Metamorphoses
Ovid
Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.
- Tiresias' fame of prophecy was spread
- through all the cities of Aonia,
- for his unerring answers unto all
- who listened to his words. And first of those
- that harkened to his fateful prophecies,
- a lovely Nymph, named Liriope, came
- with her dear son, who then fifteen, might seem
- a man or boy—he who was born to her
- upon the green merge of Cephissus' stream—
- that mighty River-God whom she declared
- the father of her boy.—
- she questioned him.
- Imploring him to tell her if her son,
- unequalled for his beauty, whom she called
- Narcissus, might attain a ripe old age.
- To which the blind seer answered in these words,
- “If he but fail to recognize himself,
- a long life he may have, beneath the sun,”—
- so, frivolous the prophet's words appeared;
- and yet the event, the manner of his death,
- the strange delusion of his frenzied love, confirmed it.
- Three times five years so were passed.
- Another five-years, and the lad might seem
- a young man or a boy. And many a youth,
- and many a damsel sought to gain his love;
- but such his mood and spirit and his pride,
- none gained his favour.
- Once a noisy Nymph,
- (who never held her tongue when others spoke,
- who never spoke till others had begun)
- mocking Echo, spied him as he drove,
- in his delusive nets, some timid stags.—
- for Echo was a Nymph, in olden time,—
- and, more than vapid sound,—possessed a form:
- and she was then deprived the use of speech,
- except to babble and repeat the words,
- once spoken, over and over.
- Juno confused
- her silly tongue, because she often held
- that glorious goddess with her endless tales,
- till many a hapless Nymph, from Jove's embrace,
- had made escape adown a mountain. But
- for this, the goddess might have caught them. Thus
- the glorious Juno, when she knew her guile;
- “Your tongue, so freely wagged at my expense,
- shall be of little use; your endless voice,
- much shorter than your tongue.” At once the Nymph
- was stricken as the goddess had decreed;—
- and, ever since, she only mocks the sounds
- of others' voices, or, perchance, returns
- their final words.
- One day, when she observed
- Narcissus wandering in the pathless woods,
- she loved him and she followed him, with soft
- and stealthy tread.—The more she followed him
- the hotter did she burn, as when the flame
- flares upward from the sulphur on the torch.
- Oh, how she longed to make her passion known!
- To plead in soft entreaty! to implore his love!
- But now, till others have begun, a mute
- of Nature she must be. She cannot choose
- but wait the moment when his voice may give
- to her an answer.
- Presently the youth,
- by chance divided from his trusted friends,
- cries loudly, “Who is here?” and Echo, “Here!”
- Replies. Amazed, he casts his eyes around,
- and calls with louder voice, “Come here!” “Come here!”
- She calls the youth who calls.—He turns to see
- who calls him and, beholding naught exclaims,
- “Avoid me not!” “Avoid me not!” returns.
- He tries again, again, and is deceived
- by this alternate voice, and calls aloud;
- “Oh let us come together!” Echo cries,
- “Oh let us come together!” Never sound
- seemed sweeter to the Nymph, and from the woods
- she hastens in accordance with her words,
- and strives to wind her arms around his neck.
- He flies from her and as he leaves her says,
- “Take off your hands! you shall not fold your arms
- around me. Better death than such a one
- should ever caress me!” Naught she answers save,
- “Caress me!”
- Thus rejected she lies hid
- in the deep woods, hiding her blushing face
- with the green leaves; and ever after lives
- concealed in lonely caverns in the hills.
- But her great love increases with neglect;
- her miserable body wastes away,
- wakeful with sorrows; leanness shrivels up
- her skin, and all her lovely features melt,
- as if dissolved upon the wafting winds—
- nothing remains except her bones and voice—
- her voice continues, in the wilderness;
- her bones have turned to stone. She lies concealed
- in the wild woods, nor is she ever seen
- on lonely mountain range; for, though we hear
- her calling in the hills, 'tis but a voice,
- a voice that lives, that lives among the hills.
- Thus he deceived the Nymph and many more,
- sprung from the mountains or the sparkling waves;
- and thus he slighted many an amorous youth.—
- and therefore, some one whom he once despised,
- lifting his hands to Heaven, implored the Gods,
- “If he should love deny him what he loves!”
- and as the prayer was uttered it was heard
- by Nemesis, who granted her assent.
- There was a fountain silver-clear and bright,
- which neither shepherds nor the wild she-goats,
- that range the hills, nor any cattle's mouth
- had touched—its waters were unsullied—birds
- disturbed it not; nor animals, nor boughs
- that fall so often from the trees. Around
- sweet grasses nourished by the stream grew; trees
- that shaded from the sun let balmy airs
- temper its waters. Here Narcissus, tired
- of hunting and the heated noon, lay down,
- attracted by the peaceful solitudes
- and by the glassy spring. There as he stooped
- to quench his thirst another thirst increased.
- While he is drinking he beholds himself
- reflected in the mirrored pool—and loves;
- loves an imagined body which contains
- no substance, for he deems the mirrored shade
- a thing of life to love. He cannot move,
- for so he marvels at himself, and lies
- with countenance unchanged, as if indeed
- a statue carved of Parian marble. Long,
- supine upon the bank, his gaze is fixed
- on his own eyes, twin stars; his fingers shaped
- as Bacchus might desire, his flowing hair
- as glorious as Apollo's, and his cheeks
- youthful and smooth; his ivory neck, his mouth
- dreaming in sweetness, his complexion fair
- and blushing as the rose in snow-drift white.
- All that is lovely in himself he loves,
- and in his witless way he wants himself:—
- he who approves is equally approved;
- he seeks, is sought, he burns and he is burnt.
- And how he kisses the deceitful fount;
- and how he thrusts his arms to catch the neck
- that's pictured in the middle of the stream!
- Yet never may he wreathe his arms around
- that image of himself. He knows not what
- he there beholds, but what he sees inflames
- his longing, and the error that deceives
- allures his eyes. But why, O foolish boy,
- so vainly catching at this flitting form?
- The cheat that you are seeking has no place.
- Avert your gaze and you will lose your love,
- for this that holds your eyes is nothing save
- the image of yourself reflected back to you.
- It comes and waits with you; it has no life;
- it will depart if you will only go.
- Nor food nor rest can draw him thence—outstretched
- upon the overshadowed green, his eyes
- fixed on the mirrored image never may know
- their longings satisfied, and by their sight
- he is himself undone. Raising himself
- a moment, he extends his arms around,
- and, beckoning to the murmuring forest; “Oh,
- ye aisled wood was ever man in love
- more fatally than I? Your silent paths
- have sheltered many a one whose love was told,
- and ye have heard their voices. Ages vast
- have rolled away since your forgotten birth,
- but who is he through all those weary years
- that ever pined away as I? Alas,
- this fatal image wins my love, as I
- behold it. But I cannot press my arms
- around the form I see, the form that gives
- me joy. What strange mistake has intervened
- betwixt us and our love? It grieves me more
- that neither lands nor seas nor mountains, no,
- nor walls with closed gates deny our loves,
- but only a little water keeps us far
- asunder. Surely he desires my love
- and my embraces, for as oft I strive
- to kiss him, bending to the limpid stream
- my lips, so often does he hold his face
- fondly to me, and vainly struggles up.
- It seems that I could touch him. 'Tis a strange
- delusion that is keeping us apart.
- “Whoever thou art, Come up! Deceive me not!
- Oh, whither when I fain pursue art thou?
- Ah, surely I am young and fair, the Nymphs
- have loved me; and when I behold thy smiles
- I cannot tell thee what sweet hopes arise.
- When I extend my loving arms to thee
- thine also are extended me — thy smiles
- return my own. When I was weeping, I
- have seen thy tears, and every sign I make
- thou cost return; and often thy sweet lips
- have seemed to move, that, peradventure words,
- which I have never heard, thou hast returned.
- “No more my shade deceives me, I perceive
- 'Tis I in thee—I love myself—the flame
- arises in my breast and burns my heart—
- what shall I do? Shall I at once implore?
- Or should I linger till my love is sought?
- What is it I implore? The thing that I
- desire is mine—abundance makes me poor.
- Oh, I am tortured by a strange desire
- unknown to me before, for I would fain
- put off this mortal form; which only means
- I wish the object of my love away.
- Grief saps my strength, the sands of life are run,
- and in my early youth am I cut off;
- but death is not my bane—it ends my woe.—
- I would not death for this that is my love,
- as two united in a single soul
- would die as one.”
- He spoke; and crazed with love,
- returned to view the same face in the pool;
- and as he grieved his tears disturbed the stream,
- and ripples on the surface, glassy clear,
- defaced his mirrored form. And thus the youth,
- when he beheld that lovely shadow go;
- “Ah whither cost thou fly? Oh, I entreat
- thee leave me not. Alas, thou cruel boy
- thus to forsake thy lover. Stay with me
- that I may see thy lovely form, for though
- I may not touch thee I shall feed my eyes
- and soothe my wretched pains.” And while he spoke
- he rent his garment from the upper edge,
- and beating on his naked breast, all white
- as marble, every stroke produced a tint
- as lovely as the apple streaked with red,
- or as the glowing grape when purple bloom
- touches the ripening clusters.
- When as glass
- again the rippling waters smoothed, and when
- such beauty in the stream the youth observed,
- no more could he endure. As in the flame
- the yellow wax, or as the hoar-frost melts
- in early morning 'neath the genial sun;
- so did he pine away, by love consumed,
- and slowly wasted by a hidden flame.
- No vermeil bloom now mingled in the white
- of his complexion fair; no strength has he,
- no vigor, nor the comeliness that wrought
- for love so long: alas, that handsome form
- by Echo fondly loved may please no more.
- But when she saw him in his hapless plight,
- though angry at his scorn, she only grieved.
- As often as the love-lore boy complained,
- “Alas!” “Alas!” her echoing voice returned;
- and as he struck his hands against his arms,
- she ever answered with her echoing sounds.
- And as he gazed upon the mirrored pool
- he said at last, “Ah, youth beloved in vain!”
- “In vain, in vain!” the spot returned his words;
- and when he breathed a sad “farewell!” “Farewell!”
- sighed Echo too. He laid his wearied head,
- and rested on the verdant grass; and those
- bright eyes, which had so loved to gaze, entranced,
- on their own master's beauty, sad Night closed.
- And now although among the nether shades
- his sad sprite roams, he ever loves to gaze
- on his reflection in the Stygian wave.
- His Naiad sisters mourned, and having clipped
- their shining tresses laid them on his corpse:
- and all the Dryads mourned: and Echo made
- lament anew. And these would have upraised
- his funeral pyre, and waved the flaming torch,
- and made his bier; but as they turned their eyes
- where he had been, alas he was not there!
- And in his body's place a sweet flower grew,
- golden and white, the white around the gold.
- Narcissus' fate, when known throughout the land
- and cities of Achaia, added fame
- deserved, to blind Tiresias,—mighty seer.
- Yet Pentheus, bold despiser of the Gods,
- son of Echion, scoffed at all his praise,
- and, sole of man deriding the great seer,
- upbraided him his hapless loss of sight.
- And shaking his white temples, hoar with age.
- Tiresias of Pentheus prophesied,
- “Oh glad the day to thee, if, light denied,
- thine eyes, most fortunate, should not behold
- the Bacchanalian rites! The day will come,
- and soon the light will dawn, when Bacchus, born
- of Semele, shall make his advent known—
- all hail the new god Bacchus! Either thou
- must build a temple to this Deity,
- or shalt be torn asunder; thy remains,
- throughout the forest scattered, will pollute
- the wood with sanguinary streams; and thy
- life-blood bespatter with corrupting blots
- thy frenzied mother and her sisters twain.
- And all shall come to pass, as I have told,
- because thou wilt not honour the New God.
- And thou shalt wail and marvel at the sight
- of blind Tiresias, though veiled in night.”
- And as he spoke, lo, Pentheus drove the seer:
- but all his words, prophetic, were fulfilled,
- and confirmation followed in his steps.—
- Bacchus at once appears, and all the fields
- resound with shouts of everybody there.—
- men, brides and matrons, and a howling rout—
- nobles and commons and the most refined—
- a motley multitude—resistless borne
- to join those rites of Bacchus, there begun.
- Then Pentheus cries; “What madness, O ye brave
- descendants of the Dragon! Sons of Mars!
- What frenzy has confounded you? Can sounds
- of clanging brass prevail; and pipes and horns,
- and magical delusions, drunkenness,
- and yelling women, and obscene displays,
- and hollow drums, overcome you, whom the sword,
- nor troops of war, nor trumpet could affright?
- “How shall I wonder at these ancient men,
- who, crossing boundless seas from distant Tyre,
- hither transferred their exiled Household Gods,
- and founded a new Tyre; but now are shorn,
- and even as captives would be led away
- without appeal to Mars? And, O young men,
- of active prime whose vigor equals mine!
- Cast down your ivy scepters; take up arms;
- put on your helmets; strip your brows of leaves;
- be mindful of the mighty stock you are,
- and let your souls be animated with
- the spirit of that dauntless dragon, which,
- unaided, slew so many, and at last
- died to defend his fountain and his lake.—
- so ye may conquer in the hope of fame.
- “He gave the brave to death, but with your arms
- ye shall expel the worthless, and enhance
- the glory of your land. If Fate decree
- the fall of Thebes, Oh, let the engines
- of war and men pull down its walls, and let
- the clash of steel and roaring flames resound.
- Thus, blameless in great misery, our woes
- would be the theme of lamentations, known
- to story; and our tears would shame us not.
- “But now an unarmed boy will conquer Thebes:
- a lad whom neither weapons, wars nor steeds
- delight; whose ringlets reek with myrrh; adorned
- with chaplets, purple and embroidered robes
- of interwoven gold. Make way for me!
- And I will soon compel him to confess
- his father is assumed and all his rites
- are frauds.
- “If in days gone Acrisius
- so held this vain god in deserved contempt,
- and shut the Argive gates against his face,
- why, therefore, should not Pentheus close the gates
- of Thebes, with equal courage—Hence! Away!
- Fetch the vile leader of these rioters
- in chains! Let not my mandate be delayed.”
- Him to restrain his grandsire, Cadmus, strove;
- and Athamas, and many of his trusted friends
- united in vain efforts to rebuke
- his reckless rage; but greater violence
- was gained from every admonition.—
- his rage increased the more it was restrained,
- and injury resulted from his friends.
- So have I seen a stream in open course,
- run gently on its way with pleasant noise,
- but whensoever logs and rocks detained,
- it foamed, with violence increased, against
- obstruction.
- Presently returning came
- his servants stained with blood, to whom he said,
- “What have ye done with Bacchus?” And to him
- they made reply; “Not Bacchus have we seen,
- but we have taken his attendant lad,
- the chosen servant of his sacred rites.”
- And they delivered to the noble king,
- a youth whose hands were lashed behind his back.
- Then Pentheus, terrible in anger, turned
- his awful gaze upon the lad, and though
- he scarce deferred his doom, addressed him thus;
- “Doomed to destruction, thou art soon to give
- example to my people by thy death:
- tell me thy name; what are thy parents called;
- where is thy land; and wherefore art thou found
- attendant on these Bacchanalian rites.”
- But fearless he replied; “They call my name
- Acoetes; and Maeonia is the land
- from whence I came. My parents were so poor,
- my father left me neither fruitful fields,
- tilled by the lusty ox, nor fleecy sheep,
- nor lowing kine; for, he himself was poor,
- and with his hook and line was wont to catch
- the leaping fishes, landed by his rod.
- His skill was all his wealth. And when to me
- he gave his trade, he said, ‘You are the heir
- of my employment, therefore unto you
- all that is mine I give,’ and, at his death,
- he left me nothing but the running waves. —
- they are the sum of my inheritance.
- “And, afterwhile, that I might not be bound
- forever to my father's rocky shores,
- I learned to steer the keel with dextrous hand;
- and marked with watchful gaze the guiding stars;
- the watery Constellation of the Goat,
- Olenian, and the Bear, the Hyades,
- the Pleiades, the houses of the winds,
- and every harbour suitable for ships.
- “So chanced it, as I made for Delos, first
- I veered close to the shores of Chios: there
- I steered, by plying on the starboard oar,
- and nimbly leaping gained the sea-wet strand.
- “Now when the night was past and lovely dawn
- appeared, I,rose from slumber, and I bade
- my men to fetch fresh water, and I showed
- the pathway to the stream. Then did I climb
- a promontory's height, to learn from there
- the promise of the winds; which having done,
- I called the men and sought once more my ship.
- Opheltes, first of my companions, cried,
- ‘Behold we come!’ And, thinking he had caught
- a worthy prize in that unfruitful land,
- he led a boy, of virgin-beauty formed,
- across the shore.
- “Heavy with wine and sleep
- the lad appeared to stagger on his way,—
- with difficulty moving. When I saw
- the manner of his dress, his countenance
- and grace, I knew it was not mortal man,
- and being well assured, I said to them;
- ‘What Deity abideth in that form
- I cannot say; but 'tis a god in truth.—
- O whosoever thou art, vouchsafe to us
- propitious waters; ease our toils, and grant
- to these thy grace.’
- “At this, the one of all
- my mariners who was the quickest hand,
- who ever was the nimblest on the yards,
- and first to slip the ropes, Dictys exclaimed;
- ‘Pray not for us!’ and all approved his words.
- The golden haired, the guardian of the prow,
- Melanthus, Libys and Alcimedon
- approved it; and Epopeus who should urge
- the flagging spirits, and with rhythmic chants
- give time and measure to the beating oars,
- and all the others praised their leader's words,—
- so blind is greed of gain.—Then I rejoined,
- ‘Mine is the greatest share in this good ship,
- which I will not permit to be destroyed,
- nor injured by this sacred freight:’ and I
- opposed them as they came.
- “Then Lycabas,
- the most audacious of that impious crew,
- began to rage. He was a criminal,
- who, for a dreadful murder, had been sent
- in exile from a Tuscan city's gates.
- Whilst I opposed he gripped me by the throat,
- and shook me as would cast me in the deep,
- had I not firmly held a rope, half stunned:
- and all that wicked crew approved the deed.
- “Then Bacchus (be assured it was the God)
- as though the noise disturbed his lethargy
- from wine, and reason had regained its power,
- at last bespake the men, ‘What deeds are these?
- What noise assails my ears? What means decoyed
- my wandering footsteps? Whither do ye lead?’
- ‘Fear not,’ the steersman said, ‘but tell us fair
- the haven of your hope, and you shall land
- whereso your heart desires.’ ‘To Naxos steer,’
- Quoth Bacchus, ‘for it is indeed my home,
- and there the mariner finds welcome cheer.’
- Him to deceive, they pledged themselves, and swore
- by Gods of seas and skies to do his will:
- and they commanded me to steer that way.
- “The Isle of Naxos was upon our right;
- and when they saw the sails were set that way,
- they all began to shout at once, ‘What, ho!
- Thou madman! what insanity is this,
- Acoetes? Make our passage to the left.’
- And all the while they made their meaning known
- by artful signs or whispers in my ears.
- “I was amazed and answered, ‘Take the helm.’
- And I refused to execute their will,
- atrocious, and at once resigned command.
- Then all began to murmur, and the crew
- reviled me. Up Aethalion jumped and said,
- ‘As if our only safety is in you!’
- With this he swaggered up and took command;
- and leaving Naxos steered for other shores.
- “Then Bacchus, mocking them,—as if but then
- he had discovered their deceitful ways,—
- looked on the ocean from the rounded stern,
- and seemed to sob as he addressed the men;
- ‘Ah mariners, what alien shores are these?
- 'Tis not the land you promised nor the port
- my heart desires. For what have I deserved
- this cruel wrong? What honour can accrue
- if strong men mock a boy; a lonely youth
- if many should deceive?’ And as he spoke,
- I, also, wept to see their wickedness.
- “The impious gang made merry at our tears,
- and lashed the billows with their quickening oars.
- By Bacchus do I swear to you (and naught
- celestial is more potent) all the things
- I tell you are as true as they surpass
- the limit of belief. The ship stood still
- as if a dry dock held it in the sea.—
- “The wondering sailors laboured at the oars,
- and they unfurled the sails, in hopes to gain
- some headway, with redoubled energies;
- but twisting ivy tangled in the oars,
- and interlacing held them by its weight.
- And Bacchus in the midst of all stood crowned
- with chaplets of grape-leaves, and shook a lance
- covered with twisted fronds of leafy vines.
- Around him crouched the visionary forms
- of tigers, lynxes, and the mottled shapes
- of panthers.
- “Then the mariners leaped out,
- possessed by fear or madness. Medon first
- began to turn a swarthy hue, and fins
- grew outward from his flattened trunk,
- and with a curving spine his body bent.—
- then Lycabas to him, ‘What prodigy
- is this that I behold?’ Even as he spoke,
- his jaws were broadened and his nose was bent;
- his hardened skin was covered with bright scales.
- And Libys, as he tried to pull the oars,
- could see his own hands shrivel into fins;
- another of the crew began to grasp
- the twisted ropes, but even as he strove
- to lift his arms they fastened to his sides;—
- with bending body and a crooked back
- he plunged into the waves, and as he swam
- displayed a tail, as crescent as the moon.
- “Now here, now there, they flounce about the ship;
- they spray her decks with brine; they rise and sink;
- they rise again, and dive beneath the waves;
- they seem in sportive dance upon the main;
- out from their nostrils they spout sprays of brine;
- they toss their supple sides. And I alone,
- of twenty mariners that manned that ship,
- remained. A cold chill seized my limbs,—
- I was so frightened; but the gracious God
- now spake me fair, ‘Fear not and steer for Naxos.’
- And when we landed there I ministered
- on smoking altars Bacchanalian rites.”
- But Pentheus answered him: “A parlous tale,
- and we have listened to the dreary end,
- hoping our anger might consume its rage;—
- away with him! hence drag him, hurl him out,
- with dreadful torture, into Stygian night.”
- Quickly they seized and dragged Acoetes forth,
- and cast him in a dungeon triple-strong.
- And while they fixed the instruments of death,
- kindled the fires, and wrought the cruel irons,
- the legend says, though no one aided him,
- the chains were loosened and slipped off his arms;
- the doors flew open of their own accord.
- But Pentheus, long-persisting in his rage,
- not caring to command his men to go,
- himself went forth to Mount Cithaeron, where
- resound with singing and with shrilly note
- the votaries of Bacchus at their rites.
- As when with sounding brass the trumpeter
- alarms of war, the mettled charger neighs
- and scents the battle; so the clamored skies
- resounding with the dreadful outcries fret
- the wrath of Pentheus and his rage enflame.
- About the middle of the mount (with groves
- around its margin) was a treeless plain,
- where nothing might conceal. Here as he stood
- to view the sacred rites with impious eyes,
- his mother saw him first. She was so wrought
- with frenzy that she failed to know her son,
- and cast her thyrsus that it wounded him;
- and shouted, “Hi! come hither, Ho!
- Come hither my two sisters! a great boar
- hath strayed into our fields; come! see me strike
- and wound him!”
- As he fled from them in fright
- the raging multitude rushed after him;
- and, as they gathered round; in cowardice
- he cried for mercy and condemned himself,
- confessing he had sinned against a God.
- And as they wounded him he called his aunt;
- “Autonoe have mercy! Let the shade
- of sad Actaeon move thee to relent!”
- No pity moved her when she heard that name;
- in a wild frenzy she forgot her son.
- While Pentheus was imploring her, she tore
- his right arm out; her sister Ino wrenched
- the other from his trunk. He could not stretch
- his arms out to his mother, but he cried,
- “Behold me, mother!” When Agave saw,
- his bleeding limbs, torn, scattered on the ground,
- she howled, and tossed her head, and shook her hair
- that streamed upon the breeze; and when his head
- was wrenched out from his mangled corpse,
- she clutched it with her blood-smeared fingers, while
- she shouted, “Ho! companions! victory!
- The victory is ours!” So when the wind
- strips from a lofty tree its leaves, which touched
- by autumn's cold are loosely held, they fall
- not quicker than the wretch's bleeding limbs
- were torn asunder by their cursed hands.
- Now, frightened by this terrible event,
- the women of Ismenus celebrate
- the new Bacchantian rites; and they revere
- the sacred altars, heaped with frankincense.
- Alcithoe, daughter of King Minyas,
- consents not to the orgies of the God;
- denies that Bacchus is the son of Jove,
- and her two sisters join her in that crime.
- 'Twas festal-day when matrons and their maids,
- keeping it sacred, had forbade all toil.—
- And having draped their bosoms with wild skins,
- they loosed their long hair for the sacred wreaths,
- and took the leafy thyrsus in their hands;—
- for so the priest commanded them. Austere
- the wrath of Bacchus if his power be scorned.
- Mothers and youthful brides obeyed the priest;
- and putting by their wickers and their webs,
- dropt their unfinished toils to offer up
- frankincense to the God; invoking him
- with many names:—“O Bacchus! O Twice-born!
- O Fire-begot! Thou only child Twice-mothered!
- God of all those who plant the luscious grape!
- O Liber!” All these names and many more,
- for ages known—throughout the lands of Greece.
- “Thy youth is not consumed by wasting time;
- and lo, thou art an ever-youthful boy,
- most beautiful of all the Gods of Heaven,
- smooth as a virgin when thy horns are hid.—
- The distant east to tawny India's clime,
- where rolls remotest Ganges to the sea,
- was conquered by thy might.—O Most-revered!
- Thou didst destroy the doubting Pentheus,
- and hurled the sailors' bodies in the deep,
- and smote Lycurgus, wielder of the ax.
- “And thou dost guide thy lynxes, double-yoked,
- with showy harness.—Satyrs follow thee;
- and Bacchanals, and old Silenus, drunk,
- unsteady on his staff; jolting so rough
- on his small back-bent ass; and all the way
- resounds a youthful clamour; and the screams
- of women! and the noise of tambourines!
- And the hollow cymbals! and the boxwood flutes,—
- fitted with measured holes.—Thou art implored
- by all Ismenian women to appear
- peaceful and mild; and they perform thy rites.”
- Only the daughters of King Minyas
- are carding wool within their fastened doors,
- or twisting with their thumbs the fleecy yarn,
- or working at the web. So they corrupt
- the sacred festival with needless toil,
- keeping their hand-maids busy at the work.
- And one of them, while drawing out the thread
- with nimble thumb, anon began to speak;
- “While others loiter and frequent these rites
- fantastic, we the wards of Pallas, much
- to be preferred, by speaking novel thoughts
- may lighten labour. Let us each in turn,
- relate to an attentive audience,
- a novel tale; and so the hours may glide.”
- it pleased her sisters, and they ordered her
- to tell the story that she loved the most.
- So, as she counted in her well-stored mind
- the many tales she knew, first doubted she
- whether to tell the tale of Derceto,—
- that Babylonian, who, aver the tribes
- of Palestine, in limpid ponds yet lives,—
- her body changed, and scales upon her limbs;
- or how her daughter, having taken wings,
- passed her declining years in whitened towers.
- Or should she tell of Nais, who with herbs,
- too potent, into fishes had transformed
- the bodies of her lovers, till she met
- herself the same sad fate; or of that tree
- which sometime bore white fruit, but now is changed
- and darkened by the blood that stained its roots.—
- Pleased with the novelty of this, at once
- she tells the tale of Pyramus and Thisbe;—
- and swiftly as she told it unto them,
- the fleecy wool was twisted into threads.
- When Pyramus and Thisbe, who were known
- the one most handsome of all youthful men,
- the other loveliest of all eastern girls,—
- lived in adjoining houses, near the walls
- that Queen Semiramis had built of brick
- around her famous city, they grew fond,
- and loved each other—meeting often there—
- and as the days went by their love increased.
- They wished to join in marriage, but that joy
- their fathers had forbidden them to hope;
- and yet the passion that with equal strength
- inflamed their minds no parents could forbid.
- No relatives had guessed their secret love,
- for all their converse was by nods and signs;
- and as a smoldering fire may gather heat,
- the more 'tis smothered, so their love increased.
- Now, it so happened, a partition built
- between their houses, many years ago,
- was made defective with a little chink;
- a small defect observed by none, although
- for ages there; but what is hid from love?
- Our lovers found the secret opening,
- and used its passage to convey the sounds
- of gentle, murmured words, whose tuneful note
- passed oft in safety through that hidden way.
- There, many a time, they stood on either side,
- thisbe on one and Pyramus the other,
- and when their warm breath touched from lip to lip,
- their sighs were such as this: “Thou envious wall
- why art thou standing in the way of those
- who die for love? What harm could happen thee
- shouldst thou permit us to enjoy our love?
- But if we ask too much, let us persuade
- that thou wilt open while we kiss but once:
- for, we are not ungrateful; unto thee
- we own our debt; here thou hast left a way
- that breathed words may enter loving ears.,”
- so vainly whispered they, and when the night
- began to darken they exchanged farewells;
- made presence that they kissed a fond farewell
- vain kisses that to love might none avail.
- When dawn removed the glimmering lamps of night,
- and the bright sun had dried the dewy grass
- again they met where they had told their love;
- and now complaining of their hapless fate,
- in murmurs gentle, they at last resolved,
- away to slip upon the quiet night,
- elude their parents, and, as soon as free,
- quit the great builded city and their homes.
- Fearful to wander in the pathless fields,
- they chose a trysting place, the tomb of Ninus,
- where safely they might hide unseen, beneath
- the shadow of a tall mulberry tree,
- covered with snow-white fruit, close by a spring.
- All is arranged according to their hopes:
- and now the daylight, seeming slowly moved,
- sinks in the deep waves, and the tardy night
- arises from the spot where day declines.
- Quickly, the clever Thisbe having first
- deceived her parents, opened the closed door.
- She flitted in the silent night away;
- and, having veiled her face, reached the great tomb,
- and sat beneath the tree; love made her bold.
- There, as she waited, a great lioness
- approached the nearby spring to quench her thirst:
- her frothing jaws incarnadined with blood
- of slaughtered oxen. As the moon was bright,
- Thisbe could see her, and affrighted fled
- with trembling footstep to a gloomy cave;
- and as she ran she slipped and dropped her veil,
- which fluttered to the ground. She did not dare
- to save it. Wherefore, when the savage beast
- had taken a great draft and slaked her thirst,
- and thence had turned to seek her forest lair,
- she found it on her way, and full of rage,
- tore it and stained it with her bloody jaws:
- but Thisbe, fortunate, escaped unseen.
- Now Pyramus had not gone out so soon
- as Thisbe to the tryst; and, when he saw
- the certain traces of that savage beast,
- imprinted in the yielding dust, his face
- went white with fear; but when he found the veil
- covered with blood, he cried; “Alas, one night
- has caused the ruin of two lovers! Thou
- wert most deserving of completed days,
- but as for me, my heart is guilty! I
- destroyed thee! O my love! I bade thee come
- out in the dark night to a lonely haunt,
- and failed to go before. Oh! whatever lurks
- beneath this rock, though ravenous lion, tear
- my guilty flesh, and with most cruel jaws
- devour my cursed entrails! What? Not so;
- it is a craven's part to wish for death!”
- So he stopped briefly; and took up the veil;
- went straightway to the shadow of the tree;
- and as his tears bedewed the well-known veil,
- he kissed it oft and sighing said, “Kisses
- and tears are thine, receive my blood as well.”
- And he imbrued the steel, girt at his side,
- deep in his bowels; and plucked it from the wound,
- a-faint with death. As he fell back to earth,
- his spurting blood shot upward in the air;
- so, when decay has rift a leaden pipe
- a hissing jet of water spurts on high.—
- By that dark tide the berries on the tree
- assumed a deeper tint, for as the roots
- soaked up the blood the pendent mulberries
- were dyed a purple tint.
- Thisbe returned,
- though trembling still with fright, for now she thought
- her lover must await her at the tree,
- and she should haste before he feared for her.
- Longing to tell him of her great escape
- she sadly looked for him with faithful eyes;
- but when she saw the spot and the changed tree,
- she doubted could they be the same, for so
- the colour of the hanging fruit deceived.
- While doubt dismayed her, on the ground she saw
- the wounded body covered with its blood;—
- she started backward, and her face grew pale
- and ashen; and she shuddered like the sea,
- which trembles when its face is lightly skimmed
- by the chill breezes;—and she paused a space;—
- but when she knew it was the one she loved,
- she struck her tender breast and tore her hair.
- Then wreathing in her arms his loved form,
- she bathed the wound with tears, mingling her grief
- in his unquenched blood; and as she kissed
- his death-cold features wailed; “Ah Pyramus,
- what cruel fate has taken thy life away?
- Pyramus! Pyramus! awake! awake!
- It is thy dearest Thisbe calls thee! Lift
- thy drooping head! Alas,”—At Thisbe's name
- he raised his eyes, though languorous in death,
- and darkness gathered round him as he gazed.
- And then she saw her veil; and near it lay
- his ivory sheath—but not the trusty sword
- and once again she wailed; “Thy own right hand,
- and thy great passion have destroyed thee!—
- And I? my hand shall be as bold as thine—
- my love shall nerve me to the fatal deed—
- thee, I will follow to eternity—
- though I be censured for the wretched cause,
- so surely I shall share thy wretched fate:—
- alas, whom death could me alone bereave,
- thou shalt not from my love be reft by death!
- And, O ye wretched parents, mine and his,
- let our misfortunes and our pleadings melt
- your hearts, that ye no more deny to those
- whom constant love and lasting death unite—
- entomb us in a single sepulchre.
- “And, O thou tree of many-branching boughs,
- spreading dark shadows on the corpse of one,
- destined to cover twain, take thou our fate
- upon thy head; mourn our untimely deaths;
- let thy fruit darken for a memory,
- an emblem of our blood.” No more she said;
- and having fixed the point below her breast,
- she fell on the keen sword, still warm with his red blood.
- But though her death was out of Nature's law
- her prayer was answered, for it moved the Gods
- and moved their parents. Now the Gods have changed
- the ripened fruit which darkens on the branch:
- and from the funeral pile their parents sealed
- their gathered ashes in a single urn.
- So ended she; at once Leuconoe
- took the narrator's thread; and as she spoke
- her sisters all were silent.
- “Even the Sun
- that rules the world was captive made of Love.
- My theme shall be a love-song of the Sun.
- 'Tis said the Lord of Day, whose wakeful eye
- beholds at once whatever may transpire,
- witnessed the loves of Mars and Venus. Grieved
- to know the wrong, he called the son of Juno,
- Vulcan, and gave full knowledge of the deed,
- showing how Mars and Venus shamed his love,
- as they defiled his bed. Vulcan amazed,—
- the nimble-thoughted Vulcan lost his wits,
- so that he dropped the work his right hand held.
- But turning from all else at once he set
- to file out chains of brass, delicate, fine,
- from which to fashion nets invisible,
- filmy of mesh and airy as the thread
- of insect-web, that from the rafter swings.—
- Implicit woven that they yielded soft
- the slightest movement or the gentlest touch,
- with cunning skill he drew them round the bed
- where they were sure to dally. Presently
- appeared the faithless wife, and on the couch
- lay down to languish with her paramour.—
- Meshed in the chains they could not thence arise,
- nor could they else but lie in strict embrace,—
- cunningly thus entrapped by Vulcan's wit.—
- At once the Lemnian cuckold opened wide
- the folding ivory doors and called the Gods,—
- to witness. There they lay disgraced and bound.
- I wot were many of the lighter Gods
- who wished themselves in like disgraceful bonds.—
- The Gods were moved to laughter: and the tale
- was long most noted in the courts of Heaven.
- The Cytherean Venus brooded on
- the Sun's betrayal of her stolen joys,
- and thought to torture him in passion's pains,
- and wreak requital for the pain he caused.
- Son of Hyperion! what avails thy light?
- What is the profit of thy glowing heat?
- Lo, thou whose flames have parched innumerous lands,
- thyself art burning with another flame!
- And thou whose orb should joy the universe
- art gazing only on Leucothea's charms.
- Thy glorious eye on one fair maid is fixed,
- forgetting all besides. Too early thou
- art rising from thy bed of orient skies,
- too late thy setting in the western waves;
- so taking time to gaze upon thy love,
- thy frenzy lengthens out the wintry hour!
- And often thou art darkened in eclipse,
- dark shadows of this trouble in thy mind,
- unwonted aspect, casting man perplexed
- in abject terror. Pale thou art, though not
- betwixt thee and the earth the shadowous moon
- bedims thy devious way. Thy passion gives
- to grief thy countenance—for her thy heart
- alone is grieving—Clymene and Rhodos,
- and Persa, mother of deluding Circe,
- are all forgotten for thy doting hope;
- even Clytie, who is yearning for thy love,
- no more can charm thee; thou art so foredone.
- Leucothea is the cause of many tears,
- Leucothea, daughter of Eurynome,
- most beauteous matron of Arabia's strand,
- where spicey odours blow. Eurynome
- in youthful prime excelled her mother's grace,
- and, save her daughter, all excelled besides.
- Leucothea's father, Orchamas was king
- where Achaemenes whilom held the sway;
- and Orchamas from ancient Belus' death
- might count his reign the seventh in descent.
- The dark-night pastures of Apollo's steeds
- are hid below the western skies; when there,
- and spent with toil, in lieu of nibbling herbs
- they take ambrosial food: it gives their limbs
- restoring strength and nourishes anew.
- Now while these coursers eat celestial food
- and Night resumes his reign, the god appears
- disguised, unguessed, as old Eurynome
- to fair Leucothea as she draws the threads,
- all smoothly twisted from her spindle. There
- she sits with twice six hand-maids ranged around,
- and as the god beholds her at the door
- he kisses her, as if a child beloved
- and he her mother. And he spoke to her:
- “Let thy twelve hand-maids leave us undisturbed,
- for I have things of close import to tell,
- and seemly, from a mother to her child.”,
- so when they all withdrew the god began,
- “Lo, I am he who measures the long year;
- I see all things, and through me the wide world
- may see all things; I am the glowing eye
- of the broad universe! Thou art to me
- the glory of the earth!” Filled with alarm,
- from her relaxed fingers she let fall
- the distaff and the spindle, but, her fear
- so lovely in her beauty seemed, the God
- no longer brooked delay: he changed his form
- back to his wonted beauty and resumed
- his bright celestial. Startled at the sight
- the maid recoiled a space; but presently
- the glory of the god inspired her love;
- and all her timid doubts dissolved away;
- without complaint she melted in his arms.
- So ardently the bright Apollo loved,
- that Clytie, envious of Leucothea's joy,
- where evil none was known, a scandal made;
- and having published wide their secret love,
- leucothea's father also heard the tale.
- Relentlessly and fierce, his cruel hand
- buried his living daughter in the ground,
- who, while her arms implored the glowing Sun,
- complained. “For love of thee my life is lost.”
- And as she wailed her father sowed her there.
- Hyperion's Son began with piercing heat
- to scatter the loose sand, a way to open,
- that she might look with beauteous features forth
- too late! for smothered by the compact earth,
- thou canst not lift thy drooping head; alas!
- A lifeless corse remains.
- No sadder sight
- since Phaethon was blasted by the bolt,
- down-hurled by Jove, had ever grieved the God
- who daily drives his winged steeds. In vain
- he strives with all the magic of his rays
- to warm her limbs anew. — The deed is done—
- what vantage gives his might if fate deny?
- He sprinkles fragrant nectar on her grave,
- and lifeless corse, and as he wails exclaims,
- “But naught shall hinder you to reach the skies.”
- At once the maiden's body, steeped in dews
- of nectar, sweet and odourate, dissolves
- and adds its fragrant juices to the earth:
- slowly from this a sprout of Frankincense
- takes root in riched soil, and bursting through
- the sandy hillock shows its top.
- No more
- to Clytie comes the author of sweet light,
- for though her love might make excuse of grief,
- and grief may plead to pardon jealous words,
- his heart disdains the schemist of his woe;
- and she who turned to sour the sweet of love,
- from that unhallowed moment pined away.
- Envious and hating all her sister Nymphs,
- day after day,—and through the lonely nights,
- all unprotected from the chilly breeze,
- her hair dishevelled, tangled, unadorned,
- she sat unmoved upon the bare hard ground.
- Nine days the Nymph was nourished by the dews,
- or haply by her own tears' bitter brine;—
- all other nourishment was naught to her.—
- She never raised herself from the bare ground,
- though on the god her gaze was ever fixed;—
- she turned her features towards him as he moved:
- they say that afterwhile her limbs took root
- and fastened to the around.
- A pearly white
- overspread her countenance, that turned as pale
- and bloodless as the dead; but here and there
- a blushing tinge resolved in violet tint;
- and something like the blossom of that name
- a flower concealed her face. Although a root
- now holds her fast to earth, the Heliotrope
- turns ever to the Sun, as if to prove
- that all may change and love through all remain.
- Thus was the story ended. All were charmed
- to hear recounted such mysterious deeds.
- While some were doubting whether such were true
- others affirmed that to the living Gods
- is nothing to restrain their wondrous works,
- though surely of the Gods, immortal, none
- accorded Bacchus even thought or place.
- When all had made an end of argument,
- they bade Alcithoe take up the word:
- she, busily working on the pendent web,
- still shot the shuttle through the warp and said;
- “The amours of the shepherd Daphnis, known
- to many of you, I shall not relate;
- the shepherd Daphnis of Mount Ida, who
- was turned to stone obdurate, for the Nymph
- whose love he slighted—so the rivalry
- of love neglected rouses to revenge:
- neither shall I relate the story told
- of Scython, double-sexed, who first was man,
- then altered to a woman: so I pass
- the tale of Celmus turned to adamant,
- who reared almighty Jove from tender youth:
- so, likewise the Curetes whom the rain
- brought forth to life: Smilax and Crocus, too,
- transpeciated into little flowers:
- all these I pass to tell a novel tale,
- which haply may resolve in pleasant thoughts.
- Learn how the fountain, Salmacis, became
- so infamous; learn how it enervates
- and softens the limbs of those who chance to bathe.
- Although the fountain's properties are known,
- the cause is yet unknown. The Naiads nursed
- an infant son of Hermes, surely his
- of Aphrodite gotten in the caves
- of Ida, for the child resembled both
- the god and goddess, and his name was theirs.
- The years passed by, and when the boy had reached
- the limit of three lustrums, he forsook
- his native mountains; for he loved to roam
- through unimagined places, by the banks
- of undiscovered rivers; and the joy
- of finding wonders made his labour light.
- Leaving Mount Ida, where his youth was spent,
- he reached the land of Lycia, and from thence
- the verge of Caria, where a pretty pool
- of soft translucent water may be seen,
- so clear the glistening bottom glads the eye:
- no barren sedge, no fenny reeds annoy,
- no rushes with their sharpened arrow-points,
- but all around the edges of that pool
- the softest grass engirdles with its green.
- A Nymph dwells there, unsuited to the chase,
- unskilled to bend the bow, slothful of foot,
- the only Naiad in the world unknown
- to rapid-running Dian. Whensoever
- her Naiad sisters pled in winged words,
- “Take up the javelin, sister Salmacis,
- take up the painted quiver and unite
- your leisure with the action of the chase;”
- she only scorned the javelin and the quiver,
- nor joined her leisure to the active chase.
- Rather she bathes her smooth and shapely limbs;
- or combs her tresses with a boxwood comb,
- Citorian; or looking in the pool
- consults the glassed waters of effects
- increasing beauty; or she decks herself
- in gauzy raiment, and reposing lolls
- on cushioned leaves, or grass-enverdured beds;
- or gathers posies from the spangled lawns.
- Now, haply as she culled the sweetest flowers
- she saw the youth, and longing in her heart
- made havoc as her greedy eyes beheld.
- Although her love could scarcely brook delay,
- she waited to enhance her loveliness,
- in beauty hoping to allure his love.
- All richly dight she scanned herself and robes,
- to know that every charm should fair appear,
- and she be worthy: wherefore she began:
- “O godlike youth! if thou art of the skies,
- thou art no other than the god of Love;
- if mortal, blest are they who gave thee birth;
- happy thy brother; happy, fortunate
- thy sister; happy, fortunate and blest
- the nurse that gave her bosom; but the joys
- surpassing all, dearest and tenderest,
- are hers whom thou shalt wed. So, let it be
- if thou so young have deigned to marry, let
- my joys be stolen; if unmarried, join
- with me in wedlock.” So she spoke, and stood
- in silence waiting for the youth's reply.
- He knows nor cares for love—with loveliness
- the mounting blushes tinge his youthful cheeks,
- as blush-red tint of apples on the tree,
- ripe in the summer sun, or as the hue
- of painted ivory, or the round moon
- red-blushing in her splendour, when the clash
- of brass resounds in vain. And long the Nymph
- implored; almost clung on his neck, as smooth
- and white as ivory; unceasingly
- imploring him to kiss her, though as chaste
- as kisses to a sister; but the youth
- outwearied, thus:
- “I do beseech you make
- an end of this; or must I fly the place
- and leave you to your tears?” Affrighted then
- said Salmacis, “To you I freely give—
- good stranger here remain.” Although she made
- fair presence to retire, she hid herself,
- that from a shrub-grown covert, on her knees
- she might observe unseen.
- As any boy
- that heedless deems his mischief unobserved,
- now here now there, he rambled on the green;
- now in the bubbly ripples dipped his feet,
- now dallied in the clear pool ankle-deep;—
- the warm-cool feeling of the liquid then,
- so pleased him, that without delay he doffed
- his fleecy garments from his tender limbs.
- Ah, Salmacis, amazement is thy meed!
- Thou art consumed to know his naked grace!
- As the hot glitters of the round bright sun
- collected, sparkle from the polished plate,
- thine eyes are glistened with delirious fires.
- Delay she cannot; panting for his joy,
- languid for his caressing, crazed, distract,
- her passion difficult is held in check.—
- He claps his body with his hollow palms
- and lightly vaults into the limped wave,
- and darting through the water hand over hand
- shines in the liquid element, as though
- should one enhance a statue's ivorine,
- or glaze the lily in a lake of glass.
- And thus the Naiad, “I have gained my suit;
- his love is mine,—is mine!” Quickly disrobed,
- she plunged into the yielding wave—seized him,
- caressed him, clung to him a thousand ways,
- kissed him, thrust down her hands and touched his breast:
- reluctant and resisting he endeavours
- to make escape, but even as he struggles
- she winds herself about him, as entwines
- the serpent which the royal bird on high
- holds in his talons; —as it hangs, it coils
- in sinuous folds around the eagle's feet;—
- twisting its coils around his head and wings:
- or as the ivy clings to sturdy oaks;
- or as the polypus beneath the waves,
- by pulling down, with suckers on all sides,
- tenacious holds its prey. And yet the youth,
- descendant of great Atlas, not relents
- nor gives the Naiad joy. Pressing her suit
- she winds her limbs around him and exclaims,
- “You shall not scape me, struggle as you will,
- perverse and obstinate! Hear me, ye Gods!
- Let never time release the youth from me;
- time never let me from the youth release!”
- Propitious deities accord her prayers:
- the mingled bodies of the pair unite
- and fashion in a single human form.
- So one might see two branches underneath
- a single rind uniting grow as one:
- so, these two bodies in a firm embrace
- no more are twain, but with a two-fold form
- nor man nor woman may be called—Though both
- in seeming they are neither one of twain.
- When that Hermaphroditus felt the change,
- so wrought upon him by the languid fount,
- considered that he entered it a man,
- and now his limbs relaxing in the stream
- he is not wholly male, but only half,—
- he lifted up his hands and thus implored,
- albeit with no manly voice; “Hear me
- O father! hear me mother! grant to me
- this boon; to me whose name is yours, your son;
- whoso shall enter in this fount a man
- must leave its waters only half a man.”
- Moved by the words of their bi-natured son
- both parents yield assent: they taint the fount
- with essences of dual-working powers.
- Now though the daughters of King Minyas
- have made an end of telling tales, they make
- no end of labour; for they so despise
- the deity, and desecrate his feast.
- While busily engaged, with sudden beat
- they hear resounding tambourines; and pipes
- and crooked horns and tinkling brass renew,
- unseen, the note; saffron and myrrh dissolve
- in dulcet odours; and, beyond belief,
- the woven webs, dependent on the loom,
- take tints of green, put forth new ivy leaves,
- or change to grape-vines verdant. There the thread
- is twisted into tendrils, there the warp
- is fashioned into many-moving leaves—
- the purple lends its splendour to the grape.
- And now the day is past; it is the hour
- when night ambiguous merges into day,
- which dubious owns nor light nor dun obscure;
- and suddenly the house begins to shake,
- and torches oil-dipped seem to flare around,
- and fires a-glow to shine in every room,
- and phantoms, feigned of savage beasts, to howl.—
- Full of affright amid the smoking halls
- the sisters vainly hide, and wheresoever
- they deem security from flaming fires,
- fearfully flit. And while they seek to hide,
- a membrane stretches over every limb,
- and light wings open from their slender arms.
- In the weird darkness they are unaware
- what measure wrought to change their wonted shape.
- No plumous vans avail to lift their flight,
- yet fair they balance on membraneous wing.
- Whenever they would speak a tiny voice,
- diminutive, apportioned to their size,
- in squeaking note complains. Adread the light,
- their haunts avoid by day the leafy woods,
- for sombre attics, where secure they rest
- till forth the dun obscure their wings may stretch
- at hour of Vesper;—this accords their name.
- Throughout the land of Thebes miraculous
- the power of Bacchus waxed; and far and wide
- Ino, his aunt, reported the great deeds
- by this divinity performed. Of all
- her sisters only she escaped unharmed,
- when Fate destroyed them, and she knew not grief—
- only for sorrow of her sisters' woes.—
- While Ino vaunted of her mother-joys,
- and of her kingly husband, Athamas,
- and of the mighty God, her foster-child;
- Juno, disdaining her in secret, said;
- “How shall the offspring of a concubine
- transform Maeonian mariners, overwhelm
- them in the ocean, sacrifice a son
- to his deluded mother, who insane,
- tears out his entrails; how shall he invent
- wings for three daughters of King Minyas,
- while Juno unavenged, bewails despite?—
- Is it the end? the utmost of my power?
- His deeds instruct the way; true wisdom heeds
- an enemy's device; by the strange death
- of Pentheus, all that madness could perform
- was well revealed to all; what then denies
- a frenzy may unravel Ino's course
- to such a fate as wrought her sisters' woe?”
- A shelving path in shadows of sad yew
- through utter silence to the deep descends,
- infernal, where the languid Styx exhales
- vapours; and there the shadows of the dead,
- descend, after they leave their sacred urns,
- and ghostly forms invade: and far and wide,
- those dreary regions Horror and bleak Cold
- obtain.
- The ghosts, arrived, not know the way,—
- which leadeth to the Stygian city-gates,—
- not know the melancholy palace where
- the swarthy Pluto stays, though streets and ways
- a thousand to that city lead, and gates
- out-swing from every side: and as the sea
- with never-seen increase engulfs the streams
- unnumbered of the world, that realm enfolds
- the souls of men, nor ever is it filled.
- Around the shadowy spirits go; bloodless
- boneless and bodiless; they throng the place
- of judgment, or they haunt the mansion where
- abides the Utmost Tyrant, or they tend
- to various callings, as their whilom way; —
- appropriate punishment confines to pain
- the multitude condemned.
- To this abode,
- impelled by rage and hate, from habitation
- celestial, Juno, of Saturn born, descends,
- submissive to its dreadful element.
- No sooner had she entered the sad gates,
- than groans were uttered by the threshold, pressed
- by her immortal form, and Cerberus
- upraising his three-visaged mouths gave vent
- to triple-barking howls.—She called to her
- the sisters, Night-begot, implacable,
- terrific Furies. They did sit before
- the prison portals, adamant confined,
- combing black vipers from their horrid hair.
- When her amid the night-surrounding shades
- they recognized, those Deities uprose.
- O dread confines! dark seat of wretched vice!
- Where stretched athwart nine acres, Tityus,
- must thou endure thine entrails to be torn!
- O Tantalus, thou canst not touch the wave,
- and from thy clutch the hanging branches rise!
- O Sisyphus, thou canst not stay the stone,
- catching or pushing, it must fall again!
- O thou Ixion! whirled around, around,
- thyself must follow to escape thyself!
- And, O Belides, (plotter of sad death
- upon thy cousins) thou art always doomed
- to dip forever ever-spilling waves!
- When that the daughter of Saturnus fixed
- a stern look on those wretches, first her glance
- arrested on Ixion; but the next
- on Sisyphus; and thus the goddess spoke;—
- “For why should he alone of all his kin
- suffer eternal doom, while Athamas,
- luxurious in a sumptuous palace reigns;
- and, haughty with his wife, despises me.”
- So grieved she, and expressed the rage of hate
- that such descent inspired, beseeching thus,
- no longer should the House of Cadmus stand,
- so that the sister Furies plunge in crime
- overweening Athamas.—Entreating them,
- she mingled promises with her commands.—
- When Juno ended speech, Tisiphone,
- whose locks entangled are not ever smooth,
- tossed them around, that backward from her face
- such crawling snakes were thrown;—then answered she:
- “Since what thy will decrees may well be done,
- why need we to consult with many words?
- Leave thou this hateful region and convey
- thyself, contented, to a better realm.”
- Rejoicing Juno hastens to the clouds—
- before she enters her celestial home,
- Iris, the child of Thaumas, purifies
- her limbs in sprinkled water.