare,
- hid by the cunning fowler, knows too late
- that it is held, then vainly beats its wings,
- and fluttering only makes more tight the noose
- with every struggle; so each woman-fiend
- whose feet were sinking in the soil, when she
- attempted flight, was held by deepening roots.
- And while she looks down where her toes and nails
- and feet should be, she sees wood growing up
- from them and covering all her graceful legs.
- Full of delirious grief, endeavoring
- to smite with right hand on her changing thigh,
- she strikes on solid oak. Her tender breast
- and shoulders are transformed to rigid oak.
- You would declare that her extended arms
- are real branches of a forest tree,
- and such a thought would be the very truth.
- And not content with this, Bacchus resolved
- to leave that land, and with a worthier train
- went to the vineyards of his own Tmolus
- and to Pactolus, though the river was
- not golden, nor admired for precious sands.
- His usual throng of Satyrs and of Bacchanals
- surrounded him; but not Silenus, who
- was then detained from him. The Phrygian folk
- had captured him, as he was staggering, faint
- with palsied age and wine. And after they
- bound him in garlands, they led him to their king
- Midas, to whom with the Cecropian
- Eumolpus, Thracian Orpheus had shown all
- the Bacchic rites. When Midas recognized
- his old time friend Silenus, who had been
- so often his companion in the rites
- of Bacchus, he kept joyful festival,
- with his old comrade, twice five days and nights.
- Upon the eleventh day, when Lucifer
- had dimmed the lofty multitude of stars,
- King Midas and Silenus went from there
- joyful together to the Lydian lands.
- There Midas put Silenus carefully
- under the care of his loved foster-child,
- young Bacchus. He with great delight, because
- he had his foster-father once again,
- allowed the king to choose his own reward—
- a welcome offer, but it led to harm.
- And Midas made this ill-advised reply:
- “Cause whatsoever I shall touch to change
- at once to yellow gold.” Bacchus agreed
- to his unfortunate request, with grief
- that Midas chose for harm and not for good.
- The Berecynthian hero, king of Phrygia,
- with joy at his misfortune went away,
- and instantly began to test the worth
- of Bacchus' word by touching everything.
- Doubtful himself of his new power, he pulled
- a twig down from a holm-oak, growing on
- a low hung branch. The twig was turned to gold.
- He lifted up a dark stone from the ground
- and it turned pale with gold. He touched a clod
- and by his potent touch the clod became
- a mass of shining gold. He plucked some ripe,
- dry spears of grain, and all that wheat he touched
- was golden. Then he held an apple which
- he gathered from a tree, and you would think
- that the Hesperides had given it.
- If he but touched a lofty door, at once
- each door-post seemed to glisten. When he washed
- his hands in liquid streams, the lustrous drops
- upon his hands might have been those which once
- astonished Danae. He could not now
- conceive his large hopes in his grasping mind,
- as he imagined everything of gold.
- And, while he was rejoicing in great wealth,
- his servants set a table for his meal,
- with many dainties and with needful bread:
- but when he touched the gift of Ceres with
- his right hand, instantly the gift of Ceres
- stiffened to gold; or if he tried to bite
- with hungry teeth a tender bit of meat,
- the dainty, as his teeth but touched it, shone
- at once with yellow shreds and flakes of gold.
- And wine, another gift of Bacchus, when
- he mixed it in pure water, can be seen
- in his astonished mouth as liquid gold.
- Confounded by his strange misfortune—rich
- and wretched—he was anxious to escape
- from his unhappy wealth. He hated all
- he had so lately longed for. Plenty could
- not lessen hunger and no remedy
- relieved his dry, parched throat. The hated gold
- tormented him no more than he deserved.
- Lifting his hands and shining arms to heaven,
- he moaned. “Oh pardon me, father Lenaeus!
- I have done wrong, but pity me, I pray,
- and save me from this curse that looked so fair.”
- How patient are the gods! Bacchus forthwith,
- because King Midas had confessed his fault,
- restored him and annulled the promise given,
- annulled the favor granted, and he said:
- “That you may not be always cased in gold,
- which you unhappily desired, depart
- to the stream that flows by that great town of Sardis
- and upward trace its waters, as they glide
- past Lydian heights, until you find their source.
- Then, where the spring leaps out from mountain rock,
- plunge head and body in the snowy foam.
- At once the flood will take away your curse.”
- King Midas did as he was told and plunged
- beneath the water at the river's source.
- And the gold virtue granted by the god,
- as it departed from his body, tinged
- the stream with gold. And even to this hour
- adjoining fields, touched by this ancient vein
- of gold, are hardened where the river flows
- and colored with the gold that Midas left.
- Abhorring riches he inhabited
- the woods and fields, and followed Pan who dwells
- always in mountain-caves: but still obtuse
- remained, from which his foolish mind again,
- by an absurd decision, harmed his life.
- He followed Pan up to the lofty mount
- Tmolus, which from its great height looks far
- across the sea. Steep and erect it stands
- between great Sardis and the small Hypaepa.
- While Pan was boasting there to mountain nymphs
- of his great skill in music, and while he
- was warbling a gay tune upon the reeds,
- cemented with soft wax, in his conceit
- he dared to boast to them how he despised
- Apollo's music when compared with his—.
- At last to prove it, he agreed to stand
- against Apollo in a contest which
- it was agreed should be decided by
- Tmolus as their umpire.
- This old god
- sat down on his own mountain, and first eased
- his ears of many mountain growing trees,
- oak leaves were wreathed upon his azure hair
- and acorns from his hollow temples hung.
- First to the Shepherd-god Tmolus spoke:
- “My judgment shall be yours with no delay.
- Pan made some rustic sounds on his rough reeds,
- delighting Midas with his uncouth notes;
- for Midas chanced to be there when he played.
- When Pan had ceased, divine Tmolus turned
- to Phoebus, and the forest likewise turned
- just as he moved. Apollo's golden locks
- were richly wreathed with fresh Parnassian laurel;
- his robe of Tyrian purple swept the ground;
- his left hand held his lyre, adorned with gems
- and Indian ivory. His right hand held
- the plectrum—as an artist he stood there
- before Tmolus, while his skilful thumb
- touching the strings made charming melody.
- Delighted with Apollo's artful touch,
- Tmolus ordered Pan to hold his reeds
- excelled by beauty of Apollo's lyre.
- That judgment of the sacred mountain god
- pleased all those present, all but Midas, who
- blaming Tmolus called the award unjust.
- The Delian god forbids his stupid ears
- to hold their native human shape;
- and, drawing them out to a hideous length,
- he fills them with gray hairs, and makes them both
- unsteady, wagging at the lower part:
- still human, only this one part condemned,
- Midas had ears of a slow-moving ass.
- Midas, careful to hide his long ears, wore
- a purple turban over both, which hid
- his foul disgrace from laughter. But one day
- a servant, who was chosen to cut his hair
- with steel, when it was long, saw his disgrace.
- He did not dare reveal what he had seen,
- but eager, to disclose the secret, dug
- a shallow hole, and in a low voice told
- what kind of ears were on his master's head.
- All this he whispered in the hollow earth
- he dug, and then he buried all he said
- by throwing back the loose earth in the hole
- so everything was silent when he left.
- A grove thick set with quivering reeds
- began to grow there, and when it matured,
- about twelve months after that servant left,
- the grove betrayed its planter. For, moved by
- a gentle South Wind, it repeated all
- the words which he had whispered, and disclosed
- from earth the secret of his master's ears.
- His vengence now complete, Latona's son
- borne through the liquid air, departed from
- Tmolus, and then rested on the land
- of Laomedon, this side the narrow sea
- dividing Phrygia from the land of Thrace.
- The promontory of Sigaeum right
- and on the left Rhoetaeum loftily arose;
- and at that place an ancient altar had
- been dedicated to great Jove, the god
- Panomphaean. And near that place he saw
- laomedon, beginning then to build
- the walls of famous Troy. He was convinced
- the task exceeded all the power of man,
- requiring great resource. Together with
- the trident-bearing father of the deep,
- he assumed a mortal form: and those two gods
- agreed to labor for a sum of gold
- and built the mighty wall. But that false king
- refused all payment, adding perjury
- to his false bargaining. Neptune, enraged,
- said, “You shall not escape your punishment.”
- And he drove all his waters high upon
- the shores of Troy—built there through perfidy.
- The sad land seemed a sea: the hard-earned wealth
- of all its farmers was destroyed
- and overwhelmed by furious waves.
- This awful punishment was not enough.
- The daughter of the king was soon required
- as food for a sea-monster—. Hesione
- was chained to rugged rocks. But Hercules
- delivered from all harm the royal maid
- and justly he demanded of the king,
- her father, payment of the promised steeds;
- but that perfidious king refused to keep
- his promise. Hercules enraged, because
- all payment was denied to him for his
- great service, captured the twice-perjured walls
- of conquered Troy. And as a fair reward,
- he gave to Telamon, who fought for him,
- Hesione, loved daughter of that king.
- For Peleus had a goddess as his bride
- and he was prouder of his father-in-law
- than of his grandsire. Since not he alone
- was grandson of great Jove, but he alone
- was honored with a goddess for a wife.
- To Thetis, aged Proteus once had said,
- “Oh goddess of the waves, you shall conceive,
- and you shall be the mother of a youth
- who by heroic actions will surpass
- the deeds of his own father, and your son
- shall be superior to his father's power.”
- So Jupiter, although the flame of love
- for Thetis burned his breast, would not embrace
- the lovely daughter of the sea, and urged
- his grandson Peleus, son of Aeacus,
- to wed the green haired maid without delay.
- There is a curved bay of Haemonia,
- where like an arch, two bending arms
- project out in the waves, as if to form
- a harbor; but the water is not deep—
- although enough to hide a shoal of sand.
- It has a firm shore which will not retain
- a foot's impression, nor delay the step—
- no seaweeds grow in that vicinity.
- There is a grove of myrtle near that place
- thick-hung with berries, blended of twin shades.
- A cave within the middle of that grove
- is found, and whether it was formed by art
- or nature is not known, although it seems
- a work of art. There Thetis often went,
- quite naked, seated on her dolphin, which
- was harnessed. Peleus seized her there when she
- was fast asleep: and after he had tried
- to win her by entreaties, while she long
- continued to resist him, he resolved
- to conquer her by violence, and seized
- her neck with both arms. She resorted then
- to all her usual art, and often changed:
- her shape as it was known, so that he failed
- in his attempt. At first she was a bird,
- but while she seemed a bird he held her fast;
- and then she changed herself to a large tree,
- and Peleus clung with ardor to the tree;
- her third disguise was as a spotted tigress,
- which frightened him so that he lost his hold.
- Then, as he poured wine on the heaving sea,
- he prayed unto the sea green gods and gave
- them sacrifice of sheep entrails, and smoke
- of frankincense. He ceased not, till at last
- the prophet of Carpathia, as he rose
- up from a deep wave, said, “Hark unto me,
- O son of Aeacus! and you shall have
- the bride your heart desires: when she at rest
- lies sleeping in the cool wave, you must bind
- her while she is unwary, with strong cords
- and complicated bonds, And never let
- her arts deceive you when she imitates
- a hundred varied forms, but hold her fast,
- whatever she may seem, until she shall
- at length assume the shape she had at first.”
- So Proteus cautioned him, and hid his face
- beneath the waves as his last words were said.
- Now Titan was descending and the pole
- of his bright chariot as it downward bent
- illuminated the Hesperian main;
- and at that time the lovely Nereid,
- Thetis, departing from her ocean wave,
- entered the cavern for desired repose.
- Peleus was waiting there. Immediately,
- just as he seized upon the virgin's limbs,
- she changed her shape and perservered
- until convinced she could not overcome
- his hold—for her two arms were forced apart—
- she groaned and said, “You could not overcome
- me in this way, but some divinity
- has given you the power.” Then she appeared
- as Thetis: and, when Peleus saw her now
- deprived of all deceptions, he embraced
- her and was father of the great Achilles.
- Great Peleus' heart was filled with happiness;
- because of his great son and Thetis his
- dear wife: he was blest in everything, except
- in killing Phocus. The Trachinian land
- received him guilty of his brother's blood;
- when he fled, banished from his native home.
- There Ceyx, who had the fine countenance
- of Lucifer his father, reigned as king,
- without the cost of violence or blood.
- Before this time his days had always given
- him joy and comfort, but all now was changed,
- for he was mourning a loved brother's death.
- Peleus, outwearied with his journey's length.
- Left his fine flock of sheep and all the herds
- he had brought with him, not far from the walls
- of that city, where Ceyx long had reigned.
- He entered with an olive branch all swathed
- in woolen fillets, symbol of good will,
- and with a suppliant hand disclosed his name.
- He told the monarch who he was, also
- his father's name. But he concealed his crime,
- giving untruthful reasons for his flight:
- and begged a refuge either in town or field.
- The king of Trachyn answered with kind words:
- “Ah, Peleus, even the lowest ranks enjoy
- our bounties and our hospitality,
- and you bring with you powers which compell
- attention and respect. Your name is so
- illustrious, and is not Jupiter
- your grandsire? Do not lose your time by such
- entreaties. Everything you may desire
- is yours as soon as known, and all you see
- is partly yours, but in how sad a state!”
- And then he wept. When Peleus and his friends
- asked him the reason of his grief he said,
- “Perchance you deem that bird which lives on prey,
- which is the terror of all other birds,
- had always feathered wings? It was a man.
- And now the vigor of its courage is
- as great as when well known by his man's name,
- Daedalion, bold in wars and strong and harsh,
- and not afraid to hazard violence.
- His father was unequalled Lucifer,
- star of the Morning, who at dawn brings forth
- Aurora, and withdraws the last of all
- the shining stars of heaven.—My brother named
- daedalion, son of that great star, was fond
- of cruel warfare, while I cherished peace
- and loved the quiet of my married life.
- This brother, powerful in the art of war,
- subdued strong kings and nations.—And 'tis he
- transformed from manhood, now a bird of prey,
- that so relentlessly pursues the doves,
- known as the pride of Thisbe's citizens.
- “My brother had a daughter Chione
- so beautiful she pleased a thousand men,
- when she had reached the marriageable age
- of twice seven years. It happened by some chance
- that Phoebus and the son of Maia, who
- returned—one from his Delphi, the other from
- Cyllene's heights—beheld this lovely maid
- both at the same time, and were both inflamed
- with passion. Phoebus waited till the night.
- Hermes could not endure delay and with
- the magic of his wand, that causes sleep,
- he touched the virgin's face; and instantly,
- as if entranced, she lay there fast asleep,
- and suffered violence from the ardent god.
- When night bespangled the wide heaven with stars,
- Phoebus became an aged crone and gained
- the joy he had deferred until that hour.
- “When her mature womb had completed time
- Autolycus was born, a crafty son,
- who certainly inherited the skill
- of wingfoot Mereury, his artful sire,
- notorious now; for every kind of theft.
- In fact, Autolycus with Mercury's craft,
- loved to make white of black, and black of white.
- “But Phoebus' child, for Chione bore twins,
- was named Philammon, like his sire, well known.
- To all men for the beauty of his song.
- And famous for his handling of the lyre.
- “What benefit in life did she obtain
- because she pleased! two gods and bore such twins?
- Was she blest by good fortune then because
- she was the daughter of a valiant father,
- and even the grandchild of the Morning Star?
- Can glory be a curse? Often it is.
- “And surely it was so for Chione.
- It was a prejudice that harmed her days
- because she vaunted that she did surpass
- Diana's beauty and decried her charms:
- the goddess in hot anger answered her,
- sarcastically, ‘If my face cannot
- give satisfaction, let me try my deeds.’
- “Without delay Diana bent her bow,
- and from the string an arrow swiftly flew,
- and pierced the vaunting tongue of Chione.
- Her tongue was silenced, and she tried in vain
- to speak or make a sound, and while she tried
- her life departed with the flowing blood.
- “Embracing her, I shared her father's grief.
- I spoke consoling words to my dear brother,
- he heard them as a cliff might hear the sea.
- And he lamented bitterly the loss
- of his dear daughter, snatched away from him.
- “Ah! when he saw her burning, he was filled
- with such an uncontrolled despair, he rushed
- four times to leap upon the blazing pyre;
- and after he had been four times repulsed,
- he turned and rushed away in headlong flight
- through trackless country, as a bullock flees,
- his swollen neck pierced with sharp hornet-stings,
- it seemed to me he ran beyond the speed
- of any human being. You would think
- his feet had taken wings, he left us far
- behind and swift in his desire for death
- he stood at last upon Parnassus' height.
- “Apollo pitied him.—And when Daedalion
- leaped over the steep cliff, Apollo's power
- transformed him to a bird; supported him
- while he was hovering in the air upon
- uncertain wings, of such a sudden growth.
- Apollo, also, gave him a curved beak,
- and to his slender toes gave crooked claws.
- His former courage still remains, with strength
- greater than usual in birds. He changed
- to a fierce hawk; cruel to all, he vents
- his rage on other birds. Grieving himself
- he is a cause of grief to all his kind.”
- While Ceyx, the royal son of Lucifer,
- told these great wonders of his brother's life;
- Onetor, who had watched the while those herds
- which Peleus had assigned to him, ran up
- with panting speed; and cried out as he ran,
- “Peleus, Peleus! I bring you dreadful news!”
- Peleus asked him to tell what had gone wrong
- and with King Ceyx he listened in suspense.
- “I drove the weary bullocks to the shore,”
- Onetor then began, “About the time
- when the high burning Sun in middle course,
- could look back on as much as might be seen
- remaining: and some cattle had then bent
- their knees on yellow sand; and as they lay
- might view the expanse of water stretched beyond.
- Some with slow steps were wandering here and there,
- and others swimming, stretched their lofty necks
- above the waves. A temple near that sea
- was fair to view, although 'twas not adorned
- with gold nor marble. It was richly made
- of beams, and shaded with an ancient grove.
- “A sailor, while he dried his nets upon
- the shore nearby, declared that aged Nereus
- possessed it with his Nereids, as the gods
- who ruled the neighboring waters. Very near
- it is a marsh, made by the encroaching waves,
- all thickly covered with low willow trees.
- “From there a loud uncanny crashing sound
- alarms the neighborhood. A monster-wolf!
- All stained with mud he breaks forth from the marsh,
- his thundering jaws thick-covered with vile foam
- and clotted blood—his fierce eyes flashing flames
- of crimson: and though he was raging, both
- with fury and with hunger, the true cause
- of his fierce passions was Ferocity.
- “He never paused to sate his ravenous hunger
- with the first cattle that he fell upon,
- but mangled the whole herd, as if at war.
- And some of us, while we defended them,
- were wounded with his fatal bite and killed.—
- the shore and nearest waves were red with blood,
- and marshy fens were filled with mournful sounds—
- the longings of our cattle.—This delay
- is dangerous. We must not hesitate.
- We must unite before all is destroyed!
- Take up your arms. Arm! and unite, I say!
- And bear our weapons for the cause of Right!”
- So spoke the countryman, and yet the loss
- had no effect on Peleus, though severe,
- for he, remembering his red crime, believed
- the Nereid had given him that loss—
- a just misfortune, as an offering
- to the departed Phocus. After this,
- King Ceyx, while he put his armor on,
- ordered his men to arm themselves with their
- best weapons, and to follow his command.
- But his fond wife, Halcyone, aroused
- by such a tumult, ran to him in haste;
- in such haste that her hair was still unfinished,
- and such as had been done, she threw
- in wild disorder.—Clinging to the neck
- of her loved husband, she entreated him
- with words and tears, to send his men along.
- But keep himself at home and so to save
- two lives in one.
- But Peleus said “O queen,
- 'Tis sweet and commendable in you to fear
- but needless. Though you promise generous aid,
- my hope lies not in fighting with the beast,
- I must appease a goddess of the sea.
- And the divinity of ocean must
- be properly adored.”
- A lofty tower
- is near there, and upon its extreme height
- a signal-fire is burning night and day,
- known to the grateful ships. They all went there;
- and from its summit they beheld with sighs,
- the mangled cattle scattered on the shore,
- and saw the ravager among the herd,
- his blood-stained jaws and long hair dripping blood.
- Then Peleus stretched his arms out towards the sea,
- and he implored the azure Psamathe
- to lay aside her wrath and give him aid.
- But she was deaf to any word of Peleus
- entreating her, and would not offer aid,
- till Thetis, interceding on behalf
- of her afflicted husband, moved her will.
- The monster-wolf persisted in his rage,
- even when the sea nymph bade him turn aside.
- His keen ferocity increased by taste
- of new sweet blood; till Psamathe, while he
- was seizing the last mangled heifer's neck,
- transformed him to hard marble. Every part
- of that ferocious monster's shape remained
- but it was changed to marble colored stone,
- which showed the monster was no more a wolf,
- and should no longer be a cause of fear.
- But still, the guiding Fates did not permit
- the banished Peleus to continue there,
- in this land governed by the friendly king.
- A wandering exile, he proceeded north
- into Magnesia; and was purified
- of guilt by King Acastus of that land.
- King Ceyx, disturbed by his loved brother's fate
- and prodigies which happened since that time,
- prepared to venture to the Clarian god,
- that he might there consult the oracle,
- so sanctified to consolation of distress:
- for then the way to Delphi was unsafe
- because of Phorbas and his Phlegyans.
- Before he went he told his faithful queen,
- his dear Halcyone. She felt at once
- terror creep through the marrow of her bones,
- pallor of boxwood overspread her face,
- and her two cheeks were wet with gushing tears.
- Three times she tried to speak while tears and sobs
- delayed her voice, until at last she said:—
- “What fault of mine, my dearest, has so changed
- your usual thoughts? Where is that care for me
- that always has stood first? Can you leave me
- for this long journey with no anxious fear—
- Halcyone, forsaken in these halls?
- Will this long journey be a pleasant change
- because far from you I should be more dear?
- Perhaps you think you will go there by land,
- and I shall only grieve, and shall not fear
- the sea affrights me with its tragic face.
- Just lately I observed some broken planks
- upon our seashore, and I've read and read
- the names of seamen on their empty tombs!
- “Oh, let no false assurance fill your mind
- because your father-in-law is Aeolus.
- Who in a dungeon shuts the stormful winds
- and smoothes at will the troubled ocean waves
- soon as the winds get freedom from his power,
- they take entire possession of the deep,
- and nothing is forbidden their attack;
- and all the rights of every land and sea
- are disregarded by them. They insult
- even the clouds of heaven and their wild
- concussions urge the lightnings to strike fires.
- The more I know of them, for I knew
- them in my childhood and I often saw
- them from my father's home, the more I fear.
- “But, O dear husband! if this new resolve
- can not be altered by my prayers and fears,
- and if you are determined, take me, too:
- some comfort may be gained, if in the storms
- we may be tossed together. I shall fear
- only the ills that really come to us,
- together we can certainly endure
- discomforts till we gain that distant land.”
- Such words and tears of the daughter of Aeolus
- gave Ceyx, famed son of the Morning Star,
- much thought and sorrow; for the flame of love
- burned in his heart as strongly as in hers.
- Reluctant to give up the voyage, even more
- to make Halcyone his partner on
- the dangerous sea, he answered her complaints
- in many ways to pacify her breast,
- but could not comfort her until at last
- he said, “This separation from your love
- will be most sorrowful; and so I swear
- to you, as witnessed by the sacred fire
- of my Star-father, if the fates permit
- my safe return, I will come back to you
- before the moon has rounded twice her orb.”
- These promises gave hope of his return.
- Without delay he ordered a ship should
- be drawn forth from the dock, launched in the sea,
- and properly supplied against the needs
- of travel.—Seeing this, Halcyone,
- as if aware of future woe, shuddered,
- wept, and embraced him, and in extreme woe
- said with a sad voice, “Ah—Farewell!” and then,
- her nerveless body sank down to the ground.
- While Ceyx longed for some pretext to delay,
- the youthful oarsmen, chosen for their strength,
- in double rows began to draw the oars
- back towards their hardy breasts, cutting the waves
- with equal strokes. She raised her weeping eyes
- and saw her husband on the high-curved stern.
- He by his waving hand made signs to her,
- and she returned his signals. Then the ship
- moved farther from the shore until her eyes
- could not distinguish his loved countenance.
- Still, while she could, she followed with her gaze
- the fading hull; and, when that too was lost
- far in the distance, she remained and gazed
- at the white topsails, waving from the mast.
- But, when she could no longer see the sails,
- with anxious heart she sought her lonely couch
- and laid herself upon it. Couch and room
- renewed her sorrow and reminded her
- how much of life was absent on the sea.
- The ship had left the harbor, and the breeze
- shook the taut rigging. Now the captain bade
- the idle oars be drawn up to the sides.
- They ran the pointed sailyards up the mast
- and with spread canvas caught the coming breeze.
- Perhaps the ship had not sailed half her course,
- on every side the land was out of sight
- in fact at a great distance, when, towards dark
- the sea grew white with its increasing waves,
- while boisterous east winds blew with violence.—
- prompt in his duty, the captain warns his crew,
- “Lower the top sails—quick—furl all the sails
- tight to the yards!”—He ordered, but the storm
- bore all his words away, his voice could not
- be heard above the roaring of the sea.
- But of their own accord some sailors rushed
- to draw the oars in, others to secure
- the sides from danger, and some strove to pull
- the sails down from the wind. One pumps the waves
- up from the hold, and pours the rushing sea
- again into the sea; another takes
- the yards off.—While such things are being done
- without command or order, the wild storm
- increases, and on every side fierce winds
- wage a destructive warfare, which stirs up
- the furious waters to their utmost power.
- Even the captain, terrified, confessed
- he did not know the status of the ship,
- and could not order nor forbid the men—
- so great the storm, so far beyond his skill.
- Then he gave up control, while frightened men
- shouted above the rattled cordage shocks,
- and heavy waves were dashed against huge waves,
- and ail the sky reverberated with
- terrific thunders. The deep sea upturned
- tremendous billows, which appeared to reach
- so near the heaven they touched the heavy clouds
- with foam of their tossed waters.—At one time,
- while the great billows churned up yellow sand
- from off the bottom, the wild rolling waves
- were of that color. At another time
- they were more black than water of the Styx.
- Sometimes they levelled, white with lashing foam.