The Metamorphoses of Ovid with the Etchings of Pablo Picasso [Reprint 2020 ed.] 9780520334519

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THE METAMORPHOSES OF OVID • AN ENGLISH VERSION BY A. E. WATTS WITH THE

ETCHINGS

OF P A B L O

PICASSO

MCMLIV • UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS BERKELEY • LOS ANGELES

UNIVERSITY O F CALIFORNIA

PRESS

B E R K E L E Y AND LOS ANGELES CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON, ENGLAND COPYRIGHT,

1954,

B Y

T H E REGENTS O F T H E UNIVERSITY OF

CALIFORNIA

ILLUSTRATIONS REPRODUCED B Y

PERMISSION

EDITIONS D'ART A L B E R T SKIRA, GENEVA LIBRARY

OF

CATALOG CARD N U M B E R :

CONGRESS 54"7425

MANUFACTURED IN T H E UNITED STATES O F AMERICA DESIGNED B Y J O H N B . COETZ

TO

ALICE

PREFACE

^ — V I D ' S MASTERPIECE has found, in proportion to its fame and influence, few translators in English. Arthur Golding's version (1565-1567), because of its vogue among the Elizabethans and the signs of its influence in the works of Shakespeare, will always hold a place in our literary history. It is written in "long ballad metre": lines of fourteen syllables rhyming in couplets. On its intrinsic merits opinions differ widely. George Sandys followed in 1626 with a version in heroic couplets, which also enjoyed a considerable success. Dryden, toward the end of his life, translated those parts of the work that most attracted him, amounting to about a third of the whole, and including the account of the philosophy of Pythagoras, which he declared to be "the Masterpiece of the whole Metamorphoses." Seventeen years after Dryden's death his versions were incorporated in a composite production by "the most Eminent Hands." This was the work of eighteen translators. Dryden's share was the largest: Addison contributed two books, and Pope a hundred lines. It was published in 1717, and went into many editions. Nothing new appeared until 1807, when a rendering in blank verse by J. J. Howard was published. Two more couplet versions were to come: one by Thomas Orger in 1811, and one by J. B. Rose in 1866. The syndicated version held its own well into the century, and was the boyhood reading of Henry King, my imme-

vii

diate predecessor, who published his graceful blank verse in 1871. Whatever the merits or demerits of these later versions, it is fashion, rather than impartial estimation, that has consigned them to oblivion. With the advent of Romanticism Ovid's popularity sharply declined. One of the writers I have mentioned may claim here a more extended reference. George Sandys, apart from the merit of his work, has a peculiar place in literary history. Professor W. H. Alexander has communicated to me a notice of Sandys from the Cyclopaedia of American Literature, by E. A. and G. L. Duyckinck (1856), which sets him in a remarkable light. "The first English literary production penned in America"—so the first sentence runs—"at least which has any rank or name in the general history of literature, is the translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses by George Sandys, printed in folio in London in 1626." I find this claim endorsed by later compilations, notably by the Dictionary of American Biography (1935). The account in the Cyclopaedia continues: "The writer was the distinguished traveller, whose book on the countries of the Mediterranean and the Holy Land is still perused with interest by curious readers. It was some time after his return from the East, that he was employed in the government of the Colony of Virginia, where he held the post of treasurer of the company. There, on the banks of the James River, he translated Ovid, under circumstances of which he has left a memorial in his dedication of the work to King Charles I." The dedication refers to the poem as "being limn'd by that unperfect light which was snatcht from the howers of night and repose. For the day was not mine, but dedicated to the service of your Great Father, and your Selfe: which, had it proved as fortunate, as faithfull, in me, and others more worthy; we had hoped, ere many yeares had turned about, to have presented You with a rich and wel-peopled Kingdome; from whence now, with my selfe, I only bring this composure. . . . It needeth more than a single denization, being a double Stranger; sprung from the Stocke of the ancient Romanes; but bred in the New-world, of the rudenesse whereof it cannot but participate; especially having Warres and Tumultes to bring it to light in stead of

viii

the Muses. . . In George Sandys' version of the Metamorphoses, written in America and published in England, the Old World and the New were brought into singular conjunction; and it is felt to be a favorable omen that the present work, written in England and published in America, should now, after so many years and across so many miles, renew the ancient association. My version, which I naturally hope may not be inopportune, has not been made as the result of calculation. In 1 9 4 2 1 was reading with a class in the eighth book of Ovid's work. One day it came home to me with more than usual force that my young pupils, who could with difficulty piece together the prose content of the passage they were studying, were receiving no effective impression of its stylistic and rhythmical quality. That evening I tried to put a few lines of our task into English verse, in order to suggest, if possible, the impact of the original. My translation, when presented to them a little later, made some impression, I was led to believe, upon them in the sense desired, and had proved itself as well a not ungrateful task in the performance. I was aiming, for the occasion, at a rendering that should elucidate for the student everything in the Latin, including even the grammar. It is true, I think, in theory, that translation should reproduce, if possible, every minutest shade of idiom in some way, provided it is an English way. But it is clear that the qualifications tend to smother the proposition; and in the course of my long labor—thus accidentally begun—I have learned to treat the Latin less obsequiously, though I trust with no loss of essential fidelity. I hope now to appeal to the general reader as well as to the student. The use of meter implies the aim of giving something more than the prose content of the narrative. Ovid's work, which in substance is a store of legend and a panorama of the Graeco-Roman world, is also, in respect of its form, a compendium of literary technique, the most complete exploration in verse of the resources of rhetoric that has ever been made. While striving to render the words accurately, I have also tried to take account of their arrangement; to give an impression of Ovid's art, or artifice; to reflect the

ix

pace of his meter and the tension of his style; to keep his antitheses sharp, his witticisms pointed, and his paradoxes startling. Such are the dreams of the translator, who may too easily mistake love of his author for ability to do him justice. As the medium for my experiments, the heroic couplet was an instinctive choice. We have no other verse form that can suggest so well the authority of the Latin hexameter, and it is the traditional vehicle in English for the art that does not seek concealment. Even its tendency to seem mannered and conventional is not an unmixed disadvantage, since Ovid himself is an exploiter of literary conventions. While I acknowledge of course the mastery of Pope and Dryden, I have tried to avoid mere imitation, and to make the verse respond anew to the form and pressure of Ovid's work. In respect of diction and vocabulary, I have endeavored, conformably to the theme and meter, to write as a contemporary, enjoying, in common with the reader, the freedom of the language from Shakespeare to the present day. Sometimes, where a choice has oífered, I have swayed the balance to the side of the vernacular; but I have not, as a rule, admitted colloquialisms or words of very recent coinage, and I hope to pass as up-to-date by speaking in a straightforward way, with as much force and clarity as possible, especially as these are, to my sense, the most definable qualities of Ovid's own style. Except where obscurity is part of the intention, as in certain oracular passages, I have striven to be immediately intelligible, since the reader of Ovid should not have to reflect in order to understand. My grateful thanks are due to my friends Morley Dainow and Anthony Trott, who in different ways have given me generous and valued help. I owe an especial debt to the kindness and scholarship of Professor W. H. Alexander, of the University of California Press. He has read the whole manuscript, and by many acute criticisms and suggestions has enabled me to improve the finish and accuracy of the work. The final responsibility is mine. A. E. w. x

CONTENTS

OOK

ONE

î

OF the formation of the Universe—the emergence of life—the birth of mankind—the depravity of man from age to age—the revolt of the Giants—the suppression of the revolt by Jupiter —the birth of a wanton race—the deluge—the tale of Deucalion and Pyrrha—of Apollo and Daphne—of Jupiter and Io—the parentage of Phaëthon

BOOK

TWO

24

O F the rash adventure and death of Phaethon— the story of Callisto—Aglauros and the secret of Pallas—Phoebus and Coronis—the birth of Aesculapius—the prophecy and transformation of Ocyrhoe—the transformation of Battus to a stone—the love of Mercury for Herse—the transformation of Aglauros to a statue—of Jupiter and Europa

BOOK

THREE

49

O F Cadmus and his adventures—the sowing of the dragon's teeth—the founding of Thebes—the transformation and death of Actaeon—the death xi

of Semele and the birth of Bacchus—the strange experiences of Tiresias—his prophecies—the tale of Echo and Narcissus—the hostility of Pentheus to Bacchus—the tale of Acoetes—the death of Pentheus

BOOK F O U R

71

OF the three daughters of Minyas—the tale of Pyramus and Thisbe—the trick played on Mars and Venus—the loves of the sun-god—the tale of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus—the transformation of the daughters of Minyas—the madness of Athamas—the transformation of Cadmus and Harmonia—the tale of Perseus and Andromeda —the slaying of Medusa

BOOK F I V E

95

OF the combat between Perseus and Phineus— the magic power of Medusa's head—the fate of Proetus and Polydectes—the narrative of Urania —of the contest between the Muses and the Pierides—the abduction of Proserpine—the wanderings of Ceres in search of her—some incidental transformations—the story of Arethusa— the transformation of the Pierides into magpies

B O O K S IX

116

OF the weaving contest between Arachne and Pallas—the incidents depicted upon their tapestries—Arachne changed—the rivalry of Niobe with Latona—the slaying of Niobe's children— of Pelops and his ivory shoulder—of the Lycian peasants who became frogs—the fate of Marsyas the satyr—the dark tale of Tereus, Procne, and Philomela

BOOK S E V E N

139

OF the love of Medea for Jason—the winning of the Golden Fleece—the restoration of Aeson to xii

youth—the doing of Pelias to death—other appalling deeds of Medea—of the war begun by Minos of Crete—the mission of Cephalus to Aegina—the story of the plague—and of the repopulation of the island by the Ant-men—of Cephalus and Procris

B O O K

E I G H T

165

O F the love and treachery of Scylla—the labyrinth and the Minotaur—Theseus and Ariadne— the invention of wings by Daedalus—and the death of Icarus thereby—the tale of the partridge—the boar hunt at Calydon—the prowess thereat of Atalanta—and the death of Meleager —the transformation of certain nymphs to islands—the story of Philemon and Baucis—of Erysichthon and his daughter

B O O K

N I N E

192

O F the defeat of Acheloiis by Hercules—the slaying of Nessus—the fatal error of Deianira— the death and apotheosis of Hercules—the story of his birth told by Alcmene—the transformation of Galanthis to a weasel—and of Dryops to a tree —the restoration of Iolaiis to youth—the unnatural love of Byblis for her brother—the strange alteration in sex of Iphis

B O O K

T E N

217

O F the journey of Orpheus to the underworld— how Eurydice died a second time—of the trees charmed by the music of Orpheus, who tells these tales, namely,—of Jupiter and Ganymede —of Apollo and Hyacinthus—of Pygmalion and Galatea—of Myrrha's incestuous love for her sire —of Venus and Adonis—of Atalanta and the golden apples—of the death and transformation of Adonis

xiii

B O O K E L E V E N

240

OF the death of Orpheus—the story of Midas and the golden touch—the punishment of Midas by Apollo—the founding of Troy—the marriage of Peleus and Thetis—of Peleus at the court of Ceyx—various changes recounted—the death of Ceyx in a storm at sea—the palace of Sleep— the dream of Alcyone—the transformation of Ceyx and Alcyone

BOOK

TWELVE

265

OF the cause and inception of the Trojan war— the ordeal of Iphigenia at Aulis—the strange encounter of Cygnus with Achilles—the story of Caeneus as related by Nestor—the furious battle of the Centaurs and the Lapithae—an exploit of Hercules—the death of Achilles—the dispute of Ajax and Ulysses for the possession of his arms

BOOK

THIRTEEN

286

OF the suit-at-law over the arms of Achilles— the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses—the victory of Ulysses and the suicide of Ajax—the fall of Troy —the sacrifice of Polyxena—the murder of Polydorus—the revenge of Hecuba and her transformation thereafter—the lamentation of Aurora for Memnon—the wanderings of Aeneas—of Polyphemus and his wooing—the love-suit of Glaucus to Scylla

BOOK

FOURTEEN

317

OF Circe and her enchantments—the transformation of Scylla—the further adventures of Aeneas of Troy—the death of Dido of Carthage —the Sibyl of Cumae—Polyphemus—the transformation of Ulysses' men by Circe—and of Picus likewise—of the wars of the Trojans in Italy—the story of Vertumnus and Pomona—of

the early days of Rome—and of the reign and apotheosis of Romulus

BOOK

FIFTEEN

345

OF King Numa and his learning—of Crotona and its divine origin—the teaching of Pythagoras, to wit: vegetarianism, metempsychosis, and the universal law of change—the story of Hippolytus —the transformation of Egeria—the tale of Cipus—the migration of Aesculapius to Rome— the achievements of Julius Caesar—of his assassination and apotheosis—the eulogy of Augustus —the invocation of the gods of Rome—the poet foresees his immortality in letters

INDEX

xv

AND

GLOSSARY

375

ILLUSTRATIONS

frontispiece T A L E OF DEUCALION AND PYRRHA

facing page

12

F A L L OF PHAETON W I T H T H E SUN CHARIOT

34

JUPITER AND S E M E L E

56

PERSEUS AND PHINEUS CONTEND FOR ANDROMEDA

102

TEREUS AND PHILOMELA

132

MELEAGER SLAYS T H E CALYDONIAN BOAR

178

FOUR W O M E N IN HEADLONG FLIGHT

234

DEATH OF ORPHEUS

242

SACRIFICE OF POLYXENA

300

xvi

BOOK ONE

c

OF the formation of the Universe — the emergence of life — the birth of mankind — the depravity of man from age to age — the revolt of the Giants — the suppression of the revolt by Jupiter — the birth of a wanton race — the deluge — the tale of Deucalion and Pyrrha — of Apollo and Daphne — of Jupiter and Io — the parentage of Phaëthon

V ^ ^ H A N G E is my theme. You gods, whose power has wrought All transformations, aid the poet's thought, And make my song's unbroken sequence flow From earth's beginnings to the days we know. An age there was, before the land and sea And sky, that covers all, began to be, When nature's face was blank, and what they call Chaos, a crude unsorted mass, was all — A mere dead-weight, whose atoms, which could keep No conformation, huddled in a heap. As yet no Titan, lord of day, gave light To heaven and earth, no Phoebe, queen of night, Renewed her orb, no earth as yet was there, Self-poised and pendent in the main of air; Nor yet did Amphitrite's arms expand To clasp the farthest fringes of the land. The stuff of earth was there, but in a state To bear no creature's tread or object's weight; Water there was, but nothing then could swim; And air, but light was quenched in air so dim; And all, in constant change and ceaseless jar, In the one mass waged elemental war, 1

The hot at odds with cold, the moist with dry, Softness with hardness, weight with levity. A god (perhaps with evolution's aid) Parted the combatants, and peace was made; Sea drew apart from land, and land from sky, Earth's thicker air from Heaven's transparency. Unraveled from the blind confusion, these, Sundered in place, were joined in bonds of peace. The fire that formed the arch of Heaven on high, Flashed up, a weightless essence, to the sky To reach the vault and take its station there; And next in lightness and in place was air. Large atoms formed the denser earth, and so Depressed by its own weight, it stayed below, While on its verge the liquid element Ran circling round, and kept the solid pent. Thus order reigned, and he whose wise control Severed the parts and made the parts a whole, First massed the land, some symmetry to bring, And molded it to form a mighty ring; Then bade the seas be spread and circling lie Round shores of earth, and swell when winds are high. Then springs he adds, and lakes, and boundless fens, And running streams 'twixt winding banks he pens, Each in its place, and as they separate flow, Some sink, absorbed by earth, some seaward go, And finding freedom, lash with waves the shore Of ocean's plain, and beat 'gainst banks no more. He bade the woods be green, the plains expand, The valleys sink, the stony hills upstand. And as two zones to left, and two to right, Were marked in heaven, with one that burned more bright, So the land-mass beneath, by care divine, Was marked to match, and parceled line for line. Of earth's five tracts, the midmost was the seat Of burning uninhabitable heat; Snow covered two, and two between were set Where flame and frost in temperate mixture met. Air hangs above, less dense than earth and sea, Denser than fire, differing in like degree.

2

He bade the mists and clouds be stationed here, Thunder, that shakes the hearts of men with fear, And winds that drive the clouds, and cause alike The summer lightning and the bolts that strike. Each wind was giv'n its quarter, ruling there But not allowed full empire of the air; And, even so, they would like brothers fight, And tear the world to pieces, if they might. Eurus went east where rose-red Petra lay And Persia's hills beneath the morning ray; And Zephyr where cool shores of sunset are, While Boreas rushed to seize the sevenfold star And shuddering Scythia; south lie Auster's plains, Dim with unfailing clouds and dank with rains. Above, he set the subtle ether, free From clogging weight and earth's impurity. All frontiers fixed, the time had come to give To every part its share of things that live; And constellations that for long had been Merged in the mass, their godlike forms unseen, To heavenly habitations soon were gone, And stars, like brilliant bubbles, rose and shone; Birds beat the air, the beasts had earth to roam, And flickering fish in water found a home. There wanted yet, to dominate the whole, A more capacious mind, a loftier soul; So man was formed, of elements conveyed Direct from heaven, some think, by him who made Order prevail in chaos, him I call The cosmic architect, who fashioned all. Or did the stuff of earth, so close akin To heaven above, that shared its origin, And fresh from recent contact, still retain Some molecules of fine ethereal grain? Such earth, with water mixed, so some declare, Prometheus shaped the form of gods to wear, In attitude of rule, that while the race Of creatures else looks down, man lifts his face (For so his maker willed) and turns his eye To starry heights above, and sweeps the sky. 3

Thus clothed with shapes of life unknown till then, Earth's formless clay was molded into men. First flowered the age of gold, which, while it knew No judge nor law, was freely just and true. No penalties were fixed; no threats appeared Graven on bronze to make stern edicts feared; No judge's words dismayed the suppliant throng; Without protectors all were safe from wrong; None lusted then for travel: no tall tree, Felled on its native hills, then sailed the sea; No breakneck trenches ringed the cities round; No trumpet straight, no twisted horn gave sound; No swords were forged, no soldier plied his trade; Men lived at peace, carefree and unafraid; Unscarred by plows, and by no contract tied, Earth, of her bounty, every need supplied; Content with nature's gifts, men plucked the fruit Of mountain strawberry and wild arbute; Cornels for them and prickly brambles bred. For them from Jove's broad tree were acorns shed; Spring was eternal, earth a garden, blessed With blooms unsown, which temperate winds caressed; In fields untilled the bursting ears were seen, And yellowing harvests where no plows had been; And streams of milk and nectar flowing free; And gold in green, the honey in the tree. When Saturn passed below, and Jove had won The rule of earth, the silver age came on — Men valued like their metal, which we hold Dearer than tawny bronze, more cheap than gold. Jove clipped the spring, which filled the year before, And made the circuit pass through phases four: Through winter's frost and summer's heat it ran, Autumn's unrest and spring's contracted span. Then first came parching heat and blinding glare, And ice held pendent in the freezing air; Then houses rose: men left their caverns dark, And thickets dense, and branches bound with bark; Then first the furrows took the seeds of grain, And the yoked steers went groaning o'er the plain. 4

The race of bronze came next, the third in time, More fierce and warlike, yet unstained by crime. The last was iron; and sin in every form, With that base metal, took the world by storm. All simple faith, all truth and honor fled, And force and fraud and treachery came instead, — With sinful greed of gain. Men set their sails, And mastered (unfamiliar lore) the gales. Long, long the timbers on the hills had grown, That insolently leaped o'er waves unknown. The land, once common like the light and air, Was parceled with proprietary care. Not only must the bounteous soil bestow The food it owed: men probed the depths below; And raked the buried treasures, that impel To evil, from their hiding-place near hell. So iron came, and gold, more hurtful far; And armed with iron, armed with gold, came war. (In war's red hand when rattling weapons shake, Men plunder men, and live by what they take. In the fierce strife all loyalties expire: Who weds the daughter, plots against the sire; Fierce stepdames mix the ghastly aconite; And wedded love converts to murderous spite; And friend doubts friend, and brother brother fears; And sons, impatient, count their father's years.) Conscience lay crushed; and as the slaughter spread, Last of the gods, the maiden Justice fled. Heaven too must quake: aspiring giants rose To seize its scepter — so the story goes. With mountain piled on mountain up they went To reach the stars, till Jove's dread bolts were sent, And struck Olympus first, then Pelion, down, Uplifted as it was on Ossa's crown. The giant brood, whose blood in streams was shed, In all their formidable bulk lay dead; And earth, their dam, was deluged, and before The warmth was out, bred life within the gore, And gave this too the form of humankind, For fear her former breed should pass from mind. 5

So runs the tale. Her second race no less Was steeped in lust for strife and lawlessness, Contemptuous of the gods, untamed in mood: The race, it could be seen, was born in blood. Jove, from his watchtower, saw the crimes of men: One (known to him alone) was recent then: Lycaon's loathsome feast: the thought of this Moved him to wrath — and where is wrath like his? He called the gods: the gods obeyed his call, And quickly gathered in the council hall. High in the firmament with lustrous ray, Shines heaven's bright thoroughfare, the Milky Way; And there the palace lies: on either hand The crowded doors of courted nobles stand. Elsewhere (to speak so bold) the suburbs lie, Where dwell the common people of the sky; But here, where powers and princes make their home, Heaven has its social summit, much like Rome. Now when the gods of rank were seated all Within the marble rondure of the hall, And Jove, in high authority of place, Presided, leaning on his ivory mace, Three times he shook his locks, and caused to quake The land and sea and sky, and then he spake. "Time was" (his lips thus gave his wrath release) "When giants probed our power and shook our peace; Each snake-foot monster's hundred-handed clasp Reached out in greed the captive sky to grasp; Yet lesser then my care: though fierce the blow, It had one source: we fought one corporate foe; Now every mortal, wheresoe'er the sea Roars round the earth, must die by my decree. By Styx's streams, in nether gloom that glide, All remedies, I swear, in vain are tried: The knife must prune what treatment cannot cure, For fear the infected part should taint the pure. I have my half-gods, powers of field and flood, Satyrs and fauns and nymphs of hill and wood; And if no place in heaven rewards their worth, At least we owe them what we gave — the earth. 6

I rule the lightnings with almighty hand, And hold the gods in absolute command; Think you the lesser gods will safer be, When fierce Lycaon lays his plots for me?" His hearers shuddered, and the council room Rang loud with clamor for the sinner's doom. So, when a lawless hand took frenzied aim To drown in Caesar's blood the Roman name, The race of men was struck with quick alarm, And all earth shuddered, fearing mortal harm; And not less dear thy people's loyal love To thee, Augustus, than the gods' to Jove. He stilled the murmurous throng with voice and hand, And spoke again, in tones of stern command: "Give no more thought to him: his debt is paid; But learn his crime, and what return we made. When evil-speaking rumor reached my ears, I wished it false, and sought to end my fears. I left mv throne, descended from the skies, And walked the world, a god in mortal guise. The sins I found would take too long to name: Go where I would, the fact outran the fame. Past Maenalus I went, the wild beasts' haunt, Cyllene, and Lycaeus' pinewoods gaunt, And reached, when night in wake of dusk came on, Lycaon's frowning doors and friendless throne. My signs announcing that a god was there, Convinced the common sort, who fell to prayer. Lycaon scoffed: 'By test that cannot lie If this be god or mortal will I try.' His test was this, to wait till night, and creep Under my guard, and kill me in my sleep. To give full measure, first he made the life Of one he held as hostage feel the knife; And cooked for food, in saucepan or on spit, The still warm flesh — but ere he offered it, My vengeful fires brought down in ruin grim His house upon his impious gods and him. He fled in fear, and howling as he tried To speak, he scared the silent countryside.

7

He turned on flocks, for blood was still his joy, And foamed with rage, still thirsting to destroy; His clothes were hairs, and on four legs he ran, But in the wolf you still could read the man: The same gray hair, the brutish face the same, The same incarnate rage, and eyes of flame. — One house of sin is down, but what is one? Through earth's wide borders evil sets its throne. Sentence is passed, and justice in good time Shall punish their conspiracy of crime." So Jove held forth: his audience gave assent By silent nod or loud encouragement; Yet felt their loss, and asked with sorrowing mind What earth would be without the human kind; And who would pay their altar dues, whose hand Bring incense, if wild beasts laid waste the land? Jove bade their ferment cease: his royal care Should guide the sequel to an issue fair; And, so he promised them, a brave new breed Should spring from unimaginable seed. Now when about to strike, Jove stayed his hand, Lest, while his lightnings kindled every land, Some sparks, by this vast conflagration sent, Should fire the sacred far-spread firmament. Mindful, moreover, how in fate's decree A time was doomed to come when land and sea And heaven's imperial seat, with all the frame Of the fixed universe, should fall in flame, The god replaced his fierce incendiaries, The lightning bolts (the Cyclops' work were these), And planned to send the rain, fire's opposite, From all the sky, and drown the race with it. Within the wind king's cavern shutting fast The north and every cloud-dispelling blast, He let the south wind loose; the wind-god flew Wet-winged and dread, with veil of pitchy hue. From sodden beard, white hair, and cloud-capped head, From streaming breast and wing the rain was shed; And, as he squeezed the clouds with giant hand, They poured their loads, with thunder, on the land. 8

Iris, great Juno's envoy, many-hued, Gathering the waters, plied the clouds with food. The farmer's crops were leveled with the soil; He mourned his shattered hopes and wasted toil. To supplement the skies, Jove's anger bade His sea-blue brother bring his floods to aid. The streams, convoked, to Neptune's palace throng. "No time," said he, "for exhortation long. Throw wide your doors, pour out your strength amain; Remove your dams and give your floods the rein." They went their way, and let their founts run free, And rolled with course unbridled to the sea. Then, struck by Neptune's trident, earth was rent, And by new fissures gave its waters vent. The rivers rolled unchecked, and cleared the plain Of men and dwellings, cattle, woods, and grain. The temples, with their gods, were all laid low, And not a house withstood the crushing blow; Or if it did, it foundered where it stood, Drowned to the rooftops in the rising flood. The sea and land are now distinct no more: Sea everywhere, and sea without a shore! Some find a footing on a mountain's brow; Some steer a boat where once they steered a plow; O'er farmhouse roofs and fields of corn they pass, And, like enough, drop anchor in the grass; Or brush with keels the vines beneath the seas, And catch the fishes in the tops of trees. Where grazed the shapely goat, now sprawls the seal; And sea-nymphs stare at what the depths reveal: Cities and homes and groves beneath the tide, Where swimming dolphins with great oaks collide. Upon the surface tawny lions swam, And tigers, and the wolf beside the lamb. His lightning lunge was useless to the boar, And, swept from land, the stag was swift no more. Exploring long, where land no footing gave, The homeless bird dropped wearied in the wave. Above the hills o'erweening waters rise, And beating waves the mountain peaks surprise;

9

And what few creatures from the deluge fly For lack of food in lingering famine die. Between Aonian and Oetaean ground A fertile land — when land it was — was found; But now in Phocis stretched a watery plain, Won by the swift encroachment of the main. There Mount Parnassus, with twin peaks that go Near to the stars, stared down on clouds below. Deucalion and his wife, when else no space Of land was left, found there a clinging-place. Than he none better lived and kept the law; Than she none held the gods in greater awe. Their tiny craft touched land, and on their knees They blessed Parnassus' nymphs and deities, Themis not least, whose oracles divine Inspired the prophet's utterance in the shrine. When Jove beheld, among the thousands slain, In all the world awash, one man remain, And of all women one surviving still, Who both had served the gods, and done no ill, He loosed north winds, and, routing clouds and rain, Showed earth to sky and sky to earth again. The seas too calm their rage: the sea-king rests His three-tined spear, and smooths the curling crests. He bids his bugler, sea-blue Triton, come In living mail of murex from the foam, And summon seas and rivers, winding well With signal of recall his hollow shell, Which broadens outward, in a spiral curled, And, sounded in mid-ocean, fills the world. So when his bearded lips, bedewed with spray, Sent east and west the call required that day, All waters heard the call, and all that rolled On land or sea were by the call controlled. Down from the hills the sinking waters go, And brimming streams within their channels flow; The ground thrusts up, and gives the seas their shore; The floods are less, the landmarks more and more; And leaves bemired, long merged beneath the main, On treetops show, and earth is earth again. 10

Now when the voiceless realms, untenanted, Before his eyes in desolation spread, Deucalion thus in tears to Pyrrha spoke: "O wife, O cousin, last of womenfolk, I found a sister first, then wife in you, And now in danger find a comrade true. Nought but us two is salvaged from the sea: The population of the world are we. Uncertain is our trust in life as yet, And still we tremble at the stormcloud's threat. Had'st thou been saved alone, bereft of me, What, hapless one, would now thy feelings be? What strength were thine, to bear thy lonely fear? To share thy lonely grief, what comrade dear? For I — the greedy waves, I tell thee true, If they had thee, should have thy husband too. Oh had I but my father's skill to give A form to clay, and breath to make it live! But now we two (such seems the heavenly plan) Preserve our race, and show the mold of man." They wept, and then resolved to see what aid Might come by divination, if they prayed. Together to Cephisus' stream they sped, Which flowed, still turbid, in its native bed; And sprinkling ritual drops on clothes and face, They cleansed themselves, and sought the holy place, Great Themis' shrine. The altar fires were cold, And all the gables gray with leprous mold. Then first upon the stairway falling prone, In holy awe they kissed the ice-cold stone, And said: "If righteous prayers have power to bend The gods above, and if their wrath can end, Great Themis, grant the flooded world thy grace, And teach us to restore our vanished race." The goddess, moved to hear such suppliants pray, With fateful speech made answer: "Go your way; And walk with covered heads and loosened zones, And throw behind your backs your mother's bones." This speech amazed them: silent long were they; Then Pyrrha spoke, refusing to obey; 11

And prayed for pardon, fearing, as she said, Themis, but fearing more to wrong the dead. Again, together or apart, they tried To think what sense the riddling words could hide; And then Prometheus' son with words of cheer Bade Epimetheus' daughter calm her fear; Saying: "Unless fallacious proves my skill, The holy oracles enjoin no ill. Earth is our mighty mother, and the stones Within her frame are called, I think, her bones. These must we throw behind us." Pyrrha, moved By this interpretation, half approved; But still their hopes in doubtful balance lie, So dim their faith — and yet what harm to try? They went with girdle loosed and covered head, And threw the stones behind, as Themis said. The stones — and here belief would surely fail, But that antiquity attests the tale — Were hard no more: some tempering touch they knew, And seasoned soft, they slowly changed and grew; Until some faint resemblance, ill-defined, Recalled the lineaments of humankind; Like statues, when beneath the sculptor's hand In roughhewn blocks unfinished marbles stand; And where within the stony substance lay Some moist ingredient or some softer clay, It took the form of flesh; the parts that own A hard unyielding nature turned to bone; The veins persisted, and were called so still; And soon, as power celestial worked its will, The stones the man had thrown to manhood grew, And from the woman's woman sprang anew. And still the dour resistant race of man, Rockhard, bears witness whence his breed began. All creatures else the unaided act of earth In various form and fashion brought to birth. The miry marshlands, where the floods lie spent, Seethe in the sunbeams, and the fens ferment; And spores, enwombed within that matrix warm, There grew, till slow gestation fixed their form. 12

So tillers, when the seven-streamed Nile again Channels his floods, receding from the plain, Find living forms beneath the furrowed clay, Where on the siltland beats the solar ray. Some at their zero hour of life they see, Caught in the moment of nativity; While others, half emerging from the mire, Not yet possess their tale of parts entire; And compounds strange are seen, where lifeless clay And flesh within one body meet halfway. Birth comes by opposition: mist and heat (When fire and water, foes inveterate, meet) Embrace and breed, and all the life we see Springs from that union in antipathy. So warmed by fostering suns the mud then teemed With countless species, as the floodlands steamed; And some were preexistent types, new-grown, And some were shapes grotesque, till then unknown. One novel beast earth had no mind to bear, Her new-created race to scourge and scare; Yet bear she did, a strange unheard-of ill, The python huge, that covered half a hill. On him the heavenly archer turned his bow Unpracticed, save on wild-foot goat and doe; He shot a thousand shafts, his quiver's store; And black-mouthed wounds shed venom, life, and gore. He founded, lest the story fade, the games Called Pythian, which the slaughtered serpent names — High contest, where the gods should honored be, And strength and skill should draw the world to see; Where youth with youth in ring and racecourse vied, And oak-leaf chaplets were the victor's pride; For Phoebus then, when earth no laurels knew, Wreathed his fair locks from any tree that grew. With love for Daphne first was Phoebus fired, By Cupid's anger, not by chance inspired. The Delian, having laid the serpent low, Saw with disdain the boy-god bend his bow. "Is this," said he, "a playful boy's affair? Such deadly weapons are for me to wear. 13

When I with aim unerring shoot my dart, What foe, what fearsome beast, but feels the smart? By shafts of mine the snake that pressed the plain, Acre on acre, like a blight, was slain. You, with your torch, set hearts on fire, and be Content with that, and leave my fame to me." Then Venus' son replied: "With aim as true As your bow strikes all else, shall mine strike you. As all that breathes is small to power divine, So small your fame, O Phoebus, matched with mine." With whirring wings he buffeted the breeze, And reached Parnassus, with its shade of trees; And drew two arrows from his quiver's load: One was the curb of love, and one the goad. The first was dull, blunt-tipped with leaden dross, The second needle-barbed, with golden gloss. The first was for the girl: when that had flown, The second pierced Apollo to the bone. He loved; but love was her antipathy: Peneiis' child, a river nymph, was she. She took for pattern Phoebe, loveless maid, And found her pleasure in the forest glade. A fillet bound the nymph's unbraided hair; The skins of beasts were her delight to wear. On lovers, not a few, she looked with dread, And walked the pathless woods unwon, unwed. She did not know what marriage meant, nor care Who Hymen was, that blessed the wedded pair. Her father urged her: "Child, you owe to me, A son-in-law, and grandsons at my knee." She blushed for shame; her blood ran hot within; She shunned the marriage torches like a sin; And throwing arms around his neck, she said: "Give me permission, father, not to wed; And as Diana's father left her free To live in maidenhood, do you leave me." With his good-will she might have lived a maid, But what she wished, her charms themselves forbade; For Phoebus saw her, loved, and wished to wed — Both wished and hoped, a prophet self-misled. 14

Like fire in stubble when the field is bared; Or as when travelers through the night have fared, Some torch, discarded when the daylight came, Or trailed too near, has set the hedge aflame, So love consumed the god: he turned to fire, And fed with hope his ill-conceived desire. Upon her neck he saw the tumbled hair: What would it be, he thought, with proper care? He saw her eyes: no stars could gleam so bright; He saw her lips, and wanted more than sight; Approved her fingers, arms, and shoulders bare; And what he did not see, surmised more fair. The maiden fled light as the wind away, And though she heard him calling, would not stay. "Stay, nymph," he cried; "I beg you, run not so. Stay, nymph; I do not follow as a foe. Lambs run from wolves, and stags from lions flee, And doves from eagles try to flutter free; And each thing shuns its foe: no foe am I: Love is what makes me follow: do not fly. If you should fall, or if the thorns should maim Your unoffending feet, I bear the blame. The road is rough: I wish no pain to you: More gently run, and gentlier I'll pursue. At least be curious whom your charms have won, And whom, through ignorance, you blindly shun. No hillman I, no shaggy guard of sheep, No local watch on flocks and herds I keep: In Delphi's land and Tenedos I reign; Claros and Patara are my proud domain; Jove is my father; and revealed by me Is all that was, and is, and is to be; Through me the song and string to concord grew; And true my arrow's aim; though one more true (I own) than mine has pierced my free heart through. The world's first healer, help of every land, I hold the power of herbs at my command: Alas, no herb can mend love's malady: My skill, that helps all others, helps not me." He had not done, but timorous Daphne fled, 15

And left him thus with half his speech unsaid. Lovely she seemed in flight: her robes, blown back From her bared body, fluttered in her track; The meeting wind drove back her streaming hair, And ever as she fled she seemed more fair. He wooed no more, where wooing won no grace, But spurred by love, the young god pressed his pace; And just as when the harvest-field is bare From reaping, and a hound has seen a hare — Greed against love of life — the race is hot: He nears and nears: he has her, has her not: With nose thrust out he sniffs her heels: the prey, Though seeming caught and eaten, slips away — So Phoebus followed, and so fled the maid, But swifter he, with wings of love to aid: He gives no pause; his hope outspeeds her fear; He crowds her close; his breath is on her hair. As, spent with speed, her strength and color fled, She reached her father's stream, and "Sire," she said, "If streams have power divine, with changing spell Destroy the form by which I please too well." At once upon her limbs a torpor came; A tenuous rind ensheathed her tender frame; Her hairs to leaves, her arms to branches passed; Her feet, but now so swift, were rooted fast; A crown of leaves o'erspread her face above; She kept her loveliness, and Phoebus' love. He placed his hand upon the stem, and still Beneath the bark he felt her bosom thrill; By branchy limbs his fond embrace was foiled, And as he kissed the wood, the wood recoiled. "Since then," he said, "my wife you may not be, I take you, lovely Daphne, for my tree; Upon my lyre the laurel will I wear For ever, and the laurel on my hair, And on my quiver. When with joyous roll The songs of triumph fill the Capitol, When Latian hills the long procession see, There with the war-lords shall the laurel be; And at the door where Majesty will dwell,

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Laurel with oak shall stand, and guard it well. Unshorn, unaging, like these locks of mine, Do you with fadeless leaf for ever shine." So Phoebus spoke: the new-irade laurel moved Its boughs, and with what seemed a nod approved. There is a vale, enclosed by wooded steeps, Thessalian Tempe, where Peneiis leaps From Pindus' foot, and rolls his foamy way, And plunging downward masses clouds of spray, From which the misty vapor flies in fume, And on the wooded summits rains the spume. Here in a rock-hewn cave, amid the sound That wearies even the distant regions round, The god of this great river had his seat, his home, his mansion, his secure retreat, \ n d in his chair of office governed well The water-nymphs and waters where they dwell. Hither, to share his pride or soothe his pain, Came first the streams that peopled his domain, Spercheiis, poplar-fringed, Enipeus wild, Gray-haired Eridanus, Amphrysos mild, And Aeas; next, all streams that rolling free Bring their way-wearied waters to the sea. Inachus only came not with his peers, But stayed and swelled his torrent with his tears: Deep in his cave he mourned uncomforted His daughter; to her fate, alive or dead, He had no clue, but since, at any cost, He could not find her, gave her up for lost, And feared the worst. Now Jove, so it would seem, Had seen the maiden leave her father's stream. "Ah, happy he that wins you," he had cried; "Why, Jove himself might take you to his side. Seek, while the sun is high, a cool retreat In yonder woodland from the noontide heat; And if you fear the solitary glade, And wild beasts' haunts, a god is near to aid. No god of lowly birth: enthroned on high I dart the lightnings, and I rule the sky. Ah, fly me not," he cries, but Io flees 17

Past Lerna's pastures and Lyrcea's trees; Till Jove, with spreading fog-banks that concealed The landscape, stopped her flight, and made her yield. Juno meanwhile looked wondering down to earth To see the swirling mists (no natural birth Of stream or fen) that over Argos lay, And made a night beneath the glittering day; And looking round for Jove (for oft had she Exposed her husband's amorous larceny) She cried, as heaven revealed no Jove to view, "He plays me false, if what I think be true." Then gliding down from heaven, she set her feet On earth below, and bade the mists retreat. But Jove took timely notice, and his will Changed Io to a heifer — comely still, As Juno saw, who asked her pedigree, Owner, and herd, with feigned simplicity. The god, to shelve the question of her birth, Explained her as a product of the earth. "Then let me have her," was his wife's reply; And what could Jove do, trapped by his own lie? "I give her," was a cruel word to say: Refusing, he would give himself away. Bad conscience on the one side bade him yield, And love in opposition took the field. Conscience it would have been that took a fall, But that the heifer, as a gift so small, Might well have seemed no heifer, if denied To one by blood and bed so near allied. With Io in her power, the goddess still Was fearful of her husband's thievish skill. Not till Arestor's son at length was made Her rival's guardian, were her fears allayed. With fivescore eyes was Argus' head bestarred All round: two slept by turns, the rest kept guard. He stared at Io, stand howe'er he might; He turned his back, and kept her still in sight. He let her roam by day her feeding-place; When the sun set, she got a halter's grace. On leaves of trees and bitter grass she fed,

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Drank muddy streams, and made bare earth her bed; And sometimes tried, a mute petitioner, To stretch her arms, where arms no longer were; Sometimes to speak, and feared the sounds unknown, The cry a heifer's, and the voice her own. At last by banks of Inachus she strayed, Her father's river, where she once had played; And seeing, mirrored in the stream, her head Crowned with strange horns, shrank from herself in dread. How could her sire and sisters recognize The daughter and the sister in such guise, As, following them, she tried to draw their gaze, Tame to caress, and eager for their praise? When Inachus plucked grass to give her food, She kissed his hands in filial gratitude; And wept; and lacking speech to ask for aid, To tell her name, and how she was betrayed, She wrote the message; and the dust revealed, Scratched by her hoof, the truth her shape concealed. Old Inachus in love and grief caressed Her horns, and snow-white neck, and sobbing breast. "Are you my daughter, sought the wild world round, A heavy grief when lost, but heavier found? Alas, you speak no word, but only sigh, And cannot, save by lowing, make reply. I wished you wed, and hoped, by hopes beguiled, A son-in-law, and children of my child: Now never human husband will there be Nor son for you; nor end of grief for me — Sad fate of gods, whom death's unopening door Condemns to weep their woes for evermore." While thus he mourns, the herdsman parts the two, And drives the calf far off to pastures new; And on a hill he sits apart, and spies Full circle, with his galaxy of eyes. Heaven's lord could bear his mistress' wrongs no more, And sent his son (whom star-bright Maia bore) To slay her guard: his feet with wings he shod, And took in hand his sleep-inducing rod, And donned his cap; then down to earth he springs. 19

And lighting there, puts off his cap and wings, But keeps his staff, a herdsman's part to play, And drives some goats collected on the way; Then through the wilds his pipe of reeds he blew, And Juno's neatherd caught the cadence new; And cried, enraptured: "Stranger, sit with me: This rock could offer room enough for thee. The flock will nowhere find such food supplies, Or shepherd shade so grateful to his eyes." So Hermes sat; and such his easy flow Of tale and talk, the day was loath to go. Then with the music of his reeds he tries To quench the light of those observant eyes; While Argus shakes the slumber off, and though He sleeps with part, with part keeps sentry-go; And since the shepherd's pipe was then new-made, He asked its origin, and Hermes said: "In Arcady, where nymphs unnumbered fill Their native woodlands near the mountains chill, One was there of the silvan sisterhood, Syrinx by name, whom troops of lovers wooed, Whom all the gods of field and forest sought, Whom satyrs oft pursued, but never caught, Diana's votaress, a huntress chaste, Who, kilted like Diana, might have passed, But for the horn, not gold, that tipped her bow, For Dian's self — and did pass, even so. Pan saw her, from Lycaeus homeward bound, And thus the god, with needled pine twigs crowned, Addressed the girl" — (Now what the god had said Was still to tell, and how the wood nymph fled, And spurned his prayers, and ran through wood and wold, And came where sandy Ladon smoothly rolled; And how, thus checked, she could no further range, And begged the water-nymphs her form to change; How Pan, who thought he had her, captured then No wood-nymph, but such reeds as fill the fen; How, while he sighed, his breath with utterance faint Stirred in the reeds and made a soft complaint;

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And touched by that strange music, "This," said he, "At least, between us two a bond shall be." And so, with reeds unequal joined secure With seals of wax, he made her name endure) — But Hermes saw that Argus veiled his sight, Drooped every lid, and shuttered every light; And cut the story short, and sealed his sleep With drowsing wand, and made his slumber deep. 'Twixt neck and nodding head the falchion struck, And rolled him bleeding on the reddened rock. Argus was slain: the central flame that fed A hundred orbs in one eclipse lay dead. His eyes were Juno's pickings, who conferred Those gems, as tail adornments, on her bird. Then fierce she flamed, and gave her wrath no rest, And filled with secret barbs her rival's breast, Set shapes of hell to haunt her soul and sight, And drove her through the world in restless flight. At her long journey's end, upon the bank Of Nile, world-wearied, on her knees she sank; With neck upturned, in that last resting-place She lifted heavenward all she could — her face; With sighs and tears and mournful-sounding lows She cried, it seemed, to Jove to end her woes; And he, with arms around his Juno cast, Begged that her vengeance might no longer last. No more should Io cause her harm or fear: He bade the pools of Styx his promise hear. His wife relents, and Io, by her grace, Assumes again her natural form and face: The long hairs disappear, the horns decline, The arms return, and slender shoulder line; The jaws contract; each hoof, dividing, shows The fivefold cleft of fingers or of toes; The eyes grow small, and all the calf has flown Except the hue: her whiteness was her own; She stands erect, a woman as before, Served by two feet, and with no wish for more; And shy of speech at first, for fear she moo,

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By timid practice learns to talk anew. A goddess is she now, not honored least In Egypt by the linen-vestured priest. To her in season, if the tale be true, Was born a son, whom Jove was father to. Who knows not Epaphus? His temples stand Beside his mother's in the Egyptian land. Now Clymene and Phoebus had a son, His peer in age and pride, named Phaethon, Who talked and boasted of his sun-god sire, And ranked the birth of Epaphus no higher; Who said at last, provoked: "The crazier you, To take whate'er your mother says for true, And, falsely fathered, swell with pointless pride." Phaethon blushed for shame, and mortified By lurking doubts that kept his anger dumb, He took to Clymene this insult home. "Mother," he said, "the sting is this, that I, The soul of fire and freedom, lacked reply. Must I, to my eternal shame, submit To hear such slander, and to swallow it? If Phoebus is my sire, it lies with you To stake my claim in heaven, and prove it true." He begged her by his own, by Merops' head, He prayed her, by his sisters' hopes to wed, To speak; and urged with coaxing arms his plea To learn his father's true identity. Moved by her son's appeal, and stung no less By the reflection on her truthfulness, The mother raised both hands, and turned her gaze Upward to heaven, where shone the sun's bright rays, And said: "By yonder radiant orb I swear, That sees and hears us, as he blazes there — I swear to you, my child, the sun you view, That regulates the world, is sire to you. May he himself, if I speak falsely, cast My light in shade, and make this day my last. Learn for yourself: upon our border lies The morning mansion, whence you see him rise;

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A journey not too tiring, if you care To go and question him in person there." He heard her, and his joy flashed up like fire, And heaven itself seemed not beyond desire; But first, to reach his father's rising-place Through Ethiop land and India's sunburnt space!

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BOOK

TWO OF the rash adventure and death of Phaethon — the story of Callisto — Aglauros and the secret of Pallas — Phoebus and Coronis — the birth of Aesculapius Ocyrhoe— — the prophecy and transformation of the transformation of Battus to a stone — the love of Mercury for Herse — the transformation of Aglauros to a statue — of Jupiter and Europa

T

_JL HE sun-god's palace soars on pillars bright Of bronze and gold, a thing of flame and light. With ivory pinnacles the rooftops gleam, And silver doors send forth a dazzling beam — Fine metal, finely wrought: the scenes that fill The figured panels show surpassing skill. Here Mulciber had graved the encircling seas, The lands between, and skies o'erspreading these. The sea-gods in their watery home are here, Perplexing Proteus, Triton clarion-clear; Aegaeon leads his herd, and on the tides, A broad-backed whale beneath each arm, he rides; And Doris and her daughters breast it there, Or on the sandbanks sun their sea-green hair, Or ride on fishback; each distinctive shown, With features like her sisters', yet her own. The land, complete with cities, streams, and trees, Shows men and beasts, and nymphs and deities. Above, the sky displays the zodiac bright, Six of the signs to left, and six to right. The boy arrives: here ends the toilsome road: This is — or is it? — his true sire's abode. He hastens in, to meet him face to face, But stops, too weak to bear the blinding rays.

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With lustrous emeralds shone the chair of state, Where Phoebus, robed in regal crimson, sate; And Days, Months, Years, and Centuries had place To left and right, with Hours of equal space; And youthful Spring, with flowery garland bound; Summer light-clad, whom harvest chaplets crowned; And Autumn, stained with trampled grapes, stood there, And icy Winter, with his long white hair. Now from his central seat the Sun-god saw — As he sees all — the boy's surprise and awe. "Why, Phaethon," said he, "true child of mine, What father would disown a son so fine? Tell me, what motive made you take the road, And seek our distant mountain-built abode?" The boy replied: "O Phoebus, chartered light Of heaven and earth — O father, if by right I name you, and my mother does not veil A common intrigue with a trumped-up tale — Confirm by proof your fatherhood, and free From disbelief and doubt the world and me." At this the father doffed his crown of rays, Bade him draw near, and gave a fond embrace. "With truth has Clymene declared your birth, Nor does your blood," said he, "surpass your worth. For more assurance ask what gift you will: A father's bounty shall your wish fulfill; And let that water, never seen by me, The pledge of oaths divine, my witness be." — Pat came the answer: "Let me drive, I pray, Your car and wing-foot horses for one day." The god, repenting, shook his radiant head: "Too rash my words, in light of yours," he said; "Were't lawful, what I promised, not to pay, In this alone I would my son gainsay. Let me dissuade: unsafe the boon you seek, Too great a task for years and strength so weak. Your lot is mortal, yet your heart's desire Craves that to which no mortal may aspire; The thing you blindly grasp at is too great For the high gods themselves to ask of fate. 25

Long live their self-esteem, yet none but me May stand upon that flaming axletree. Not Jove, our greatest, heaven's high lord, whose hand Darts the dread lightnings, can my car command. Steep is the start; the straining steeds arise In morning might, yet scarce can mount the skies. Then comes the midmost height; to view from here The land and ocean shakes my heart with fear. Last, where the road drops downward to the main (My journey's end), it craves a constant rein, Lest, rushed along ('tis Tethys' nightly fear), I run a breakneck race, in mad career. The sky too — see! it spins with giddy speed, And backward borne, the reeling stars recede: I stem the force that bears all others back, Still climbing counter to the turning track. Will you keep course, suppose the chariot given, Will you make head against the moving heaven? Perhaps you think that groves and cities fair (The home of gods) and jeweled shrines are there? — Wild beasts at best (suppose you do not stray) And forms of fear lie round about your way; And there the Bull his hostile horns will show, The Lion snarl, the Archer bend his bow; And there the Scorpion fierce, in circuit vast, And there the Crab, their curved embraces cast. Nor will the horses to your hand be tame, Whose breasts are furnaces, whose breath a flame; For when their fire burns fierce, they strive to free Their straining necks, and scarce submit to me. Then be not by your father's bounty slain; Be warned in time, my son, and wish again. A sign you seek, to prove you surely mine? My fear is proof: there needs no surer sign. None but a father feels a father's fear: Look in my face and see the proof appear. Ah, could your vision pierce my breast, and there Within my heart surprise a father's care! Once more, survey the rich and varied stores Of nature's treasures: what you ask is yours. 26

I grudge but this, in lands and seas and skies — Which, truly called, is punishment, not prize. Nay, cling not so with coaxing arms, my son; It seems you know not that your suit is won. 'Tis true, 'tis yours; the Styx has heard my voice, Whate'er you choose; but make a wiser choice." The boy, refusing all advice, maintains His stubborn will, and burns to grasp the reins. Therefore his sire, delaying where he could, Showed where the car, the work of Vulcan, stood. On silver spokes and golden rims it rolled; Gold was the axle, and the shaft was gold. The yokes with gems in rainbow sequence blaze, And with bright beams return the sun-god's rays. While Phaethon surveyed, with swelling heart, The wondrous work, inspecting every part, Wakeful Aurora, in the kindling East, From purple doors the rosy dawn released; While Lucifer, the last to leave the sky, Whipped up the stars, and made them first march by. When Titan saw the moon's faint crescent spent, The sinking stars, and flushing firmament, He called the Hours (a fleet-foot band are they, Spirits heaven-born) to yoke the car of day; And belching fire, from lofty stalls were led The horses, with ambrosial essence fed. The father, while the jingling gear went on, Brought forth a sacred unguent for his son, And proofed his face, the scorching flame to bear, And set the solar rays upon his hair. A sense of coming sorrow made him sad; And with a sigh he thus addressed the lad: "If one paternal word your ear may win, Urge not the steeds, but rein them strongly in. They fly unforced: it is their nature to: To hold them in is all your toil can do. Then four great parallels the zones divide; But do not by their ruling rule your ride; But cross them on a by-pass road, and go A wider circuit, where my wheeltracks show.

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Five zones there are: your course, confined to three, The farthest north and south must never see. Next, share your heat between the earth and sky; Press not too low, nor set your course too high. Heaven's halls will kindle, if too high you stray; Too low, the earth: your safety lies midway. Nor swerve, where on the right the Snake is seen, Nor left to the Altar: steer your course between. The rest is Fortune's: be her favor shown, And better wit to guide you than your own. But see: dank night upon the western shore Has touched the waymark: we can stay no more. Dawn breaks; and while I speak, the shades disband. We are awaited: take the reins in hand. Or can you still, unbending as you are, Relent, and take my counsel, not my car; While yet your feet a firm support can feel, Not what you blindly wish, the treacherous wheel? Why ask for danger? Be content to see, And leave the lighting of the world to me." — But Phaethon, with words of thanks that jar Upon his father's ears, has climbed the car; Consumed with joy, the reins within his hands, The slender boy in proud possession stands. Meanwhile the team, Dawn, Blaze, and Fire, and Flame, Whose scorching breath in fretful whinnyings came, Beat on the barriers. Tethys little knows On what predestined path her grandson goes. She draws the bolts, and lets the barriers fly, And gives the steeds the freedom of the sky. Then, tearing up the trail, wing-borne, they beat The air, and cleave the clouds with flying feet; Outrun the winds; and, feeling not their freight, Wonder to miss the yoke's accustomed weight; And as a ship, unladen, lurching rides, And all too light, goes tottering o'er the tides, The car, that lacked its customary load, Bounced up, as if unridered, from the road; And sensing this, the steeds run wild, and stray Clean from the course, and throw restraint away. 28

Fear on the driver fell; too quick to gain, Too slow to learn the handling of the rein, He lacks besides all knowledge of the way, And if he knew, the team would not obey. Then first the Bears felt heat, and tried in vain To pass their bounds, and plunge beneath the main; And near the pole the numbed innocuous Snake Felt, with the warmth, his wicked passions wake. Bootes too, they say, made off in dread, Though with slow steps his lagging wain he led. Now when the luckless boy with downcast eye Beheld the lands deep, deep, beneath him lie, His color fled; his knees with sudden fright Shook, and his eyes went dark with too much light. He wished his father's team well left alone, His prayer unanswered, and his birth unknown; Wished Merops for his sire (ambition new) As like a ship before a storm he flew, Whose helmsman, pressed too hard, resigns his care, And leaves the craft to providence and prayer. What now? He scans the sky with measuring mind; Much heaven before him lies, no less behind; Now to the west (the goal that fate denies), Now backward to the east he turns his eyes. Palsied with doubt he stands, and turned to stone: How rule the steeds, their very names unknown? How hold, how drop the reins? Now too appear Strange shapes that strew the skies afar and near, Huge beasts of prey: he sees and shakes with fear. There is a region, where the Scorpion draws The pincer pattern of his curving claws; With curling tail, and jointed legs each side, He spreads his limbs two constellations wide; And sweating with black venom, does not fail To threat the tortures of his twisted tail. The driver saw: the vision chilled his veins; And as his senses swam, he dropped the reins. When on their backs the sagging leathers lay, The horses broke all bounds, and romped away; And where their lawless headlong motion led, 29

Through unknown realms of air unchecked they sped; And rammed the unswerving stars, and at their heels Through trackless wastes they dragged the rocking wheels; And now they soar aloft, and now they stoop By steep declines, and make an earthward swoop. The wondering moon beheld her brother's team Beneath her own, saw clouds go up in steam. From peak to loftiest peak the earth takes fire, And cracks and splits, as all its saps suspire. Grass wilts; and with their leaves the tree trunks flare; And cornfields feed the flame that leaves them bare. Small matters these — walled cities melt away; Whole tribes and peoples turn to ashes gray; The mountain masses with their forests burn: Athos and Oete; Tmolus in his turn; And Taurus smokes upon Cilicia's shore; And Ida's many fountains gush no more; Cynthus and Othrys, Haemus, yet unknown, And Eryx burns, and virgin Helicon; Parnassus lifts his two candescent spires; And Etna streams with duplicated fires; Dindyma, Mycale, and Mimas glow; And Rhodope must shed her ancient snow; Not Scythia's native frosts can keep her free; Cithaeron, not his native sanctity; And Pindus burns with Ossa, mighty names, And mightier yet than both, Olympus flames; Cold Caucasus with conflagration shines, Air-piercing Alps, and cloud-capped Apennines. Thus Phaethon, where'er he turns his gaze, On every side beholds the world ablaze; And faint, and breathing air at furnace heat, He feels the car red-hot beneath his feet. Wrapped in a pitchy pall of blinding smoke, While cast-up ash and cinders sear and choke, He knows not where he is, nor whither bound, Dragged by the horses where they choose the ground. Robbed, by the heat, of moisture, Libya's plain Turned then to desert, ne'er to bloom again; And as the sun-burned blood boiled up, they say, 30

The Ethiopian changed his skin that day. Then did the nymphs their loosened tresses fling, And weep their fill o'er every lake and spring. Thebes thirsts for Dirce, Corinth craves her cool Pirene, Argos Amymone's pool; And favored streams, 'twixt wide embankments pent, (Not saved thereby) with seething waters went: The steaming Tanais, wrapped in mists of heat; And old Peneiis, and Ismenus fleet; Lycormas, rolling down his burning sand; And Erymanthus, in Arcadian land; And far Caicus, on the Mysian shore; And Trojan Xanthus, doomed to burn once more; Madcap Maeander, turning on his trail; Eurotas, wandering through Laconia's vale; Euphrates, big with Babylonia's fame; And Melas, and Orontes, were aflame; Thermodon, Ganges, Phasis, Hister showed Their fires; Alpheus boiled, Spercheiis glowed; The ore that Tagus carried as he rolled, Now flowed itself, a stream of liquid gold; Cayster scalded, as they sailed along, The swans that filled Maeonia's banks with song; Old Nile in fear to earth's far corners fled, And hid his never rediscovered head; And where his sevenfold course should seaward stray, Lacking their streams, seven dusty channels lay. So the world o'er: Strymon in Thrace runs dry, And Hebrus; and beneath the western sky Rhine, Rhone, and Padus share the selfsame fate, With Tiber, whom his promised realms await. Earth gapes, and startling rifts of daylight show To king and consort in the world below. The sea contracts its bounds, and leaves a plain: Dry wastes of sand, where lately rolled the main; And hills break surface, that were sunk before, And make the sprinkled isles so many more. The fishes dive, and bow-backed dolphins dare No longer leap, and take their wonted air; And lifeless seals, upturned, go drifting there. 31

Nereus himself, deep in his rock retreat, With Doris and her daughters, felt the heat; And thrice did Neptune from the waters raise His glowering face, and could not bear the blaze. But Mother Earth, with ocean ringed about, Her native springs within, the seas without (Since all her rivers sank within her womb, And sought again their antenatal gloom), Raised her fire-ravaged head, and with her hands Shielded her face; and as she shook the lands With vast convulsions, settled down a space, And held a lower than her wonted place; And thus appealed to Jove: "By fire," said she, "If 'tis my due to fall, and thy decree, Why lag thy lightnings? Let me fall, most high, By fire of thine, consoled, by whom I die." She scarce could speak, so hot the vapor smote: "These words," she sobbed, "are strangled in my throat. Ah, see how thick the burning cinder lies On my charred hair, how thick on face and eyes. Is this my payment, this the wage you owe, That scarred and wearied, racked by plow and hoe, In fertile function through the year I go, Providing food for beasts with herbs benign, And grain for men, and incense for the shrine? Or grant that ruin justly falls on me, What of my brother and his realm, the sea? What guilt is his, that this, his lawful share, Shrinks, and extends the empire of the air? Nay, if our claims to pity pass thee by, Have feeling for thine own domain, the sky. Look well! the poles, which smoke already show, If sapped by fire, will lay your mansions low. See, Atlas is distressed, and much I fear His shoulders ill support the burning sphere. If seas and lands are wrecked, and heaven's high throne, We perish, back to primal chaos thrown. Put forth your care; what still survives the fire, Rescue, and save the sum of things entire." The sacred accents faltered: Earth could bear 32

No more the stifling smoke and parching air. She ceased, and sank within herself, and fled To caverns near the shades, and hid her head. Now Jove almighty made the gods attest (Him that had lent the car among the rest) What choice remained: to use his instant aid, Or see the worlds in grievous ruin laid; Then scaled the summit, whence his clouds are spread, His thunders shaken, and his lightnings sped; But found to hand (all custom overthrown) No clouds to spread, no rain to scatter down. He thundered; and a lightning-bolt he drew, And lancelike poised, with careful aim, and threw At Phaethon, and made his lease expire Of life and chariot, quenching fire with fire. The horses leap apart in frantic fear, Shake loose the reins, and wrench the traces clear; And bridles, spokes, and wheels dismembered lie, Axle and shaft: the wreckage strews the sky; And Phaethon, his ravaged hair aflame, Down in a trail of radiant ruin came, As oft, when summer nights unclouded are, There falls from heaven, or seems to fall, a star; And Po, far distant from his native place, Received his fall, and cooled his burning face; And nymphs, that in the western waters dwell, Laid him to rest, and graved a verse as well: "Here Phaethon is laid, who sought to guide His father's steeds, and, greatly daring, died." The sun-god, broken by the piteous blow, Concealed his visage, sicklied o'er with woe; And suffered one whole day its course to run, If legend does not lie, without a sun. The fires, still burning, gave what light they could, And so from evil came some touch of good. And Clymene? — She said what was to say In grief so great, and took her weeping way Through all the world: beating her breast, distraught, The lifeless flesh, or fleshless bones, she sought; And by an alien stream at last she found 33

The burial-place, and falling on the ground, She drenched with tears the name recorded there, And pressed the marble with her bosom bare. The sun-god's daughters shared her sorrow too, And with their tears gave death its empty due; Calling the name he could not hear, they lay Close by, and beat their breasts, by night and day. Four times the moon had filled her perfect round, While grief, grown habit, gave its wonted sound. When next the eldest, Phaethusa, tried To kneel before the tomb, her feet were tied; Lampetie would have reached her, if she could, But felt her soles fast rooted where she stood. When yet a third proposed to rend her hair, Her rending hands encountered foliage there; And other sisters found with wonderment Their legs in stems, or arms in branches pent; And while they wondered, bark encased their thighs, And waistward, inch by inch, they saw it rise. When arms and shoulders, breasts and necks, were gained, Their mouths, that called their mother, still remained. What might she do, but as a mother would, Run here and there, and kiss them while she could? To better that, she strove by force to free Body from bark, and tore each tender tree, Which bled like flesh. They cried: "O mother, spare; Spare, mother: in the tree our flesh you tear. Farewell, dear mother." Thus their lips composed Their final words before the cortex closed. The tears that from the new-made branches run Form beads of amber, hardening in the sun; Which falling in the crystal stream are sent For Latian brides to wear as ornament. It chanced, when this portentous work was done, Cygnus stood by, of Sthenelus the son, Phaethon's kinsman, on his mother's side, But closer still by kindred soul allied. He left the cities by Liguria's shore That owned his sway, his loud lament to pour By Po's green banks, or where more dense the wood 34

By late addition of the sisters stood. But as he wailed, his voice grew thin and shrill; His hair was plumes, his mouth a blunted bill; Far from his breast his neck extending goes; His feet turn red, and webs connect the toes; His sides are clothed with wings; yet, loath to fly, He trusts not Jove, nor Jove's domain, the sky; And hating fire, as keeping from the past Some memory of the bolt unjustly cast, The strange new bird by stream and mere will go, And hug the water, fire's inveterate foe. Now was the stricken Sun in woeful case, As when he lets eclipses mar his face; Unkempt, and shorn of all his bright array, He loathed himself, loathed daylight, loathed the day; And nursed his grief to rage, and raging cried: "I serve the world no more, by duty tied To labors old as time, that never cease, Tasks without honor, toils without release. Let some god else, I care not who, contrive The chariot, with its fiery freight, to drive. And if, confessing weakness, all retreat, Let Jove with his own hands attempt the feat, That so, for some short space well-occupied, He lay his bolts, that strike our sons, aside, And try the steeds, and what their strength can do, And learn by proof if death be failure's due." The gods stood round him, while he thus inveighed, And begged him not to cast the world in shade; And Jove himself excused the bolt he threw, And, like a king, appealed and threatened too. Their master finds the steeds, where still they roam Frenzied, with shaken nerves, and brings them home; And vents with vicious goad and lash the blame For Phaethon, and scores the debt to them. Jove made the round of heaven's embattled wall, Lest any section, sapped by fire, should fall; And finding all the fabric firm, he then Passed on to view the earth and works of men; And since he called Arcadia's land his own,

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There more than all his lavish care was shown. He clothed the trees with leaves, with grass the plain, And bade the ravaged woods be green again; He freed the springs and streams, which feared to flow; And busied thus, and traveling to and fro, Upon a maiden there his mind and eye Fixed; and the passion in his blood burned high. To smooth and spin the wool, or set her hair With nice complexity, was not her care. A buckle clasped her tunic, and she tied Her careless tresses with a band undyed. She armed her hand with bow or glittering spear, Diana's warrior, to her mistress dear. No maid more favored trod mount Maenalus, But short her term of power; 'tis ever thus. Within a virgin forest, when the sun High in the heavens his halfway course had run, The hunting maid unstrung her lissom bow, And let the quiver from her shoulders go, And pillowed on the painted quiver lay, Couched on the greensward from the heat of day. Jove saw the tired and unprotected maid, And this time hoped to hide his escapade From his stern spouse: "or if she learns," he thought, "And scolds me, still the pleasure's cheaply bought." With that, he took Diana's form and face, And spoke as to a comrade of the chase: "What hills, dear maid, have seen you hunt today?" She, rising from the greensward where she lay, Said: "Hail, my queen, whom I, at least, revere More than high Jove, though Jove himself could hear." Jove could and did. Well satisfied he heard Himself thus aptly to himself preferred. Small time had she of hills or hunt to speak; He clasped her close and pressed upon her cheek Kiss after kiss with more than maiden zest, And what he was by evil deeds confessed. The maiden fought as well as maiden might (Juno had softened, had she seen the sight), But fought a losing battle, and anon 36

Leaving his latest conquest Jove was gone. With bow and shafts (she scarce remembered these) She left the hateful woods and spying trees, And saw on Maenalus her mistress pace With hunting train and trophies of the chase. When seen and called, at first she wary trod, And in the goddess feared to find a god. But soon she marked the nymphs that formed her train And, reassured, she joined their ranks again. How hard with looks the inward guilt to hide! With downcast eyes, no more at Dian's side The first in favor, as of old, she came: Her silence and her blushes told her shame. Were Dian not a maid, by many a clue She well had known what all the others knew. Wearied with hunting and the noon's hot ray (Her brother's flame) the goddess found one day, When the ninth moon was gathering to the full, A murmuring rivulet in a forest cool Chafing the tumbled sands, "Fair spot," she cried; And as the surface with her foot she tried: "Fair water too; since none is here to spy, Let's strip and splash." They all, save one, comply. One blushed and shirked; but while she lingered there, They stripped her secret, with her body, bare. She stood abashed, and with her arms she tried To hide her state. "Begone," the goddess cried; "Begone, I say: be banished from our train; Take from our sacred founts so foul a stain." All this, long since, the Thunderer's consort knew, But held her hand, to wait a season due. 'Twas now due season; and her rival bore A boy child, Areas, to provoke her more. "This caps it, strumpet" — thus, with mind and eyes Brooding malignant on the boy, she cries — "That you should breed, and bear a child, to be A living taint to Jove, and taunt to me! But you shall rue it yet: the form you prize, That plays the wanton with my husband's eyes, Shall charm no more." She grasped the hair that hung 37

About her brows (while thus she spoke), and flung Her groveling down. She raised her arms in prayer: Her arms grew rough with black and bristling hair; Her hands, new-tipped with curving talons, grew To shambling feet, and found a function new; That face, which Jove had lauded in the past, Had deep-gashed jaws, and showed a brutish cast; Her speech, that might have moved compassion, fled; A harsh and threatening growl was heard instead; Yet, woman still within the shaggy pelt, She voiced with ceaseless groans the grief she felt; And raised her hands, such as they were, above, And thought, but could not say, "Ungrateful Jove!" Fearing to sleep in forests she would roam By night the meadows near her former home; In daylight hours, pursued by hounds in cry, A huntress from the hunter she would fly. If on the hills she sighted beasts of prey, Forgetting what she was, she hid away; A beast from beasts, a bear from bears she fled, And shunned the wolfpack which her father led. Time passed, and Areas, in his sixteenth year Not knowing who his mother was, came near. He tracks the beasts, and rings the likely lairs On wooded Erymanthus with his snares. They meet; his mother sees him, stops, and shows By gestures almost human that she knows; And while the boy shrinks back, caught unaware, She eyes him with a long unwavering stare; Then lumbers forward, while her son in fear Levels, to strike her heart, the deadly spear. But Jove forbade that son should mother slay, And swept them, with the threatened crime, away On wings of wind through space, and set them high As neighboring constellations in the sky. Soon Juno saw her rival glittering there And, filled with rage, sped seaward through the air To join Oceanus old and Tethys gray, To whom the gods of Heaven ofttime give way; And said, when asked her errand: "Would you know 38

Why, leaving Heaven, I tread these haunts below, Queen as I am of gods? Then learn that I Am disenthroned — another rules the sky. I swear that near the axle's utmost bound, Where the sphere spins in narrowest circle round, New stars this very nightfall you shall see, In new-found glory, each a stab to me. If any sought to wound me, would my frown Deter them, when I raise by striking down? To prove my power, they see the concubine Whom I made less than human, made divine: Such my achievement, such the deadly blow I deal offenders, such the might I show! She well might slough (as Io did before) The beast-mask off, to be herself once more, That Jove, divorcing Juno from his bed, Might set Lycaon's daughter there instead. But you, who reared me, if you feel for me, Let not the sevenfold star come near the sea, That by the slut, who through seduction gained A place in heaven, your surges be not stained." The sea-gods nod assent: she takes the air With her light chariot and her peacock pair — Her spangled peacocks, who in painted pride First flaunted not long since, when Argus died. Then was the talking raven changed, and wore His plumage sable, that was white before; For like the dove no blemish once had he To mar his silvern snow-white purity; The goose, whose wakeful voice, far ages on, Should save the Capitol, no whiter shone; No whiter, on his favored streams, the swan. A babbling tongue it was, and telltale spite, That proved his bane, and turned to black his white. Among the beauties of Thessalian race Coronis of Larissa held high place. She did at least, O Phoebus, win thy praise, When guiltless, or untrapped in wanton ways. But Phoebus' bird perceived, and carried word, (Prim telltale!) of her frailty to his lord; 39

And winging after, all agog to know The latest scandal, came the chattering crow; And learning why he traveled, thus he spake: "A path unprosperous, mark my words, you take. See what I was, and what I am today: My case will show that candor does not pay. I speak of Erichthonius, who was made Without a mother, with no woman's aid, Whom Pallas, as his guardian, chose to leave, Closed in a wicker chest of Attic weave, In charge of biformed Cecrops' daughters three, With strict command the secret not to see. Within the foliage of an elm I hid, And watched unseen, observing what they did. Pandrosos and her sister Herse tried To keep strict watch, and faith unfalsified; The third, Aglauros, with an itch to peer, Untied the knots, and called their scruples fear. There in the chest beside a snake was seen The baby boy; and when I told my queen, The thanks I got was this — to quit her sight, Dismissed, and ranked below the bird of night. Thus, warned by my example, birds may know That safe is silent, when rash words bring woe. Yet she herself, to scotch your secret thought, Asked me to serve, who no such favor sought: Ask her, ask Pallas: though her rage is high, She will not, though enraged, this truth deny. "Coroneus' daughter I — the facts are known — A Phocian maid: my forbears held the throne; And, though you scoff, rich suitors sought my hand. But beauty proved my bane: as o'er the sand (My daily custom) with slow steps I fared, My beauty fired the sea-god, who prepared, After long hours of pleading spent in vain, To take by force what flattery could not gain. I fled, he followed, from the shingly brink To where in softer sand my footsteps sink; And struggling there, on men and gods I call, But on no mortal ear my clamors fall. 40

One heart was moved, a maiden's for a maid; And Pallas, as I stretched my arms, brought aid. The arms I raised to heaven grew black with down; And as I strove to shake it loose, my gown Was wings upon my shoulders, which within Struck deep their rooted quills beneath the skin; I tried to beat my breast, but lacked alike The hands to strike with, and the breast to strike; I ran, and skimmed the sand; then rose and flew; And joined, unstained, Minerva's retinue. What profits virtue, if Nyctimene, Made bird for sin most foul, replaces me? Or can it be, her father's shame and hers, The talk of Lesbos, never reached your ears? Though now a bird, by guilty conscience led, She hides in darkness her dishonored head, And shuns the light, avoiding every eye, Exiled by all her fellows from the sky." "A plague," the raven cried (and onward flew), "Upon your idle croakings, and on you." He takes his lord his tale, how near his eyes With some Thessalian lad Coronis lies; Which Phoebus blenched to hear: the laurel band Dropped from his brow; the plectrum from his hand. He felt his swelling heart with anger glow, And, as by habit, seized and strung his bow; And pierced, with shaft that could not miss, the breast So often by his own, so closely pressed. She groaned, when struck; the shaft withdrawn, she bled; And cried, as o'er her white the crimson spread: "Too swift your justice, Phoebus: first should I Have borne your child: now two in one we die." She ceased; and life, outflowing as she bleeds, Vacates her limbs, and chilling death succeeds. Too late her lover rues the cruel blow; And hates himself, who heard and kindled so; And hates the bird that did him thus constrain To learn the fault, and know what caused him pain. He hates his bow, and hates the hand that drew, And with the hand the shaft that reckless flew; 41

He tends the fallen maid, and tries too late With unavailing art to conquer fate; And sees his failure, sees the mounting pyre, And limbs that wait the consummating fire; And since no tears may wet immortal eyes, He gives heart-shaking groans and deep-drawn sighs. So in the shambles when, the heifer near, The slaughterer's hammer, lifted to the ear, Thuds on the bull-calf's brow and cracks the bone So will the heifer for her suckling groan. He clasped her in his arms once more, and dressed With thankless perfumes her unfeeling breast, And laid her, with unrightful rites, to rest. Yet grudging that his seed which prisoned lay Should slip to ashes with the womb away, He snatched from death the child unborn, and gave Its charge to biformed Chiron, in his cave. The truthful raven, for his hoped reward, From concourse of the white-plumed birds was barred. The centaur nursed the heaven-descended boy, His privilege, his burden, and his joy. To them his daughter came, whose flame-red hair Dropped like a mantle o'er her shoulders bare. The nymph Chariclo bore her, near some free Fast-flowing stream, and named Ocyrhoe. She learned her father's craft, but aiming high Became herself a voice of prophecy. So now, with eyes upon the boy, she spoke, As in her soul the pregnant frenzy woke, Enkindled by the god: "Live, boy, and grow; Mortals to you their life and health shall owe. Yes, yours, when life is lost, shall be the right To give life back — but in the gods' despite; Nor shall you, by your grandsire's flame laid low, A second time the daring boon bestow; And from immortal god to lifeless clay And back to god, shall be your twice-trod way. And you, dear father, now from death secure, Whose birth-charmed years by dateless lease endure, That day, when through your tortured veins shall fly 42

The snake's rank blood, shall crave the power to die. Then shall your threads be snapped (when heaven's decree Has made you mortal) by the sisters three." She deeply sighed; the tears ran down her cheek: Some weighty word of fate was still to speak. "My doom," she said, "is, while I speak, fulfilled: The fateful voice by fate's enactment stilled. Would I had never read the future clear: The skill that angered heaven was bought too dear. My human form and feelings pass away: I long to canter and to feed on hay; Not favored with my father's equal share Of horse and man, but wholly turned to mare." Her accents, as she spoke, grew thick and blurred, And then a sound like mimicry was heard, Halfway 'twixt horse and man, and in brief course She uttered unadulterated horse. Her arms move earthward, and in substance light Of frisky hooves her fingernails unite; Her mouth expands, her neck extends, the trail Of her long gown streams backward like a tail; And all her scattered locks, in ordered train, Drop to the right-hand side, and form a mane. Thus changed in feature, form, and voice was she, And named anew, to suit her destiny. Her sire in tears to Phoebus made appeal; Half god himself, he begged a god's good-will. But Phoebus had no power to countermand Great Jove's decrees; nor was he then at hand. By Elis or Messene's fields he strayed, And dressed in skins he plied the neatherd's trade. A roughhewn staff was in his left hand's gripe, His right hand held the slant seven-reeded pipe; And while he soothes therewith his amorous woe, His cows to Pylos' fields unguarded go; And Mercury, with his thievish aptitude, Saw, drove them off, and hid them in a wood. None saw the theft, save one old man alone: To all the countryside was Battus known: He watched rich Neleus' hunting-lands and lea,

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And groomed his mares of flawless pedigree. And him did Mercury thus, in some alarm, Address, with coaxing fingers on his arm: "Should one by chance inquire, good stranger, say You have not seen these cattle pass this way; And take a cow your service to repay." He took the bribe, and said: "Go safely on: More secret I " (he points) "than yonder stone." The god, pretending, went a little space, But soon returned, with altered voice and face. "If you have seen, good swain, a wandering herd, Let thieves go hang, and speak a friendly word. A breeding pair shall be your pay." Then he, Reaping a second, and a doubled, fee, Replied: "At yonder mountain's foot, fair sir, There will they be" — and there, in fact, they were. "So," jeered the god, "you sell myself to me." And changed to stone that heart of perfidy; Which still today is called the telling stone, And bears the name of treachery not its own. Now far the herald god had flown away On spreading wings; and there beneath him lay Munychia's fields, the land Minerva loves, With the Lyceum's philosophic groves. That day it was, when girls to Pallas pay Their pure and sacred gifts; and there were they Marching with flower-fringed baskets borne head high To the hill-shrine, in glad solemnity. The flying god beheld them, homeward bound, And swerving from his course, flew circling round; As, when he sees the gutted beast, the kite, Fearing the priests collected round the rite, Sheers off, yet dares not go too far away, And flies in circles round the hoped-for prey — So Hermes wheeled his flight, with easy skill, Circle on circle round the Athenian hill. As much as Phosphor dims each lesser light, Or as the moon makes Phosphor seem less bright, So Herse moved, the fairest of the fair, And graced their pageant. Hermes hung in air 44

Amazed, and flushed with sudden heat, like lead From Balearic sling with fury sped, Which, cold at first, but finding fire that lies Concealed in clouds, grows heated as it flies. He cuts his journey short, and swooping down, Assumes no borrowed form, but trusts his own, And trusts with reason; yet neglects no care That helps his native charm: he smooths his hair, And sets his cloak to fall in stylish fold, And show, in full extent, its hem of gold. His right hand held the sleep-controlling rod, Most elegant; and exquisitely shod With twinkling wings, on spotless feet he trod. The mansion's inner court had chambers three Enriched with tortoise-shell and ivory: The middle Herse's; those on either side Aglauros and Pandrosos occupied. Aglauros first observed him as he came, And boldly asked his errand and his name; And Hermes answered: "Son of Jove am I, Who bear my father's mandates through the sky; And not to hide my purpose, wherein you Have part, if to your sister's interests true, 'Tis Herse brings me: grant a lover grace, And have for nephew one of godlike race." With that same furtive glance, which lately spied On Pallas' secrets, now the god she eyed; And, asking gold in plenty for her aid, She barred his entry till the price was paid. On her Minerva turned her flashing eyes; Her bosom heaved, her buckler shook, with sighs, To think that she, who broke her bond, and tore The seals, to see the child no mother bore, Should win her sister's, and a god's, regard, And for the asking reap a rich reward. To that deep vale the goddess took her way, Where Envy dwells in dirt and foul decay; A bleak abode, with fogs that never clear; No sun is there to warm, no fire to cheer; A place of numbing cold, and stagnant air — 45

The warrior maiden might not enter there. Facing the door, a spear-length off she stood, And rapped with point extended on the wood. There Envy sat, and as the door stood wide, Minerva saw, and turned her gaze aside. On viper's flesh, the food of hate, she fed; And on the ground half-eaten snakes were spread. She left her meal, and rising from the floor, In no great haste she lumbered to the door; And groaned aloud Minerva's form to see, In matchless mail. A shriveled hag was she, With squinting eyes, that looked askance at all, Black, rotting teeth, and bosom green with gall. No color in her cheeks, no smile she had, Save when the sight of sorrow made her glad. As, vexed with cares, her sleepless eyes survey Men faring well, she eats her heart away; And, poison-tongued, the self-tormenting shrew Inflicts a rankling wound, and feels one too. Minerva, loathing, curtly said: "Impart Your vile infection to Aglauros' heart, King Cecrops' child." She fled, and with a bound Soared skyward, spuming with her spear the ground. With sidelong glance the other watched her fly (That gods should have their wish, was agony); And grumbling low, she took her staff, with twist Of brambles bound, and murky cloak of mist. The flowers lie trampled, where her footsteps pass; She blights the trees, and shrivels up the grass; And breathing plague o'er city, tribe, and home, She came at last to Athens in her bloom, Where wit and wealth with peace made holiday; And nearly wept, to find a scene so gay. But entering in, obedient to command, On Cecrops' child she laid her cankering hand; And filled her breast with barbs, and breathed her bane, That clung like pitch in lung and bone and vein; And then, her malice to its goal to guide, Lest random provocations ranged too wide, She held the god's presentment, large and bright, 46

And Herse's brilliant match, before her sight. Aglauros, chafed and restless with chagrin, Felt night and day the gnawing pain within; And moaning, peaked and pined in slow decay, Like ice beneath the sun's inconstant ray; And galled by Herse's fortune, felt such fires, As burn with gradual heat the smoldering briars. Now would she die, so much they vexed her eyes, Now bring them to her father's strict assize, And now — and this was final — she would stay Outside the door, and bar the suitor's way. And seated there, she answered every plea (For many a prayer and winning word had he) With: "Stay your speech: I shall not quit this door Till you departing hence return no more." "Stand we to that," rejoined the god, and plied His wand of power, to make the door stand wide; And as she strove to rise, the parts that bend Did vainly with a crippling weight contend; The knee-joints locked; she fought, but could not rise; The warmth from limbs, from veins the blood-stream flies; And as a cancer creeps, defying cure, And to the infected portions adds the pure, So through her bosom spread a chill like death, Which stopped the channels of her life and breath. Words found no issue, if she tried to speak; Fast in a grip of stone were throat and cheek. She sat, a marble statue dusky hued, By her black soul to its own tinct subdued. So Hermes punished sinful word and will, And winging heavenward left the Athenian hill; And drawn aside, was thus by Jove addressed, Who left his amorous purpose unconfessed: "Dear son, and servant faithful to obey, Swoop down to earth posthaste your wonted way; And turning leftward, where those regions are, That men call Sidon, 'neath your mother's star, Drive from the hills, and bring beside the sea The royal herd that crops the upland lea." So said, so done: the herd that grazed before

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The mountain heights, was headed to the shore, Just where the great king's daughter, day by day, With train of Tyrian maids was wont to play. 'Tis ill when love and lordship in one mind Together dwell. His sceptered state resigned, The king of gods, by whose right hand is hurled The three-forked fire, whose nods convulse the world, Among the herd, transformed in voice and mien, Treading the sward, a comely bull was seen, In color like untrodden snows, that last, Unmelted by the south wind's watery blast. The muscles bulged upon his neck; the fall Of dewlap was superb; the horns were small; Seeming handmade, such work as craftsmen do, They gleamed like agate as the light shone through; A brow of peace, wherein no terrors lie, A calm and unintimidating eye. "How fair, how friendly!" thought Agenor's child; Yet feared at first to touch him, though so mild. Soon, to her lover's joy, she nearer drew, And gave his milk-white mouth sweet flowers to chew. He kissed her hands, as earnest of the sum Of hoped-for joys, scarce waiting what's to come; And now on grass he leaped and played; now rolled On sand, to show his white on green and gold; Offering the maiden, as her fear grew less, His breast to stroke, his horns with flowers to dress; And she, unweeting what that form could hide, Upon his back at last made bold to ride. Then, sidling seaward, that four-footed cheat Came step by step where land and water meet; Then out to sea! while the fair prize he bore Looked back in panic at the fading shore. One hand was on his horn; one pressed his back; Her robes, wind-wafted, fluttered in her track.

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BOOK THREE OF Cadmus and his adventures — the sowing of the dragons teeth — the founding of Thehes — the transformation and death of Actaeon — the death of Semele and the birth of Bacchus — the strange experiences of Tiresias — his prophecies — the tale of Echo and Narcissus — the hostility of Pentheus to Bacchus — the tale of Acoetes — the death of Pentheus

T

J L IME passed; and Jove, in Dicte s loved domain, Threw off the bull, and showed the god again. Europa's father, much bewildered, bade His first-born, Cadmus, find the stolen maid, Adding: "Be this on pain of exile done," And so, to right his daughter, wronged his son; Who searched the world, and failing still to trace What Jove concealed, renounced his native place And angry sire; and reaching Delphi, where Apollo gives responses, knelt in prayer, And asking where his future home should be, Was told by oracle his destiny. "In lands unpeopled," went the word, "a cow Yoke-free, no vassal of the curving plow, Shall cross your path: follow, and where it lies Upon the grassland, make a city rise, And call the land Boeotia." As he went From Delphi's cave and down the steep descent, He saw a cow, untended, pacing slow, With neck unmarked by bondage, pass below. Blessing the god who smoothed his path, he made His step match hers, and followed where she strayed. Across Cephisus, where the stream runs low,

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Past furrowed fields of Panope they go. The heifer halts, and lifts her forehead fair, And lofty horns, and blows a blast in air; And glancing back, to view her faithful train, Sets down her flank upon the grassy plain. Cadmus gave thanks, and kissed the foreign ground, And hailed the far-sought hills, and fields new-found; Then bade his men for Jove's libation bring Unsullied water from the living spring. An ancient wood, to spoiler's ax unknown, Conceals a cave, by bending boughs o'ergrown, Where Nature's stone-work forms an archway low, And copious streams from founts unfailing flow. Deep in his haunt a snake of Mars lived there, A golden-crested beauty, past compare, With venom-bloated bulk, and eyes aglow, And three-forked tongue, and teeth in triple row. Hither with luckless steps the Tyrians turn, And in the stream let down the plashing urn; When from the tunneled cave the serpent's head Shoots forth, slate-hued, with noise of hissing dread. The vessels drop, as panic tremors fly Through palsied limbs, and all their blood runs dry. The snake, with loops in leaping arches flung, Rolls coil on coil his scaly length along; Or, three parts reared erect to take the breeze, Looks down with scorn on all the forest trees, A snake colossal: take him all in all, Matched with the one that parts the Bears, not small. And if they thought of arms, or if of flight, Or thought of nothing, paralyzed with fright, All's one: the jaws or reaching coils embrace; The poisoned breath with putrefaction slays. The shadows now were dwarfed at height of day, And Cadmus, wondering at his men's delay, Followed their trail. He wore a lion's skin For armor, and for arms a javelin And steel-bright lance, and, trustier far than these, A heart of steel. Within the wood he sees The snake in sprawling conquest on the dead, 50

Licking their loathsome wounds with lips blood-red. And seeing this, he cried: "O comrades true, I will avenge your death, or die with you." Then lifting high a rock above his head, With strong right hand the mighty mass he sped. A blow with which embattled walls would shake, And turrets totter, failed to wound the snake; Though fierce the shock, his tough hide, tempered black, And scaly armor beat the missile back. But soon was he the javelin's point to feel, And all his toughness could not turn the steel; It struck the midmost coil, and pierced the skin, And stuck; and all its length the steel sank in. He writhed his head, half-maddened by the smart; Looked at the wound, and bit the bedded dart; This way and that he shook the shaft, and last Wrenched it by force away; the steel stuck fast. Angry by nature, angry now with cause, He laves with milky spume his baneful jaws; And puffs his throat, surcharging every vein; And scrapes his rasping scales along the plain, While reeks his mouth like Styx; what issues there With black miasma taints the poisoned air. Now like a mast he stands, so tall and tense; Now curls his spires in vast circumference; And now with surging onset, like a flood, He breasts the trees, and batters down the wood. Thereat Agenor's son with slight recoil Fends off his onset with the lion's spoil; And with his spear-point well advanced, holds back The darting head persistent in attack: The monster champs the point in vain, and chaws The iron, that takes no dint, between his jaws. Now trickling blood, which that foul palate shed, Dripped on the grass, and flecked its green with red; But slight the wound: the monster backed away, And by retreating held the thrust at bay, Yielding his neck, that felt the point, to keep The unresisted wound from sinking deep; But still the pricking point was in his jaws, 51

And Cadmus pressed him hard, and gave no pause; Till at his back an oak obstructing stood, And through his neck the hero spiked the wood. The burden bent the tree, and near the ground The lashing tail made all the trunk resound. Now while the victor's measuring eye surveyed The vanquished foe in all his length displayed, He heard a voice that spoke a sudden word: The source was hidden, yet the speech was heard: "Agenor's son, that shape which now you view, Yourself shall be: so men shall gaze on you." — He shook with fear, his sense and color fled, His hair stood stiff on end with icy dread. But Pallas, see, descending from the sky, With counsel and encouragement is nigh; And bids him stir the soil and sow beneath, Seeds of a future race, the serpent's teeth. So, tracing furrows with the plow pressed firm, He sows, as bid, the teeth, the mortal germ; Soon, past belief, some impulse moves the rows, And from the furrows first a spear-point shows, Then helms appear, nodding with painted crests, Then shoulders rise to view, then plated breasts, Then arms, with weighty tools of war, and then The full-grown crop, a bucklered breed of men. So, at the play's end, on the festal days, The rising curtain painted forms displays, Which mount headfirst, with motion smooth and slow, Till last full length with planted feet they show. Cadmus by now was arming, in surprise To see, as he supposed, fresh foes arise, When "Stay," one shouted from the earthborn brood, "Keep up your sword; hold off from civil feud." Then, while the speaker laid one brother low, He took, at longer range, another's blow; And he that slew him drew not longer breath, But shared himself his short-lived brother's death; And as through all the band the blood-lust spread, The new-raised host by mutual hands fell dead. Now while, still warm, these warriors of a day 52

Were writhing on their mother's reddened clay, From all the host were five survivors found; And one, Echion, flung his arms to ground, And, warned by Pallas, urged that strife should cease, And with his brethren made a pact of peace; And soon the Tyrian exile had their aid To found his city, as Apollo bade. When Thebes at length stood firm, one might have guessed That Cadmus in his banishment was blessed: Happy, with child of Mars and Venus wed; Happy, with children of such mother bred: In sons and daughters did his race endure, With grandsons tall to make succession sure. But wise the word: "Await the end: let none Be counted happy till his days are done." A grandson first it was (while prospering so His fortune seemed) that proved a cause of woe, When horns belying nature crowned his head, And staghounds lapped the blood their master shed. Who weighs his deed will find no crime therein, But fate made error pay the price of sin. There stood a hill, where many a beast had bled, And here, through trackless wastes, the hunt was led. When noon made short the shadows, and the sun Was in midheaven, with half his course to run, The Theban prince addressed his faithful band, And in contented tones thus gave command: "Full fortune, friends, has crowned the day: each net, Each hunting-spear with blood of beasts is wet. When next the dawn, in car of crocus hue, Leads in the day, take we the trail anew; But now the sun 'twixt coast and coast attains His midmost height, and cracks the parching plains. Then strike the nets, while Phoebus shows his power." His men obeyed, and gave repose its hour. Within a vale, Gargaphie, cypress made With prickly pine a dense and sacred shade, Kilted Diana's haunt; and in the wood, Far in a secret glade, a grotto stood; 53

Where nature mimicked art, and tufa soft And living pumice raised an arch aloft. To right a whispering spring, thin trickling, brimmed A limpid pool, with grassy margent rimmed. Tired from the chase, the goddess freshened here Her maiden limbs with water dewy-clear; And, passing with her nymphs the archway low, To one, who squired her, gave her slackened bow, Her dart, her quiver; and to one her cloak, Which she with ready arm extended took. Two free her feet; while Theban Crocale's care, With art more expert, knots the straying hair. — Her own hangs loose. — Five maidens more there be: Hyale, Nephele, and Phiale, Psecas, and Rhanis, who the water fling Dipped in capacious vessels from the spring. Once while she bathed, the prince with careless tread In idle hour as fate, not forethought, led, Reached, through the grove, by woodland ways unknown, The fountained grot which Phoebe made her own. To see a man intruding caused a stir Among the wood-nymphs, naked as they were. They beat their breasts incontinent and made Their sudden outcries fill the forest glade, And, flocking round Diana, formed a screen, With their own bodies keeping hers unseen, Save that the goddess, as by birthright tall, Stood head and shoulders higher than them all. How oft we see the hue that clouds display When colored by the sun's full-smiting ray, Or dawn's deep flush! Such hue the goddess had, Such was the face of Dian caught unclad. And though hemmed closely by her retinue, She stood half-turned, and held her face askew; And finding not to hand the bow she sought, She made the water serve her vengeful thought; And dashed with drops Actaeon's hair and face, Hinting with words like these his future case: "Now go, and say you saw Diana nude, If say you can." Then deeds on threats ensued. 54

Upon his forehead, which she sprinkled, rear Great horns, the birthright of the long-lived deer; His ears grow long and sharp, his neck expands, He has long legs for arms, and hoofs for hands; Last of her gifts, a spotted hide has he, And in his heart a strange timidity. Was this the child of kings? With flying feet He sped, surprised to find himself so fleet; And when he saw some limpid pool display His face and horns, and felt constrained to say: "Unhappy me!" his power of speech was flown: He groaned, and all his utterance was a groan. Tears he could shed; o'er cheeks not his they ran: A stag in shape, in mind he still was man. What could he do, ashamed to seek his home, The house of kings, afraid in woods to roam? The hounds had seen him stand: from Blackfoot first And Tracer true the signal barking burst (Tracer, a Cretan; Blackfoot, Sparta-bred); Then one and all in hot pursuit they sped: Swift as the wind Treadhill and Greedy go, And Glance (the strain of Arcady they show); And Flight, for speed, and Hunter, marked for scent; Deerslayer strong, and Chaser violent; Whirlwind, and Dingle, from a she-wolf born; And dauntless Woodman, whom a boar had torn; Then Catcher, lean of flank, of Sicyon's stock, And faithful Shepherd, guardian of the flock; Runner, and Snatcher with two pups was there, And Soot, with black, and White, with snowy hair; Spot, Gnasher, Tigress, Might, and Spartan strong; Wolf with her brother Cyprian sped along; Grasper, brow-blazoned, white amid the black; And Hurricane, untiring on the track; And Barker, shrill of tongue, and Shag long-haired; And Swift, and Black; Fury with White-tooth paired (Of Cretan sire and Spartan mother sprung); And many more, whose names must pass unsung. By walls of rock, where way is hard, or none; O'er crag and boulder on the trail they run.

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Their luckless prey, where once he followed, fled: Fled his own hounds: the words he would have said: "Know me, your master," came not when he willed; With noise of baying hounds the air was filled. Blackhair bit first, who on his neck had sprung With Killer; Hill-bred to his shoulder clung: Late starters these, but following o'er the crest A shorter track, they closed before the rest, And held him, till the pack collected round, And fleshed their fangs, and left no place to wound. He groans, a noise 'twixt deer and man, and fills With cries of pain the well-remembered hills; And kneels within the pitiless ring, to raise Instead of arms a mute beseeching gaze. The huntsmen, unsuspecting, urged the hounds To fury with the huntsmen's usual sounds. Where was Actaeon? Looking everywhere, They called Actaeon, as not present there. He heard, and turned his head: they called him still, And thinking sloth had kept him from the kill, They blamed his absence from the sport that day. He, all too present, wished himself away! Fine sport indeed was forward, could he view His dogs in action, and not feel them too. Ranged round, they sank their muzzles in, and tore Their master, in the cheating mask he wore; And when by countless wounds Actaeon died, Diana's wrath at last was satisfied. Opinions differed, when the tale went round, And two contending schools of thought were found: A harsh vindictive goddess, some would cry; Some praised her justice, strict as chastity. Jove's wife withheld her voice: desert apart, The sufferings of that house rejoiced her heart; Her rage against the Tyrian concubine She turned, full store, on all the Tyrian line; Which dealt her soon, when Semele was found With child by Jove, a second grievous wound. She loosed her tongue to scold, but quickly thought "What profit ever has my scolding brought? 56

My blow must strike the woman, and if I Am justly called great Juno, she shall die. If not, I am not queen of heaven, nor bear With fitting hand the jeweled scepter there, Jove's wife and sister, as I claim to be — Sister, at least. And yet I think that she, Content with stolen pleasures, does me wrong As lawful wedded wife — but not for long. Yet, pregnant, she (last insult!) — thus she shows Her crime to all, and big with guilt she goes; And, bearing child to none but Jove, will be Blessed with a fortune scarce allowed to me. Trust in her beauty makes her feel secure, But that assurance shall be made unsure. As I am Saturn's daughter, she shall go To Styx's waters, by her Jove laid low." With that, she leaves her throne, and, as she flies, Screened by a cloud, assumes a shrewd disguise, Cracked cheeks, and quavering voice, and tresses hoar: Thus with weak steps she sought her rival's door. The nurse of Semele to the life was she, The aged Epidaurian, Beroe. Between the two the hours in gossip sped Till Jove was mentioned; then she sighed and said: "Ah, Jove — I trust 'tis truly Jove, my dear, But these old eyes see dangers everywhere, And simple girls, by names of gods misled, Have oft admitted mortals to their bed. Even to be Jove is not enough; let Jove If Jove it is, give worthy proof of love. The form he wears for Juno bid him don And come to you with all his splendors on." The girl, thus duped and with such precepts plied, Asked of the god a boon unspecified. "Choose," Jove replied, "and what you wish shall be. Nay, doubt it not; let that dread deity Who rules the surging Styx, my promise hear, The god of gods, who holds the heavens in fear." Well pleased with ill, she grasps the fatal prize And, by her lover's favor doomed, she cries: 57

' I n that same form which Juno's arms entwine In love's alliance, give yourself to mine." He would have stopped her, but the words had fled, And neither she could make her wish unsaid Nor he his oath unsworn. With deep-drawn sighs And heavy heart he climbs the towering skies; And round his brows the trailing mists he binds, The rain-clouds, and the thunders, and the winds, Lightnings that flash, or unresisted smite — Yet where he could, he sought to prune his might: That lightning-bolt, which once he hurled, to pierce The hundred-handed giant, was too fierce. There is a lesser bolt, not ranked so high Among the dread munitions of the sky, Packed by the Cyclops' hand with lighter store Of rage and flame and fury — this he wore; And so, all-armed, to do his mistress grace, In shattering splendor sought her dwelling-place; And entering in, he smote her mortal frame With force unsufferable and blasting flame. The child which in her lifeless body lay Jove, if the tale has credit, reft away; And sewed, unformed and frail, within his thigh, Till all the long maternal months went by. Ino was nurse, his mother's sister: she In secret watched his cradled infancy; Then Nysa's nymphs, to whom the charge she gave, Fed him on milk, concealed within their cave. While thus on earth things took their destined way, And twice-born Bacchus cradle-guarded lay, Once, when the nectar flowed, and Jove at ease In mellow mood was passing pleasantries With Juno, letting cares for once repose, An argument, at first in jest, arose. The woman's pleasure — Jove would have it so — Is greater than the man's. His wife said no. Tiresias (they concurred), who knew by test Both sides of love, would judge the issue best. Once in the woods at mating-time he broke On two huge serpents with his stick's rude stroke; 58

And, changed from man to woman at the blow, (A thing most strange) he passed seven seasons so. The eighth, he saw the selfsame pair, and cried: "If in your contact such strong spells reside, That whoso strikes, from sex to sex must go, I'll try the charm again," and, striking so, He felt the power, was changed again, and wore This time for good, the shape his mother bore. So, called to judge the playful suit that day, He found for Jove, and Juno, so they say, Was vexed so deeply that, forgetting all Justice and reason in a thing so small, She made her chosen umpire feel her spite, Dooming his eyes to everlasting night. Almighty Jove (since no god can undo Another's work) gave him a vision new, The power to see events before they came, And soothed his sufferings with a prophet's fame. Through all the land his answers won repute, And, when he spoke, the critic's voice was mute. Liriope, the water nymph, first tried His power and found the forecast verified. Cephisus once had clasped her to his breast, In waves enwound her, and by force possessed. She had a son when her full time was o'er; Lovely was she and lovely what she bore. E'en then he might have been by nymphs found fair; Narcissus was the name she bade him bear. The seer, desired to prophesy if he The far-off years of ripe old age should see, Made answer: "If himself he never know," Words seeming vain and long considered so. The fact confirmed them when the time was due; Strange was the love and death that proved them true. For when Narcissus, sixteen years gone by, As boy or man could take a lover's eye, His tender bloom concealed such hard disdain That man and maiden wooed alike in vain. Once, as he spread his nets and drove the deer, Echo, the nymph of answering voice stood near. 59

Unable she to speak without a cue, Or to keep silence, were she spoken to, Reduced to this by Juno's stern decree, Yet still a thing of flesh and blood was she; Though then, as now, her voice in antiphon Gave back, of many words, the last alone. For oft aforetime in the mountain-grove, When Juno might have caught the nymphs with Jove, Echo with ready wit and tongue talked on, And kept the goddess till the nymphs were gone; And Juno, when she learned the trick, was moved To utter threats — not empty, as it proved. "That tongue," she said, "that used me for your sport, Shall curb its power, and cut its speeches short." And thus on Echo did the doom descend, To parrot what she hears, at talk's tail-end. And now she sees Narcissus, as he roves O'er hill and dale, and as she sees, she loves; And dogs his steps, unseen; and as she goes Nearer the source, her fire the fiercer glows. With torches dipped in sulphur 'tis the same, Which near the fire are quick to catch the flame. How oft she wished to whisper, drawing near, Soft prayers and tender speeches in his ear, But lacked an opening, by her nature driven To wait his words, and give back what was given. By chance the youth, who missed his comrades, cried: "Is any here?" and "Here," the nymph replied. Amazed, he looked all round him, but in vain; And calling: "Come," himself was called again. He looked behind, and called, as none was nigh, "Why shun me?" and received the same reply. Then, still deluded by the mocking sound, He cried: "Here let us meet," and stood his ground; And willing Echo (never sound more sweet Would claim her answer) answered: "Let us meet," To back her words, she left the wood, and went To clasp his neck: such hope his speech had lent. He fled, and fleeing shouted: "Let me be: Death be my portion ere I yield to thee." 60

"I yield to thee," she said: 'twas all she could; And slighted so, took refuge in the wood. There, screened with leaves, ashamed to show her face, She made the lonely caves her dwelling place. Yet still the passion in her heart, which drew Its food from bitter memory, lived and grew; And sleepless sorrow made her body thin, And wasting sickness shriveled up her skin; And all her sap of life exhaled in air, Till just a speaking skeleton was there. Last stage of all, her voice was left alone, And all her body's remnant turned to stone. She haunts the woods, unseen on any hill, But heard by all, her voice is living still. So she, with all her sister nymphs, had borne, Like his own sex, the boy's caprice and scom; And thus spoke one, his arms upraised in air: "May he himself so love, and so despair!" And Nemesis approved the righteous prayer. There was a pool, with silver water clear, Which never shepherds or their flocks came near; Which no hill goat, no creature tame or wild, No bird, no falling bough, had e'er defiled. Green grass grew round, which that near moisture fed, Embowered by trees, by suns unvisited. And here, by heat and hunting tired, one day, Beside the pleasant pool Narcissus lay; And bending over, quenched his thirst, to find Within his heart a thirst of different kind; Loving a phantom, it was his to feel Delusive hope, and think a vision real; Self-hypnotized, he could not look away, But like a statue, fixed in pose he lay Face downward on the margin of the mere, Seeing his eyes, twin stars, reflected clear; His beardless cheek, his ivory neck, his hair, As that of Bacchus or Apollo fair; And features and complexion, fair to view, Where blushing rose and lily blend their hue. Strange love, when he who kindles feels the flame,

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And gives the praise his own perfections claim; Himself admiring, by himself admired, Lover and loved, desiring and desired. Not knowing what he sees, he sees and burns; The cheating vision spurs his love, and spurns; From lips, from eyes, the floating mockery flees; He cannot clasp, nor kiss, the self he sees. In vain, fond boy, you clutch a fleeting ghost; That which you love — but turn aside, 'tis lost; That which you seek, the form at which you stare, Is mere reflection, neither here nor there; Nought in itself, it stays but while you stay, And could you go, with you would go away. No thought of food could tear him from the place, No thought of sleep: he watched the feigning face With never sated eyes; and so he lay While through his eyes his life-force ebbed away. With arms outstretched, half-rising from the ground, He thus addressed the woods that clustered round: "O woodlands wise, the lover's friendly screen, Has e'er a lover so tormented been? Can you, whose lives through generations go, Remember one by loving brought so low? So fair a form I see: deceit unkind, That what I see and love I cannot find. Less grief it were, did oceans separate, Or road, or range, or city's close-barred gate. A little water parts us, and a space Of next to nothing hinders our embrace. My arms, which almost touch, he strives to greet; With face upturned he strains my lips to meet. But ah, you cheat me, boy beyond compare, I know not why, and flee, I know not where. Come forth, be known: you have no cause to fly My age and looks: the love of nymphs am I. Some friendly promise in your face I view; You stretch your arms, when I stretch mine to you; Smile when I smile, and answer tears with tears, And send the message back my gesture bears; And since your sweet lips move, I think they say 62

Words that, before they reach me, die away. "Ah, cheat no more: we two, I see, are one: I love myself, and scorch in my own sun. Must I be sued, or sue? What boon procure? My loved one's mine: possession makes me poor. Oh, could I leave this body, and remove (Was e'er such lover's prayer?) from what I love! My sorrow saps my strength; no portion long Of life is left; I perish, though so young. And death, which ends my grief, is light to me: I would my loved one's life could longer be; But we, so coupled, two in one must die." Then to the lure again he turns his eye, And weeps, distraught, and ruffles with his tears The surface, and his semblance disappears. When this he saw, "O cruel," was his cry; "Oh stay, from him that loves you do not fly. Oh be it given, if not to touch, to see, And feed my madness and my misery." With that he bared his breast, and struck it so With hands as cold as marble, blow on blow. Beneath the blows it changed from white to red, Like apples which the ripening tints o'erspread, Or grapes that fleck the bunch with purplish hue; This sight the pool, resettling, mirrored true. This broke his heart: like wax in gentle heat, Or morning frosts the first mild sunbeams meet, Dissolved to dew, he wasted with desire, Chafed inwardly by slow and secret fire. Now from his cheek the rose and lily fly, His pride and power, and all that pleased the eye. Gone was the form that Echo loved in vain; And she, though fretted still by rage and pain, Sorrowed to see him thus, and as he cried "Alas!" each time her word to his replied. At times he beat his breast, and as he beat, She answered every sound in counterfeit. "Boy, loved in vain" — he spoke his latest word Watching the pool with gaze that never stirred; And as "In vain," reechoed from the dell, 63

"Farewell." he cried, and Echo cried: "Farewell." Now sank his weary head, and death shut fast Eyes that admired their owner to the last; Who now a ghost upon the Stygian shore Gazed at his own reflection as before. His sisters mourn, the nymphs of stream and spring, And sorrow's tribute, severed locks, they bring; His cousins too, the woodland nymphs, lament; And answering Echo joins in sad concent. But now, when pyre and catafalque and flare Wait the last rite, they find no body there: No body, but a flower, their eyes behold, White rays in circle round a heart of gold. The tale was told, and brought the prophet fame, And through the Grecian cities spread his name. Pentheus alone, who held no gods in fear, Echion's son, despised the gray-haired seer; He mocked the misery of his darkened eyes, Flouted his words, and scorned his prophecies. "How blest a fate were yours," Tiresias said In answer, as he shook his hoary head, "If you might lose, like me, this gift of light, Before your eyes behold the Bacchic rite. For soon the day will dawn, to me clear shown, When Bacchus comes to make his godhead known; Whose worship if you scant and hold in scorn, Your flesh shall strew the landscape, rent and torn; Your blood defile the forest, and profane Your mother and her sisters with its stain. Yes, this shall be: the god will feel your slight; Yourself with sorrow prove my darkness light." Here Pentheus thrust him forth, but faith exact The sequel kept, and forecast turned to fact. The wine god comes; and through the country round Ecstatic cries of worshipers resound. Then thus the king, as all in wonder go, Men, women, young and old, and high and low: "What madness, sons of Mars, what frenzy blind, O serpent brood, has so bemused your mind? Can clash of brass on brass so potent be, 64

And twisted horn, and magic trickery, That you, who blenched not at the trumpet's blare, At naked blades, and bristling ranks of war, To wine-crazed wantons yield, and rabbles lewd, By drumbeats wild and women's cries subdued? You older men, who o'er the long seas drew Your exiled gods, and planted Tyre anew, Here is your city: strange it is that so You suffer it to fall without a blow. You in your prime, whose more adventurous age, Near to my own, might wars more fitly wage; Whose head the helm, not ivy leaves, whose hand The sword befits, and not the Bacchic wand — Recall your source; that serpent's prowess show, Whose single strength prostrated many a foe. He gave his life defending springs and lake: Be it yours to fight and win for honor's sake. The foes he slew were brave: a nerveless crew, Debauched and weak, are easy spoil for you. Honor your breed: I wish, if fate's command Allowed our Thebes no longer time to stand, That batteries and battalions, with the sound Of steel and fire, might bring her to the ground, Blameless though bowed, unshamed though sorely tried, With much to weep, indeed, but nought to hide. But now, what captor? Some unweaponed boy, Who loves not strife, nor steel, nor steed's employ, But larded locks which girlish wreaths enfold, And crimson garments, gay with threads of gold. Soon shall he own (just leave the rogue to me!) His cult a sham, and forged his pedigree. Acrisius dared to scorn his empty claim, And slammed the gates of Argos as he came: Shall he scare Pentheus, Thebes, and all our land? Go quickly," (thus he gave his guards command) "Seize the ringleader; bring him bound; begone; Haste, haste, posthaste, let what I bid be done." His grandsire and his uncle, all his kin, With grave remonstrance tried to hold him in, But made things worse: attempting to restrain, 65

They roused to fiercer rage his frenzied brain. So may a stream, where nothing bars its course, Flow with small noise and modest show of force; But dammed by balk or boulder, see how strong, Chafed by the check, it boils and foams along! At length the guards returned, a bloodstained band, And all for Bacchus was their lord's demand. "Bacchus," they said, "we saw not: bring we here, Fast bound, his acolyte and minister." And here they thrust their prisoner into sight, Some Tuscan follower of the Bacchic rite; Him Pentheus viewed with eyes which wrath had made Things to be feared: reluctantly he stayed The stroke of doom. "Before you die, and give A lesson by your death to those who live, Declare," said he, "your land, your birth, your name, And why you practice cults of upstart fame." The stranger, fearless, said: "Acoetes I, Maeonian bom, of lowly ancestry. No fields for sturdy steers to till, no kine, No fleecy flocks by heritage are mine. My father, poor like me, beguiled and took The leaping fish with rod and line and hook. His skill was his whole fortune: I was made Heir of his craft, successor to his trade. 'Take this, 'tis all the wealth I have,' said he; And all the estate he left me was the sea. But soon, lest rooted to the rocks I grew, Longing for change, I learned a cunning new: With just control the vessel's helm to guide, To mark where Hyades and Pleiads ride, Where rainy Capra and the double Bear; Where dwell the winds, and where lie havens fair. "Once, Delos-bound, I touched the Chian shore, Brought in with dexterous manage of the oar; And lightly leaping on the wave-washed sand, Slept with my crew till daylight on the strand; Then rose with red of dawn, and bade them bring (Showing the way) fresh water from the spring. I look to see what hope the winds afford;

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Then call my mates, and go again aboard. Thereat with answering hail Opheltes came, Who bore among the rest the leader's name, And with him from the barren region brought A captive boy for prize (or so he thought), Whose girlish figure tripped and swayed: you'd say That wine and sleep still heavy on him lay. I looked, his features, garb, and gait to scan, And saw therein no mark of mortal man. 'Some god,' said I '(but ask me not his name) Is surely there, some god in mortal frame. 0 power unknown, be gracious' (thus I prayed), 'Give these thy pardon, and our labors aid.' " 'Pray not for us,' thus Dictys made reply, Dictys, so quick to reach the topsail high, Or down the rope drop deckward, swift of hand. Libys, Alcimedon, and all the band, Blinded by greed of gain, approved the word, And flaxen-haired Melanthus too concurred, Who on the prow kept watch; Epopeus too, Whose voice controlled the oars, and kept them true To pace and pause, and cheered the flagging crew. 1 said: 'I'm captain here, and will permit No freight aboard that brings a curse with it.' I blocked the gangplank. There, like one possessed, Outraving and outbraving all the rest, One Lycabas, from Tuscan city sent To purge a deed of blood by banishment, As I withstood him, struck a breakneck blow, And would have dashed me to the waves below By force of hand, but, though my brain went black, I blindly clutched a rope, which held me back. The godless crew with shouts approved the stroke. "And Bacchus then (for this was Bacchus) spoke, As though the noise had roused him, and his brain Was clearing from the fumes of wine again: 'What is't you do? Why shout you, seamen, so? How came I here? Where will you make me go?' Proreus it was made answer: 'Have no fear; But name your port, and there the ship shall steer.' 67

'My home is Naxos; thither sail,' said he, 'And taste the island's hospitality.' By Ocean, by all gods, the tricksters swear, Bidding me set the sail, to bring him there. Since Naxos lies to right, to right I steer: 'Madman,' Opheltes cries; and guilty fear Assails each separate soul, and with dumb show Or whispered word they bid me leftward go. I cried, amazed: 'Then someone else may steer; My skill shall not be crime's accomplice here.' Backed by the threatening murmurs of the crew, Aethalion cried: 'Must all depend on you?' He took my place and post, and mile on mile With course reversed he sped from Naxos isle. "The god, as though now sensing treachery, While from the poop he watched the seas run by, In mockery feigned to weep. 'Is this,' said he, 'The land I asked, and which you promised me? What guilt is mine? Or is it sport for men To cheat a boy, when he is one to ten?' They mocked our tears, for I was weeping too; And plied their efforts with the oars anew. "Now by the god himself, who shows his might As much as any god to mortal sight, I swear all happened as I tell it you, Events most strange, but not more strange than true. The ship stopped dead, unmoving on the main, As though dry-docked, while oars were tugged in vain. Wildly amazed, they plied their strokes the more, Unfurled the sails, and strove with sail and oar; But ropes of ivy held the oarage fast, Snaked back and forth, and decked with fruit the mast. The god, with grapes in clusters round his head, Brandished a spear, which vine leaves garlanded; And round him tigers, feints to cheat the eye, And savage spotted panthers seemed to lie. Then, as in fear and frenzy every man Went leaping from the poop, a change began. First Medon's spine went curving, and his back Pushed out a hump, and all his skin turned black. 68

'What wondrous change,' said Lycabas, 'is here?' His mouth, while speaking, spreads from ear to ear; A curving snout, and scale-hard skin appear. The hands of Libys (call them hands no more) Contract to fins, while still they tug the oar. One stretched his arms, the twisted ropes to wind; And had no arms: a curving shape, streamlined, With tail like crescent moon, or sickle, gave A backward leap, and plunged beneath the wave. And now on every side, bedrenched with spray, As in a dance, with dive and leap they play; Shoot from the waves in wanton revelry, And with broad blowholes take and spout the sea. Of all the good ship bore alone I stood, Of twenty, one, and terror froze my blood; Till, half-distraught, I heard the words of cheer: 'Take heart; hold course for Naxos; have no fear.' I fetched the port, and, made a proselyte, I follow Bacchus and frequent his rite." Here Pentheus said: "Thus long, that wrath deferred Might haply cool, have we your ramblings heard. Hence with him, guards, and ply your tortures well; Send him in anguish down to death and hell." Thereat, with no more respite dragged away, Acoetes in a rock-hewn dungeon lay. But, as they whet the steel and heat the fire, Fierce tools of death, to do their lord's desire, The massive doors of their own will stand wide, And from his arms, untouched, the fetters glide. The headstrong king now sent no satellites, But went himself to see the Bacchic rites On mount Cithaeron, where the chosen haunt Rang loud with pealing cry and solemn chaunt. As when the brazen trumpets blow for war, The charger neighs and sniffs the fight afar, So, when he heard the long-drawn, shrilling strain That smote the air, his anger glowed again. Amid the hills the wooded banks surround A treeless floor, a natural grazing ground, And here the monarch with unhallowed eyes 69

Was witnessing the Bacchic mysteries. Who saw him first? Who first, in mad career, Upon her Pentheus cast the wounding spear? His mother. "See, my sisters, see," she cried, "Yon monstrous boar that roams our countryside. Come, see the kill!" And running all one way, The wild horde closed upon their trembling prey. Yes, trembling now, he took a different tone, And, self-condemned, began his fault to own, And gashed with wounds, "Give aid, dear aunt," said he, "And let Actaeon's memory plead for me." Autonoe, to whom no memory came Nor recognition of Actaeon's name, With her twin sister, Ino, seized the prey, And from the shoulders tore the arms away. No suppliant arms were by his mother seen: He showed the gaping wounds where arms had been: "See, mother, seel" and as Agave sees, She shakes her back-flung tresses on the breeze; And with exultant ululation cries: "Ho comrades, ours the victory, ours the prize!" And there in dripping fingers gripped, she bore The bleeding head, which from the trunk she tore. — How quickly will the autumn wind have tossed The feebly clinging leaves, when touched by frost! Those fierce disnatured hands in shorter span Tore limb from limb what once had been a man. The Theban wives, awed by the new god's might, Honor his altars, and attend his rite.

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BOOK FOUR OF the three daughters of Minyas — the tale of Pyramus and Thisbe — the trick played on Mars and Venus — the loves of the sun-god — the tale of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus — the transformation of the daughters of Minyas — the madness of Athamas — the transformation of Cadmus and Harmonia — the tale of Perseus and Andromeda — the slaying of Medusa

J L E T would not Minyas' child, Alcithoe, With sisters leagued in rash impiety, Give room to Bacchus, or his rites approve, Or grant him godhead, by descent from Jove. There came a feast-day, by the priest's decree, When maid and mistress, from their labors free, Should dress in skins, and chaplet-crowned should bear The leafy wands, and loose their banded hair: Fierce, he forewarned them, would the anger be Of Bacchus, should they slight his majesty. The wedded women, young and old, comply, And leaving baskets, filled with wool, to lie, And webs unfinished on the looms, they bring Incense, and make their pious offering; And call on Bacchus, adding name to name: Lyaeus, Bromius, Nyseus, Child of Flame, Twice-born, Twice-mothered (name none else may share), Thyoneus, of the unshorn beard and hair, Euhan, Iacchus, or in other shape, Lenaeus, planter of the genial grape, Nyctelius too, and Father Eleleus, And what names else the Grecian peoples use. Unfading boyhood, Liber, youth eterne 7i

Are yours; in heaven the fairest star you burn; Or laying by your horns, on earth you tread, And like a girl's appears your comely head. The conquered East, to where the Ganges pours His farthest floods through sunburnt Ind, is yours. The headstrong Pentheus, and Lycurgus, brave With two-edged ax, blasphemers both, you gave To death, dread god, and sent beneath the sea The Tuscan sailors with their treachery. You tame the lynxes, and your yoke restrains Their necks resplendent with the jeweled reins; Satyrs and bacchants in attendance throng, And there the gray-haired tippler reels along Supported by his staff; or else bestrides His crook-backed ass, and insecurely rides. The timbrels, smitten with the palm, ring round, And hollow brass and long-bored box resound; Where'er you go, ecstatic clamors rise, And young men's voices blend with women's cries. So worshiped Thebes that day: "Our praises hear," The women cried, "and draw in mercy near." But Minyas' daughters, shut indoors, apart, Pursued with ill-timed zeal Minerva's art; They drew the wool, and thumbed the twist, and spun; Or hugged the loom, and urged their handmaids on. Then as she drew the thread with fingers light, One said: "While idlers throng the spurious rite, Let us, who hold by Pallas, goddess true, Relieve with talk the useful toil we do, And tell by turns some tale, to occupy Our idle ears, and make the hours fleet by." "Be you the first," they cried, "we like it well." Then wondering which of many tales to tell (So large her store), of Dercetis she thought, The Babylonian, and the wonder wrought That made her, as from Syrian tales we hear, A scale-clad shape, a ripple in the mere; Or how her daughter, clothed with wings, had spent Her life's last years on some white battlement; Or how a nymph, with herbs of potence fell,

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Changed men to voiceless fishes by her spell, Then shared their fate; how bloodstains on the tree Turned its white fruits the black that now we see. This last, least known, she chose: thus went the tale, While still the wool pursued its lengthening trail: "Far in the East, where round her city tall Semiramis had raised her brick-built wall, Thisbe and Pyramus, of maidens she The fairest, and of youths most handsome he, Lived next-door neighbors, and by nearness drew To friendship first, and then to lovers grew: And might have married, had the match been made, But this their fathers, for some cause, forbade. But what no fathers could forbid, the flame Of mutual love burned in them, just the same. No message passed: their looks alone conversed; The fire burned hotter, in concealment nursed. "Long since, when built, the common wall, the link Between their houses, sprang a tiny chink, Unseen till now; but they, with love's keen eye, Saw it, and made a path for speech thereby; And there, in faintest whispers, to and fro, With safety would their soft endearments go; This side and that, they took their stations there, And sighed by turns, and breathed each other's air. 'O envious wall,' so sometimes they would say, 'Why do you stand and bar the lovers' way? What cost to you, to suffer our embrace, Or open, at the least, a kissing-space?' And sometimes: 'Thanks, kind wall; to you we owe That free to friendly ears our words may go.' Thus o'er the sundering space their nothings fly; And when night came, and time to say good-bye, On either side with kisses they would greet The barrier, though their kisses could not meet. "When dawn next dimmed the starlight, and the gleam Of hoarfrost vanished in the sun's bright beam, They seek the usual spot, and first debate At length, in murmurs low, their luckless fate; Then make a compact, out of doors to creep 73

By stealth, when night is hushed, and guardians sleep; Then, clear of home, to leave the city too, And lest in open country they pursue Divergent paths, and fail to meet, a tree At Ninus' tomb their meeting-place should be: There, near a spring, a lofty mulberry made With clustering snow-white fruits a friendly shade. Thus pledged, they wait till lingering daylight dies In ocean, and the shades from ocean rise. "Thisbe, unseen, with darkness all about, Swung back the door, and slipped adroitly out, With features veiled; and reached the chosen tree, And sat beneath, so bold with love was she. But lo, a lioness, with crimson stain Fresh on her foaming fangs from cattle slain, Came to the pool to slake her thirst, in sight Of Thisbe, watching in the moon's clear light. To some dark cave on flying feet she sped, Dropping her mantle as in haste she fled. The beast drank deep, and then, its thirst allayed, Was turning homeward to the forest glade, And in its path the fallen garment saw, And champed the fabric with its bloodstained jaw. "Anon came Pyramus, and saw, dismayed, In the deep dust the creature's tracks displayed. He turned as pale as death, and soon he found, Near by, the bloodstained mantle on the ground. 'One night shall lay two lovers low,' cried he, 'Her with best claim to live, and guilty me. Poor girl, I killed you, when I sent you here Alone, by night, to such a place of fear, Not coming first myself. O rend and tear My guilty flesh, you lions; you whose lair Is in this rock, devour me. — Yet to pray, For death,' he added, 'is the coward's way.' He took the mantle, which so well he knew, And bore it to the tree, their rendezvous; Then kissed it oft, and bathed it with his tears, And saying: 'Drink my blood as well as hers,' He plunged the sword he carried in his side,

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And fell with face upturned. But ere he died, He wrenched the weapon from the wound away; And blood flashed upward in a crimson spray; As from a water-pipe, when cracks the lead, Through the thin rift the hissing stream is sped. The tree was spattered, and the fruit it bore Went dark in color with the rain of gore; And from the blood-soaked root the purple hue Rose up and dyed the berries as they grew. "That moment Thisbe, still possessed with fears, But loath to fail her lover, reappears; And looks with eyes alert, and mind as well, Her danger, her escape, agog to tell. This is the place, and surely this the tree; But fruit so dark — she doubts if this it be; And while still wavering, sees the limbs that play Their death-beat on the ground, and shrinks away. As boxwood pale, she shuddered, like the seas, When o'er the surface goes the whimpering breeze. But when she stooped, and knew her lover there, She beat her blameless breast, and tore her hair; Clasped the loved body in a fond embrace; Wept in the wound, and kissed the ice-cold face. 'O Pyramus, what fortune,' was her cry, 'Has snatched you from me? Pyramus, reply. Your Thisbe I; 'tis Thisbe calls,' she said; 'O hear my voice, and raise your sunken head.' "At Thisbe's name, his eyes, which death down-bore, Looked up, and saw his love, and dropped once more. But she, when now she saw his scabbard bare, And recognized her own mantilla there, Cried out again, and said: 'Unhappy one, By your own hand, and by your love, undone, Courage for this my own true hand can show, And love is mine, to nerve it for the blow; I follow in your footsteps to the tomb, The wretched cause, and comrade, of your doom; And not by death itself, my love, shall we, Whom death alone could sunder, sundered be. And you, bereaved ones, parents his and mine, 75

To gain one favor let our prayers combine; And those whom love, and whom this fatal day, Has joined, grudge not within one tomb to lay. And you, O tree, whose boughs of sanguine hue Now cover one, and soon shall cover two, With mourning fruits for ever keep the stain, And guard the memory of two lovers slain.' She spoke; and then beneath her breast applied The yet warm blade, and leaned thereon, and died. The parents by her dying plea were moved, And what she asked of heaven, the gods approved: The ripening fruit to black from crimson goes; The ashes in a single urn repose." Brief silence followed on the story's end: Now speaks Leuconoe while the rest attend. "The sun, who sways the world with lordly beam, Has bowed to love; his loves shall be my theme. He first, they say, as always first to see, Of Mars and Venus saw the adultery, And, deeply shocked thereby, told Juno's son His bed was robbed, and where the theft was done. Vulcan one instant lost the power of thought And from his hand let slip the work he wrought; Then spun in bronze, with subtlest artistry, A chain-link net, too fine for eye to see; Not thinnest threads, not webs which spiders send From ridge-beam down, could with that work contend; A touch, a breath, would move it: this he spread And draped with apt adjustment round the bed; And soon the two, when next embracing there, Lay helpless, netted in the novel snare. The husband flung the ivory portal wide And ushered all the gazing gods inside. There lay the lovers linked in shame. 'What bliss,' One jester said, 'to suffer shame like this!' The gods all laughed, and through the heavenly bounds For many a day the story went the rounds. Venus, whose vengeance had long memory, made The informer, who her secret love betrayed, Feel love in turn, and wound with wound repaid. 76

"Ah, son of Hyperion, what to you Are now your beauteous rays and brilliant hue! While range your burning rays from shore to shore, You burn yourself, with fires unfelt before, And, owed to all, your gaze contracts to see One maid, your universe, Leucothoe; And rising early, longer thus to gaze, And setting late, you lengthen winter days; Or in eclipse, when your distempered mind Infects your beams, with fear you shake mankind. 'Tis not the moon between the earth and you That makes you pale, but passion saps your hue. Now Clymene and Rhodos charm no more, Nor Circe's mother on Aeaea's shore, Nor Clytie, who suffers still the pain Of unrequited love and your disdain; Upon Leucothoe your heart you set, And former fancies (not a few) forget. The land of perfume was her native place, Her mother fairest of the perfumed race, Till, with the years, her daughter, beauty's best, Surpassed Eurynome, as she the rest. Her sire was Orchamus; seventh king was he From Belus, fount of Persian royalty. "Far west, in pastures of the sun-god's steeds, Instead of grass ambrosia fills the meads; And here the team, their spell of service done, Recoup their forces for the next day's run. They feed like gods; and once, while thus they fed, And Night took turn of duty in their stead, The god assumed a female form and paid A visit, as her mother, to the maid. With servants twelve by lamplight she was found Spinning the thread with spindle twirling round. Then, as a mother might, he kissed her cheek, And said: 'I have a private word to speak. Handmaids, retire, and give me leave to say Some things in secret, as a mother may.' He then declared, when none was by to hear, 'That god am I who measures out the year, 77

Eye of the world, who all things everywhere Sees and makes seen — in truth, I find you fair.' Distaff and spindle from her fingers fell; She shook with fear, and fear became her well. And when the god without disguise displayed His own true radiance, she was more dismayed; Yet so that sudden splendor made her quail, She stilled her cries, and let his power prevail. Now Clytie, whose love was fever high For this same god, was stung by jealousy; And vilified her rival far and near, And brought the scandal to her father's ear. He played the harsh and unrelenting sire; No daughter's prayer for pardon soothed his ire, No hands uplifted to the sun, no cry: 'I wished it not; he forced me to comply.' He dug her grave, and cast her in the ground, And covered her, still pleading, with a mound; And though the sun dispersed it with his rays, And pierced the earth that covered up her face, And gave her room, she could not lift her head, But stifled by the weight of soil, lay dead. Ne'er had the lord of flying steeds discerned A sight more sad, since Phaethon had burned. Ah, could he with his powerful beams restore Those ice-cold limbs to warmth of life once more! But fate opposed: 'twas all he could, to spray With nectarous balm the body where it lay; To speak at length his sorrow, and declare: 'You yet shall rise from earth, and reach the air.' Forthwith her frame, with heavenly nectar blent, Dissolved, and through the soil diffused its scent; And there a shrub, slow rooting in the ground, Of frankincense arose, and topped the mound. Then Clytie (though love, that stung her sore, Might claim forgiveness for the tale she bore) Quite fell from favor with the lord of light, Who came no more as lover to her sight. She shunned her sister nymphs, and pined away; And turned her love to madness: night and day 78

The sky her roof, her seat the naked ground, Stock-still she sat, with naked hair unbound; And lacking meat and drink, her hunger fed On the thin dew, and on the tears she shed. Only her gaze, upon the sun-god bent, Moved with his march, and watched him as he went. Nine days had gone: her pallid limbs, stuck fast, To bloodless vegetable substance passed; Her face, wherein some color lingered yet, Flowered with a blossom like a violet. Though rooted fast, she turns towards her flame, And changed in form, still keeps her love the same." The tale entranced them. Could such marvels be? Some loudly voiced their incredulity; While some maintained that gods of title true (Not frauds like Bacchus) what they will can do. Silence restored, Alcithoe began, While through the upright loom her shuttle ran: "No well-worn tale of Daphnis' loves I tell, Shepherd of Ida, whom (the world knows well!) A nymph, to spite her rival, turned to stone: Such rages burn in lovers' hearts alone. Crocus and Smilax, changed to tiny flowers, And the Curetes, children of the showers, And Sithon, who from sex to sex would go, With baffling alternation, to and fro, And Celmis, friend to infant Jove of old, Now adamant — all these I leave, to hold Your hearts attentive with a tale new-told. "The fount of Salmacis, whose water thin Unmans and softens him who bathes therein, Is widely known and feared: my tale will show Whence came its power, which not so many know. "In Ida's cave, the naiads' secret care, Grew Hermes' son, whom Aphrodite bare. Both parents in his face were clearly shown, And both their names were blended in his own. At fifteen years he left his native ways, And Ida's hill, that nursed his infant days, To roam with joy new countries, and to see 79

New streams, untired in curiosity. Beyond the Lycian towns there caught his eye A limpid pool, where Caria's borders lie: Right to the bed the water glittered clear, No marsh-bom reed or sterile sedge was here, No bladed rush the crystal depths to screen, But fringe of fadeless lawn and living green. Here dwelt a nymph: not such as in the chase Would bend a bow, or show a sprinter's pace: Her sisters oft would chide her, as alone Of all the nymphs to Artemis unknown. 'Come, Salmacis, the spear or quiver seize, And let the hunt take turn with hours of ease.' No spear nor painted quiver would she take, Nor hours of ease for toilsome trails forsake; But in her spring she bathed her body fair, And with a boxwood comb arranged her hair; And oft her gaze would on the waters rest, Consulting them, what style became her best. Now would she lie, gauze-veiled, in leafy bowers On soft green banks, and now would gather flowers; And gathering flowers, as once her fortune led, She saw the boy, and seeing, coveted; And hastened to his side — but not before She spruced her person, looked her clothing o'er, Made up her face with unaccustomed care, And spared at least no effort to look fair. "Then thus she spoke: 'Sweet boy, of form divine — Yes, Cupid's self, if beauty be the sign — Or if of mortal mold, O parents blest Who gave you life, and she who gave her breast! Happy your brother, if a brother be; If any sister, richly dowered is she; But happier still, if there is one you call Your wife to be — O happier she than all! If one there is, let stolen joys be mine; If not, in lawful wedlock make me thine.' So she; but what love was, he did not know: He blushed to hear her, seeming prettier so. Such hues on tinted ivories we see, 80

Or apples hanging sun-riped on the tree; Such the moon's white, with crimson underlaid, When sounding brass is impotent to aid. She begged for kisses, begged and begged again, A brother's kiss at least, but begged in vain. She tried to clasp his ivory neck, but he Cried: 'Hold, or from your fields and you I flee.' 'No, no,' cried Salmacis in sudden fear, 'Fair guest, I leave you full possession here.' And keeping him in view, but feigning flight, She crouched within the copse, concealed from sight. "Meanwhile the boy went here and there, unviewed, So he supposed, in that green solitude; And soon was tempted by the rippling pool, And dipped his foot, and found the water cool; And not resisting long, the slender lad Stripped his light garments off, and stood unclad. Then was she witched indeed: her wild desire, Fanned by his naked beauty, burned like fire; Her eyes resembled mirrors, when their blaze Reflects at full the sun's unclouded rays; She scarce could brook delay, or bear the pain Of joys deferred, or curb her frenzied brain. "His cupped hands clapped his sides, and in he went, And swimming in that crystal element, Shone luminous, as cased in glass are seen White lilies, or an ivory figurine. 'He's mine,' the water-maiden cried, 'I win!' And flinging all her garments off, dived in. He fought in vain: his shrinking lips she pressed; And shooting hands beneath him, touched his breast; Made circles round him, spun her fluent coils, And snared him, as he strove to slip the toils. So will the serpent, seized and lifted high By the king bird, and dangling in the sky, Encoil the captor with its tail, and cling Round feet and head and wide-extended wing; So will the ivy round some lofty tree Its tendrils twine; and so, beneath the sea, The octopus, extending every way 81

Its whiplash arms, will seize and hold the prey. When he persisted in his stubborn will, And joys she hoped for were denied her still, She pressed him all the harder, limb to limb, Clinging so close it seemed she grew to him. 'Perverse, unnatural boy,' she cried at last, 'Fight as you will, I still shall hold you fast. Grant this, O gods, I pray, and let me be For ever joined to him, and him to me.' Her prayer found gods to hear, and from the two, Mingled and joined, one human semblance grew. As grafters marry slip with stock, and see Them join, and grow together on one tree, So, when the couple could not break away, No longer two, but two in one were they; You could not say that boy or girl was there, But both and neither in the blended pair. Finding the pool had made him half a man, Who was a whole one when his bathe began, Hermaphroditus, from whose voice had fled The manly pitch, with arms extended said: 'O parents dear, whose names conjoined I bear, Indulge your son, and let what man soe'er Dips in these waters (such the boon I crave) Go thence half woman, weakened in the wave.' Two parents heard: to please the two-sexed child, With the foul flux the pool was thus defiled." When thus the tales, but not the toil had ceased, That slighted Bacchus and profaned his feast, Invisible cymbals clashed with sudden sound, And twisted horn and clanging brass rang round; The scents of myrrh and saffron filled the air; And, wonder past belief, the fabrics there, Framed in the loom, were touched to living green, And dense with foliage, formed an ivy screen; Some changed to vines, and from the crisscross thread A latticework of shoots and branches spread; While from the Tyrian dye the grapes assume Tints that serve well to paint their purple bloom. 'Twas now day's end; between the dark and light 82

Were merged the frontiers of the day and night. The palace shakes, and phantom torches flare, And through the chambers, lit with smoky glare, Go howling beasts, illusive shapes of air. Where now are Minyas' daughters? Gone from sight, They cower, one here, one there, and shun the light, Transformed, though by what process, as they fled, They know not; but they dwindle, and a spread Of membrane shrouds them round, and as it clings, Incorporates their arms in weblike wings. No feathered flight is theirs, and yet they fly, And with transparent pinions soar on high; And, suited to their size, a tiny squeak Is all their utterance when they try to speak. Buildings, not woods, they haunt, and hate the light, And (hence their name) at evening's end take flight. Then, then was Thebes in every corner rife With talk of Bacchus; and his aunt, the wife Of Athamas, through all the land made known The new god's mighty power, and she alone Of all the sisters lived untouched by woe, Save what she felt to see her sisters so; And thus uplifted, with a husband blessed, With sons, and foster-child a god confessed, Caught Juno's eye, who could not bear the sight, And brooding thought: "My rival's son had might To change the Tuscan sailors, and to send Them under sea; to make a mother rend Her son in pieces; and to give the three Daughters of Minyas pinions strange to see. Shall it be said, to Juno nought belongs Save leave to weep her unrequited wrongs; My threats so feeble, and my powers so few? My foe himself instructs me what to do, Who did by Pentheus' death too well display Delirium's power, and point me out the way. The lesson's learnt: let Ino feel the goad, And like her kinsfolk, tread the madman's road." There leads a path, where mourning yew-trees grow, Through gloom and silence to the realms below. 83

Styx crawls with mists; and spirits, at life's end, When burial rites are over, there descend, And seek the dark king's grisly realm, a gray And wintry waste, where ghosts of yesterday, Bound for the Stygian city, lose their way. The spacious city keeps on every side A thousand gates of entry open wide; It feels no influx, makes all numbers small, And as the ocean takes the streams, takes all. The bloodless, boneless phantoms wander there, And crowd the palace door, or fill the square. Some ply the crafts in which their life was spent, Some suffer for their deeds due punishment. Hither did Juno from her bright abode, To serve her hate and anger, take the road. The threshold, when her foot had pressed the stone, Confessed the sacred presence with a groan; And Cerber, lifting his three heads, looked round, And gave three barks, which made a single sound. Before a door, with adamant close barred, There sat dread shapes of deity on guard, Combing black snakes that clustered in their hair, Daughters of Night, that strike and do not spare. They rose, well knowing who had entered in Their place of gloom, the Abode, so-called, of Sin. There Tityos, stretched o'er acres nine, she saw, Offering his flesh to rending beak and claw; The water shrinks from Tantalus, and the tree, That overhangs him, from his clutch swings free; And Sisyphus runs after, or with pain Upheaves, the boulder doomed to roll again; Revolving on his wheel, Ixion makes After himself, but never overtakes; The Danaids there, who durst their cousins slay, Fetch water fast, and lose it on the way. All these, but most Ixion, Juno eyed; And looked from him to Sisyphus, and cried: "Of all the brothers, why must he alone With pains unending for his crimes atone, While Athamas in wealth and pride may reign — 84

He and his wife, who hold me in disdain?" And here she laid her cause of hatred bare, And why she came, and what she wanted there; To wit, that Athamas, at the furies' call, Should rave and slay, that Cadmus' house might fall: For this she asks the furies' aid, and spares No threats, incitements, promises, or prayers. Tisiphone flung back the tresses white And tangled serpents that obscured her sight, And said: "No need through winding words to run: Whate'er you give command for, think it done. Withdraw from this unlovely realm, and fare Back to a better clime, an ampler air." She went well pleased, and, cleansed with sprinkled rain (The task of Iris), entered heaven again. The fury's out, her cloak thrown on in haste, A snake for girdle twisted round her waist. Her garments drip with blood, and in her hand She holds, all bloody too, a lighted brand. Terror, and Madness with her twitching face, Attend her to the doomed man's dwelling-place. They say the sunlight faded, and there fell Across the shuddering door the hue of hell. The wife and husband tried, in dire dismay, To quit the house: the fury barred the way. She shook her tresses, where the serpents hissed, And waved the knotted serpents at her wrist. Some round her neck or on her bosom hang, And spitting poison, dart a flickering fang. Two, that she plucked foul-handed from her hair, And darted at her victims' breasts, crawled there, Breathing contagion — no corporeal pain; What felt the dire infection was the brain. Strange unctions too she had. The foam that hangs On Cerberus' jaws, and vipers' venomed fangs; Black-outs of memory, wanderings of the mind; Blood-lust, and crime, and tears, and frenzy blind — All mixed and brayed, and blended in a stew With blood and hemlock, made her cauldron's brew. Through quaking breasts the maddening poison goes, 85

And reason, in its center, overthrows. Then whirling round and round her torch's flare, She made a flaming circle in the air; And flushed with triumph, now the blow was dealt, Went back to hell, and loosed her serpent belt. The king was raving. "See the lioness there With twin-born cubs. Ho, comrades! set the snare!" And where delirium paints a woodland scene, Through his own halls the madman stalks his queen. Learchus stretched his little arms and smiled; But from the mother's arms he snatched the child, And whirled it like a sling three times or more, And dashed its brains out on the marble floor. The mother shrieking fled, with grief distraught, Or madness that the sprinkled poison wrought. Her hair flew wild, and with bare arms she pressed The infant Melicerta to her breast. She called on Bacchus: Juno grimly smiled, And wished her profit of her foster-child. A beetling cliff, wherein a sea-scooped cave Receives below the roofed and sheltered wave, Stands stark at top, and thrusts a brow to sea: Hither she climbs with mad agility, And fearless leaps: two bodies as they smite The clear blue water, make a swirl of white. But Venus, whom her grandchild's woes had stirred, Addressed her uncle with a winning word: "O god of waters, who with lawful reign Next to the sky your place and power maintain, O Neptune, see these innocents of mine Tossed helpless on the broad Ionian brine. Tis much to ask, but pity wrongs so sore, And to your roll of sea-gods add two more. Ocean, where once I grew, should own my claim, Since, formed of foam, I bear in Greek that name." Neptune approved, and purging clean away From son and mother what was mortal clay, Gave them, new-clothed with godlike majesty, New names, Palaemon and Leucothoe. When Ino's maids pursue as best they can, 86

And find her tracks, where on the edge she ran, Deeming her dead beyond a doubt, they mourn O'er Cadmus' house, with hair and garments torn; And cast a slur on Juno, as alike Unjust and cruel, thus her foes to strike. Stung by their taunts, "Yourselves," she cried, "shall be The chief memorials of my cruelty." Deeds followed words: when one, most loyal, bent On following where her royal mistress went, Essayed to leap, she had no power to move; Fast to the rock, like rock herself, she clove; One, raising arms to deal the usual blows Upon her breast, grew rigid in that pose; And one had stretched her hands to sea, and stands Transformed to stone, with seaward-pointing hands; Another's fingers, while they tried to tear Her ravaged tresses, stiffened in her hair; And so the sisters, turned to statues, stuck Each in her posture, as the palsy struck. Some few, transformed to birds, still skim the foam Of those wild waters, near their Theban home. Now Cadmus, ignorant of their true estate As sea-gods, mourned his child's and grandchild's fate; And vanquished by his woes in lengthening line, And heaven's disfavor seen in many a sign, As though the curse upon his city lay, Not on himself, the founder, went away; And with his wife, poor exile, wandering far, Came lastly where the Illyrian borders are; And bowed with grief and age, reviewed their woes, And how their house, so luckless, first arose; And Cadmus mused: "What of the snake I slew, When sent from Sidon first to countries new? Was that some sacred thing my spear transfixed, Whose teeth, the wondrous seed, with earth I mixed? If it's for him that heaven, with wrath shown clear, Is strict in vengeance — heaven, your suppliant hear: May I myself, transmuted to a snake, Stretch to a length of belly." As he spake, Extending to a belly, long and thin, 87

He felt the scales encrust the hardened skin; Blue spots diversified the jet-black mail, His legs combined, and tapered to a tail; He fell face down, yet still had arms to spread, And human cheeks, down which his tears were shed. "Dear wife," said he, "unhappy one! draw near; Touch me, while something of myself is here; And take my hand, while hand is mine to take, While yet some part survives the encroaching snake!" He spoke no more, though wishing so to do, For suddenly his tongue was split in two; To give his sorrow words, no words were found, And all his utterance was a hissing sound. She beat a wifely breast: "O Cadmus, stay," She cried, "and from this nightmare break away. What work is this, that foot and hand are shed, Complexion, face? — all, as I speak, are fled. O change me too, I pray you, to a snake, You heavenly powers!" The creature, while she spake, Seeming to know her, licked her cheek, and pressed Close to her neck, and dear familiar breast. Then while their few companions shook with fear To see the crested serpent draw so near, She stroked its neck, and lo, before their view, With slippery coils entwined, were serpents two. They soon went gliding to the brake near by; And there they dwell today; and neither fly Nor menace man, nor what they were forget, But keep as snakes their gentle nature yet. To both, thus changed, as consolation came, To ease their lot, their grandson's growing fame. To him had conquered India bowed her head, And over Greece his crowded shrines were spread. Acrisius only, though by birth allied, Barred him from Argos, and with arms defied; Nor deemed him child of Jove — So doubted he, When Perseus claimed the like paternity — Perseus, conceived by Danae, as she told, Of Jove descending in a rain of gold. But soon, to dash the skeptic, truth was nigh: 88

The god he scorned was lifted to the sky; And Perseus with the snake-haired horror came, Medusa's head, the trophy known to fame; And as with strident wings he strode the air, And reaching Libya, hung in triumph there, Wherever blood-drops from the Gorgon's head Sank in the desert, living snakes were bred Of divers kinds; and still is Libya found A land of fear, where serpent-pests abound. Then, like a cloud, blown through the boundless air By warring wings, he drifted here and there, From end to end of earth he winged his way, Viewing the lands that far beneath him lay. East, west, he went, and thrice to north he saw The frost-bound bears, and southward, Cancer's claw. When day was done, distrustful of the night, In Atlas' westward realm he stayed his flight; To rest, till, summoned by the dawn star's ray, Aurora called in turn the car of day. On earth's far edge, where dips the sun to sea With panting steeds and wearied axletree, Atlas was monarch, who with stature vast All make of mortal giants far surpassed. A thousand flocks, a thousand herds were his, On pastures with no cramping boundaries; And trees, whose leaves of golden sheen enfold On golden boughs the fruits of living gold. Of him the traveler, needing roof and rest, Asked entertainment, as a worthy guest: "If birth allures you, know that Jove's my sire: If deeds impress, you shall my deeds admire." Atlas bethought him what the doom foretold, That Themis on Parnassus spoke of old: "The time will come, a son of Jove shall seize The gold of Atlas, ravaged from his trees." The king had ringed his orchards, in alarm, With walls of stone, to keep his gold from harm; A dragon, vast of bulk, was set on guard, And every stranger from his borders barred. So now to Perseus: "Get you gone," he cried, 89

And added to his words brute force beside; "Lest the great father and the glorious deed You falsely boast of, fail you in your need." Then Perseus, backing slowly, tried at first To speak him fair, then bade him do his worst; And found himself (as who would not?) surpassed In strength by Atlas; and exclaimed at last: "Well, since you think my rank and worth to be Of slight importance, take this gift of me." And on his left, while turning right about, He held Medusa's ghastly visage out. Atlas, transformed in every part, became A mountain mass, that matched his mighty frame. That peak was once his head; those ridges bare His arms and hands; those woods, his beard and hair; That flint, his bones: by heaven's decrees he grew To cosmic scale, with augmentation new In length and breadth and height, and on his crest The sky, with all its stars, was made to rest. By Aeolus confined, at break of day, The winds within their ageless dungeon lay; And Lucifer, whose radiance in the sky Summons the world to work, had mounted high. Perseus rewinged his ankles, left and right; Girt on his sword, and clove the air in flight; And leaving far below, on every hand, Tribes without number, came to Ethiop-land; And there in Cepheus' realm, with arms fast bound To the hard rock, Andromeda was found; Since Ammon ruled, that by the guiltless maid The trespass of her mother's tongue be paid. As Perseus looked, he thought her marble, wrought By sculptor's hand — or so he would have thought, But that warm tears were trickling from her eyes, And in the breeze he saw her tresses rise. He gazed entranced, and drank the subtle flame, The fire of love, scarce knowing whence it came; And spellbound by her beauty past compare, Almost forgot to move his wings in air. Then, landing, said: "O by such bonds confined, 90

More worthy those that ardent lovers bind, Declare, for I would know, your name and land, And wherefore thus with fettered limbs you stand." At first she dared not speak, but silent stood Before a man, as modest maiden would; To hide her face, her fettered hands forbade; Her tears rose freely, and could not be stayed. Still urged to tell, she told (for fear he thought Some crime concealed that she herself had wrought) Her name, her nation, and her mother's boast Of her own beauty, made at such a cost. While she yet spoke, some sound the surface gave Of moving menace on the trackless wave. The monster comes: a shape of horror he, That breasts the surf, and broadens o'er the sea. She screams; her mother and her sire draw nigh, Both sad, but she with juster cause to sigh; Their tears, well-timed, they bring, but bring no aid; They beat their breasts, and clasp the fettered maid. Said Perseus: "Years enough for tears and grief Await you, but for rescue, time is brief. If I should seek this maid in marriage, none Could rival me, being Perseus, and the son Of her, whom walls could not from Jove withhold, And Jove, who filled her with the fecund gold — Perseus, who laid the snake-haired Gorgon low, And braved the winds, on beating wings to go. Yet I, with gifts so great, will add to these Some service also, if the Powers so please. Then seal the bargain, and the contract sign, That if my valor save her, she be mine." They yield — as who would not? — and beg his aid, And pledge, for dower, their kingdom with the maid. As, driven with sweat and sinew o'er the tides, Furrowing the foam the bronze-beaked galley glides, So now the sea-beast cut his watery way, Breasting the waves, till off the cliffs he lay What space the leaden missile through the sky, Hurled by the Balearic sling, will fly. Upsprang the youth, and with a sudden bound, 91

Went cloudward, spurning with his foot the ground; The man's mere shadow, on the water seen, Provoked the beast: on that he spent his spleen. As, from behind, the bird of Jove will take Prone-basking on the sand, the spotted snake; And in the scaly neck sink deep his claws, To stay the stroke of backward-biting jaws, So Perseus swooped through space, and pressed the attack Unseen, descending on the monster's back. Where the right shoulder joined, he plunged his sword Its length of crescent steel: the creature roared, And reared, and dived, and circled, like a boar Bayed round by dogs, to feel a stroke so sore. Perseus, light-winged, evades his jaws, and where The shell-crustation gapes, and leaves him bare, On back, or bony flanks, the sword-strokes hail, Or where the fish-flukes end the tapering tail. Meanwhile the beast was belching brine and gore, Till Perseus' spattered wings were light no more; Distrusting these, he spied a rock, whose crest Just broke the surface, with the waves at rest; Rough seas concealed it: here he perched, and clung Left-handed, while his right the saber swung; And through the groin, the deathblow now to deal, Once, twice, three times, drove home the trenchant steel. While plaudits fill the land and sky and sea, The parents, Cepheus and Cassiope, With rapturous hearts accord the title won, "Help of their house," "their savior," and "their son." Now moves the maiden from her fetters freed, The cause, and compensation, of the deed. Now Perseus scoops the brine, and laves the hands That fought so well; and lest the rasping sands Should harm his snake-haired trophy, makes a bed Of leaves and seaweed for Medusa's head. The fresh live weed, with every spongy cell, Snatched up the magic of Medusa's spell; And pulpy leaf and branch, so soft before, Changed at her touch, and hardened to the core. The wondering sea-nymphs tried the sorcery 92

On fresh-plucked weed, and watched results with glee; Then spread the seeds, to propagate the strain Through all the seas, and still the effects remain; And coral-plants, beneath the water grown, Above the surface, touched by air, turn stone. Three turf-built altars next the victor raised; The left for Pallas, right for Hermes blazed, The middle Jove's, with victims for the three, A heifer, steer, and bull, respectively. Then seized Andromeda, and with the maid Undowered, deemed his prowess well repaid. The gods of Love and Wedlock led the way With brandished torches on the nuptial day; Festoons of flowers, and incense-glutted fires, Gave sign of mirth, with songs and flutes and lyres; The doors, flung wide, revealed the gilded hall, Where courtiers with their king held festival. The formal feast at end, when freely flowed Heart-easing wine, by Bacchus' grace bestowed, Of Ethiop-land inquired the hero then, Its clime and crops, its manners and its men; And Cepheus made full answer, and in turn More of his guest's great exploit sought to learn. "Tell with what courage, gallant sir," he said, And with what craft you took the Gorgon's head." Then Perseus told his tale, how Atlas cold Guards at his massive feet a safe stronghold; How Phorcys' daughters, maids twinborn, who share One eye between them, live in the entrance there; How while the eye was passing, with quick wit And sly supplanting hand he captured it, And reached, by stony wilds, and secret ways, And craggy steeps, the Gorgon's dwelling-place; And saw, by field and path, on every side, By sight of dread Medusa petrified, The shapes of men and beasts; how, by the shield His left hand bore, the monster was revealed Mirrored in bronze; how seeing in slumber sunk Her snakes and her, he severed head from trunk; How fleet-winged Pegasus, whom then she bore, 93

Sprang, with his brother, from their mother's gore. He told besides what deadly dangers lay About his path: no traveler's tales were they; What seas, what lands he saw from such great height, What stars he brushed, with pinions' utmost flight; And when he paused, though more they yet desired, One lord took up the word, and thus inquired: Why she, of all the Gorgons, wore alone Tresses with snakes in alternation grown. "You ask a matter worthy note," said he; "Listen: a maid far-famed and fair was she, The jealous hope of suitors; and her hair, They say who saw her, was her charm most rare. She by the lord of ocean, it is said, Was in Minerva's temple strumpeted. Jove's daughter turned aside her virgin glance, And with her aegis hid her countenance; And lest such sacrilege no penance earned, The Gorgon's hair to loathsome snakes she turned; And still the goddess on her breastplate shows The snakes she made, to daunt her frightened foes."

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BOOK

FIVE OF the combat between Perseus and Phineus — the magic power of Medusa's head — the fate of Proetus and Polydectes — the narrative of Urania — of the contest between the Muses and the Pierides — the abduction of Proserpine — the wanderings of Ceres in search of her — some incidental transformations — the story of Arethusa — the transformation of the Pierides into magpies

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J L HE son of Danae paused, and said no more; For here a rabble breached the palace door; Not wedding songs but war-cries filled the hall, And on a sudden banquet turned to brawl; Like seas, when maniac winds disturb their sleep, And wake the waters on the ruffled deep. Ringleader there, and author of the war, Shaking his spear, a bronze-tipped ashen spar, Was headstrong Phineus. "See, I come," he cried, "To wreak revenge on him who stole my bride. No wings shall save you now, no golden guise Of trickster Jove." But ere his weapon flies, Cepheus breaks in with: "Hold, what frenzied mood Thus drives you, brother, to a deed of blood? Is this your dowry for the rescued maid? With thanks like these is such a service paid? Perseus it was not, if you reason right, That took her from you, but the Nereids' might Malignant, and the beast of ocean's breed, That came upon my flesh and blood to feed. When horned Ammon doomed the maid, and when She stood so near to death, you lost her then — Unless you press the cruel contract so,

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That she must die, to quit you with our woe. Is't not enough, no help in you was found, Her uncle and betrothed, who saw her bound? Must you besides, your rancor to display That any saved her, snatch the prize away? Which if you deem so great, you should have sprung To pluck it from that rock whereon it hung. Grudge not to him who did, through whom we spend A happy age, not childless at life's end, What is by contract to his courage due: 'Twixt him and death we chose, not him and you." Phineus said nought, but with alternate glance At him and Perseus, poised a doubtful lance. But brief the pause: with force that anger gave A fruitless weapon at the youth he drave: It pinked the couch: up started Perseus then, Enraged, and sent the missile back again; And would have riven the foeman's heart, but he (Unjust that crime should there find sanctuary) Had slipped behind the altar; yet by chance The brow of Rhoetus caught the flying lance. He fell, and when they wrenched the steel away, Spattered the banquet-board with sanguine spray, Then rank and file with rising heat engaged, And weapons flew, and stubborn fury raged. The king himself, when some now raised the cry That Cepheus with his son-in-law must die, Had quit the hall, but ere he passed the door, By gods of hospitality he swore, Who cherish faith and right, that those who wrought Such lawless riot set his will at nought. Now warlike Pallas by her brother stood, With shield to guard, and gift of fortitude. Athis, whom Ganges' child, Limnaee, bare Beneath the river's crystal waves, was there, In striking beauty, graced by rich array, A Tyrian cloak, with golden border gay. Myrrh sleeked his tresses, and adorning them, Gold, like his necklet, was a diadem. Full-fledged sixteen, well trained the spear to throw 96

At any range, but deadlier with the bow, Now too his bow he bent, but, as his hand Curved the lithe crescent, Perseus snatched a brand, That smoked upon the altar's central stone, And smashed his face to pulp upon the bone. Assyrian Lycabas, of all the rest His closest friend, and lover true confessed, Saw the praised features groveling in their gore, And life gasped out beneath a wound so sore. He let his tears have way; then snatched the bow Which he had bent. "Have me," he cried, "for foe. You gain no glory from a slaughtered boy, But rather shame; and brief shall be your joy." While yet he spoke, his arrow flashed, but lodged Harmless in Perseus' garment, as he dodged, And countering with the sword that stood the test Against Medusa, pierced the foeman's breast; Who, fainting now, looked round where Athis died, And sank, in death companioned, at his side; And as from swimming orbs the daylight fades, He takes that comfort with him to the shades. Amphimedon and Phorbas (Libya one, And one Syene sent, Metion's son) Rushed to the conflict, but not marking well The steaming pool of blood, they slipped and fell. Struggling to rise, in throat did Phorbas feel, In ribs Amphimedon, the obstructing steel. But not on Erytus, old Actor's son Armed with a two-edged ax, who next came on, Did Perseus use his sickle sword: instead, He raised a massive wine-bowl o'er his head, Figured in bold relief, and struck the foe, With two hands to the weight, a crashing blow. He fell, and lay face upward, spewing gore, And drummed with dying head upon the floor. Then Polydegmon, from Semiramis Descended, and Caucasian Abaris; Spercheiis' son, Lycetus; Helices With locks unshorn; Phlegyas and Clytus — these Perseus struck down, and trod the heaps of dead,

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While Phineus from the sword-point shrank in dread. His dart, ill-aimed, on neutral Idas fell, Who, choosing neither party, chose not well. The wounded youth with looks of hatred eyed His fierce assailant. "Since perforce," he cried, "I choose my party, Phineus, feel the foe That you have made, and score me blow for blow." He draws the dart, and would the wound repay, But crumples, as his bloodless limbs give way. Hodites, next the king in rank, fell too, To Clymen; Hypseus Prothoenor slew; Lyncides him; Emathion too was there, Who loved the right, and made the gods his care. Too old for arms, he moved to war with words, And called down curses on their sinful swords. He clasped the altar: when by Chromis' blade His severed head was on the altar laid, The severed head with failing tongue cursed on, Till in the flames the life and breath were gone. Broteas, and Ammon with his fists of mail, Unconquered yet, could fists o'er swords prevail (Twin brothers these) both fell by Phineus' hand, With Ampycus, browbound with snow-white band, Ceres' high priest. There fell Lampetides, A man of song, ill-trained for scenes like these: With lute and voice he plied his peaceful art, Called to the feast to play a minstrel's part. With quill in hand — no weapon else had he — He stood apart, and drew the mockery Of Pedasus, who smote him through the head; "Play your finale to the shades," he said. His fingers, as he falls, still sweep the lyre, And in a funeral strain the notes expire. Then bold Lycormas, hot to quit the score, Wrenched off the right-hand crossbar from the door, And in the neck bones struck the slayer full, And felled him like a sacrificial bull. When Pelates the left-hand bar would tear, Corythus pierced his hand, and pinned him there; Then Abas ripped him, but the wood held fast; 98

He could not fall, but hung till life had passed. Next Melaneus, of Perseus' camp, was slain; And Dorylas, from Nasamonia's plain, Rich lord of lands; none else had tracts like these, Or heaped such harvests from his incense trees. A spear, flung sidelong, in his groin stuck fast, A fatal spot, and he that made the cast, Halcyoneus, the Bactrian, saw his breath Gasped out by fits, and eyes convulsed in death; And turning from the corpse he said: "There lie, And own such acreage as you occupy." Then Perseus, quick to make reprisal, drew The weapon from the reeking wound, and threw, Striking the foeman's nose: on sped the spear Out through the neck, projecting front and rear. While fortune smiled, he slew two foemen more: Two deaths destroyed them, though one mother bore. A lance-thrust made the thighs of Clytius feel His weight of arm, while Clanis bit the steel. Down Celadon of Mendes went, and down Astreus, of Syrian dam and sire unknown. Aethion fell, who once had prophesied With insight sure, but now his omens lied. And there Thoactes fell, the king's esquire, And there Agyrtes, slayer of his sire. Such toll he took, yet not the half was done: Still they came on, all bent on beating one. On every side his foes, in banded might, Struck for a cause that struck at faith and right. His new-found kinsmen back him with their cries, Faithful but futile, while, to drown them, rise The sounds of strife, which fill the palace hall With clash of arms and groans of them that fall. Bellona now with blood in torrents stained The household gods, already once profaned, Stirring fresh fury, and a thousand go With Phineus leading, round their single foe. While missiles, thick as hail in winter, fly To right and left past body, ear, and eye, Against a shaft of stone he set his back, 99

And thus protected, faced and foiled the attack. To left, Chaonian Molpeus led the rest, To right Ethemmon of Arabia pressed. As, when two herds in vales far sundered lie, A tiger, pricked by hunger, hears their cry, And doubts, on fire for both, which way to go, So he, between the right- and left-hand foe. Molpeus he drove, holing his leg, in flight, And let it go at that, for on his right Ethemmon gave no time, but fighting-mad Lunged at his neck with all the strength he had. He used more strength than judgment, and went wide, Striking the pillar at the hero's side: The sword-blade snapped, rebounded from the stone, And caught, instead of Perseus' throat, his own. Not wounded to the death, but living on, When now his strength and will to fight were gone, He stretched out pleading arms, till with a blow Of Hermes' falchion Perseus laid him low. But seeing courage by such hordes hard-driven, "Let aid," said Perseus, "by a foe be given, Since foes compel. All friends, avert your gaze!" And as he spoke, he bared the Gorgon's face. "Seek others out, whom tricks like these may shake," Cried Thescelus; but even as he spake, While in his hand the death-fraught javelin rose, He stood a marble statue in that pose. Ampyx, beside him, threatened with his sword Lyncides' breast, with boundless courage stored; But while he struck, his hand in mid-attack Stiffened, and went no farther, nor drew back. Then Nilus, who (believe his lies!) could claim From sevenfold Nile himself descent and name, And bore the boastful blazon on his shield, Seven streams of silver on a golden field, Cried out to Perseus: "Look, my lineage know; And take for comfort to the shades below, The thought that such a champion dealt the blow." He broke off short: his parted lips, you'd say, Still strove to speak, but gave the words no way.

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Then Eryx cried: "If palsied thus you stand, 'Tis not Medusa's might, but hearts unmanned. Rush in with me, and lay the sorcerer low, Before his wondrous weapons deal their blow." Rush could he not; the earth his steps delayed; And there, a warrior cast in stone, he stayed. All these deserved their sentence: one alone, Who fought for Perseus, saw and turned to stone. Aconteus was his name: at him his foe, Astyages, the swordsman, aimed a blow; And hearing, when he thought him flesh and blood, The ring of steel on stone, in wonder stood; Then changed in turn, and grew to marble guise, His features fixed in sculpturesque surprise. Two hundred more, in battle not o'erthrown, Looked on the Gorgon, and were turned to stone. The aggressor, Phineus, felt repentant then. What could he do? He saw the shapes of men, His followers, each in lifelike pose portrayed; And called them each by name, and asked their aid; And doubting still, he felt for flesh and bone In those near by, and all he touched were stone. He looked away, with contrite hands outspread, Grotesquely pleading, arms at odds with head: "Perseus, I yield, take hence your spells," he cries, "Your Gorgon, with the glare that petrifies. Hatred of you constrained me not to strife, Nor love of power — I fought to win my wife. Your better claim was worth in action shown, Precedence mine: would I had waived my own! Take all, brave sir, but leave me life alone!" With eyes askance was this petition made: He dared not look at him to whom he prayed. "Faint-hearted Phineus," (Perseus thus replies), "One thing I grant that in my granting lies, No small concession to a craven soul — Relax your fear: your skin shall still be whole. Yes, this I grant, and more: by my command, As monument from age to age shall stand, To cheer my wife, within her father's house,

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The deathless likeness of her would-be spouse." With that, while Phineus' eyes still shrank in dread, Full in his face he swung Medusa's head; His neck grew stark; and in his eyes, which tried Evasion still, the tears were petrified; And fixed in stone, his craven looks appear, His pleading hands and eyes, and abject fear. And now the victor, reaching with his bride His native Argos, forced his way inside; And fought usurping Proetus, and repaid His grandsire's wrongs, who ill deserved his aid. Proetus had driven his brother forth in flight, And seized, by force of arms, the fortress height; But arms, and fortress seized by force unfair, Quelled not the snake-haired monster's baleful glare. The lord of small Seriphos heard unmoved Of Perseus' courage in such passes proved; Hard-hearted Polydectes nursed his hate, Nor let his unjust enmity abate; Declaring, so his foe to vilify, His fame a fraud, Medusa's death a lie. Then Perseus cried: "Here's that shall prove it true: Let others mind their eyes: this proof's for you!" And as the face of man and monster met, In bloodless flint the monarch's features set. Pallas, who thus far friended in his need Her brother, gotten of the golden seed, Now left Seriphos, passing on the right Cythnos and Gyaros, and veiled from sight By covering clouds, where shortest seaways led, To Thebes and virgin Helicon she sped; And gained the Muses' mountain, where she stood Addressing thus the learned sisterhood: "I hear" (she said) "a new-born fountain flows, Where stamped the steed that from Medusa rose. I saw, when from his mother's blood he grew, And therefore wished to see this wonder too." "Goddess," Urania said, "the cause let be: Most welcome are you here, our home to see. From Pegasus indeed ('tis sooth they say)

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This fount derives," and there she led the way. The goddess, lost in wonder, long surveyed The sacred waters which the hoofmark made; Then through their ancient woodlands she was led, Through caves, and flower-decked meadows; and she said: "Daughters of Memory, happy is your lot, To practice arts like yours in such a spot." And one replied: "Tritonia, greater deeds Must call you hence, to go where valor leads; Else should you join our sisterhood, and share Pursuits and scenes you rightly deem so fair. Yes, fair our fortune, had we safety here; But crime is bold, and maids are prone to fear. I see Pyreneus yet, and in my brain Some traces of that terror still remain. He captured Daulis with his Thracian band, And ruled, with lawless might, the Phocian land. He saw us once, as towards Parnassus, bent To reach the temple, through the rain we went; And knowing who we were, he made pretense To pay us, as immortals, reverence; And said: 'O Muses, break your journey here, Till storms abate, and frowning skies are clear: Accept my modest shelter: powers divine Have lodged ere now in humbler homes than mine.' Urged by his words, and by the weather more, We bowed assent, and stepped inside his door. But when the dun clouds fled, and rains were past, When skies were clearing, and the southern blast Defeated by the north had ceased to blow, He sealed the palace as we made to go, And threatened force: but, as immortals may, We took the air, and fled on wings away. High on the fortress-tower that topped the hill Upstretched he stood, as though to follow still. 'Where you can go,' he boasted, 'there will I.' And from the peak the madman made to fly. Headfirst he fell, shattering his skull, and splashed His villain's blood all round him, where he crashed." While yet she spoke, wings fluttered in the breeze; 103

And voices spoke a greeting from the trees. Pallas looked up. Whence came the phrase she heard, So clear, so seeming-human? From a bird! Nine magpies there, those tireless mimics, sate High in the boughs, complaining of their fate. To Pallas then the Muse their tale began, Goddess to wondering goddess: thus it ran: "In recent contest that rebuff they bore, That gave the feathered race one species more. To Pieros, of Pellan fields rich heir, These girls Euippe of Paeonia bare: Nine times in childbed was Euippe laid: Nine times she called on great Lucina's aid. This team of stupid sisters, puffed with pride, To think their number with the Muses' vied, Traversed all Thessaly, and seeking fame, City by city through Achaea came; And sought us out, and said: 'No more delude With sickly strains the untutored multitude. Come, Thespian Muses, if you trust your powers, Show them in contest; match your skill with ours'; — 'Twas thus they took the offensive — 'we profess Our number equal, and our art no less. Be it yours, if vanquished, never more to dwell By Aganippe, or Medusa's well; Or ours, to quit the Emathian woods, and bide Paeonia's snowdrifts. Let the nymphs decide.' "To strive with such, or yield, seemed shameful both, But yielding more. The judges took the oath. The living rock, like seats of judgment, bore The impaneled nymphs; and by their streams they swore. Then, ere the choice of turns by lot was tried, Their self-styled champion opened for her side; And singing how the gods with giants fought, O'erpraised their foes, and set the gods at nought. How (so she sang) they feared Typhoeus, bred Of Earth's abyss; how, one and all, they fled; Till in the Egyptian land, where sevenfold strayed The parted Nile, their weary footsteps stayed: How, followed there, they tricked with fraudful guise 104

(So ran her tale) the earthborn giant's eyes: Jove was a ram (whence Libyan Amnion now Still wears the curling horns upon his brow); The queen of heaven a heifer white as snow; Phoebe, a cat; and Phoebus was a crow; Venus in fish-form; Bacchus in a kid; And Hermes in an ibis' wings was hid. "Then we, as there she stilled her lyre and tongue, Were called to answer — but the Muses' song Would seem, perchance, to busy ears too long." "No," Pallas said, "recite your theme in full," And sat to listen where the shade was cool. Urania then resumed: "On one we call, Calliope, to take the field for all." She rose, her flowing locks with ivy bound, And felt the strings, and tried their plaintive sound; Then boldly struck the chords, and so began Setting her theme to music: thus it ran: "Ceres was first to cleave the fertile plain With the curved plow, and bless the earth with grain And genial food; laws too did she confer; Ourselves, and all we have, we owe to her, Ceres demands the tribute of my tongue — Ah, could I match her merits with my song! "When Typhon fell, Trinacria's isle was cast Upon his giant limbs, a bulk more vast; And crushed beneath that mighty mass he lies, Who once aspired to mansions in the skies. To rise, howe'er he strive, is past his might: Pachynus pins his left hand; and his right Pelorus; Lilybaeum's weight is spread Above his legs, and Etna's o'er his head. With face upturned, he spouts the burning soil, And from his furnace mouth the lavas boil. He strains to heave that weight of earth, and spill From off him, as he rises, town and hill. Earth rocks; and he who rules the muted dead, Faced with the threat of ruin, shakes with dread, Lest gaping rents and cracks the daylight show To strike with fear the shivering ghosts below. 105

"Once, in such fear, he left his dark abode, And, drawn by coal-black horses, took the road, And made a tour of Sicily, and scanned Closely the deep foundations of the land. When all proved firm, and fear was laid aside, Venus from Eryx saw him wandering wide; And clasped her son, the wing-clad boy, and cried: 'Sweet son, my strength and skill, my sword and shield, My Cupid, bend the conquering bow you wield, And strike that god, the third of three who part The worlds by lot, and pierce him to the heart. The Olympians — Jove himself — you overthrow, And lay the sea-gods, with their monarch, low. Does Tartarus lag? Make Tartarus too obey, And with your own extend your mother's sway. A third of all's at stake, to win or lose — Why, even in heaven our patience some abuse. Love's power, and mine, grows less, and as you see, Diana, that great huntress, breaks with me; Pallas rebels, and Ceres' daughter too, If we permit, will virgin paths pursue. Enforce our power, if power has any charms, And bring the goddess to her uncle's arms.' He heard, and of a thousand shafts set by One from his pack that pleased his mother's eye: Just one, but none was sharper, none would go More true, or more obedient to the bow; And as with bow at knee he bent the yew, To Pluto's heart the gold-barbed arrow flew. "Not far from where the walls of Enna rise A still deep lake (they call it Pergus) lies; Where swans as numerous pause and tune their song, As on Cayster's current glide along. The woods that fringe the water keep at bay With screen of leaves the sun's relentless ray; Boughs give their shade; the soil, well watered, blends Its varied blooms; and springtime never ends. Here played Proserpin, with a child's delight Plucking the violets dark, or lilies white; And while she heaped her baskets and her breast,

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Competing with her playmates in the quest, The girl, at one fell swoop, by Dis that day, Was seen and loved and seized and borne away (For love's no laggard.) Ah, how terrified Was she, so young a goddess! How she tried To reach her playmates with her piteous call — Her mother too, her mother most of all! And as in grief she tore her dress, she spilled The gathered flowers with which the fold was filled; And still a child in feeling as in years, She felt the loss an added cause for tears. "The car drives on: the abductor, as it flies, Calls on each horse by name, with coaxing cries To urge them on, while over necks and manes He shakes the spectral blackness of the reins; And past Palica's sulphurous pools he flies, Where boiling springs from deep-cleft chasms rise, And where the Bacchiad princes, forced to flee Their native Corinth (set 'twixt sea and sea), Between two harbors built a city wall: The Great on that side, and on this the Small. "There spring, on either side a land-locked sea, Two fountains, Arethuse and Cyane; And Cyane, who gave her pool its name, Of all Sicilian nymphs was first in fame. Half rising, where amid her pool she played, She saw and recognized the goddess maid; And bade her captor halt. 'Think not,' she said, 'Against the mother's will the maid to wed — To seize, not sue. Anapis, if I dare Our modest selves with mighty gods compare, Loved me; but I, unlike your captive here, Bestowed my hand by favor, not by fear.' She stood with arms outstretched, to bar his way, But Pluto gave his rising wrath full play, And cried his terrible horses on, and hurled His regal scepter where the water swirled, And cleft a passage with the mighty blow Through earth and water to the realms below; And down the crater car and horses, steered

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Straight for the center, dived and disappeared. "The nymph beheld these lawless deeds, and mourned The goddess ravished, her own fountain scorned, Distressed but uncomplaining, doomed to feel Deep in her heart a wound that would not heal; Till, wasted by her tears, her substance spent, The queen of waters all to water went: Before your eyes, the limbs turned soft, the bone Bent, and the toughness of the nails was gone; The parts most slender, fingers, legs, and feet, And wave-hued tresses — these did soonest fleet; Since limbs least solid, being most near allied To the cool element, easiest liquefied; Then shoulders went; and breast and sides and back Dissolved, and vanished into watery rack; And when the lifeblood in the flaccid veins Turns water, nothing tangible remains. "Meanwhile the fear-struck mother searched in vain All lands and seas, to find her child again; Nor did Aurora, rising dewy-tressed, Nor Hesper, see her pausing in her quest. Two flaming pines at Etna did she light, And search unsleeping through the frosty night; And when day dimmed the stars again, had gone From sunset right to sunrise searching on. No springs had slaked her thirst. By chance she saw, When faint and parched, a cottage thatched with straw, And tapped the tiny door; and she that came And saw the goddess, was an aged dame, Who, when she asked for water, gave instead A honeyed drink, with toasted barley spread. Now while she drank, a hard-faced boy stood near, And called her greedy, with a saucy leer. Angered, she tosses o'er him what remains Of the sweet liquid laced with barley grains. His face turns spotty, as it drinks the dye, And where his arms were, legs their place supply. His limbs thus altered, and a tail thrown in, He's made, to curb his malice, short and thin, A lizard's bulk, or less. The good wife tries,

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Amid her tears, to touch him; but he flies, And seeks his hole with Stellio for name, Starred, as he is, with motley marks of shame. "Over what lands, what seas, the goddess strayed Until, for want of world, her search was stayed, Would take too long to tell. She reached once more The isle of Sicily and searched it o'er, And came on Cyane, who had the will To tell her all, but not, so changed, the skill (Since mouth and tongue and tools of speech were fled), But showed upon her sacred pool instead A clear-seen clue the mother knew full well, Her daughter's girdle, floating where it fell; And Ceres beat her breast and tore her hair, As though her loss was only then laid bare. "Knowing her gone, she knows not where, but brands Impartially, as ingrate, all the lands; All undeserving gifts of grain, but most Trinacria, where the trail was found — and lost. Therefore she broke, with unrelenting hand, Each plow she found at work throughout the land; And on the field-folk let her anger strike, With death to all, tillers and teams alike; The fields, by her command, their trust betrayed; And seeds, when sown, with secret blight decayed; The island's famed fertility must die, And make the talk of all the world a lie; The wheat-crops perished in the blade, undone By rain unending, or excess of sun; Or winds and stars defeat them, or the greed Of hungry birds, that snatch the scattered seed; Or tares and thistles tire the growing grain, Which fights them, and the all-conquering quitch, in vain. "She whom Alpheiis loved then raised her head From pools, which springs of distant Elis fed; And pushing back her streaming locks, she said: 'O mother of the far-sought maid, let stand Your world-wide toil; nor turn your wrathful hand, Mother of crops, against a guiltless land, Which, loyal now as ever to your sway,

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Against its will allowed the spoiler way. Native of Pisa, of Elean breed, For my adopted country thus I plead, Since of all lands, though but an alien here, I hold this soil of Sicily most dear; And now my household gods have here their place; This is my homeland; spare it of your grace. Why thus displaced in Sicily I dwell, Wide seas away, some happier hour shall tell, When all the care that weighs upon you now Is lifted, and the gloom is off your brow. Far under ground (suffice it now to say) The tunneled earth gives Arethusa way; And crossing so, through vaults beneath the main, I surface here and see the stars again. And thus in Hades, gliding Styx-like through, Whom but your child, Proserpin, did I view, Who, homesick still, with apprehensive mien, Yet mistress in the world of shades was seen, Paired with its prince, his consort and his queen?' "The mother heard, and stood for long like one Transfixed by lightning or transformed to stone; And when at last her stunned bewilderment Had passed away, and grief and rage sought vent, She called her car and up to heaven she drove, And stood, a scandal and reproach to Jove, With face cloud-veiled and wild hair flying free. 'I plead for my own flesh and blood,' said she, 'And yours no less; and if the mother fail, Yet with the father let the child prevail. Do not, because she's mine, your grudge transfer, And, slighting me, hold cheap your care for her. My child, long sought, is found — if found you call What's known for lost; if knowing where, is all. Let pass the theft, so he restore her straight; For — if she's mine no longer — 'tis no fate For child of yours to be a bandit's mate.' "Then Jove made answer: 'In our child we share A common treasure and a common care. Yet here's no crime, but would you name things right, no

A lover's ardor, not an act of spite; Nor, with your favor, goddess, shall we draw So deep disgrace from such a son-in-law. To be Jove's brother merely, were it all He had to boast, is that a thing so small? But that's not all, nor does he yield to me In aught except the lottery's chance decree. Enough: Proserpin, if your heart so yearn To see them parted, shall to heaven return, Provided (for the fates ordain it so) Her lips remain untouched by food below.' "His speech left Ceres fixed in her intent To fetch her, but the fates withheld consent. Proserpin's fast was broken, for below In goodly orchards, where pomegranates grow, She strayed and plucked, unthinking, pleased to find The seeds enclosed within the yellow rind. Seven seeds she crushed, and none there was to see Save Orphne's son Ascalaphus, whom she Of nymphs Avernian not the most unknown, Had borne in darkling woods to Acheron. He saw and told in mere malevolence, And stopped her by his tale returning thence. She sighed with grief, that captive queen of hell; And on the informer soon her anger fell; As, dashed with drops of Phlegethon, his face To beak and plumes and monstrous eyes gave place. Robbed of himself, in alien garb he goes, With tawny wings, and talon-bearing toes. His arms go slack, and growing all to head, He scarce has strength his new-born wings to spread; And so he ends, a loathed, unsightly fowl, Prophet of woe to men, a skulking owl. "He, doubtless, earned his fate with babbling tongue; But others fared the same, who did no wrong, Like Acheloiis' daughters, schooled to song. What fault was yours, sweet Sirens, that you show A maiden's face, with wings and claws below? Was it that in Proserpin's train that day You plucked the springtide flowers, and shared her play?

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And did you later, when your charge was lost, And every land in fruitless questing crossed, Desire new powers, that seas might know your care, With wings for oars, and waves for thoroughfare, And find the gods responsive, and behold Your limbs new-fledged with plumes of living gold; While lest your singing, born to soothe the ear (Your lips' large dower), the world no more should hear, If tongue were lost, and power of utterance waned, Your maiden face and human voice remained? "With brother there, and sorrowing sister here, Jove, torn between them, parts the rolling year; And claimed alike as queen by earth and hell, Six months with Pluto must Proserpin dwell, And with her mother six; and changing place, She changes, in an instant, mood and face: That brow of gloom, which seemed a darker night To Dis himself, on earth is gay and bright; As when the sun, which rain-filled clouds concealed, Issues in triumph forth, and rides revealed. "Her cares removed, her daughter's rescue wrought, To Arethusa Ceres turned her thought; And asked the nymph what gave her cause to flee, And on her spring conferred such sanctity. The waters hush, and from their depths upbear Their watery goddess, with her pond-weed hair. She dashed the drops away, and made her theme The ancient loves of Elis' famous stream. " 'One of Achaea's nymphs was I, not least Of them that set the snare, and trailed the beast. Yet athlete as I was, I bore a name For beauty, though desiring no such fame; My outward charms, which were no joy to me Whose dower they were, yet won me flattery; Where others boast, I blushed for gifts like these, And, country-bred, I thought it wrong to please. Well I remember, one hot summer's day, As from Stymphalus' woods I took my way, Hot from the chase as well, a stream I found, Which without eddy flowed, and made no sound; 112

So still, that as through glass your gaze could go, And count each pebble on the bed below; And willows white and wave-fed poplars made Along the sloping banks a natural shade. I ventured near, and when my feet were wet, Waded knee-deep; and not contented yet, Slipped off my girdle, from my clothes stood free, And hung them on a weeping willow tree; Then plunged, and gliding here and there, displayed My various strokes, the swimmer's stock-in-trade. " 'Now while I sported thus, I heard below A kind of murmur through the water go; And as in fear I swam to land, and tried To get a footing on the nearer side, With such a roar as river-god alone Could utter from the stream he called his own, Alpheiis spoke; and twice he bade me stay: 'Why, Arethusa, in such haste away?' Stark as I was, I fled: the farther shore Still had my clothes; and he so much the more Made hot the running, since to see me so, As if prepared, had set his lust aglow. As doves with fluttering wings from falcons flee, As falcons in the wake of doves we see, So fast I ran, so fiercely followed he. Past Psophis and Cyllene thus I fled; Orchomenos and Elis heard my tread; And where the folded hills of Maenalus are, And Erymanthus' icy crown — so far I held my own; but there outmatched, my force Was spent, and could no longer stay the course. Yet on I ran, by plain and tree-clad height, O'er rocks and crags, where trails were lost to sight. " 'The sun was at our back, and if my dread Deceived me not, his shadow forged ahead. I heard his footfalls — no deception there — And felt his heavy panting on my hair. Worn down, I cried: 'Dictynna, lend your aid; And rescue from the toils your hunting-maid, Your squire, whom oft you gave your bow to bear, 113

Who made your quiver with its shafts her care.' The goddess heard, and from a cloud-pack drew One cloud, which o'er me, as a screen, she threw; And hoodwinked thus, the river-god, who went Twice questing round, completely lost the scent. Twice to my hearing, as he called my name, His 'Arethusa, Arethusa,' came. What were my feelings? Does the lamb feel bold When hungry wolves are howling round the fold? The hare that sees the hostile muzzles near And dares not stir, but hugs the brake in fear? Still by the cloud he stood, and where the trace Of footsteps ended, stayed to guard the place. Beleaguered thus my body ran with sweat And all my frame with springing drops was wet; And where I walked, were lakes, and cataracts fell From shaken hair; and quick as tale can tell, I turned to water, and the god whose eyes Still knew the one he loved in that disguise, Threw off the mask of man and chose to be His watery self that he might mix with me. The queen of Delos cleft the ground that so Submerged in sunless caves my stream might flow. Ortygia, by my lady's name endeared, Brought me to light, and there I reappeared.' "Thus Arethusa: Ceres yoked again Her serpent pair, and curbed them with the rein; Then made for Athens through mid-height of air, And brought to ground her buoyant chariot there, That young Triptolemus, at her command, Might drive abroad and sow in every land The seeds she gave him, some in virgin plain, And some in fallow, brought to tilth again. Europe and Asia crossed, he came to rest Where Lyncus ruled: his palace housed the guest. Asked by the Scythian king his home and name, Errand and route — 'In Athens, land of fame, Triptolemus, I dwell, and come' (said he) 'Treading no land, nor sailing on the sea; But Ceres' gifts I bring, and through the air, 114

Which parts before me, find a thoroughfare; These duly sown, your fields shall fruit again With civil sustenance and ripened grain.' With envy fired, he longed, that barbarous lord, That such a boon might rest on his award. He played the gracious host, and when his guest Was sunk in sleep, with dagger sought his breast. — Ceres struck first: a lynx-shape was his doom; And on the car Triptolemus sped home." "Thus she, our greatest, closed her tale, and we Were named the victors in this minstrelsy: With one consent the nymphs, who held the choice, For Helicon's immortals gave their voice. At this the sisters' baffled rage outbroke In loud abuse, and thus our champion spoke: 'Since, not content to earn aggression's fee, You add besides insult to injury, And leave no scope for patience, we will do What justice bids, and serve our anger too.' "They laugh the threat to scorn, but as they stand Defiant, with uplifted voice and hand, They see along their members plumage spring, Each nail a feather, and each arm a wing; Their faces, while they stare, and try to speak, Are hardened to the substance of a beak; They try to beat their breasts, but as they try, Upborne by beating arms, they soar on high. Magpies are they, the wood's loud mouths; and each Retains, as bird, her former flow of speech; In noisy gossip, and incessant squawk, And never sated appetite for talk."

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B O O K SIX OF the weaving contest between Arachne and Pallas — the incidents depicted upon their tapestries — Arachne changed — the rivalry of Niobe with Latona — the slaying of Niobe's children — of Pelops and his ivory shoulder — of the Lycian peasants who became frogs — the fate of Marsyas the satyr — the dark tale of Tereus, Procne, and Philomela

JLALLAS had listened closely, borne along In admiration of the Muses' song. Approving of their righteous anger too, She thought: " 'Tis well to praise what others do: But let me earn the praise I give, nor see Too cheaply scorned my own divinity." And as she pondered thus, her mind was bent To plan Arachne's destined punishment — Her Lydian rival, who was said to claim Of all who worked in wool the foremost name; Yet lowly born: to skill her fame was due: Her father, Idmon, gave her wools their hue; To dye the drinking fleeces was his trade With purple from Phocaean murex made; A Colophonian he: her mother, bred, Like him, of no patrician stock, was dead. Of humble home and humble native place, She lacked advantage drawn from rank or race; Yet, not alone in small Hypaepa heard, Through Lydia was her name a household word. The nymphs of Tmolus left their vine-clad hills, Pactolian nymphs forsook their native rills, And watched, enchanted not alone to view The product, but the expert process too. 116

Did she, first stage of all, prepare to spin, Bunching the fleecy wool upon the pin, And twist, with fingers' rhythmic rise and fall, The thread that lengthened from the cloudlike ball, And thumb the whirling spindle; or, to end, With needle o'er her fine embroidery bend — She showed the school of Pallas; yet denied Her teacher, for such greatness irked her pride. "Let her compete with me: I will refuse No forfeit" (so she challenged) "if I lose." Acting old age, with fringe of false white hair And stick to prop her limbs, came Pallas there; And soon she fell conversing, and addressed Arachne thus: "In some things age is best: Years bring experience: heed what I advise: Of mortal weavers claim the foremost prize: Challenge the world — but give a goddess place; Take back your boasts, and humbly ask her grace, Which she, when asked, will give." Arachne's eyes Blazed, and she dropped her spindle in surprise, And raised her hand to strike, and scarce refrained, While in her face was anger unrestrained; And back to Pallas, though she little knew To whom she spoke, her sharp rejoinder flew: "Must you come doddering here, with wits gone wrong, The curse of age on those who live too long? Have you no daughters, are your sons unwed, That these your ramblings must to me be said? I take my own advice, and think it sound: Yours, be assured, will leave me as it found. Why comes she not herself, why does she fear This contest?" Pallas answered: "She is here," And with the word she dropped her masquerade, And let the form of Pallas be displayed. While nymphs and country girls and all who saw Dropped on their knees, Arachne showed no awe. She flushed, but not with fear: the sudden red Dyed her unwilling cheeks, and quickly fled, As, with the stir of dawn, the atmosphere Turns red, then whitens as the sun breaks clear.

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She stood her ground, nor let her thirst abate For foolish fame, but rushed upon her fate. Nor did Jove's daughter, for her part, demur, Repeat her warnings, or the test defer. No more delay: each to her corner gone, They set their looms, and stretch the warp-threads on; Fast to the beam the fine-spun threads are tied, Which, parted by the reed, stand side by side; And when the shed divides them, fingers deft Make fly the pointed shuttle with the weft Between the warp-threads; then they use the comb, Deep notched with heavy teeth, to drive it home. Both work with speed, and, sashed beneath the breast, Move expert arms, and have no thought of rest. Purples of price are there, that felt the fire, And took their temper, in the vats of Tyre; And woven in the web are hues that range From shade to shade by undetected change; As, after rainstorms, when the bow will dye With its huge arc the longest reach of sky, A thousand tints are there, distinct and bright, Yet the transition will elude the sight; So wholly, where they meet, they merge in one, Yet to such difference at the rims they run. And there, inwrought, were strands of ductile gold, And woven in the piece, a tale of old. By Pallas, Cecrops' citadel was wrought — The rock of Mars, where once the suit was fought To name the city. Twelve celestials here, Reverend and grave, on lofty seats appear (The likeness writes their names); and clearly shown, Jove in the midst, by regal aspect known. She makes the sea-god stand, and with the shock Of his tall trident wound the flinty rock; And from the cleft, to give the wondrous sign That claims the city his, has gushed the brine. Herself with shield and sharp-tipped spear she dressed; A casque her head, the aegis armed her breast. It seemed that, smitten by her spear, the earth To the hoary olive, with its fruit, gave birth.

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The gods look wondering on: the suit is won: And the main labor of her loom is done. Then, that her rival might by samples know, What wages may to such rash ventures go, Four contests in the corners four she drew, In tiny scale but realistic hue. First Rhodope and Haemus, who in Thrace Now ice-capped peaks, but once of mortal race, Usurped the names of gods; and next was seen The piteous fate of that Pygmaean queen Outmatched, and made a crane, whom Juno bade Cry war upon the tribes that once she swayed; The third, Antigone, whom boldness drove To try conclusions with the queen of Jove; Nor could her city, Ilion, or its king, Laomedon, her sire, deliverance bring: By Juno changed, she wears the stork's white quill, And clacks, in self-applause, a noisy bill. In one last corner, Cinyras lay prone, Embracing, as he wept upon the stone, The temple steps, his daughter's flesh and bone. Olives of peace she wove, for border, round, And when her tree closed all, art reached its bound. Arachne shows the gods in various guise; And first the bull that cheats Europa's eyes, So skillfully depicted, you would swear A living bull, a moving sea, was there. The girl herself was seen to watch dismayed The fast-receding shore, and call for aid, And draw her feet back, fearing to be caught By mounting waves — so well the weaver wrought. She made the eagle to Asterie cling, And Leda couch beneath the swan's white wing; And added, how Antiope the fair To Jove, in satyr's guise, twin children bare. Jove, as Amphitryon, to Alcmena came; As gold, to Danae; to Aegina, flame; A shepherd's semblance tricked Mnemosyne; To Deo's child a speckled snake was he. Thy changes, Neptune, too were there displayed: 119

Now a fierce bull beside the Aeolian maid; Now false Enipeus, sire of twins, and now To cheat Bisaltis' eyes, a ram art thou; Now to the gracious harvest-queen a horse: Thus did the golden goddess feel thy force; And now the bird that with Medusa lies, The snake-haired mother of the steed that flies; And now the dolphin that Melantho knew — These, with their backgrounds, to the life she drew. There too did Phoebus like a rustic stride; Or wear the falcon's wings, or lion's hide; Or lurk in shepherd's semblance, to seduce Too-simple Isse, child of Macareus. Bacchus, as pictured, seemed again to be A bunch of grapes, to cheat Erigone; While Saturn fathered Chiron, who began The wondrous interbreed of horse and man. A narrow border rims the whole design, Where flowers and trailing ivy intertwine. Such was Arachne's work: not envy's eyes Could find a flaw, nor Pallas criticize. The girl's achievement galled her, and she tore The faultless fabric, with the scenes it bore Impeaching heaven, a crime in every strand; And as her boxwood shuttle lay to hand Of wood from mount Cytorus, brought it down Blow after blow upon her rival's crown; Who, mad with pain and dashed in spirit, tied A noose about her neck, and so had died; But Pallas, who observed her, and conceived Some pity, raised her up, and thus reprieved: "Live, Mischief, live and hang: this sentence be On you and yours to far posterity Without remission." As she went, she spilled The noxious juice from Hecate's herb distilled. Gone at the touch are hair and ears and nose; A tiny head on tiny body shows; Long feelers at the sides for legs are spread; The rest is belly, whence she spins her thread; And as a spider, with her ancient skill, 120

Arachne plies her tireless weaving still. All Lydia buzzed: the tale o'er Phrygia flew, And filled the towns with talk the wide world through; And Niobe, who had to girlhood grown On Lydian hills, and ere she wed, had known Arachne there, learned her compatriot's fate, But did not, warned thereby, her boasts abate, And yield to heaven. A great and powerful throne, Her husband's art, his lineage and her own — She bragged of these, with these well satisfied; But in her children took her greatest pride: Most blest of mothers had the world's acclaim And not her self-esteem conferred the name. The daughter of Tiresias the seer, Manto, who likewise read the future clear, Upon a time was moved by heaven to cry Through streets of Thebes with voice of prophecy. "Go, Theban women, one and all," said she, "And pay your vows (so Leto bids by me) With bay-wreathed brows, with incense, and with prayer, To Leto and the children twain she bare." So said, so done: the Theban wives array Their locks, as ordered, with the sacred bay; And, given together to the holy fire, The incense and the breath of prayer suspire. But look, with courtiers thronged, comes Niobe, In Phrygian cloth of gold, a sight to see; Lovely as rage allows, with comely head Shaking the hair on either shoulder spread. Drawn to her queenly height, she stopped, and eyed The crowd with haughty glance, and thus she cried: "What craze is this, to spurn the gods you see, And take a wandering voice for deity? Why thus should worship Leto's altars fill, While I, no less divine, lack incense still? My sire is Tantalus, and only he Had leave the high gods' banquet board to see. A sister of the Pleiads gave me birth; And Atlas, largest of the sons of earth, Who on his neck supports the turning sky,

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One grandsire was; the other, Jove most high. I boast Jove's son for spouse: the Phrygians own My queenly power, and mine is Cadmus' throne. Within the walls assembled by his strains With me, his wife, the wondrous harpist reigns. Next item let the wealth unbounded be, That in my courts, look where I will, I see; Next, heavenly beauty; then, to close the score, Add daughters seven, and sons as many more; And, in good time, their partners when they pair — Now ask my cause for pride, and if you dare, Dishonor me, by setting Leto higher Of Titan blood, who calls one Coeus sire. Earth would not give, of all her ample space, A scrap of ground to be her bearing-place; The sky disowned your goddess, and the sea; The outcast of the universe was she; Till one was found this pitying word to say: 'Homeless by land, as I by sea, you stray,' And Delos, out of fellow feeling, gave A drifting home, tossed on the restless wave. There made a mother, two were all she bore: My womb can count her total seven times o'er. My bliss who doubts? That this will long endure, Who questions? Wealth has made my lot secure. Beyond the blows of fortune, blessings grown As great as mine have passed the danger-zone; Since fortune, should she raid my treasure-store, Though much she take, will leave perforce much more. For say that these, who populate my home, Suffer some loss, as loss may haply come, Yet ne'er to Leto's total, which I call Next door to childless, will my remnant fall. Go, end these rites; these laurels cast away; Make haste." The Theban wives, so far, obey; Yet still, beneath their breath, take leave to pray. The goddess, flushed with anger, on the crest Of Cynthus stood, and thus her twins addressed: "See, I, your mother, whose maternal pride To Juno bowed, and none in heaven beside,

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Am called in question, if a god I be, And should my children aid me not, must see Myself excluded, and my altar fires Forever quenched, by her whom Tantalus sires. Nay, bold to exalt her children over you, And evil-tongued, as was her father too, She adds to barbarous deeds the wounding slur Of childless — may the taunt recoil on her!" Phoebus forestalled her prayers, and cried: "Too long Does vengeance tarry for the tale of wrong!" Phoebe concurred; and veiled in cloud the pair Sought Thebes' brave city, swooping through the air. Hard by the walls, where hooves incessant pound The level plain, and car wheels churn the ground, Amphion's sons their mettled mounts controlled, Caparisoned in purple, reined with gold. First son of seven, Ismenus, as he wound His foaming steed in perfect circle round, Let forth a cry of pain: a deep-fixed dart His bosom bore; the point was in his heart. Limp hands let fall the reins; to the right he sank, Slipping like water down the horse's flank. Then Sipylus, who heard from empty space The menacing rattle of the arrow-case, Shook out the reins, much as the skipper sees The cloud that spells the storm, and as he flees, Spreads all his sails to catch the lightest breeze. He shook the reins out, but no turn could shun The unerring shaft, nor any speed outrun: Full in the nape the arrow quivering stood, And from the throat the naked barbs protrude. Just as he was, bent forward in his seat, He pitched to earth, o'er mane and flying feet. Before this blood had dried, destruction came To Tantalus, who bore his grandsire's name, And ill-starred Phaidimus: these two had found Fresh occupation on the wrestling ground, And there, locked fast, and straining breast to breast, Stood stripped and shining, manhood at its best. The bowstring twanged; unseen the arrow flew, 123

And struck them both, thus linked, and pierced them through. Both groaned as one; through both one spasm passed; As one they fell, and looked and breathed their last. Alphenor saw, and beat his breast, and sped To clasp their limbs, already cold and dead; And as he raised them up (a brother's part) His breast was cracked by Phoebus' death-winged dart; And with the barb, when drawn, the arrow took A piece of lung, like bait upon a hook; And blood and life gushed out. No single blow, Like this, laid long-haired Damasicthon low: For first an arrow struck 'twixt leg and thigh, Where soft between the bones the sinews lie; Which while he strove to draw, a second smote, And sank, up to the feathering, in his throat. The blood jet drove it forth, and in a spout, Boring the air, the spurting stream gushed out. Ilioneus, the last, who all too late Raised arms, not destined to avert his fate, To all the gods together (unaware That some were scarce responsive) breathed a prayer For mercy — which the archer might have shown, But past recall the fatal shaft had flown; Yet still the barb less rudely gored his breast: It grazed the heart, and so he sank to rest. Bad news flies fast, and soon the mother hears Her people's mourning, and her household's tears, And scarce believing such a thing could be, Learns of that sudden swift calamity; Then burns with rage that gods of heaven should hold Such power, and should in vengeance be so bold. The father on himself the sword had drawn, Nor would his sorrow see another dawn. The mother — ah, was this the Niobe, Who bade the throng from Leto's altars flee, Who stepped so proud through Thebes, with lifted brow? — Friends envied then: a foe might pity now. Flung wildly down, she kissed each ice-cold face, Dispensing to her sons the last embrace; Then turned to heaven, with blood-stained hands outspread; 124

"Feed, cruel Leto, on my grief," she said; "Feed full your heart, and boast your victory, For in the death of these my seven I die. Victory, I say: why victory? Joy is thine And triumph, true, and loss and mourning mine; Yet in my remnant still I number more, And with my losses hold the winning score." The bowstring sang, and every heart turned cold, Save Niobe's, with desperation bold. The sisters, robed in black, were standing there, Before their brothers' biers, with loosened hair. One, as she drew the deep-fleshed arrowhead, Went limp, and on her brother sank her head. One sought with soothing words to bring relief, If words could comfort, to her mother's grief; But while she spoke, an unseen arrow found And struck her dumb, and bowed her to the ground. One fleeing fell; on her another died; One made for cover; one stood terrified. And thus, when six by different wounds were slain, At last the mother saw but one remain; Whose body with her own she covered o'er, Screening her wholly with the robe she wore. "Ah, leave my youngest" (so her pleadings run), "I ask but one, my youngest — leave me one!" But while she asked, the one she asked for bled: Husband, and sons, and daughters — all were dead. In uttermost bereavement, sitting lone Amid her griefs, she turned, with grief, to stone. No breeze that blew disturbed her chiseled hair; Her cheeks had color, but no blood was there; Eyes fixed and staring in the grief-lined face; All as in life — of life itself no trace. So too within: to hardened palate clove Congealing tongue; the pulses ceased to move; All softness from the inward parts was gone; Only her tears, in spite of all, flowed on; And while she wept, a whirlwind wrapped her round, And swept her off, back to her native ground; There on a peak she sits, and water seeps 125

Out from the marble, and the statue weeps. Fear came on all, women and men alike, To see Latona's wrath so plainly strike; And all showed reverence, with unstinted prayer, For the great mother of the heavenly pair. Then, as they will, new tales recalled the old; And one among the rest this tale retold: "In fertile fields of Lycia, long ago, Others despised Latona to their woe: A striking story, yet of little fame, Being told of peasants, men without a name. A lake there was — these eyes the place have seen, Where local memory keeps the marvel green; For there I traveled, by my father sent (When now, with age, his traveling-powers were spent) To fetch picked bulls for breeding, and for guide Was given some native of the countryside. Amid the lake, hard by the grazing-ground, An altar stood, with quivering reeds set round, Black with the ash of sacrifice, and there My guide stopped short, and breathed a trembling prayer: 'Keep me in favor still,' and as his dread Infected me, I echoed what he said; Then asked what spirit made that shrine his care, If Naiad, Faun, or local god dwelt there, 'No mountain spirit there abides, young sir,' My guide made answer; 'it is called of her, To whom, aforetime, by the queen of heaven, The earth was banned; to whom was hardly given A floating home by Delos, in the days When still that island roamed the ocean ways. Between the palm and olive, there she bore Her twins, to vex Jove's legal wife yet more; And thence, pursued by Juno still, 'tis said, Clasping her babes, the newborn gods, she fled, Chimaera-breeding Lycia soon to gain, Where the hot sun lay heavy on the plain; And there the goddess, by long toils dead-beat, And parched and thirsty with the daystar's heat (Her nipples too by infant cravings dried)

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Deep in a vale a shallow pool descried, And rustics gathering willow-wand and reed And sedges, which the marshlands love to breed. Thither she came, but as upon the brink She set her knee to earth, and made to drink, The rustic crew forbade. 'O why,' she cried, 'Is water, free to all, to me denied? No more in water than in air or light Has nature's law conferred an owner's right. Yet though I come to claim a common due, I ask it as a gift, and stoop to sue. I wish not here my weary limbs to lave, Only to quench my thirst, no more I crave; Even while I speak, dry lips my utterance stay, The parching throat scarce gives my words their way. Nectar is in the draught, my life to save; Give water, and I'll say 'twas life you gave. And these, the infants in my bosom, see, They stretch their arms — O let them aid my plea!' "Yet still these creatures (none but they could hear Such words unpitying) would not have her near; And with rude taunts, her pleadings to deride, Bade her begone, and added threats beside. Nor yet content, with hands and feet they make The water muddy, and befoul the lake; And now to this side, now to that, they tread A devil's dance, to stir the slimy bed. Wrath drives her thirst away: no more she seeks Favors from such, but like a goddess speaks; And says, with hands uplifted to the sky, 'Live ever in the pool you rate so high!' The goddess has her wish: down, down they go, And live, and like it, in the lake below; Now show a head; now on the surface swim; Now turn and dive, when basking on the brim; And wagging squalid tongues, and squabbling still, Their shameless throats with raucous cries they fill; And though submerged beneath the water, make The water with their half-choked curses quake; Their puffy necks distend; the very tide 127

Of execrations makes their jowls stretch wide; With white and bloated paunch, and back of green, And neck, where neck should be, no longer seen, Amid the mire, in lakes and fens and bogs, Leaping they go, the newborn race of frogs." The story ended; and in one who heard The Lycians' fate, another memory stirred, Of Marsyas, and the price the satyr paid, By Phoebus on Minerva's pipe outplayed. "What, tear me from myself," he cried; "ah no; Woe worth the pipe: 'tis bought too dearly so!" Amid his shrieks, his skin was ripped away, And all one wound his bleeding body lay; The flesh and sinews showed uncovered there, And flashing pulse and quivering vein were bare; Each live vibrating organ might one view, And count the fibers as the light shone through. The fauns of field and woodland wept their mate; And satyrs mourned with tears their brother's fate; Olympus, still to tortured Marsyas dear, And all Olympus' nymphs, shed many a tear; And tears by all, who on those mountains fed Their fleecy flocks or horned herds, were shed. Earth took their tears, and in her fruitful power Drank deep, with every vein, the quickening shower, And made one mass of water, which, set free To space and air, sought thence the engulfing sea; And now, between steep banks, a river flows, From Marsyas named, the fairest Phrygia knows. From tales, the present truth, Amphion slain With all his offspring, called them back again. Blame on the mother fell: alone, they say, Was Pelops found to weep for her that day; And Pelops, as he bared his breast, displayed One shoulder, on the left, of ivory made. This shoulder, at his birth, of flesh and bone And natural hue, to match the right, had grown; But later, when the gods his life renewed, And joined the fragments by his father hewed, All other parts were found; but one, which lay

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'Twixt neck and arm, was missing, so they say; And grafting then this ivory counterfeit, They filled the gap, and Pelops stood complete. Great ones from neighboring lands assembled there, And kings, complying with their peoples' prayer; Argos and Sparta their condolence paid; Mycenae, where the line of Pelops swayed; Troezen, where later Pittheus held the throne; And Pylos, as the realm of Neleus known; Then harvest-crowned Orchomenos; and then Corinth for bronze, Messene famed for men; Patrae and small Cleonae had their place; And Calydon, still in Diana's grace; All cities that the two-sea'd isthmus closed, Or from the isthmus were to view exposed. Who would have thought it? Athens only fails, Since o'er the claims of duty war prevails, And on her shores the sea-borne foeman falls, And barbarous hosts affright her ancient walls. Tereus of Thrace with arms in succor came, And broke the foe, and won a victor's name. Riches and power and men, good store, had he, And traced from mighty Mars his ancestry; And king Pandion bound him to his side, As son-in-law, to keep their lands allied. No Juno blessed the bride, when Procne wed; No Grace, no Hymen, stood beside the bed. For nuptial flares the furies robbed the pyres, And lit the wedding feast with funeral fires; The furies spread the couch, while overhead The crouching owl its baneful influence shed. Nor did that bird with idle presage brood Over their marriage and their parenthood. True, when they wed, and when their son was given, Thrace wished them well, and they gave thanks to heaven. And called it holiday — for mortal eyes Discern but ill where true advantage lies. Five years had passed, when Procne, coaxing, said: "Husband, I want no gift, but grant instead My fondest wish, to see my sister dear.

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Send me to her, or better, bring her here; Do, if you love me; and that no concern Disturb my father, pledge her swift return." He launched his ships, and reached with sail and oar Piraeus port, and touched the Attic shore; And when received in audience, having pressed Her father's hand, preferred his wife's request, Giving the pledge desired; and all the while Fair fortune on their conference seemed to smile. Look, Philomela comes, in raiment rare, And rarer beauty — nymphs might seem as fair, If Naiads used such aids to loveliness, And Dryads walked the woodlands in such dress. Tereus took fire, and fierce his passion blazed, Like kindled hay or stubble, as he gazed. Well might that face inflame him, and beside Inherent lust a secret spur applied; For Thracian blood runs hot, to passion prone, And racial fires were added to his own. His impulse was, for his own ends to buy Her servants' care, her nurse's loyalty; Or with fantastic presents, throwing in A kingdom's wealth, her own consent to win; Or bear her to his realm by force, and bar Recapture by the ruffian hands of war. He sticks at nothing, by that rage possessed, And scarce can lock his passion in his breast, Or brook delay, but with fond speech recurs To Procne's plans, and masks his hopes with hers. Love makes him fluent: if entreaties go Too far, he hints that Procne wished it so; Tears too he sheds, as if she bade them flow. O gods above, how dim is mortal sight; How thick in human hearts the veil of night! Tereus draws credit from his guilt, and seems True husband, while he lays his treacherous schemes. And Philomel? She too, whose wish to see Her sister chimed with his and helped his plea, Hugging her father, begged and begged again, As boon and blessing, that which proved her bane.

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The Thracian with possessive gaze looked on, Caressed her with his eyes, and deemed her won; And each embrace, each kiss, she gave her sire, He used to spur his rage, and feed his fire; He wished himself her father — yet no less Would lust look hideous in a father's dress. The king, since both his daughters wished it so, To Philomela's rapture, bade her go; She spoke her thanks, and thought twice-blessed the day, Whereon two lives in darkest shadow lay. Now Phoebus drove (his day's work nearly done) His thudding horses down the westward run. The princes feast; in gold they quaff the wine; Then claimed by sleep, to sleep their limbs resign. But, though the Thracian prince retired, his breast, On fire with Philomela, found no rest. He saw again her face, her hands, her mien, And pictured, as he wished them, charms not seen. Feeding his own tormenting flames, he lay, And turned and tossed the sleepless night away. Day dawns! Pandion weeps, and as they stand About to part, takes Tereus by the hand, And says: "Dear son, by loving cause constrained (Since both so wish, and your consent is gained), I give this child to you, and by all ties That faith makes firm, or kinship sanctifies, By gods above, who mark the suppliant's prayer, Entreat you tend her with a father's care, And send back soon — each day will seem a year — This solace sweet, my anxious age to cheer. And you, my daughter, 'tis enough to lack Your sister; if you love me, hasten back." Commands are mixed with kisses, and his cheeks Are wet with gentle weeping as he speaks. He asked their hands, their hands together pressed, As pledge of faith, and gave his last behest, That they for him with punctual lips should pay Greeting to child and grandchild far away. Half choked with sobs, he scarce could say good-bye, So much he feared his soul's dark prophecy. 131

Once on the painted pinnace, when the oars Reached for the sea, and backward thrust the shores, The Thracian's heart beat high. "She's mine," cried he, "Bear on, brave ship, my heart's desire, and me." He watched her closely, and could scarce forbear To take his barbarous pleasure then and there; And like a hare, by crook-clawed eagle laid High in his mountain aerie, was the maid; No hope of flight, a captive there she lies, And he, the abductor, gazes on his prize. And when, at journey's end, its labors o'er, The good ship lands them on the destined shore, To some dark lodge, in woods of ancient shade, The king dragged off the Athenian royal maid; And while she trembled, asking in despair Was this her sister's house, he caged her there, Declared his dreadful thought, and overcame The weeping child, who called her father's name. A maid, and all alone, she could but call On father, sister, gods — these most of all. The wolf that mauls the lamb will leave it so, Trembling, and doubtful if it lives or no; The ringdove, from the greedy claws set free, With bloodstained plumes still fluttering, so we see. When thought returned, she bruised her shoulders bare, As mourners do, and tore her tumbled hair, And stretched denouncing hands: "Barbarian, bred For brutal deeds" (she cried), "to pity dead! My father's charge, sealed with a father's tears, My sister's claims, my own unspotted years, And wedlock's laws — you cared for nought; through you Chaos is come: yourself ill-paired with two; I, like some captive after conquest, led Half slave, half rival, to my sister's bed. Ah, traitor, why not take my life," she cried, "And leave no depths of infamy untried? Would you had done so sooner, then no stain Of foul adultery on my ghost had lain. Yet, if the heavens look down, if gods there be, If all that is has perished not with me, 132

My score some time or other shall you pay: I'll speak your deeds, and cast all shame away. If free to move, I'll face the city's throng, And tell the world, from place to place, my wrong; If pent in woods, I'll wake a soul in these, And cry for justice to the rocks and trees: My voice shall reach the highest tract of air, And gods shall hear, if gods indeed are there." As with these words she stung that ruthless lord To fear no less than rage, he bared his sword, And clutched her hair; her arms he twisted round Behind her back, and there ungently bound; And Philomela, glad the sword to see, Offered her throat, and hoped to die; but he With pincers gripped the tongue that cried him shame, That stammered to the end her father's name, That struggled still, and strangled utterance made, And cut it from the root with barbarous blade. The remnant twitched; the tongue with muffled sound Muttered its secret to the blackened ground, As writhing still, like a cut snake, it tried To reach her where she stood, before it died. Thereafter, if the frightening tale be true, On her maimed form he wreaked his lust anew. Then, fresh from deeds like these, undaunted yet, To home and wife he went, who when they met Asked for her sister. Feigning grief, he sighed, And told a trumped-up tale of how she died. His tears won trust; and rending from her back Her gold-edged gown, she changed to funeral black; And raised a tomb, though corpse was none, and paid Appeasing gifts to that fictitious shade, And tears of mourning for her sister shed, Who might indeed be mourned, though not as dead. Through the full year's twelve signs the sun-god passed, While watch and ward kept Philomela fast. Deprived of speech, and lodged in walls of stone, What could she do to make her sorrows known? But misery breeds resource, and shifts abound Where sufferings are: a native loom she found, 133

And hung the warp; and weaving on the white With crimson threads, set forth her piteous plight. This done, a serving-woman was her mean To send the finished fabric to the queen: Her signs made mute petition, and the maid, Not knowing truly what she bore, obeyed. When Procne, with the fateful web, unrolled The tragic rune, and read the tale it told, She spoke no word: her mouth by sorrow's spell Was closed, though silence then was miracle. Fit words to speak her horror finds she none, Nor time for tears, so fast her fancies run. The bounds of right and wrong no more she knew: Her fierce imagined vengeance filled her view. One year in two, the Thracian women go To Bacchic rites which only night may know. That time it was, and sharp with brazen clang On Rhodope by night the cymbals rang. Procne, by night, slipped through the palace door; The ritual garb and panoply she wore; The vine her head, her side the fawnskin dressed; The Bacchic wand her shoulder lightly pressed. Wild through the woods, the queen, amidst the throng, A fearsome thing, grief-maddened, swept along, Feigning the Bacchic frenzy; and at last To that lone house in trackless woods she passed; And shrieked, and burst the doors, and with a shout Invoking Bacchus, dragged her sister out, Set all the insignia of the god in place, And screening with an ivy mask her face, So took her home; and she, whom wonder first Had filled, with horror viewed that house accurst. When place was found, and Procne set her free From all the trappings of the devotee, And raised her mask, and sought a fond embrace, Pale Philomela durst not lift her face To meet her sister's, conscious how they stood Related not alone by sisterhood, But kept her eyes cast down, her single thought To vouch that force such outrage on her wrought, 134

And bid the gods, with solemn oath, attest Her truth: all this her speaking hands expressed. Procne, whose burning anger overflowed, Small sufferance on her sister's grief bestowed. "No work is here," she cried, "for tears to do, But steel, or aught that steel surrenders to. I cast all qualms aside, and will not spare To fire the palace, casting in the flare Tereus and all his works, to perish there; Pluck out his eyes, his tongue, or cut away The part which did thy maiden virtue slay; Some deed, I know not what — perchance the knife Through countless wounds shall let his guilty life." Hard on her speech came Itys, and she drew Suggestion from the child, what she might do. She looked with eyes unsoftened. "Ah," said she, "How well the father in the son I see." She ceased; and as her silent anger grew To fever, planned a fearful deed to do. When Itys ran to greet her, and drew down Her neck, with little arms about her thrown, And kissed, and coaxed — why, then the mother woke, Tears sprang unwilled, her resolution broke: A mother's love — her weakness well she knew; And turned again her sister's face to view; And then, with eyes on each in turn, exclaimed: "Sweet words are his, while she is mute and maimed. Why so? He calls me mother: why must she, Who used to call me sister, silent be? — Oh, be your father's child; show like your kin; And think respect for such a husband sin." Then seizing Itys, as a tigress might A milking fawn, in India's jungle night, She dragged him out of earshot, and while he With outstretched hands (his fate he well could see) And cries of "Mother, Mother!" vainly tried To clasp her neck, the sword she coldly eyed, And struck 'twixt rib and breastbone, through his side; And then, though this sufBced to kill, she smote A second blow, which slashed the infant's throat. 135

They carved the body, quick and quivering yet, And part in bubbling cauldrons, part they set On hissing spits, while still the blood was wet; Then calling Tereus to the festive board, Dismissed the slaves and each attendant lord, Making some custom of the house their plea, Some rite, which, save the husband, none might see. There, on the ancient dais, throned in state, Flesh of his flesh unwitting Tereus ate; And in the midnight of his ignorance cried: "Call here our son, send Itys to our side!" Then Procne dropped the mask: with joy she spake, The tidings of her deed of blood to break: "You have him there within!" she cried; and he Looked round him, wondering where the boy might be; And while he looked about, and called again, Fresh from the mad-brained slaughter, with the stain Still on her hair, Philomela sprang, and sped Full in his face the infant's bleeding head. If e'er she craved the common speech of men To put her joy in words, she craved it then. Tereus thrust back the table, with a yell Which roused the snake-haired sisters deep in hell. He clawed his breast, and if he could, would fain Disgorge the half-digested feast again. With floods of tears he mourned his offspring's doom, And called himself his son's unhallowed tomb. Last, on the sisters with a sword he sprang: Their forms in air on pinions seemed to hang; And hang they did: one seeks the woodland leaves, The other makes her mansion in the eaves. The plumage of their breasts, which still retain The marks of murder, shows a crimson stain. Tereus, by grief and lust of vengeance spurred, In mid-pursuit became a crested bird, Hoopoe by name, that, with his freakish bill, So long and slender, looks the swordsman still. When, aged by this sore grief, Pandion went To shades of Tartarus ere his years were spent, Erechtheus ruled; 'tis doubtful to this day 136

If arms or justice more secured his sway. Four sons had he, four daughters; these possessed Great beauty all, but two surpassed the rest; And Cephalus had with Procris' hand been blessed. Boreas, less lucky, since the disrepute Of Tereus and the Thracians marred his suit, First, putting force aside, long tries in vain Fair Orithyia's hand by prayers to gain. When flatteries fail, the gusts of rage upstart, Which house, by habit, in the wind-god's heart. " 'Tis just," says he, "why did I lay aside My strength and fierceness, weapons true and tried, Bluster and storm and threats? Why brought to bear What suits me least to use, appeal and prayer? Force suits me well: by force I shake the deep, And frowning clouds by force before me sweep. My force can over knotted oaks prevail, Congeal the snows, and lash the lands with hail. When skies are cleared for war, such might I show (The heavens my field, my brother-winds the foe), That air with noise of onset thunders loud, And fire comes leaping from the smitten cloud; And through earth's crannies when in rage I thrust, Shouldering my way far down beneath the crust, And rock the caves, the shades below will quake, And earth in all her bounds with terror shake. This was my way to woo, to override Erechtheus' will, and seize, not beg, my bride!" So Boreas speaks, or in no meaner strain, And ending there, he shakes his wings amain, And with their beating wakes the winds that sweep O'er every land, and ruffle all the deep; And as the cloak of mist that wraps him round Trails on the mountain-tops and sweeps the ground, The lover, seizing Orithyia, flings Around her shrinking form his murky wings; And as they fly, though day is turned to night, His flame of love burns fiercer with the flight. In airy course no rein the abductor drew, Till o'er Ciconian tribes and towers he flew; 137

And there the maid of Athens, forced to wed The ice-cold king, was brought with twins to bed, Zetes and Calais, who in other things More like their mother, had their father's wings; But not, they say, born with them: till the beard Grew neath the flame-red hair, no plumes appeared. When boyhood thus gave way to manly prime, They joined the Argonauts at sailing-time, And shared their quest across untraveled seas In the first ship, to find the Golden Fleece.

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BOOK

SEVEN OF the love of Medea for Jason — the winning of the Golden Fleece — the restoration of Aeson to youth — the doing of Pelias to death — other appalling deeds of Medea — of the war begun by Minos of Crete — the mission of Cephalus to Aegina — the story of the plague — and of the repopulation of the island by the Ant-men — of Cephalus and Procris

^ ^ ^ NWARD the bold explorers pressed, and now Were pushing through the straits their Argo's prow. The land where Phineus, in unbroken night, Dragged out his helpless age, was lost to sight; From there the twins had driven the harpy brood, Half bird, half maid, that snatched the old man's food. At last the sailors in their storm-tossed bark Sailed up the Phasis, flowing swift and dark; And there when Jason sought the king, to crave The wished-for gift, the fleece that Phrixus gave, The law was set, the dread conditions learned, What toils must be endured, what dangers spurned. 'Twas then Aeetes' daughter first took fire; And having long by reason fought desire Without success, "Medea fights," she thought, "Against a god, a battle vainly fought. The love they speak of (else my thought's amiss) Is this, be sure, or something like to this. How comes it else I think too strict by far My father's rules, though strict indeed they are; And fear lest one, before this hour unseen, Should lose his life — what can such terror mean? Wretch, from your bosom, if you can, bid fly This flame! — Oh, if I could, then sane were I.

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But strangely drawn the way I would not go, I hear desire say Yes, and reason No; And see with open eyes the better course, And own it better, yet pursue the worse. — Why love a stranger, you so near the throne, And dream of wedlock with a world unknown? Something to love, this land can surely give: The gods must say if Jason die or live. — And yet I pray he live; and so might one Who loved him not: what harm has Jason done? Where's one so hard, that could unsoftened see His youth, his breeding, and his bravery? With nought beside, in all save beauty poor, Could heart resist him? Mine could not, for sure. Yet will he feel, if I withhold my hand, The bulls' hot breath, and meet the earthborn band In battle, reaping where he sows, or make Mere brutish fodder for the greedy snake. If I can suffer this, then I will own My dam a tigress, and my heart a stone. It were all one to watch him while he dies, And act the accomplice with observant eyes; Cry on the bulls, and bid against him go The sleepless dragon, and the earthborn foe. The gods forbid! Yet not the gods must do, But I myself, the things for which I sue. — And shall I then turn traitor, and bring down, To save a stranger's life, my father's crown, That he I save may take the earliest tide, And sail away, to seek a distant bride, Leaving me here to suffer? If there be Such coldness in his heart, such falsity; If he, forgetting all, can pass me by, And love another, may the ingrate die! — Yet in his form and feature that appears, And that within his soul, which shames my fears; And I will bind him: by an oath in heaven, With gods for witness, shall his pledge be given. — What's then to fear? Bid hesitation flee! Jason in pawn to you shall ever be, 140

And name you wife in all solemnity; And in the towns of Greece will mothers throng And call you savior as you pass along. — Then sister, brother, sire, I cast away And gods and country with the winds to stray? — True, but a brutal sire, a barbarous land, A brother not of age to understand. My sister's prayers stand with me: for the rest The greatest god of all is in my breast. Small things I leave behind, things great pursue: The fame of her who saved the Grecian crew; The sight of nobler lands, with many a town Which even in Colchis lacks not live renown, Which civil arts and social graces crown; And him, the son of Aeson, whom would I, With all the world possesses, gladly buy. With him for husband, nought my fortune mars, Loved by the gods, and lifted to the stars. What if the fabled mountains, as they say, Clash in mid-ocean, right athwart our way; What if Charybdis, menace of the main, Sucks in the sea, and sends it forth again; Or barking Scylla, ringed with ravening hounds, Sits where the hoarse Sicilian strait resounds? Possessed of what I love, in Jason's arms, I'll ride the seaways, safe from all alarms, Or fearing, if I fear, for him alone, My husband, and his safety, not my own. — Husband, you say? so with the specious name Of marriage will Medea cloak her shame? No, no: see well on what a course of crime Your feet are set, and turn away in time." Here duty, right, and honor stood revealed Before her eyes, and love began to yield. To Hecate's ancient altar-grove, one day, Deep in a twilit wood, she made her way. Heart-whole and brave was she: her passion's flame Had cooled, when in her sight her loved one came. At once, like fire new-kindled, love returned, And in her flaming cheeks the passion burned. 141

As oft it falls, the tiny spark that lay Concealed beneath the film of ashes gray, Refueled by the bellows' breath will grow To strength again, and fierce as ever glow, So, when it seemed extinguished, her desire In Jason's living presence took fresh fire. And such a bloom that day his beauty bore, Well might a lover, without blame, adore. As though till then unseen, his beauty caught And held her gaze, and in her frenzied thought He seemed not mortal: all in vain she tried To turn her glances, and herself, aside. And when he took her hand, and speaking low, Begged her, in pleading tones, her aid bestow, And pledged his faith to wed her, then the tide Of tears rose up, and thus the maid replied: "Well know I what I do: not duped nor blind, I follow love with undeluded mind. If, as you shall, by gift of mine you live, Then, living, keep with faith the pledge you give." By triple Hecate's shrine, wherein they stood, And by her power, that filled the solemn wood, By all his hazards, all his hopes, and by Medea's grandsire with the all-seeing eye, His oath was sworn; the maiden's trust was earned; The herbs of power were given; their secret learned; And Jason to his tents with joy returned. When next day's dawn dispersed the twinkling stars, The people gathered to the field of Mars. They thronged the hillsides; and the king in state With crimson robes and ivory scepter sate. There were the bulls: on brazen feet they came, From adamantine nostrils blowing flame; With fiery breath they scorched the grassy floor; And as we hear the full-charged furnace roar, Or lime, which kindles in the kiln of clay, When on the crumbling stone the waters play, So in their bosom rolls the internal fire, Which, like a blast, their reeking throats expire. Yet Jason moves to meet them, eye to eye,

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And with a daunting stare the beasts reply. They point their horns, with steel-shod tips outthrust, And with their cloven hoofs they stamp the dust; While blent of blinding smoke and deafening sound, Their deep-voiced booming fills the region round. Yet on he goes, and trusts the powerful charm, And braves their fiery breath, and takes no harm; And while his comrades stiff with terror stand, He strokes the dewlaps with unflinching hand, And tames the bulls to bear the yoke, and toil Beneath the plow, and break the virgin soil. The Colchians wonder, while the Grecians cry And with their clamor raise his courage high. Next, from a brazen helm the hero drew The serpent's teeth, and in the furrows threw. The fangs, infused with venom, turned, when sown, Soft in the soil, and grew to flesh and bone; And as the child (which in the making goes From phase to phase, when in the womb it grows) Attains at last the human form, and then Comes forth in season to the world of men, So from the body of the pregnant earth To shapes of men the fruiting fields gave birth; And in their hands, to make the wonder more, Weapons born with them, rattling loud, they bore. Now as they stood, it seemed, in act to throw Their sharp-tipped lances on their single foe, The Greeks knew fear; their hearts and faces fell; And she, whose spells had proofed him, feared as well; And seeing one by endless odds assailed, She sank; her blood ran cold; her color failed; And lest her herbs prove weak, she aided these With singsong spells and secret sorceries. But Jason casts among the earthborn foe A massive stone, and makes the brethren so Turn each on each their martial rage, till all In civil strife by mutual murder fall. So Jason triumphed: with embraces warm The cheering Grecians clasped the victor's form. You would have clasped it too, barbarian maid: 143

You wished it so, but modesty forbade; And modesty might well have suffered wrong, But that the fear of scandal proved too strong. One task remained: to lull with drugs to rest The fearsome dragon, who with brilliant crest, Hooked teeth, and triple tongue, a sight to see, Guarded with sleepless eyes the golden tree. Seeds of Lethean essence Jason flung, And thrice the sleep-inducing words were sung. The words which stay the floods and calm the deep Subdued those eyes, then first explored by sleep. So fell the gold to Aeson's hero son, With her by whose award the prize was won; And bearing both his trophies, flushed with pride, The victor reached Iolcus with his bride. Thessalian mothers, for their sons' return, And gray-haired sires bring gifts: high altars burn Heaped up with incense; and to slaughter led With gilded horns, the promised victims bled. At these thanksgivings Aeson made not one: His age was toil, his days were nearly done. Then said the son of Aeson: "Dear my wife, To whom, I freely own, I owe my life, Though you have given me all, and far outrun Your plighted word in sum of service done, Yet, if your charms have power enough, I sue For one thing more; and what can charms not do? Cut short my life" (and this he spoke with tears) "And with my loss prolong my father's years." The son's affection touched Medea's heart, Herself so different in a daughter's part; But, leaving all such feelings unconfessed, She said: "What word is this, what speech unblessed? Seems it that I, did Hecate not gainsay, Could sign, in whole or part, your life away? She would not grant it; not to ask were best; Yet shall my bounty better your request, And by my art, if art avail, renew Your father's years, and with no loss to you; So may the three-formed goddess, when I ask, 144

Stand by to aid in this portentous task." Three nights were wanting, till the moon should bring Her waxing crescent to the perfect ring; And when her orb, in plenitude of girth, Looked down with full-faced radiance on the earth, Medea went ungirdled forth; her hair Hung down uncovered; and her feet were bare; And unattended, while the midnight lay Hushed on the land, she went her wandering way. The silent-moving rivers seemed to sleep; Man, bird, and beast were sunk in slumber deep; The forest verge was still, no murmur there; Still were the leaves, and still the humid air. The stars alone had movement; to their rays She thrice stretched out her arms, and turned her gaze. Thrice on her hair the river drops she spilled, Thrice from her lips an invocation shrilled. Then, knee to naked ground, she thus did pray: "O secret Night, and stars of golden ray, Who with the moon succeed the fires of day; O Hecate triple-formed, who bear'st a part In sorcerers' charms, and great assays of art; O earth, that dost in magic herb and flower Equip the mage with instruments of power; You winds and breezes, mountain, stream, and mere; All woodland gods, and gods of night, be near. Through you I bid the streams with altered course Past wondering banks run backward to their source; Enrage the calm, and calm the raging main; Disperse the clouds, and mass them once again; Rout, and recall, the winds; and rend apart The yawning serpent by the enchanter's art; Uproot great oaks, and move with earthquake shock The seated forest, and the living rock; Through you the mountains shake, the valleys boom At my command, and specters quit the tomb; My charms draw down the moon, while, clashed in vain, The brazen cymbals strive to ease her pain. In spells that make my grandsire's chariot pale, And drugs that dim Aurora, you prevail; 145

And you could blunt the bulls' hot breath, and bow Their stubborn necks to draw the curving plow; Embroil the serpent's brood; and cast the spell That lulled at last the sleepless sentinel; And send the gold to Greece — and now the hour Demands elixirs of restoring power, To make old age, whose flowering time is o'er, Turn back to pluck the primrose years once more — And you will give them: each consenting star Has flashed, and ready stands the dragon car." She climbed the car, and stroked the dragons' manes, And as she soared, shook out the floating reins. Beneath her eyes Thessalian Tempe lay, As to her gleaning-grounds she steered her way, To seek all herbs which all the hills beget, Great Pindus, and Olympus greater yet, Othrys, and Ossa, paired with Pelion tall — In search of simples she surveyed them all. Some from the roots she pulled, and some she took With the bronze crescent of her reaping hook; Amphrysus and Apidanus supplied Good harvest from the verdant riverside; Peneiis and Spercheiis likewise made Their offerings, and Enipeus tribute paid. She plucked what grew by Boebe's reedy wave, And what Anthedon in Euboea gave, The herb of life, to later times known well, When Glaucus came beneath its changing spell. While, borne by dragons' wings and flying car, She searched the fields, in regions near and far, Nine days, and nights as many, saw her roam, And when, with harvest reaped, she turned for home, Her snakes sloughed off, touched merely by the scent, The growth of years, their old integument. Outside the palace bounds she checked her pace, Shunning all shelter, and her lord's embrace; And out of doors two turf-built altars raised; The left to Youth, the right to Hecate blazed; And hanging these with wildwood greenery round, She cut close by two trenches in the ground; 146

And did her rites: a sable ram was slain, From whose slit throat she let the lifeblood drain To brim the pits, then sprinkled twice on these Drink offerings from uptilted chalices, Milk from the udder warm, and running wine, And as she poured, invoked the powers divine: Earth spirits first; then prayers to him were said, Who with his stolen consort rules the dead, Begging him not to snatch old Aeson's breath Too speedily, as life gave way to death. Thus did she those mysterious powers appease With mumbled prayers and long-drawn litanies; Then bade old Aeson's frame, with age outworn, Forth from the palace to the air be borne; And laid, when charms had sealed his slumber deep, On beds of herbs, sunk in a deathlike sleep. She bade her lord and all the slaves depart, To keep from eyes profane her secret art; Then, like a Bacchanal, went pacing round The flaming altars with her hair unbound; And dipped in blood, and kindled in the fire, The splintered brands; and round the aged sire Three times with flame, in cleansing sacrament, And thrice with water, thrice with sulphur, went. Meanwhile the brazen cauldron on the fire Boiled, and the yeasty froth leaped ever higher. Roots, seeds, and flowers, and saps dark-hued were there, And blossoms that Thessalian lowlands bear; Gems, by the farthest lands of dawn supplied, And sands, well washed by ocean's ebbing tide; Frosts, which beneath the nightlong moon were sought, And flesh of owls, and wings accurst, she brought; And entrails of the wizard wolf, who can Whene'er he will, assume the shape of man; Liver of long-lived stag; and, wafer-thin, The Libyan river serpent's scaly skin; A raven's head, surviving centuries nine — All these ingredients did the witch combine, With hundreds more, whose name 'tis vain to ask, To set in train her more than mortal task. 147

She took a branch of olive, long since dry, And stirred and dredged the mixture thoroughly. The withered stick, plunged in the steaming brew, First turning green, began to bud anew; Then bore a weight of fruit, while on the ground, Far as the spitfire cauldron sprayed around The drops of scalding spume, a quickening power Like Spring burst forth in tender shoot and flower. Which when Medea saw, without delay She slit old Aeson's throat, and drained away The feeble blood, and pouring in her brew Through mouth or wound, she charged his veins anew; And as he drank it in, his hair and beard, Snow-white before, of sable hue appeared; Senile no more was he, nor pale and thin; Flesh filled the wrinkles and made smooth the skin; His limbs grew lusty from the sap within. He marveled much, as memory woke, to know That this was Aeson forty years ago. Bacchus had watched from heaven, and noted well The Colchian's wondrous youth-restoring spell; And claimed this boon — since such a boon could be — For those who nursed his orphaned infancy. That restless brain, with eastern craft imbued, Turned next to vengeful plots, when, feigning feud 'Twixt Jason and herself, Medea fled, To bow at Pelias' door her suppliant head; And as the king whose grace she wished to win Was stooped with age, his daughters took her in; And long it was not, ere with sly pretense And friendly airs she gained their confidence; And dwelling long, as in her tale she came, On Aeson's banished age, her greatest claim, In Pelias' daughters roused the hope that he, Their sire, by skill like this, renewed might be. At last they speak their thoughts and bid her ask What fee she will; and on the weighty task She feigns to think, while their impatience waits Upon her answer, as she hesitates. After a while, consenting to their plea: 148

"To fix your faith, and prove my power," says she, "The oldest in your flock, the tyrant ram, Shall, by the power of drugs, become a lamb." Dragged by the horns, which spiraled round his ears, The woolly king came tottering, spent with years. She made his withered throat the death wound feel, Staining with scanty blood the native steel; And with his carcass in the cauldron threw The potent saps, to make her healing brew. The limbs grew smaller, and the horns were shed, And with the horns the effect of years had fled; They hear soft bleatings from the cauldron rise, And on the instant, ere their wonder dies, A suckling lamb leaps out with frisking feet, And skips about, to find a mother's teat. When promise thus showed proof, with headier zeal The astounded daughters pressed their fond appeal; And when the sun-god thrice had freed his team From harness, as they dipped in ocean's stream, On the fourth night, beneath the moon's bright beam, Faithless Medea, when the fire burned hot, Put worthless herbs and water in the pot. A sleep like death, by magic utterance cast, And potent spells, held king and courtiers fast; And through the doorway, by the Colchian led, The daughters came, and stood beside the bed. She chid them thus: "Why palter, why delay? Come, draw your swords at once, and drain away The senile stuff, that I, when none remains, With youthful blood may charge his empty veins. Your father's life and youth depend on you; Let hope be fruitful, and affection true; Show duty to your sire, and with the knife, To banish age, sluice out the stagnant life." When prompted thus to crime in duty's name, All, to be blameless, vie in deeds of blame, Yet turn aside, and dare not watch the steel, And with rough hands the random death wounds deal. The king half rose, and struggling as he bled To lift his mangled body from the bed, 149

Hemmed in by swords, with bloodless hands outspread, "What arms you thus to slay your sire?" he said; And when the Colchian saw the daughters stand, Hearing these words, with faltering heart and hand, She cut his words and windpipe short, and threw His mangled carcass in the boiling stew. By dragon steeds upborne ('twas death to stay) O'er Pelion's tree-clad height she winged her way Past Chiron's birthplace, and to Othrys came, By what befell Cerambus known to fame. (Winged by the nymphs and soaring from the ground, When earth's dead weight in gulfing seas was drowned, Salvation from Deucalion's flood he found.) Then past Aeolian Pitane she fled, Where the long dragon, hewn in rock, lay spread; Past Ida's woods, where Bacchus hid the steer, Stol'n by his son, in the aspect of a deer; Where Paris lay, lapped in a little sand; Where Maera's monstrous barking scared the land; Past Cos, whose women branching antlers wore When, with his band, Alcides left the shore; Past Rhodes, beloved of Phoebus, and the place Ialysus, of that Telchinian race, Whom Jove, because they blighted all they eyed, Drowned, in disgust, beneath his brother's tide; Past Ceos, with Carthaea's ancient wall, Where (so should fortune, one far day, befall) Alcidamas his daughter's form should see Strangely reborn, a peaceful dove to be. Before her Hyrie s lakes and Tempe shone, Where Cygnus flashed to fame, a sudden swan. For there had Phyllius, by the boy's command, Brought birds and lions, mastered to his hand; Then tasked anew by Cygnus, he had tamed The savage bull, but angered, when he claimed Love in return, to find himself repelled, This gift, his best and latest, he withheld. "You'll wish to give it," so his darling cried, And leaped in temper from the mountain-side; Yet did not, as they fancied, groundward go, 150

But hung in air, a swan, with wings of snow. His mother, Hyrie, since she thought him dead, Dissolved in tears, and named the lake she fed. Here Pleuron lies in view, where Combe rose On fluttering wings to shun her children's blows; And there Calaurea, where the tale was heard, How king and consort each became a bird. To right Cyllene lies: Menaphron there Like a wild beast his mother's bed would share; Hard by, Cephisus wept his grandson's plight, Changed to a sea-calf by Apollo's might; And there Eumelus dwelt, now full of care, Mourning his son, a denizen of air. To Corinth at long last Medea came, Where ancient springs preserve Pirene's fame; And where, when earth began, old fables said, Men's bodies were of watery fungus bred. Soon had her rival burned in chemic fire By Colchian craft; and when the palace pyre Blazed red from sea to sea, and when the life Of her own sons had stained her lawless knife, Unchilded but avenged, in wholesome dread Of Jason's sword, the inhuman mother fled. Borne by the sun-god's dragons, far she flew To Athens, where aloft on pinions new, Old Periphas, with Phene, virtuous queen, And Polypemon's grandchild too, were seen. Received by Aegeus (else of blameless life), Medea rose ere long from guest to wife. Soon, to his sire unknown, drew Theseus near, Whose sword had freed the sea-locked land from fear. For him Medea mixed, with murderous thought, A draught of aconite, from Scythia brought. From Cerber's teeth the plant was grown, they say: Dark yawns the chasm, steeply slopes the way Up which Alcides dragged the captive hound, While he, with adamantine leashes bound, Contested every step, and shied away, Slant-eyed before the blinding beams of day; And when the rabid beast, by frenzy stung, 151

With all three mouths at once was giving tongue, The flecks of foam he sprinkled on the field Lay white on green, and these, they think, congealed; And finding food, they grew, and in the ground, Source of all life, their killing virtue found. From rockland, where the plant is borne and thrives, The name, which Grecian peasants gave, derives. 'Twas this that Aegeus, by his wife beguiled, As to a foe, had offered to his child; Whose unsuspecting hand the cup had pressed, When on his sword-hilt shone the royal crest; Whereat his sire, who saw the truth in time, Dashed from his very lips the intended crime. While, wrapped in clouds, Medea took her flight, The son, thus saved, rejoiced his father's sight, Who, awed to think what hairbreadth chance could turn Great guilt aside, now bade the altars burn; And heaped the gods with gifts, while axes bled The bluff-necked bulls, with horns gay-garlanded. On Athens never dawned more festive day, While peers and people held high feast, they say; And while the wine as inspiration flows, In praise of Theseus thus their chorus goes: "Thy might, great Theseus, Marathon admired, When in his blood the Cretan bull expired; By gift and deed of yours, no more the sow Near Cromyon frights the tiller from the plow; And Epidauria marked your prowess well, When the club-bearing son of Vulcan fell; Cephisus' banks heard fierce Procrustes groan, Eleusis, dear to Ceres, Cercyon; By thee that Sinis died, whose giant might, Ill-used, could bend the tree trunks from the height, And force the pinetops down, whereon to tie The living man, and make the fragments fly; Sciron is laid to rest, and roads are free, And travelers safely reach Alcathoe; His scattered bones, by land and sea denied All refuge, found no place wherein to hide, But tempest-tossed, and touched by time, became 152

Rocks, and as rocks still bear the robber's name. Thy deeds of glory, did we care to count, Matched with thy years, thy years would far surmount. A city's prayers to heaven for thee we raise, And drain the wine-cups in thy valor's praise." The palace rang with answering cheer and prayer, And through the city joy was everywhere. But ne'er was gladness yet without alloy, And some disquiet still attends on joy; And thus it fared with Aegeus, when, to mar His joy in Theseus, came the threat of war. Not ships and men alone made Minos strong, But more, resentment of a father's wrong: He seeks just vengeance for Androgeos slain, And friends in arms his righteous cause maintain. From isle to isle, where Crete's prestige is high, His flying fleet gains many a stout ally: Astypalaea, forced to lend her aid, And Anaphe, whom promises persuade; Low Myconos; Cimolus' chalky ground; And Scyros, where the banks of thyme abound; Level Seriphos, and the marble isle, Paros, and that betrayed by Arne vile, Whom gods, that marked the sordid pact she made, Changed to a bird (when once the price was paid) With wings and feet of black; and as of old, Though now a daw, she has an eye for gold. Gyaros, Andros, Tenos, Didyme, And Oliaros, preserved neutrality, With Peparethos, where, in many a grove Of fruitful trees, the smooth-skinned olive throve. West to that island Minos turned his prow, Once called Oenopia, but Aegina now, Since Aeacus, whose sons were ruling there, Had given the land his mother's name to bear. The crowds pressed round, for great was Minos' fame; The princes too with formal greeting came: First Telamon, then, less in years than he, Peleus, and Phocus, youngest of the three. Their father too with aged steps and slow 153

Came forth, and asked what brought the monarch so. Then he who ruled the hundred cities, sighed, Recalled a father's grief, and thus replied: "My suit is this: that you should aid and share The arms which in a sacred cause I bear, To quit a murdered son, whose ashes crave For consolation and a quiet grave." The king replied: "For this in vain you sue, A thing not in my city's power to do, Since we with Athens, more than any land, Conjunct and bound in strict alliance stand." King Minos frowned, and set his sails for sea. "That league of yours shall cost you dear," said he. But loath to waste his powers before the day, Content to threaten war,' he went awav. j Aegina's walls still held his fleet in view, When into port with sails full set there flew An Attic ship, with Cephalus, who bore His country's greetings to the friendly shore. The royal youths knew well that gallant form, Though long unseen, and gave him greeting warm, And led him in, while every eye approved His still unfaded beauty, as he moved. An olive branch, his country's growth, he bore, And had, on either side, a suitor more (Whose softer years might aid their senior's plea), Clytos and Butes, Pallas' progeny. Then, after courtly greeting, Cephalus made His sovereign's message known, and asked their aid, And, citing treaties and ancestral ties, Added that Minos sought all Greece for prize. With eloquence his country's claims he stressed: But Aeacus answered, hand on scepter pressed: "Take without asking, Athens, men and stores, Whate'er this isle possesses, count as yours. Good strength have we (so fair our fortune shows) And troops enough or more, for friends or foes. The gods be thanked, you come in happy time, When promise and performance fitly chime." "Oh, prosper long," said Cephalus; "may your state 154

Grow ever with her manhood yet more great! Such men, so matched in years, in looks so fine, As, when I landed, cheered these eyes of mine. Yet many a face, which now is here no more, I saw, when welcomed as your guest before." Then sadly spoke the sighing king: "More kind Is fortune now, but sorrows lie behind. Ah, might the joy without the grief be heard: But I will tell you all, and in a word The men you look for — bones and ash are they, And with them half my kingdom passed away. "A plague, through Juno's hate and anger, came Upon the land which bore her rival's name. Before the cause was known, the thing was thought A natural ill, to be with physic fought; But death prevailed, and treatment came to nought. At first strange heat, from clouds that overspanned The darkened skies, lay heavy on the land: Four times the moon attained her perfect round, And four times was her waning web unwound, While winds from southern lands with sultry breath Touched lakes and fountains with contagious death; And snakes in thousands roamed o'er fields untilled, With whose defiling venom streams were filled. At first the swift infection set its sign On beasts and birds, on dogs and sheep and kine: Strong bulls, before the luckless plowman's eye, Drop at their task, and in the furrows lie; A sickly bleat is all the flocks can raise; Their wool falls off undipped, their flesh decays; The mettled courser, clad in days of yore With dust and glory, thinks of fame no more, But weakly groaning at the paddock-rail Will tamely die, as strength and spirit fail; The deer forgets his speed, his rage the boar, The bear's incursions fright the herd no more. All creatures droop; in woods and fields and ways Foul stenches taint the air, as flesh decays. Strangest of all, untouched the corpses lie, And dogs and wolves and vultures pass them by. 155

Soon, into putrefaction as they slide, They breathe decay, and spread infection wide. "So stalked the terror, gathering strength, and then Through town and country struck the lives of men. At first their entrails burn: the fire within By panting breath is shown, and flushing skin. The rough tongue swells; the parching throat astrain Gasps out hot air, and snatches breath with pain. No bed, no blanket could they bear, but pressed Their naked bones to earth, in search of rest: Earth chilled not them, but they with fevered frame Made hot the earth; and none to ease them came. On every nurse the fever leaped to kill; For leeches it was death to ply their skill; And those most true to serve and close to tend Most swiftly shared the patient's fearful end. When hope was gone, the sufferers, who could see In death the issue of their malady, Indulged caprice; no further care they had To choose, where choice was none, 'twixt good and bad. Unshamed, by pool and spring and stream they lay, And drank, till thirst, and life, had passed away. Some, weak and dying, in the water sink, Whilst others of the water press to drink. From hateful sheets the bed-rid wretches bound, Or roll, too weak to stand, from bed to ground. Each flees his home, which seems a place of fear: The cause unknown, he thinks the guilt is here. Some, living corpses, might be seen to stray About the streets, until their legs gave way; Some rolled in last appeal their wearied eyes, With arms uplifted to the sagging skies; Some weeping lay, or sighing forth, where death Let fall his hand, their last laborious breath. "What wish was mine, what duty, save to be One with my own, from hateful life set free? Where eye could turn, the prostrate bodies lay; Like acorns dropped or rotting fruit were they. Look yonder, where above the marble sweep Of stairway Jove's great temple crowns the steep. 156

How often there, with bootless tribute paid, Husband for wife, or sire for son, had prayed. How oft they fell, before the prayer was said Beside the unfeeling altar, and when dead Still clutched the spice that should the fires have fed. How oft the priest, with hallowed word and sign Pouring between the horns the sacred wine, Had seen the bull, before he struck the blow, Beside the fire without a wound laid low. When I myself made offerings, with the plea That Jove would spare my land, my sons, and me, The victim groaned, and ere the cut was made, Dropped dead: the blood, when drawn, scarce smeared the blade. From entrails too (so worked the plague thereon) The signs of truth, and heaven's commands, were gone. "I saw the sick before the temple door Struck down by death, or pass the threshold o'er, And in the shrine itself, to make their death Cry out to heaven, with cords constrict their breath: The doom which came uncalled they summoned near, And with the fact of death cast out the fear. No funerals bore the dead in order due, Nor could the gates have let the funerals through: They pressed the ground unburied, or were laid In heaps piled high, and ne'er a tribute paid. Men fought for pyres, all reverence overthrown, And burned in conflagrations not their own. None came to weep the dead: without a home, Lacking their meed of tears, the ghosts must roam, Sons, mothers, young and old; nor was there found Timber for fires, or space for burial ground. " 'Great Jove' (I cried at last, as round me blew Such dizzying winds of woe), 'if tales be true; If to your loved Aegina's arms you came, And own me as your son, nor think it shame, Give me my people back, or in the tomb Lay me with them, to share the common doom.' And as with fire and thunder in the sky He gave assent, I hailed the fair reply: 157

'I take as pledge this omen that you send; Be it your favor that these signs portend.' Near where I stood, there grew a sacred tree With spreading boughs in rarest tracery, Jove's own, an offspring of Dodona's seed, Of which, as though by chance, my gaze took heed; And ants I saw, which there in endless train, Their tiny mouths full-charged with loads of grain, Kept road unswerving on the wrinkled bark, While I with wonder did their numbers mark. 'Ah, sire,' I cried, 'with numbers like to these Refill, I pray, my city's vacancies.' The tall oak trembled, and a sound was heard From moving boughs, though not a breeze had stirred. With hair on end and prickling limbs I stood, And kissed the ground, and kissed the sacred wood; And felt fresh hope, though hope was unconfessed, And nursed new aspirations in my breast. "That night, when sleep had seized my careworn frame, The selfsame tree before my vision came, The which, on branches just as many, bore As many ants; and strangely, as before, The branches shook, and scattered on the plain The marching column with the loads of grain. A sudden growth transformed them, and they swelled, And stood with trunk erect, and head upheld. Shedding superfluous feet and sable hue And pygmy size, to human form they grew; And here I woke from slumber, to complain Of gods who gave no help, and visions vain. But from the palace-courts there seemed to come A sound long silent, like a crowd's deep hum. Was this the stuff of dreams? With hasty stride Came Telamon, and flung my portal wide. 'Go forth,' he said, 'and see: a sight I show, Unhoped, beyond belief,' and forth I go; And such as in my dream I seemed to view, Such men I saw; and when in order due Advancing as to greet their king they came, I scanned them well, and knew them for the same. 158

To pay my vows to Jove was first my care, Then with the newborn race my realm to share; To part the town among them, and divide The farmlands in the vacant countryside. I called them Myrmidons, and let their name, As seemed but fair, tell truly whence they came. Strong-bodied, as you saw them, every trait They keep unaltered from their former state; Still thrifty, still industrious as before, Holding their gains, and careful of their store. And these, whose hearts with youth and courage glow, Will to the wars behind your banners go, As soon as winds permit, and southward veer Those eastern gales which bravely brought you here." With this, and tales like this, the long day goes, Till evening brings repast, and night repose. When the sun raised his golden beam, the gales Still blew unchanged, and checked their homeward sails. The sons of Pallas, as their years dictate, On Cephalus, as their senior, duly wait; Then to the palace door they pass, all three, To pay the king their morning courtesy. Here Phocus, since the elder sons were gone To muster troops and Aeacus still slept on, Received them. Deep within the palace lie Fair courts, for spacious ease and privacy. Here Phocus marks, while seated with his guests, The spear on which the hand of Cephalus rests, With shaft of some strange wood, and golden head; And after courteous interchange he said: "I make the woods and hunting craft my care, Yet muse what forest bred the shaft you bear. It lacks the cornel's grain, the ash's hue, Yet fairer dart these eyes did never view." "Ay, and its use" (Clytos or Butes spake) "More than its beauty will your wonder wake. It cannot miss; on chance it ne'er relies; It strikes to kill, and back unfetched it flies." Phocus, at this, must every question ply, Whence came such gift, by whom bestowed, and why; 159

And Cephalus answered truly all the rest, But what the weapon cost him, shame suppressed. Sad memories of his loved one lost awoke; His eyes were filled with tears, as thus he spoke: "This weapon (who would think it?) brings me tears, And will, if life shall last, for many years. I'd wish this gift ungiven, if that could be, For this, sweet prince, destroyed my wife and me. "Of Orithyia (if you recognize The name of her whom Boreas seized for prize) Procris was sister, and by just compare Of face and temper was a prize more rare. With her, by love and by her father given, Blest did I seem, and was — but not by heaven. When not two months of married life were sped, For antlered deer one day my nets I spread In sight of mount Hymettus, where he towers With lofty peak and fadeless crown of flowers. From thence Aurora, at the dawn of day, Beheld, and bore me by main force away. With her fair leave (to give the truth its due) For all she shines so bright with rosy hue, For all she reigns where dark and daylight meet, And feeds on morning dewdrops, nectar-sweet, My love was all for Procris: from my heart, As from my speech, did Procris ne'er depart. Of marriage bonds by first affection tied, Of vows dishonored, and a lonely bride, I spoke, until in rage the goddess cried: 'Have her, your Procris: soon your wish will be Not to have had, if I the truth foresee.' "She let me go, but as I went, her word Moved in my memory, and a doubt was stirred: My wife, whose youth and beauty gave some cause For question — was she false to wedlock's laws? And though her virtue gave this thought the lie, An absent lover, full of fears, was I; And she from whom I took my homeward way Herself was instance how a wife could stray. Bent on self-torture, and resolved to try 160

With gifts my wife's good faith and chastity, To Athens, by Aurora's power disguised, I went, and reached my house unrecognized. "The house itself in blameless virtue shone And loyal grief to feel its master gone: To gain its lady's presence long defied My efforts, though a thousand shifts were tried. And when we met, to see her shook my heart; How could I bear to play the tempter's part? Ah, with what effort was the wish withstood To tell her all, and kiss her, as I should! Sad were her looks, but none more fair than she, Thus in her sadness seen, could ever be. Judge, Phocus, of her beauty, who with care For her lost lord made grief itself seem fair. Ah, must I tell how oft my lures were tried, How oft her virtue thrust my lures aside? 'To one alone I hold me true,' said she, 'In soul and body, wheresoe'er he be.' When all but madmen would have judged her true, To wound myself, I pressed the fight anew; And, proffering fortunes for one favor's fee, At last (ill triumph) shook her constancy. 'Caught, wanton! little did you dream' (I cried) 'A husband in a lover's form could hide.' She, shamed and silent, from the house, where lay Such traps, and such a husband, fled away; And hating all mankind because of me, She roamed the hills, Diana's devotee. "Left thus, I felt my love with fiercer flame Burn to the bone, and soon repentance came. I owned my fault, confessed I might have made Like trespass, if by like temptations swayed. She first avenged the wound her honor bore; Then, sweetly reconciled, was mine once more; And with herself, as if that gift were small, Gave me the hound, whose speed transcended all; Likewise this lance; both Dian's gifts to her, From whom she learned how wonderful they were. You ask, what fortune either gift befell? 161

The wondrous tale will move you, when I tell. "That riddle, which by earlier wits was found Too hard, had been by Oedipus unwound; And now, without a quibble in her head, At her rock's foot the baffling sphinx lay dead. On Thebes was straightway launched another foe; A beast of prey laid men and cattle low. We stalwarts gathered from the regions near, And came to free the countryfolk from fear; But when we ringed with nets the expanse of ground, The beast o'erleaped them with a single bound; And when the dogs were slipped, it sped away Swift as a bird, and held the hunt in play. My Whirlwind too (the gift-hound thus was named) Was loudly called for, and his powers acclaimed; And when his neck was from the leash let free, Already struggling long for liberty, So swift from sight and knowledge was he gone, Only the footprints in the dust smoked on; Swifter than spear was he, or bullet's flight From whirling sling, or Cretan arrow light. "A central hill o'erlooked the fields below: I climbed, and watched, as at the arena's show, The novel race: now seems the quarry ta'en; Now slips he from the death-wound; now again Quitting the straight, to make the o'ertaking hound Waste his momentum, wheels astutely round, And cheats the threatening jaws, which, when you swear They have him, have him not, but snap the air. I thought to use my lance; and as I passed My fingers through the loop, before the cast, I glanced aside; and when I looked again, I saw two marble statues on the plain: One fled, one hunted: this some god had done, That neither in the race should be outrun." Here Cephalus paused; and Phocus question made, Asking what charge against the lance he laid; And thus he brought the indictment: "All our woe In joys began; and these I first will show. Ah, happy memories of the gracious time 162

When wedded years were in their blissful prime; When each in either's glad affection shared, In married love and mutual feeling paired; She would not then have changed for Jove above, Nor I for Venus, had she sought my love. Soon as the hilltops took the sun's first ray, To hunting coverts would I take my way (As is our wont in youth) and with me went No slave, no horse, no staghound keen of scent: This lance was my defense: and when my blade Was tired of slaughter, then I sought the shade, And called, to fan my brows, the breeze that came From valleys cool, and bade her, by her name, Aura, draw near, the midday heat to foil, Waiting her visit to refresh my toil. 'Aura, come hither; cheer me, welcome guest' (Such was my usual strain) 'come near my breast; Assuage my heat, as is your wonted way.' Then, as fate drew me, haply would I say, To these endearing speeches adding more: 'My sweet delight, you comfort and restore; Through you the woods and lonely ways are sweet Oh, may your breath and mine for ever meet!' These pleasantries deceived some passer-by, Who heard my words, and took their sense awry; And hearing Aura's name repeated, thought That by some nymph, so named, my heart was cau His whispering tongue to Procris soon conveyed This empty slander, out of nothing made; And struck (I learned) as by a sudden wound (For love is such a credulous thing) she swooned; And then, restored at length, 'Ah, woe is me,' She cried, 'Oh cruel fate, oh falsity!' Struck to the heart the idle charge she hears; Where nothing is, an empty name she fears; And smarts as by a living rival grieved, Then doubts again, and hopes herself deceived; Then flouts the tale, and swears, unless she see Her husband's guilt, he shall acquitted be. "When next the night had fled Aurora's ray,

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I to the woods had gone my wonted way, And flushed with conquest on the greensward lay; And cried: 'Come, Aura; come, my solace dear.' And even as I spoke, I seemed to hear A sigh, that on a sudden sounded near. I called again: 'Come, fairest!' and I heard The fallen leaves again with rustling stirred. Thinking some beast was near, I aimed my dart: 'Twas Procris, and the wound was in her heart. She gave a cry, and when the voice I knew, In headlong frenzy to the voice I flew. Half-dead she lay, with garments red and riven, Transfixed, alas, by what herself had given, Striving to draw the barb. Most tenderly I raised that form, more dear than life to me, And bound the cruel wound, and as I tried (With what my raiment, torn in strips, supplied) To staunch the blood, implored her not to go, And leave me with my guilt, by dying so. Weak unto death, these last few words she said, Forcing herself to speak: 'Oh, by the bed That made us one, and by the powers divine, Both those above, and those I take for mine, By aught wherein I pleased you well, and by The love I die with, and for which I die — Oh, let not Aura ('tis my dying plea) Wife it in rooms that once belonged to me!' Ah, then at last I saw her error plain, And told the truth, when telling brought no gain. As with her blood her ebbing strength was drained, She sank; yet looked at me while sight remained; Then on my lips her luckless life was spent, But yet she smiled, and seemed to die content." To weeping hearers thus the hero told With tears his tale; and as he ceased, behold, The princes came, with new-raised levies, all In brave array, to answer Athens' call.

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BOOK E I G H T OF the love and treachery of Scylla — the labyrinth and the Minotaur — Theseus and Ariadne — the invention of wings by Daedalus — and the death of Icarus thereby — the tale of the partridge — the boar hunt at Calydon — the prowess thereat of Atalanta — and the death of Meleager — the transformation of certain nymphs to islands — the story of Philemon and Baucis — of Erysichthon and his daughter

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1 ow Lucifer unveiled the shining day, And made the time of darkness fleet away; The east wind sinks, and rain-filled clouds arise; Before the friendly south the vessel flies. Aeacus' sons, with Cephalus homeward bound, With happy speed the looked-for haven found. Minos the while, to test in action small His martial might before Alcathoiis' wall, Assails the city and lays waste the land, Where Nisus rules on Megara's ancient strand — Nisus, whose head a lock of purple bears, His kingdom's mascot, mid his good gray hairs. The sixth young moon her rising horns displayed; And still the war with equal fortune swayed; And wavering victory long between the two Contending hosts on doubtful pinions flew. Sheer from the walls a royal watchtower sprang, The walls that with enchanted music rang: They say some echoes of the golden wire Clung to the stone, where Phoebus laid his lyre. Thither would Nisus' daughter climb alone, And with a pebble strike the sounding stone, While peace prevailed: when peace to war gave way, 165

She watched the warriors in the hard-fought fray; And as the war dragged on, in time she came To know the hostile leaders, each by name; How each was armed, how mounted, and how dressed, Each Cretan quiver differing from the rest; And best of all, she knew Europa's son, Minos — and better than she need have done. If Minos' crested helmet crowned his head, She thought him handsome when so helmeted; If Minos' golden shield was on his arm, She thought the glittering shield increased his charm. With arm drawn back he launched the quivering spear: How comely did his strength and skill appear! He strained the arrow to the bending bow: She swore that Phoebus with his shafts stood so. But when his features from the helm were freed, When tinseled trappings decked his snow-white steed, When clothed in purple like a king again He curbed the foaming mouth, and ruled the rein — Ah, then the maiden's soul was scarce her own, Ah, then her reason rocked upon its throne! Happy she called the reins his fingers pressed; She called the lance his hand encircled, blessed. She wildly longed on maiden feet to go (Unthinkable adventure) through the foe; Or from her tower upon their lines leap down; Or loose the brazen gates, and yield the town. To please the king was all: she sat and eyed The Cretan king's white tents, and nought beside. "Whether to grieve that tearful war should be, Or joy thereat, I cannot tell," said she. "My loved one is our foe — a grief, I own: Yet save as foe he were to me unknown. Say that he held me hostage: he might end The war with me as pledge of peace, and friend. Earth's paragon," she cried, "if she that bore Resembled thee, oh well might Jove adore! Thrice happy should I be, on gliding wing To gain the encampment of the Cretan king, Tell who I am, confess my love, and say: 166

'To buy your hand, what dowry must I pay?' He must not ask the city: better lost The match I crave, if treachery be the cost. Yet often profit in defeat we see, Through a kind conqueror's generosity. He makes just war, to venge his first-born's blood, And, strong in cause, has arms to make it good. If, as I think, our city's doomed to fall, My love, not Minos' sword, may breach the wall. Must Minos' blood the price of victory pay? Better the slaughter and suspense to stay, Than fear some random mischief; for whose dart Would aim intended malice at his heart?" With that, her thoughts from pleasing vagueness turn To purpose clear and resolution stern: To place herself within the foeman's power, And, with herself, her country for her dower, And end the war. — From dream to deed how far! Sentries the camp, and gates the city, bar. "My father holds the keys: 'tis he I fear; And but for him," she mused, "success were near. Would God I had no sire — but each must be God to herself: heaven spurns the coward's plea. Another, so enamored, soon would slay, With fierce delight, whatever barred her way: And why should any be more brave than I, Who would, if need be, fire and sword defy? And here's no need on sword and fire to call, My father's fateful lock of hair is all. More dear to me than gold, those purple hairs Shall make me blest, and mistress of my prayers." When night, the foster-nurse of lovers' woes, Came on, and with the dark her daring rose, In that first hush, when hearts care-weary slept, Upon the father's sleep the daughter crept, And clipped and carried off, all scruples gone, Her guilty loot, the lock his life hung on; And self-assured, with what she had to bring Passed through the foe, to greet the startled king: "King Nisus' daughter I: to thee I hand

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The guardian gods of Scylla and her land. This purple lock my pledge of love shall be; My deed, love-prompted, asks no pay but thee. Then take the lock, and be assured," she said, " 'Tis not my father's hair I give, but head." She made to give the accursed gift, but he Shrank back appalled to think such crime could be. "To you, that shame our age, may gods deny The earth and sea, and their own realm, the sky. Never shall such a foul abortion greet The land that cradled Jove, my world of Crete." Such was the king's response, and when the town Was taken, and the terms of peace laid down, He had his bronze-beaked galleys quickly manned; And casting off, the fleet stood out from land. When Scylla saw that Minos, now at sea, Had used her crime but would not pay her fee, She first tried prayers; then gave her fury vent, With hands outstretched and tresses wildly rent: "Ah, flee," she cried; "thy benefactress flee: I gave my father and my land for thee. Flee, heart of stone, whose victory is due Only to me, my crime and merit too. All that I had could not thy pity move, All heaped on thee, my gifts, my hopes, my love. What hope have I, deserted? What retreat? My land? It lies in ruin and defeat; And standing, 'twere no harborage for me. My father's arms? Him I betrayed to thee. All Megara justly hates me for my deeds: Her neighbors dread what such example breeds. Thus, exiled from the world of men I live; And Crete, and Crete alone, could haven give. If barred from Crete, if I forsaken am, Ingrate! by thee, Europa's not thy dam; Wind-vexed Charybdis bore thee, Syrtis' sand Untrod, or tigress of the Armenian land; Jove's not thy father, and no bull's disguise Deceived thy mother: all those tales are lies. True bull begot thee, bull of fiercest breed,

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Whom no love softened when he sowed thy seed. O Nisus, father, take the vengeance due: 0 walls betrayed, my woes may solace you. But though in truth my life I justly owe, At least let those I injured deal the blow. The crime that made thee victor, why pursue? 1 wronged my own, but gave thee service true. She that beguiled the bull with carpentry, And spawned a monster, is the mate for thee. — Dost hear, or idle are the words I say, Borne off by winds that bear thy ships away? Small wonder that Pasiphae preferred A lover less inhuman, from the herd. A h break, my heart, he finds it joy to flee; With hastening oars he cleaves the sounding sea, And leaves, ah, leaves behind, my land and me. — Yet no: to scorn my claims shall not avail: Like it or not, I'll follow where you sail; And where the ship curves backward, clutch and cling, And down the long sea-lanes go voyaging." She said no more, but plunging in the wave O'ertook the fleet, such strength her passion gave; And clutched the Cretan's craft, which o'er the blue With Scylla and her shame hag-ridden flew. Her father, now transformed, who hung in air, A tawny-winged sea-eagle, saw her there, And came to rend her: terror made her weak: She loosed her hold, to shun the curving beak; But though she fell, she might not touch the wave: Some waft of wind — or wing — was there to save: Yes, winged and plumed was she, a bird in air, Called Ciris, from the severed lock of hair. King Minos, landing on the Cretan shore, Discharged his vows to Jove with bulls fivescore. The palace blazed with trophies; but within Was scandal dark and hideous fruit of sin, The household shame, full-grown and foul to see, The illicit half-and-half monstrosity. To rid his roof of such a stain, the king Commissioned Daedalus to house the thing;

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And he, the world-famed architect, designed A multiplex of courts and cloisters blind, Where misdirections led, in mazes long, The cheated eye circuitously wrong. In Phrygian fields Maeander, winding through, Plays fast and loose, and wanders fro and to; And runs to meet himself, and with a glance Up river views his waters in advance; And now drives seaward his capricious course, Now points his wayward waters to their source: So endless error filled the winding ways, And he that made could scarcely thread the maze. In this enclosure Minos kept confined The hybrid blend of man and bull combined; And each nine years the lots were drawn to feed With blood of Attic youth the monster's greed. The third time brought him death, when through the Which Ariadne gave, though but a maid, The thread rewound disclosed the door again, Which those who sought before had sought in vain; And Theseus set his sails, and with him bore The Cretan royal maid to Naxos' shore; But when love cooled, he steeled his heart to fly, Leaving his comrade there, to weep and sigh. But Bacchus soon arrived to bring relief: He took her in his arms, and hushed her grief; And then, to make her fame and beauty shine For ever, with a star to be her sign, He sent her crown aloft: the jewels grew To burning fires, and sparkled as they flew; And now, a crown of stars, their place they take 'Twixt him that kneels, and him that holds the snake. Daedalus all the while in Crete was pent, Hating the isle and his long banishment. Longing for home, but sundered by the sea: "Let Minos close the seas and lands," said he: "The skies are open: we will travel there; Though he owns all, he does not own the air." And speaking so, he let invention range,

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Exploring arts unknown, and sought to change Man's very nature. — Feathers large and small He set in rank, from smallest up to tall. (A slope tree-fringed, or rustic pipe, looks so, With straws unequal in a slanting row.) The craftsman, fastening these with threads of flax At base and center, sealed the joints with wax; And bent the finished fabric, copying The slight curvation of the natural wing. Young Icarus with beaming face stood by And pressed the golden wax to pliancy, And snatched at feathers by the breezes blown, Handling his own destruction, had he known. Play-hindered thus, the wondrous work went on: The final touch was given; the task was done. The inventor's living weight the balance tried; The rocking pinions take the air, and ride. He winged his son, and warned him not to stray, Upward or downward, from the middle way: "Above, the fear of singeing fire is seen: Below, the clogging wave: so fly between. Nor by Bootes let your course be laid, Nor Helice, nor bright Orion's blade: Look to your leader." Thus he schooled his son, While fastening the strange equipment on. With toil and talk the old man's hands were set A-trembling, and the father's cheeks were wet. A kiss he gave, the last that Icarus knew; Then rose, wing-borne, and took the lead, and flew; And like the bird, that from the nest on high Leads forth her tender brood upon the sky, With backward glance, and fears for him alone, He watched the boy's flight, and maintained his own; And thus as coach, encourager, and guide, Taught Icarus the skill by which he died. Anglers with trembling rods, and shepherds bowed On staves, and plowmen stooping as they plowed, Looked up to see them pass, with awe-struck eye, And thought them gods, since none but gods could fly. 171

Delos was left, with Paros, in the rear: Before them Samos, Juno's isle, drew near To leftward; while Lebinthus on the right And honey-stored Calymne came in sight. The boy, his heart with risk and rapture high, Forsook his guide, aspiring to the sky, And soared aloft: through nearness to the sun The wax, that bound the wings, began to run; The fastenings flew: he flapped bare arms in air, And lacking oarage, got no purchase there; And calling on his father, down he came, And perished in the sea that bears his name. What could the father, now no father, do, But cry: "O Icarus, Icarus, where are you? Where, Icarus, where? What quarter of the sky Must I explore?" He saw the plumes drift by; And cursed his craft; and in the land they call Icaria now, gave Icarus burial. Now while he laid the luckless boy to rest, A partridge watched him from his miry nest. A cry of joy the chattering creature gave, And clapped his wings with glee above the grave. First of his kind, a bird new-made, was he, A lasting scandal, Daedalus, to thee; Whose sister, of the future unaware, Had made her son of twelve the craftsman's care, A pupil apt: he took the hint that lies Within the fishbone for observant eyes, And notched with teeth a plate of steel: 'twas he Discovered thus the saw's utility. Also, he brought together to one point Two iron arms, and bound them by a joint, That keeping fixed their distance, one should trace The circle, while the other held its place. From Athens' hill the jealous master sent The boy headlong, and called it accident; But Pallas caught him (wits are her affair), Clad him with plumes, and changed his shape in air. He kept his name: what in the man was fleet Inventive force, now went to wings and feet;

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Yet far aloft this bird dislikes to fly, Or build in branches and the treetops high, But nests in hedgerows, and afraid to soar, Flies low, remembering how he fell before. Now Daedalus, fatigued by flight, had found An armed protector on Sicilian ground In kindly Cocalus; now, by Theseus' deed, Athens rejoiced, from that fell tribute freed. They called the gods: Minerva, warrior queen, With Jove and others to the festal scene. The shrines were decked, the blood of victims shed, Libations poured, and fires with incense fed. As traveling rumor carried Theseus' fame Through Greece, and rich Achaea heard his name, Her cities asked his aid in danger's hour; And though sustained by Meleager's power, The Calydonians too his aid implore With anxious prayer: their cause of dread, a boar, Diana's instrument, that carried far The ravages of her revengeful war. For Oeneus once, when plenty filled the year, Brought first fruits (I relate the tale I hear): The olive's essence was to Pallas poured, Her grain to Ceres, wine to wine's great lord. With gods of tilth these compliments began; Then, prized by all, to all the gods they ran — To all save one; and gods, who feel the stress Of jealousy, are touched by wrath no less. When Leto's daughter saw no offerings made, Her altars cold, their incense dues unpaid, "The world," she cried, "our punishments shall see; Though unrevered, not unrevenged we'll be." With that, she loosed her vengeance through the land: The bulls that in Epirus' grasses stand Did not surpass her boar; it dwarfed the breed Of bulls that in Sicilian pastures feed. Just mark the blood and glinting fire that fleck Those eyes; that crested arch of stubborn neck; Those spearlike bristles; those forequarters wide, Where boiling foam pours down its hissing tide; 173

Those tusks like tusks of Ind; that breath like flame, Which seared the leaves like lightning as it came! He stamps the corn when springing blades appear; When hopes mature, mows down the ripened ear; Ruins the farmer, robs the threshing-floor, And mocks the barns that wait the promised store: Laid flat among their loads of fruit recline The verdant olive and the long-limbed vine; And from his rage no battling bulls can keep Their herds, nor dogs and shepherds guard the sheep. This way and that the populations flee, And save within their walls no safety see. Now chosen heroes, covetous of fame, To join the hunt with Meleager came: There those twin sons, of Tyndarus the pride, In riding one, and one in ringcraft tried; There Jason, first of shipwrights, came; and there Pirithoiis and Theseus, constant pair; Two sons of Thestius, and another deuce, Lynceus and Idas, sons of Aphareus, Idas fleet-flooted, Lynceus keen of sight. Leucippus next, hot-headed in the fight; Acastus — beat him with the lance, who can; And Caeneus, once a woman, now a man; Dryas, Hippothoiis, Amyntor's seed, Phoenix, and Phyleus of Elean breed, And Actor's twins; Admetus, Pheres' son, And great Achilles' sire, and Telamon; Eurytion, for tireless valor famed, And Iolaiis of Boeotia named; Echion, whom no runner e'er outsped, Hyleus, and Lelex in Narycium bred, And Panopeus; Nestor, with youth unspent, Hippocoon's sons from old Amyclae sent; The sire-in-law of young Penelope, And Ampyx' son, with gift of prophecy; Oeclides, yet unruined by his wife, And Hippasus, hot-tempered in the strife; There too Ancaeus, of Arcadian fame; And with the bravest, Atalanta came, 174

From mount Lycaeus, Tegea's huntress maid, The pride and glory of the forest glade. Her tunic-clasp was unadorned, her hair To one knot drawn, with unpretentious care; On her left shoulder, ivory-guarded, go The rattling shafts, her left hand held the bow. Such was her style: her face you well might deem A boy's, though in a boy 'twould girlish seem. When Meleager saw her, as she came, He drank desire, and burned with secret flame Which Heaven blew cold on. "Happy man," he said, "If such there be, whom she will deign to wed!" He said no more: the time for talk was gone, And honor called him, for the hunt was on. An age-old forest, on a plateau grown, Ends on the edge, and o'er the slope looks down. The hunting band to this close covert come: Some slip the hounds, some stretch the nets, and some Follow the footmarks in the dinted ground, And search for what may prove their death, if found. A watery copse the flooded bottom fills, A vale deep-sunken takes the rain-fed rills, Where whippy willows, sedges soft, abound, And rushes native to the marshy ground. Probing the bulrush, reed, and osier there, They roused the lurking quarry from his lair. The boar, like lightning struck from smitten cloud, Flashed on his foes; the trees, with crashing loud, Went down before him, and the forest bowed. The huntsmen yell: each grips the glittering spear, Broad point advanced to check his mad career. The barking dogs his fury seek to stay, But from those glancing tusks they melt away. Echion's arm the first vain missile dealt: The wound was slight, and by a maple felt. Next Jason cast: the aim was voted true; But sped with too much force the spear o'erflew. Then Mopsus cried: "O Phoebus, if your aid I merit, by true worship ever paid, Make sure my aim!" The god does what he may: 175

The boar was struck: the stroke was bloodless play. Diana, as it flew, the shaft unshod; Which, when it reached the mark, was only wood. The beast was roused: like lightning blazed his ire; His glance was darting flame, his breath was fire. As flies the catapulted rock, to fall On closely guarded tower and crowded wall, So swiftly sped the boar, and with the same Destructive onslaught on their battle came. Eupalamus and Pelagon, who guard The right, are felled, but snatched from death unscarred. Enaesimus they could not succor so: Thinking to fly, but in the act too slow, Hippocoon's son was slashed behind the knee: His sinews failed him as he tried to flee. And Nestor too — but no: a tree stood near: Up to a branch he leaped with planted spear; And looked from safety on the baffled foe: Thus Nestor lived to see Troy's overthrow. The beast, in temper, on a stem of oak Whetted his weapons for some deadly stroke. Then newly bold at Hippasus he sprang, And drained his thigh with freshly pointed fang. But lo, the Twins — not yet as stars they shone — In well-matched glory rode resplendent on. Both rode white horses that surpassed the snow: Both made their spears in quivering motion go. The boar sought safety in the coppice dark, Where horses find no entry, spears no mark. Telamon followed, and in rash pursuit Fell headlong, tripped by some projecting root. While Peleus helped him rise, the Tegean maid A swift-winged arrow to the bowstring laid. Driven by the bending bow the reed-shaft sped: It grazed the monster's back and pinked his head: The blood thin-trickling stained the bristles red. Success was sweet, and the young prince no less Than she herself rejoiced at her success. It seems that he first saw the blood — that he First made it seen by all the company. 176

"The prize for manly valor" (thus he speaks) "Is yours, fair maid." The men, with burning cheeks, Summon their spirits with contentious cries, And make their courage with their clamor rise. They shoot pell-mell, and by their numbers stay Their shafts' effects, and throw their shots away. Now with his double ax the Arcadian see (Dementia drives him more than destiny): "Learn, lads," he cries, "what women's arms are like Compared with men's, and give me room to strike. Let Dian shield the brute, and ward the blow! In spite of her my hand shall lay him low!" Thus boasting, with both hands the ax he swung Upward, and rose on tiptoe, and so hung. Beneath his guard the brute rushed in to slay, And struck where death could take the shortest way; Drove upward through the groin with tushes twain, And spilled his blood and bowels on the plain. Thus fell Ancaeus. Ere his blood was dry, Ixion's son, Pirithoiis, drew nigh To face the foe; but while he shook the spear, Theseus, who held his bosom friend more dear Than life itself, cried: "Comrade, stand afar, And wage, as brave men may, a distant war. Through reckless courage bold Ancaeus bled." With that, a bronze-tipped cornel shaft he sped; Which well had found the target, but a screen Of broken boughs and foliage came between. Then chance turned Jason's dart upon a hound, Pinned through his blameless haunches to the ground. Two spears did Meleager hurl at last, With varying hand: the first to earth was cast; The second in the monster's chine stuck fast; And while the beast spun round in frenzied wrath, Bleeding afresh, and spilled the hissing froth, Hard on his shaft the marksman, hastening near, Pricked him to rage, and with his glittering spear Between the shoulders, when the unwary foe Faced his tormentor, dealt the killing blow. The huntsmen shout, and press in rivalry

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To clasp the victor's hand: in wonder see The monstrous carcass o'er the landscape spread, And think it still unsafe to touch, though dead: But each his spear-point bloods. The slayer last Upon the injurious head his foot set fast, And said: "The glory share, the prize receive, Nonacrian maid: 'tis mine to keep or give." The bristly hide before her then he laid, And head which those unequaled tusks displayed. She liked the gift, and liked the giver too, But in the throng an envious murmur grew; Till Thestius' sons with thunderous voice exclaim: "Touch not the trophy, girl, nor cheat our fame; Nor vainly trust your charms, lest he who gave This amorous tribute be not near to save." And with rough words they stretched rough hands, that so She might not take the gift, nor he bestow. With gnashing teeth and anger passing bound The son of Mars unbridled utterance found, And answered: "You, who steal another's prize, Learn, between deeds and threats what distance lies!" And ere Plexippus could his danger feel, He drained Plexippus' heart with impious steel; And seeing his brother, Toxeus, hesitate 'Twixt vengeance and avoidance of his fate, Cut short his doubt, and with a kindred stain, Before it cooled, made hot his point again. Now while Althaea thanked the gods for aid, And offerings for her son's achievement made, She saw the sad procession pass the fane, Her brothers brought back lifeless home again. She made the city loud with blows and cries, And changed her gold for sorrow's sable guise. But sorrow, once the guilty name she learned, Dropped from her, and from tears to vengeance turned. A brand there was, safe guarded since the day, When with her newborn child Althaea lay: This the Three Sisters on the fire had laid, And as they thumbed and spun the fateful thread, "An equal span, O boy newborn," they said,

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"To this and thee we give." This fate foretold, The Sisters vanished as the flames took hold. The mother snatched the blazing brand in fear; With water quenched the flame; and year on year In secret store from aught that might destroy Kept safe the brand, and with the brand, the boy. This now she fetched; a pile of sticks she raised; And with no friendly fire the hearthstone blazed. Four times she then essayed to cast the brand Upon the flames: four times she stayed her hand. Mother and sister in her soul contend: This way and that two names one bosom rend. Oft paled her cheeks, so dread her purpose seemed: Oft in her eyes the red-hot anger gleamed. Now something spiteful threatened in her face: Of pity now there was, or seemed, a trace. And when hot anger dried the fount of tears, Tears still were found. And as a ship, that veers By double impulse driven from side to side, Obeys the tide and wind at war with tide, So she, while jarring moods perplexed her brain, Laid wrath to rest, then bade it live again. More sister now than mother, to placate Her blood with blood, she showed her love by hate; And as the fatal fire grew strong, she said: "Flesh of my flesh upon that pyre be laid." With murderous hand clutching the fateful wood, Before the altars of her dead she stood; And cried, poor soul: "Ye triple deities, Avenging trinity, oh, turn your eyes, Eumenides, where I with penal rite Quit sin with sin, and death with death requite. Crime must breed crime, and blow bring murderous blow: Perish the sinful house with woe on woe! Shall Oeneus taste his son's proud victory, And Thestius mourn? No, both shall mourners be! Far better so! Brothers, in realms of shade New tenants, feel my strict affection paid, My child unblest a dear-bought offering made. Ah brothers, what a road I journey on: 179

Be brothers, but maternal love condone. My hands their task refuse: his death I praise, Who justly dies, but disapprove who slays. — So he, with life and dear exemption won, With vaunt and victory rules in Calydon, While ye chill ghosts or dwindled ashes lie. It shall not be; no, let the guilty die, And with him in his fall bring toppling down His father's hopes, his country, and his crown. A mother's charge, a mother's pains I bore, A mother's heart was mine: 'tis mine no more. In those first flames the child had burned that day, Had I, the mother, given those flames their way. Not such your fate: if true desert be known, You lived by mine, to perish by your own. Then take your wage: the life twice given repay (I bore you first, then snatched the brand away), Or in the brothers' tomb the sister lay. — Oh, wishful-weak! What can my duty be? Now those sore strokes, that heavy deed I see, And brethren slain: anon the natural tie And name of mother shakes my constancy. Ah me! Though poor the victory, victory take, Brothers, provided I your journey make, Your comfort send — and follow." Here, with hand That trembled, on the fire she cast the brand, But looked away. What seemed a groan it gave: The very flames that seized it, wished to save. Those flames, though distant, Meleager feels, And through his flesh the strange affliction steals. No hidden fires, no mortal pang could bend His courage: but to meet a coward's end, To fall unwounded — this was why he sighed, Envying the wounds by which Ancaeus died. Sighing he named, while yet his lips had life, His aged father, brothers, sisters, wife; And mother too. The fires and pains increased; Then sank together; then together ceased; And slow his spirit ebbed to air away, As glowing embers turned to ashes gray. 180

Tall Calydon lies low: young, old, lament; The high, the humble; and with tresses rent And beaten breasts, weep Calydon's sad daughters, Women that dwell beside Evenus' waters. The father smeared with grime his old gray hairs, And aging cheeks, and cursed his length of years; While her own hand, that knew its dreadful deed, In retribution made the mother bleed; The sisters — ah, if heaven had given a choir Of tuneful tongues, and Helicon entire, My skill profound had not availed to go Through the sad sisters' litany of woe. Careless of looks, they bruised their bosoms bare, And watched the dead with every tender care, Kissing their brother, ere it was too late, Kissing the bier, whereon he lay in state; And last of all, when fire had done its part, They pressed the gathered ashes to their heart; And lying on the tomb, they wept the more, Clasping the stone, and the dear name it bore. And now Diana, who had thus laid low Parthaon's house, being glutted with their woe, Transformed the girls — save Gorge, and the one Who later married great Alcmena's son: All down their arms, by her command, there grew Long wings; and plumed and beaked, they rose and flew. One meanwhile, who had shared the common toil, Theseus, returning to his native soil (Where Pallas' hill preserves Erechtheus' fame), To Acheloiis' swollen torrent came. The river-god in person barred the way, And with his words and waters urged delay: "Enter my house, great prince of Cecrops' line, Nor to my greedy waves your life consign; They sweep huge rocks downstream from shore to shore, And timber trees in bulk, with sullen roar; The stalls are swept away, the cattle slain, And steers are strong, and horses swift, in vain. Yes, when snow-waters from the hills come down, Strong-bodied men in spinning whirlpools drown. 181

Repose is safer till my streams run low, And in their natural bed contracted flow." Theseus assented: "I accept," said he, "Your counsel and your hospitality." Of pitted pumice was the mansion made, And tufa; and the floor with moss was laid; Sea shells adorned the ceiling, square on square, Mussel and murex alternating there. The sun had measured more than half the day, And Theseus, with his comrades of the fray, Reclined upon the banquet-couch between Ixion's son and Lelex of Troezen (Upon whose brow the thin white hair was seen), With those whom Acarnania's river-lord, Well-pleased that such a guest should grace his board, Had asked to meet him, deeming them to be Worthy their place in rank and dignity. Barefooted river-nymphs without delay Brought tables, served the feast, and cleared away; And when the wine was circling unallayed, Theseus looked out to sea, and pointing said: "What tract of land, if one it be, lies there? Island or islands, say the name they bear." The god replied: "Not one, but five, you see: Distance disguises their diversity. Those islands once were nymphs (my story heed, And wonder less at slighted Dian's deed); Ten bulls they slew, and summoned to the rite The country gods, with dances and delight, But called not me to mind: in wrath I rose, As when my torrent at its fullest flows; With fury fierce and devastating flood I sundered field from field and wood from wood; And swept the nymphs, who then remembered me, With all the land they dwelt in, out to sea; And by my waters, mingling with the main, The land was cloven, not to join again, And made so many separate parts to be, As in the waves Echinades you see. But look, one island lies far off, alone,

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As Perimele to the seamen known. I love her dearly, as I loved that day, When once I took her maiden name away. Hippodamas, her father, cast her down, In anger, from the seaward cliff, to drown. I caught, and kept her floating form sustained, Where o'er his landward boundaries Neptune reigned; And cried to him: 'O trident-bearing king, Lord of the wandering wave, thy succor bring: Sea-slaughtered by her father, give her grace Within thy seas to have, or be, a place.' Soon as my prayer was uttered, answer came: A new-created land enclosed her frame: Which with the weight no longer floating free Was anchored there, an islet, in the sea." The river-god fell silent. All who heard Save one, had felt their hearts with wonder stirred. Pirithoiis mocked the credulous company: A stiff-necked scorner of the gods was he. "Tales, Acheloiis! Gods that make and mar, Shape and reshape — you stretch their powers too far." All present listened with affronted ears; And up spoke Lelex, ripe in mind and years: "To power celestial end or bound is none, And whatsoe'er the gods have willed, is done. Now hear my proof: somewhere in Phrygian land A lime-tree and an oak together stand. A little wall surrounds the tiny space Upon the hill; myself have seen the place, By Pittheus sent to tour the region, where His father, Pelops, once the scepter bare. Near by, where coots and divers haunt the fen, The watery waste was once the home of men. Here Jove in mortal guise came journeying With his son Hermes, stripped of wand and wing. At doors a thousand rest and room they crave: A thousand doors refused; one only gave. Old Baucis and Philemon old lived here, A reed- and straw-thatched cottage, small but dear; For this was where they wedded, this was where 183

Throughout long life to age the pious pair Eased poverty with patience — being poor, Content to seem so, and their lot endure; No master there, nor man, where only they Were the whole house, to order and obey. So when the Olympians bent their heads, to go Past the small household gods and lintel low, Philemon placed a bench, which Baucis dressed With a coarse homespun rug, for them to rest; And then she stirred the embers, where they lay Upon the hearth, still hot from yesterday; And feeding them with leaves and tinder, blew With aged breath, and made them flame anew; And bringing firewood, dried and finely split, Down from the rafters, propped the pot with it; Then trimmed a cabbage, which the goodman got, The produce of their irrigated plot. He from a blackened rafter pitchforked down A side of bacon, hanging smoked and brown, And plunged beneath the bubbling water's heat A little piece, cut from the treasured meat. Meanwhile they fell to friendly talk, whereby The hours of waiting passed insensibly; And then they put the couch in place, and shook The mattress, stuffed with sedge-grass from the brook. The frame and feet were made of willow-wood; The cover, though for daily use too good, Was neither fine nor new, and by no chance Could put the bedstead out of countenance. The gods reclined, while Baucis, standing by, Set table, with her tunic hitched knee-high. As one leg, of the table's three, was short, She gave it, with a piece of tile, support; And when with this the level was restored, With sprigs of mint she wiped the leveled board; And then with shaking limbs, so old was she, Served course by course each homely delicacy; Minerva's olives first, that dappled shine, And cornel cherries steeped in lees of wine; Endive and radish followed, and a cheese,

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And eggs, cooked lightly on the ash, with these, All served on potter's ware; the wine bowl, wrought Of that same homely silver, next was brought; The cups were beech, with beeswax smeared within; Nor had the wine long mellowed in the bin. Brief pause was made, and then the hearth released, All piping hot, the substance of the feast. The wine returned; and then, withdrawn a space, To wait reentry, to dessert gave place. Baskets of apples flung their scent in air, And nuts and figs and wrinkled dates were there, With plums, and grapes fresh-plucked with purple bloom, And in the midst white honey in the comb; And, more than all, a wealth of friendly zeal And kindly looks enriched the homely meal. Meanwhile the bowl, as often as they drain, Becomes, without refilling, full again: They watch the wine miraculously rise With wondering first and then with awe-struck eyes; Then lifted hands in prayer, and pardon sought, That all their hospitality was nought. A single goose patrolled their tiny bound, Protective influence of their cot and ground; This for the gods, their guests, they planned to kill, Due sacrifice and service to fulfill. With outspread wings the bird outran the twain, Whose tardy age toiled after him in vain, Then to the gods for sanctuary repaired, Who bade him live, and thus their will declared: 'High gods are we, and by our just command, Stern punishment shall strike this impious land. Yourselves alone shall scape the destined end; Leave now your home behind; the mount ascend; And closely while we climb our steps attend.' The pair complied: the long ascent was made With painful plodding steps, and staff to aid. A bowshot from the top they turned their eyes, And saw their cottage-home uninjured rise: Elsewhere a waste of waters drowned the plain; And wonderstruck, they wept their kinsmen slain. 185

Meanwhile their ancient cottage, small for two, Changed, and became a temple, great and new; Pilasters stood where posts had been before, And figured work enriched the brazen door; The roof, transformed from thatch, with gold was crowned, And wealth of marble covered all the ground. Then mildly spoke great Saturn's son: 'Declare Your heart's desire, well-matched and worthy pair.' The two conferred, and then the man addressed Thus to the gracious gods their joint request: 'We pray your priests to be, your shrine to tend, And when our life's long partnership shall end, May one hour take us both, that I may be No cause of tears to her, nor she to me.' The prayer was granted, and they served the shrine Till strength had lapsed, and life was in decline. One day when near the temple steps they stood, Telling the history of the neighborhood, They saw each other sprout with foliage green, As o'er their faces treetops made a screen. While speech was left them, fond farewells they said; And with the last, the foliage veiled their head. Still on the Phrygian hill the place they show, Where side by side those trunks twin-bodied grow. Men with no cause to lie, men old and grave, Told me this tale: the place some witness gave. I saw the boughs festooned and garlanded, And hung my own fresh garland there, and said: 'They served the gods, and now as gods are feared: Let those who reverenced, be themselves revered.'" The tale, the teller, moved them all: in zest To hear more wonders Theseus led the rest. To whom the god of Calydon's great stream, Reclining on one arm, pursued the theme. "Some, changed to one new shape, must so remain; While some have power to change and change again. Thus Proteus, dweller in the encircling sea, A lion now, and now a man would be; Or furious boar, or horned bull appear, Or snake, to human touch a thing of fear; 186

Sometimes a stone or tree or watery stream, Or fire, that fights with water, would he seem. Like power had Erysichthon's daughter, she That wed Autolycus. All deity Her father scorned, and made no tribute rise From altars in the smoke of sacrifice. They say, the ax to Ceres' grove he laid, And ravaged with the steel her ancient glade. An oak stood there, of tough antiquity, A mighty growth, a forest in a tree. Ribbons and wreaths and grateful records writ, To prove that prayers have power, encircled it. Beneath it Dryads danced in festive glee, Or joining hands in circle, ringed the tree, And as around the monstrous girth they ran, Measured full fifteen arm-lengths for the span. So much in height did that great oak surpass The neighboring forest trees as these the grass. "Yet not for that the miscreant stayed his steel, But bade the sacred root his axes feel; And when he saw that not one henchman sped To do his will, he seized an ax, and said: 'That leafy head, though by a goddess loved, Yes, though it be itself a goddess proved, Full soon shall smite the ground.' And as he spoke, And aimed at Ceres' tree the slanting stroke, It groaned and shook: the natural color fled: Through leaf and limb and fruit a pallor spread; And when with impious hand he scored the bark, Red blood came pouring from the ax-blade's mark, As in the sacrifice the blood is shed, When the great bull, with severed neck, drops dead. All stood aghast; till one more bold uprose To give the sinner pause, and stay his blows. The miscreant glared, and turning from the tree, 'Take this,' he cried, 'to pay your piety,' And severed head from body. Then the oak, Assailed once more, with inward utterance spoke, And said: 'Incorporate in this trunk I dwell, A woodland nymph, whom Ceres loves full well. 187

I know thy deeds, and with my dying breath Foretell thy doom, my comfort in my death.' The wicked work went on, with stroke on stroke, And tugging ropes: then came the end: the oak Tottered, and flattening half the forest round, With ponderous weight went crashing to the ground. "The woodland nymphs, in mute amazement, grieved To find their forest, and themselves, bereaved; And sylvan sisters all, in weeds of woe, Before their queen, entreating vengeance, go. Ceres, divinely fair, their pleas approved, And by her nod the harvest fields were moved. "She planned a punishment, which, did his sin Not forfeit pity, pity well might win, A plague of hunger, like a dire disease: But since 'twixt her and Hunger fate's decrees All contact bar, she sought an Oread, bred On the open hills, a spirit wild, and said: 'In Scythia's farthest bound a land there lies, Treeless, untilled, and bare, a waste of ice. There Pallor dwells, and Cold with torpid nerves, And Ague shivers there, and Hunger starves. Seek Hunger out, and bid her, in my name, Take lodgment in the foul blasphemer's frame; And, that no plenty match his morbid greed, Let Hunger's pangs outfight my power to feed. And do not fear' (she adds) 'the journey far; But take my dragon-steeds and drive my car.' The messenger, air-borne, to Scythia came, Stark mountainland which Caucasus they name. She loosed her team, and Hunger there she found, Tearing and gnawing, on the stony ground, What scanty vegetation grew around. Coarse hair she has, sunk eyes, and pallid cheek, And filthy, leprous lips, and mangy neck; Her entrails through the tettered skin are viewed, From crooked loins the creaking bones protrude; Mere void her belly; and the bony case Scarce seems to hold the sagging breast in place; Joints lean and large; the knees great balls of bone;

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The ankle-bumps to size outrageous grown. The envoy hailed her from afar, and so Conveyed her message; near she durst not go; And though so distant and so short the deal, She felt starvation's power, or seemed to feel. Turning her dragon steeds, she took the rein, And drove through air to Thessaly again. "Hunger, though in her function Ceres' foe, Thus bidden, on her hest made haste to go. She flew down wind to seek her destined prey: The night had come, and fast asleep he lay. She clasped him with her bones, and as she clung, Breathed herself in through lip and throat and lung; And as her essence through his organs sped, There emptiness and appetite were spread. This done, she fled from fertile tracts of earth Back to her barren caves and dens of dearth. "By sleep's soft wing was Erysichthon lulled, And dainty dishes in his dreams he culled; He worked his jaws; his teeth on nothing chewed; He crammed his gullet with fictitious food; Ate unsubstantial air, and thought it good. But when sleep left him, then his vitals yearned, And with illimitable lust he burned; And asking food from land and sea and air, Complained of hunger when the food was there; And craving meal on meal, a city's store, He ate a nation's food, and asked for more. His belly's needs with what he gives it grow; And, as the ocean takes the floods which flow From all the land, and drains the distant hills, And ever filled with waters, never fills: As fire, devouring countless logs, will spurn No fuel, while there's fuel yet to burn; And more rapacious, as you strive to feed, With greater plenty shows the greater greed, So the blasphemer, eating without pause, Cried out for food with food between his jaws; All feasting left his appetite uncloyed; Food made him feed, and feeding made him void.

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"Now, with the waste his belly's sink had made, His fortune dwindled, but his fever stayed; Burning with greed no banquets could abate, Within his maw he sank his whole estate. One child he had, for such a sire too good, And beggared thus, he sold her too for food. The highborn girl would be no master's slave; But stretched her arms to Neptune o'er the wave; And cried (for Neptune loved her): 'Since of me You hold love's trophy, save and set me free.' The sea-god heard and answered: what had been A girl before, was man in shape and mien; And where a moment since the master's eyes Had seen his slave, stood one in angler's guise. To whom the master: 'You that ply the rod, And hide the dangling hook with scraps of food, Say, as you wish for waters smooth and calm, And trusting fish therein, that fear no harm, And feel no danger till the hook be fast, Say where is she who stood a moment past Upon this shore, with wild disordered hair And mean attire: I saw her standing there; But see! beyond this point no footprints go.' The girl made answer, well content to know The charm thus working, and amused that he Asking for her, by her should answered be: 'Sir Stranger, pardon: all my mind and eye Was for this water, and the craft I ply. Be sure, no man — so Neptune aid my hand — Save me, has lately stood upon this sand, Nor woman either.' Turning from the shore Her dupe went off, and she was girl once more. "Her power to change, which soon her father learned, Was by his greed to base advantage turned: He sent her here and there, as cow or hind, Or bird or mare, and sold, his food to find. When all was gone that could his pangs appease, And nought was nourished save the dread disease, On his own flesh at last he turned to feed, And with his body's loss supplied its need. 190

"Let others be: myself have power to change. Three characters, young sirs, exhaust my range: First, as I am; then serpent-shaped; and third, I flush my horns with strength, and lead the herd. Horns, did I say? Two weapons once I wore: You see but one." He sighed, and said no more.

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BOOK

NINE OF the defeat of Acheloiis by Hercules — the slaying of Nessus — the fatal error of Deianira — the death and apotheosis of Hercules — the story of his birth told by Alcmena — the transformation of Galanthis to a weasel — and of Dryops to a tree — the restoration of lolaiis to youth — the unnatural love of Byblis for her brother — the strange alteration in sex of Iphis

• THY thus his brow was ravaged, why he sighed, By Theseus asked, the river-god replied, Shaking his shaggy locks, with rushes tied: "You ask a grievous question: it were pain To fight a losing battle o'er again. Yet hear the tale; 'twas not such shame to fall, As it is glory to have fought at all; And in defeat it soothes me much to know That such a mighty champion laid me low. If e'er, long since, a maiden by the name Of Deianira to your hearing came — Most fair was she, a theme for hope and strife To not a few, who sought the maid to wife. Her sire was Oeneus: with the rest I came To ask her hand; Alcides did the same; And when the rest had left the field to two, My rival passed his titles in review: His father, Jove; his fame for labors done; And victories at his stepdame's mandate won. "The thought that he, as yet not deified, Should outface me, a god, had stung my pride. 'You see in me' (my turn it was to say) 'The king of streams that through your kingdom stray; 192

No stranger son-in-law from distant shores, But native here, part of this realm of yours. Think none the worse, that Juno's not my foe, That I no tasks for penance undergo. And you, Alcmena's first-born, who, to gain A father, must your mother foully stain, Declare your choice, the son of Jove to be By empty boasting, or by bastardy.' "Ere this, his eyes with smoldering rage had glared, Which now in words as few as these outflared: 'More virtue in my arm than tongue there lies; Be mine the fighter's, yours the talker's prize.' And on he came, in fury: I, so stout In words of late, for shame must fight it out. My cloak of green thrown off, to fight addressed I stood on guard, with arms before my breast, Hands slightly curled, the wrestler's stance: then he Scooped dust by handfuls up, to cast at me; And took himself from me the yellow hue Of river sand, which in return I threw. Then holds, or feints, at every point he tried, But lightning legs and neck his grasp defied; Yet most my weight withstood him, like a rock In the loud waves resisting every shock. We broke away, then closed again, and sealed Our feet to earth, resolved no inch to yield, Foot locked to foot, fingers to fingers pressed, Forehead to forehead, breast opposed to breast. So have I seen intrepid bulls collide, When prize of battle was the sleekest bride Of heifers all that roamed the mountain-side, And herds, which watched in fear, could not foresee To whom would kingship fall with victory. "Three times he tried to lift the weight that pressed Him backward, and to thrust away my breast: The fourth, he freed his arms and loosed my hold, And swung me by sheer strength, if truth be told, With the same movement, round, and having sprung Upon my back, a living weight he clung. Trust me, (I seek no talker's false renown) 193

I felt as if a mountain weighed me down. My sweating arms, thrust in with effort vast, Prized off the grips that held my body fast; Yet still he pressed me hard, and ere I drew My breath again, or could my strength renew, He got my neck within his power, and thrust My knees to earth, and made me bite the dust. "Outmatched in manhood, to my tricks I take, And slip his grasp, extending to a snake; And coil my supple form in circles round, And hiss with triple tongue, a daunting sound. But he of Tiryns laughed in scorn: 'To me Subduing snakes is cradle-work,' said he. 'Beat all your kind, what portion will you make, Being only one, of that Lernaean snake, Whose wounds were wombs, which made it little gain To shear away one head of all her train, When so the neck, grown stronger than before, In place of one, a twin succession bore? While branching snakes from every gash there grew, And by her hurts the hydra waxed anew, I laid her low; what hopes have you, who wear A fleeting form, and borrowed weapons bear?' He ceased; and round my neck, like bands of steel, Or pincers' grip, his fingers did I feel. Anguished, I fought to wrench my throttle free, But failed: the snake-form owned his mastery. "One shape was left: the bull of savage strain; And, changed to bull, I took the field again. He stood to left, and, when my speed I tried, With arms about my neck he raced beside, And slowed my speed, and brought me to a stand, And laid me flat, horns downward, on the sand. Yes, in his ruthless hand, one brittle horn Was snapped, and from my ravaged temples torn. This horn my nymphs filled up with fruit and flower, And sanctified, to be fair Plenty's dower." He ended; and a nymph-in-waiting brought The trophy, with its odorous treasure fraught. Short kilted, like Diana's nymphs, she strode, 194

And either side her parted tresses flowed. The horn, with Autumn and its fullness stored, With smiling fruits refilled the banquet board. The dawn drew near; and, when the sun's first ray Smote on the peaks, the warriors went their way, Not waiting till the streams should smoothly glide, In peace again, and the full floods subside. Then Acheloiis plunged, and hid from sight His rustic face, and headpiece maimed in fight. The loss of that adornment tamed his pride; Yet, after all, he had no hurt beside. His head's defect some leafy willow bough Could veil, or crown of reeds upon his brow. Less well, wild Nessus, did it fare with you, Whom passion for the selfsame damsel slew, When through your spine Alcides' arrow flew. For, homeward bound, the heaven-born hero stood — He and his bride — before Evenus' flood. Beyond its wont, with winter rains swelled high, Impassable, the stream went swirling by; And while he paused (his wife his only care), Strong-limbed, and river-wise, came Nessus there: "Your strength will serve to swim: my aid," he cried, "Shall set your lady on the farther side." And so he took her, pale and in distress, Fearing the river, and her guide no less. Then Hercules, not waiting, save to throw Across the stream his club and curving bow, Just as he was, cloaked with the lion's hide, A quiver's weight of arrows at his side, Exclaiming: "When I fight, I fight to win: Let rivers yield," without a thought, plunged in, Scorning to pick his crossing, or to go, Lackeying the current, with the downward flow. But when he gained the bank, there reached his ear, While he retrieved his bow, a cry of fear, The voice his wife's, whose false trustee, intent On malversation, planned her ravishment. "Four-footed ruffian" (thus Alcides said), "You go too far, by pride of speed misled. 195

Nessus, twi-formed, I speak to you: give ear: 'Twixt me and mine 'tis rash to interfere. You might have learned, if not through awe of me, Yet by your father's wheel, such sins to flee. You trust your hooves; but not with feet shall I Outrun you, but with feathered wounds outfly. The sequel proved his words: as Nessus fled, Through his receding back the arrow sped, And through the breast stood out the steel-barbed head; And, when the shaft was drawn, the lifeblood, blent With Lerna's venom, flashed from either vent. The reeking tunic, which he used to lave And catch the blood, the dying centaur gave (Wishing to leave some legacy of harm) To Deianira, as a true-love charm. Years passed: the hero's deeds had won renown World-wide, and worn his stepdame's malice down; And at Cenaeum, for Oechalia won, Thanksgivings, vowed to Jove, had now begun. Rumor (that talks, and, mixing truth with lies, From nothing grows, self-fed with falsities) Reached Deianira with the tale that he Was in the toils, with love of Iole. Love-credulous, she let her fear and woe At first through tears in harmless channels flow: Then thought: "Why weep, to give my rival joy? Before she comes, I must my time employ; And think out some contrivance, while I may; Ere my home falls beneath another's sway. Is silence best, or speech? to seek again My home in Calydon, or here remain? To quit the house, or bar her entry there? Or, being a prince's sister, something dare, And cut her throat, that all the world may view What woman's wrongs and woman's rage can do?" Concluding, that the tunic, with the stain Of Nessus' blood, should bring his love again, She spake soft words to Lichas who, like her, Knew nothing of the thing's true character; And by his hand, to her own sore lament, 196

This gift, poor lady, for her lord she sent; Which Hercules, all unsuspicious too, Took, and the poison o'er his shoulders drew. To fires, fresh-kindled on the marble shrine, Incense and prayers he gave, and running wine; And, with the warmth, the deadly work began, As down his limbs the melting poison ran. Silent, while fortitude o'er pain prevailed, He groaned at last, when stern endurance failed; And spurned the altar, and with cries of pain Made Oete's woodlands ring and ring again; Then rent the robe — or so he tried to do; But where it went the skin was taken too; Since either (gruesome thought!) the cloth would cleave Fast to the flesh, and nothing made it leave; Or else it stripped the bone; and, as the bane Burned hot, the lifeblood simmered in the vein, And hissed — the sound that sheets of metal make, When plunged, white-hot, beneath the freezing lake. Nay, fires unsated drained his deep heart's core, And sweat, dark-colored, flowed from every pore. The scorching sinews crackled, and, unshown, The rotting marrow ran within the bone. Then thus, with hands upraised to heaven, he cries: "Feed, cruel Juno, on my miseries; Look down from heaven, this foul corruption see; And glut your vengeful heart; or, if there be, To griefs like mine, some meed of pity due, Even from a foe, and, by that name, from you, Then take away this hated life, brought low By racking pains, and born to toils and woe. Death will I gladly, as a boon, receive; And such a gift a stepdame well may give. Did I then tame Busiris, who with stain Of foreign blood defiled the Egyptian fane? By me did fierce Antaeus fall, denied That sustenance his mother's touch supplied? Did I without a qualm the bodies three Of Cerberus and the Iberian shepherd see? Hands, did you grasp the great bull's horns, and bear 197

From Pontus home the golden girdle fair, And apples from the sleepless serpent tear? Can Elis town, can lake Stymphalis show Your work, or woods that on Parthenius grow? What when I saw, with human blood full-fed, The Thracian mares, and stalls where bodies bled, And, seeing, struck them, with their master, dead? Centaurs could not withstand me; and the boar, That ravaged Arcady, could do no more; And, matched with me, the hydra found it vain To grow by loss, and doubled strength regain. Crushed by these arms, the bulk that Nemea bred Lies low: upon this neck the sky was spread. The tasks have end, by Juno's hate inspired: Of bidding she, ere I of doing, tired. But this new plague is on me now, whose might No strength of soul, no sword and shield can fight — An eating fire, which burrows in my heart, And makes a feeding-place of every part. Eurystheus prospers well; yet those there be, Who think the gods are more than fantasy." He ceased, and, sick to death, on Oete's height Went ranging, as a bull sore-wounded might, Who wears the hunting-spear (when he that cast The spear has fled) still in his flesh stuck fast. You might have seen him strive and strive again To rend his clothes, with cries of rage and pain, Lay flat the pines, upbraid the hills, and cry With piteous gestures to his father's sky. Anon he sighted Lichas, as he tried, In panic, in some rock-hewn cave to hide; And, anguish bringing madness to a head: " 'Tis you that brought the gift of death," he said; "You will destroy me." Lichas, pale with fear, Essayed, with stammering tongue, his guilt to clear; And clasped, or tried to clasp, his master's knees; But pleading, clasping still, by Hercules Was seized, and swung three times or more, and whirled, Like stone by war's impetuous engine hurled, Into Euboean seas and, as in air 198

He hung, he felt some hardening influence there, Like to the change which raindrops undergo, When, touched by freezing winds, they turn to snow; Then, as the flakes spin round, their substance frail, Compacted more, solidifies to hail. So he, through space by arms so powerful thrown, (Bloodless with fear, his natural moisture flown) Turned, so antiquity averred, to stone. An islet, by Euboean seas beset, Keeps traces of the human contour yet; And sailors call it Lichas, and beware, Deeming it sentient, of treading there. And what of you, Jove's famous son? — The trees Of Oete felled, you made a pyre of these. Your bow, and ample quiver, with its store, Destined to see the Trojan realms once more, You bade the son of Poeas take for hire, To pay his service when he lit the pyre. High-piled, the forest made your funeral bed; Above, the famous lion's pelt was spread; The club your pillow; on your face was seen, As the fierce flames took hold, a look serene: So, at the banquet, might a guest recline, With garlands crowned, amidst the flowing wine. Now, spreading every way, the crackling flame Attacked, but could not fret, the peaceful frame, Which scorned its power. The gods, who felt alarm Lest he who saved the world should suffer harm, By Jove, who knew their thoughts, with words of cheer Were thus addressed: "My pleasure in your fear Is great, O gods; and I, who bear the part Of king and sire, rejoice with all my heart, Because my people's thought, no less than mine, Protects the issue of the royal line; And though this tribute to his deeds is paid, Some obligation on myself is laid. But calm your faithful hearts, and do not fear: He conquered all things, and shall conquer here. The part of Hercules his mother claims Alone shall feel the power of Vulcan's flames: 199

That which he drew from me can ne'er expire, Exempt from death, and unsubdued by fire; And this, your glad consents assumed, will I Receive, now quit of earth, within the sky; And if there be, who grudge the gift, aggrieved To see the hero as a god received, Yet shall they own it for a just award, And even although they like it not, applaud." The gods approved; and even the jealous queen Took this pronouncement with unruffled mien, Till at the end she frowned, to feel the slur, Which these last words of Jove had cast on her. Meanwhile, whate'er in Hercules was clay, Which fire could ravage, Vulcan swept away. His mother's likeness vanished, and his own: He kept the traces of his sire alone. The snake, which sheds its age with weeds outworn, In mail new-burnished thrills with life reborn: So, stripped of what was mortal, Hercules Felt, in the finer part, his strength increase. He grew in stature, and, before the eye, Was clothed with awe-inspiring majesty; And, wrapped in clouds, and on the four-horsed car Swept off to Heaven, was made by Jove a star; And Atlas felt the burden. But the debt Of wrath Eurystheus owed, was extant yet. His hatred, practiced long against the sire, Now turning on the offspring, did not tire. Alcmena, ending now her life of care In Argolis, her homeland, had not where To lay her aged griefs, nor could she tell To any ear the tale the world knew well, Her son's great deeds, her own sad history, Save to her grandson's wife, to Iole, Whom Hyllus, acting as his father bade, And taking to his heart and hearth that maid, Had filled with noble fruit. "Oh may you find," (Alcmena said), "the gods at least more kind To speed you, when you call the appointed Power, 200

The help of anxious mothers, in your hour. To me, when brought to bed of Hercules, She gave, through Juno's influence, little ease, Heavy with child, when now the laboring sun Had through nine symbols of the zodiac run, I had a bulk within — you might have known That such a weight could come of Jove alone. The pangs grew past enduring — why, the chill Of racking cramps goes through my body still. Seven days and nights I bore the torturing pain, Which, while I speak, with memory wakes again; Then, broken by my woes, with hands of prayer, I called Lucina and her helpers there. Lucina came; but, for a hireling's fee, Had pledged my head to Juno's enmity; And sitting, while my waitings rent the air, On yonder altar, in the forecourt there, Cross-legged, with fingers interlocked, she stayed, And with her mumbled charms the birth delayed. Mad with my throes, on thankless Jove I rail, With cries which might o'er senseless rocks prevail. Midwives of Argos, uttering prayers, stood by, And counseled patience, while I longed to die. Among the rest Galanthis, golden-haired, Whose willing hands the ministrations shared, Did valued service, and, with native wit, Being humbly born, saw Juno's hand in it; And on her duties, as she moves about Before the entrance, passing in and out, Lucina on her altar-seat she sees, With fingers locked, and arms that clasp her knees; And says: 'O stranger, wish my mistress joy, Blessed in her prayers, and mother of a boy!' Lucina jumped, and in alarm released Her knitted hands, and my constriction ceased. Galanthis, while she laughed, they say, well pleased To have tricked a goddess thus, was rudely seized: The vengeful goddess haled her by the hair, And flung her to the ground, and fixed her there. Four-legged she goes, red-colored as before,

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And active as of old, about our door; And through her mouth, because her lying tongue Gave aid to one in childbirth, bears her young." Pitying her former servitress, she sighed; Iole, matching grief with grief, replied: "In one that was no kinsman, if so much The loss of human shape your heart can touch, O mother, hear my sister's wondrous tale, If tears and grief make not my utterance fail. Her mother's only child was Dryope, Half sister by our common sire to me: In all Oechalia beauty's best was she. On her that god had proved his power, whose hand Is over Delos and the Delphic land. Andraemon took her, in: such case, to wife, And lived, as all believed, a happy life. "There is a lake, and many a myrtle tree Fringes the shelving shore, where Dryope, To gather garlands for the nymphs (more shame To thankless gods) all unsuspecting came. Her eight-months-old, a precious weight, she bore, And fed with milk, her bosom's genial store. Hard by, with flowers that matched the Tyrian hue, Fair hope of fruit, a water lotus grew; And these she plucked, to please her little son, As I, her helpmate, would myself have done; But through the boughs I saw a tremor go, And blood in driblets from the blossoms flow. This plant, you see, had been (though only then We learned it from the tardy countrymen) Lotis, a nymph, who thus, to shun the embrace Of lewd Priapus, changed her form and face, Yet kept her name. By ignorance betrayed, My sister to the nymphs in terror prayed, And sought to go. Her feet were rooted fast; From legs and thighs all power to move had passed; And pliant cortex, rising from the ground, Waist-high, by slow degrees, enclosed her round. At sight of this, she tried to rend her hair, But plucked leaves only: only leaves were there. 202

Her child, Amphissos, too (whose name the whim Of Eurytus, his grandsire, chose for him) Felt in his mother's breast a hardness grow, And when he sucked, the milk no more would flow. I watched her sufferings, doing all I could, With small success, to check the rising wood: I clasped the stem and branches as they grew, And wished the selfsame bark might clothe me too. "Her husband and her sire, an anxious pair, In search of Dryope came hastening there. I showed the lotus: they with kisses pressed The wood yet warm, strange object of their quest; And lay, and clasped the roots; for now was she, Her face alone excepted, wholly tree. The leaves which from her luckless flesh had sprung With trickling tears, for drops of dew, were hung; And while she could, while hps gave thoroughfare To voice and speech, her protests filled the air: 'I swear, if any trust a wretch's word, No fault of mine this punishment incurred. Be heaven my judge, I lived in innocence, And unoffending reap this recompense. Ah, lopped and leafless let me droop and die, A prey to fire and axes, if I lie. Yet take this child, which in my boughs I bear, And let some nurse supply the mother's care; And let him oft beneath my tree be fed, And oft beneath my tree to play be led; And, when he learns to speak, oh let him claim This tree for mine, and speak a mother's name; Lakes let him shun, and fly the flowering trees, Thinking them all embodied deities. Dear ones, farewell — but, oh, defend my sprays From wounding knives, and bite of beasts that graze. Now, since I may not bend to you, incline Your arms to me, and raise your lips to mine, While they can still be touched; and lift my son For the last time. — And now my speech is done; And o'er my neck the cortex, green o'er white Creeps, and the crown of foliage veils my sight.

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Withhold your hands: without their pious aid, The closing bark my dying eyes will shade.' Her mouth had ceased to speak, and ceased to be; But human warmth yet lingered in the tree." Hearing this tale Alcmena wiped away Iole's tears; her own she could not stay. A present marvel checked their tearful mood When on the threshold Iolaiis stood, Who, as in boyhood, with a hint of beard, Restored again to youthful prime appeared. — Hebe, the daughter of the queen of heaven, Who at her husband's prayer this boon had given, Formed the resolve to grant such gifts no more, But Themis stopped her ere the oath she swore. "Thebes against Thebes," she said, "now takes the field; And Capaneus to none but Jove will yield. The seer for whom the engulfing earth shall gape, Living shall see his own disbodied shape. In wounds at least, when battle drawn they see, Brother with brother on a par shall be; And parent quits with parent, when a son From duty shall a sinful deed have done; And by the faces of the furies driven, And by his mother's ghost no respite given, Exiled from home and reason shall he go, Dazed by the blows of fate, till he bestow The fateful gold demanded by his bride, And feel the knife of Phegeus in his side. Then Acheloiis' child, Callirhoe, Shall seek from mighty Jove, with humble plea, Years for her infant sons; and Jove, that they The sooner may their father's murderer slay, Shall gifts of Hebe and Aurora take Before the time, and men from infants make." While Themis thus with cryptic utterance spoke, Among the gods in heaven dissension woke, With muttered question: why such gifts as these Had all not power to lavish as they please? Aurora, daughter of the Titan, told Her grievance: that her husband's years were old. 204

Mild Ceres mourned Iasion, grown gray; And Vulcan would his son's old age delay; Venus required, beset with future fears, The restoration of Anchises' years. No god but had some favorite; loud up welled The noisy strife, by party-passion swelled. Jove spoke at last: "If some respect," he said, "For me remains, what road is this you tread? Does any think himself so strong of hand That he can bow the Fates to his command? The Fates made Iolatis young again, 'Tis they must change Callirhoe's babes to men. Your power and influence count for naught in this: The Fates o'errule you: take it not amiss: I too obey their rule, which could I mend, With weight of years our Aeacus should not bend; In fadeless bloom should Rhadamanthus flower, And Minos, who by time's oppressive power Weighed down, must suffer, for his years, disdain, And dim the former glories of his reign." Jove's words had weight; for seeing those three refused Rejuvenation, none could feel ill-used. Minos, who once, when sound in years, could tame Great nations by the terror of his name, Grown weak, before a son of Phoebus quailed, Whose youthful strength and pride of birth prevailed, Whose plots to seize the throne with lawless hand He knew, yet durst not bid him fly the land. Miletus chose his own good time to flee, And crossed, with racing keel, the Aegean sea; And built in Asia, where at last he came, A city, which preserves its founder's name. He met, beside the tortuous river there, Maeander's child, Cyanee the fair; And of their union on the winding shore Two lovely children at a birth she bore, Caunus and Byblis. Byblis proves it true That girls should love where loving's not taboo. With passion for her brother was she caught,

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Not loving like a sister, as she ought. Ere understanding of her feelings came, To kiss and clasp her brother seemed no shame: She misconstrued her passion, and it passed For sisterly affection; but at last Lapsing by slow degrees, she dressed with care To meet him, overeager to seem fair; On other women, who, when he was by, Appeared more comely, cast a jealous eye; Called him her king; all kindred names would flee; And Byblis now, not sister, wished to be; Yet, ignorant of herself, repressed her fires, And let no prayers express her real desires. She watched her waking thoughts, and did not dare To let unlawful hopes have entrance there; But, when relaxed in sleep's passivity, The object of her love would often see, And dream she clasped him too, and, as she lay In sleep, she blushed; then, waking, long would stay In silent thought, conning her dream; then sighed, Perplexed in mind, and, "Woe is me!" she cried; "What means this dream? Why was it given to me, Who ne'er would wish it true, this dream to see? Handsome he is, as envious eyes admit; A pleasing person, and a partner fit; And I could love him, but for kinship's law: To be my brother's sister — that's my flaw. Oh, if I keep my waking conscience clear, Oft in my sleep may such a dream appear: There's none to see, and no reproach to fear. Sweet gods of love, what pleasure, so to lie With senses thrilled, dissolved in ecstasy! What rapture to recall! But envious night Cut short my joy, hasting his headlong flight. If I, dear Caunus, could your wife have been ( Only the name of sister stands between ), What brave new daughter should your father find, And mine what son, well-pleasing to his mind! All things, had Heaven so pleased, I would that we Held common, save our grandsires: you should be 206

My better, born more noble. Boy most fair! Some girl, I know not who, your sons shall bear; While all that is not brother I resign, Since fortune's lottery made your parents mine. Nought's ours save that which parts us. Yet, if so, What mean my dreams? Are dreams of weight, or no? The gods forbid! — And yet the gods, 'tis said, As Saturn did, their sisters oft have wed. Ocean took Tethys, though so near akin; And Jove, the lord of Heaven, did Juno win. — But gods make laws for gods: what use to try The ways of earth by standards of the sky? Either my heart shall bid this passion flee, Or let me perish, if this cannot be; And let my brother, ere my body go To funeral flames, a parting kiss bestow. What's in my mind the assent of two must win: A joy to me, to him 'twill seem a sin. — Yet Aeolus had children, and the son Did not the embraces of his sister shun. — Why, whence have I this knowledge? What intent Has armed me thus with case and precedent? This way to ruin! Evil flames, away; And let me love but as a sister may. — Yet had he first been seized with love of me, I might perchance have shown some leniency. Then I, who grace would give, some grace must seek. — But can you make confession? Dare you speak? — Love will compel: if shame my lips repress, A letter shall my secret fires confess." There came decision: there her waverings fled; And, rising on one elbow, thus she said: "Yes, he shall judge: let this my love be writ — This madness rather. Woe is me, what pit Is at my feet, what fire is in my brain!" With this resolve she sinks in thought again; Puts word to word, with hands that shake the while (Her left the wax, her right hand holds the style); Begins, and pauses; writes, and then rejects; Marks, and erases; likes, dislikes, corrects; 207

Lays down her tablets, takes them up anew; What's in her mind can scarce herself construe; About to act, abandons her intent; Shame in her face appears with boldness blent. She writes: "Your sister"; then scores out the words, And on the amended wax these lines records: "One sends you health, who loves you — health that she, Save by your gift, herself shall never see. To tell you who I am, is shame on shame: Ah, could my suit be heard without my name! A stranger still, not Byblis, would I be, Till prayers have proof, and hopes are certainty. My wound by this 'twas in your power to know, That pale and thin, with downcast looks, I go, With seeming causeless sighs, and eyes aflow; And clasp you oft, with kisses such as prove, Did you but note, more than a sister's love. Yet I myself, though pierced with that sore smart, And all on fire with madness in my heart, Did everything — may heaven my witness be! — To bring me back, though late, to sanity. I long withstood the love-god's shafts; and more Than you would think a girl could bear, I bore. But now I speak, by dire compulsion swayed, Beseeching you with timorous prayers for aid. I love you well: it lies alone with you To save or slay me: choose between the two. No foe thus pleads, but one by birth most nigh, Who craves between us two a closer tie. Let learned graybeards, with the scales of law, 'Twixt right and wrong their nice distinctions draw: That age are we, to love without a thought, Concerning may and may-not yet untaught. All things to us seem lawful, and we go Where the great gods themselves example show. No care for scandal, no stern father's laws, No fear will stay us — may our fear have cause! A brother's name our stolen joys will screen, Since we are free to meet and talk unseen. Caress and kiss are open — oh, how much 208

The little more! Oh, feel some kindly touch For one who only through the direst stress Of desperate passion would her love confess; And do not earn, as author of my doom, Dishonorable mention on my tomb." Right to the rim, as there she dropped the tool, With vain appeals the furrowed wax was full, Each word a crime: she set her seal on them: Her tongue was parched, but tears made moist the gem. She called a servant, who stood trembling by: She asked his aid, but dared not meet his eye. "Take this," she said, "to my . . ." and there stuck fast, And faltered long, till — "brother," came at last. She dropped the tablets as she gave, but though This omen shook her, let the missive go. The bearer, as occasion served, drew nigh, And brought the well-sealed words to Caunus' eye. Maeander's son, ere yet the half was read, Felt sudden wrath like thunder in his head; And as his fingers flung aside the note, Scarce kept them from the frightened envoy's throat. "Base instrument of lawless lust, away: Fly while thou canst — were't not with thee to slay Our own good name, thy life should forfeit pay!" He fled in fear, and took this hothead word To Byblis back, who whitened as she heard, With ice-cold ague gripped: when this passed o'er, With consciousness her craze returned once more; And thus her voice smote feebly on the air: " 'Tis just: why did I thus my wound lay bare With speed so rash, and what was best to hide, To hasty records did so soon confide? By veiled suggestions 'twas my task to find, Before I spoke, the temper of his mind; And ere I ventured, test with shortened sail How stood the wind, and shun the unfriendly gale; Not run full-rigged before the random breeze, With unreturning sails, on dangerous seas. Swept from my course, and shipwrecked on the shoals, I founder, and the ocean o'er me rolls. 209

To check my love that omen warned me well, When, as I said: 'Take this,' the tablets fell. There fell my hopes: I should have changed the day, Or else have cast the whole design away. The day, the day was wrong: the heavens spoke plain With warning signs, but madness darked my brain. And yet to trust to writing, not to woo By word of mouth, that sure was error too. My tears, my features, could have shown my pain, And lips said more than wax could well contain. I could have clasped him, though he sought to fly, And, if rejected, let him see me die; Clung to his feet, and begged for life, and done A score of things, which, powerless one by one, Together might have moved a heart of stone. — Or could it be, my envoy with approach Ill-timed or tactless did his mission broach, Marring my suit thereby, who should have wooed An idle hour and undistracted mood? I think it was so, for no tigress bred The man I love, nor no she-lion fed. He bears not stone within his breast concealed, Not iron, nor adamant; he yet shall yield. I will renew my suit, nor entertain The thought of failure, while this breath remain. Best not begin, could I the past undo; But once begun, best see the contest through. For he himself, though I my hopes resign, Can ne'er forget this bold attempt of mine; And if I now draw back, 'twill surely seem That mere caprice, or even a treacherous scheme To lure him on, and trap him, or at best That undiluted lust o'erswayed my breast; Not that the god, whose fullest power I feel, Makes havoc in my heart with flame and steel. Enough! I cannot now be pure again: I wrote, I wooed: my will must bear the stain. What's done confirms me guilty — what's to win, Though much in hope, adds little to the sin." She ceased; and such the tumult in her brain, 210

That what she wished untried she tried again. She passed all bounds; and now in piteous plight Exposed herself, unshamed, to every slight. At last, when end was none, the boy one day From home, and all its horror, fled away; And went for shelter to a foreign shore, And built a city, where was none before. Ah, then did Byblis, wholly dispossessed Of reason, tear her clothes and beat her breast; And raving now with madness unconcealed To all the world her lawless love revealed. From native land and hateful home she fled, And followed where her brother's footsteps led. Like bacchants whom the mystic wand excites, When each third year brings round the Thracian rites, Shrieking she ran, and where Bubassus lies Amid broad fields, amazed the women's eyes. To Caria next she wandered, and the place Where lived the warlike Lelegeian race. Through Lycia then, past Cragus, went her flight, By Xanthus' stream, and Limyre, and the height Whereon Chimaera, with her lion's head, And serpent's tail, and fire-crammed maw, was bred. Tired by her quest, when waning woods were bare, She sank to earth, amid her tumbled hair. The wood-nymphs tried to lift her, as she lay Face downward on the fallen leaves that day, To teach love's antidote, and entry find For words of comfort to her deafened mind. Speechless she lay, and clawed the turf, and poured Tears like a river on the grassy sward. The Naiads did their best, and set, they say, A spring beneath, to feed her tears for aye. Forthwith, like pitch, from the cleft bark let flow, Or asphalt, from earth's womb upwelling slow, Or as, with breath of spring, and balmier sun, The waters, lately frozen, melt and run, So, wasted by her tears, what once had been Apollo's grandchild, as a spring was seen; And named from her, in that far vale, the rill 211

Beneath a dark-leaved ilex, bubbles still. Perchance the talk this freak of passion bred Might through the hundred-citied isle have spread, But in the change of Iphis Crete had known, Not long before, a marvel of her own. Where Phaestus near to royal Cnossos stood, One Ligdus lived, of free but lowly blood, Of name obscure but blameless probity, And blessed no more with wealth than pedigree. His wife being pregnant, when her time was near, He thus addressed grim warning to her ear: "Two things I wish, and may my prayers prevail: Your labor easy, and your child a male. A girl, being fortune's weakling, we shall find A load too great. If therefore fate unkind Sends us a daughter (Piety, forgive! I speak against my will!), she must not live." They bathed their cheeks with tears, both she that heard, And he, no less, that spoke the drastic word; But Telethusa, when contracted stood By that command her hopes of motherhood, Found all her pleading to no purpose spent, And Ligdus still was fixed in his intent. 'Twas when her child was ripe for birth, that she, Waking or sleeping, did a vision see. At dead of night there stood beside her bed All Egypt's gods, with Isis at their head. Upon her brows the crescent horns were seen, The crown, the wheat-sheaf bright with golden sheen; And in her train revered Bubastis stood, Dog-voiced Anubis, Apis rainbow-hued, And he who speaks no word, but on his lip, To counsel silence, lays his finger-tip. Timbrels were there, and Egypt's snake, whose breast With slumbrous poison swells, and with the rest Osiris, sought in never-ending quest. All this, as though in waking truth, saw she; And Isis spoke, as to her devotee: "Lay cares aside, my Telethusa true, And what your husband bids you, feign to do.

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When by Lucina from your pains set free, Take to your arms your child, whate'er it be. A goddess I, whose office is to aid; Nor, when entreated, is my help delayed. You shall not find" (she ended thus) "that she You worshiped, is a thankless deity." This counsel given, she vanished from the room: The woman rose, and gone was all her gloom. She raised her guiltless hands to heaven, to crave Fulfillment of the pledge her vision gave. And when, unknown to Ligdus, that which lay Within her, came unhelped to light of day, She bore a girl; but ere the truth appeared, Announced a boy, and bade the child be reared. The story passed for true: to her alone, Who nursed the infant, was the fiction known. And when the father (due thank-offerings paid) Bestowed the grandsire's name upon the maid — Iphis, a name which boy or girl might bear — The mother smiled, to find no falsehood there. Thus launched, the pious fraud went well: no eye Could pierce the coverings which concealed the lie: The dress, a boy's; the face, which, give it o'er To boy or girl, the stamp of beauty bore. When thirteen years had passed, the father said That Iphis should the fair Ianthe wed, Telestes' child, whose beauty's praise, among The girls of Phaestus, was most loudly sung. Of equal age, and in their looks well paired, These two their school and earliest lessons shared. And thence came love, which touched with equal pain The yet unpracticed hearts of both the twain; But not with equal hope: Ianthe's ran To meet her marriage, and her thoughts began To take for husband whom she took for man. But what of Iphis? She, with heartache sore, Despairing love's fulfillment, loved the more; And, doting so, a maiden on a maid, Could scarce refrain from weeping, as she said: "What end awaits me? Oh, what form unknown 213

Of monstrous passion claims me for its own? Surely the gods, if 'twas their true intent To spare me, should have spared this chastisement; Or else have given me, if they wished to kill, At least some known disease, some natural ill. Does mare love mare, does heifer heifer woo? Hind goes with hart, and with the ram the ewe. So mate the birds, and nowhere will you find The female loves the female of her kind. Would I had not been bornl But doubtless Crete Which breeds perversions, wants the list complete. A bull did once the sun-god's child enthrall, Yet they were male and female, after all. My love is more insane than hers, for she Some hope of union could in prospect see. We know what partner, by what strange deceit, She sinned withal — but there was one to cheat. But let the world its wisdom hither bring; Let Daedalus fly back on waxen wing; What then? Can I, with all his art to aid, Be more a boy, Ianthe less a maid? — Be strong of heart! beat out these foolish fires Which serve no purpose! govern your desires! See what you are! cast self-deceit away! Seek what is lawful! love as woman may! Love springs from hope; by hope is love sustained: What hope have you, by circumstance constrained? Nature forbids the love for which you sigh, Not watch and ward, or husband's jealous eye, Or father's strict repression; nor does she, The one you love, herself refuse your plea. Yet never can you win her, come what may, Though gods and mortals labor night and day. — Yes, thus it is: there's nought to ask of heaven: All that they could, indulgent gods have given. What though my father's wishes, joined with mine, And with her sire's Ianthe's, all combine, If nature, stronger far than these, says no, And does me wrong, my solitary foe? The marriage time draws near, and soon will shine 214

The day of days, that makes Ianthe mine. 'Twill be for me with no fair fortune crowned, And I shall thirst with water all around; For vainly Juno o'er a rite presides, Which lacks a bridegroom — where we both are brides." While thus she fretted, as acute unrest, For different reasons, filled Ianthe's breast. "Hymen, come soon," she prayed: but what to her Was heart's desire, was Telethusa's fear. Employing all excuses for delay, Illness or omen, she deferred the day; Till fictions failed, and, all postponements o'er, There wanted to the wedding one day more. She knelt with Iphis in the shrine, with hair From bands unloosed, and thus she made her prayer, Clasping the altar: "Isis, whose domain Is Pharos and the Mareotic plain, With Paraetonium and the seven-branched Nile, Give aid, and cure my fear. Thee, thee, erewhile, Goddess, I saw, as now, with every sign Of godhead clad, and knew them all for thine: The brands, the timbrels, and the attendant train; And fixed thy precepts firmly in my brain. That Iphis lives, that I unpunished go, This did thy counsel and thy gift bestow. Now grant thy aid, and pity me and mine." She ended weeping, and by power divine The altar seemed to tremble (nay, 'twas more Than seeming), and an earthquake shook the door; The crescent horns flashed radiance, and the sound Of clashing timbrels echoed all around. With hope rekindled by the favoring sign, Though trembling still, the mother left the shrine, And went her way; and with a longer stride Than was her wont went Iphis at her side. Her cheeks grew ruddier, and her limbs more strong, Her features firmer, and her hair less long; And through her frame a force not female ran, For what before was woman, now was man. "Give offerings to the temple, let your tears 215

Give way to joy, and faith dispel your fears." They brought their gifts, and placed a brass, which bore Two lines of verse to show their thanks, no more: These offerings, vowed by Iphis, as a maid, By that same Iphis, as a youth, are paid. When next day's dawn had filled the world with light, Venus and Juno blessed the marriage rite With Hymen: Iphis to the altar led Ianthe, and the boy and girl were wed.

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BOOK

TEN OF the journey of Orpheus to the underworld — how Eurydice died a second time — of the trees charmed by the music of Orpheus, who tells these tales, namely, — of Jupiter and Ganymede — of Apollo and Hyacinthus — of Pygmalion and Galatea — of Myrrha's incestuous love for her sire — of Venus and Adonis — of Atalanta and the golden apples — of the death and transformation of Adonis

T_r JL J L YMEN departs, and through the boundless skies To Thracian shores in saffron vestment flies. By Orpheus called, he did indeed attend The minstrel's marriage, but to no good end. No words of sacred wont, no face of cheer, No sign he brought that happy days were near. His torch, howe'er he swung it, never broke In flame, but hissed, and filled the eyes with smoke. Bad signs found worse fulfilment, when the bride, Roaming with sister nymphs the countryside, Took in her heel the serpent's tooth, and died. The minstrel mourned; and when the final word Of sorrow by the living air was heard, To try the shades as well, he dared to go Where Taenarus opes the gate to Styx below. Through those who form (when funeral rites are o'er) The populations of the phantom shore, He reached Proserpin and the gloomy king Of grisly realms, and tuned his voice and string: "Gods of the underworld, to which we all, If made of mortal substance, one day fall, Here, with your leave, is forthright speech and true: I am not come the shades of hell to view;

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Nor yet to lead, with triple leashes bound, The snake-haired freak, Medusa's monstrous hound. I seek my wife, in whom the serpent poured Its deadly bane, before her years matured. I wished, I tried, to bear the loss, but Love Subdued my will, a god well-known above — If here, I know not; yet I well surmise, If tales of old elopement are not lies, Love joined yourselves. Then by this place of fear, This waste of silence, this vast chaos here, Revoke, I pray, my wife's untimely doom, And cast her life again upon the loom. All things are yours: with little breathing space Or soon or late we find one resting-place. Here lies our goal; our last abode is here, And yours the rule that mortals longest fear. Her lawful term will end, and she, like all, Will then beneath your jurisdiction fall; 'Tis but a lease, no gift, for which I call. But if the fates refuse my wife this grace, Then will not I ('tis fixed) my steps retrace: Have joy of two." The blend of lyre and word Made bloodless ghosts fall weeping as they heard. Tantalus clutched no more, with hand advanced, The shrinking wave; Ixion's wheel was tranced. The Danaids left their urns; the birds their prey; And Sisyphus upon his boulder lay. Then first the Furies wept: their cheeks that hour Were wet, they say, with tears through music's power; Nor had the queen of Hell the heart, nor he, Who ruled the deeps, to set aside the plea. They called Eurydice, who from the throng Of new-made ghosts came with slow step along, Lame from her wound; and Orpheus, with his wife, Was told the terms on which they gave her life: He must not, till he left the Avernian vale, Turn back his eyes, or else the gift would fail. The ascending road was trodden, dark and steep, And thick with fog, and hushed in silence deep. Earth's boundary line was almost reached, and here,

2x8

Doubting her presence, Orpheus, filled with fear, And anxious too a lover's eyes to cheer, Looked round. That instant, backward borne, she fled; The while, with unavailing arms outspread, He tried to give and take a last embrace, But, fate-defeated, clutched at empty space. Without complaint, a second death she died: What was there, save his love for her, to chide? He scarce could catch the last farewell she said, Before, swept backward, she rejoined the dead. Not less was Orpheus tranced with grief to know His loved one thus by double death brought low, Than he who froze with fear the hound to see, Chained by the neck, the middle one of three; Till, through his fear, his former nature fled, And what before was flesh was stone instead; Or Olenus, who wished to bear the blame For vain Lethaea, and the guilt to claim: Two in the flesh so closely linked, and now Twin boulders on mount Ida's channeled brow. Orpheus, who wished to cross the Styx again, Begged the grim ferryman's consent in vain. Seven days upon the bank, untoileted, He sat, and, lacking Ceres' gifts, unfed, With only cares and griefs and tears for bread. Then, railing on the ruthless gods below, To Rhodope, and Haemus' peaks of snow, Swept by the northern blasts, he turned once more; And, while the sun completed three times o'er His annual orbit, by the Fish confined, He strictly shunned the love of womankind. Was it that love had brought him solace small, Or that his troth was plighted once for all? Yet many a maid for him with passion burned; And many grieved to find their passion spurned. 'Twas he that first in Thrace the example showed Of love perverse on budding youths bestowed; And this side manhood, in the transient hour Of boyhood's spring, to pluck the short-lived flower. A hill there was, whereon the grassland made 219

A plateau green, with not a tree for shade. Here sat the heaven-born bard, and drew the sound From the plucked string, and shade grew dense around. No tree but came: Chaonia's oak was there; And poplars, once the sun-god's daughters fair; The dense-leaved durmast, and the tender lime; The ilex, leaning low in acorn time; The beech; the silver fir-tree, smooth of grain; The ash, for spears; for friendly shade, the plane; The crack-nut hazel; maple's varied hue; The laurel, which from virgin Daphne grew; The water-rooted lotus too was seen; Stream-loving willows; boxes ever green; The tamarisk, slender-leaved, and at its side Viburnum, with its berries purple dyed; There twi-hued myrtle, twist-foot ivy go, And fruiting vines, with elms whereon they grow; The manna ash, the pitch-pine, and, with fruit Of scarlet berries bowed, the wild arbute; There came the pliant palm, the victor's prize; The bare-stemmed pine, with leaf-crown in the skies, Loved by the gods' great mother, Cybele, Since in that trunk her Attis, passing free From human vesture, hardened to a tree. With these the cypress came, whose tapering line Recalls to mind the race-track's turning-sign. 'Twas once a boy, and by that god beloved, By whom the strings of lyre and bow are moved. The tale? — A sacred stag there was, the pride Of nymphs who haunt Carthaea's countryside; A giant beast, whose branching antlers made Above his head a close and private shade. The antlers gleamed with gold, and pendants, strung With precious stones, from neck to shoulders hung. About his brows, with slender straps bound on, In restless dance a silver birth-charm shone; And either side the sunken skull the sheen Of pearls, let fall from either ear, was seen. This creature, timid born, was often near The homes of men, and showed no trace of fear; 220

But offered everywhere his shapely neck For stranger hands to stroke, without a check. One, more than all, would on the favorite smile: One boy, himself the beauty of the isle; And Cyparissus now his pet would lead To some fresh spring, or new untasted mead; Would now his horns with various flowers array; And now, astride his back, a rider gay, With crimson reins the gentle mouth would sway. One summer day, when fierce the sunbeams beat Upon the Crab's curved claws, with noontide heat, The stag upon the greensward took his ease, Absorbing coolness from the shade of trees; And Cyparissus, with keen-pointed dart, Aiming in error, pierced him to the heart; And when he saw him with the death-wound lie, Was firm himself in stubborn wish to die. What did not Phoebus say, to bring relief, And moderate his disproportioned grief? But still he sobbed, and begged the gods to send One favor: that his grief might never end. As with his quenchless tears his lifeblood ran, So verdurous tints replaced the hues of man. The hair, which on his forehead used to lie, Now like a tuft stood stiffly up on high, And reared a slender summit to the sky. And Phoebus sighed and murmured: "Mourned by me, You too shall mourn, and be the mourner's tree." Such was the forest which the minstrel drew; And birds and beasts held conclave round him too. His fingers tried the strings, till in the sound Of differing notes a concord sweet was found. "O muse" (he sang), "that bore me, let my song Begin with Jove: to Jove all things belong. Oft have I hymned his power: of Phlegra's plain, And giants by his vollied lightnings slain, More grave I sang; but now with softer string Of boys beloved by gods it falls to sing; To tell how maidens, crazed with lawless fires, Suffered for uninhibited desires.

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"Upon a time, the king of gods above Conceived for Ganymede an ardent love; And ne'er till then was found discrepancy 'Twixt what Jove was and what he wished to be. To hide his form, no shape he deigned to wear Save of the bird that could his lightnings bear; And quick as thought he flew in feathered guise, And swooping, made the Trojan boy his prize. And now, though Juno frowns, when Jove will sup, He pours the nectar out, and hands the cup. "So Phoebus to his favorite would have given, Had fate allowed him time, a place in heaven. As far as fate allows, he never dies; For oft as driven by spring, the winter flies, When to the watery Fish the Ram succeeds, He grows and blossoms in the grassy meads. This Grecian lad, in chief, my sire adored: Earth's center, Delphi, lacked its ruling lord: And oft to fenceless Sparta would he go, Beside Eurotas, leaving lyre and bow: Unlike himself, he stooped the nets to bear, The hounds to leash, his lover's chase to share, As on the rough-ridged hills he tracked the game; And long association fed his flame. "One day, when Titan's chariot, high in space, 'Twixt dawn and darkness held the midmost place, They stripped for discus play, and all ashine With the olive's rich distillment, toed the line. Phoebus was first; and when he poised and cast, The mounting metal through the cloud bank passed, And falling back to earth, though long delayed, Revealed what strength could do, with skill to aid. Then Hyacinthus, on his turn intent, To take the discus up too hasty went: Rebounding from the rocklike ground, it rose, And struck his face: down in a heap he goes. The god, as pale as he, received his fall, And dried the hideous wound, and tried to call The life-warmth back, and with a dressing, made Of healing herbs, the escaping life delayed.

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His arts were vain: the wound all cure defied; And as in gardens, by the waterside, Struck down by some chance blow, may violets fall, Or lilies tawny tongued, or poppies tall, Which on a sudden wilt, with head depressed, And droop, with downward gaze, their sinking crest — So drooped his dying face; so, weak and spent, The neck, self-burdened, on the shoulder leant. " 'Robbed of your manhood' (Phoebus said), 'you bleed, And in your wound I see my own misdeed. My grief and guilt are you: your death is writ Upon my hand, and I am cause of it. Yet where's my fault? — unless some fault there be In manly play, or fault in loving thee. Instead of thee, or with thee, would I die; But this the fates, that hold us bound, deny. Yet near me, close as breathing, shalt thou be: My lips, my lyre, my songs, shall speak of thee; And as a new-made blossom shalt thou rise, And bear the sad notation of my sighs. Time too shall be, when one of noblest fame Shall share the flower, and write thereon his name.' So spake the prescient voice; and what before Was blood upon the grass, was blood no more; And as a flower it rose, of crimson hue; And, save in color, like a lily grew. The god who made the living trophy rise Inscribed thereon the symbols of his sighs; And still the flowers upon their petals bear The signs of woe, AI AI, engraven there. And Sparta not unproudly mourns her son, And unforgotten still, his fame lives on. His feast is kept, as every year goes by, With antique pomp and peerless pageantry. "Look elsewhere: ask the city rich in ore — Ask Amathus, what kind of breed she bore. Small pride she feels in her Propaetides, But spurns them from her, and, along with these, Those sons of hers, whose brutish brows, o'ergrown With double horns, as bull-men made them known. 223

Before their door an altar used to rise, Sacred to Jove, as god of guesthood ties. Some traveler might have seen it running red, And thought that Cyprian sheep or calves had bled. 'Twas stained with blood of guests! And she who called The isle her own, whom those black rites appalled (Life-giving Venus) made her plans to fly; But ere to town and field she said good-by, She thought again and said: 'My cities dear, What crime is theirs? My fields, what fault is here? Let those who sin, with death or exile pay, Or what 'twixt death and exile stands midway.' She thus foreshadowed what could only be A change of shape, but change to what, thought she. Then, seeing their horns and thinking these might stay, She took the hint, and changed to bulls were they. Next the Propaetides, who dared deny Great Venus' godhead, rued their blasphemy. By them, the victims of her wrath, 'tis said, Body and beauty first were strumpeted. Then, lost to shame and hard of feature grown, With little further change, they turned to stone. "And thanks to them Pygmalion, who beheld Their life of sin, by female faults repelled (Nature's too numerous gifts to woman's mind), Lived without wife, to single state resigned, And carved with wondrous skill and fashioned sure A female form in ivory, snowy pure. He gave his work such grace as never lit On mortal maid, and fell in love with it. She seemed a thing of flesh and blood to be And held entranced by mere timidity. Thus art veiled art, and by the illusion swayed, Pygmalion loved the semblance of a maid. If flesh it was or ivory he would try By sense of touch, and still the truth deny. He spoke to her and kissed her oft and thought Each kiss returned; so strangely fancy wrought; And when he held her in his arms, believed The yielding flesh his fingers' dint received, 224

And feared to bruise it. Now with words he woos, And now with gifts no maiden can refuse: Bright beads, and birds, and flowers of varied hues, Tears of the sun-god's daughters from their tree, Lilies, and shells, and pebbles from the sea. And then in garments gay her limbs he dressed, With rings for fingers, sashes for her breast, Necklace and earrings: all she well could wear; Yet seemed without her finery no less fair. Then fabrics fine of richest hue he spread, Dyed with the shells of Tyre, to make her bed; And called her bride; and as of sense possessed, On softest down her head was made to rest. "And now the day was come, when Cypriotes all, In praise of Venus, held high festival. The incense smoked; and calves with necks of snow, And horns new-gilt, had felt the slaughterer's blow. Within the shrine, his offering duly paid, Pygmalion thus with timid utterance prayed: 'O gods, if gods have power unlimited, This only is my prayer, that I may wed' — To say: 'my ivory maid,' he did not dare; But turned it thus: my maiden ivory-fair.' Venus, who, present there in golden pride, Graced her own feast, knew what this prayer implied; And soon in sign of heavenly grace, there came, Thrice kindled in the air, a darting flame. Pygmalion hastened home, and, bending o'er To kiss his beauty, found her cold no more. He kissed her once again, and touched her breast: The ivory lost its hardness as he pressed, And gave beneath his fingers, as the wax Of mount Hymettus in the sun grows lax, And kneaded oft, from shape to shape will go, And pliant to the hand by handling grow. Amazed, in doubt and joy, he feared some cheat, And clasped his idol with a lover's heat. — 'Twas flesh and blood, and, as he felt again, Beneath his fingers leaped the pulsing vein. Ah, now the Paphian youth, with formal phrase 225

Full-charged with gratitude, to Venus prays; And now at last the lover's lip can greet, With pressure fond, a lip not counterfeit. The maiden too was conscious of the kiss, And blushed, and raised her timid eyes to his; And on her sight, as sense of vision woke, At once the daylight and her lover broke. When dawned the wedding-day, to join the pair, Venus, whose work it was, was present there. When nine moons waxed and waned, their daughter Paphos, from whom the island has its name. "Her son was Cinyras, who a daughter got, To mar what else had proved a happy lot. A dreadful theme is mine: ye daughters, fly; Fathers, avert your gaze, and come not nigh. Or, if my art beguiles, let credence fail; And think that here I tell a truthless tale; Or, if you take the tale of guilt for true, Believe the tale of retribution too. Oh, if by nature's leave such crimes appear, How blest are Thracians that they show not here; How blest our country, and this tract of earth, Far from the land which brought such sins to birth! Her wealth of perfumes let Panchaia bear; Let cinnamon, let costum flourish there; And incense, sweating from the timber's pore, And cardamum, and many a blossom more — If she must bear the myrrh-tree too: to buy The new-sprung tree she paid a price too high. Believe not, Myrrha, that thy wounding came From Cupid's bow: the god rejects the blame. 'Twas not his torch that made thy passion glow, But firebrands kindled in the realms below. A fury was it of the sisters three, With adders poison-puffed, who breathed on thee. To hate a father is a crime, we know; But 'tis a fouler crime to love him so. From every land the pick of manhood strove To win you: eastern princes sought your love. Pick one of many, Myrrha: choice is free,

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If from that many one excluded be. "She knew her state, and with her lust had striven. 'What goal is mine,' she cried, 'by madness driven? 0 gods above, in whose protection lies The parents' claim, and nature's holy ties, Forbid the crime, resist the sin in me — If sin it is: yet nature, as we see, Such unions with no condemnation views: The beasts in pairing do not pick and choose. The filly, free from blame, her sire may know; Heifers and goats with those who got them go; And with the cockbird, from whose procreant seed She drew her life, the hen herself will breed. Ah, happy those that mayl But man's decrees With jealous codes confine what nature frees. — Yet are there races where the sons, 'tis said, With mothers, and with sires the daughters wed: Thus firmer love of twofold ties is bred. Ah, luckless me, not born in such a race, But penalized by accident of place. — No more of that: forbidden hopes, away! He should be loved, but as a father may.— So then, were not great Cinyras sire to me, 1 might the consort of his chamber be: But now, being mine, he is not mine, and I Am ruined by the closeness of our tie, And lose the prize by mere propinquity. Content were I to seek a distant clime, And leave my homeland, so I shunned the crime; But this perverted passion keeps me here, Through dire constraint to see him, and be near; To touch, and talk, and kiss, if more's denied — And what, vile creature, would you have beside? Would you your mother's scorned supplanter be, Linked with your father in adultery; Your brother's mother, sister of your son, Confounding many names and ties in one, And never think those sisters grim to fear, Who, snaky-tressed, to guilty hearts appear, With flaming torches face and eyes to sear? 227

No, no: while yet your flesh has known no sin, Forbid your mind to let such horror in; Nor with incestuous act pollution cast On bonds by nature's ruling power made fast. Or say you wish it: yet it ne'er can be: Mindful of nature's law and man's is he. — Would that he felt the fire that maddens mel' "Her father, when so many came to woo, All worthy suitors, doubted what to do; And asked the girl herself (the names rehearsed) Whose she would be. Then Myrrha, mute at first, Hung on her father's face, with smothered sighs, And scalding teardrops welling in her eyes. Her father, thinking these but girlish fears, Bade her not weep, and kissed away her tears. And Myrrha, pleased too well, when asked anew, What man she favored, answered: 'One like you.' Mistaking this: 'A duteous speech,' said he; 'So true a daughter may you ever be.' The girl, abashed to hear a daughter's name, Conscious of guilt, cast down her eyes in shame. " 'Tis dead of night: men's cares and bodies lie Relaxed in sleep; but she, with unshut eye, And quenchless passion burning in her breast, Repeats her frenzied prayers, and knows no rest. And now despairing, now resolved to try, 'Twixt shame and longing finds no policy. Scarred by the woodmen's axes, so we see Waiting the final wound, the timber tree, Which hangs in doubt which way to fall, while cries Of apprehension round the circle rise. And when no rest nor respite could she find From love, save death, on death she set her mind. She rose; and, by the noose resolved to die, Made fast her girdle to a beam on high. 'Now fare you well, dear Cinyras,' she cried; 'And guess the truth, and know why Myrrha died.' Then round her bloodless throat the cord she tied. "Meanwhile the hum of words had reached, they say, The faithful ears of Myrrha's nurse, who lay

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Guarding the door. Up rose that aged one, And in she went, and, seeing the deed begun, Shrieked, rent her robe, all in a flash, and smote Her breast, and tore the cord from Myrrha's throat. And not till then, when tears had time to flow, Her arms around her nursling did she throw, And ask the reason why she acted so. The girl, as though struck speechless, made no sound, And stared, without a movement, at the ground, Grieved that discovery tardy death outran, To bring to nought her intercepted plan. The nurse, persisting, showed her snow-white hair, And empty breasts; and, pleading cradle care And early nurture, begged: 'Confide to me Your trouble, Myrrha, whatsoe'er it be.' And though the girl rebuffed her with a groan, She plied her questions still; and not alone Promised full secrecy, but added: 'Speak, And let me help: my age is not so weak. If this is madness, one I know, whose art With spells and simples makes such ills depart; Or, if some foe has looked with evil eye, A countervailing charm shall purify; Or, if the wrath of gods the mischief made, Their wrath may be by sacrifice allayed. And there conjecture halts: your life is set In pleasant paths: you have your mother yet: Your father too.' When that last name she spoke, Sighs most profound from Myrrha's bosom broke. Yet even at this the nurse divined no ill, But sensed some love affair, and pressed her still To tell, whate'er it was; and, as she prayed, Took to her aged breast the weeping maid, And clasped her with enfeebled arms, and said: ' 'Tis love, I know; and I will serve you here, And grudge no effort; put aside your fear: Ne'er shall your secret reach your father's ear.' Goaded to frenzy, Myrrha sprang away, And, flung face downward, on the bed she lay. 'I pray you, nurse, begone, and spare,' she cried,

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'My grief and shame.' Then, still with questions plied: 'Begone,' she said, 'or else your quest forego: 'Tis infamy, what thus you toil to know.' The nurse, whose blood ran cold, her arms outspread, Which shook before with age, and now with dread; And suppliant at her charge's feet she lay, And first would coax, then threaten to betray Her desperate deed; but, if a party made To Myrrha's passion, pledged her loyal aid. The girl looked up, and weeping on her breast, Oft tried to tell and oft her voice repressed; Then with her garments veiled her face, and said: 'O happy mother with such husband wed.' She ended sighing, and the trembling crone, Who saw the truth, was chilled in every bone. The hair rose upright on her hoary crest; And, urging every plea, she did her best To drive the unholy love from Myrrha's breast, Who, though she knew these warnings did not lie, Was constant still to win her love or die. 'Then live,' the nurse exclaims, when efforts tire, 'And you shall have' — she dared not say 'your sire.' She broke off short, and called the powers on high. To seal the assurance of her loyalty. "Came Ceres' holy feast, the yearly rite When Cyprian wives, arrayed in robes of white, Bring spiky sheaves, the first-fruits of their grain, And for nine nights from touch of man refrain. The queen, Cenchrei's, with the rest was there, Intent the sacred mysteries to share. So, while the king his lawful consort lacked, The nurse, industrious in her shameful pact, (Taking him flown with wine) the story spun In substance true, though falsed in name, of one Who loved him, and a comely maid beside; And, asked her years, 'Of Myrrha's years,' replied. Then, charged to bring her, back again she sped; 'Rejoice, my dear; our cause is won,' she said. Oh, not with all her heart was Myrrha glad, Vexed in her inmost soul with bodements sad; 230

Yet joyful too, such warring moods she had. "Midnight! Between the Bears, with turning wain, Bootes took the downward track again. Now to her deed she went: the moon had fled; Black clouds the self-effacing stars o'erspread. Night's fires were out; the first his face to hide Was Icarus, and by her father's side Erigone, for filial love enskied. Three times did Myrrha stumble: thrice, in vain, That adverse omen bade her turn again; And graveyard owls gave forth their boding strain. Yet on she went: the darkness, like a screen, Closed round her, and she felt less shame, unseen. One hand, the left, within her nurse's lay; The other groped, and blindly felt its way. She swung the door, and ushered by her guide, With knees that sank beneath her, went inside. Her pulses failed, her bloodless cheek was gray; At every step her senses ebbed away; So near her crime, in all its horror, lay. She rues her venture: could she vanish so, Without remark, would gladly turn and go. Her elder took her by the hand, and led The shrinking maiden to the lofty bed; And: 'Take her, Cinyras, she is yours/ she said; And so delivering up her charge, she there Joined in their doomed embrace the ill-fated pair. "The father took to that unhallowed bed Flesh of his flesh, and soothed her girlish dread; And with chance utterance, while he chid her fears, He called her 'daughter,' as became her years; And she said 'father': thus with name and name They signed and sealed the crime: then forth she came Bearing that guilty seed her womb within, Filled with her sire, inseminate with sin. From night to night, from deed to deed they go; Till Cinyras at last, who wished to know Whose love he thus enjoyed, brought torches in, And saw revealed his daughter, and their sin. With horror dumb, he seized his sword, and bright 231

The bare blade flashed, as Myrrha took to flight, And cheated death, screened by the viewless night "She wandered far, and left Arabia's palm Behind her, and Panchaia's fields of balm. Nine moons had waxed and waned, when spent with toil She sank exhausted on Sabaean soil; And near her time, in blind appeal did cry (Being tired of life, and yet afraid to die): 'You powers, if such there are, of access free To sinners self-confessed, my guilt I see, And wait my doom, whate'er the gods decree. But lest, if living still, a curse I shed On living men, or dying, on the dead, Ban me from both the worlds, and bidding fly My human shape, both life and death deny.' "Some heavenly power to penitents is near: Her last petition found a god to hear. The soil o'erlapped her legs, while yet she spoke; And from her toenails rooting fibers broke (The tall tree's anchorage); bones to wood were gone, Though still unchanged the central pith stayed on; Arms turned to boughs, to sap the blood within; Fingers to twigs; to bark the toughened skin; And when the tree with rapid growth had bound Her burdened womb, and cased her bosom round, And neared her throat, she could not brook delay, But nestled down to meet the wood halfway. No longer flesh, no power to feel had she, Yet warm drops trickled from the weeping tree. Immortal tears: for aye the oozing myrrh Shall bear her name, and men shall speak of her. "The child of sin, full-formed within the tree, Was seeking now the path to liberty; And in the midst the womb within the rind Was swelling with its burden there confined. The mother, in the throes, could speak no word, Nor was the birth-call by Lucina heard. Yet as in labor-pain, the tree bent low, And wet with tears gave many a cry of woe. The branches writhed; and there Lucina stood,

With spells and passes aiding motherhood. The tree gave up, through timbers gaping wide, Its living load; and when the infant cried, The nymphs installed him on a grassy bed, And bathed him with the tears his mother shed. A form was that, which Envy well might praise, Fair as the infant Love which art portrays; But lest with bow and quiver Love excel, Strip him, or give the other arms as well. "Time glides on fleeting wings unheeded by, And nothing swifter than the years can fly. This child, his sister's and his grandsire's son, Tree-pent at first, by birth his freedom won; And soon through loveliest infancy he ran, And growing soon to youth and soon to man, And fairer than his own fair self before, Made Venus burn, and quit his mother's score. For Venus, by the quivered boy caressed, Felt a projecting arrow graze her breast. She thrust him off: at first the wound looked slight, And so she thought it: yet 'twas not so light. By mortal beauty caught, she cared no more For sea-girt Paphos, Cytherean shore, Or Cyprian mines, or Cnidos' fish-filled tide, Or Heaven; her heaven was by Adonis' side. To him she clung; with him she spent the day: No more luxurious in the shade she lay, And took her ease, devoting all her care, As heretofore, to make herself more fair. Forest and hilltop now for haunt she had, Diana-wise in knee-length kirtle clad; And hunted with the hounds, by shrub and crag, The extended hare, the antler-lifting stag; But dangerous breeds, like lusty boars, she fled, Or robber wolves, or bears with talons dread, Or lions, with the flesh of kine full-fed. She warned Adonis, if he would but heed, To fear, like her, the beasts of fiercer breed; Advising thus: 'Be brave to those that fly: Against the bold, great risks in boldness lie. 233

Forego the rashness that endangers me; All beasts, that nature dowers with arms, let be, Lest I, sweet boy, for your bravado pay: Your youth, your looks, hold Venus in their sway; But have no influence on the eyes and mind Of lions, boars, and all the savage kind. The boar's curved tusks like deadly lightnings play: Lions in boundless fury leap to slay. I hate the breed; and if the cause you seek, Of old and strange transgressions will I speak. But now, by novel labors weary made, I seek this timely poplar's welcome shade. The turf invites us: here with thee to rest Delights me well,' and with the words she pressed At once the greensward and her loved one's breast; And resting in his arms, reclined her head; And mixing kisses with her words, she said: 'Of one who, matched in running, could prevail Though but a maiden, o'er the fleetest male, You may have heard: it is no idle tale. Prevail she did; and scarcely could you tell If speed or beauty made her more excel. Asking of marriage, from the god she drew This answer: 'Marriage means no bliss to you; Yet shall it snare you, though you seek to fly; And you shall lose your life before you die.' Scared by this oracle, she lived unwed In sunless woods; and with conditions dread Repulsed her suitors: T may not be won' (She said) 'unless by speed of foot outrun. Contend with me: let wife and wedlock go As prize for speed, and death reward the slow.' So harsh her edict; yet her beauty drew To this rash contract suitors not a few. 'Hippomenes, who sat to watch the strife, Said: 'Who by risk like this would seek a wife?' And long against excess of love he railed: But when he saw her face and form unveiled (Like mine — or yours, if you were made a girl) He cried, with hands upraised and brain awhirl: 234

'Forgive me, that I rushed with censure in, Before I saw the prize you sought to win.' And when, by praising kindled, love burned high, He wished the girl unbroken victory, And feared the envious fates. 'But why,' said he, 'Is this adventure left untried by me? Heaven helps the daring.' While he pondered so, He saw her like a Scythian arrow go; And watched, admiring not her speed alone, But more her grace, in action better shown. The tresses, tossing on her ivory back, With wind of motion fluttered in her track; Back streamed her sandal laces in the breeze, And the hem of bright embroidery at her knees. The effort flushed her maiden white with red, As crimson awnings, o'er a courtyard spread, On marble white a roseate shadow shed. Soon, while he watched, the final lap was run, And Atalanta crowned for victory won. 'The forfeit duly paid, the losers died: But he, by fate of these unterrified, Stood forth, and fixed her with his gaze, and cried: 'Why seek, by triumph o'er the feeble-kneed, An easy title? Match with mine your speed. If fortune gives the prize to me, no shame Will fall on you, to yield to such a name. My father, of Onchestus' royal line, Is Megareus, from Neptune's seed divine. Great-grandson I of him who rules the sea; Nor does my prowess shame my pedigree. Or, say I lose — what great and lasting fame Outstripped Hippomenes will bring your name!' The girl with softened eyes the speaker views, Not knowing her own wish, to win or lose. 'What god, a foe to beauty, set to slay This youth' (she thought), 'bids him dear life to lay On such a hazard, such a match to make? If I be judge, I am not worth the stake. 'Tis not his looks, though they might move me too: His years, his tender boyhood, make me rue. 235

What of his manly spirit, unafraid; His native courage, not by death dismayed? What that he counts, through generations three, Direct descent from ocean ancestry? What of his love, that rates my hand so high That if harsh fate withhold me, he will die? — Go, while you may, Sir Stranger, and resign This wedlock grim, this bloodstained bed of mine. For you with any maid you like may wed, And win a loving heart and prudent head. — Yet why, of many, for his life alone Feel I such scruples? Let him guard his own. Since, tired of life, no lesson will he learn From deaths of others, let him die in turn. — So then, because he wished to live with me, He dies: a tomb shall love's requital be. Unbearable reproach upon my name Will victory bring — yet am I not to blame. Would he might quit the race, or, being in (Mad as he is), would Heaven that he might win. How like a girl he looks! Ah luckless he! Hippomenes should ne'er have looked on me. He well deserved to live; and were my life Fair-fortuned, were I free to be a wife, Exempt from grudging fates, there's none but he, Whose mate I gladly would consent to be.' Thus, all unschooled, by novel feelings moved, Not knowing what she did, the maiden loved. 'Now, when by parents and by people pressed She must at last enforce the accustomed test, Hippomenes, the sprig of Neptune, came, But first, with urgent speech, invoked my name. 'Stand by me, Venus, in my enterprise, And help the love you kindled.' Thus he cried; I caught the prayer, by friendly winds conveyed, And, moved thereby, was swift with urgent aid. A land (the Cypriotes call it Tamasene), Best acreage of the isle, was my demesne, Given by the elders of an earlier day, A sacred tribute to my shrines to pay. 236

There grew a fruit-tree, dazzling to behold, With golden boughs and tinkling leaves of gold. As chance would have it, from this place I bore Three golden apples, plucked an hour before; And, seen by none besides Hippomenes, I came and schooled him in the use of these. 'And now the trumpets sound, and, crouching low, They're off; and spurn the surface as they go. These, you might think, could skim the seas dry-shod, Or pass, and leave the standing corn untrod. All round the youth resounded, as he went, Heart-wanning clamor and encouragement: 'Now, now, Hippomenes; now show your speed; Now is the time! Now spurt, and take the lead!' These cries that prophesied the boy's success, Made glad his heart, and hers, perhaps, no less. In act to pass, she kept her eyes long set Upon his face, and left him with regret. Still far from home, while breath came dry and fast, One golden apple of the three he cast. The maiden swerved, lured by the gleam of gold, And seized the glittering spheroid as it rolled. Hippomenes went well ahead; and loud And rapturous were the plaudits of the crowd. But Atalanta, with a burst of speed, Made good her loss, and soon regained the lead. He threw the second, and again outran: Again she overtook and passed her man. One lap remained. 'O goddess, now be nigh, And make your gift effective,' was his cry. And then, to keep her longer from the course, To the field's edge he threw, with all his force, The glittering gold. At first the girl seemed slow To follow after, but I made her go; And, as she took it, added to its weight, By loss of speed to make her yet more late. And, lest my long-drawn tale as slowly run, The girl was beaten, and her hand was won.' 'Think you, Adonis, I might fairly claim Due thanks, and incense-honor to my name? 237

No thanks to me the ungrateful victor paid; No incense offerings in my honor made. Stung by the slight, to sudden rage I flew, And showed by stern example what was due, Rousing myself to vengeance on the twain, Lest others after showed the like disdain. A temple, once by famed Echion made For Heaven's great mother, when his vow was paid, They reached, as through the forest's heart they pressed, And, tired with travel, felt the call to rest. And (so my power upon his will did seize) Ill-timed desire o'ercame Hippomenes. Hard by, the living tufa formed a grot, An ancient, dim, and venerable spot. And many statues, carved in wood, were there, Of olden gods, preserved by priestly care. There entering, they profaned the holy place, While each grave statue turned aside its face. The mighty mother, tower-crowned Cybele, Designing first the Styx their doom to be, Thought this too light; and so the guilty pair Grew tawny manes on necks that once were bare. Their fingers curved to claws; and what so late Were arms, now grew to legs; and all their weight Went to their chests; with tails they swept the ground; Their gaze a glare, their speech a growling sound; And in the woods their mating-place was found. All others fear them: Cybele restrains; And with tamed teeth the lions grip her reins. Shim these, my dear, and all wild creatures shun, That stand to fight, and do not turn and run. Else may your courage, pushed too far, destroy Both you and me.' "She thus advised the boy; And flew, swan-borne. But firm his hardihood In contradiction to her counsel stood. It chanced one day that, tracking to his lair A fierce old boar, the dogs had roused him there; And Cinyras' bold son, before he broke From cover, speared him with a sidelong stroke. The beast, in fury, with tiptilted snout, 238

Dashed from the wound the bloodstained weapon out; And as the youth, in panic, started back, And sought a safe retreat, was on his track, And sank his tusks full-length above the thigh, And stretched him on the tawny sand to die. Now Venus, high in air, for Cyprus bound, Drawn by her flying cygnets, heard the sound. She recognized his dying moan of pain, And, turning her white birds, flew back again. As from the height she saw him lifeless lie, All twisted in his blood, she left the sky, And leaped to earth, and tore her robe and hair, And beat with cruel hand her bosom bare. 'Harsh fates' (she chided), 'take what's yours by right: There's something yet exempted from your might. To tell my sorrow for Adonis slain, For ever shall a monument remain, Which year by year in replica will show His fatal wound, and symbolize my woe. His blood shall change to blossom. 'Twas no blame For Ceres' child to change a woman's frame To aromatic mint: then why in me To change Adonis should it scandal be?' And, speaking thus, with nectar's fragrant dew She dashed the clotted blood, which swelled and grew, Fermenting from the contact, like a stream, When midst the mud the rising bubbles gleam; And after one full hour, a blossom grew, Born from the blood, itself of sanguine hue, Much like the flower pomegranates bear, which bind So close their seeds beneath the stubborn rind. But short its lease: it clings as best it may; Then falls, by winds (that name it) swept away."

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BOOK E L E V E N OF the death of Orpheus — the story of Midas and the golden touch — the punishment of Midas by Apollo — the founding of Troy — the marriage of Peleus and Thetis — of Peleus at the court of Ceijx — various changes recounted — the death of Ceijx in a storm at sea — the palace of Sleep — the dream of Alcyone — the transformation of Ceijx and Alcyone

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J L HUS Orpheus sang; and drew wild beasts along, And rocks and trees, submissive to his song. When lo, the Thracian wives, in fawnskins dressed, Roaming the hills, with Bacchic rage possessed, Perceived the harpist, as he sang and played, And one tossed back her streaming hair, and said: " 'Tis he that scorns our sex," and with the cry Her pine-shaft at those sacred lips let fly That Phoebus filled with heavenly minstrelsy. The shaft, being tipped with foliage, merely bruised, Not broke, the flesh. The next for weapon used A stone, which felt in flight the enchantment sweet Of blended voice and lyre, and owned defeat; And, pardon for the attempted sin to pray, Before his feet, a humble suppliant, lay. But still the tumult grew: disorder reigned, With battle-lust and madness unrestrained; And voice and lyre, which else, with magic sound, Had stilled all weapons, in the din were drowned Of long-drawn Bacchic cries, and clapping hands, And drums and wry-necked fifes from Phrygian lands; And only then the stones, which heard no more The minstrel's voice, were reddened with his gore. And first, his followers: reptile, beast, and bird, 240

In countless numbers, still from trance unstirred — That audience, his glory, which he drew By music's spell, the maenads rent and slew; Then turned on him, red-handed from the prey, Flocking like birds, when, seeing abroad by day The bird of night, they gather round to slay; Or dogs that bait the stag, which fated stands Within the arena, on the morning sands. Seeking to wound, they hurled their wands, entwined With leafy sprays, for other use designed; And some took clods of earth, and aimed with these; And some threw flints, some branches torn from trees. Then lest their rage should lack the means to wound, A plowing ox-team labored o'er the ground; And brawny tillers turned the stubborn soil Near by, to earn their bread with sweat and toil. These, when they see the invading army, fly, And leave the weapons of their work to lie, Strewing the fields, along the abandoned rows, With heavy mattocks and long-handled hoes. These the wild women seized, and the oxen, grim With threatening horns, they first tore limb from limb; Then to the singer's doom they turned again, Whose outstretched hands and pleading voice were vain. Supreme till then, his utterance in that hour Failed of its charm, and nothing owned its power; And through those lips, which once made stones attend, And understanding to the beasts could lend — Through those, when impious hands his blood had shed (A deed that cried to heaven), his life breath fled. All birds and beasts lamented Orpheus slain, With rocks and woods, which oft had formed his train. The rivers swelled with their own tears, 'tis said, And leaves of trees, like severed locks, were shed; The nymphs of stream and wood disheveled go, Their garments white concealed with weeds of woe. The minstrel's limbs lie scattered: on thy breast, Hebrus, the head and magic lyre find rest; And (crowning marvel) as they float along The strings give forth a snatch of tearful song; 241

And in faint accents, by the lifeless tongue, To echoing banks the poet's dirge is sung. Now, when enclosed by native banks no more, Drifting to sea, they gained the Lesbian shore, A snake, as on the foreign strand they lay, Threatened the face and tresses drenched with spray. But Phoebus then at last stood by his own, And struck the serpent's gaping jaws to stone; While Orpheus' ghost passed under ground, to view The places he had seen before, and knew; And in the abodes of bliss he sought and found Eurydice, and flung fond arms around. Now sometimes hand in hand they walk the meads, And sometimes Orpheus follows, sometimes leads; And when he leads, looks backward, forfeit-free, Upon his quite regained Eurydice. Bacchus, however, grieved to lose the bard That hymned his rites, and struck the murderers hard: All those who watched the crime were guilty found, And tethered by a twisted root to ground. The extended toes to fullest stretch he drew, And drove the point the solid subsoil through; And as a bird, too trustful, oft will set Its foot within the cunning fowler's net, And feeling caught, will beat its wings in fright, And by its fluttering draw the noose more tight, So with each luckless wench: stuck fast was she; And as aghast she tried in vain to flee, The tough root held: she could not struggle free; And wondering where her feet were, and her toes, She saw the timber round her ankles close; And beating on her thighs, as mourners do, She found them wood, and wood her bosom too, Her shoulders wood, and arms extended far; Boughs you might think them: boughs indeed they are. Bacchus, moreover, with a choicer band Of devotees, forsook the sin-stained land. On Tmolus' well-loved slopes, with vineyards clad, And by Pactolus now his haunts he had; Though then the stream was not with gold dust rife,

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And precious sands, provocative of strife. Satyrs and bacchants trooped with him along; But old Silenus went not with the throng. By Phrygian fieldfolk, as he tripped and swayed With age and wine, a captive was he made; And bound with flowers, before king Midas brought, Who once, with Athens' monarch, had been taught The rites by Orpheus, and could recognize That old associate of the mysteries. He hailed him warmly, and for guest so famed For ten full days high festival proclaimed. At last the feast was over: times eleven Had Phosphor rounded up the host of heaven; And Midas went to Lydia, and restored Silenus to his gratified young ward; Who gave the king free choice of gift: a boon Which pleased him well, but proved a curse too soon. Blind to the gift's effect, he thus made bold: "Vouchsafe that all I touch may turn to gold." This dire reward indulgent Bacchus paid, Though grieving that no better choice was made. Delighted with his doom, the Phrygian king Touched, as he went, this, that, and everything, To test the promised power; and first he broke, With small assurance, from a low-leaved oak, A sliver green: the green was changed to gold; He grasped a stone: it yellowed in his hold; A clod turned metal at the touch of might; And wheat-ears with authentic gold were bright. He plucked and held an apple: as it glowed, You'd think it by the Hesperides bestowed. The lofty door he placed his hand upon Before his wondering eyes with luster shone; And when he washed his hands, the drops might be The selfsame shower that cheated Danae. With swelling hopes, which heart could scarcely hold, He saw in fancy all the world turn gold. Well pleased, he sat to feast: the servants spread The board with dainty meats and wheaten bread. Then (mark me!) if to break the bread he planned, 243

The gift of Ceres hardened in his hand; And if he tried to masticate, the meat Was plated over with a metal sheet. He mixed the cup of Bacchus, and behold, His mouth was forced to spill the liquid gold. Disaster unforeseen! In dire dismay, Poor amid wealth, he wished his wealth away; Loathed what he'd prayed for: no rich feast could make His hunger less, no draught his thirst could slake. His gold was torture, self-imposed: he raised His hands to heaven — with golden rings they blazed. "Lord Bacchus, pardon; I have sinned," said he; "From this bright curse in pity set me free." The gods are gracious: what by pledge he gave, Bacchus annulled, the penitent to save; "And lest," he said, "the gold you rashly chose Taint you for ever, seek the stream that flows By mighty Sardis, and in upward course Follow the river till you reach the source. There bow your head, and where in fullest play The virgin fount comes forth in clouds of spray, Plunging your body, purge the taint away." The king complied: the golden potence passed From man to stream, and there its tinct was cast; And still the plowlands, drinking as of old Seed of that vein, are stiff with silted gold. Now hating wealth, and roaming wold and wood, With mountain-dwelling Pan for guide and god, Midas still bore a gross and blockish brain, Destined to harm its owner yet again. Where Tmolus rears, with seaward prospect wide, Its lofty bulk, there stands on either side, To flank it, where its bases broaden down, Great Sardis, and Hypaepa's tiny town. Here Pan, who with his wax-bound pipe could please The tender nymphs, and toss a tune with ease, Having in self-approval dared to slight Apollo's music, faced a losing fight. Old Tmolus sat upon his hilltop high, Freeing his ears from trees, the case to try; 244

Only his dark-blue hair with oak was hung, And acorns round his hollow temples clung. Then looking on the god of herds, he said: "The court attends." Pan with his reed-pipe led; And with his rude performance charmed the ear Of Midas, who to back his suit stood near. To Phoebus, next, old Tmolus' face was bent; And with his face its fringe of forest went. With Delphic bay was fair-haired Phoebus crowned; His robe, deep-dyed with murex, swept the ground. He held the lyre, with gems and ivory bright, In his left hand, the plectrum in his right. His stance proclaimed his skill. Then preluding With expert hand, he wooed the tuneful string. Won by that sweetness, Tmolus closed the suit, And bade the pipe surrender to the lute; And with the sacred mountain all agree, Save Midas; he contests the verdict, he Disputes the justice of the court's decree. Then Phoebus bade from those dull ears be gone The human shape they cast discredit on: Grotesquely long they grew, with coarse gray hair, And hinged at base, with power of movement there. One part incurs the sentence: he appears Still man, but with a plodding ass's ears. Anxious to hide his shame, he tried to wrap His temples in the purple Phrygian cap. The slave who cut his hair observed the freak, And bursting with the truth he dared not speak, Went off, and dug a hole, and told the ground What ears upon his royal lord he found; Then o'er the accusing words heaped back the clay, And now resigned to silence, went his way. But there a reed-bed sprang, and growing high Betrayed in course of time his husbandry: Uttering the buried words, the reeds declare The king's affliction, as they wave in air. From Tmolus, thus avenged, had Phoebus flown, And reached the land of king Laomedon, Stopping his flight short of the narrow sea 245

Named after Helle, child of Nephele. Two far-famed headlands on that coast are seen, Sigeum and Rhoeteum, and between, Sacred to Jove, the Thunderer divine, Lord of all voices, stands an ancient shrine. And Phoebus there beheld Laomedon, And Troy, new-founded, rising stone by stone; And seeing the cost to which the project ran In toil and treasure, took the shape of man, And with the sire whose trident rules the sea He built the walls, contracting for a fee. But when Troy stood, the king denied the debt, With oaths, to make the falsehood blacker yet. Neptune, for quittance, sloped his waters down Against the shores of that close-fisted town, And turned dry land to sea, the farmer's gain To loss; and with his waves submerged the plain. Nor was this all: the monarch's child must feed An ocean monster, so the gods decreed. Alcides set the rock-bound maiden free, And claimed the horses promised for his fee; Then tricked of payment for his great employ, O'erthrew and captured twice-perjurious Troy. Brave Telamon, who shared with him the strife, Gained glory and Hesione to wife. His brother, Peleus, had a goddess wed, And wide from such a match his fame was spread. If Jove, his grandsire, was a source of pride, So too was Nereus, father of his bride: To be Jove's grandchild fell to more than one; To wed a goddess, barring him, to none. It sprang from this: that Thetis once had heard Old Proteus speak a dark prophetic word: "Be fruitful, ocean goddess: you shall be The mother of a warrior son," said he, "Who, when his years grow bold, shall pass in fame His father's deeds, and win a greater name." And therefore, fearing lest in heaven or earth A greater thing than Jove should come to birth, Great Jove, though deep in love, must needs refrain 246

From union with the goddess of the main, And bade his grandson, Peleus, be instead Heir of his hopes, and win the sea-maid's bed. Thessalia's seas, where arms of land embrace A sickle bay, became their meeting-place. With greater depth a haven fair 'twould be, But o'er the level sand slides in the sea. The foreshore firm, not hung with trailing weed, Preserves no print, nor clogs the walker's speed. Inshore, with twi-hued berries hung, there grows A myrtle copse, whose depths a cave enclose, Wherein, though some may doubt, if nature's part Or art's be greater, nature yields to art. Hither, in beauty unadorned, astride Her dolphin steed, would Thetis often ride; And Peleus, while she slept, surprised her there, And tried to move her with a lover's prayer; Then turned to force, when prayers received a check, And flung coercive arms about her neck, And would have won her; but to find escape She took to craft, and passed from shape to shape: First to a bird, but could not flutter free; A tree trunk then, but still he clasped the tree; But at her third mutation, in alarm, He loosed the stripy tigress from his arm; And made his prayer, with flesh and running wine And incense, to the ocean powers divine. Then Proteus answered, rising from the main, "The bride you seek for, Peleus, you shall gain. You need but take the goddess by surprise When sleeping in her rock-hewn cave she lies, And bind her, ere she wake, with cord and chain, And bid her counterfeited forms be vain; Keeping her fast confined, whate'er she be, Till once again her pristine shape you see." Here Proteus, as he ended, sank below, And o'er his words he let his waters flow. The sun-god's car was sloping to the west, As Thetis sought her wonted place of rest. When Peleus took the startled maid by storm, 247

Pinning her arms, she changed from form to form; But sighed submission, when at last she found Her limbs spread-eagled, and with fetters bound. "Some god," she said, "is on your side: I yield: See Thetis in her proper shape revealed." His hopes fulfilled, he drew her to his side, And with the great Achilles filled his bride. Alike as husband and as father blessed, Peleus, it seemed, all fortune's gifts possessed — If from his conscience you could clear the stain Of Phocus' blood, a brother foully slain. Exiled for this, Trachinian soil he gained, Where Ceyx without force or bloodshed reigned: Of radiant Lucifer was he the son, And in his face his father's brightness shone; Though at this time, when sorrow bowed his head, Unlike himself, he mourned a brother dead. The exile, who had left his herds to wait Deep in a shady vale outside the gate, Sought, with his faithful few, the city there, Tired by his travels and his secret care; And, granted audience, stretched with suppliant hand Before the king his olive staff and band, Said who he was, and of what sire; but why Thus exiled — this he answered with a lie. He asked for aid, and begged the monarch's grace, Craving in town or field a settling-place. Then Trachin's king with courteous speech replied: "All that our realm affords is open wide; And all, without respect of rank, are free To taste our kingdom's hospitality; And you, to make this impulse more prevail, Add fame, and Jove your grandsire, to the scale. Take all you ask for, with no further prayer: Such as you see it, this my kingdom share: Would it were better I" There he shed a tear; And Peleus asked his cause of grief to hear. Then thus he told the tale I "Yon bird, that makes All birds afeared, and lives by what he takes — Perchance you think 'twas winged when life began: 248

It is not so: that bird was once a man; Who then as now (so fixed the nature stays) Was forceful, prone to fierce and warlike ways. Daedalion had for father, as had I, Dawn's harbinger, the last to leave the sky; But while to me the works of peace were fair, And home and wedded life were all my care, My brother's pleasure was to fight the foe; And that which once laid kings and nations low, His fighting spirit, now in different guise, Flutters the doves of Thisbe in the skies. "One child, a girl of fourteen years, had he, Most richly dowered with beauty, Chione, Of age to wed, from suitors never free. By Phoebus and by Mercury was she seen, As each by chance was quitting his demesne. One from Cyllene, one from Delphi came; And both beheld her, and both caught the flame. Phoebus deferred his hopes till close of day; But headstrong Mercury brooked no delay; With sleep-inducing wand he touched her face, And thus entranced, she bore the god's embrace; While Phoebus, in a beldam's form, at night Enjoyed at second hand the same delight. In season, when the womb's full time was run, To the wing-footed god was born a son, Autolycus, a cunning thief was he, With all his father's expert artistry; And twinned with him, Apollo's issue came: Philammon, as a minstrel known to fame. "Mother of two, and by two gods admired, A star-god's kin, and by a conqueror sired — From glories such as these, what profit grew? Glory for many has its drawbacks too. It had for her, who ventured to decry Diana's looks, and rate her own more high. To headstrong rage the affronted goddess flies: 'My deeds, perchance, will please you more,' she cries; And with the word her ready bow she strung, And shot the reed shaft through the offending tongue. 249

The tongue was stilled: the words she would have said Lagged; and the life forsook her as she bled. I clasped her, feeling for her father's woe, And in my message sought to ease the blow. He heard me, as the rock the murmuring sea, Mourning his daughter inconsolably; And when he saw her burn, four times he tried (Blind impulse) through the fire to reach her side; And four times, as the flames compelled retreat, He rushed incontinent on flying feet Where path was none, as bull-calves wildly spring, When in their necks the hornets plant their sting. More than a man's, even then, his running seemed: His feet took wings, or so you might have deemed. In haste to die, outstripping all, he flees, And gains Parnassus' peak; but Phoebus sees, Pitying, and as he leaps, suspends him there, Changed to a bird, on sudden wings, in air. A hooklike beak, besides, the god bestows, And gives him curving talons for his toes. With strength and vigor which his build belies, And courage as of old, a hawk he flies; Friendly to none, he vents his spite on all; And feeling grief, makes grief on others fall." So speaking of his brother, Phosphor's son Had scarcely through the tale of wonders run, When through the palace door, with breathless speed, Anetor dashed, a man of Phocian breed, Peleus' chief herdsman. "Sir, O sir," cried he, "I come with news of dire calamity." "Whate'er it be," said Peleus, "let me hear." And Ceyx waited too, and looked his fear. Then thus the herdsman answered: "To the bay I drove the weary herd, that time of day When high in heaven the sun looked back to view Such distance done, as still remained to do. On the dun sands the cattle knelt or lay, And stared across the breadths of level bay; Or wandered here and there with lazy tread; Or swam amid the waves with lifted head.

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"Hard by the shore there stands, withdrawn from sight, A temple, not with gold and marble bright, But hemmed with trees, within an ancient glade, Where Nereus and his sea-nymphs seek the shade, Gods of those waters, as we learned in speech With one who mended nets upon the beach. Adjoining this is level marshland wide, Fed by the tardy backwash of the tide, And thick with willows. Thence a crashing sound Of trampled reeds alarmed the region round; And bursting forth, a giant wolf appeared, Its flashing fangs with foam and blood besmeared; Its bloodshot eyes aflame. Both appetite And rage, but mostly rage, made keen its spite. The beast, in truth, showed no concern to stay His ravening hunger with the slaughtered prey, But falling with the malice of a foe On the whole herd, he laid the whole herd low; And we, who tried to stop him, suffered too, When some with deadly teeth he tore and slew. The water's edge, the marshes, and the shore Were loud with bellowing cries, and red with gore. But in delay lies ruin: no debate The case admits, nor time to hesitate. Let all together, one united band, While aught remains, take arms, take arms in hand, And charge as one." So spake the trusty herd; Yet not his loss moved Peleus as he heard: Conscious of guilt, in this he well could see The working of the sea-nymph, Psamathe, Mother of murdered Phocus, who had made Of Peleus' loss an offering to his shade. Then Trachin's ruler, bidding every man Take spear and shield, himself was in the van; But startled by the martial stir, his queen, Alcyone, rushed wildly on the scene, With hair not wholly dressed; and from the strands Already tied, she tore away the bands; And clung about her husband's neck, and so With words and weeping begged him not to go; 251

To send without himself the needed aid, And save two lives in one; but Peleus said: "O royal lady, cast these fears away, Though sweet and virtuous in a wife are they: I owe enough already to your grace; Nor is it fit with force of arms to face This grisly foe; no beast of earth is he; I must appease a goddess of the sea." A tower rose steeply, with a lighthouse crowned, Which weary ships a welcome seamark found. To this they climbed, and saw, with many a sigh, The slaughtered cattle on the foreshore lie; And there beheld the savage spoiler prowl With bloodstained hairs and blood-bespattered jowl; And Peleus stretched his arms toward the sea; But when he prayed to sea-blue Psamathe To end her wrath, and aid him in his need, Unmoved by words of his, she paid no heed; Till Thetis too put in a suppliant word, And gained the nymph's indulgence for her lord. The wolf, when now from slaughter called away, Had tasted blood, and would not quit the prey; Still fastened on a heifer's neck, he passed To marble, by a spell the sea-nymph cast; And by his hue, all else unchanged, appeared No longer wolf, nor worthy to be feared. Yet Peleus, by the fates denied a home In Trachin, as an exile still must roam, Till in Thessalia, where Acastus reigned, Purgation of his deed of blood was gained. Ceyx, who brooded o'er his brother's change With its attendant portents, no less strange, Planned to consult at Claros over sea The oracles that ease anxiety; For impious Phorbas, with his bandit train, Had cut the approaches to the Delphic fane. But when she learned his purpose (for he told His faithful wife), Alcyone went cold In all her bones; the hue of boxwood passed Over her bloodless face; and tears fell fast; 252

And thrice with weeping was her utterance stayed, Ere through her sobs a wife's appeal she made. "What fault of mine has changed you thus?" said she; "Where, dearest, is your once kind thought for me? You could not always thus with easy mind Depart, and leave Alcyone behind, And travel far, and love in absence find. Doubtless you go by land: in this belief I shall but grieve, not adding fear to grief. What scares me is the sea, with prospects drear Of watery wastes, and other sights of fear, As when I saw the shores with wreckage strown, And empty tombs, that bore the names alone. Let not false confidence your soul inspire, Because I call Hippotades my sire, Thinking he keeps the blasts in jail confined, And calms the surges when he has the mind. When, once released, the winds have claimed the sea, They sweep unchecked, from all restriction free, And lands and waves must at their mercy be. From clouds no less, on which they vent their ire, Their fierce collisions strike the flashing fire. I knew them in my father's house of yore, And as I know them better, fear them more. Dear husband, if my prayers can nothing do To shake your too-firm purpose, take me too. At least, while tossing with you on the brine, To present ills I shall my fears confine; At least we'll face the dangers side by side, And sail together o'er the waters wide." Thus spoke the wind-god's child, nor failed to rouse Compunction in her star-descended spouse. Yet, though his love for her no weaker burned, He neither from his purpose would be turned, Nor let her in the danger bear a part, But spoke at length to soothe her timid heart; And added one thing more, when reasons failed, Which solely o'er her loving fears prevailed: "To us, all absence seems too long to bear; But truly by my father's fires I swear, 253

Before the moon her circle twice restore, To be, if fate permits it, home once more." He cheered her with this pledge, and quick as thought He bade the vessel from the dock be brought, And rigged, and launched; but here Alcyone, Seeing the ship, arid seeming to foresee Its future fate, again gave way to tears, And shivered, as before, with icy fears; And having barely said her sad farewell, And given her last embrace, she swooned and fell; And now, when Ceyx would have sought delay, The ship was launched, and driving on its way With its twin banks of oars, which rowers drew To lusty breasts with measured beat and true. The lady now had rallied, and could turn Her swimming eyes, to see him in the stern: Yes, there he stood: 'twas she who first descried His signals, and with waving hand replied. She watched him from the fast-receding shore, Till eyes could trace the lineaments no more; Then watched the hull, till that with distance fails; Then watched the masthead, with its flapping sails; When sails as well were gone, she sought her bed; But lonely room, and place untenanted, Reminded her, while tears again flowed on, What precious portion of herself was gone. The harbor cleared, a puff of wind had sprung To stir the shrouds, and soon the oars were slung. They set the yards mast-high, and dropped from these Full spread of sail, to catch the coming breeze. Now when the vessel, having crossed at most Half the sea's breadth, was far from either coast, The night came on; the waves grew rough and white; The wild southeaster blew with greater might. "Let fall the yards, work fast," the captain bade; "And furl the sails," but wind and water made His orders futile, and his voice unheard; Yet all the seamen haste, and need no word. Some ship the oars, and make the openings fast, And some deny the canvas to the blast; 254

One makes quick work with yards and spars, and one Bailing, makes ocean back to ocean run. All was confusion, while the tempest grew, And warring winds from every quarter blew, And vexed the seas. Unnerved, the captain swears, Himself, he knows not how the vessel fares, Nor what to order; such a weight of ill And odds so great make impotent his skill. The cordage creaked; the men were loud with cries, Mid crash of wave-shocked waves, and thundering skies. To heaven in towering billows rose the sea, And drenched with spray the cloudy canopy. Sometimes the brine, which from the sea-bed churned The yellow sand, to yellow hue was turned; Now blacker than the wave of Styx; anon Laid level, white with hissing foam it shone. With every change the Grecian vessel sways; And now uplifted mountain-high, surveys The deeps of Acheron with downward gaze; Now plunging, while the curving seas upswell, Looks to the zenith from the pit of hell. The timbers, as the waves struck blow on blow, Boomed loud — the noise of battle thunders so, When iron rams and hurling engines pound The fortress wall, and beat it to the ground. As, gathering strength for onset, lions go Breasting the leveled lances of the foe, The waves, before the rising tempest swept, Charging the ship, her bastions overleapt. The wedges weakened; waxen caulkings gave; And gaping seams let in the slaughterous wave. Rain fell from bursting clouds, and, to the eye, The seas received the whole descending sky, Then climbed themselves, with swelling waves, as high. The sails were streaming, as the firmament Rained waters, which with ocean's brine was blent. Heaven lacked its fires, and night was unillumed, By its own blackness, and the storm's, engloomed; Yet lightning cleaves the darkness, and displays A fitful light, with which the billows blaze. 255

Now leaping waves within the fabric fall; And as a soldier tries, outdaring all, Time and again to scale the guarded wall; And then succeeding, and on glory bent, One in a thousand, wins the battlement, So, when nine waves against the sides were cast, The tenth made onslaught with a surge more vast; Nor stayed the assault, till, all defense worn down, It swept the vessel like a taken town; And half the sea still strove to force a way, And half within the hold already lay. All quake, as quakes a city, when the mines Are dug without, and foes are in the lines; And as the waves with rush and roll assail (Each wave a death), all skill and courage fail. One weeps, one stares, one cries: "Ah, happy they, Who find a grave," and one, impelled to pray, With lifted arms and unavailing plea Appeals for aid to skies he cannot see; One calls his brothers and his sire to mind, One home and children — all that's left behind. No thought has Ceyx but Alcyone; Upon the lips of Ceyx none but she; Of her and her alone he feels the need, And yet her absence makes him glad indeed. Now would he wish to turn his eyes once more, And look his last towards his native shore And soil of home; but knows not where he is, Since, eddying round, the waters boil and hiss; And pitch-black clouds, to hide the stars from sight, Draw their dark veil, and night is doubly night. With fiercer onset now the rain-soaked blast Wrested the rudder off, and snapped the mast, And flushed with spoils the wave, which reared its And, curling over, looked in triumph down. Then, should some power tear up the seated hill, Athos or Pindus, and in ocean spill — With such a splash it fell, and with the blow Struck down the vessel to the depths below; And those on board, by weight of water pressed, 256

Came up no more, but found their lasting rest, Save for a few, who bits and parts could seize Torn from the ship; and Ceyx was of these. He clutched a plank with hands which once had swayed A scepter; and in vain he called for aid On sire and sire-in-law, but, more than these, One name was on his lips, Alcyone's: Of her he thinks and speaks: "Ye waves," he cries, "Bear home my body to my loved one's eyes, That her kind hands may do my obsequies." Her name he cried, as oft to air he came, And even amid the waters breathed her name; Till one black wave curved over like a bow, And breaking, drowned him in the depths below. The Morning-Star was dimmed, and might have gone Unrecognized, when that drear dawn came on: Forbid to leave the sky and speed his flight, He massed the clouds, and hid his face from sight. The queen, of such disasters unaware, Counted the nights, and hastened to prepare Clothes for them both, and with assurance vain Promised herself his safe return again. Honoring with incense gifts the powers divine, She worshiped most of all at Juno's shrine, And for her husband (now no more) would pray That he might live, and find the homeward way, And love none more than her; and this, of all The things she prayed for, could alone befall. But Juno, wearying of this wasted breath, And altars tainted with the hands of death, To Iris, trusted courier, thus did say: "Speed to the drowsy halls of Sleep your way, And bid him send a dream, in mimicry Of her dead husband, to Alcyone, And truly tell his fate." Thus Juno bade, And Iris, in her thousand hues arrayed, Obedient, traced her bow-track through the skies, To where the sleep-king's cloud-capped palace lies. Near the Cimmerii yawns a cavern deep, A hollow hill, the home and haunt of Sleep. 257

Here Phoebus never enters with his ray, At dawn, or noon, or at declining day. Here fog-soaked vapors from the ground ascend, And, baffling vision, light and darkness blend. Here is no crested bird, with summons clear, To wake the dawn; no watchdog, quick of ear, Nor quicker goose, disturbs the silence here. No creature, wild or tame; no bough, wind-stirred; No tongue of man in clamor loud is heard. Deep silence dwells; yet from the rocky floor Lethaean waters in a channel pour; And o'er the chattering pebbles as it flows, The gently murmuring stream invites repose. Before the entrance seed-filled poppies flower, And countless herbs, with saps of sleepy power, Which Night collects, and scatters o'er the land, As darkness settles, with her dewy hand. No door, lest loud upon the hinge it sound; No janitor is at the entrance found; But in the midst, on ebon feet, and spread With sable unrelieved, a downy bed; Whereon the god in utter languor lies; And round him dreams, of every shape and size, With bodiless creations cheat the eyes — More than the harvest ears in number, more Than woodland leaves, or sands cast up on shore. Through these the courier maiden thrust her way, Not letting phantom forms her passage stay. As sudden radiance from her garments broke Upon those hallowed walls, the god half-woke, And lifting heavy lids, with toil and pain, And struggling up, and sinking back again, With nodding chin aknocking on his chest, Shook off himself at last, and knew his guest; And on one elbow making shift to rise, Inquired her errand. Iris thus replies: "Sleëp, restful Sleep, of all the gods most kind, Care-chasing Sleep, the calm of troubled mind, You who the body, tired with work, restore, To fit the toiler for his task once more, 258

To Trachin (famous for Alcides' woe) Command a truth-portraying dream to go, Presenting Ceyx, that Alcyone The likeness of her shipwrecked lord may see. So Juno orders." Iris ended here, And feeling in the slumbrous atmosphere Sleep stealing on her, fled, and traveled back, As she had come, along her rainbow track. Needing an expert mime, the father calls One of the sons who populate his halls, Morpheus, of all most apt to represent, In phantom show, gait, voice, and lineament, Of human beings only; and to each He adds the wonted dress, and turns of speech: The four-legged creatures, and the birds of air, With snakes long-bodied, are another's care; Icelos is he called by gods on high, Phobetor named by men beneath the sky. A third is Phantasos, who plays the part Of lifeless things, a separate branch of art, Presenting soil and rock and wave and tree: No sleeper's eye can pierce the trickery. These three, on their nocturnal visitings, Display their borrowed masks to chiefs and kings; While others haunt the folk of common birth, The tribes and populations of the earth. These were his sons, and having scanned them all, The father let his choice on Morpheus fall, To do what Juno bade; then dropped his head, Conquered by coma, on the high-piled bed. Morpheus on noiseless pinions through the night To the Thessalian city took his flight; And casting off his wings, and copying The form and features of the shipwrecked king, Sought out the luckless queen; and like the dead, Discolored, naked, stood beside her bed; And dank his tangled hair, and dank his beard, As lately washed in heavy tides, appeared. Then bending o'er the bed, with tears he cries: "Do you, poor wife, your Ceyx recognize? 259

Has death so changed me? Look, and you will know, Though but the shadow of myself I show. Your prayers have brought no aid: my life is o'er; Promise me vainly to your heart no more. The stormwinds in the Aegean caught our sail, The ship broke up beneath the battering gale; And o'er my lips, which vainly called your name, Filling my mouth the swirling billows came. No wandering rumor brings the news you hear, Nor can you misconstrue the message clear: In person from the wreck before your eyes I stand and tell you of my death. Arise: Shed wifely tears; put on the weeds of woe; Not unlamented let me pass below." So Morpheus spoke; and with such voice and tone As to his hearer seemed her husband's own. He seemed to weep, with tears she took for true, And had her husband's very gesture too. The sleeper groaned: in sleep her eyes were stirred To tears, her arms to motion, as she heard. Her outstretched arms embraced the air alone: "Oh stay," she cried: "why haste you to be gone?" Roused by her loved one's form, and by the sound Of her own voice, she woke, and looked around; And when the slaves, who heard her, brought a light, Sought for the vision with her waking sight; And finding nothing to reward her quest, She rent her robe, and bruised her naked breast; And beat upon her brow, and with no care To loose the fillet, wildly tore her hair. And when her nurse in wonder sought to know What drove her to these frantic signs of woe, "Alcyone exists no more," she cried: "Ceyx is dead, and in his death she died. Take hence your words of comfort: wrecked at sea And drowned he lies: I saw, and knew 'twas he; And as he parted from my sight again, I stretched my hands to stop him, but in vain. A ghost was he; yet as a ghost most clear: The authentic phantom of my husband dear. 260

True, if you ask, not thus his features showed, As when in life his starry luster glowed: Naked and pale, with dripping hair, was he; I saw him standing there, and grieved to see. Look here!" She sought for footprints, then pursued: "This, this it was, that in prophetic mood I dreaded, when I begged you not, that day, Depart from me, and go with winds away. But since you went, and death awaited you, I wish at least that I had been there too. Blest had I been with you to sail the sea, Not letting aught of life in absence flee, Nor death itself a separation be. Now wrecked in absence, and in absence slain, Although not there, I toss beneath the main. More cruel I than ocean, did I strive To draw life out, and, widowed thus, survive. I will not live, poor lost one, without thee; And now at last will bear thee company; And one inscription, on one tomb, we'll share, Our names, if not our bones, uniting there." Grief checked her then: no further word she spoke, But from her heart the cries of anguish broke. Dawn came: she sought upon the shore below The place where she had stood to watch him go; And lingering on the spot, and saying: "This Is where he sailed, and gave the parting kiss," Each place recalling, and each incident, She saw, with gaze upon the horizon bent, A shape, perhaps a body, on the brine, Not easy, at that distance, to define; Which, washed a little nearer by the sea, Though still far off, a body proved to be, A shipwrecked stranger; yet it touched her near, And as for one unknown, she shed a tear. "Unhappy one," she cried, "whoe'er you be; And if you have a wife, unhappy she." Washed nearer by the tide, and closer viewed, It caused her more and more disquietude; Now closer, closer to the land it lies; 261

Now near enough, at last, to recognize. She sees it clear: it is, it is her lord. " 'Tis he," she cried; and with her nails she scored Her face, hair, robe; then trembling hands outspread To Ceyx. "Husband, is it thus," she said, "That you return, most piteous and most dear?" Hard by, a sea-wall rose, erected here To break the sea's first anger, and withstand And tire its strength, before it reached the strand; On this she leapt; and — how was this? — she flew, Beating the buoyant air with pinions new. She seemed to sorrow, as she skimmed the sea, And with her slender bill cried piteously; And touching then the body, mute and dead, O'er those dear limbs her new-sprung wings she spread. Hard was her beak, and cold the kiss she gave: If it was this, or movement of the wave, That Ceyx felt, observers could not trace; But past all doubt, he seemed to lift his face. Ah yes, he felt it: pitying gods conferred A boon therewith, and changed him too to bird. Linked by a common fate, their loves still last: Between the birds the marriage bond holds fast; And in the winter, when they mate and breed, Seven days of perfect calm to storms succeed, While on the nest, amid the billows hung, Alcyone sits brooding o'er her young. Aeolus at that season closes fast His dungeon doors, and prisons every blast; And lulls the waves to rest; and for the sea To children of his child stands guarantee. An old man saw them, wing to wing, above The sea's wide waters, and extolled their love True to the end; and one who listening stood, Or he himself perchance, the theme pursued: "That other bird, which skims the waves" (said he), "Flying with legs retracted, as you see," (He pointed where a long-legged diver flew) "Descends from kings. To trace his lineage true, Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymede, 262

Whom Jove bore off by force, began the breed. Long-lived Laomedon was next in line; Then luckless Priam, heir to Troy's decline. That bird was Hector's brother; and if fate Had not so changed him ere his manhood's date, Perchance a name like Hector's had he won, Though not, like him, of Hecuba the son. For Aesacos, beneath mount Ida's shade, Of Alexirhoe, the river-maid (Child of Granicus, of the double horn) In secrecy, so rumor says, was born. Hating the town, he roamed in wood and glen, By unambitious ways, remote from men, Shunning the gilded court; and seldom sate In council with the Trojan chiefs of state — And yet no boor, to keep from Cupid's dart Impregnable the fortress of his heart: Through every woodland for Hesperie, Old Cebren's daughter, questing long went he; And saw the nymph, as in the sun, beside Her father's stream, her flowing locks she dried. "From the red wolf in terror flies the deer; The duck, caught straying from her native mere, Flies from the hawk; and so, with fear for spur, She fled, and spurred by love, he followed her. With crooked fang, a snake that lurking lay Struck at the foot of the fair runaway, Leaving its venom in the wound, and so Her life and flight were ended at one blow. He clasped her lifeless form: his reason fled: "Wrong, wrong it was to hunt you thus," he said. "Yet this I did not fear: far better lost The race had been, than won at such a cost. We two, unhappy girl, have made you die: The serpent struck you, but the cause was I. And I, the worse offender, will atone; And for your death console you with my own." "He ceased; and from a wave-worn cliff, whose crown O'erhung the growling seas, plunged headlong down; Tethys in pity took him as he fell,

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And winged him, as he tossed on ocean's swell. Now, as a bird, the lover, unresigned To live against his will, still frets to find His spirit thwarted, when it longs to go Leaving the lodging where it dwells in woe; And when his wings are grown, he tries again, Soaring, and plunging downwards to the main. The feathers make his fall unduly light, Yet mad with rage, he dives, and sinks from sight: And thus in endless reattempt he goes The way to watery death: his leanness shows Effects of passion; long his knee joints are; And long his neck, and head from body far: A lover of the sea, the bird declares His diving habits by the name he bears."

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BOOK T W E L V E OF the cause and the inception of the Trojan war — the ordeal of Iphigenia at Aulis — the strange encounter of Cygnus with Achilles — the story of Caeneus as related by Nestor — the furious battle of the Centaurs and the Lapithae — an exploit of Hercules — the death of Achilles — the dispute of Ajax and Ulysses for the possession of his arms

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J L MAM, his sire, not knowing that he led A sea-bird's life, mourned Aesacos as dead. His brothers came with offerings, which they gave Honoring the name upon the empty grave. Hector was there: while absent from the throng Was Paris, on his travels, who ere long Brought to his native city from afar A stolen wife, and nine long years of war. A fleet in league, a thousand ships he drew, And Greece united with one aim in view: Had not Boeotia held the forces pent At Aulis, swift had been the punishment; But raging winds, which closed the watery way, Detained the vessels in the fish-filled bay. Here they prepared for Jove the ancestral rite, And ancient altars with fresh fires were bright. Hard by the sacred place a plane-tree stood, And in the treetop was a nestling brood, Eight, with their dam; and thither, seen by all The Danaans, did a slate-hued serpent crawl; Which, while the mother round her lost ones flew, Seized and devoured them, and their mother too. All stared in wonder: then out spoke the seer, Calchas, whose birdlore gave him foresight clear: 265

"Rejoice, O Greeks: we shall as victors see Troy's fall, though long our toil and waiting be." So Calchas spoke, forecasting from the sign Nine years of warfare, as the birds were nine. The serpent, changed to stone, aloft was seen, Still clasping, as it seemed, the branches green. Nereus, whose rage continued still to jar The western waves, would not transport the war — Or Neptune, as some thought, who built the wall, Preserved the Trojan city from its fall; But Thestor's son was not of these; he knew The fateful secret, and proclaimed it too: The lifeblood of a virgin must assuage The virgin goddess's intemperate rage; And, natural love at length surrendering To public weal, the father to the king, Iphigenia near the altar stood With weeping priests, to give her spotless blood. But Artemis, relenting, cast a cloud On sacrificing priests and suppliant crowd To blind them, so 'tis said; and while they prayed, Changed for a deer the Mycenaean maid, And let that seemly sacrifice appease Her own fierce wrath, and calm the wrathful seas. The thousand ships, by favoring breezes fanned, Passing all hazards, gained the Phrygian strand. Where three worlds meet, there lies a central space, Of earth and sky and sea the meeting-place; Where all that is, though worlds away, comes plain To eye and ear: 'tis Rumor's hill-domain, Her own devising, pierced on every side With loops and entries, ever standing wide; Her chosen fastness, by no portals closed, But open day and night, the whole composed Of echoing bronze, a sounding-chamber, stirred By every breath, repeating all that's heard. Nowhere within is peace or silence found; And yet no shouting, but a low-voiced sound, Like that of distant waves, goes murmuring round; Or like the noise, when Jove's loud rattling shakes 266

The pitchy clouds, which dying thunder makes. Through crowded halls, in ceaseless ebb and flow, The feather-pated people come and go, Rumors in thousands, talking each to each, Truth mixed with lies, an endless hum of speech; While some in vacant ears their gossip pour, And some go off with tales heard just before; And every tale with false accretion swells, As each new sponsor adds to what he tells. Credulity and random error here Consort with baseless joy and panic fear; Subversive treason shows a sudden face, And whispers fly, whose author none can trace. Whate'er befalls, the goddess sees, with eye Searching for news, in earth and sea and sky. Rumor had made it known that, bravely manned, The Grecian transports now were nearing land; And thus forewarned, the Trojan warriors go To hold their shores against the invading foe. And first, since fate decreed his time was near, Protesilaiis fell by Hector's spear; And in those battles, laying Grecians low, Hector took heavy tribute from the foe, And proved his prowess, while the Trojans too Learned, to their cost, what Grecian hands could do. And now Sigean shores with blood ran red, And Cygnus boasted of a thousand dead — Cygnus, by Neptune sired — while in his car Achilles to the Trojans carried war, And plied his spear, which on mount Pelion grew, And with the stroke whole armies overthrew. As through the Trojan lines in special quest Of Hector or of Cygnus on he pressed, He met with Cygnus, who his onset bore; And Hector was reprieved for nine years more. Achilles to his chariot-horses spoke, Whose snowy necks were straining at the yoke; And on the opposing champion drove his wheel, And cried, as in his hands he shook the steel: "Perish, whoe'er you are, consoled to know 267

Achilles of Thessalia dealt the blow." With that he hurled his spear, which, though it flew Without a deviation, straight and true, Lacking all power to pierce, was brought to rest With a dull thud upon the foeman's breast; Who cried: "O goddess born (for rumor came Before yourself and brought to Troy your fame), You stare to see me thus unscathed, but know 'Tis not my helm nor shield defends me so. This helm, with horsehair plume, this convex shield, My left arm's load, for show, not use, I wield, As Mars does his. Let all that serves to guard Be stripped away, yet shall I go unscarred. 'Tis something, truly, to be born the son, Not, say, of Nereus' daughter, but of one Whom Nereus and his daughters all obey, And over all the ocean is his sway." With that, his weapon at the Greek he flung, And in the shield's convexity it clung, Forcing a passage through the metal sheath, And through nine folds of hide which lay beneath: The tenth delayed it: there the point stuck fast: Achilles wrenched the weapon out, and cast It tingling back: again it found the goal; Yet made no wound: the flesh was sound and whole. And yet a third, though Cygnus shieldless stood With open arms to take it, drew no blood. The bull that in the arena, cleared for fight, With horns of terror vents its rage and spite; And feels, while lunging at the crimson cloak, The thing that stirs its rage elude its stroke, Was like Achilles then. The metal head, Which tipped his spear, he thought perchance was shed: But no, 'twas there. "Then is my hand grown weak, And is its strength in this one case to seek? For strong it was, when first upon the beach At Tenedos, or in Lyrnesus' breach, Or when at Thebes, Eetion's domain, I filled the streets with blood of Thebans slain; When red with native blood Ca'icus moved, 268

And twice on Telephus my spear was proved. Here too, where heaps of dead before my sight Obstruct the shore, this hand has shown its might. 'Tis mighty yet," and then a spear he cast, Doubting, almost, his exploits of the past, Straight at Menoetes, where he saw him stand Full-front, a linesman of the Lycian band. Piercing the mail, the foeman's breast it found, And while the dying body beat the ground, Achilles wrenched it from the reeking wound. " 'Twas by this hand, this spear, that victory came," He said: "On Cygnus will I use the same. Heaven grant the same success," and when he threw, To Cygnus straight the unerring ash-shaft flew, But from his shoulder, sounding with the shock, Leaped back as from a wall or solid rock. True, where it struck, Achilles marked a stain Of blood on Cygnus; but his joy was vain: No wound was there: 'twas from Menoetes slain. Then, then he snarled with rage, and with one bound Went leaping from the lofty car to ground; And, meeting hand to hand the unruffled foe, Attacked him with his glittering sword, and lo! He saw the shield and helm of Cygnus scarred, But on his flesh the steel itself was marred. Losing restraint, he dashed three times or more Full on his unfenced head the shield he bore; And pressed him hard, and with his sword-hilt beat His hollow brows, and forced him to retreat; And Cygnus, rushed and taken by surprise, Panicked, and darkness swam before his eyes; And, as before the assault he backed away, Across his path, unseen, a boulder lay. Achilles tripped him over this, and thrust Him roughly back, and laid him in the dust; Then pressed him down with shield and stubborn knee, And drawing from his helm the laces free, Pulled tight the strangling cords beneath his chin, And choked the pathways of the breath within. But when the victor thought to strip the dead,

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He found the suit of mail untenanted. No Cygnus therel the sea-god bade him soar, Changed to the snow-white bird whose name he bore. On this day's work a time of truce ensued: With arms laid down, each side deferred the feud. Greek trenches here, and Trojan bastions there, Alike were guarded by the sentry's care. A feast-day dawned, when with a heifer slain Achilles, fresh from victory, sought to gain Minerva's grace: with flesh he fed the fire, And made the grateful fume to heaven suspire. The sacrifice receives its portion due, And part upon the banquet-board they strew. The chiefs recline: on roasted flesh they fare, With flowing wine to quench their thirst and care. They seek diversion not from song or lute, Or the long perforated boxwood flute: Talk is their entertainment for the night, Valor their subject: each recalls the fight, Describing how he fought, and how the foe; Through dangers dared and drained again they go. What other theme should great Achilles seek? Of what should they who share his converse speak? His latest victory most engaged their speech, And Cygnus quelled; and strange it seemed to each How Neptune's son no piercing point could feel, How flesh defied the wound and turned the steel. Of this Achilles, this his comrades spoke, When thus upon their discourse Nestor broke: "Within your lifetime, gallants, none was born Save Cygnus, who could laugh cold steel to scorn; But long ago one Caeneus, famed in fight, Thessalian born, who lived on Othrys' height, Was wont to bear, myself can testify, A thousand blows, and take no hurt thereby; And this his toughness may the more perplex, Since he, when born, was of the female sex." Compared with this, all wonders else seemed pale, And one and all they begged him tell the tale, Achilles with the rest: "Speak, Nestor sage,

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The eloquence and wisdom of our age. Who Caeneus was, we all desire to know; And why to man from woman did he go; By whom defeated, if defeat he knew, In what campaign, what battle, known to you." Then Nestor said: "Though tardy age impede My memory, and the scenes of youth recede, Most deeds, of peace and war, I still retain, And none is fixed more firmly in my brain. And if long years should give one scope to scan The multifarious works and deeds of man, For me two hundred years of life are gone: Through the third century now my life runs on. Caenis, of Elatus the child most fair, Among Thessalian maids beyond compare, Was, in the cities of that neighborhood, By prayers of many suitors vainly wooed; In those, no less, which owed respect to thee, Achilles, for of thy domain was she. For such a prize might Peleus too have tried, Had not your mother been his promised bride. Caenis wed none; and on the lone seashore (So rumor ran) the sea-god's violence bore. With this new love delighted, Neptune cried: 'Ask what you will, you shall not be denied: Choose what to pray for.' Then (so men relate) Caenis made answer: 'This my ravished state Demands a weighty prayer: to be no more Of nature to sustain a wrong so sore. Grant me,' she said, 'a woman not to be, And grant me all.' In voice of lower key She ended: manly notes it seemed had she; And so she had indeed, for then and there The sea-god had consented to her prayer; And added to his gift the power to feel No wound, and not to fall beneath the steel. Pleased with the favor, Caeneus went his way, His part thenceforward as a man to play, And by Peneiis' banks was wont to stray. "The lucky suitor who had wooed and won 271

Hippodame — bold-browed Ixion s son, Had called the Centaurs fierce, the cloud-born race, To feast: a grot, tree-shaded, was the place. Thessalia's lords were there, and there was I: The crowded palace rang with revelry. And while with hymns they called on Hymen's name, And festal fires were smoking, in there came, With female kith and kin on either side, Herself most beautiful of all, the bride. We called Pirithoiis blest in such a bride, But nearly saw that omen falsified; For scarce had Eurytus set eyes on her, Wild as he was — as all the centaurs were — When, flushed with wine and kindling with desire, Of drink and lust he felt the double fire. The crashing tables scared the festive throng, As by her hair the bride was dragged along. By Eurytus Hippodame was seized; And others, as they could or as they pleased, Took each a maid; and like a town brought low, The palace rang with women's cries of woe. We started up, and Theseus first cried out: 'What madness drives thee, Eurytus, to flout Pirithoiis, while Theseus lives, and do Wrong, in your blindness, not to one, but two?' To back his words, he checked the centaurs' raid, And from their fury snatched the ravished maid. "At this the abductor, making no reply (For deeds like these no words could justify), Against the champion came, and buffeted With insolent hands his noble breast and head. An antique mixing-bowl, with figures clear Carved out in bold relief, by chance stood near. This Theseus raised, and towering o'er the foe, Full in his face sent home a crashing blow. He fell, and vomiting from mouth and wound Blood, brains, and wine, lay kicking on the ground. His twi-formed brethren, by his death inflamed, With one accord: 'To arms, to arms!' exclaimed. Wine made them bold: and first, to start the fight, 272

Wine-goblets flew, and fragile flasks took flight; And paunchy bowls, for use of feasts designed, Employment now in war and bloodshed find. "First Amycus (Ophion's son was he) Ransacked, without a qualm, the sanctuary; And first within the temple, seized from there A chandelier with glittering lamps aflare; And, raising this on high, like those who heave The ritual ax the bull's white neck to cleave, On Celadon, the Lapith, brought it down, And left his face a shapeless mass of bone. The eyes sprang out; the face-bones cracked and flew; The nose, driven inward, pierced the palate through. Then in rushed Pelates, of Pella lord, And wrenching from the maple banquet-board A legpiece, struck the slayer such a blow As hammered chin to chest, and laid him low; And while he groveled, spitting blood and teeth, A second sent him to the shades beneath. Then Gryneus on the altar, as it burned, Near where he stood, a look ill-boding turned; And raised it with its fires above his head, And on the Lapithae the mass he sped; And Broteas there, and there Orios fell, Whose mother, Mycale, with magic spell Full oft, 'twas known, the horned moon had bound, And drawn it, vainly struggling, to the ground. 'Dear shall you pay for this,' Exadius cried, 'If aught that serves for weapon be supplied.' He found, where on a pine-tree tall they swung, A roebuck's antlers, as an offering hung; And these he has for weapons, these he tries: The double prong takes Gryneus in the eyes, Gouging the eyeballs: one the point still bore; One, trickling down the beard, hung caked in gore. "Then Rhoetus, with a blazing plum-tree bough, Snatched from the altar, struck Charaxus' brow; And like a field of sun-dried wheat, his hair Seized by the ravening flame, was set aflare; And hissing with the heat, within the wound 273

The seething blood gave forth a dreadful sound; As when the smith with curving tongs has gripped, Drawn from the fire, and deep in water dipped, The red-hot iron, which, cooled abruptly off, Hisses and sizzles in the steaming trough. Charaxus, dashing from his shaggy mane The fire which fed thereon, was mad with pain. The threshold-stone, a wagon's load, he tore Out of the ground, and on his back upbore; Then hurled it at the foe; but short he came, Balked by the weight, and failed to reach his aim. Cometes stood between and took the blow: The marble mass crushed friend instead of foe. Rhoetus exulting cried: 'May all, I pray, Who side with you be brave in such a way!' And with the half-burnt brand again attacked The selfsame wound, till, as the sutures cracked, The skull-bones, while he struck and struck again, Caved in, and sank within the puddled brain. Triumphant Rhoetus turned on other foes, Dryas, Euagrus, Corythus, his blows. Corythus' cheeks the down of youth displayed; And when he fell, his friend, Euagrus, said: 'What fame does slaughter of a boy bestow?' But Rhoetus let his speech no farther go: In at the speaker's mouth the flames he pressed, And through the mouth he plunged them in his chest. On you, fierce Dryas, next with whirling flame, Flushed with success, and steeped in blood, he came; But fared less well, for in his flesh, betwixt Shoulder and neck a pointed stake you fixed. He groans; and, wrenching out the stake, he flies, Drenched, this time, with the blood himself supplies. "Then Lycabas, and then Orneiis fled; Then Medon followed, whose right shoulder bled. With Thaumas and Pisenor, Mermeros went, Best runner once, but wounded now and spent. And Melaneus and Pholus fled away, With Abas, him that made the boars his prey; And Astylos, the augur, who in vain 274

Had bid his countrymen from war refrain. He said to fearful Nessus: 'Fly not so: The fates reserve you for Alcides' bow.' 'Twas well for him: Areos fared not thus; Nor Imbreus, Lycidas, Eurynomus: These did not scape the death: they one and all Confronting Dryas by his spear-hand fall. And frontal too the wound Crenaeus took; For, while in flight, he cast a backward look; And 'twixt the eyes, just where the brows begin Above the nose, the weighty steel went in. "Amidst the din Aphidas lay; for sleep Endless, unwaking, in his veins was deep; And still the blended cup, with wine unshed, He held limp-handed, sprawling on a bed Of shaggy hide — a bear's that Ossa bred. And Phorbas from a distance saw him lie Noncombatant, but not immune thereby; And slipping fingers through his spear-thong, said: 'The wine you drink shall be with Styx allayed.' His dart upon the prostrate youth he cast, And in his neck the steel-shod ash stuck fast. He died without a pang; and o'er the bed And in the cup his full-charged gullet bled. "Petraeus tried, I saw, with utmost toil To lift an acorned oak-tree from the soil; But while he clasped it, wrestling with it so, And shook the stem, and rocked it to and fro, Fast in his ribs Pirithoiis' spearhead stood, And through his straining breast impaled the wood. These too by bold Pirithoiis' prowess fell: Lycus and Chromis, as men used to tell; But others to his fame did more redound: Dictys and Helops, foemen more renowned. The javelin made a path through Helops' head: From right to left, from ear to ear it sped; While Dictys, falling from a hilltop sheer, As from Ixion's son he fled in fear, Snapped with his weight an ash, a mighty tree, And on the splintered shaft impaled was he. 275

"Here, seeking life for life, is Aphareus, Aiming a boulder from the hill torn loose; But Theseus caught him ere he cast, and broke His massive elbow with a club of oak. No further time or thought did Theseus give To slay, but let the useless body live; And on Bienor leaped, who ne'er before On his high back a separate rider bore. His knee was in the ribs; his left hand grasped The centaur's hair, and held it firmly clasped; His club on snarling mouth, on eyes and nose, And temples hard as rock, dealt smashing blows. With that same club Nedymnus next was felled; Lycopes next, who with the dart excelled; Then Hippasus, whose beard protects his breast; And Ripheus, towering o'er the forest's crest; Thereus, who in Thessalian mountain lairs Seized, and brought home alive, the affronted bears. Demoleon noted Theseus in the fray, And thought: 'Too far he goes his conquering way.' He tried to wrest a pine from where it stood Age-old, amidst the phalanx of the wood; And when for nothing all his efforts go, He snaps it off, and hurls it at the foe. But Theseus dodged, and brought the throw to nought, By Pallas warned — so he would have it thought. The flying tree its force on Crantor spent: Left arm and bosom from the neck were rent. Amyntor, chieftain of the Dolopes, Had given tall Crantor to Aeacides (When tamed in warfare by Achilles' sire), As pledge and bond of peace, to be his squire. "When Peleus, from a distance, saw him slain, And sundered, by that hideous wound, in twain, 'Receive, sweet youth, for funeral gift,' he cried, 'Your slayer's life,' and in Demoleon's side His ashen lance, with strength and purpose cast, Broke through the bony framework, and stuck fast, Quivering. The centaur, though the handle clung, Drew it: the head was fast within the lung.

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Death-struck, he reared, and, mad with pain, began To batter, with his horse's feet, the man; But he, while helm and shield, on which descend The clattering blows, his head and trunk defend, Keeps up his leveled lance, and deals the foe, Where horse and man unite, a piercing blow. Two foes had Peleus killed at longer range Ere this, and two in hand to hand exchange. Phlegraeus was in death with Hyles paired: Iphinoiis the fate of Clanis shared. Now Dorylas, whose head, well-guarded, wore A wolfskin cap, whose hand for weapon bore A pair of curving bull's horns, wet with gore And running red, was added to the score. By fury nerved, I dared him: 'See how far Your horns to this my steel inferior are.' His brow, my target, could not dodge my dart, But with his hand he screened the threatened part. The weapon pierced his hand and pinned it there; And shouts of friends and foemen filled the air. Peleus stood near, and saw him thus harpooned, Baffled and beaten by the crippling wound, And slashed his flank: he gave a furious bound Forward, and trailed his vitals on the ground; Trod, as he trailed, and crushed them with his tread; Then tripped, and with his gutted paunch fell dead. "You too were active, Cyllarus, in the strife; And could not with your beauty buy your life. For beauty, if we grant it to his race, Lived in the manly vigor of his face. Gold was the color of his beard new-sprung, And gold the hair which o'er his shoulders hung Down to the quarters; shoulder, neck, and breast, And hands, as if by sculptor's art expressed, And all his human members; while below The horse's limbs as fine and flawless show. — With horse's neck and head complete the steed, 'Twill be a charger fit for Castor's need: His shapely back will such a seat supply, And on his breast the muscles stand so high;

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His body black as blackest pitch to view, The tail and legs of white contrasting hue. Of centaur maids who wooed him, one alone, Hylonome, had won him for her own, The fairest female of her hybrid race, Who deep in woodlands had their living-place. She kept him hers, by fond endearments shown, By loving, and by letting love be known. Tending her beauty too, with all the care Her case allowed, she combed and smoothed her hair; And blossoms there with varying choice would set: Rosemary, rose, white lily, violet. She washed and bathed twice daily in the rills From tree-clad peaks of Pagasaean hills; And with the most becoming and the best Of chosen pelts her flank and shoulder dressed. "In love united, o'er the hills they went: Together in the caves their leisure spent. Together to the Lapiths' halls that day They came, and fought together in the fray; And from the left (none knows who made the cast) 'Twixt neck and breast a dart through Cyllarus passed; And when 'twas drawn, though slight the wound, the heart Went cold, and spread the chill to every part. Hylonome, as in her arms he swooned, Caught him, and dressed with gentle touch his wound, And pressing mouth to mouth she tried to stay The vital essence as it fled away; Then, seeing life was gone, she spoke a word Which in the tumult went by me unheard; And on the dart which lately pierced his side She fell, and clasped her husband as she died. "Another centaur still I seem to see: Phaeocomes — six lion-hides had he, Sewn edge to edge with knotted thongs, a span To give protection both to horse and man. A tree — two ox-teams scarce could move the weight — At Tectaphos he hurled, and cracked his pate. His cranial dome is shattered: through his nose, Eyes, ears, and mouth, the soft brain-substance flows; 278

Like curdled milk through oaken meshwork drained, Or liquor from the wine-press squeezed and strained. But when he sought to strip the corpse, then I (Your father knows it) ran him through the thigh. Teleboas too by sword of mine was felled And Chthonius; he a two-pronged branch had held. Teleboas held, and used on me, a spear: You see the mark: the scar, long-healed, is here. That was the time I should have heard the call To sally forth and breach the Trojan wall; To brave great Hector, with the strength of hand If not to conquer, yet to make him stand. But Hector, if his life was then begun, Was still a child; and now my days are done. "To Periphas twi-formed Pyraethus fell; Echeclus Ampyx had the force to quell, Who ended, with an untipped cornel spear Between the eyes, the four-foot's mad career. And what of Macareus, whose iron crow, Driven to the heart, laid Erigdupus low? Then Nessus' spear (the memory yet I keep) Within Cymelus' groin was buried deep. Mopsus, the seer (believe me) not content With passive prophecy, a javelin sent, Which stopped Hodites' utterance as it smote, Skewering the hybrid's tongue and chin and throat. Five more: Antimachus and Styphelus, Ax-armed Pyracmus, Bromus, Elymus, To Caeneus fell, by wounds no longer known: I marked the number and the name alone. Latreus, whose limbs and body dwarfed the rest, Sprang forth in spoils of slain Halesus dressed. His time of life 'twixt age and manhood lay; His strength a man's; his temples flecked with gray. His shield and sword and lance conspicuous show, Stripped from his conquered Macedonian foe. He looked from host to host; then, as he wheeled Full circle, struck his sword-blade on his shield; And thus to empty air his challenge pealed: " 'Must I endure you, lady? — such to me, 279

Caenis, not Caeneus, will you always be. Remember what you were when life began; What price you paid to masquerade as man. Think well what woman's nature first you wore; What outrage, such as women bear, you bore. Go, take in hand the wool-box and the pin: Leave wars to men, and thumb the thread, and spin.' While thus he taunted, Caeneus aimed his spear, And ripped his flank, stretched taut in full career, Where man met stallion. Mad with pain, he sped His lance, which struck the youth's unguarded head. Backward it leaped, as pebbles from a drum Or hailstones from a roof rebounding come. Then, closing with his foe, the assailant tried To plunge his sword-point in his flinty side. It found no path. — 'Yet shall you not go free: If point be blunt, then edge shall slay,' said he. Then edgewise to his side the sword he laid, And ringed his loins with reaching arm and blade. Beneath the stroke the flesh like marble rang: From the tough skin the blade in shivers sprang. Then Caeneus, when enough was done to show His limbs unwounded to the wondering foe — 'So much,' said he, 'for what your steel can do: Now take your turn: let mine be tried on you.' And in his shoulders, as he speaks the word, Up to the hilt he drives the deadly sword; And in his vitals twists the hidden blade, And wounds him in the wound already made. "The centaurs, see, on Caeneus roaring run, A frenzied cohort charging all on one, Hurling and striking. All their shafts rebound, And fall with blunted points upon the ground; While, as for Caeneus, not a single blow Had pierced his skin, or caused his blood to flow. While all in wonder stood, 'What dire disgrace,' Cried Monychus, 'that we, the centaur race, Though many, must in one our conqueror see, Who, scarcely man, is yet more man than we. For we, whose deeds would ill become a man, 280

Weak and fainthearted, end where he began. What service by our giant size is done? What by the strength of two combined in one, The double nature, which together brings In us the noblest pair of breathing things? 'Tis certain, from no goddess came our breed; Nor are we, as we think, Ixion's seed. His dauntless hopes aspired to Juno's throne, While we a woman-man our master own. Roll rocks and trees, whole forests, hills entire, To crush him, till his stubborn life expire; Let forests press his throat, and stop his breath; And let the weight instead of wounds bring death.' "He found, uprooted by the southern blast, A tree, which on the tireless foe he cast. His lead was followed: Othrys soon was made Devoid of woods, and Pelion lacked its shade. Colossal rose the gathering pile of trees On Caeneus hurled, who, buried under these, Crouched panting, and on shoulders broad upbore The balks of oak, until, as more and more The growing weight o'erwhelmed his face and head, And breathing failed, with airs no longer fed, At times he flagged, at times he strove to gain The air, and roll the forests off, in vain; At times he shook them, as an earthquake might Mount Ida, towering there before our sight. His end who knows? Pressed by the weight, some said, He sank to spectral regions of the dead. Mopsus demurred, seeing from the mass upspring Into thin air a bird on tawny wing. I saw it too: the bird that instant passed Before me for the first time and the last. Mopsus, who followed close with mind and sight As round his camp he wheeled his easy flight, Cried, as he watched the flapping pinions sail: 'Pride of the Lapithaean race, all hail. Caeneus, great hero once, now matchless bird, Without a fellow.' All believed his word; And with our grief we felt our anger grow,

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To see one man by such a host laid low. Our swords took vengeance on the foe, till flight Or death removed them, or the fall of night." Tlepolemus, while Nestor thus retold How halfman centaurs fought with Lapiths bold, Could not in silence his resentment bear, That in this tale Alcides had no share. "Strange is it, aged sir," (said he), "to find You put the deeds of Hercules from mind. Oft have I heard my father tell the tale How he had made the cloud-born people quail." Then Nestor sighed: "Why force me thus with pain To call old wrongs to memory back again, Reopen griefs scarred over, and declare What grudge and grievance 'gainst your sire I bear? His deeds, heaven knows, passed credence; I for one Admit, against my will, his works well done, Which filled the world. But bold Polydamas, And Hector too, without our praise must pass; Likewise Deiphobus, though brave, must go Unpraised by us, for who would praise a foe? Your famous father, having toppled down In ruin many an unoffending town, Elis, Messene, Pylos, raging came Against my household gods with steel and flame; And — others whom he slaughtered to let be — Twelve sons of Neleus, likely lads, were we: And twelve by him were slain, save only me. That others perished is a thing to bear; But strange that Periclymenus died there. "To him had Neptune given, for Neleus' sake, (Being father of that king) the power to take What shapes he would, and throw them off again; Yet now he went from shape to shape in vain. At last the likeness of that bird he wore, Beloved of Jove, which in its talons bore The lightnings: on its strength empowered to draw, And armed with wings and curving beak and claw, He tore his foeman's face; then soared in flight,

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Winging or hovering in the cloudy height. Then he of Tiryns with his trusty bow (Too trusty!) struck him where the wing-quills grow: Though slight the wound, it cut the sinews there, Checking his power to move and hold the air. Down, down he fell; and as the earth was struck, The arrow, where the point had lightly stuck, Driven upward by the body's pressure, cleft His side and neck, emerging on the left. Now tell me, Rhodian admiral, am I bound, For deeds like these, your father's praise to sound? To pay my brother's debt no more I do Than scant his praise — no slight, fair sir, to you." When Nestor's tale, that won all ears, had found Conclusion due, the wine once more went round; Then from the dining-couches all uprose, And gave the night's remainder to repose. That god who with his trident rules the main Felt for his son transformed a father's pain, Remembering too another who had known The same swan-change, when mourning Phaethon. Hating Achilles, the revengeful sire Kept on the stretch his unforgetful ire; And when ten years of war were nearly spent, With this appeal to unshorn Phoebus went: "O dearest of my nephews, who with me Raised up Troy wall, a vain defence to be, Do you not sigh to see this fortress-town Doomed now, at any moment, to come down? Not grieve for thousands slain before your eyes, Her brave defenders? Does there never rise The ghost to haunt you (not to list them all) Of Hector, dragged around his native wall, While he, the fierce Achilles, bloodier far Than war itself, lives on, our work to mar? Would he confront me, I would make him feel What I can do with triple prongs of steel; But since we may not meet him, draw your bow, And strike with shaft unseen the unwitting foe." 283

Phoebus agreed, indulging not alone His uncle's inclination, but his own; And veiled in cloud, the Trojan lines he sought, And there, where men in deadly grapple fought, Saw Paris, idly shooting here and there At base-born Greeks; and hastening to declare His godhead, further said: "Why waste you so A prince's arrows on plebeian foe? If death of brothers your concern can win, Turn on Achilles, and avenge your kin." He showed Achilles laying Trojans low, And bent on him the Trojan chieftain's bow; And with death-dealing hand in sure control, He sent the unerring arrow to its goal. What sweetness of revenge old Priam knew For Hector's death, when he that overthrew Such great ones, — he, Achilles, was that day By the wife-stealer quelled, who feared the fray! Better (since woman's war must lay him low) If Amazonian ax had dealt the blowl The Trojans' terror, Greece's pride and shield, The chief, whom none could conquer in the field, Was dust and ash: the selfsame god, whose fire Had forged his armor, lit his funeral pyre; And of the great Achilles now remains Some trifle, which an urn with ease contains. His fame is living, great enough to span The world, and give the measure of the man; This makes him like himself, and sets him free From realms of death, and dim nonentity. Even from his very shield, that you may know To whom it once belonged, fierce conflicts grow; And for his arms, to arms contestants go. No claim the son of Oileus, Ajax, made; Diomede, son of Tydeus, was afraid; Atreus' two sons, the greater and the less In years and deeds, their title dared not press; And when all others lagged, two only came With self-assurance such a prize to claim. Laertes' child, Ulysses bold, was one; 284

The second Ajax, Telamon's brave son. Great Agamemnon to the chiefs transferred This irksome choice, by which fierce feuds were stirred; And bade them in the encampment's central space Sit as a body, to decide the case.

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BOOK THIRTEEN OF the suit-at-law over the arms of Achilles — the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses — the victory of Ulysses and the suicide of Ajax — the fall of Troy — the sacrifice of Polyxena — the murder of Polydorus — the revenge of Hecuba and her transformation thereafter — the lamentation of Aurora for Memnon — the wanderings of Aeneas — of Polyphemus and his wooing — the love-suit of Glaucus to Scylla

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. I . HE chieftains sat: the rank and file stood round; And there, to face them, and his cause expound, Rose Ajax up, lord of tho sevenfold shield; Who, prone as ever to his wrath to yield, Glaring Sigeum-ward, flung out his hand To where the fleet lay beached upon the strand. "The ships, great gods! the ships are there," said he, "To hear this case: Ulysses versus me. From Hector's fires he beat a quick retreat: I braved those fires, and turned them from the fleet. He finds this contest safer, fencing so With specious words, not giving blow for blow. I lag with words, as he with deeds: 'tis mine In war and battle, his in speech to shine. Yet words, I think, are needless to recall My deeds, O Greeks, for you have seen them all. No, let Ulysses tell what far from sight He wrought, with none to witness but the night. This prize, I grant, is worthy to be won; But from my rival honor is there none: Whate'er Ulysses' hopes could entertain, Though great, to Ajax 'tis no pride to gain. Sure of his profit from the start is he: 286

To boast, when beaten, that he strove with me. My merit none can doubt: if any could, My noble birth might make my title good; For Telamon, my father, once did seize Troy city, serving under Hercules; And sailed with Jason to the Colchian seas. His father, Aeacus, o'er the voiceless throng, There, where the rock rolls Sisyphus along, In judgment sits; and Jove, heaven's highest one, Knows Aeacus, and owns him for his son. Thus Ajax springs from Jove at third remove; Yet let not this descent my title prove, Unless I add: Achilles had it too; A cousin for a cousin's arms I sue. But one who springs from Sisyphus, and grows Most like him in the guile and fraud he shows — Must he, a birthright not his own to claim, Among the Aeacidae thrust in his name? From me, who early answered, uncompelled, The call to arms, are arms to be withheld; And he be given them, who was last to take, Pretending madness, his excuse to make — Till Palamedes, shrewder still than he (But ill-advised) exposed his trickery, And dragged him to the arms he sought to shun? Is he to take the best, who wished for none? Am I to lose my cousin's gifts, disgraced Because the foremost risks of war I faced? "Far better, had his madness been unfeigned, Or so believed; and he in Greece detained; Not with the war-lords here in high debate, Inciting crimes with arguments of state. He had not then left Philoctetes thus, Marooned on Lemnos, a reproach to us. Hiding, they say, in woods and caverns there, He moves the rocks with sighs, the gods with prayer That what Ulysses merits, he may gain — And gods there are not, if he pleads in vain. He, who to this same warfare pledged his powers, Whose leadership was on a par with ours; 287

Whose bow and shafts were Hercules' bequest, Now sick and hungry, from the birds must wrest His food and clothes, and on the wild fowl spend The shafts on which the fates of Troy depend. Yet since Ulysses dropped him by the way, He lives, at least; how fortunate the day For Palamede, had he been left behind To live, or blameless death, at least, to find! Ulysses, brooding o'er his bad defeat, When madness feigned was proved a sorry cheat, Trumped up a charge of treason, and revealed, In proof, the treasure by himself concealed. Two champions from our cause he thus withdrew; Since one he sent to exile, one he slew. Thus fights Ulysses, thus makes foes afraid. And what of Nestor, too, by him betrayed? Though he talk Nestor down, he ne'er shall be Of base desertion held absolved by me. When Nestor, by his wounded horse delayed, And old and weary, begged Ulysses' aid, His comrade failed him; that the charge I lay Is no invention, Diomede can say, Who called him oft by name, and as he fled Cried shame upon his craven comrade's head. The gods are just; the ways of men they heed: Look, he who gave no aid, of aid had need. He who forsook a friend, 'twas right that he, Should, by the law he made, forsaken be. He cried for help: I noticed, standing near, How facing death he paled and shook with fear. He fell: I placed my buckler, to protect And save — small praise to me — a life abject. You still contest this prize? Come, let us go Back to that field, and there replace the foe, Your wound, your customary fear; then flee Behind my shield, and there dispute with me. — He sagged with wounds, but when, from danger freed, He ran for home, no wounds impaired his speed. "UlysseS shrank, and even the brave gave way, When Hector, helped by gods, had joined the fray. 288

I saw him, trailing blood and terror, go In full career; then with a mighty blow Launched from afar, I laid the braggart low. Anon the chiefs to single fight he dares: I drew the lot to meet him, with your prayers. Your prayers availed. You ask how went the day? I did not bow to Hector in the fray. The Trojans, (see!) against our vessels bear Steel, fire, and Jove: is glib Ulysses there? I stood, O Grecians, as you know, between; And made my breast a barricade to screen A thousand ships, the hope of home to you: Give now for ships so many arms a few; Though, with your leave, the honor sought will be To them as well, and more to them than me. Not Ajax them, if truth be rightly shown, But they, the arms, seek Ajax for their own. Let the Ithacan, to match me, bring his haul: Helenus, Rhesus, Dolon, cowards all; And stolen Pallas — ne'er a daylight deed: Nought done without the help of Diomede. If arms like these to such poor worth you give, Let Diomede the larger share receive. "But why such arms for one who never goes With arms to fight, but dupes unwary foes? The golden helmet would with dazzling ray The skulker and his hiding-place betray; Except that never the Dulichian pate Beneath Achilles' helm could bear the weight; Ne'er will the spear-shaft, cut from Pelion's tree, To those unwarlike arms not cumbrous be; The mighty shield, on whose engraven round The universe in counterfeit is found — This in the nerveless shield-hand, born to ply Deceit and ruse, will never easy lie. — Why do you, lost to sense, this prize pursue, When, if by Greece's lapse 'tis given to you, Crippling your feeble strength, the precious gear Will tempt the spoiler, not inspire his fear, While that wherein alone your powers prevail, 289

The speed of flight, beneath the shield will fail? Add that your own, which fieldward rarely goes, Is still unscarred, while neath the hail of blows Gaping with wounds a thousand, this of mine To a successor must its place resign. To end: what need of words? Let deeds decide. Bid ye to cast these arms, a warrior's pride, Among the foe, to be brought back from there; And he that brings them — be they his to wear!" So Ajax spoke, and from the ranks arose Approving murmurs at the speech's close; Until Laertes' son stood forth, and gazed Groundward awhile; then lingering eyes he raised To face the chiefs; and when expectance woke, With no small charm and eloquence he spoke. "If, Greeks, your prayers and mine had been of might, No dubious heirs would now contest this right; Achilles still would have the arms he bore, And we should have Achilles, as of yore; But since our common wish harsh fate denies" (And here, as if in tears, he wiped his eyes) "Who better should Achilles' heir be made Than he who won for Greece Achilles' aid? And let my rival no advantage gain By seeming, as he is, so dull of brain; Nor I no setback take, because to you, Such as it is, my skill was always true. If this poor gift of words, which in your name Has spoken oft, now speaks its owner's claim, Let this pass unbegrudged: by each be shown The natural gifts he rightly calls his own; For blood and breed and birth, endowments all Not of our making, ours I do not call. Yet truth to tell, since Ajax has averred He springs from Jove in generation third, I have my blood from Jove as well as he, And stand related in the same degree. Laertes me, Arcesius him begot, Jove him: and all are names without a blot — No felons here; then in my mother's line 290

Comes Hermes in, a second strain divine. Yet not for these, my mother's nobler strain, My father, free from fratricidal stain, I claim the award: let worth the verdict gain, Provided Ajax thence no worth acquire, That Telamon and Peleus had one sire. On pedigree let not the trophy turn, But true desert which manly deeds may earn. Or if close kinship is the issue here, And all we seek for is the heir most near, What place has Ajax? — Peleus still lives on, Achilles' sire; and Pyrrhus lives, his son: One dwells in Scyros, and in Phthia one: There send these arms, or if a cousin's claim Seems stronger, Teucer likewise bears the name. Does Teucer then a cousin's title plead? And if he did, would Teucer then succeed? "Therefore, on this bare issue, since we score By works, and works alone, my own, though more Than well my words can compass, will I tell, Tracing events in sequence as they fell. Achilles' mother, Nereus' child, apprised That he would perish, kept her son disguised; And all, including Ajax, had believed The boy a girl, by trick of dress deceived. But I, among the gauds for girlish eyes, Put arms, to make a manly spirit rise; And while he held the shield and spear I cried (Before he cast the girlish garb aside): 'Troy, kept for you, awaits her overthrow: Haste, goddess-born, and deal the final blow.' With hand upon his arm, I sent him forth, To show in manly deeds his manly worth. His works are therefore mine: 'twas I whose blade Felled battling Telephus, and when he prayed For healing, with the selfsame spear brought aid. 'Tis mine, that Thebes was sacked; assign to me O'er Lesbos, Tenedos, the victory; Chryse and Cilia, all Apollo's own, And Scyros likewise: count to me alone 291

Lyrnesus' fortress leveled with the ground; And not to tire you, I it was who found A match for furious Hector, as you know: Through me the famous Hector now lies low. In suing for these arms I found my right On those by which their lord was brought to light; And what, when living, by my gift he bore, I here reclaim, when now he lives no more. "When one man's wrath touched all the Grecian land, And ships a thousand crowded Aulis' strand, When long-sought winds were contrary or none, And from the lots the hard response was won, And Agamemnon charged to immolate His blameless child, Diana's wrath to sate, The sire said no, in anger challenging The gods themselves, a father though a king. My words it was that steeled his tender heart, And moved the sire to play a statesman's part. 'Tis true, that (begging Agamemnon's grace) I had a biased judge, and thankless case; But Greece's good, his brother's cause, the sway To his sole scepter given, made honor weigh More in the scale than kinship. Next I sought The mother: here by stratagem I wrought, Not grave advice; had Ajax gone, the sails Even to this day would lack their longed-for gales. To Ilium next, where, bold in your employ, Entering the senate-house of lofty Troy, As yet unthinned by warfare, without fear What federate Greece enjoined I made them hear. Impeaching Paris, stern demand I made That Helen and the booty be repaid: By this were Priam and Antenor swayed. But Paris, and his brothers, and the band That shared the robbery under his command, Scarce kept their sacrilegious hands from blows, As Menelaiis, who was with me, knows: For he and I as comrades first that day Faced common danger. — I must not delay By telling what my hand and brain have done

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To help our effort, while the war lagged on. For long, when once the first affrays were past, Behind their bastions have the foe stood fast; And only now the tenth long year has brought The chance of war in open conflict fought. And you — what service meanwhile have you done, Who understand a forthright fight alone? I, if you ask, from ambush strike the foe, And trench our lines against their counterblow; I keep our federate hosts in heart to bear Without impatience long and weary war; My knowledge finds us arms and food supply; And, is an envoy called for, there go I. "The king decreed, by Jove's injunction swayed, Which in a dream a phantom form conveyed, To raise the siege, and let our labor go; And he, for his part, might good warrant show. But what of Ajax? Must not he cry: 'Holdl' And still fight on, being nothing if not bold; Cry: 'Troy must fall,' and stay their homeward speed; Take arms, and give the wavering crowd a lead? Was this too much for one who never said A modest word? — but no, the hero fled. I saw him run, and sickened at the sight; I saw him spread inglorious sails for flight. 'Comrades,' I cried, 'how now? What act insane, When Troy is ours, to let her go again! In the tenth year to take the homeward way With nothing won but shame.' By mere dismay Made eloquent, I hindered their retreat, And brought them back, and stopped the absconding fleet. Atrides sought the assembled chiefs to cheer, But Ajax could not say one word for fear; Though e'en Thersites (not unchecked by me) Against the kings with saucy words made free. I roused the trembling Greeks against the foe; Restored the courage that they once did show. Since then, has Ajax e'er seemed bold in fight, The credit's mine; I dragged him back from flight. "What Greek esteems or makes a friend of you? 293

Yet Diomede and I share all we do. He trusts my comradeship, my worth he knows, And me from all the host of Greeks he chose. Some honor that! I gladly shared his quest, Not sent, like Ajax, by the lot's behest. Despising danger, darkness, and the foe, I laid in death the Phrygian Dolon low; But first forced out his secrets; he by chance Had dared, like us, a night reconnaissance. Possessed of all that faithless Troy designed, And having, as a spy, no more to find, I, with my information, having earned The promised honor, might have then returned; But wanting more, to Rhesus' camp I went, And slew him with his comrades in their tent; And conquest-crowned, and favored by my star, In mimic triumph rode his captive car. — But as for Dolon, had his schemes gone right, He would have won Achilles' steeds that night; These were that foeman's stipulated fee. Now say Achilles' arms are not for me: Ajax would be more generous. Must I say How ravaged by my steel Sarpedon lay With all his Lycian hordes? what blood I shed That time when Coeranos before me fled, Iphitus' son? Alastor too fled thus, Alcander, Halius, and Chromius, Noemon, Prytanis; and I it was Slew Thoon, Charops, and Chersidamas, And Ennomos, whom ruthless fate impelled; And some less famed beneath the walls I felled. I too, my countrymen, have wounds to show, Each one the place that marks a glorious blow. But words are cheap: distrust them: look and know." He drew his tunic down. "This breast you see Was ever active in your cause," said he, "While never Ajax, through these years of war, Has spent a drop of blood, or shown a scar. Yet what of that, if, as he claims, he strove 294

In arms, to save the fleet, with Troy and Jove? He did, I grant: expect not me to slight What deeds of worth are done, in shabby spite; But let him not usurp the praise that's due To all alike; let some be given to you. Who but Patroclus, by Achilles sent, In mail-clad semblance of that warrior went? By him the Trojans from the ships were turned, Which else, with their defender, would have burned. He thinks that none braved Hector's arms but he, Forgetful of the king, the chiefs — and me. And in that duty 'twas the lot's good grace Which gave him, one of nine, the foremost place. And when you fought, brave sir, how went the day? Why, Hector went without a wound away! "Ah, with what grief again perforce I dwell On that sad day when great Achilles fell. Then fell the Greeks' strong wall. With no delay Through grief or fear, I bore the corpse away. Upon these shoulders, these, his corpse I bore; I bore his arms, and crave to bear once more. I have the strength their weight to undergo, And wit to feel what honor you bestow. Or think you, when the fond sea-mother made Her influence felt, her hero son to aid, She meant that arms divine, of art so rare, A rough and soulless man-at-arms should wear; To whom the themes wherewith the shield is wrought, Ocean, and earth, and star-strewn sky, are nought? Pleiads and Hyads, Bears which shun the main, Orion's glittering sword, and cities twain — These, which he cannot grasp, he seeks to gain. "His accusation, that I tried to shirk The tasks of war, and went but late to work, I answer thus: my rival does not know Tis great Achilles whom he slanders so. Call feigning crime: then feigners both were we; Blame lateness: I was not so late as he. Fond mother him, and me fond wife delayed: Some time to them, the rest to you we paid. 295

Thus, if I cannot quash it out of hand, With great Achilles on this charge I stand, Unfearing. By my wit unmasked was he; But ne'er did wit of Ajax unmask me. No wonder if his foolish slurs defame Me, when he charges you with deeds of shame, Making loud play with Palamedes' name; For, had I basely framed a charge untrue, To have found him guilty would discredit you. Yet he could not refute a charge so clear, Nor did you judge by evidence of ear, But with the gold you saw his guilt appear. Again, if Philoctetes still must pine On Vulcan's Lemnos, 'tis no fault of mine. Do you, my lords, defend your own decree; For in this matter you concurred with me. I grant, I counseled him to linger far From toils of travel, and the work of war, To try with rest to soothe his racking throes; He took the advice: to this his life he owes — Advice no less successful than sincere, Though my good faith is all that matters here. "But, since the seers, to work Troy's overthrow, Require his aid, command not me to go; Ajax will better, with persuasive tongue Calm him, by pain and rage to madness stung, Or bring him by some stratagem along. Nay, Simois will flow backward, Ida stand Shorn of its leaves, Greece aid the Phrygian land, Ere Ajax' wit, supposing mine should pause, Will find a shift to help the Grecian cause. — Hate as you will the Greeks, the king, and me, Harsh Philoctetes, and with curses free Consign my head to hell, and mad with pain Wish me within your power, my blood to drain, And what you took from me, give back again, Yet will I beard you, and, if aught avail To bring you back, my efforts shall not fail; And on your shafts as surely will I seize, And hold them fast, if kindly fortune please, 296

As once I seized and held the Trojan seer, And, in the Delphic riddles reading clear The fate of Troy, broke through the foe's defence, And reached the shrine, and stole the statue thence Of Troy's Minerva. What can Ajax show To match me here? The fates, as well you know, Held to their ban, that did we fail to gain The sacred image, Troy could not be ta'en. Where now was valiant Ajax? Did we hear The great man's mighty words? What made him fear? What made Ulysses brave, who dared to go By night through swords and pickets of the foe, And enter not alone the city wall But even the hilltop fastness over all, And snatch the goddess from her shrine, and come Back with the consecrated booty home? — But for this deed seven bulls in vain had died To furnish Ajax' shield-arm with their hide. 'Twas I who conquered Troy, and brought her low, That night I laid her open to the blow. "Nay, do not growl and glance at Diomede: My partner shares the glory of the deed. You too, to guard the fleet, stood not alone; But your supports were many, mine but one. The wise excel the brave: the guerdon goes To skill, not strength; and that my comrade knows: Else would he too stand here, this prize to claim, With the Ajax who more humbly bears that name; Eurypylus would claim it, and the son Of famed Andraemon in this race would run; Idomeneus and Meriones no less, Both Cretan born, their equal claims would press; And Menelaiis — fighters all, who yield In, judgment, though they match me in the field. You give good blows, but when it comes to brain You need my guiding hand upon the rein. Strength without understanding marks your deeds: My province is to care for future needs. To fight a battle lies within your power: But I and Agamemnon choose the hour. 297

You in your body's strength alone can find The means to serve: but I in powers of mind. As he who steers outweighs the laboring crew, Or leader linesman, so I outweigh you. Why, even our human frames more virtue bear In head than handl the essential life is there. "Do you, my lords, the care of years requite, Rewarding him who guards you day and night; And with this honor, fairly to be weighed Against my service, let my dues be paid. My work is done: the fates which long did bar Our path to victory have I chased afar; And yon tall city (since what I have done Makes possible its winning) have I won. And this I pray, by hopes now shared by all, By Troy's strong battlements foredoomed to fall, By gods I lately ravished from the foe, By aught that lacks to Ilium's overthrow — If yet some work to be by wisdom wrought, Or some audacious quest, is in your thought, Bear me in mind; if not on me, confer Achilles' arms, by second choice, on her." He raised his hand, directing every eye To Pallas, carved in fateful effigy. The impaneled chiefs were moved; and plain to view The event revealed what eloquence could do. Those arms, which once the man of valor wore, The man of fluent tongue as trophy bore; While he so oft who singlehanded strove, Withstanding Hector, steel, and fire, and Jove, To one thing yields — his rage, which only can Defeat at last that undefeated man. He grasps his sword. "This, this at least," he cries, "Is mine — or is this too Ulysses' prize? This weapon on its owner must I try: The Trojans oft have stained it: now will I. Let none but Ajax Ajax overthrow." He spoke; and feeling where the blade could go, Deep in his breast, which ne'er was made to feel A wound till then, he sank the fatal steel. 298

His hands lacked strength to draw the point again: The blood expelled it; and the empurpled plain Amid the green the blood-red blossom bore, Which sprang from wounded Hyacinth before; And petals, marked with letters as they grow, For man and boy a double legend show: The warrior's name, and Phoebus' cry of woe. To Lemnos isle the victor sailed the sea (The land of Thoas and Hypsipyle, Which bore the stigma from an earlier time Of murdered menfolk and the women's crime). Thence with Alcides' shafts (his journey's aim) Attended by their owner back he came; And after all those years an end was made Of long-protracted warfare, by their aid. Then Priam fell, with Troy; and Priam's queen, To crown the loss of all that once had been, Lost human shape, and added to the sound Of dogs whose barking scared the region round, The shores by which long Hellespont is bound. Troy was in flames, yet still the fabric stood; Jove's altar drank old Priam's scanty blood; Cassandra, by her tresses haled along, Raised hands to heaven, which recked not of her wrong. Thronging the temples, while they burned, to press Upon their sculptured gods a last caress, The Trojan wives were seized and (though a prey To do the Greeks no credit) dragged away. From that same tower where oft in earlier days He used to stand, and, following with his gaze His mother's finger, on his sire look down, Fighting for him and Troy's ancestral crown, Astyanax was hurled; and now the gale Blew from the north, and urged the fleet to sail; The canvas flapped, by homeward breezes stirred, And "Use the wind!" was every seaman's word. Kissing the soil the captive women cry To their lost land and burning homes: "Goodbye!" The queen, discovered in the tomb, where lay Her slaughtered sons, was last aboard that day. 299

Her tragic figure, crouched upon the soil, Kissing the bones, Ulysses took for spoil; Yet, as she went, her hands scooped up, and pressed The dust of one, her Hector, to her breast; And one white tress of hair to Hector's grave, Her last poor gift, a tress and tear she gave. What once was Troy looked to the land o'erseas Where Polymestor ruled the Bistones; And there by stealth young Polydorus came, The wealthy monarch's tutelage to claim. His father's wise precaution sent the boy To spare him service in the ranks of Troy: Less wise the store entrusted to his hold Of avarice-tempting guilt-rewarding gold. When Troy declined, the wicked king took sword, And slit the weasand of his helpless ward; And cast him from the cliif, as though the sea Of corpse and guilt alike could make him free. Off that same coast the Grecian vessels wait, Till winds grow friendlier, and the storms abate. There, starting from the gaping ground, was seen, As large as life, with menace in his mien, Achilles, with the frown he once displayed, When on the king he drew his lawless blade. "Greeks, go you hence without a thought of me? Is merit buried with the man?" said he. "Far be it from you: let my tomb not go Unhonored; let my shade its solace know. Polyxena must die." The Greeks obeyed The phantom's ruthless word, and doomed the maid. Torn from her mother's arms, who found in her Almost her sole surviving comforter, Ill-fated as she was, and unafraid, More than a woman, though in years a maid, To the dead chieftain's mound a victim led, To glut the grisly tomb, the maiden bled. Placed at the cruel altar, well aware For whom the barbarous rites were destined there, She saw the son of dead Achilles' stand With eyes upon her face, and knife in hand. 300

True to her royal self, she made no plea: "Use as you will this noble blood," said she; "The victim waits: strike home: I stand prepared With breast or throat" (and breast and throat she bared). "This sacrifice, though spurned by heaven, will free Polyxena: no willing slave is she. Only my mother hinders — glad were I, Could she be ignorant of my death, to die. And yet in truth 'tis not my death that gives Her cause to shudder, but the life she lives. But stand away, ye guards, and let me go Without compulsion to the shades below: Remove your hands, and let a maid be clear From touch of men — a just request is here. Whome'er you seek to please with blood of me, Dearer to him blood freely given will be. My last request is this, if any heed (No captive, but king Priam's child I plead), Give to my mother back — and waive the price — My corpse for burial: let her tears suffice To buy that last sad favor: she would pay With gold as well, when in her power it lay." As there her utterance ended, not an eye In all the throng, except her own, was dry: The priest himself, who pierced her proffered breast Against his will, was weeping with the rest. She sank, with failing knee, and as she lay Turned not, till death, her dauntless eyes away; And even in falling scrupulous was she To cloak her form, and guard her modesty. The Trojan women raise her, and review The lamentable tale of loss anew: The roll of Priam's children who lie dead; What blood for Troy a single house has shed. Thee, maid, they mourn; and thee, the mother-queen, Who mirror once of Asia's pride had been. Now an unwanted scrap of loot was she, Dealt to Ulysses by the lot's decree; A prize the victor had not deigned to take Save for the son she bore — for Hector's sake; 301

And even so the mother hardly won An owner through the credit of her son. Clasping her daughter's form, from which had fled The fearless soul, such tears again she shed As for her stricken city, oft before, For sons, for husband, she was forced to pour; And weeping in the wound, with hers she pressed The dead girl's lips, and beat her own poor breast; And sweeping with white locks the clotted gore, These words of grief she spoke, and many more: "Daughter, with you my sorrows end," said she; "You bleed, and in your wound my own I see. Lest e'en one child of mine be found to die A bloodless death, you too must wounded lie. I thought a woman safe from steel; but you, Although a woman, with the steel they slew. Who killed your brothers, did yourself destroy: My harsh bereaver and the bane of Troy. Yet when by Paris and Apollo slain, He need not (so I thought) be feared again. — I should have feared him still, who strikes today The children that I bore to be his prey. His buried ashes, hostile as in life, Against our house still wage unending strife. Great Ilium lies in ruin, and the woes The nation bore, have found a tragic close: Yet closed they are — and Troy for me alone Yet lives to suffer, and my grief goes on. I, late a queen, whose power the world confessed, A wife, with married sons and daughters blessed, Am torn from loved ones' tombs, a gift to be (Exiled and beggared) for Penelope; Who, while I toil the allotted task to do, Will call the wives of Ithaca to view; And, pointed out by gossips, will be seen Great Hector's famous mother, Priam's queen. — "As loss ensued on loss, a mother's grief In one surviving daughter found relief: Now you are gone: the burden of my womb Is made an offering to a foeman's tomb.

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Why, made of iron, do I linger on, And old, and full of years, will not be gone? Why do ye, cruel gods, if not that I May see more deaths, reprieve one ripe to die? When Troy had burned, her king could surely see No blessing more — yet blessed with death is he. He did not live to see this daughter die; And life and scepter both at once laid by. — For you, my child, the burial that beseems A royal maid, the ancestral tomb, are dreams: The fortunes of our house afford you here A snatch of foreign soil, a mother's tear. Have we lost all? There's something yet: one child, His mother's dearest, keeps me reconciled To life awhile, the sole surviving one (The youngest once) of many a stalwart son, My Polydorus, sent for harboring To him who rules these shores, the Thracian king. Enough. — I should have washed the wound ere now, And cleansed the brutal smears from cheek and brow." With tottering steps, and snow-white tresses rent, In quest of water to the waves she went; And found cast-up the corpse of Polydore, All gashed with Thracian weapons, on the shore. Her women's cries, herself struck dumb, she hears: The grief within consumes her words and tears; Her body sets like granite, and she stands Fixing her eyes some while upon the sands; Then lifts to heaven a fierce accusing gaze; Then scans her lifeless son, his wounds, his face — But most his wounds; and, as with fire and steel, She arms herself with anger, head to heel; And passing sentence, as if reigning still, She lets the imagined doom her being fill. Robbed of her whelp, the raging forest-queen, Finding the footprints, tracks a foe unseen: So Hecuba, when rage with grief was blent, Blind to her weakness, on her will intent, To Polymestor strode, the murderer fell, And asked his ear, pretending need to tell 303

Of buried treasure, left behind at Troy, Which he must give, in season, to her boy. The Thracian king, well-versed in greed of gain, Took in the tale, and came without his train To meet her; and with smooth hypocrisy: "Speak, Hecuba: enrich your son," said he. "What now you give, as what you gave before, Shall all be his," and by the gods he swore. She watched him, while he talked, and swore, and lied, With eyes of hate; then, as the boiling tide Of wrath swelled up, she gripped him fast, till all Her troop of fellow-captives heard her call. With fingers in his faithless eyes she pressed His eyeballs out, such strength her rage possessed; Then dipped her hands, with felon blood dyed red, And scoured the sockets whence the sight had fled. The Thracians, by their lord's affliction stung, Assailed the queen, and sticks and stones were flung; Which she ran snapping after; and no word Her muzzle formed, but growls and barks were heard. The place is there to see, and has its name From what befell, when thus misshaped she came, And, mindful still of woes the woman bore, Howled out her grief along the Thracian shore. Pitied by friend and foe, pitied was she By all the gods — such unanimity, That e'en Jove's sister-spouse would not contend That Hecuba deserved this fearful end. But one, by whom their cause had been approved, Saw Troy's ill-hap, and Hecuba's, unmoved: Aurora had no sympathy to spare, Vexed by a nearer grief, a household care, Her Memnon lost: the crocus-kirtled one Beneath Achilles' spear had seen her son Dying; which when she saw, the morning's red Paled, and the sky with clouds was overspread. The mother shunned the sight, when on the pyre His limbs were laid, to feed the all-ending fire: Just as she was, she fell, with hair untied, Before Jove's knees, forgetful of her pride; 304

And added words to tears: "Though least am I Of goddesses that tread the golden sky (Since scarce a fane through all the world is mine), Yet have I come by right of birth divine, Not shrines to beg, nor sacrificial days, Nor altars destined with their fires to blaze; Though did you but observe what weight of care On your behalf, though female bom, I bear, Keeping the night in bounds with daylight new, You well might think some recompense was due: Yet not in mood to claim the meed you owe Aurora comes, nor stands her fortune so. Bereft of Memnon, of my son, come I, Who, fighting for his kinsman, fought to die. Before his prime — for so you gods had willed — He met his end, by bold Achilles killed. Grant, king of gods, to one untimely slain Some honor, and relieve a mother's pain." Jove's nod gave sanction, as the high-built pyre Sank down in ruin in the mounting fire; And billowing smoke dyed black the day's bright hue, Like river mists, which let no sunlight through. The blackened ashes floated, then cohered; A substance in the mass, a shape, appeared, Which from the fire (the source of living things) Drew warmth and life: its lightness gave it wings. Birdlike at first, and then in truth a bird, It soared, and made its beating pinions heard; And countless sister-birds, whose life was due To the same source, with answering pinions flew. They circled thrice the bier, and thrice their cry, As all gave voice together, rose on high. At the fourth flight, in separate camps they closed, Two warring nations, front to front opposed: Their beaks and talons gave their fury way, Till breasts and wings grew weary of the fray. Conscious of kinship with the warrior bold From whom they sprang, their lives they dearly sold, Honoring his tomb; and he from whom they came Gave to these birds of miracle their name, 305

Memnonides; and yearly, when the sun Through the twelve signs his full career has run, These birds, like gladiators, fight and die, Serving their dead with due solemnity. — This was Aurora's grief: the rest might deem The barking Hecuba a tearful theme: She has her own, and with affection true Still weeps her loss, and bathes the world with dew. The fates withheld their sanction, after all, That Troy's last hope should with her fabric fall; And shoulder-high the son of Venus bore Her gods, and, sacred too, one burden more, His aged sire; of all Troy's riches, those The man of duty for his pickings chose, And with his son, Ascanius, sailed away In ships of exile from Antandros bay. He leaves the Thracian dwellings, and the shore Crime-stained, and wet with blood of Polydore; And with his shipmates into Delos rides With serviceable winds and favoring tides. Anius received him (he was ruling then, A priest of Phoebus and a king of men) In temple and in palace; and he shows The city with its famous shrines, and those Two trees, which Leto clutched at in her throes. Then, casting incense on the fire, and wine Upon the incense, as the rites assign, They made burnt-offerings with the flesh of kine. Then to the palace, where they drank and ate What Bacchus gives, and Ceres, couched in state. Then good Anchises spoke: "Unless I make, O priest preferred by Phoebus, some mistake, You had, when first I saw your city-wall, A son, and daughters four, as I recall." Anius in answer sadly shook his head Bound round with snow-white fillets, as he said: "You err not, son of gods; you saw me then Father of five; but (change so vexes men) You see me now bereft of all but one, And little helped by him that's left, my son, 306

Who has his place in Andros over sea, The isle that bears his name, and rules for me. To him Apollo gave the power to read The omens; while the females of my seed From Bacchus did a different boon receive, A boon too great to pray for — or believe. All that my daughters touched was turned to grain, Or juices that from grape and olive drain: Wealth-giving power was in them. — When this came To cognizance of Atreus' son, the same That ravaged Troy (lest you suppose that we Have not, for our part, felt in some degree The storm that broke on you), with arms to aid He tore from her sire's grasp each helpless maid, And bade them use their power to feed his fleet. They fled him, finding, where they could, retreat; And two a haven in Euboea found, And two in Andros, on their brother's ground; Whose love, when troops with threat of war were sent, Conquered by terror, gave to punishment His sisters up. Forgive the brother's fear: There was no Hector, no Aeneas here, Through whom you lasted to the tenth long year. But ere the fetters for their limbs were found, They stretched to heaven their arms as yet unbound. To Bacchus, author of their gift, they prayed: 'O father Bacchus, bring us instant aid.' His aid was granted, if the doom that came By means so marvelous, deserves the name: They lost their human form. I could not trace, And cannot tell you, how the change took place. I know my sum of ill: to doves they grew, Your wife's especial birds, of snow-white hue." With tales like these the feasting time they sped; And when the feast was over, went to bed; And with the dawn, to learn Apollo's mind, Approached his oracle, which bade them find Their ancient mother, and a kindred coast; And forth they set, escorted by their host, Who gave to old Anchises' hand a mace 307

As parting gift; a cloak and arrow-case To young Ascanius; to Aeneas went A wine-bowl, which a Theban friend had sent. Yes, Therses in the past had had it brought From far Boeotia: 'twas by Alcon wrought, Of Hyle — scene by scene the graver's hand Had told a tale, and made a city stand. The gates from one to seven were clearly shown And served instead of name to make it known. Outside the gates a mourning train appears, The burial mounds, the funeral fires, the biers; Women with hair unbound and breasts laid bare, In attitude of grief; and nymphs are there, Seeming to weep, and mourn their springs gone dry; The trees stand stark and leafless to the sky; Goats gnaw parched rocks. See, in the central space Of Thebes Orion's daughters have their place: One deals her throat no weakling woman's blow; And one with wounds, but not in war, lies low: Both die for Thebes: through Thebes in seemly state Are borne; and burnt where men do congregate. Then from their embers, lest the line should fail, Twin youths emerging (called, so runs the tale, Coroni) lead the funeral train for those Maternal ashes whence their life arose. Thus far the scenes, in bronze of ancient mould: The rim-work was acanthus, raised in gold. With gifts of no less note the Trojans show Due gratitude, and on the priest bestow An incense-box, a bowl for sacrifice, And a gold circlet set with gems of price. From there, remembering that their line was bred From Teucer's blood, for Crete the Teucri sped; But, bearing ill the climate, left behind The hundred cities, sailing on to find Ausonian ports; and tossed by stormy seas Found treacherous anchorage in the Strophades; And thence by harpy-winged Aello scared Past Neritos and Ithaca they fared, Samos, Dulichium (which the wily man, 308

Ulysses, ruled), then past Ambracia ran, Which, once to gods a theme of hot dispute, Still showed the shape of him who judged the suit, Transformed to stone; its cause of fame today Apollo's cult at Actium on the bay; Next, where the forests of Dodona stand, The speaking oaks, and t t e t Chaonian land, Where once the children of the Epirote king Escaped the murderer's fires on new-born wing; Next, the Phaeacians' orchard-land, with trees Of smiling fruits o'ergrown, and after these Epirus, and Buthrotus, royal seat Of Helenus, Troy-town in counterfeit. This king, old Priam's son, the Phrygian seer, With speech inspired made all the future clear; And, thus informed, they put again to sea, And gained the isle with promontories three: Pachynus to the rainy south inclined, And Lilybaeum to the soft west wind; To Boreas and the Bears from ocean banned Pelorus looks; and here they make the land. The Teucrians' ships, with help of oar and tide, Ere nightfall on the sands of Zancle slide. There on the right the threats of Scylla show; To left, unquiet Charybdis is the foe, Who swallows ships and spews them; while the ring Of ravening dogs round black-wombed Scylla cling. In face a maid, she once, if aught be true That bards bequeathed, was maiden-bodied too; And, wooed by many suitors, favored none; But dear to sea-nymphs, to the nymphs would run; Telling of lovers and their loves put by; And once her careless words provoked a sigh From Galatea, who had given her hair, For combing, while they talked, to Scylla's care. "Ah child," she murmured, "those in love with you Are human after all, and when they woo, You safely may repulse them, as you do. But I, by Nereus sired, and of the blue Sea-goddess born, with sisters not a few 309

To watch my interests, suffered bitter woe, Before my Cyclops lover let me go." Tears stopped her speech: the marble-fingered maid, Wiping the tears away, her grief allayed; And urged her: "Tell me, dearest; do not hide Your grief, but in a loyal heart confide." "A youth there was" (the Nereid answering said) "Of Faunus and the nymph Symaethis bred; Acis his name; his parents' joy was he, But mine still more, attached to none but me. Sixteen and handsome, on his boyish face Of manhood's down he showed the merest trace. Acis was mine, and I the Cyclops' quest; We both pursued our object without rest. And should you ask, I could not answer clear, If love of Acis touched my heart more near, Or hatred of the Cyclops: love and hate Were nicely matched. — O queen of love, how great Thy sovereign power! — This savage, you must know, Whom even the forests dreaded as a foe; Who let no traveler without scathe pass by; Who scorned Olympus and the powers on high; Felt what it was to love; and burning hot With strong desire (his flocks and caves forgot) Now strove to please, now made his looks his care, And with a rake would comb his hedgehog hair; Would scythe his beard; and stooping to survey His face in water, smooth the scowl away. His murderous rage and thirst for blood ebbed low, And ships might safely come and safely go. And Telemus, of Eurymus the son, By cross-winds blown to Etna, was on one. "This prophet, whom his birdlore ne'er misled, Approaching fearsome Polyphemus said: 'That single eye, your forehead's central ray, Ulysses (it is writ) shall take away.' 'False seer,' the Cyclops answered, 'there you lie: A girl has taken Polyphemus' eye.' And flouting so the seer, who spoke in vain A truthful word, he walked beside the main, 310

Denting with giant tread the quaking shore; Or, tiring, sought his shady cave once more. A wedge-shaped hill juts out to meet the tide, A lengthy spur, wave-washed on either side: Thither he climbed. A pine-trunk, fit to be The mainmast of a ship, for staff had he. There at the point he sat: the woolly breed Followed behind him, though he gave no lead. And when his staff before his feet was laid, He took his hundred-reeded pipe and played; And by the shepherd's notes the hills were stirred Through all their mass, and all the waters heard. Beneath a rock, in Acis' arms reclined, I caught his words, and bear them well in mind. " 'O white-browed Galatea, matched with you No privet-petal boasts its snowy hue; No flower's so fair, no glass so glittering-gay, No kidling so lighthearted in its play; Never so tall the towering alder-tree; No shell so smooth, washed by the restless sea; The sun in winter, shade in summer's heat, Invite not so, no ripened grape's so sweet; In honor with the victor's palm you vie; More than the plane-tree tall you charm the eye; Softer than down of swans or clotted cream, And yet more crystal-clear than ice you seem; And fairer far, did you not flee me so, Than gardens cool, where channeled waters flow. Yet, with all this, more hard than ancient oak, More fierce than roving bulls, more firm than rock, Rough like the torrent, deafer than the sea, Tougher than willow-wand or bryony; A peacock proud are you, a prickly briar, Elusive water, and consuming fire; In you the bear-cub's savageness is seen, The trodden snake's immitigable spleen, And, did my wishes not my power exceed, That which I most would rob you of, your speed. For faster than the deer from hounds in cry, Nay, faster than the wing-borne winds you fly. 311

Yet did you know me better, you would know How much you lose by running from me so. You would yourself, condemning all your past Obstructive ways, take pains to hold me fast. 'A mountain tract is mine, a sure retreat, In vaults of living rock, from summer's heat And winter's cold; then trees with fruits down-weighed, And grapes like gold, on long-limbed vines displayed, And purple grapes, and both for you, fair maid. Within the sunless woods soft strawberries shoot, Which you shall pluck; the cornel's autumn fruit; And plums black-juiced, and those of choicer kind, Like beeswax newly fashioned, shall you find. Be wife to me, and chestnuts shall be yours; Arbutes shall furnish their unfailing stores; All trees shall serve you; all these flocks you see Are mine; and many in the vales roam free; And more in woods and caverns folded be. Ask not their number, for no tale I keep: Poor is that owner who can count his sheep. As for their points, take nought on trust from me: Their bursting udders you yourself may see, Which legs can scarce bestride; and lambs I hold, The rising generation, snug in fold. Then kids, as young, in separate lodgings stand; Milk, pure as snow, is always to my hand; Of which for drinking part is set aside, By rennet part to curd solidified. Pets shall be yours — not common gifts, not those Of easy capture: kids and hares and roes, A treetop-taken nest, or turtle pair; But playmates for your pastime far more rare: Twin cubs, the nurslings of the shaggy bear, So like, that which is which you could not swear. When first I found them on the hillside steep, These for my mistress then I swore to keep. Come, Galatea, just from ocean lift Your shining head, and do not scorn my gift. As for my person, that I know, and deem Fair, having seen it mirrored in the stream. 312

Observe my size: that Jove you harp on, he Who rules the heavens, you say, outbulks not me; My features firm, and hair o'erhanging these, Which shades my shoulders like a grove of trees; And see no blemish in this shag of hair Which mats me o'er: the leafless tree looks bare; The horse is marred by lack of chestnut mane; And beard and hair in man is beauty's gain. One central eye is all I boast, but large, And in circumference like a mighty targe. Consider well: the sun, who from the sky Sees all the world, has but a single eye. And note this too: that god who rules your sea, Whose son I am, your sire-in-law will be. Only take pity: hear me when I sue: I bow the suppliant knee to none but you; And scorning Jove, and lightning's power to pierce, I fear your anger, nymph, which strikes more fierce. And this disdain of yours were better borne, If you shunned all: but I must bear your scorn, While Acis has your love; your choice is he: The arms of Acis are preferred to me. Well, of his beauty let himself be judge; Let him seem fair to you — though that I grudge: But this same gallant, should the chance arise, Shall feel that I have strength to match my size; His living flesh, torn piecemeal, will I strow Upon your waves, and let him wed you so. I burn; and hotter glows the flame repressed: Etna with all its fires is in my breast; Yet Galatea cares not.' Here his sighs And pleadings ended, and before my eyes He rose, and like a maddened bull, whose mate Is reft away, he roamed with restless gait The woods and fields he knew, and seeing there Acis and me (of danger unaware, And fearing no such sequel), cried: 'I see Your fond embrace, and that your last shall be,' And all a Cyclops' rage was in his roar; Which Etna heard, and shuddered to its core. 313

"Diving in panic (for the sea was near) I heard my fleeing lover's cry of fear: 'Help, Galatea; help me, parents dear.' Child of a river-nymph, and loved by me, He begged for sanctuary in stream or sea. The Cyclops, as in hot pursuit he came, Wrenched off a piece of mountain, and took aim; And though it caught him with the edge alone, Acis was wholly buried by the stone. Then I (the fates permitting) made him be A river-god, his grandsire's quality. His blood, which trickled from the rock, turned brown, Like a hill-stream when first the rains come down; Then slowly cleared: the rock was seen to part, And living rushes from the rifts to start; And where the main cleft yawned was heard the sound Of gushing springs; and (what may most astound) A youth appeared, waist-deep amid the spray, On whose new horns a wreath of rushes lay — Who, save for superhuman size, and new Complexion, of a watery green and blue, Was Acis — and was Acis, all the same, Changed to a river, but unchanged in name." She ceased: the Nereids, when the tale was heard, Took to the sea, whereon no ripple stirred. But Scylla was no sea-nymph, and afraid To trust herself too far, swam back, and strayed On the wet sand, her clothing laid aside; Or went, when tired of walking, where the tide Came flooding in to form a land-locked pool; And found refreshment in the water cool. And there came Glaucus, scudding through the sea: A new-made dweller of the deep was he, Who at Anthedon, on Boeotia's shore, Had suffered change of shape not long before. He saw the girl, and smitten by the sight, Said all within his power to stay her flight. Yet none the less, made fleet by fear, she fled, And near the seashore reached a mountain-head, Which fronts the strait, and from its single crown 314

Slopes, with its trees, to the long sea-lane down. There, safe at last, she stood, and knew not, she, If he were god or freak, but stared to see His color, and the hairs that thickly grow To cloak his shoulders, and the back below; And lower yet, how human members fail, And end him, fishlike, with a turbine tail. He read her thoughts; and clambering high and dry Upon a ridge of rock that rose near by, He said: "No savage beast, fair maid, in me, Nor monstrous growth, portending ill, you see. A water-god am I, and in the main, Like Proteus, and with equal power, I reign; No greater is the power that Triton has, Nor yet Palaemon, son of Athamas. Even as a mortal man, I set my care Upon the sea, and lived and labored there; And now to draw the net-drawn catch was mine; And now, rock-perched, I managed rod and line. Part of the shore lies neighboring to the lea, On one side grassland, and on one the sea. No peaceful sheep, no horned cattle's bite, No shaggy goat, had done that grass despite; No bees had reaped the flowers; no garlands there Had e'er been gathered for the feaster's hair; No mower's hand had scythed: the first was I Who sat upon this turf, my nets to dry. And there my catches in a row I spread To count them over: those which chance had led To swim within the nets, and those that took Through their own trustfulness the curving hook. It sounds like fiction, what I now relate: But where's my profit, if I fabricate? Touched by the turf, my catch began to stir; To turn and twist, and grounded as they were, To nose ahead, as in their element; And while I stood bewildered, leaping went To vanish in their watery home once more, And leave me dispossessed upon the shore. "Amazed, I pondered how this came to pass: 3i5

If through some god, or sap within the grass. What plant had powers like these? I plucked and bit, And drank the queerly tasting juice of it. I felt my heart leap in me, and my breast With longing for the watery world possessed. Succumbing soon: 'Dry land, farewell,' I cried, 'My home no more,' and plunged beneath the tide. There welcomed, and so honored as to be Co-opted to the sea-gods' company, And undergoing (thanks to them, who prayed To Tethys and Oceanus for aid) A cleansing rite, designed to set me free From clogging traces of mortality, I next (so went the word) must bathe me well In streams fivescore; and when the purging spell Nine times was sung, converging rivers shed Whole seas of gathered waters on my head. So far, what happened I can tell thee true; So much I marked; but then no more I knew; And later, coming to myself, I find A different self, new body and new mind. Then first I saw this seaweed beard of mine, And hair which trails behind me o'er the brine; Vast shoulders, sea-green arms, and legs that go Down-curving to a finny fish below. But what avails my form, what use to me To have won the sea-gods' favor, or to be A god myself, if such things touch not thee?" Here Scylla left him, having heard enough; And he, love-crazed, and stung by this rebuff, Heads for the mansion where, amid her spells Of nature-marring magic, Circe dwells.

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BOOK

FOURTEEN OF Circe and her enchantments — the transformation of Scylla — the further adventures of Aeneas of Troy — the death of Dido of Carthage — the Sibyl of Cumae — Polyphemus — the transformation of Ulysses' men by Circe — and of Picus likewise — of the wars of the Trojans in Italy — the story of Vertumnus and Pomona — of the early days of Rome — and of the reign and apotheosis of Romulus

J L ROM his home-waters, where the surges jar Euboea's coast, the god had traveled far; And Etna's bulk (which, on the giant cast, Compressed his windpipe) long ere this was passed; And leaving now the Cyclops' fields (untaught What plows were for, and owing ox-teams nought), And passing Zancle, and the city-state Of Rhegium, sundered by the wrecking strait (Which, bordered by twin coast-lines, marks the bound Between Italian and Sicilian ground), With powerful stroke the Tuscan tide he won, And came to Circe, daughter of the Sun, Who with her beasts, or beastlike phantoms, fills Her mansion on the herb-engendering hills. When greetings had been given on either side — "Goddess, take pity on a god," he cried; "For you alone, should I seem worth your aid, Have skill to heal the wound which love has made. None better, Titan queen, than I who owe My change to them, the power of herbs should know. To explain my frenzy — on the shores which lie Facing Messana, Scylla took my eye. My promises, my prayers (I blush to tell),

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My wooing words — all unregarded fell. Now if in charms some sovran virtues lurk, Do you with words of power set charms to work: If herbs may best the intrenched disease assail, Use them, and let their well-tried powers prevail. Yet care and cure I do not claim of you, Nor end of pain — no, make her suffer too." Circe herself was apt to feel love's flame, Whether this weakness from her nature came, Or whether Venus sent it, in her rage Against her father for his espionage; And thus she spoke: "You better might pursue A willing one, who wished the same as you With equal zest, being worthy, as you were, Not to solicit favors, but confer. It's you that should be wooed, and, trust to me, Give but a gleam of hope, you soon will be. And lest you pause, and doubt your beauty's might, Look, I, the daughter of the sun-god bright, Who wield with drugs and spells such potency, Count it my one ambition, yours to be. Scorn her that scorns you: her that follows you Follow: and by one act give both their due." "While Scylla lives," the sea-god thus replied To this suggestion, "trees in ocean's tide, And seaweed on the mountain-tops will grow, Before my love shall alteration know." Circe, who though resentful loved him still, To injure him had neither power nor will: Against the rival, to herself preferred, By thwarted love and anger she was stirred; And hastened without pause to crush and bruise Plants of ill fame, whence fearsome venoms ooze, Mixed with the spells that Hecate's adepts use; Then left her secret room, and clad in blue, Went past the beasts, her fawning retinue, And reaching Rhegium, which looks o'er the tide To Zancle's rocks upon the farther side, On seething water as on land went she, Skimming dry-shod the surface of the sea.

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There was a cove which curved to form a bow, Where Scylla for siesta loved to go: Hither, when shadows shortened, would she fly, Avoiding suns too hot, and seas too high. This tiny patch of water, ere the sun Blazed from the zenith, with his course half run, Circe, that day, against the leisure hour, Doctored with drugs of dire disnaturing power, And juices which from noxious roots were shed, While unintelligible charms she said, Mumbling in repetitions nine times three Mysterious words with lips of sorcery. When Scylla comes, and dips waist-deep, she sees Her form grow fringed with foul monstrosities, Black yelping hounds, which (unaware that they Are part of her) she tries to drive away, Or, fearful, from their thrusting jaws to run, But carries with her what she seeks to shun. She looks for legs and thighs, and finds alone The gaping hellhounds, of her substance grown; And with her flesh holds leashed the rout below Of beasts which from her legless body grow. Her lover, Glaucus, mourned her, and in dread Of spells so used, from amorous Circe fled. Scylla stood fast; and first some part she slew (Occasion serving) of Ulysses' crew, To show her hate for Circe: next came nigh To drown the Trojans as their ships sailed by; But ere she could, her last mutation came; And ships still shun the rock which bears her name. Past Scylla, then, with oars to aid their speed, And baffling, too, Charybdis and her greed, The Trojans ran; Ausonia's shore was near, But back to Libya with the wind they veer; Where Dido, taking to her home and heart The Trojan hero in a husband's part, And bearing ill the destined severance, bade A pyre, as if for solemn rites, be made; And mounted there, did on his sword-point fall, And being duped herself, made dupes of all. 319

Aeneas left in haste that sandy shore, And Carthage newly built, and, blown once more To Eryx, at his father's tomb he paid Due honors, with Acestes' loyal aid; Then loosed the ships, which Iris, in the hire Of Juno, had so nearly wrecked with fire; And left the lands where burning sulphur smokes, The realms of Aeolus, and the Sirens' rocks. Now the tall ship, her helmsman lost at sea, Sweeps past Inarime and Prochyte, And Pithecusae, on the hilltop bare, Called by the name of those who settled there. For once the father of the gods, whose hate For the sly race of Cercopes was great, To scourge their fraud, their knavery, and their lies, Transformed the men to beasts of hideous guise, Unlike, at once, and like, the human race; Put cronelike wrinkles on the furrowed face; And shrank the body, and with hammer blows Beat in the blunted backward-curving nose; Then sent them, clothed with hairs of brownish hue, To dwell in these abodes; but first withdrew The gift of speech, the tongue that lived for lies, And left them only screams and raucous cries. Passing this place, and leaving out of sight Parthenope's ringwall upon the right, To left the cape, where in his burial-mound Misenus with his trumpet made no sound, He sailed to Cumae's coast, the fenland belt, Where in her cave the long-lived Sibyl dwelt; And through Avernus begged her leave to go To seek his father's ghost in realms below. The Sibyl, waiting long with eyes down cast, Looked up, when entered by the god at last, And said, by sacred frenzy moved to speak, "Great man of deeds, the boon is great you seek; Yet fear not: you shall compass your desire; And you, whose hand by steel, whose heart by fire, Was tried and proved, shall visit, led by me, The Elysian dwellings, and those kingdoms see 320

Which end the universe, and meet and know Your sire's dear shade. — Where may not virtue go?" This said, she showed him, in Proserpin's glade, The golden bough: he plucked it, as she bade; And saw dread Orcus, and the wealth it boasts, And with the rest his own ancestral ghosts; One above all, the marks of age that wore, Great-souled Anchises, old and full of lore. The laws of Orcus, and his own concerns, His future wars and risks, Aeneas learns; Then with his guide he climbed the steep ascent, And talk allayed their labor as they went; And, as their road through glooms and terrors led — "Be you a goddess in the flesh," he said, "Or one by gods beloved, at least to me Divine and godlike shall you ever be; And while I live I shall not fail to own That what I am I owe to you alone; For by your grace I went to death's domain, And looked on death, and then returned again. For these your gifts, when brought to light of day, Fanes will I build, and incense tribute pay." To him the Sibyl turned, and sighing said: "No goddess I: think not, by error led, To heap such honor on a human head. Truth is, eternal life was offered me, Would I to Phoebus yield my chastity; And while my lover hoped to have his way, He tried by gifts to lead my will astray. 'Choose what to ask, Cumaean maid,' said he; 'Ask, and obtain.' I, chancing then to see A heap of soil, new dug, made it my prayer, Unwisely, that for every granule there, An extra year of life should be my lot — To ask for years of youth I quite forgot. This span he gave; and pledged, if I complied With his desires, unending youth beside. I spurned the gift; and, still unwed, live on; But now long since life's happier part has gone; And sicklied age, which comes with faltering tread,

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Must long be borne; seven centuries are sped, And still, to make the sum, three centuries more Of harvest time and vintage must pass o'er. The time will come when I, whom now you praise For godlike stature, will, through length of days, Shrink to a featherweight; and who will see One whom a god admired and loved, in me? Phoebus himself will turn a stranger's eye, Or, haply, that he loved me once, deny. So shall I change, and vanish, and be known (The fates will leave me this) by voice alone." This story, while they climbed the concave road, The Sibyl told the prince, till, as they strode Clear of the Stygian realms to air and light, Euboea's daughter-city met their sight. From there (thank-offerings made) Aeneas came To shores which bore not yet his nurse's name; Where Macareus of Neritos had found From long and weary toils a resting-ground. He, who had shared Ulysses' travels, sees, And recognizes, Achaemenides, Amazed to meet and find him living still, Whom once they left on Etna's rugged hill. "What chance, what god," he cried, "preserves you so, A Greek upon a Trojan ship to go? And whither bound?" As thus his questions went, His friend, not now in garments worn and rent, And pinned with thorns, but his own man once more, Cried: "May I see, as once I saw before, The jaws of Polyphemus, wet with gore, If less than home and Ithaca I prize This ship, or view with less devoted eyes Aeneas than my sire. — How could I show, Though I should give my all, the thanks I owe? I speak, I breathe; the sky, the sun, I see: How could I thankless and unduteous be? This life, which else through those dread jaws had passed, I owe to him; and, were this light my last, Should be, if not entombed by kinship's law, 322

At least not buried in the monster's maw. What thought was mine — if terror left me free To think and feel — when you stood out to sea? Abandoned thus, I dared not shout, for fear The noise betrayed me to the foeman near — Yours all but wrecked your ship: I saw him throw; I saw the massive boulder seaward go. Again that giant arm let fly a vast Rock-mass, as by a hurling engine cast. I thought myself aboard, and felt afraid Of shipwreck, in the wave and wind it made. "When you had fled ('twas certain death to stay), All over Etna would he grope his way, Groaning with pain, and, since he could not see, Colliding, as he walked, with rock and tree; And stretching seaward arms befouled with gore, His curses on the Grecian race would pour. 'If chance would bring Ulysses,' (ranted he), 'Or one of those he sailed with, back to me, That I my fury might on someone spend, His limbs devour, his living body rend, And flush my gullet with his gore, and thresh Between my teeth his palpitating flesh — How slight, how next to nothing then to me The loss I feel, the lack of light, would be.' "While thus he raved I, pale with horror, eyed His face, from recent slaughter yet undried; His empty socket, brutal hands, and beard Clotted with human blood, and limbs besmeared. Death was in sight; but that I counted least Of all my woes, being with the thought obsessed: Now will he seize me, now will gulp me down, And sink my living substance in his own. That picture too was printed on my brain Of what I saw, when, dashed and dashed again Upon the ground, by twos, my comrades lay, And he, wild-beastlike, fastened on his prey, Cramming his greedy maw, ere life had flown, With limbs and flesh and marrow in the bone. 323

An ague seized me: faint with fear I stood, And watched him, chewing now his bloody food, And now disgorging gobbets mixed with wine; And such a fate I fancied would be mine. "Day after day in hiding did I lie, Starting at every sound: I feared to die, Yet wished for death, and barely could contrive On acorns, grass, and leaves to keep alive; By friends abandoned and of hope bereft, Without resource to death and suffering left. At last offshore this vessel hove in sight; And first by signs I begged the means of flight; Then running to the beach by prayers prevailed, And in the Trojan ship the Grecian sailed. Now, shipmate, say how fared yourself, your crew, Your captain: all who sailed the seas with you." In Tuscan seas (so ran his comrade's tale) Reigned Aeolus, who kept the winds in jail; Which, in a bull's-hide bag, secured with cord, No common gift, their captain brought aboard. Nine days Ulysses sailed with wind astern, And could at last the looked-for land discern; But on the tenth, when next Aurora stirred, The crew, by greed of gain and envy spurred, Thinking it gold, untied the winds, which bore Them backward on the course they sailed before To Aeolus' harbor. "Thence" (the speaker said) "Our voyage to that ancient city led, Where Lamus of the Laestrygonian race First ruled, and now Antiphates had place. To him I went as envoy, one of three, Of whom but two contrived from death to flee. The savage, in whose jaws the third had bled, Calling his troops, gave chase to us who fled. They pelted us with rocks and trunks of trees, And sank our ships and all the crews with these. "Yet was there one that scaped, the ship that bore Ulysses and myself; and, grieving sore For comrades lost, to yonder coast we turned — That island, in the distance just discerned. 324

Tis safer, take my word, to see it so: I saw it once at nearer range, and know. And you, most just of Trojans, goddess-born, A foe in war, a friend in peace, I warn: Shun Circe's shore. We anchored there, and I, Bearing Antiphates in memory, And the fierce Cyclops, was for saying no, If asked beneath a stranger's roof to go. Yet picked by lot was I, and chosen thus (With eighteen comrades more), Eurylochus, Trusty Polites, and Elpenor — he Who loved too well the wine-bowl — came with me. The city reached, from Circe's porch a rout Of mingled lions, bears, and wolves, rushed out; Yet gave us, as we shrank in some alarm, No cause for fear, and offered us no harm. Instead, they wagged a friendly tail, and tried To curry favor, running by our side. Maids let us in, and through the sumptuous sheen Or marble halls they led us to their queen: In a fine alcove, on a throne of state, In glittering robe and veil of gold she sate, With nymphs around, who ne'er a finger sped To card the fleece, or draw the running thread: They sorted, and in separate baskets laid, Herbs heaped pell-mell, and flowers of every shade. Their mistress supervised them: well she knew The powers of herbs, what every leaf could do, And what their blend when mingled; and she paid Close heed, while all the plants were checked and weighed. "She saw us: greetings passed: with brows unbent She spoke, and pledged our prayers' accomplishment. Without delay a beverage, as she bade, Of roasted barley mixed with curd was made, With wine and honey; which she laced beside With drugs, which that sweet draught was meant to hide; And when her hand accurst had given the cup, And parched with thirst, I took and drank it up, Then with her wand the goddess touched my hair. I blush to tell the tale, but then and there 325

The change began: stiff bristles clothed me o'er; My speech was grunts, I uttered words no more; Face down I dropped; I felt my neck bulge out With muscle; and my nose became a snout; And with that part, which not so long before Had held the wine-cup, now I trod the floor, Penned in a pigsty — such the potion's might — With comrades, all save one, who shared my plight. One only to our sight a man remained, Eurylochus, who left the cup undrained; Which had he touched, the fate would still be mine To wallow with a bristling herd of swine; Since but for him, and the bad news he bore, Ulysses ne'er had come to quit the score. "To him had Hermes given a flower that grew White from black roots, which gods as moly knew. With this and with advice the god bestowed Twice-armed, he entered Circe's strange abode; And, called to taste the treacherous wine cup there, He saw her wand upraised to stroke his hair; And thrust her roughly back, and bared his blade, And scared her from him, trembling and dismayed. Then truce was called, with handclasps ratified; And, taken as a lover to her side, He asked, as wedding-gift and pledge of faith, The persons of his shipmates, without scathe. Her secret antidote she sprinkled first Then touched our heads with magic wand reversed; And then we heard her former charms unwound By countercharms; and, rising from the ground By stages, as she sang her magic lay, We stood erect; our bristles fell away; The bifurcated hoof was seen to go; Shoulders returned, and arms, with hands below. Our leader wept; and weeping too, we cast Our arms about his neck, and held him fast. "What sights, what stories, while a lagging year Detained us there, I chanced to see or hearl This tale, in confidence, with many more, Was told me by a handmaid, one of four, 326

Trained to the magic rites; 'twas while her queen In dalliance with our leader lived unseen. A statue, marble-white, was shown by her: A youth, and on his head a woodpecker. Within a sacred shrine it stood, hung round With many a gai land, in its honor bound. I begged her, as I keenly craved to know, Say who it was, i nd wherefor worshiped so; And why the bir< I: she answered: 'Hear the tale, O Macareus, no: let attention fail; And better judgcks, and with her voice allay The wild beasts' rage, the coursing rivers stay, And check the wildfowl on their wandering way. 'Once Picus, while she made melodious sounds With treble voice, left for his hunting-grounds. Intent to slay the boars of native breed, He took two spears, and rode his mettled steed, 327

Wearing a Tyrian cloak against the cold, Clasped with a glittering brooch of ruddy gold. To these same woods the sun-god's daughter too Had found her way, in search of simples new, Leaving the fields which round Circeii lay (Her name-lands) on the fertile hills to stray. And when, herself concealed within the wood, She saw the youth, like one entranced she stood. She dropped her gathered herbs, and seemed to feel A burning flame through all her marrows steal. 'Recovering self-control, when the first stress Of passion passed, and minded to confess Her fond desire, she could not reach his side, So large his train, so swiftly did he ride. 'Escape you shall not, though like wind you flee, If Circe knows herself aright,' said she; 'If any drugs a trace of power retain; If charms and all their promise are not vain.' Forming a phantom boar, a bloodless cheat, Before his field of view she bade it fleet; Thence to the forest, where most thickly grow The timber trees, and horses may not go. Picus, in haste the phantom prey to track, Left in a trice his horse's steaming back, And striding on, he knew not where, pursued An empty hope within the trackless wood. 'Circe pronounces ritual prayers, and cries In anthems strange to strange divinities. With such a spell she ravaged oft before The moon's white face, and wove a covering o'er Her father's head, making the rain-clouds lower, And now no less the spell reveals its power. The sky grows dark, the mists from earth exhale; The king has lost his guards, his guards the trail. Then choosing time and place, the goddess cries: 'O by what takes me captive, those bright eyes, And by that beauty, youth most fair to view, Which makes me, though a goddess, kneel to you, Look kindly on my love, and take the Sun For sire-in-law, that all-surveying one;

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And harden not your heart, to look with scorn On Circe, of the Titan lineage born.' So she: but Picus coldly thrust aside Her and her prayers. 'Be who you may,' he cried, 'I am not yours: another holds me fast, Whose hold, I pray, for many a year may last. Nor shall a mistress mar the troth once tied, While fate preserves my Canens by my side.' 'When all her oft-repeated prayers proved vain, ' 'Twill cost you dear,' she threatened; 'ne'er again Restored to Canens, you shall learn with pain What one can do who loves, who feels the smart Of love despised, and has a woman's heart.' Then twice to east she turned, and twice to west, And with her wand three times the youth she pressed, And said three spells: he fled in wonderment, Finding that faster than his wont he went. He saw himself with sudden wings arrayed Joining the Latian woods, a bird new-made. He pecked the boughs, and stabbed the tree-trunks wild, With horny beak, to fate unreconciled. His pinions from the crimson cloak he wore Took on their hue; and what had been before A brooch to clench his garment, now was made The golden plumage that his throat displayed. His name alone survives. 'The courtiers cried That name meanwhile through all the countryside, But all in vain: they nowhere came to sight Of Picus, but on Circe chanced to light, Who now had cleared the vapors, and allowed The sun and wind to banish mist and cloud. They tax her with her guilt; demand their lord; And arm, prepared to rush her with the sword. She, sparing not her poisoned saps to fling, From Erebus and Chaos summoning Night and the gods of night, to Hecate cries In long and unmelodious litanies. Then (talk of wonders!) from their places leapt The wooded hills; o'er earth a groaning crept; 329

Trees in the neighboring forests lost their hue; And blood upon the pastures stood like dew; The stones, it seemed, gave forth a bellowing sound; Dogs barked, and snakes made black the festering ground; While unsubstantial phantoms flitted round. She touched the courtiers' faces; while they stood In fear and wonder, with her venomed rod; And at the touch the human forms took on Strange bestial shapes, each proper semblance gone. 'Declining Phoebus now had dappled o'er With dying gleams the far Tartessian shore; And Canens, keeping eyes and mind astrain, Had waited for her husband long in vain. Her slaves and all her people, with the aid Of questing lights, scoured every woodland glade. 'Twas not enough to weep and rend her hair, And beat her breast, though that she did not spare: But rushing out, through Latian fields she strays Distraught: six nights and six returning days Behold her wandering, food and sleep denied, O'er hill and dale, with only chance for guide. Tiber was last to see her, as she sank, Outworn with grief and travel, on his bank, And weeping there, let words of sorrow flow, And with faint sounds made music of her woe. (The swan, when dying, chants her requiem so.) At last her death-song ceased, and now she felt The marrow in her bones begin to melt, And wasting to a substance yet more rare, She passed by slow degrees to weightless air. The place, which native muses from her name Called Canens, keeps the impress of her fame.' "Such tales were told me oft, such things occurred, All that long year, until the call was heard Again, though stiff with long disuse were we, To launch the ship, and shake the canvas free. Circe had told of baffling paths ahead, Journeys of vast extent, and dangers dread In savage seas: I own, I felt afraid; And having here made landfall, here I stayed." 330

When Macareus made end, Aeneas turned To where his nurse's ashes lay inurned; And this brief tribute was engraved for her In verse upon her marble sepulcher: Caieta, here entombed, a prince did rear, Who, famed for love of duty far and near, Saved her, as duty bade, from Grecian fire, To burn more fitly on a funeral pyre. They loose the hawser from the grass-grown strand, And steering clear of Circe's treacherous land, And halls ill famed, to those dim groves they flee, Where yellow-silted Tiber breaks to sea. Latinus, son of Faunus, ruling there, Received Troy's prince as son-in-law and heir — Not without war, with headstrong clans at strife, And Turnus raging for his promised wife. Etruria clashed with Latium: long they fought; And grimly was the toilsome victory sought; And either side drew many a stout ally: Some aid the Trojans, some the Rutuli. Aeneas found the journey which he made To old Evander's city, well repaid; But Venulus did not so well succeed In that whose founder, exiled Diomede, Ruled in Apulia, holding acres broad From Daunus, sire-in-law and overlord. When Venulus appeal for Turnus made, The Aetolian pleaded lack of power to aid, Not wishing to commit to war, he said, Himself, or tribes which Daunus ruled and led; While as for Greeks, compatriots of his own, Brave men to arm for battle, he had none. "To prove this no mere pretext, though the thought" (Thus he went on) "with bitter grief is fraught, I will not shirk the tale. When Troy's tall spires And battlements had fed the Grecian fires; When Ajax, lord of Naryx, for the maid Snatched from the maiden goddess, dearly paid, And brought, though all but he were innocent, On all the Greeks a share of chastisement; 331

Scattered abroad, and o'er the unfriendly main By stormwinds driven, in darkness, lightning, rain, We underwent the rage of skies and seas, And Caphereus, to crown our miseries: The catalogue in full would tire your ear; From Priam then might Greece have won a tear. Myself, Minerva's care was quick to save: The mailclad goddess snatched me from the wave; But Venus, for the wound which I before Had given her, paid the well remembered score. I suffered, driven from Argos once again, Such blows by land, such toils upon the main, That oft I cried: 'Ah happy they, to whom Harsh rock or tempest brought a common doom: Would I had found with them a watery tomb.' My followers, taxed too hard, lose heart, and crave Their journey's end, and rest from war and wave. "But Acmon, always hot of blood, and then Incensed by suffering, thus harangued the men: 'What more remains for your long fortitude To break on? What could Venus, if she would, Do more? Know this: that when worse ills await, Our fears expose us to the blows of fate; But, come the worst, beneath our feet we tread Our fear, and deepest misery knows no dread. Let Venus hear, and burn, as hitherto, With hate for Diomede, and all his crew: We, one and all, for our part, scorn her hate; And bought at great expense, our power is great.' Thus Acmon, plying sting and spur, to make The inveterate wrath of Venus reawake. "The speech found little favor: quick were we, Who called him friend, to chide his blasphemy. He tried to answer; but his voice, within Its thinned and shrunken channel, sounded thin. Hair turned to feathers: feathers covered o'er Neck, breast, and back, not human as before; With stronger growth from arms and shoulders break The pinion-quills; and elbows curve to take The form of wings; the foot's main portion grows, 332

And with a web o'er laps and joins the toes; And growing hard with horn, the mouth extends, And forms a sharp projection, where it ends. Lycus and Idas watched with wondering eyes, And, while still wondering, took the selfsame guise; And there Rhexenor, Nycteus, Abas, too, Soared up in air, with more than half my crew; And round the oars with beating wings they flew. You ask their shape, these birds of sudden flight? The nearest thing to swans, and just as white. Myself" (concluded Diomede) "who found, As Daunus' son-in-law, a settling-ground, Can barely hold, with what few men remain, These acres on the parched Apulian plain." So he, whose grandsire ruled in Calydon, Spake; and, so answered, Venulus passed on; And, leaving now Peucetia's curving coast, He saw, before Messapia's fields were crossed, A cave, with shade of waving reeds o'ergrown, Which Pan, the goat-foot god, now calls his own. 'Twas once the haunt of wood-nymphs, whom one day A local shepherd chased and scared away; Yet rallying when their wits returned once more, And when the first quick shock of fear was o'er, They scorned his bluster, and with glancing feet Drew out their dances to the music's beat. With clownish tread the shepherd mimicked these, And scoffed and jeered with rustic ribaldries; And did not cease his railing, till a growth Of living timber lapped his throat and mouth. He is, in fact, a tree, whose berries show His stamp of mind and speech for all to know; Hence the wild olive's fruits must bitter be: To them has passed his tongue's asperity. From thence the legates made for home, and brought The Greek's refusal of the help they sought; And with no strength to aid them but their own The Rutuli must take the field alone. Both sides bleed freely. See where Turnus bears Against the fleet his pine-devouring flares, 333

And fire strikes fear in those whom water spares. Now pitch, and wax, and all that freely fed The flames, was Vulcan burning; now he sped Up the tall mast to reach the sails; and smoke Within the hollow hull from crossbeams broke; When heaven's high mother, by the thought impelled, That on mount Ida's peak these pines were felled, Made all the air with blare and clangor rife From smitten bronze and breath-filled boxwood fife; And driving lions, tamed to bear her yoke, Down the light breeze, to Turnus thus she spoke: "Turnus, it nought avails those fires to fling With hand unhallowed: mine shall rescue bring. Never will I to eating flames resign The parts and members of those woods of mine." The thunder came, while yet the goddess spake, With leaping hail and rainstorms in its wake; And fratricidal winds, with sudden shock Of fierce assault, made air and ocean rock; And using one — such strength was in the blast — She snapped the ropes which held the convoy fast, And swept the Trojan ships from moorings free, Drove them headlong, and sank them out at sea. The timber turned to flesh; its toughness fled; Each prow took on the semblance of a head; The oars became a swimmer's legs and toes; And where was hull, a living ribwork grows; The keel beneath, which marked the central line From stem to stern, was changed to serve as spine; The cordage crisped to hair; the sail-yards grew To arms; while all remained of sea-green hue; And there were sea-nymphs, tumbling as they played Those waters which had made the ships afraid; Dwelling, though sprung from rugged hills of earth, In soft sea-water, heedless of their birth. Yet not forgetting many dangers faced So oft in savage seas, their hands they placed Beneath storm-battered ships, save when they bore Greeks, whom, remembering Troy, they hated sore. They beamed Ulysses' shattered craft to see, 334

And in Alcinoiis' vessel watched with glee The growing hardness, as the encroaching stone Subdued the timber's substance to its own. Some hoped that Turnus now might end the strife, Awed by this marvel, ships endowed with life As ocean nymphs; but no, he stood his ground; In neither camp was sign of weakening found. Both sides alike had gods to take their part, And what's as good as gods, a warlike heart. No longer now Lavinia's hand they claim, With realms for dowry, and a consort's name, And sceptered wedlock; but, too proud to make An end of war, fight on for victory's sake; Till Venus, at long last, saw victory crown Aeneas' arms, and Turnus stricken down. Then Ardea fell, deemed powerful, when its lord, Prince Turnus, prospered; but the outlander's sword Swept him with all his roofs and walls away; And while beneath the half-cooled ash they lay, From thence a bird, unknown till then, outflew, And beat with wings the smoldering residue. Its cry, its pallor, and its meager frame, Suggest the captured city whence it came; It keeps the name of Ardea with the rest, And with self-pitying pinions beats its breast. By then Aeneas, through sheer worth, had won The gods, including Juno, every one To end their wrath: lulus' heritage Was firmly founded, ere he came of age; And now the fulness of the time was nigh, And Venus' son was ripening for the sky. Venus had gone the rounds of heaven, and cast Her arms about her father's neck at last, And pleaded: "Father, never harsh to me, I pray you now most kind and gracious be; And grant Aeneas, who from blood of mine Has made you grandsire, place and power divine; Some rank in heaven, however low, assign. Once has the loveless kingdom met his eyes; 335

Once has he crossed the Styx: let once suffice." The gods approved; and even their queen unbent Her fixed regard, and smiled and bowed assent. Then said the Sire: "You both are worthy: you, Who sue for heaven, and he for whom you sue. Take, daughter, what you pray for." Venus heard With joyful heart, and spoke a grateful word. Then driving down through airs which lightly bore Her dove-drawn car, she reached Laurentum's shore, Where neath the reeds Numicus' waters glide, Snakelike, to mingle with the neighboring tide. All in Aeneas that could be the prey Of death, she bade this river wash away, And carry with its noiseless current down To sea, and in the depths of ocean drown. The horned god obeyed, and washed him free From all admixture of mortality; All imperfections by his cleansing shower Were purged: the finer part withstood his power. And then, this purifying process done, Venus in heavenly perfume bathed her son; Ambrosia mixed with nectar sweet was laid Upon his lips, and lo, a god was made; Who, surnamed Indiges, was given a home At shrines and altars by the men of Rome. Latium and Alba then as kingdoms came To young Ascanius of the double name; Next Silvius ruled, whose son, Latinus, bore The name and scepter once conjoined before; Alba was next, a king whose fame was fair; And Epytus, his issue, was his heir; Then Capetus, on Capys following; And Tiberinus after them was king, Who dying gave a name so well renowned To that Etruscan stream wherein he drowned; His sons were Remulus, too proud by far, And Acrota, less vain, yet bold in war; First reigned the elder, Remulus, who tried To wield the lightning, and by lightning died; Then Acrota, who in succession gave 336

The scepter o'er to Aventinus brave; Who, where he kinged it, on the selfsame hill Lies buried, and confers its title still. Pomona lived, when Procas, next in line, Reigned o'er the people of the Palatine. She tended orchards, and in care of trees Was first among the woodland deities. No Latian rival could surpass her pride In fruit-tree culture — as her name implied. She loved not woods and streams, but garden-ground, Where laden boughs with smiling fruits abound. She bears no spear, but with her pruning-knife Checks straggling branches, curbs what grows too rife, Or slits the bark, and sets the slips, and brings Saps not their own to feed the fosterlings; Nor lets them thirst: from many a channeled rill The twisting fibrous roots may drink their fill. This was her passion, this her one pursuit: No time for love, nor no desire, to boot. Yet, fearing molestation, she would bar Her gates, and keep the country gods afar, Brooking no male approach — each woodland race: The satyrs, born to dance with strength and grace; The Pans, who each his pine-wreathed horns uprears; Silenus, ever younger than his years; And he, who thieves with falx or phallus scares — What did they leave undone, to make her theirs? But ah, Vertumnus in his love, they say, Surpassed them all, and fared as ill as they. Oft, like a sturdy reaper, he would bring Baskets of grain, and look the very thing; Oft on his brows, as though from turning o'er The new-mown grass, a wisp of hay he wore; His rough hand grasped the goad, and you would vow The laboring steers had been unyoked but now; Give him a knife, a hedger you would see, Or vineyard hand; a ladder, off was he To pick the fruit: a soldier, when he took The sword: a fisherman, with rod and hook. In short, full many a shape and shift he knew,

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To meet his mistress, and her charms to view. His boldest stroke was this: in headdress gay, Bowed o'er a staff, his forehead fringed with gray, He played an aged crone, and passing through Pomona's grounds admired the fruit she grew; And, with his praise, some kisses, such as ne'er A grandam would have given, he gave to her; And, bent with age, sat down to contemplate The boughs above that drooped with autumn's weight. There, wedded with a vine, an elm stood nigh, And grapes in shining clusters caught the eye. Commending that fair partnership, he said: "Now if the tree stood single and unwed, Lacking its consort vine, 'twould be despised, With nothing but its leaves to make it prized. The vine, which with its partner peace has found, Would, if unwed, lie sprawling on the ground. And yet you shrink from wedlock, caring nought To find a husband, by this tree untaught. Did you but wish it, Helen should not be More famed for throngs of suitors, no, nor she, For whom the Lapiths fought, nor she, whose lord, Ulysses, on the timid boldly warred. Even now, although you shrink from those who woo, Or snub them, yet a thousand long for you: Mortals, and gods, and half-gods, and the race Who have on Alba's hills their haunting-place. If, growing wiser, you consent to make A happy marriage, and advice will take From an old woman, who, unknown to you, Yet loves you more than all those others do, Avoid a vulgar match, and choose instead Vertumnus as the partner of your bed; And, since I know him well, as none but he Can know himself, I will his sponsor be. He does not roam the world, from place to place, But thinks his homeland here an ample space; Nor does he, as your suitors mostly do, Love at first sight the maiden last in view. No, you his first and final love will be; 338

Of you alone he lives the devotee. And youth he has, and beauty, nature's dower, And takes what shape he will, with easy power. Whatever shape you bid, bid what you may, That will he be. And there is this to say: Your tastes agree: the first-fruits of your lands Are his; he holds your gifts with joyful hands. But now no fruits he craves, from orchards got; Sweet herbs, in gardens grown, he covets not; Nothing but you: have pity on his pain; And what, by lips of mine, he seeks to gain, Think he is begging this in person here; And fear the avenging deities, and fear The Cyprian queen, whom stony hearts appall, And Nemesis, whose wrath remembers all. The more to shake you — from a mind stored well By length of years, a history will I tell, Known to all Cyprus, which may well impart Some kindness and compliance to your heart. "Iphis, of humble birth, had seen a young And highborn girl of ancient Teucer sprung: He had but seen her, yet on fire was he In every vein for Anaxarete. When reason, struggling long, could not subdue His madness, to her door he came to sue; And to her nurse his hapless love confessed, And craved her pity, by the hopes that rest On her young charge. Anon he tries to earn The favor of her handmaids, each in turn, With winning words, and if successful there Would give the tender wax his words to bear; And sometimes he would hang bouquets, which bore His tears, instead of dew, upon her door; And, lying down, his tender side would jar With the hard step, and curse the unfeeling bar. "Oft, when the Kids are setting, seas run high; The Noric fires the steel's hard temper try: Yet more unpitying than the stormy sea, Harder than steel, was Anaxarete, Or rock still living, from its roots untorn.

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She spurned his pleas, and laughed his love to scorn; And not content with heartless deeds, would say Disdainful words, and take even hope away. The long-tormented boy's endurance broke; And at her door these words, his last, he spoke: "Victory is yours: no longer shall I be A burden to you, Anaxarete. Prepare the glad procession; loudly raise The Paean; and bind on the shining bays. You conquer; and I freely die: herein My love perforce must your approval win. In this at least I please you, heart of stone: Exult, and here at last my merit own. With life, remember, was my love laid by, Twin lights, which by the same eclipse must die. And I, not letting truth on rumor wait, Myself will come, that you may know my fate, And feed upon my corpse your cruel eyes. Gods, if you see men's actions from the skies, Remember me, and ere my utterance fail, Hear this last prayer: that men may tell my tale In future ages; and the time you owe My shortened life, upon my fame bestow.' "He turned his tear-filled eyes upon the door, Which hands now bloodless oft had decked before; And from the beam above a rope he led, And tied a noose, and putting in his head — 'Hardhearted and unnatural girl,' he cries, 'This sort of circlet doubtless glads your eyes.' Then choked to death, a woeful weight he hung, Turning to face his mistress, as he swung. "The slaves had heard a knocking, as his feet Upon the door in death's convulsions beat. With cries, and fruitless care, since life had fled, They loosed and bore him (for his sire was dead) To where his mother lived, who sadly pressed Her son's cold limbs, and took him to her breast. She speaks, as sorrowing parents do, her woes, And through the mourning mother's ritual goes; Along the streets in tears she leads the way 34°

Where pyre and flame await the pallid clay. "The sad procession passed, by fate's decree, The house of heartless Anaxarete. She heard the mourners beat their breasts and wail; And Nemesis was now upon her trail; And moved by novel feeling, 'Come,' said she, 'Let us at least this last sad ritual see.' And at a window in a chamber high She saw her lover's body carried by. Her eyes grew stiff; she could not turn her face (Try as she would), nor take a backward pace; Her feet were palsied, and a pallor spread Over her body, as the warm blood fled; And by degrees the flint, which long had grown In her hard heart, turned all her limbs to stone; And still in female form (no fable this!) The statue stands, preserved at Salamis, And has a temple too, the fame to tell Of Gazing Venus. Therefore ponder well These things, my own dear nymph, and shunning pride And hardness, take your lover to your side; So may your fruits in bud not feel the power Of vernal frosts, or blizzards when in flower." Vertumnus, having said so much in vain In female form, assumed the man again. He shed the trappings of old age, and bright As the sun's face he beamed upon her sight, That sun which blazes, having won its way Clean through the clouds, with unimpeded ray. His looks prevailed: no need his power to prove; And won thereby, she ached with answering love. When false Amulius reigned, the soldier's hand Was heavy on the rich Ausonian land; Till by his grandson's gift old Numitor Regained the kingdom he had ruled before; And on the day when shepherds' prayers were paid To Pales, were the wall's foundations laid. Then Rome knew war, when taking arms to claim Their daughters, Tatius with the Sabines came; To whom Tarpeia oped the citadel, 341

And neath the pile of shields well-punished fell. Then soft as stalking wolves the foemen crept, To take the city while the Romans slept. The gates had been close-barred by Ilia's son, And all withstood assault, excepting one, Which Juno's hand unbolted, and swung round Upon the massive hinge without a sound. Venus alone upon the Roman side Saw the bars fallen and the gate set wide, And would have closed it, did the rule not run, That gods may not annul what gods have done. She sought the place where native nymphs, who dwell Not far from Janus, keep their ice-cold well; And these, compliant when a goddess made A just appeal, called forth their founts to aid. When all their streams and issues had so far The open gate of Janus failed to bar, They tried another plan, depositing Sulphur in yellow blocks beneath the spring, And set with smoking bitumen ablaze The subterranean ducts and waterways. The fire's effect, upon such fuels fed, Pierced to the waters in their lowest bed; And they, which just before might dare compete With Alpine cold, now matched the fires in heat. That gate, which falsely pledged a right of way To the stern Sabines, steams with scalding spray, As the new stream obstructs it, and affords Time for the Roman troops to take their swords. Then Romulus attacked in turn, and soon The Roman ground with Sabine dead was strewn And with its own, as arms unblest made run The mingled blood of sire-in-law and son. Ere long the states resolved to sheathe the blade Before the bitter end, and peace was made; And Tatius shared the scepter by the side Of Romulus, and ruled until he died. And now, when Romulus with equal sway Was ruling both the nations, Mars one day Took off his helmet, and petitioned then 342

With words like these the sire of gods and men: "O father, since in strength the Roman state Is stablished, and no longer rests its fate On one man's rule, that recompense, which you Pledged to your grandson and myself, is due; The time has come to give him, raised from earth, A place in heaven consistent with his worth. You spoke to me, when all the gods were there In council, words which showed a kinsman's care. You said (I marked it well) : 'One shall there be, Whom you shall raise the sky's blue realm to see.' Now be your words fulfilled." Jove bowed his head In sign of sanction: blinding clouds were spread To dark the air, while thunder, dread to hear, And lightning-flashes filled the earth with fear. Mars knew the signs which sealed the promise given Of power to snatch his son from earth to heaven; And climbed his blood-stained car, with spear to aid, Behind the straining steeds, and unafraid, Cracking his whip, swooped down with steep decline, And gained the peak of wooded Palatine, Where Ilia's son was ruling now alone A corporate Roman people, all his own, And swept him off; his mortal substance passed Into thin air, dissolving on the blast, As a lead ball, which the broad sling lets fly, Is melted in its passage through the sky. A form of radiant beauty took its place More fit the couches of the gods to grace — His other self, Quirinus, whom we see In crimson robes, and regal majesty. His wife bewailed his loss; but Juno laid Her royal mandate on the rainbow maid: "Descend your curving track; Hersilia find; And with this message cheer the widow's mind: 'Great lady, whose surpassing virtues grace Alike the Latian and the Sabine race, Well mated with so great a man in life, And worthy now to be Quirinus' wife, Stop weeping; and if care is yours to see 343

Your husband, come to yonder grove with me, Where on Quirinus' hill the woods grow green, The temple of the Roman king to screen.'" Iris obeyed, and down her painted bow Sped to Hersilia on the earth below, And spoke the words prescribed: the wife, with eyes Scarce raised, and looks of modesty, replies: "Goddess (for though to me by name unknown, Goddess you are, by aspect clearly shown), Lead, lead me on, and bring me face to face With my dear husband: if the fates such grace Will grant me, once to see him, I will own That heaven is mine; my heaven is that alone." She said no more, but climbed without delay Quirinus' hill, as Iris led the way; And there from heaven to earth down-gliding came A star, which set Hersilia's hair aflame; Who passing with it upward into air By dear familiar hands was welcomed there; And Rome's great founder, as her body grew Divine in substance, named his wife anew. He called her Hora, and so deified She dwells for ever at her husband's side.

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BOOK F I F T E E N OF King Numa and his learning — of Crotona and its divine origin — the teaching of Pythagoras, to wit: vegetarianism, metempsychosis, and the universal law of change — the story of Hippolytus — the transformation of Egeria — the tale of Cipus — the migration of Aesculapius to Rome — the achievements of Julius Caesar — of his assassination and apotheosis — the eulogy of Augustus — the invocation of the gods of Rome — the poet foresees his immortality in letters

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Jow was it question who could bear a weight So crushing, and succeed a king so great; And rumor, naming with prophetic voice The king to be, on Numa fixed its choice, Who, famed for mastery of the Sabine lore, With deep receptive mind still grasped at more, And sought to learn, by study, nature's laws, How things are constituted, and their cause; And, driven by this inquiring temperament, From Cures and his native land he went; And journeyed far, those city walls to see, Where Hercules found hospitality; And when he asked who founded there of yore A Grecian city on the Italian shore, One old man, in the district born and bred, With knowledge of a bygone era, said: "Enriched with Spanish oxen, Hercules Made happy speed, they say, from western seas, And touched Lacinium's coast, and leaving there His herd to roam and crop the pastures fair, Entered great Croton's hospitable door,

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And rested there from one long labor more. Then taking leave — 'Upon this site,' said he, 'A city shall your children's children see.' "The pledge was kept. — One Myscelus stood then Highest in heaven's regard of living men, Argive Alemon's son. Above his bed Bent the club-bearer, while he slept, and said: 'Haste, bid your native land good-by, and go Where distant Aesar's pebbly waters flow.' And, threatening terrors did he disobey, The god, and slumber with him, went his way. Myscelus rose: the vision filled his thought; And long against itself his judgment fought; 'The god says go, but drastic laws withstand: 'Tis death to try to change one's fatherland.' "The sun's bright face had sunk beneath the main, And night had raised her starry head again: The selfsame god stood there, the same decrees Were given, on pain of sterner penalties. Fear made him yield; but ere his plans were made, Or hearth and home to foreign soil conveyed, A whisper meanwhile through the city spread, And brought a charge of treason on his head; And when the prosecution's case was heard, No need of witness — "guilty" was the word. The accused, a woeful figure, lifts his eyes And hands to heaven above — 'O thou,' he cries, 'Whose twelve great labors earned the skies for fee, Bring help, I pray; my crime was due to thee.' With pebbles black and white, in olden time, 'Twas custom to convict, or clear, of crime; And thus the fatal vote was cast: each stone Was black, that in the unfeeling urn was thrown. But when, upturned, it poured them back to light For counting, all the blacks had changed to white; And so the verdict, by the god's decree, Shone without spot, and set the prisoner free. "He thanked his patron, Hercules, and sailed The Ionian sea, while friendly winds prevailed: Along the South Italian coast he bore, 346

Where Salentine Neretum guards the shore; And past Tarentum, Sparta's settlement, Past Sybaris and the Thurine bay he went; And found upon that coast's extremity The destined place, where Aesar flows to sea, And, near the river, Croton's burial-mound, Where lay his hallowed bones beneath the ground. He built the walls, as his commission ran, And named the city from the buried man. From such beginnings (clear tradition shows) Upon our soil the Grecian city rose." A man lived here, a Samian born and bred, Who, hating the dictatorship, had fled, Preferring exile: he by thought drew nigh To gods, remote in distant tracts of sky; And of that lore, that nature tried to keep From human sight, with his mind's eye drank deep. All things, with insight keen and sleepless care, He scanned, and what he learned would freely share. The wondering class, to hear the sage expound How heaven and earth began, sat silent round. He taught what nature was, and nature's laws; How snow was formed; of lightning and its cause; What godhead was; and if the thunder loud Was due to Jove, or winds that rent the cloud; What shook the earth; what rule of voyaging The stars observed; and every secret thing. He first it was, whose precept sound forbade That flesh of beasts should on the board be laid — Sound, but unheeded. — "Keep your bodies free, Mortals, from taint of food unblest," said he. "The fields give grain, the boughs with fruit bend low, And on the vines the swelling clusters grow; Some herbs are sweet by nature, some acquire Softness and sweetness through the tempering fire; Thyme-scented honey too is yours to take, And milk is given ungrudged your thirst to slake; The bounteous earth brings riches from the ground, And foods benign and bloodless feast abound. Leave flesh to beasts; nay, some at least of these —

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Sheep, horses, kine — not so their pangs appease, But feed on grass: the wild and ravening brood, Armenian tigers, lions fierce of mood, And wolves and bears, delight to browse on blood. What crime it is, that flesh on flesh should feed, That body should with body glut its greed; That those who breathe themselves should stop the breath Of fellow-creatures, living by their death. To think that when the best of mothers, Earth, To stock your larder, brings so much to birth, You pine, unless your wolfish teeth renew The Cyclops' rites, with mangled flesh to chew; And save by murder can but ill assuage Your greedy maw's ungovernable rage. "When earth was young, that time we choose to call The age of gold, when fields and orchards all Gave fruits unforced, that age, so blest, refrained From flesh and blood, and kept its lips unstained. Then birds could wing the air and take no harm; The hare could roam the fields without alarm; No fish hung dangling, by its trust betrayed; The world had peace, of treachery unafraid. He did poor service, who with envious greed First taught the race on carnal food to feed, And paved the way to crime, when the hot life Of savage beasts, perchance, first stained the knife. So far, so good: I grant the right to slay Those beasts that seek to make of man their prey: To slay, but not to eat: yet so began The sin, and soon to greater lengths it ran: And first the sow, it seems, for evil deeds (Because her curving tusks grub up the seeds And blight the hopeful year) a victim bled; Then blood of goats, that gnaw the vine, was shed At vengeful Bacchus' altars, it is said. "These two their fault destroyed; but by what sin Did you, innocuous sheep, destruction win? A peaceful flock, to serve mankind you live, And better aid by life than death can give, Who nectar sweet in bursting udders bear, 348

And on your backs soft wool for us to wear. The simple cattle, harmless, faithful, true, And born for patient toil — is death their due? That ingrate ill deserved the gift of grain, Who, having just unyoked him, dared to drain His plow-mate's blood, and taking, spent with toil, The neck whose strength had turned the stubborn soil So oft, and given the harvest year by year — Against that neck the murderous ax could rear. "Nor did the sin itself suffice their need: They wrote the gods accessory to the deed; And slew the patient steer to gratify (Such was their fond belief) the powers on high. An unflawed victim, peerless to behold, Doomed by its beauty, decked with bands of gold, Faces the altar, hearing, unaware Of what it means, the sacrificial prayer; And sees, between the horns, his forehead strown With grains of barley, by his labor grown; And stains, when struck, the knife, whose frightening gleam He saw, perchance, reflected in the stream. The entrails from the living form you rend, And search for clues to what the gods intend; And then, with lust for foods forbid, you dare Mortals, to feed thereon. O heed my prayer: Mark well my words of warning, and forbear. Think well, when joints of slaughtered beeves you chew, You make your meal of those who farm with you. "Now will I, since a god inspires, reveal My Delphic lore, yes, heaven itself unseal, Unfolding oracles of thought sublime, Great truths unfathomed since the dawn of time. Secrets long hid I sing. What joy to fly Through starry tracts, and ride the clouds on high; And leaving earth's dull anchorage behind, On stalwart Atlas' shoulders footing find; To view below men wandering here and there, Devoid of reason, and oppressed with care, And, seeing them go in fear of death, unroll Fate's changeless course, and cheer each timid soul. 349

"Mortals, by dread of ice-cold death dismayed, Of Stygian gloom and empty names afraid, The rigors of imagined realms below, The stuff of poets' tales — why fear them so? Bodies, be sure, which age with slow decay, Or pyres with burning flame, have swept away, Can feel no pain: the deathless soul lives on, Housed in new mansions when the old are gone. Myself, I mind, when Troy beleaguered lay, Was Panthoiis' son, Euphorbus, in that day; And in my breast, so long ago, there clung The massy spear by Menelaiis flung. At Argos, not long since, I knew for mine The shield I bore, preserved in Juno's shrine. "All things are changed, but none may cease to be: The spirit never dies, but ranging free Takes any body, passing as it can From man to beast, and back from beast to man. As pliant wax, new-molded, not retains The shape it had , nor as it was remains, Yet is itself the same, I teach that so The soul unchanged from form to form can go. Therefore, lest belly's lust the conquest gain O'er nature's ties, the prophet says: 'Refrain. Drive not from home, by slaughter, souls akin, Nor nourish blood with blood — a grievous sin.' "And — since with sails full-spread wide seas I range — Nothing in all the world is free from change: All is a flux of forms that come and go; While time itself glides on with ceaseless flow; And like a stream that cannot stop or stay, The restless hour goes fleeting on its way. Like wave impelled by wave, which onward speeds, Both driven itself, and driving what precedes, So flee the times, and follow as they flee, For ever new: what was, has ceased to be; What has not been, is born, as, one by one, Created ever new, the moments run. Mark too how night, full-spent, draws on to day, And darkness yields to this translucent ray; 350

Observe the changing colors of the sky: One, when the worlds in midnight slumber lie; And one, when Lucifer, the dawn's bright star, Mounts on his glistening steed, and rides afar; One, when Aurora, as the dawn draws near, In readiness for Phoebus tints the sphere. Red is the sun-god's buckler, when the climb From earth begins, and red at sinking-time; But white when at the zenith, finding there, Far from earth's taint, the pure essential air. Nor can the moon a constant shape retain, But shows, from day to morrow, loss or gain, Increase or decrease, does she wax or wane. "See too, a picture of our life to show, The year through four successive seasons go. In early spring like infancy it seems, The tender suckling time: the herbage gleams, And swells with sap, and though but soft and slight, Its promise fills the farmer with delight; The world's in flower, the fields go gay, and fill With color, though the plants lack vigor still. With growing strength the year, when spring has gone, Like a young man to summer passes on: No age with this for sturdy strength can vie: Life is abounding, and the fire burns high. Autumn takes over, when that fire grows cold, Gray-haired, in mellow mood, 'twixt young and old. Last, old man winter comes with faltering tread, And hair, if any, white upon his head. "Our bodies too are changing constantly, And rest not; nor tomorrow shall we be What we have been, and are: there was a day When housed within our mother's womb we lay, Mere seeds and hopes of men, and closely pressed Within her body, gave and found no rest, Till nature brought her craftsman's hand to bear, And freed us from that home to space and air. A weakling first the new-born baby sprawled; Soon four-foot like a jungle beast he crawled; Then, using some support, by slow degrees, 351

He stood erect, with weak and trembling knees; Then, swift and strong, through manhood's age he ran To years of service in life's midmost span; And, these discharged, he reached the final stage, The swift descent and steep decline of age, By which the strength that manhood once enjoyed Is undermined, enfeebled, and destroyed. Milo, grown old, falls weeping when he sees His arms, which once with those of Hercules In mass of solid muscle might have vied, Now hanging weak as water at his side; And Helen weeps, when in her mirror shown She sees the wrinkled features of a crone, And thinking: 'Twice in days of old was I By lovers seized'; she asks, in wonder: 'Why?' Devouring time, and envious age! you prey On all things, sapping all with long decay; All feel the tooth of time, and all are brought By slow degrees and lingering death to nought. "We speak of elements, but these, we know, Lack fixity, and through their phases go. The enduring frame of things (my doctrine heed) Contains four sorts of substance, nature's seed. Two, earth and water, since they carry freight, Tend downwards by their own inherent weight; Two, lacking ballast, to the heights aspire, Devoid of weight, pure air and purer fire. Although by space divided, yet they all Rise from each other, to each other fall. Losing cohesion, earth becomes more rare, And turns to water; water thins to air; And air, fine-drawn and stripped of weight, will fly Upward in flame, and form the fires on high. Then back they go, returning through the chain Of sequent changes: fire grows thick again, Passing to air; and air to water goes; And this to earth, as dense and hard it grows. Nothing, I say, the form it has can hold: Inventive nature fashions new from old. Believe me, nought is lost the cosmos through: 352

Things merely change and take an aspect new. We call it birth, when things begin to be What they were not; and likewise, when we see Things ceasing now to be what once they were, We call it death, and thus the names confer. Some movement of component parts suppose, With interchange of place 'twixt these and those: The sum of things is constant: what we call Change, that is, change of form, comes swift to all. "To the iron age the golden yielded so; So places change of fortune undergo: Dry land transformed to ocean have I seen, And that to land which once had ocean been; Sea-shells far inland have been known to lie, And rusted anchors on the hilltops high; Downrushing streams have made that valley be Which once was plain; and hills are washed to sea; The land of fens grows dry with parching sand, While fens make moist the thirst-enduring land; And here has nature let fresh fountains go In freedom forth, and elsewhere stopped the flow; And streams, by ancient earthquakes lost to sight, Leap out, and others sink and leave the light: So Lycus, swallowed by the yawning earth, By new and distant outlets finds rebirth; So Erasmus sinks, and glides below, Till Argos sees restored his mighty flow. Mysus, they say, repenting of his source, Flows as Ca'icus, changing name and course; And Amenanus, who when running high Sweeps down Sicilian sands, at times runs dry; While old Anigrus, though you now would shrink To touch his waters, once was good to drink, Ere Centaurs (if belief to bards be paid) Washed there the wounds Alcides' arrows made; And Hypanis, which springs so sweet to taste From Scythian hills, grows brackish and debased. "Antissa, Pharos, Tyre — not one of these Is now an isle, though once enringed by seas; While Leucas, which of old the settlers found 353

Part of the mainland, now the seas surround; Sicilian Zancle too in days gone by (Or so they say) was part of Italy, Till ocean swept away what once had been The borderlands, and drove the strait between. Two cities once Achaea held in fee; Look for them now, you'll find them in the sea, Buris and Helice; the seamen show Their tilted walls upon the bed below. Near Troezen, land of Pittheus, stands a mound, Treeless and steep, where once was level ground. The winds ('tis no mean instance of their might), Pent under ground in caves as dark as night, Struggled in vain to breathe, and by some vent To gain the freedom of the firmament. Failing to find a fissure, or compel The earth to gape, they made it stretch and swell, As men, we see, blow up the skins of goats, Or bladders, which, inflated, serve as floats. Hardened by time, in contour like a hill, The bulge of ground remained, and stands there still. "Some cases more, a few of many, known By hearsay or experience of my own. First, is not water known to undergo A change of form, and, sometimes, to bestow? Thus horned Ammon's spring runs hot, they say, At dawn and dusk, but cold at height of day; And Athamanians, in the moon's last phase, By sprinkling wood with water, make it blaze; The Thracians have a stream, whose waters own The power to turn the drinker's flesh to stone; Crathis and Sybaris are a native pair: These streams with gold and amber tint the hair. Some rivers have a virtue still more strange, And minds no less than bodies can they change. To whom is Salmacis, that fount impure, Or Ethiopia's lakes, a name obscure? Who drinks, goes raving mad, or feels a deep Unnatural slumber o'er his senses creep. Who drinks of Clitor, finds his taste destroyed 354

For wine, and quaffs his water unalloyed. Must we some virtue to the stream assign, At odds by nature with heart-warming wine; Or did Melampus, having set the three Daughters of Proetus from their madness free, With drugs and spells (as local legends say), Cast in the stream his remnant drugs away, Instilling, with the cure for fevered brains, Antipathy to wine, which still remains? Who sips (by contrast) the Lyncestian stream, Filled with neat wine and rolling drunk will seem. A place there is, called Pheneus long ago, In Arcady, where treacherous waters flow; Fear them at night: they do the drinker harm; But drunk in daylight need not cause alarm. So differ in their action streams and lakes, As each a different impregnation takes. "What of Ortygia, floating in the past From sea to sea, now fixed and seated fast? Those firm-fixed rocks, the blue Symplegades, Which bear unmoved the shock of winds and seas, Were fearsome once, as Argo saw them, splashed With splintered waves, tossed upwards as they clashed. Etna, with sulphurous furnace-fires aglow, Was cold at first, and will again be so. If earth's a living thing, as some declare, Breathing through many blow-holes flame and air, We must allow her power to rearrange Her cells and breathing-ducts with frequent change, And, as she shifts her posture, redispose Her caverns, closing these and opening those. Or if wild winds, confined in caves below, Dash rocks together, and with blow on blow Kindle the hidden seeds of fire they hold, Those winds will die, and leave the caverns cold. Quick bitumen may blaze, or sulphur show, With little smoke at first, a gradual glow; Yet clearly, when the earth in time runs dry Of food for flame, and stops the rich supply, The insatiate element, bereft of aid, 355

And starved of food, will leave its fires to fade. "Some dwellers on Pallene's polar shore, Plunging in Pallas' waters nine times o'er, Grow feathered; and the Scythian wives repeat With magic balms, 'tis said, the wondrous feat. I doubt these tales: yet credit must we pay To facts well proved — when carcasses decay By solvent heat, or time's slow ravagings, They turn, we see, to tiny living things. Slay, if you will, a noble bull, and hide The corpse in earth (a practice old and tried): Soon from the rotting carcass bees will form, Ripe for the fields, a blossom-sipping swarm, Which with the instinct of their race are keen To speed the task, and toil for ends unseen. The carcass of the warrior-hearted steed When buried in the ground will hornets breed; And should you from the crab which stalks the strand Break the curved claws, and plunge the rest in sand, In time a scorpion from that buried part, With menace in its twisted tail, will start; And silkworms, weaving white cocoons between The leaves of trees, as farmers oft have seen, Will change their nature, and appear instead As butterflies, that symbolize the dead. From spawn in mud, at first a footless breed, Green frogs are born: ere long, the legs they need, For swimming and for length of leap, appear, Shorter in front and longer in the rear. The she-bear's offspring not as cubs arrive, But lumps of flesh, and only just alive: The dam by licking molds and makes them trim, And, in her measure, clean of line and limb. Within their small six-sided cells you see The offspring of the honey-bearing bee, Which, when first hatched, observe, are limbless things, And late in life assume their legs and wings. That Juno's bird, with tail bestarred, and Jove's, Which bears his bolts, and Cytherea's doves, And all the race of birds, in eggshells grow —

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Who would believe it, if he did not know? Man's spinal marrow, some maintain, will take The form, as corpses molder, of a snake. "These, after all, their germination draw From parent seeds: one thing escapes the law: Assyria's bird, the phoenix; this alone Is self-renewed, self-fathered, and self-sown. He lives, since grain and herbage fail to please, On balsam, and the tears of incense-trees. When life's fifth cycle to its ending draws, This bird, with pure unsullied beak and claws, In branching oak, or palm-tree's trembling crest, His end approaching, builds himself a nest; And spikes of soothing nard and fragrant shreds Of cinnamon and cassia there he spreads, And golden myrrh; and there his head he lays, And thus amid sweet odors ends his days. Then from the parent form, if tales be true, The phoenix as a chick is hatched anew, Destined to live the same long lifetime through. When years bring strength, and make him able now To bear a weight, he frees the burdened bough, As duty prompts, and lifts the nest which gave Himself a cradle and his sire a grave, And seeks the sun-god's city, soaring high, And sets it in the sun-god's fane to lie Before the doors that guard the sanctuary. "With these and wonders like them we may class Hyenas, which to male from female pass; And that air-nourished kind, that such or such A color take, to match whate'er they touch; And lynxes, gift which conquered India made To Bacchus, with his wreath of vine arrayed: Their natural effluent turns, so men declare, To stones, congealing at the touch of air; As coral, touched by air, is petrified, Though tender when a plant beneath the tide. "But day will end, and Phoebus once again Will plunge his panting horses in the main, Ere words will match my theme, and compass all 357

The tale of changes. — Nations rise and fall; And Troy, so great in wealth and men of yore, That so much blood for ten long years could pour, Lies low, displaying as the wealth she owns Ancestral tombs and heaps of crumbling stones. Sparta was famed; Mycenae great and strong; Amphion's walls, and Cecrops', flourished long. — Sparta is dust; Mycenae tall lies low; And Thebes and Athens but as names we know; And Rome, the destined heir of Dardan's line, Beneath the mountain mass of Apennine, Whence Tiber springs, is rising at this hour, And laying firm foundations for her power. She too must change, but in the Roman way, By growth to greatness and a world-wide sway. So run the divinations, as I hear, And so foretells the fate-revealing seer. And Priam's son, as I myself recall, Wise Helenus, when Troy was near her fall, Addressed Aeneas thus, whose tearful eyes Surveyed the future with a sad surmise: 'O goddess-born, if you my forecasts weigh, Not wholly, while you live, shall Troy decay: You shall go forth unhindered, passing through The steel and flame; and on that journey too, Snatched from destruction, Troy shall go with you, Until you both shall find in lands unknown A foreign soil more friendly than your own. Ay, Troy's descendants owe the world, I ween, A city such as ne'er before has been, Is now, or will be. — When through ages long Her noble lords have made her great and strong, One of lulus' blood, with whom it lies To make her mistress of the world, shall rise, In whom, when earth's employments let him rest, Shall heaven's abodes, his final home, be blest.' Thus to Aeneas, as he bore away Upon his back the gods of Troy that day, Spoke Helenus, unfolding Fate's decree; I have his words by heart, and joy to see 358

My kinsman's city rising, and to feel That Grecian triumph turns to Trojan weal. "But lest my absent-minded horses stray Too far and leave the track and lose the way, Know this: the sky and all that lies below, This earth, and all therein, through changes go. We too, as part of nature, own the law, And, being not only bodies, as we saw, But souls with power to fly, who, free to roam, In trunks of beasts and cattle make our home, Let us, aware that souls may dwell therein Of fathers, brothers, or remoter kin, Or fellow-men at least, let bodies be; Let all from harm and disrespect go free; Else may we at our tables serve such meat As once Thyestes to his doom did eat. Ill-schooled is he, by habit trained to slay, And practicing to make mankind his prey, Who slits the bull-calf's throat, despite his cries, Or slays the kid, complaining infantwise; Or on the bird he fed can bear to feed: How little short of murder is the deed! Cry halt in time: their plows let oxen ply, Or put it down to nature, if they die; Let goats, full-uddered, give the milk they hold, And sheep defense against the shaking cold. Cast nets and traps and snares and lures away, Nor let the well-limed twig the bird betray; No feathered scares to check the deer be tied, No fraudful food the curving hook to hide. Destroy what harms: destroy, but do not eat; Take genial foods, and keep your mouths from meat." Here Numa, having laid to heart, they say, These and like doctrines, went his homeward way; And by the Latian people's free demand Received the reins of power, and ruled the land. Blest with a nymph for consort by his side, And with the muses of the place for guide, He taught the forms of worship, and led o'er A people, prone to bitter strife before, 359

To practices of peace; and when at last By lapse of years his life and reign were past, Fathers and commons joined in public moan With all the wives in Latium, save his own: She left the city, hiding far from men Deep in Aricia's densely wooded glen; And there such lonely lamentation made As drowned the worship to Diana paid. ('Twas that Diana whom Orestes bore From Tauric regions to the Latian shore.) Ah, many a time the nymphs of wood and lake Bade her desist, and words of comfort spake; Ah, many a time did Theseus' hero son Address with friendly words the weeping one: "Keep within bounds: you sorrow not alone: Compare the lot of others with your own, And be resigned. My case, alas, will show All that examples can, to ease your woe. "Hippolytus, whose fate it was to die By stepdame's craft and sire's credulity, You know by hearsay — wondrous though it be, And almost past believing, I am he. Pasiphae's daughter wooed me oft to stain My father's marriage bed, but wooed in vain; And if she chafed to be rejected so, Or feared to be denounced, I do not know; But with the trumped-up tale that I, not she, Had wished the thing, she turned the charge on me. My father drove me forth, and as I fled, Called down destruction on my guiltless head. I drove my car of exile on its way To Troezen, where king Pittheus then held sway, And by the gulf of Corinth, o'er the strand, By now was eating up the miles of sand. The sea rose up: the water, piling high, Sloped upward, like a mountain, to the sky, And rising still, and swelling more and more, Emitted, as it seemed, a bestial roar, And showed a cloven crest; and as it split, A monstrous bull, long-horned, burst out of it. 360

Breast high, with nose and jaws agape, stood he, And spouted no small portion of the sea. "My comrades trembled, but to me, whose thought Was fixed on exile, outward fears were nought. My mettled steeds drew round their necks, and gazed Seaward, in quaking fear, with ears up-raised; And panic-struck, the team runs wild, and drags The reeling car among the towering crags. I tugged the leathers, lying back full-length, And with the horses' madness matched my strength; Nor had my strength for victory vainly fought, But for a stump, on which the car-wheel caught. This impact, wrenching hub from axle-bar, Shattered the wheel, and shook me from the car. About my limbs the supple reins were wound, And holding fast, they dragged me on the ground. Pinned on the stump my living body lay, And half was held, and half was torn away, With sound of breaking bones; until at last In laboring breath the vital essence passed. You would not, had you seen me then, have found Distinguishable parts, but all one wound. "Now can you, dare you, nymph, with this my woe Compare your own? Nay, I have seen below The realms of shade. To Phlegethon I came, And in that river bathed my mangled frame. And there, when other help was sought in vain, Apollo's son restored my life again: I lived once more by Paean's healing skill And potent drugs, though Pluto took it ill. And lest such envy as this favor drew Should grow the stronger, if I lived in view, Diana massed the clouds to form a screen, And made me safe, and able to be seen, By adding age, and leaving not a trace Of what was once familiar in my face; Then pondering where should be my place to dwell, When neither Crete nor Delos pleased her well, At last she placed me here, and I resigned The name which might have called my steeds to mind. 361

The selfsame person (her command ran thus) Shall Virbius be, that was Hippolytus. Thereafter, with this wood for dwelling-place, I rank as god, but not of loftiest race; And here, beneath a goddess great and high, I serve unknown, and of her train am I." Say what he would, Egeria's settled grief In some one else's loss found no relief. Beneath a hill, dissolved in tears, lay she, Till Dian, moved such loyalty to see, Made of her substance, thinned and liquefied, An ice-cold fount, with springs that never dried. The wood-nymphs, with Hippolytus (the son Of the Amazon), who saw the marvel done, Were struck with wonder, like the Etruscan swain, Who saw strange portents as he tilled the plain, When moving of itself the clod began To change its shape, and take the form of man, To speak of future ages, and unfold The course of fate, with lips not twelve hours old. (Tages, the name the natives called him by, First taught the Tuscan race to prophesy.) — Like Romulus, whose planted spear was seen On Palatine to sprout with sudden green, While roots struck downwards that were steel before, Supporting what was now a spear no more: There stood a tree, lithe-limbed, whose branches made O'er puzzled heads an unexpected shade. — Like Cipus, when he saw ('twas not a dream) Horns that were his reflected in the stream, And thinking sight by some deceit misled, Placed, more than once, his fingers to his head, And finding what he touched to be the same As what he saw, absolved his eyes from blame. He stopped his march (being on his homeward way As victor from the beaten foe that day) And raising eyes and arms to heaven, he cried: "Whate'er, ye gods, this portent may betide, Let it, if fair it be, be fair for Rome, If threatful, let the threat to me come home." 362

Altars of green with fresh-cut turves he made; With scented fires the due appeasement paid; And poured the wine, and slew the beasts, and sou To know what signs for him their entrails brought. The interpreter, a man of Tuscan race, Consults the quivering fibers, and can trace At the first glance the cryptic marks of fate, Hinting at greatness and the toils of state; And lifting from the flesh his piercing eyes And fixing them on Cipus' horns, he cries: "Hail, king! for you and these your horns this day Shall here and over Latian hills hold sway. Make speed and enter: open stand the gates: The willingness is all: so bid the fates. Received within the city you shall gain A lasting scepter, and securely reign." Cipus recoiled, and quick was he to turn His back on Rome: his face was set and stern; And thus he answered: "May the gods, I pray, Drive these and all such omens far away. Better should I to lifelong exile flee Than that the Capitol a king should see." Hiding the horns with peaceful bay, he gave Summons to citizens and senate grave; And mounting on the ramp the troops had made, First to the gods in ancient form he prayed; Then said: "A man is here, who, if you bar Him not from Rome, and drive him not afar, Will reign as king, and once within the wall (So says the augur) will enslave you all. I name him not, but give a sign instead: Look for the horns he wears upon his head. He might have entered, for the gates stand wide, And forced by swift surprise his way inside: 'Twas I alone that blocked his path, though he Is closer bound than any man to me. On him, Quirites, else designed by fate To be dictator, must you bar your gate; Or chain him, if the case may so be met, Or by his execution end the threat." 363

Such sounds, as when the wild southeaster blows Through bare-stemmed pines, from all the assembly rose; Such sounds, as when the surge's muffled roar Comes to the ear from some far-distant shore; Yet in the hum of voices, mixed and blurred, One question "Who's the man?" was clearly heard. And while they scanned each other's brows, to seek The horns described, again did Cipus speak: "You have him here, the man you seek," he said; And then, though hampered by the crowd, he shed His wreath, and showed the horns that decked his head. All groaned, and turned away their eyes, ashamed To see that head, for public service famed; Then, not consenting that his t r o w should lack The badge of worth, they put the laurel back. The senate, since the city was denied, Gave him, as mark of honor, land outside, As much as, plowing with his team of kine, He might ring round from dawn to day's decline; And set bronze horns, matching the magic pair, Beside the gates, to stand for ages there. O Muses, goddesses of song, who see Undimmed the vistas of antiquity, Say how Asclepius left his distant home, To join on Tiber's isle the gods of Rome. An air-borne plague, that once on Latium lay, Brought death in gruesome forms, and foul decay; And cumbered with their dead, when doctors failed, And human skill and effort nought availed, They turned and sought, in hopes of help divine, Apollo's oracle, earth's central shrine, That by his divination's healing aid Rome might be rescued, and her ills allayed. Amidst the prayer, a tremor shook the place, The bay-tree, and Apollo's arrow-case; And from the tripod, deep within the shrine, Came forth, to shake their hearts, the voice divine: "You seek too far afield: look nearer home: Not Phoebus, but his son, must succor Rome. Summon my son to aid: 'tis he you need: 364

Go, Romans, and good omens give you speed." The senate, when returning envoys showed The god's commands, found out his son's abode; And sent their ships again to catch the breeze For Epidaurus, with fresh embassies. The envoys, when they beached their vessel there, Went to the Grecian senate with their prayer, Begging for Rome the god, who, did he stand In person in the sick Ausonian land, Would end the plague; "for so," they said, "we heard Phoebus declare, and with no riddling word." Debate runs hot, and sharply views divide: Some think it wrong that help should be denied; But most in favor of refusal show, And grudge to let the god, their safeguard, go. Decision lagged, till day to twilight drew, And darkness o'er the world its shadows threw. Then in the Roman's dream there seemed to stand Before his couch with rustic staff in hand The god of healing, who in form appeared As in his shrine, and stroking his white beard Said mildly: "I am coming; have no fear; But other than my statue shows me here. Look on this serpent, round my cudgel twined; Stamp it, for recognition, on your mind. This shape will I assume, as you shall see, Though larger, as a god transformed should be." With that the god fell silent, and was gone; And slumber fled, as friendly dawn came on. At day's approach the starry fires retreat: Within the god's rich fane the Fathers meet; And doubtful what to do, pray him to tell By heaven-sent signs where he would choose to dwell. Thereat the god, with serpent form endued, Sent forth a hiss, his entry to prelude. Ablaze with gold, he reared his crests on high, And with his coming shook the sanctuary: The statue rocked, the altars, and the door, And all from golden roof to marble floor. Half-length within the shrine they saw him rise, 365

And stand, and stare about with blazing eyes. While laymen quaked, the priest who functioned there With the white fillet round his sacred hair, By intuition knew the deity, And cried: "The god, the god, behold, 'tis he. All ye who stand within this presence here, With tongue be silent, and with heart revere. And thou, most beauteous, bless the eyes that see, And grant thy people's prayers, that worship thee." All who stood there, by deep devotion stirred, Said o'er his supplication word for word; And in this rite the Romans took their part Among the rest, with reverent voice and heart. To them the god inclined his head, and made A movement of his crest, to pledge his aid; Then flicked his tongue, and hissing once again Swept down the marble stairway from the fane; And there he turned his head, to resurvey Those ancient altars, ere he went away; And to the temple, where he used to dwell, His old familiar home, he waved farewell. Then through the city, where the streets were hid With thick-strewn blossoms, the huge serpent slid With looping coils, and having reached the port Fenced by the curving sea-wall, there stopped short Before the Italian ship, and turned to view The crowd behind, that formed his retinue; And, as his mild expression seemed to show, He thanked their zeal, and gave them leave to go; Then went aboard the ship, which, made to feel The weight of godhead, drove a deeper keel. Joy to the Romans! Then and there they slay A bull, and make their ship with garlands gay, And put to sea: before the breeze she glides, And overarching all, the snake-god rides. Upon the poop-deck, where the ship curves high, He pressed his neck, and watched the waves roll by. With favoring wind, he sailed the Ionian sea, And six days later sighted Italy; And passed Lacinium's coastline, far-renowned

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For Juno's shrine, and passed Scylacium's ground; Apulia sank astern; Amphrisia neared, And by the left-side oars the rocks were cleared; Beyond Celennia's cliffs, which lay to right, Romethium, Caulon, Naryx, passed from sight; Pelorus, on Sicilia's strait, was gained, And next, the isles where Aeolus lived and reigned; Temesa's mines, Leucosia's isle, and where The rose-beds bloom in Paestum's genial air; The isle of Capreae, and Minerva's cape; The noble hills that breed Surrentum's grape; The town of Hercules, and Stabiae, And nature's haunt of ease, Parthenope; Then Cumae, with the Sibyl's sanctuaries; Liternum's boiling springs and mastic trees; Volturnus with its yellow-silted stream, And Sinuessa's snakes that snowlike gleam; Marshy Minturnae, and the place of her Whom he that once she nursed did there inter; So past Antiphates' unfriendly land, And Trachas, closed by fens on every hand, To Circe's coast, and Antium's solid strand. 'Twas here, when seas grew rougher, that the crew Made for the land, and brought the vessel to. The god uncoiled, and smoothly gliding rolled Circle on circle, fold on mighty fold; And sought his father's temple, where it stands, With holy altars near the yellow sands; And there, as relative and guest, made stay, Till seas grew calm; then passing on his way With trail of rasping sands he plowed the shore, And by the rudder climbed aboard once more, And made the poop his pillow as before; Till to Lavinium, place of holy fame, And Castrum, and the Tiber's mouth, he came. Hither, by every road, to meet him ran The population flocking, wife and man; And maids who tend on Trojan Vesta's flame, To greet the god with joyous outcry came; And as upstream the hastening ship was towed, 367

Lining the banks successive altars glowed; And crackling fires were fed with incense there, And with their smokes made odorous the air; And sacrifice was offered, and the life Of stricken victims wanned the slayer's knife. And now the ship, all lesser cities passed, Had entered Rome, the head of things, at last. The serpent reared his length aloft, to lean Against the mast-head, and survey the scene; With gently waving neck he looked around To choose himself a worthy settling-ground. There is a place, where Tiber splits, and goes In two half-circles, forming as it flows What bears the name of Island, stretching wide Its equal arms to clasp the land inside; And here Apollo's son, the seeming snake, Did from the Latian ship his landing make, And reassumed his heavenly form, and so As healer came, to end the city's woe. Yet he, when all is said, came over seas To join the ranks of Roman deities. Caesar is god at home, of gown and sword In his own city undisputed lord. Yet not his wars, with triumphs fitly crowned, Not acts domestic, and a rule renowned (For fame's with him no laggard), went so far To change him to a fiery-streamered star, As this his child: no work by Caesar done Matched this, to be the sire of such a son. To tame the sea-girt Britons, and to go With conquering prows where Nile's seven channels flow Papyrus-fringed; in Roman power to place King Juba, and Numidia's rebel race, And Pontus puffed with pride of ages dead, When Mithridates was a name of dread; To win more laurels than he well could wear — What was all this, to raising such an heir? With whom for overlord the gods' high plan Has blessed abundantly the race of man. Lest, therefore, he be ranked of mortal line, 368

Need was, his father should be made divine; And seeing this, and able to descry The stirrings of an armed conspiracy, And that dark doom preparing, that should slay Her kinsman and the gods' high priest one day, Venus, the golden goddess, she who bore Aeneas, lost the rosy hue she wore, And as she met them, going here and there, To every god in turn expressed her care: "Look well, amid what deep-laid plots I tread, What treacherous blades are pointed at that head, Which now alone survives from those of mine That through lulus sprang from Dardan's line. Shall I alone of cares be never clear, Being one whom now the Calydonian spear Of Diomede must wound, and now the wall Of Troy, ill-manned, must ruin in its fall; One who must see her son compelled to stray, Tossed by the seas, a long laborious way, To visit in their realms the silent dead, To war with Tumus, or if truth be said, With Juno rather? Do I now retrace The wrongs of old inflicted on my race? The present fear drives out the past, and lo! The blades are being sharpened: stay the blow. Beat back the coming crime, nor make expire In blood of Vesta's priest her sacred fire." Such were the words that anxious Venus tossed All over heaven; yet was it labor lost. The gods were moved, but since they cannot break Those iron decrees the ancient Sisters make, What could they do but issue portents clear To warn the world what bitter woe was near? From pitch-black clouds was heard the clash of arms, And horns and trumpets sounded stern alarms Presaging doom; the sun, no longer bright, Shed on the troubled world a sickly light; Firebrands amid the stars were seen to glow, And blood-drops fell like rain on earth below; Dark patches flecked the clear blue morning star, 369

And bloodstains blotched Diana's silver car; In places far and near was heard the knell Of Stygian owls, and tears from statues fell; Within the sacred groves were wailings shrill, And words were heard, they say, presaging ill; Offerings were vain: clefts which were seen to mar The victims' entrails told of world-wide war; Where market-place or house or temple stand, Nocturnal dogs went howling through the land; And earthquakes shook the city, and the dead Wandered as voiceless phantoms, it is said. Yet heaven with all its warnings had no power To crush the plot, and stay the destined hour. The temple where the Senate meets affords Admission to the plotters' naked swords; And in all Rome no better place is found For foulest murder than that holy ground. Ah, then the goddess beat her breast, and tried With that same cloud her Caesar dear to hide By whose protection Paris once was freed From Agamemnon's fury, and at need Aeneas scaped the sword of Diomede. Then spake her sire: "What thought is this, that you Alone of all, my child, can fate subdue? Approach the mansions of the sisters three, And entering, as is lawful, you shall see The tablets, forged of bronze and steel, which bear The destined scheme of things engraven there. Eternal and impregnable are they, And fear not thunder, lightning, nor decay. There, cut in adamant, that grows not old, Shall you the fortunes of your line behold. These have I seen and marked, and will relate, Lest you be blind, even now, to future fate. "He that you toil for, having given to man The years he owed, now ends his earthly span. Assign him, as a god, the worship due, And see him placed in heaven: it falls to you, You and his son, to that great name the heir, Who takes the burden, and will singly bear; 370

Seeking bold vengeance for a father slain With us for allies on the battle-plain. Divinely led, his troops shall hem the wall, And conquered Mutina for peace shall call; Pharsalia feel him, and Emathia's shore Beneath Philippi reek again with gore. And soon shall Pompey's name, the Great, have been Sunk in Sicilian seas; and Egypt's queen, Wedding the Roman lord, and putting trust Unwisely in that bond, shall bite the dust; And this our Capitol shall never bow To her Canopus, as she threatens now. "Need I for your instruction number o'er Wild lands and tribes on either ocean shore? — Where men find living-space the earth shall be Caesar's, and to his rule shall bow the sea. When peace to earth by leadership is brought, To civil statecraft shall he turn his thought, And frame just laws, and in his person show A pattern of good life for all to know; And turning, as he will, his forward gaze To children's children in the coming days, Shall bid the son his spotless consort bare To be successor to his name and care. Not till his years match Nestor's shall he win A place in heaven among the stars, his kin. Meanwhile, pluck out from Julius' death-scarred frame The soul, and turn it to a starry flame, That as a god so shrined he may survey Our Forum and our Capitol for aye." Venus, before his speech was fairly done, Stood in the senate-house, though seen by none; And snatched the vital essence lingering there In Caesar's frame, before it ebbed to air; And bore it to the stars, and while she bore, Feeling it glow and kindle more and more, She loosed it from her arms; and as it flew Above the moon, a fiery tress it drew Across the heavens; and now a radiant star, He sees his son's great exploits from afar, 371

And grants them greater than his own to be, Rejoicing in his son's supremacy. The son, forbid it as he may, will find His own achievements higher rank assigned Above his sire's; for fame (since fame is free And owes subserviency to no decree) Setting her will this once against his own, Exalts him, and rebels in this alone. So Atreus yields to Agamemnon's fame; Theseus, Achilles, so their sires o'ercame; And lastly, Jove (to take as instance those Of equal rank) before great Saturn goes. To Jove's control the fortress-height of heaven, And the tripartite universe, are given: The earth is subject to Augustus' reign, Each sire and ruler in his own domain. Ye gods, I pray, that with Aeneas came, And passed unscathed through yielding sword and flame, Ye gods that call our native land your home, And thou, Quirinus, sire divine of Rome; And thou, Quirinus' sire, whose spirit shone Again in thine unconquerable son, Gradivus, hear; and Vesta, pleased to share With Caesar's household gods a place of prayer; And thou, domestic Phoebus, hear my call, That dwell'st with Caesar's Vesta in his hall; And Jove, that on Tarpeia's hilltop high Thy fastness hast, and rock-built sanctuary; And all ye gods beside, on whom in song The pious bard may call, and do no wrong, Far be the time, deferred beyond our days, When great Augustus leaves the earth he sways, And joins the gods, yet still with loving care From distant heaven shows favor to our prayer.

372

Now stands my work complete, which not the rage Of Jove, not fire, nor steel, nor eating age, Can e'er destroy: come when it will the day (Which holds no mortgage save on mortal clay) To end life's doubtful span, yet I shall be Borne upward in the finer part of me; And high above the stars, from death secure Shall Ovid's name indelibly endure; And wide as o'er the conquered world is spread The power of Rome, shall I, her bard, be read By lips of men, and if the poet be True prophet, live in fame eternally.

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INDEX

AND

GLOSSARY

Abaris, follower of Phineus, 97 Abas: friend of Perseus, 98; Centaur, 274; companion of Diomede, 3 3 3 Abode of Sin (sedes scelerata), place of punishment in underworld, 84 Acamania, most westerly district in Greece. 'Acarnania's river-lord' is Acheloiis, 182 Acastus, king of Iolcus, 174, 2 5 2 Acestes, king in Sicily, 320 Achaea, district in Greece, 104, 1 1 2 , 173, 354 Achaemenides, follower of Ulysses, left behind in Sicily; later taken on board by Aeneas, and at Caieta recognized by Macareus, who had settled at Caieta, 3 2 2 - 3 2 4 Acheloiis, river between Acamania and Aetolia, and the god thereof, father of the Sirens, 1 1 1 , 1 8 1 , 183, 1 9 1 - 1 9 5 , 204; called, rather confusingly, 'the god of Calydon's great stream,' 186, as falling within that city's domain Acheron, river in underworld, 1 1 1 , 255 Achilles, son of Peleus, king of Thessaly, and Thetis, a sea goddess; father of Pyrrhus, 174, 248, 2 6 7 2 7 1 , 276, 283-284, 287, 289, 290, 294-296, 300, 304, 305, 3 7 2 Acis, son of Faunus and Symaethis, 310-314 Acmon, follower of Diomedes, 3 3 2 Acoetes, follower of Bacchus, 66-69 Aconteus, follower of Perseus, 1 0 1

375

Acrisius, king of Argos, father of Danae, 65, 88 Acrota, tenth king of Alba Longa, son of Tiberinus, 336 Actaeon, son of Autonoe, grandson of Cadmus, 54-56, 70 Actium, promontory in Epirus, scene of naval battle in which Octavian defeated Antony, 309 Actor, father of Erytus, 77, and of the twins, Eurytus and Cteatus, 174 Admetus, king of Pherae in Thessaly, son of Pheres, 174 Adonis, son of Cinyras and Myrrha, 223 Aeacides, son of Aeacus, i.e., Peleus, 276; in plural, Aeacidae, descendants of Aeacus, 287 Aeacus, son of Jove and Aegina, grandfather of Ajax, first king of the island named after his mother; after death judge in underworld, 153-154, 165, 205, 287 Aeaea, island home of Circe, 77 Aeas, river in Illyria, 1 7 Aeetes, king of Colchis, father of Medea, 1 3 9 Aegaeon, sea god, 24 Aegean Sea, part of Mediterranean between Greece and Asia Minor, 205, 260 Aegeus, king of Athens, son of Pandion, father of Theseus, 1 5 1 - 1 5 3 Aegina, island in Saronic Gulf, named for nymph beloved of Jupiter, 1 1 9 , 1 5 3 - 1 5 4 , 1 5 7

Aello, a harpy, 308 Aeneas, prince of Troy, son of Venus and Anchises, father of Ascanius, 307-308, 321-322, 331, 335-336, 358, 369-370. 372 Aeolian: maid, daughter of Aeolus, 120; Pitane, city of Aeolia in Asia Minor, 150 Aeolus, son of Hippotes; god of winds; king of Aeolia, volcanic island from which sulphur was obtained, 90, 207, 262, 320, 324, 367 Aesacos, son of Priam and Alexirhoe; half-brother of Hector, 263, 265 Aesar, river in southern Italy, 346347 Aeson, father of Jason, 1 4 1 , 144, 147-148 Aethalion, seaman in service of Acoetes, 68 Aethion, soothsayer, follower of Phineus, 99 Aetolian, epithet of Diomedes, as descended from Oeneus of Calydon, 3 3 1 Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, son of Atreus, brother of Menelaiis, and father of Iphigenia, 285, 292, 297, 37°. 372 Aganippe, spring on Mt. Helicon, 104 Agave, daughter of Cadmus, wife of Echion, mother of Pentheus, 70 Agenor, king of Phoenicia, father of Cadmus and Europa, 48, 5 1 - 5 2 Aglauros, daughter of Cecrops, 40, 45-47 Ague, personified, 188 Agyrtes, follower of Phineus, 99 Ajax: son of Telamon, grandson of Aeacus, 284, 286-299; lord of Narycium, son of Oileus; abductor of Cassandra from temple of Minerva at Troy, 284, 3 3 1 Alastor, Lycian slain by Ulysses, 294 Alba: fourth king of Alba Longa, 336; Alba Longa, city in Latium, founded by Ascanius, 336, 338 Albula, early name for the Tiber, 327 Alcander, Lycian slain by Ulysses, 294 Alcathoe, synonym of Megara, 152 Alcathoiis, founder of Megara, 165 Alcidamas, king of Carthaea, 150 Alcides, synonym of Hercules (q.v.), 1 5 0 - 1 5 1 , 192, 195, 246, 259, 275, 282, 299, 353

376

Alcimedon, seaman in service of Acoetes, 67 Alcinoiis, king of Phaeacians, famous for his orchards, benefactor of Ulysses, 335 Alcithoe, daughter of Minyas, 71, 79 Alcmena, wife of Amphitryon, and mother of Hercules by Jove, 119, 1 8 1 , 193, 200, 204 Alcon, goldsmith of Hyle in Boeotia, 308 Alcyone, daughter of Aeolus, wife of Ceyx, 252-262 Alemon, citizen of Argos, father of Myscelos, 346 Alexirhoe, daughter of river-god Granicus, and mother of Aesacos, 263 Almo, tributary of the Tiber, 327 Alphenor, son of Amphion and Niobe, 124 Alpheiis, river; also god thereof in Elis and Arcadia; lover of Arethusa, 31, 109, 1 1 3 Alps, 30, 342 Altar, constellation (Ara), 28 Althaea, daughter of Thestius, mother of Meleager, sister of Toxeus and Plexippus, 1 7 8 - 1 8 1 Amathus, town in Cyprus, 223 Amazons, nation of women warriors; 'Amazonian ax' refers to the battleax of Penthesilea, their queen, who fought for the Trojans and was slain in battle by Achilles, 284, 362 Ambracia, city in Epirus adjudged to Hercules by Cragaleus, who was changed to a rock by the disappointed claimants, Phoebus and Diana, 309 Amenanus, river in Sicily, 353 Ammon: ram-headed deity, supreme god of Egyptians, 90, 105, 354; Amnion's spring' is in Oasis of Siwa, 354; follower of Perseus, slain by Phineus, 98 Amphimedon, follower of Phineus, slain by Perseus, 97 Amphion, son of Antiope and husband of Niobe; founder and king of Thebes, whose walls were built by the magic of his lyre, 123, 128, 358 Amphissos, son of Dryope, 203 Amphitrite, sea goddess, the sea, 1 Amphitryon, prince of Thebes, husband of Alcmena, impersonated by

Jove in pursuit of Alcmena, 1 1 9 Amphrisia, district in southern Italy, 367 Amphrysus, river in Thessaly, 17, 146 Ampycus, priest of Ceres slain by Phineus, 98, 273 Ampyx: follower of Phineus, 100; father of Mopsus, 174; one of the Lapithae, 279 Amulius, younger son of Phocas and usurping king of Alba Longa, 341 Amyclae, town in Laconia, 174 Amycus, a Centaur, son of Ophion, 273 Amymone, famous spring near Argos, 31 Amyntor, king of the Dolopes in Thessaly, and father of Phoenix, 174, 276 Anaphe, island in Aegean Sea, 153 Anapis, river-god in Sicily, lover of Cyane, 107 Anaxarete, maiden of Cyprus, 339341 Ancaeus, Arcadian who took part in Calydonian hunt, 174, 177, 180 Anchises, father of Aeneas by Venus, 205, 306-307, 321 Andraemon: Aetolian king, father of Thoas, 247; husband of Dryope, 202 Androgeos, son of Minos, killed by Athenians, 153 Andromeda, daughter of Cepheus and Cassiope, 90-93 Andros, son of Anius, ruler of island in the Cyclades which bore his name, 153, 307 Anetor, herdsman of Peleus, 250 Anigrus, river in Elis, 353 Anio, tributary of Tiber, 327 Anius, king of Delos and priest of Apollo, 306 Antaeus, Libyan giant, who drew his strength from contact with the earth, his mother, 197 Antandros, seaport in the Troad, 306 Antenor, Trojan chieftain, 292 Anthedon, coast town of Boeotia, 146, 314 Antigone, daughter of Laomedon, 119 Antimachus, a Centaur, 279 Antiope, mother by Jove of twin sons, Amphion and Zethus, 119 Antiphates, king of the Laestrygones in Campania, 324-325. 367

377

Antissa, island town of Lesbos, joined artificially to mainland, 353 Antium, ancient coast town of Latium, 367 Anubis, Egyptian god, 212 Aonia, part of Boeotia; site of Mt. Helicon and fountain of Aganippe, 10 Apennines, mountain range in Italy, 30, 358 Aphareus: prince of Messenia, father of Lynceus, 174; a Centaur, 276 Aphidas, a Centaur, 275 Aphrodite, Greek name (meaning 'born of the foam') of the goddess of love, 79, 86 Apidanus, river in Thessaly, 146 Apis, Egyptian god, 212 Apollo, father of Asclepios, 14, 61, 151, 211, 244, 249, 302, 307, 309, 361, 364, 368. See also Phoebus Apulia, district of southern Italy, 'the Heel,' 331, 333, 367 Arabia, 100, 232 Arachne, daughter of Idmon, citizen of Colophon in Lydia, 1 1 6 - 1 2 1 Arcadia, or Arcady, central district of the Peloponnesus, 20, 31, 35, 55, 174, 177, 198, 355 Areas, son of Jove and Callisto, 3 7 38 Arcesius, father of Laertes, grandfather of Ulysses, 290 Archer, constellation Sagittarius, sign of zodiac, 26 Ardea, city in Latium, capital of Turnus and the Rutuli, changed after destruction to a heron, 335 Areos, a Centaur, 275 Arestor, father of Argus, 18 Arethusa, or Arethuse, water-nymph of spring in Ortygia; originally of spring in Elis, 107, 109-110, 1 1 2 114 Argo, ship of the Argonauts, 139, 355 Argolis, district in the Peloponnesus, 200 Argonauts, sailors of the Argo, seekers of Golden Fleece, 138 Argos (and adjective, Argive), capital city of Argolis, 18, 31, 65, 88, 102, 129, 201, 332, 346, 350, 353 Argus, son of Arestor; hundred-eyed guardian of Io, 18, 20-21, 39 Ariadne, daughter of Minos; her crown placed in heaven as constellation called the Northern

Ariadne (continued.) Crown, between Kneeler (Hercules ) and Serpent-holder (Ophiuchus), 170 Aricia, ancient town of Latium famous for worship of Diana brought by Orestes from Tauric Chersonese, 360. See also Tauric Regions Armenian tigress, 168 Arne, woman of Siphnos who betrayed her country, 153 Artemis, Greek counterpart of Roman Diana (q.v.), 80, 266, 327. 'Of Scythian fame' refers to the Tauric goddess. See Tauric Regions Ascalaphus, son of Orphne, 1 1 1 Ascanius, also known as lulus, son of Aeneas and Creusa, 306, 308, 336 Asclepius, otherwise Aesculapius, son of Phoebus, and god of healing,

Attic, of Attica, district of which Athens the capital, 40, 130, 154, 170 Attis, Phrygian shepherd beloved by Cybele, 220 Augustus, title of first Roman emperor Gaius Octavius, afterwards Gaius Iulius Caesar Octavianius, grand-nephew and adopted son of Julius Caesar; his 'consort' was Livia, and her son, by Claudius Nero, Tiberius, 7, 372 Aulis, harbor in Boeotia, 265, 292 Aura, the Breeze, addressed as a person by Cephalus, 163-164 Aurora, goddess of dawn, wife of Tithonus, for whom she obtained eternal life but not eternal youth; mother of Memnon, 27, 89, 108, 145, 160-161, 163, 204, 304, 306, 324, 351

364 Asia, country now Asia Minor, 114, 205, 301 Assaracus, brother of Ilus and Ganymede, 262 Assyria, 97, 375 Asterie, daughter of Coeus, carried off by Jove in form of eagle, 1 1 9 Astreus, follower of Phineus, 99 Astyages, follower of Phineus Astyanax, young son of Hector and Andromache, 299 Astylos, a Centaur, 274 Astypalaea, island in Aegean Sea, one of the Sporades, 153 Atalanta: Arcadian huntress, 174178; princess of Boeotia, famous as a runner, 234-238 Athamanians, people of Epirus, 354 Athamas, king of Orchomenos, in Boeotia, husband of Ino, 82, 84, 315 Athens, capital of Attica, 44, 46, 114, 129, 132, 1 5 1 - 1 5 2 , 154, 161, 164, 172-173, 243, 358 Athis, follower of Phineus, 96 Athos, mountain in Macedonia, 30, 256 Atlas, king at western limit of earth, who was changed by Perseus to mountain on which sky rests; sometimes conceived as giant, 32, 89-90, 92, 121, 200, 349 Atreus, king of Mycenae, son of Pelops, father of Agamemnon and Menelaiis, 284, 307, 372

Ausonia, ancient name of Italy, 308, 319, 341, 365 Auster, south wind personified as god, 3 Autolycus, son of Mercury and Chione, son-in-law of Erysicthon, 187, 249 Autonoe, daughter of Cadmus, sister of Ino and Agave, mother of Actaeon, aunt of Pentheus, 70 Autumn, personified as attendant of Sun-god, 25, 195 Aventinus, eleventh king of Alba Longa, 337 Avernus, the underworld, 320; Avernian vale, 218; Avernian nymphs, 111

378

Babylon, the city of Semiramis, 72 Babylonia, empire of Babylon, 31 Bacchanal, female devotee of Bacchus, 147 Bacchiad, pertaining to the Bacchiadae, ruling family of Corinth, and founders, when exiled, of Syracuse, 107 Bacchus, son of Jove and Semele, god of wine, 58, 61, 64-71, 79, 82, 105, 120, 134, 148, 150, 170, 240, 242, 244, 306, 307, 348, 357 Bactria, province of Persian empire, 99 Balearic, of Balearic Islands, from which slingers were recruited, 45, 90

Barker (Hylactor), Actaeon's hound, 55 Battus, peasant of Elis, 43 Baucis, wife of Philemon, 1 8 3 186 Bears, two constellations, 29, 50, 66, 2 3 1 , 295, 309; 'the Snake that parts the Bears' is constellation Draco, 50 Bellona, goddess of war, wife of Mars, 99 Belus, eastern king, ancestor of Orchamus, 77 Beroe, native of Epidaurus, nurse to Semele, 57 Bienor, a Centaur, 276 Bisaltis, maiden beloved by Neptune, 120 Bistones, people in Thrace, 300 Black (Melaneus), Actaeon's hound, 55 Blackfoot (Melampous), Actaeon's Spartan hound, 55 Blackhair (Melanchaetes), Actaeon's hound, 55 Blaze (Aethon), Sun-god's chariot horse, 28 Boebe, town near a lake in Thessaly, 146 Boeotia, district in Greece between Phocis and Attica, 49, 174, 265, 308, 3 1 4 Bootes, the Wagoner, constellation, 29, 1 7 1 , 2 3 1 Boreas, north wind personified as god, 3, 137, 160, 309 Britons, people of northerly island off coast of Gaul, 368 Bromius, name of Bacchus as worshiped with tumultuous noise, 7 1 Bromus, a Centaur, 279 Broteas: follower of Perseus, 98; a Lapith, 273 Bubassus, city in Asia Minor, 2 1 1 Bubastis, Egyptian goddess, 2 1 2 Bull, constellation Taurus, sign of zodiac, 26 Buris, coast town of Achaea, sunk by earthquake, 354 Busiris, king of Egypt slain by Hercules, 197 Butes, son of Athenian prince Pallas, 154, 159 Buthrotes, city in Epirus, which Helenus made a replica of Troy, 309 Byblis, daughter of Miletus and Cyanee, 2 0 5 - 2 1 2

379

Cadmus, founder of Thebes, son of Agenor, husband of Harmonia, 4953, 85, 87-88, 122 Caeneus, a Lapith, originally of female sex under name of Caenis (q.v.), 174, 270-271, 279-280 Caenis, daughter of Elatus, prince of the Lapithae, 2 7 1 , 280 Caesar, cognomen of Gaius Iulius and later of Augustus, 7, 368, 3 7 0 - 3 7 1 Caicus, river in Mysia, 3 1 , 268, 353 Caieta, nurse of Aeneas, who gave her name to coast town of Latium where she was buried, 322, 3 3 1 , 367 Calais, son of Boreas and Orithyia, twin brother of Zetes, 138 Calaurea, island off coast of Argolis, 151 Calchas, Greek soothsayer, son of Thestor, 265-266 Calliope, muse of epic poetry, 1 0 5 115 Callirhoe, daughter of Acheloiis, wife of Alcmaeon; her sons grew instantaneously from infancy to manhood, 204-205 Callisto, Arcadian nymph, daughter of Lycaon, mother of Areas by Jove; she is not named in text, 3 6 39 Calydon, city of Aetolia on river Evenus, 129, 173, 1 8 0 - 1 8 1 , 186, *96, 333, 369; for 'Calydon's great stream' see Acheloiis Calymne, island in Aegean Sea, 172 Cancer, Crab, sign of zodiac, 89 Canens, river nymph of Latium, daughter of Janus and Venilia, wife of Picus, 327-330 Canopus, city in Egypt, 3 7 1 Capaneus, one of Seven against Thebes, killed by Jove, 204 Capetus, seventh king of Alba Longa, 336 Caphereus, dangerous promontory on coast of Euboea, where Nauplius, father of Palamedes, wrecked the Greek fleet on its return from Troy, 332 Capitol, hill-fortress and sanctuary of Rome, 16, 39, 363, 3 7 1 Capra, star in constellation Auriga, 66 Capreae, island off coast of Campania, 367 Capys, sixth king of Alba Longa, 336

Caria, country in Asia Minor, 80, 2 1 1 Carthaea, town on island of Ceos, 150, 220 Carthage, famous city in north Africa, 320 Cassandra, daughter of Priam and Hecuba, gifted with prophetic powers, 299 Cassiope, wife of Cepheus, mother of Andromeda, 92 Castor, twin brother of Pollux, 277 Castrum, ancient city in Latium, 367 Catcher (Ladon), Actaeon's hound, bred at Sicyon, 55 Caucasus, mountain chain between Black and Caspian Seas, 30, 97, 188 Caulon, town in toe of Italy (Calabria), 367 Caunus, son of Miletus and Cyanee, brother of Byblis, 2 0 5 - 2 1 1 Cayster, river in Asia Minor, 3 1 , 106 Cebren, river god in the Troad, 263 Cecrops, founder and king of Athens, father of three daughters, Algauros, Herse, and Pandrosos, 40, 46, 1 1 8 , 1 8 1 , 358 Celadon: follower of Phineus, 99; a Lapith, 273 Celennia, place in southern Italy, 367 Celmis, one of the Curetes, 79 Cenaeum, northwest promontory of Euboea, 196 Cenchrels, wife of Cinyras, king of Cyprus, 230 Centaurs, hybrid creatures, half-man, half-horse, offspring of Ixion and a cloud in form of Juno, 272-282, 353 Centuries, personified as attendants of Sun-god, 25 Ceos, island in the Aegean Sea, one of the Cyclades, 150 Cephalus, Athenian prince, grandson of Aeolus, husband of Procris, 137, 154. 159-160, 162, 165 Cepheus, king of Ethiopia, husband of Cassiope, brother of Phineus, father of Andromeda, 90, 92, 96 Cephisus: river in Phocis and Boeotia, and the god thereof, 1 1 , 49, 59, 1 5 1 ; river in Attica, 1 5 2 Cerambus, figure of legend, 150 Cerberus, or Cerber, three-headed watch-dog of Hades, 84-85, 1 5 1 , 197. 219

380

Cercopes, monkey people of Pithecusa, 320 Cercyon, tyrant of Eleusis who killed travelers, 1 5 2 Ceres, sister of Jove, mother of Proserpine, goddess of agriculture and giver of grain, 98, 105-106, 1 0 8 109, 1 1 1 - 1 1 2 , 1 1 4 - 1 1 5 , 152, 173, 187-189, 205, 219, 230, 239, 244, 306 Ceyx, king of Trachin, son of Lucifer, brother of Daedalion, and husband of Alcyone, 248-262 Chaonia, ancient name for district in Epirus, 100, 309; 'Chaonia's oak' alludes to grove at Dodona (q.v.), 220 Chaos, state of things before the creation, 1; conceived as a place, 329 Charaxus, a Lapith, 273-274 Charicle, river nymph, mother of Ocyrhoe by Chiron, 42 Charops, Trojan slain by Ulysses, 294 Charybdis, whirlpool between Italy and Sicily, 1 4 1 , 168, 309, 3 1 9 Chaser (Theron), Actaeon's hound, 55 Chersidamas, Trojan slain by Ulysses, 294 Child of Flame, name of Bacchus, in allusion to circumstances of his birth, 7 1 Chimaera, fire-breathing monster, 126, 2 1 1 Chione, daughter of Daedalion, 249 Chios, island in Aegean Sea, 66 Chiron, a Centaur, father of Ocyrhoe, 42, 120, 150 Chromis: follower of Phineus, 98; a Centaur, 275 Chromuis, Lycian slain by Ulysses, 294 Chryse, town in Mysia sacked by Ulysses, 291 Chthonius, a Centaur, 279 Ciconian tribes, a people of Thrace, 137 Cilicia, southern coastal district of Asia Minor, 30 Cilia, town in Mysia sacked by Ulysses, 291 Cimmerii, fabulous people, dwellers in darkness, 257 Cimolus, island in Aegean Sea, one of the Cyclades, 1 5 3

Cinyras: Assyrian king, 1 1 9 ; king of Cyprus, husband of Cenchreis, and father of Myrrha, 2 2 6 - 2 3 1 ,

238

Cipus, Roman general, 362-364 Circe, goddess and enchantress, daughter of Sun-god and Perse, 77,

316-319,

325,

326-329,

331;

'Circe's coast' is Circeii, 367 Circeii, town in Latium named after Circe, who lived there, 328 Ciris, bird into which Scylla, daughter of Nisus, was changed, 169 Cithaeron, mountain in Boeotia sacred to Jove, and also scene of Bacchic rites, 30, 69 Clanis: follower of Phineus, 99; a Centaur, 277 Claros, town in Asia Minor, with temple and oracle of Apollo, 1 5 ,

252

Cleonae, ancient town in Argolis, 1 2 9 Clitor, town and river in Arcadia, 354 Clymen, follower of Phineus, 98 Clymene, wife of Merops, mother of Phaethon by Sun-god, 22, 25, 33, 77 Clytie, daughter of Oceanus, 7 7 - 7 8 Clytius, follower of Phineus, 99 Clytos, son of Athenian prince Pallas, 154, 159 Clytus, follower of Phineus, 97 Cnidos, city in Asia Minor famous for worship of Venus, 2 3 3 Cnossos, capital of Crete, 2 1 2 Cocalus, king in Sicily, 1 7 3 Coeranos, Lycian slain by Ulysses, 294 Coeus, a Titan, father of Latona, 1 2 2 Croton, benefactor of Hercules, for whom Crotona named, 3 4 5 - 3 4 7 Crotona (not named in text), Greek city on Gulf of Tarentum, where the philosopher Pythagoras and the athlete Milo had their schools, 345-347 Cumae, town in Campania, founded by settlers from Euboea, 320, 3 2 1 , 367; called 'Euboea's daughter city,' 3 2 2 Cupid, son of Venus, 1 3 , 106, 226,

263

Cures, ancient city of Sabines, 345 Curetes, ancient inhabitants of Crete, guardians of infant Jove, 79 Cyane, nymph and her spring, west of Syracuse, 107, 109

381

Cyanee, river nymph, daughter of Maeander, mother of Byblis, 205 Cybele, Mother of the Gods, 220, 238 Cyclops, one of race of giants, who forged thunderbolts; in particular, Polyphemus, 8, 58, 3 1 0 - 3 1 4 , 3 1 7 ,

322, 325, 348

Cygnus: son of Sthenelus, 34; son of Apollo and Hyrié, 150; son of Neptune and Canace, 267-270, 283 Cyllarus, a Centaur, 2 7 7 - 2 7 8 Cyllene, mountain in Arcadia, 7, 1 1 3 ,

151, 249

Cymelus, a Lapith, 279 Cynthus, mountain in Delos, 30, 1 2 2 Cyparissus, youth of Ceos, loved by Phoebus, 2 2 1 Cyprian ( Cyprius), Actaeon's hound, 55 Cyprus, island in Aegean Sea sacred to Venus, 224-225, 230, 233, 239, 339; 'the Cyprian queen' is Venus Cythera, island in Aegean Sea sacred to Venus, 2 3 3 Cytherea, synonym of Venus, 356 Cythnus, island in Aegean Sea, one of the Cyclades, 1 0 2 Cytorus, mountain in Asia Minor, 1 2 0 Daedalion, son of Lucifer, brother of Ceyx, father of Chione, 249 Daedalus, cunning artificer of Athens, father of Icarus, uncle of Perdix, 1 7 0 - 1 7 3 , 2 1 4 Damasicthon, son of Amphion and Niobe, 124 Danaans, the Greeks, so called from Danaiis, founder of Argos, 265 Danae, daughter of Acrisius, and mother of Perseus by Jove, 88, 95,

119. 243

Dana'ids (called by Ovid Belides, from Belus, their grandfather), fifty daughters of Danaiis, who were married to their fifty cousins. All except one killed their husbands on wedding night by father's command; hence condemned in Hades to carry water forever in leaky vessels, 84, 2 1 8 Daphne, daughter of river-god Peneiis, 1 3 , 1 5 - 1 6 , 220 Daphnis, shepherd of Mt. Ida, 79 Dardan, or Dardanus, ancestor of Trojans, and hence of Romans, 358, 369

Daulis, town in Phocis, 103 Daunus, king of Apulia, 331, 333 Dawn (Eotis), Sun-god's chariot horse, 28 Days, personified as attendants of Sun-god, 25 Deerslayer (Nebrophonus), Actaeon's hound, 55 Deianira, daughter of Oeneus, king of Calydon, sister of Meleager, wife of Hercules, 192, 195-196 De'iphobus, son of Priam and Hector, 282 Delian, title of Phoebus from Delos, his birthplace, 13 Delos, birthplace of Phoebus and Diana, island in Aegean Sea, smallest of the Cyclades, originally a floating island, but afterwards anchored by Jove, 66, 122, 126, 144, 172, 202, 306, 361 Delphi, city in Phocis, famous for oracle of Apollo, 15, 49, 202, 222, 245, 249, 252, 297, 349 Demoleon, a Centaur, 276 Deo, name of Ceres, 1 1 9 Dercetis, Syrian fish goddess, mother of Semiramis, 72 Deucalion, son of Prometheus, husband of Pyrrha, 10, 1 1 , 150 Diana, virgin goddess, daughter of Jove and Latona, twin sister of Phoebus, 14, 20, 36-37, 53-54, 56, 161, 173, 176-177, 180-182, 194, 249, 283, 292, 360, 362, 370 Dicte, mountain in Crete, where Jove spent his infancy, 49 Dictynna, title of Diana, 1 1 3 Dictys: seaman in service of Acoetes, 67; a Centaur, 275 Dido, queen of Carthage, 319 Didyme, island in Aegean Sea, 153 Dindyma, mountain in Asia Minor, 30 Dingle (Nape), Actaeon's hound, 55 Diomedes, or Diomede, son of Tydeus, grandson of Oeneus of Calydon, friend of Ulysses, 284, 288289, 294, 297, 331, 333, 369-370 Dirce, famous spring near Thebes, 31 Dis, another name of Pluto, 107, 1 1 2 Dodona, town in Epirus near grove of oak trees where Jove gave oracles, 307 Dolon, Trojan soldier, 289, 294 Dolopes, a people in Thessaly, 276

382

Doris, sea-goddess, wife of Nereus, mother of the Nereids, 24, 32 Dorylas: follower of Perseus, 99; a Centaur, 277 Dryads, nymphs of trees and woods, 130, 187 Dryas, a Lapith, who joined Calydonian hunt, 174, 274-275 Dryope, daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia; half-sister to Iole, and mother of Amphissos, 202-203 Dulichium, small island near Ithaca, part of Ulysses' dominion, 308; the Dulichian pate' means the head of Ulysses, 289 Earth, personified as goddess, 32, 104, 348 Echeclus, a Centaur, 279 Echinades, small islands in mouth of river Acheloiis, 182 Echion: hero that sprang from dragon's teeth, father of Pentheus, 53, 64, 238; son of Mercury, at Calydon, 174-175 Echo, nymph, 59-60, 63-64 Eetion, king of Thebes in Mysia and father of Andromache, 268 Egeria, Italian nymph or goddess, wife of Numa, 362 Egypt, 22, 104, 197, 212, 371; 'Egypt's queen' is Cleopatra, 371 Elatus, prince of the Lapithae, father of Caenis, 271 Eleleus, name of Bacchus, 71 Eleusis, city in Attica famous for worship of Ceres, 152 Elis: district of the Peloponnese where Olympic games celebrated, 43, 109-110, 112, 174; its capital city, 1 1 3 , 198, 282 Elpenor, companion of Ulysses, 325 Elymus, a Centaur, 279 Elysian dwellings, abode of blessed in underworld, 320 Emathia, ancient name of Macedonia, 104, 371 Emathion, old man killed in fight between Perseus and Phineus, 98 Enaesimus, son of Hippocoon; Calydonian hunter, 176 Enipeus, tributary of river Peneus in Thessaly; also, god of same, 17, 146; impersonated by Neptune in amorous adventure, 120 Enna, ancient town in Sicily, 106

Ennomos, Trojan slain by Ulysses, 294 Envy, personified, 45-46, 233 Epaphus, son of Jove and Io, 22 Epiaauria, district in Argolis, 57, 152 Epidaurus, city in Argolis, where Asclepius worshiped, 365 Epimetheus, father of Pyrrha and brother of Prometheus, 12 Epirus, district in northwestern Greece, 173, 309; 'the Epirote king' was Munichus, king of the Molossi, 309 Epopeus, coxswain in service of Acoetes, 67 Epytus, fifth king of Alba Longa, 336 Erasinus, river in Argolis, 353 Erebus, the underworld, 329 Erectheus, son of Pandion and his successor as king of Athens; father of Procris and Orithyia, 136-137, 181 Erichthonius, king of Athens, son of Vulcan, 40 Eridanus, river in Thessaly, 17 Erigdupus, a Centaur, 279 Erigone, daughter of Icarus, translated to stars as constellation Virgo, 120, 231 Erymanthus: river in Arcadia, 31, 38; mountain in Arcadia, 113 Erysicthon, son of Thessalian king Tropas, 187-190 Erythus, son of Actor, follower of Phineus, 97 Eryx: mountain in Sicily, 30, 106; city in vicinity, founded by Eryx, son of Venus and half-brother of Aeneas, 320; follower of Phineus, 101 Ethemmon, follower of Phineus, 100 Ethiopia, Ethiopian, Ethiop, 23, 31, 90, 92. 354 Etna, volcanic mountain in Sicily, 30, 105, 108, 310, 313, 317, 322-323, 355 Etruria (and adjective Etruscan), district in Italy northwest of Latium, whose people joined Aeneas against Tumus the Latin, 331, 336, 362 Euagrus, a Lapith, 274 Euboea, large island off east coast of Greece, 146, 198-199,^ 307, 317; 'Euboea's daughter city' is Cumae, 322 Euhan, name of Bacchus, 71

383

Euippe, wife of Pieros, 104 Eumelus, king of Patrae, 151 Eumenides, ' kindly deities," a euphemism for the Furies, 179 Eupalamus, Calydonian hunter, 176 Euphorbus, Trojan, son of Panthoiis, 350 Euphrates, river in Mesopotamia, 31 Europa, daughter of Agenor and mother of Minos by Jove, 49, 119, 166, 168 Europe, the continent, 114 Euiotas, river in Laconia, 31, 222 Eurus, east wind personified as god, 3 Eurydice, wife of Orpheus, 2 1 7 - 2 1 9 Eurylochus, companion of Ulysses, 325-326 Eurymus, son of Telemus, 310 Eurynome, wife of Orchamus and mother of Leucothoe, 77 Eurynomus, a Centaur, 275 Eurypylus, a Thessalian, 297 Eurystheus, king of Tiryns, whom Hercules served, 198, 200 Eurytion, Calydonian hunter, 174 Eurytus: grandfather of Amphissos, 203; a Centaur, 272 Evander, Arcadian who emigrated to Italy and settled on Palatine hill, 331 Evenus, river in Aetolia, on which Calydon stood, 181, 195 Exadius, a Lapith, 273 Farfarus, tributary of Tiber, 327 Fates, 205, 358 Fathers, i.e., Roman senators, 365 Faun, woodland deity, 126 Faunus, ancient king of Latium, father of Acis and Latinus, 310, 331 Fire (Pyrois), Sun-god's chariot horse, 28 Fish, constellation Pisces, sign of zodiac, 219, 222 Flame (Phlegon), Sun-god's chariot horse, 28 Flight (Pterelas), Actaeon's hound, 55 Forum, the Forum Romanutn, 371 Furies, three goddesses of retribution, 219, 227 Fury (Labros), Actaeon's hound, 55 Galanthis, maidservant of Alcmena, changed to weasel, 201

Galatea, sea-nymph, daughter of Nereus and Doris, 3 0 9 - 3 1 4 Ganges, great river of India, 3 1 , 72, 96 Ganymede, brother of Ilus and Assaracus, cup-bearer to Jove, 222, 262 Gragaphie, valley in Boeotia with spring of same name, 53 Glance (Dorceus), Actaeon's hound, 55 Glaucus, sea-god, originally a fisherman of Anthedon in Boeotia, 146, 314-319 Gnasher (Canace), Actaeon's hound, 55 Gorge, one of Meleager's sisters, 1 8 1 Gorgons, three monsters, daughters of Phorcys, 89-90, 94, 1 0 0 - 1 0 1 Graces, the Three, daughters of Jove, 129 Gradivus, title of Mars as father of Quirinus, 3 7 2 Granicus, god of a river in Mysia, 263 Grasper (Harpalos), Actaeon's hound, 5 5 Greece, Grecian, Greek, 64, 88, 1 4 1 , 1 4 3 , 146, 1 5 2 , 222, 255, 265, 2 6 6 268, 270, 284, 286-287, 289-290, 292-295, 299-300, 3 2 2 - 3 2 4 , 327, 331-333, 345, 347. 365 Greedy (Pamphagos), one of Actaeon's hounds, 55 Gryneus, a Centaur, 2 7 3 Gyaros, island in Aegean Sea, one of the Cyclades, 102, 1 5 3 Hades, the underworld, 1 1 0 Haemus, mountain in Thrace, 30, 1 1 9 , 2 1 9 ; famous as scene of Orpheus' death: before that event described as 'yet unknown,' 30 Halcyoneus, follower of Phineus, 99 Halesus, a Lapith, 279 Halius, Lycian slain by Ulysses, 294 Harbors, Great and Small (of Syracuse), 107 Hebe, goddess of youth, daughter of Juno, 204 Hebrus, river in Thrace, 3 1 , 2 4 1 Hecate, goddess of magic and sorcery (treated in the translation as a dissyllable), 120, 1 4 1 - 1 4 2 , 1 4 4 - 1 4 6 , 3 1 8 , 329 Hector, son of Priam and Hecuba, 263, 265, 267, 279, 282-284, 286,

384

288-289, 292, 295, 298, 300-302, 307 Hecuba, wife of Priam, mother of De'iphobus, Hector, Helenus, Paris, Polydorus, and Polyxena, 263, 303-304, 306 Helen, daughter of Jove and Leda, wife of Menelaiis, 292, 338, 3 5 2 Helenus, son of Priam who had prophetic powers, 289, 309, 358. See Buthrotus Helice: synonym of Great Bear, 1 7 1 ; ancient capital of Achaea which was covered by the sea after earthquake, 354 Helices, follower of Phineus, 97 Helicon mountain in Boeotia, haunt of Muses, 30, 102, 1 1 5 , 1 8 1 Helle, daughter of Athamas and Nephele from whom Hellespont derived its name, 246 Hellespont, sea of Helle, 299 Helops, a Centaur, 275 Hercules: son of Jove and Alcmena, husband of Deianira, 1 9 5 - 2 0 1 , 282, 286, 288, 345-346, 352; 'town of Hercules' in Herculaneum in Campania, 367; constellation referred to by the words 'him that kneels,' 170. See also Alcides Hermaphroditus, son of Hermes and Aphrodite, 82 Hermes, Greek counterpart of Roman Mercury; used for metrical convenience in translation, though not occurring in original, 20, 2 1 , 4 4 45. 47. 79, 92, 100, 105, 183, 326; mentioned as ancestor of Ulysses, 291. See also Mercury Herse, daughter of Cecrops, 40, 4 4 45. 47 Hersilia, wife of Romulus, 343 Hesione, daughter of Laomedon, 246 Hesper, evening star, 108 Hesperides, three daughters of Hesperus, guardians of golden apples, 243 Hesperie, daughter of Cebren, the river god, 263 Hill-bred (Oresitrophos), Actaeon's hound, 56 Hippasus: Calydonian hunter, 174, 176; a Centaur, 276 Hippocoon, king of Amyclae, father or Enaesimus, 174, 1 7 6 Hippodamas, father of nymph Perimele, 1 8 3

Hippodame, better known as Hippodamia, daughter of Adrastus, wife of Pirithoiis, 272 Hippolytus, son of Theseus and Hippolyte the Amazon, stepson of Phaedra, 360-362 Hippomenes, son of Megareus, 2 3 4 238 Hippotades, patronymic of Aeolus, 253 Hippothoiis, Calydonian hunter, 174 Hister, the Danube River, 3 1 Hodites: Ethiopian noble, 98; a Centaur, 279 Hora, name of deified Hersilia, 344 Hours, personified as attendants of Sun-god, 25, 27 Hunger, personified, 188 Hunter (Agre), Actaeon's hound, 55 Hurricane (Aello), Actaeon's hound, 55 Hyacinthus, youth of Sparta, 222, 299 Hyades, star-cluster in Taurus, 66, 295 Hyale, nymph attendant of Diana, 54 Hyle, town in Boeotia, 308 Hyles, a Centaur, 277 Hyleus, Calydonian hunter, 174 Hyllus, eldest son of Hercules by Deianira, husband of Iole, 200 Hylonome, a female Centaur, 278 Hymen, god of marriage, 14, 129, 2 1 5 - 2 1 7 , 272 Hymettus, mountain in Attica, famous for honey, 160, 225 Hypaepa, town in Lydia, home of Arachne, 166, 244 Hypanis, river in Sarmatia, 353 Hyperion, father of Sun-god, 77 Hypseus, follower of Phineus, 98 Hypsipyle, daughter of Thoas, king of Lemnos, who saved her father when women of Lemnos killed their menfolk, 299 Hyrie, town in Boeotia named after mother of Cygnus, 1 5 0 - 1 5 1 Iacchus, name of Bacchus, 7 1 Ialysus, city on island of Rhodes, 150 Ianthe, daughter of Telestes, 2 1 3 216 Iasion, mortal loved by Ceres, 205 Iberian shepherd, Geryon, triplebodied giant of Spain whose life and cattle taken by Hercules, 197

385

Icaria, island in Aegean Sea, 1 7 2 Icarus: son of Daedalus, 1 7 1 ; a Greek, father of Erigone, translated to stars as constellation Bootes, 2 3 1 Icelos, son of Sleep, 259 Ida, mountain near Troy, 30, 79, 150, 219, 263, 281, 296, 334 Idas: killed by Phineus, 98; son of Aphareus, 174; follower of Diomedes, 333 Idmon, dyer of Colophon, father of Arachne, 1 1 6 Idomeneus, king of Crete, 297 Ilia, another name of Rhea Silvia, daughter of Numitor, and mother of Romulus, 342-343 Ilion, or Ilium, another name of Troy, 1 1 9 , 292, 298, 302 Ilioneus, son of Amphion and Niobe, 124 Ulyria, country on the Adriatic, 87 Ilus, father of Laomedon, 262 Imbreus, a Centaur, 275 Inachus, river in Argolis; or the god thereof, 17, 19 Inarime, Virgilian name for island of Pithecusa, off coast of Campania; Ovid seems to suggest that there are two different islands, 320 India, or Ind, 23, 72, 88, 135, 174, 357 Indiges, name of deified Aeneas, 336 Ino, daughter of Cadmus, sister of Semele, wife of Athamas, fostermother of Bacchus, 58, 70, 82, 86 Io, river-nymph, daughter of Inachus, 1 7 - 1 8 , 2 1 , 39 Iolaus, grandson of Alcmena, Calydonian hunter, 174, 204-205 Iolcus, city in Thessaly, birthplace of Jason, 144 Iole, daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia; wife of Hyllus, 196, 200, 202, 204 Ionian Sea, part of Mediterranean between Greece and southern Italy, 346 Ionian, of Ionia, district on west coast of Asia Minor, 327 Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon, 266 Iphinous, a Centaur, 277 Iphis: Cretan girl, daughter of Ligdus, and Telethusa, 2 1 2 - 2 1 3 , 2 1 5 216; youth of Cyprus, 339 Iphitus, a Lycian, 294

Iris, goddess of the rainbow, messenger of Juno, 9, 85, 257, 259, 320, 344 Island, Insula Tiberina, 368 Ismenus: river in Boeotia, 3 1 ; eldest son of Amphion and Niobe, 1 2 3 Isis, Egyptian goddess, deified Io, 212, 2 1 5 Isse, daughter of Macareus, 120 Italy, 3 1 7 , 345-346, 366 Ithaca, island off coast of Epirus, birthplace of Ulysses, 289, 302, 308, 322 Itys, infant son of Tereus and Procne, 135-136 lulus, also known as Ascanius, son of Aeneas and Creusa, 355, 358, 369 Ixion, father of Pirithoiis b y Dia, and of t h e Centaurs, including Nessus, b y a cloud in form of Juno, for attempting violence to w h o m h e was b o u n d on revolving wheel in Hades, 84, 177, 182, 218, 272, 275, 281

Janus, two-faced god, w h o looks both ways in space and time; called Ionian Janus as having come, according to a legend, across Ionian Sea from Thessaly to Italy, 327, 342 Jason, son of Aeson, leader of Argonauts, h u s b a n d of Medea, 1 3 9 - 1 4 3 , 174-175. 177. 287 Jove, or Jupiter (former designation is used throughout translation), king and father of gods and men, president of Immortals, and grand libertine; son of Saturn and husb a n d of Juno, 4-9, 10, 1 7 - 1 9 , 2 1 , 32-33, 35-39, 43, 45, 48-49, 5 6 60, 79, 88-89, 93-95, 105-106, 1 1 0 - 1 1 1 , 119, 150, 1 5 6 - 1 5 9 , 169, 173, 1 8 3 - 1 8 6 , 1 9 2 - 1 9 3 , 199-201, 204-205, 207, 2 2 1 - 2 2 2 , 246-248, 263, 282, 287, 289-290, 293, 295, 299, 304-305, 3 3 5 - 3 3 6 , 343, 3 7 0 372 Juba, king of Numidia, 368 Julius Caesar, Dictator, descendant of Venus through Aeneas and lulus, 3 7 1 Juno, sister and wife of Jove, and queen of Heaven, 18, 2 0 - 2 1 , 36, 38-39, 57-6o, 82, 119, 122, 129, 155, 172, 193, 197-198, 201, 207,

386

2 1 5 - 2 1 6 , 257, 259, 320, 335, 3 4 2 343, 350, 356, 367, 369 Justice, personified as goddess, Astraea in original, 5 Kids, two stars in constellation Auriga, 339 Killer (Theridamas), Actaeon's hound, 56 Lacinium, promontory in southern Italy, 345, 566 Laconia, district of the Peloponnesus of which Sparta was capital, 31 Ladon, river in Arcadia, 20 Laertes, father of Ulysses, 284, 290 Laestrygonian race, ogres ruled by Antiphates, 324 Lampetides, minstrel at court of Cepheus, 98 Lampetie, daughter of Clymene by Sun-god, 34 Lamus, son of Neptune; first king of the Laestrygones, race of ogres; founder of Formiae on coast of Latium, 324 Laomedon, founder and king of Troy, 245-246, 263 Lapiths ( L a p i t h a e ) , tribe of mountaineers in Thessaly, 272-282, 338 Larissa, town in Thessaly, 39 Latinus: son of Faunus and father of Lavinia; king of a people in Latium whose capital was Laurentum, 3 3 1 ; third king of Alba Longa, son of Silvius, 336 Latium ( a n d adjective, L a t i a n ) , district in Italy of which Rome became capital, 16, 34, 327, 329, 330-331, 336-337, 343, 359-360, 363-364, 368; on page 3 3 1 Latium means those cities and peoples of Latium which combined under Turnus to oppose Aeneas Latona, daughter of Coeus and Phoebe, and mother of Phoebus and Diana, 126 Latreus, a Centaur, 279 Laurentum, city in Latium, capital of King Latinus, 327, 336 Lavinia, daughter of King Latinus; betrothed to Turnus, married to Aeneas, 335 Lavinium, ancient sanctuary city in Latium, 367 Learchus, infant son of Athamas and Ino, 86

Lebinthus, island in Aegean Sea, 172 Leda, daughter of Thestius, 1 1 9 Lelegeian race, a people of Asia Minor, 2 1 1 Lelex, Calydonian hunter; though a native of Naryx, called 'of Troezen' because of his sojourn there, 1 8 2 183 Lemnos, island of volcanic origin in Aegean Sea, sacred to Vulcan, 287, 296 Lenaeus, name of Bacchus, 7 1 Lerna, district in Argolis, where Hercules killed the hydra, 18, 194, 196 Lesbos, Aegean island, now Mytilene, 4 1 , 291 Lethaea, wife of Olenus, 219 Lethe (and adjective, Lethaean), river of forgetfulness in underworld, 144, 258 Leto, Greek form of Latona (q.v.), 1 2 1 - 1 2 5 , 173. 306 Leucas, originally peninsula on coast of Acarnania, converted to island by Corinthian settlers, 353 Leucippus, brother of Aphareus, 174 Leuconoe, daughter of Minyas, 76 Leucosia, island off coast of Lucania, 367 Leucothoe: daughter of Orchamus, 77; called Ino after her change into a sea-goddess, 86 Liber, ancient Italian god of viticulture, identified with Bacchus, 71 Libya, ancient name of Africa, 30, 89. 97, 105, 147, 3 1 9 Libys, seaman in service of Acoetes, 67, 69 Lichas, servant of Hercules, 196, 198-199 Ligdus, a Cretan, husband of Telethusa, father of Iphis, 2 1 2 - 2 1 3 Liguria, district in northwestern Italy, 34 Lilybaeum, promontory in western Sicily, 105, 309 Limnaee, nymph of the Ganges, mother of Athis, 96 Limyre, city in Asia Minor, 2 1 1 Lion, constellation Leo, sign of zodiac, 26 Liriope, water-nymph, mother of Narcissus by river-god Cephisus, 59

387

Liturnum, town on coast of Campania, 367 Lotis, nymph, changed into lotus tree, 202 Love, personified, 233 Lucifer, morning star, father of Ceyx, 27, 90, 165, 248, 3 5 1 . See also Phosphor Lucina, goddess of childbirth, 104, 201, 2 1 3 , 232 Lyaeus, name of Bacchus as the Relaxer, 7 1 Lycabas: seaman in service of Acoetes, 67, 69; follower of Phineus, 97; a Centaur, 274 Lycaeus, mountain in Arcadia, 7, 20, 175

Lycaon, king of Arcadia, father of Callisto, 6, 7, 39 Lycetus, follower of Phineus, 97 Lyceum, school of philosophers (Aristotelian) at Athens, 44 Lycia, district in Asia Minor, 80, 126, 128, 2 1 1 , 269, 294 Lycidas, a Centaur, 275 Lycopes, a Centaur, 276 Lycormas: river in central Greece, 3 1 ; an Ethiopian, 98 Lycurgus, king in Thrace, destroyed by Bacchus, 72 Lycus: a Centaur, 275; follower of Diomedes, 333; river in Phrygia, 353

Lydia, district in Asia Minor, 1 1 6 , 123, 243 Lyncestian stream, river in Macedonia, 355 Lynceus, son of Aphareus, 174 Lyncides, follower of Phineus, 98, 100 Lyncus, king of Scythia, 144 Lyrcea, town and mountain in Argolis, 18 Lyrnesus, town in Mysia sacked by Achilles, 248, 292 Macareus: native of Lesbos, 120; a Lapith, 279; native of Neritos, who after voyaging with Ulysses had settled at Caièta, where his former shipmate, Achaemenides, brought from Sicily by Aeneas, encountered him, 322, 3 2 4 - 3 3 1 Macedonian, epithet of Halesus, a Lapith, 279 Madness, personified, as attendant of Tisiphone, 85

Maeander, circuitous river in Asia Minor, and its god, 3 1 , 170, 205, 209 Maenalus, mountain in Arcadia, 7, 36-37, 1 1 3 Maeonia, district in Asia Minor, ancient name of Lydia, 3 1 Maera, woman changed into a bitch, 150 Maia, one of the Pleiades, mother of Mercury by Jove, 19 Manto, Theban prophetess, daughter of Tiresias, 1 2 1 Marathon, town in Attica, 1 5 2 Mareotic plain, district in Egypt, 2 1 5 Mars, god of war, father of Romulus, 5 ° . 53, 64, 76, 1 1 8 , 129, 142, 178, 268, 342-343 Marsyas, Phrygian satyr, also a river named for him, 128 Medea, daughter of Aeetes, 1 3 9 - 1 5 1 Medon: seaman in service of Acoetes, 68; a Centaur, 274 Medusa, a Gorgon, daughter of Phorcys, 88, 90, 92, 97, 1 0 1 - 1 0 2 , 104, 120, 218; 'Medusa's well' is the spring Hippocrene on Mt. Helicon, 104; 'Medusa's hound' is Cerberus, 218 Megara, capital of Megaris, district adjoining Attica, 165, 168 Megareus, son of Onchestus and father of Hippomenes, 235 Melampus, soothsayer of Pylos, 355 Melaneus: follower of Perseus, 99; a Centaur, 274 Melantho, daughter of Deucalion, 120 Melanthus, seaman in service of Acoetes, 67 Melas, river in Thrace, 3 1 Meleager, prince of Calydon, son of King Oeneus and Althaea, 1 7 3 181 Melicerta, infant son of Athamas and Ino, 86 Memnon, son of Tithonus and Aurora, 304-305; 'his kinsman' is Priam, 305 Memnonides, birds hatched from ashes of Menon, 306 Memory, personified as mother of Muses, 103 Menaphron, an Arcadian, 1 5 1 Mendes, city in Egypt, 99 Menalaiis, Icing of Sparta, younger son of Atreus, brother of Agamem-

388

non, husband of Helen, 292, 297, 350

Menoetes, Lycian soldier serving with Trojans, 269 Mercury, son of Jove and Maia, god of knavery, messenger of gods; Greek synonym, Hermes, though not occurring in Ovid, frequently used for metrical convenience in translation, 43, 44, 249 Meriones, Cretan, fighting with Greeks at Troy, 297 Mermeros, a Centaur, 274 Merops, king of Ethiopia, husband of Clymene and putative father of Phaethon, 22, 29 Messana, or Zancle, coast town in Sicily on strait opposite Rhegium; originally part of Italy when Sicily was joined to mainland, 309, 3 1 7 318, 354

Messapia, division of Apulia, 333 Messene, city of Messenia in the Peloponnesus, 43, 129, 282 Metion, father of Phorbas, 97 Midas, king of Phrygia, 243-245 Might (Alee), Actaeon's hound, 55 Miletus, son of Phoebus who founded city in Asia Minor which bore his name, 205 Milo, famous athlete of Crotona, 352 Mimas, mountain in Asia Minor, 30 Minerva, Roman counterpart of Greek Pallas, 4 1 , 44-46, 72, 94, 128, 173, 184, 297, 332; 'Minerva's cape' is a promontory in Campania, 367. See Pallas Minos, king of Crete, son of Jove and Europa, husband of Pasiphae, father of Ariadne and Androgeos, 153-154. 1 6 5 - 1 7 0 , 2 0 5

Minturnae, city in Latium, 367 Minyas, king of Orchomenos in Boeotia, father of Alcithoe, Arsippe, and Leuconoe, 7 1 - 7 2 , 82 Misenus, son of Aeolus, trumpeter of Trojan fleet under Aeneas; name given to promontory of Misenum where he was buried, 320 Mithridates, king of Pontus, 368 Mnemosyne, or Memory, mother by Zeus of Muses, 1 1 9 Molpeus, follower of Phineus, 100 Moly, magic plant with white flower and black root, 326 Months, personified as attendants of Sun-god, 25

Monychus, a Centaur, 280 Mopsus, a soothsayer of the Lapithae, Calydonian hunter, son of Ampyx, 1 7 4 - 1 7 5 , 279. 281 Morning Star, otherwise Lucifer, father of Ceyx, 257 Morpheus, son of Sleep, 259 Mulciber, synonym of Vulcan as worker in metals, 24 Munychia, one of harbors of Athens, or by metonymy, Athens itself, 44 Muses, nine goddesses of arts and sciences, 102, 104-105, 1 1 6 , 364 Mutina, garrison town in Cis-alpine Gaul, 3 7 1 Mycale: promontory in Asia Minor, 30; sorceress, 273 Mycenae, city in Argolis, kingdom of Agamemnon, 129, 266, 358 Myconos, island in Aegean Sea, 1 5 3 Myrmidons, ant-men of Aegina, 159 Myrrha, daughter of Cinyras, king of Cyprus, 226-233 Myscelus, founder of Crotona, son of Alemon of Argos, 346 Mysia, district in Asia Minor, 3 1 Mysus, name of river Cai'cus in part of its course, 353 Naiads, water-nymphs, 126, 130, a n , 327 Nar, tributary of Tiber, 327 Narcissus, son of Cephisus and Liriope, 59-64 Narycium, or Naryx, city in Greece from which came settlers who founded Locri in the toe of Italy; Locri was sometimes known as Naryx, 174, 3 3 1 , 367 Nasamonia, district in Libya, 99 Naxos, island in Aegean Sea, one of the Cyclades, 68-69, 170 Nedymnus, a Centaur, 276 Neleus, king of Pylos in Elis, son of Neptune, 43, 129, 282 Nemea, valley in Argolis where Hercules killed the lion, 198 Nemesis, goddess of retribution, 61, 339, 3 4 1

Nephele: nymph attendant on Diana, 54; wife of Athamas, and mother of Helle, 246 Neptune, god of the sea, brother of Jove and Pluto, 9, 86, 1 1 9 , 183, 190, 235-236, 246, 265, 267, 270, 282

389

Nereids, sea-nymphs, daughters of Nereus and Doris, 310, 3 1 4 Neretum, coast town of Salentine people in Calabria, 347 Nereus, a sea-god, husband of Doris, father of Nereids, and in particular of Thetis, 32, 246, 2 5 1 , 265, 268, 291, 309 Neritos, part of Ulysses' domain, 308, 322. (Cf. Virgil, Aeneid III, 273.) Nestor, king of Pylos, son of Neleus, famed for age and eloquence, 174, 176, 270, 282-283, 288, 3 7 1 Nessus, a Centaur, 195-196, 275, 279 Night, personified as goddess, 77, 84, 145, 258 Nile, great river of Egypt, 13, 2 1 , 3 1 , 100, 104, 2 1 5 , 368 Nilus, follower of Phineus, 100 Ninus, husband of Semiramis, 74 Niobe, daughter of Tantalus and Dione, wife of Amphion, king of Thebes, and mother of seven sons and seven daughters, 121—126 Nisus, king of Megara, father of Scylla, 1 6 5 - 1 6 9 Noemon, Lycian slain by Ulysses, 294 Nonacrian, of Nonacria in Arcadia, epithet of Atalanta, 178 Noric fires, forge fires of Noricum, modern Styria, noted for its iron, 339

Numa, second king of Rome, husband of Egeria, 345, 359 Numicus, river in Latium, 327, 336 Numidia, country in north Africa, 368 Numitor, elder son of Procas, and rightful king of Alba Longa, grandfather of Romulus, 341 Nyctelius, name of Bacchus from his nocturnal rites, 7 1 Nycteus, follower of Diomedes, 3 3 3 Nyctimene, daughter of Epopeus, king of Lesbos, outraged by her father, and transformed into an owl, 4 1 Nysa, mountain where Bacchus was nursed by nymphs, 58 Nyseus, name of Bacchus, from foregoing, 7 1 Oceanus, the all-encircling ocean, personified as god, husband of Tethys, 38, 68, 207, 3 1 6 Ocyrhoe, daughter of Chiron, 42

Oechalia, city in Euboea, whose king, Eurytus, slain by Hercules, 196, 202 Oeclides, patronymic of Amphiaraiis, son of Oecleus; Calydonian hunter, afterwards persuaded by his wife to join expedition against Thebes, where he perished, 174 Oedipus, king of Thebes, who solved riddle of Sphinx, 162 Oeneus, king of Calydon, husband of Althaea, father of Meleager, 173, 179. 192 Oenopia, earlier name of Aegina, 1 5 3 Oete, mountain range in southern Thessaly, 10, 30, 1 9 7 - 1 9 9 Oileus, king of Locris, father of Ajax, 284 Olenus, husband of Lethaea, 2 1 9 Oliaros, island in the Aegean Sea, 153 Olympians, gods of Olympus, 106, 184 Olympus, mountain in Thessaly, 4, 30, 128, 146; conceived of as home of gods, 3 1 0 Onchestus, son of Neptune for whom a town in Boeotia was named, 235 Opheltes, seaman in service of Acoetes, 67-68 Ophion, father of Centaur Amycus, 273 Orchamus, eastern king, father of Leucothoe, 77 Orchomenos: city in Arcadia, 1 1 3 ; city in Boeotia, 129 Orcus, synonym of Hades, 3 2 1 Oreads, mountain nymphs, 188 Orestes, son of Agamemnon, 360 Orion, constellation; in life a giant hunter whose two daughters by their voluntary death freed Thebes from pestilence, 1 7 1 , 295, 308 Orios, a Lapith, 273 Orithyia, daughter of Erectheus, wife of Boreas, 137, 160 Orneus, a Centaur, 274 Orontes, river in Syria, 3 1 Orpheus, son of Apollo and Calliope, 2 1 7 - 2 1 9 , 240-243 Orphne, nymph of underworld, mother of Ascalaphus, 1 1 1 Ortygia: island near Syracuse, 1 1 4 ; ancient name of Delos, and sometimes applied to Diana as native of Delos, 355 Osiris, Egyptian god, 2 1 2

390

Ossa, mountain in Thessaly, 5, 30, 146, 275 Othrys, mountain in central Greece, 30, 146, 150, 281 Ovid, 373 Pachynus, promontory in southeastern Sicily, 105, 309 Pactolus, river with sands of gold in Lydia, 1 1 6 , 309 Padus, Po River in northern Italy, 3 1 Paean, hymn of triumph, originally in honor of Apollo, 340 Paeonia, district in Macedonia, 104 Paestum, city in Lucania, 367 Pagasaean, of Pagasae, town in Thessaly, 278 Palaemon, name of Melicerta, as seagod, 86, 3 1 5 Palamedes, or Palamede, son of Nauplius, king of Euboea; one of Greek chieftains at Troy, he was falsely convicted and executed for treason, 287-288, 296. See Caphereus Palatine, one of seven hills of Rome, and site of original settlement, 327, 337. 343, 362 Pales, god of shepherds, 341 Palica, town in Sicily, 107 Pallas: also known as Minerva and Athene, goddess of art, war, and wit, divine patroness of Athens, 40-41, 44-45, 52-53, 72, 92, 96, 102, 104-106, 1 1 6 - 1 1 9 , 1 7 2 - 1 7 3 , 1 8 1 , 276, 298, 356; 'Stolen Pallas' is image of Pallas of Troy stolen by Ulysses, 289; Athenian prince, father of Clytos and Butes, 154, 159 Pallene, peninsula in Macedonia, 356 Pallor, personified, 188 Pan, god of woods and shepherds, 20, 244-245, 333, 337 Panchaia, island in Arabian Sea famous for perfumes, 226, 232 Pandion, king of Athens, father of Procne and Philomela, 129, 1 3 1 , 136 Pandrosos, daughter of Cecrops, sister of Herse and Aglauros, 40, 45 Panope, town in Phocis, 50 Panopeus, Calydonian hunter, 174 Panthoiis, Trojan, father of Euphorbus, 350 Paphos, daughter of Pygmalion, for whom city in Cyprus named, 226;

Pygmalion called 'the Paphian youth' by anticipation, 225; city, sacred to Venus, 233 Paraetonium, city in Egypt, 2 1 5 Paris, son of Priam and Hecuba, 150, 265, 284, 292, 302, 370 Parnassus, mountain near Delphi, seat of Apollo and Muses, 10, 14, 30, 89, 103, 250 Paros, island in Aegean Sea, source of famous marble, 153, 1 7 2 Parthaon, king of Calydon, grandfather of Meleager, 1 8 1 Parthenius, mountain in Arcadia, 198 Parthenope, early name of Naples, 320, 367 Pasiphae, wife of Minos, mother of Ariadne and Phaedra, and of the Minotaur, 169 Patara, city in Asia Minor with temple and oracle of Apollo, 1 5 Patrae, ancient city in Achaea, 129 Patroclus, friend of Achilles, 295 Pedasus, follower of Phineus, 98 Pegasus, winged horse, born with his brother Chrysaor from blood of slain Medusa, 92, 102 Pelagon, Calydonian hunter, 176 Pelates: companion of Phineus, 98; a Lapith, 273 Peleus, son of Aeacus, brother of Telamon and Phocus, husband of Thetis, and father of Achilles, 153, 176, 246-248, 2 7 1 , 276-277, 291 Pelias, half-brother of Aeson, 1 4 8 150 Pelion, mountain in Thessaly, 5, 146, 150, 267, 281, 289 Pella, city in Macedonia, 104, 273 Pelops, son of Tantalus and Dione, 1 2 8 - 1 2 9 , 183 Pelorus, promontory in northeastern Sicily, 105, 309, 367 Penelope, wife of Ulysses, daughterin-law of Laertes, 174, 302 Peneus, river in Thessaly and its god, father of Daphne, 14, 17, 3 1 , 146, 271 Pentheus, king of Thebes, son of Echion and Agave, 64-70, 72, 82 Peparethos, island in Aegean Sea, 153

Pergus, lake in Sicily near Enna, 106 Periclymenus, son of Neleus and brother of Nestor, 282 Perimele, island in mouth of river Acheloiis, originally a nymph, 183

391

Peirphas: ancient king in Attica, 1 5 1 ; a Lapith, 279 Persia, 3, 77 Perseus, son of Jove and Danae, grandson of Acrisius, 88-102 Petra, capital city of Nabataei, people of Arabia; people, not city, mentioned by Ovid, 3 Petraeus, a Centaur, 275 Peucetia, division of Apulia, 333 Phaeacians, people ruled by Alcinoiis, 309

Phaedimus, son of Amphion and Niobe, 1 2 3 Phaethon, son of Clymene by Sungod, 22, 25, 27-28, 30, 33-35, 78, 283 Phaethusa, sister of Phaethon, 34 Phaestus, town in Crete, 2 1 2 - 2 1 3 Phaeocomes, a Centaur, 278 Phantasos, son of Sleep, 259 Pharos, island near Alexandria artificially joined to mainland, 2 1 5 , 353

Pharsalia, district in Thessaly, scene of decisive battle between Julius Caesar and Pompey, identified by Ovid with Philippi, 3 7 1 Phasis, river in Colchis, 3 1 , 139 Phegeus, king of Psophis, slayer of Alcmaeon; referred to in prophecy of Themis, 204 Phene, wife of Periphas (a), 1 5 1 Pheneus, town in Arcadia, 354 Pheres, father of Admetus, 174 Phiale, nymph attendant of Diana, 54

Philammon, son of Apollo and Chione, 249 Philemon, Phrygian cottage dweller, husband of Baucis, 1 8 3 - 1 8 6 Philippi, city in Emathia (Macedonia), where Octavian and Antony defeated Brutus and Cassius, 3 7 1 . See Pharsalia Philoctetes, son of Pceas, 199, 287, 296 Philomela, daughter of Pandion, sister of Procne, 1 3 0 - 1 3 6 Phineus: brother of Cepheus, 95— 102; blind soothsayer of Thrace, tormented by Harpies, 139 Phlegethon, river of underworld, 1 1 1 , 361 Phlegra, earlier name of Pallene (q.v.), 2 2 1 Phlegraeus, a Centaur, 277

Phlegyas, follower of Phineus, 97 Phobetor, synonym of Icelos (q.v.), 259 Phocaea, city in Asia Minor where murex obtained, 1 1 6 Phocis, district embracing Delphi and Mt. Parnassus, 10, 40, 103 Phocus, son of Aeacus, brother of Telamon and Peleus, 153, 159, 1 6 1 - 1 6 2 , 248, 250-251 Phoebe, synonym of Diana, especially as moon-goddess, 15, 54, 105 Phoebus, Roman counterpart of Apollo (q.v.), son of Jove and Latona, brother of Diana, father of Aesculapius, god of sun, archery, music, healing, prophecy, 13, 14, 1 6 - 1 7 , 22, 25, 39, 4 1 , 43, 105, 120, 124, 128, 1 3 1 , 165-166, 175, 205, 2 2 1 - 2 2 3 , 240, 242, 245-246, 249250, 258, 283-284, 299, 306, 3 2 1 , 330, 3 5 1 , 357. 364. 372 Phoenix: son of Amyntor, 174; legendary bird, 357 Pholus, a Centaur, 274 Phorbas: follower of Phineus, 97; leader of bandits in Thessaly or Phocis, 252; a Lapith, 275 Phorcys, father of Gray Sisters, 92 Phosphor, Greek equivalent of Lucifer, sometimes used in translation for metrical convenience, 44, 243, 250 Phrixus, son of Athamas, donor of Golden Fleece to Aeetes, 139 Phrygia (and adjective, Phrygian), country in Asia Minor, 1 2 1 - 1 2 2 , 128, 170, 183, 186, 240, 243, 245, 246, 294, 296, 309; 'Phrygian is used for 'Trojan,' 266, 296 Phthia, city in Thessaly, home of Achilles, 291 Phyleus, Calydonian hunter, 174 Phyllius, friend of Cygnus, 150 Picus, early king of Latium, son of Saturn, father of Faunus, and grandfather of Latinus, 327—329 Pieros, king of Pella, 104 Pindus, mountain range separating Thessaly and Epirus, 17, 30, 146, 256 Piraeus, harbor of Athens, 130 Pirene, famous spring near Corinth, 3i, 151 Pirithoiis, son of Ixion, king of the Lapithae, friend of Theseus, 174, 177, 183, 272, 275

392

Pisa, city in Elis, 1 1 0 Pisenor, a Centaur, 274 Pitane, city of Aeolia in Asia Minor, 150 Pithecusae, town on island of Pithecusa, inhabited by ape-men, 320 Pittheus, king of Troezen, son of Pelops, 129, 183, 354, 360 Pleiades, or Pleiads, star-cluster in Taurus, originally daughters of Atlas and Pleione, and sisters of the Hyades, 66, 1 2 1 Plenty, personified, 194 Pleuron, city in Aetolia, 1 5 1 Plexippus, son of Thestius, brother of Toxeus and Althaea, uncle of Meleager, 178 Pluto, brother of Jove and Neptune, allotted underworld as his third share of universe, 106-107, 1 1 2 , 361 Po, river in northern Italy, elsewhere called Padus, 3 3 - 3 4 Poeas, father of Philoctotes, 199 Polites, companion of Ulysses, 325 Polydamas, Trojan, son of Panthoiis and friend of Hector, 282 Polydectes, king of Seriphus, at first friend, then enemy, of Perseus, 102 Polydegmon, follower of Phineus, 97 Polydorus, son of Priam and Hecuba, 300, 303, 306 Polymestor, king of the Bistones, people in Thrace, 300, 303 Polypemon, grandfather of Alcyone, 151 Polyphemus, the Cyclops, one-eyed giant, 3 1 0 - 3 1 4 , 322 Polyxena, daughter of Priam and Hecuba, 300 Pomona, wood-nymph of Latium, 337-338 Pompey, Sextus Pompeius, son of Pompey the Great, whose death after sea battle at Naulochus ended Pompey's direct line, 3 7 1 Pontus, kingdom in Asia Minor, 198, 368 Priam, last king of Troy, son of Laomedon, husband of Hecuba, father of Cassandra, Deiphobus, Hector, Helenus, Paris, Polydorus, and Polyxena, 263, 265, 284, 292, 299, 301-302, 309, 332, 358 Priapus, son of Dionysus and Aphrodite, god of procreation and fer-

tility, and hence of vineyards and gardens, 202; as thief-scarer, 337 Procas, twelfth king of Alba Longa; his subjects called 'the people of the Palatine' by anticipation, 337 Prochyte, island off coast of Campania, 320 Procne, daughter of Pandion, sister of Philomela, wife of Tereus, 1 2 9 136 Procris, daughter of Erectheus, wife of Cephalus, 137, 160, 163-164 Procrustes, bandit of Attica who mutilated travelers, 152 Proetus, twin brother of Acrisius and usurper of his throne, 67 Prometheus, father of Deucalion, 3, 12 Propaetides, women of Amathus, 223-224 Proreus, seaman in service of Acoetes, 67 Proserpine, daughter of Jove and Ceres, wife of Pluto (form Proserpin is used in translation), 106112, 217, 321 Protesilaus, Greek warrior, 267 Proteus, sea-god with powers of prophecy and specializing in selftransformation, 24, 186, 246-247, 315 Prothoenor, courtier at court of Cephisus, 98 Prytanis, Lycian slain by Ulysses, 294 Psamathe, sea-nymph, mother of Phocus, 2 5 1 - 2 5 2 Psecas, nymph attendant of Diana, 54 Psophis, town in Arcadia, 1 1 3 Pygmaean, of the Pygmies, race of dwarfs, 119 Pygmalion, prince of Cyprus, 2 2 4 226 Pylos, city in Elis, 43, 129, 282 Pyracmus, a Centaur, 279 Pyraethus, a Centaur, 279 Pyramus, youth of Babylon, 73-76 Pyreneus, king of Daulis, 103 Pyrrha, daughter of Epimetheus, wife of Deucalion, 1 1 - 1 2 Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, also called Neoptolemus, 291 Pythian Games, founded by Apollo, celebrated at Delphi every four years, 13

393

Quirinus, name of deified Romulus, 343> 372; 'Quirinus' hill' is the Quirinal, 344 Quirites, citizens of Rome, 363 Ram, constellation Aries, first sign of zodiac, 222 Remulus, ninth king of Alba Longa, son of Tiberinus, 336 Rhadamanthus, son of Jove and Europa, brother of Minos, 205 Rhanis, nymph attendant of Diana, 54 Rhegium, city in toe of Italy on Sicilian strait opposite Messana, 3 1 7 318 Rhesus, king in Thrace, ally of king Priam, 294 Rhexenor, follower of Diomedes, 333 Rhine, chief river in Germany, 31 Rhodes, island in Aegean Sea, 150; 'Rhodian admiral' refers to Tlepolemus, 283 Rhodope, mountain in Thrace, 30, U 9 , 134. 219 Rhodos, eponymous goddess of Rhodes, loved by Sun-god, 77 Rhoeteum, promontory in the Troad, 246 Rhoetus: follower of Phineus, 96; a Centaur, 273-274 Rhone, river in Gaul, 3 1 Ripheus, a Centaur, 276 Rome, caput rerurn (and adjective Roman), 336, 341-344, 358, 3 6 2 366, 368, 370-373; 'the Roman lord' is Antony, 3 7 1 Romethium, place in southern Italy, 367 Romulus, son of Mars and Ilia, grandson of Numitor, 342, 362 Rumor, personified as goddess, 266267 Runner (Dromas), Actaeon's hound, 55 Rutuli, people of Latium whose king was Turnus and whose capital Ardea, 3 3 1 , 333 Sabaean soil, district in Arabia, 232 Sabines, people of district northeast of Rome, 341-343, 345 Salamis, town in Cyprus, 341 Salentine, of the Salentini, people of southern Calabria, 347 Salmacis, pool in Caria and nymph thereof, 79, 80-81, 354

Samos: island in Aegean Sea sacred to Juno; birthplace of Pythagoras, 172, 347; island near Ithaca, 308 Sardis, city in Lydia, 244 Sarpedon, Lycian king allied to Trojans, 294 Saturn, father of Jove, 4, 57, 120, 186, 207, 327, 372 Sciron, bandit of Attica, 152 Scorpion, constellation Scorpio, sign of zodiac, 26, 29 Scylacium, town in toe of Italy, 367 Scylla: monster in straits of Sicily who preyed on sailors, originally a maiden loved by Glaucus, 141, 3°9, 314-319; daughter of Nisus, king of Megara, 165-169 Scyros: island in Aegean Sea, 153, 291; town in Phrygia sacked by Ulysses, 291 Scythia, country beyond Black Sea, 3, 30, 114, 151, 188, 235, 353, 356 Semele, daughter of Cadmus, mother of Bacchus by Jove, 56-58 Semiramis, daughter of Dercetis; founder and queen of Babylon, 73, 97 Senate, governing body in Rome throughout the Republic, which met only in a consecrated building, 370 Seriphus, island in Aegean Sea, one of the Cyclades, 102, 153 Shag (Lachne), Actaeon's hound, 55 Shepherd (Poemenis), Actaeon's hound, 55 Sibyl, prophetess in service of Apollo at Cumae, 320-322, 367 Sicily (and adjective Sicilian), 106107, 109-110, 141, 173, 317, 3 5 3 354, 367, 371 Sicyon, city in the Peloponnesus, 55 Sidon, city in Phoenicia, 47, 87 Sigeum, promontory in the Troad, 246, 267, 286 Silenus, old tippler, attendant of Bacchus, 243, 337 Silvius, second king of Alba Longa, 336 Simois, river in the Troad, 296 Sin, Abode of, place of punishment in underworld, 84 Sinis, bandit of Corinth, 152 Sinuessa, border city of Latium and Campania, 367 Sipylus, son of Amphion and Niobe, 123

394

Sirens, sea-nymphs, daughters of Acheloiis, whose songs lured sailors to destruction, 111; Sirens' rocks (Sirenusae) are islands off coast of Campania, 320 Sisters, the Fates, 179, 369 Sisyphus, son of Iolus, sufferer in underworld, 84, 218, 287 Sithon, character with alternating sex, 79 Sleep (Somnus), personified as god, 257-259 Smilax, maiden beloved by Crocus, 79 Snake: constellation Serpens, 28; 'him that holds the snake' is constellation Ophiuchus, 170; constellation Draco, referred to as 'the one that parts the Bears,' 50 Snatcher (Harpyia), Actaeon's hound, 55 Soot (Asbolus), Actaeon's hound, 55 Spanish oxen, cattle of Geryon, 345 Sparta, chief city of Laconia, 55, 129, 222-223, 347, 358 Spartan ( L a c o n ) , Actaeon's hound, 55 Spercheiis, river in southern Thessaly, 17, 31, 97, 146 Spot (Sticte), Actaeon's hound, 55 Spring, the season, personified as attendant of Sun-god, 25 Stabiae, city in Campania, 367 Stellio, lizard, used as a name, 109 Sthenelus, father of Cygnus, 34 Strophades, two islands off coast of Messenia, 308 Strymon, river in Thrace, 3 1 Stymphalis, lake in Arcadia, 198 Stymphalus, town in Arcadia, 1 1 2 Styphelus, a Centaur, 279 Styx (and adjective Stygian), river of underworld, 6, 21, 27, 51, 57, 64, 84, 110, 217, 219, 238, 254255, 275, 322, 326, 350, 370 Summer, personified as attendant of Sun-god, 25 Surrentum, town in Campania, 367 Swift (Thous), Actaeon's hound, 55 Sybaris, city of Greek foundation on river of same name in southern Italy, 347, 354 Syene, city in Egypt, 97 Symaethis, nymph, daughter of Sicilian river-god, Symaethus, 310 Symplegades, Clashing Islands of Euxine Sea, 355

Syrian, adjective signifying 'of Syria,' 72, 99 Syrtis, sandbank off coast of north Africa, 168 Taenarus, southern promontory of Laconia where a cave gave entrance to underworld, 2 1 7 Tages, Etruscan deity, 362 Tagus, river in Spain, 3 1 Tamasene, of Tamasus, town in Cyprus, 236 Tanais, Don River in southeast Russia, 3 1 Tantalus: father of Niobe, king of Lydia, tormented in underworld, 84, 1 2 1 , 123, 218; son of Amphion and Niobe, 1 2 3 Tarentum, seaport town in southern Italy, founded by settlers from Sparta, 347 Tarpeia, Roman girl who betrayed citadel to Sabines, 341; 'Tarpeia's hill-top' is the Capitoline hill, 372 Tartarus, third part of universe, ruled by Pluto; underworld, 106, 136 Tartessian shore, district in Spain, perhaps Tarshish of Scripture, conceived as region of setting sun, 330 Tatius, king of Sabines, 3 4 1 - 3 4 2 Tauric regions (the Crimea), country of the Tauri, whose statue of Artemis was carried off by Orestes to Aricia, 360 Taurus, mountain range in Asia Minor, 30 Tectaphos, a Lapith, 278 Tegea, city in Arcadia, 1 7 5 - 1 7 6 Telamon, king of Aegina, son of Aeacus, brother of Peleus and Phocus, father of Ajax, 153, 158, 174, 176, 246, 285-286, 291 Telchinian race, tribe of fabulous beings with evil eye, 150 Teleboas, a Centaur, 279 Telemus, father of Eurymus, 3 1 0 Telephus, king of Mysia, 269, 291 Telestes, citizen of Phaestus in Crete, father of Ianthe, 2 1 3 Telethusa, wife of Ligdus, mother of Iphis, 212, 2 1 5 Temesa, town on west coast of toe of Italy, 367 Tempe, valley of river Peneus in Thessaly, 17, 146, 150 Tenedos, island in Aegean Sea near

395

Troy, sacred to Apollo, 15, 268, 291 Tenos, island in Aegean Sea, one of the Cyclades, 1 5 3 Tereus, king of Thrace, husband of Procne, 1 2 9 - 1 3 7 Terror, personified as attendant of Tisiphone, 85 Tethys, sea-goddess, wife of Oceanus, 26, 28, 38, 207, 263, 3 1 6 Teucer: cousin of Achilles, 291; early king of the Troad, originally from Crete, 308, 339 Teucri, Trojans, descendants of Teucer, 308-309 Thaumas, a Centaur, 274 Thebes (and adjective Theban): capital city of Boeotia, 3 1 , 53-54, 65, 70, 72, 82, 102, 1 2 1 - 1 2 4 , 162, 204, 308, 358; city in Mysia near Mt. Ida, 268, 291 Themis, goddess of Justice and giver of oracles, 1 0 - 1 2 , 89, 204 Thereus, a Centaur, 276 Thermodon, river in Pontus, 3 1 Therses, Theban friend of Anius, 308 Thersites, disaffected and abusive Greek in army at Troy, 293 Thescelus, follower of Phineus, 100 Theseus, hero of Attica, son of Aegeus, father of Hippolytus, and friend of Pirithous, 1 5 1 , 153, 170, 1 7 3 - 1 7 4 , 1 8 1 - 1 8 2 , 186, 192, 272, 276, 360, 372 Thespian, of Thespia, town on slope of Mt. Helicon, 104 Thessalia or Thessaly (and adjective Thessalian), district in northern Greece, 17, 39, 104, 146-147, 189, 247, 252, 259, 268, 271, 272, 276 Thestius, father of Toxeus, Plexippus, and Althaea; grandfather of Meleager, 174, 178, 179 Thestor, father of Calchas, 266 Thetis, sea-nymph, daughter of Nereus, 246-248, 252 Thisbe: maiden of Babylon, 73-76; town in Boeotia, 249 Thoactes, armor-bearer to Cepheus; opponent of Perseus, 99 Thoas, king of Lemnos, father of Hypsiple, 299 Thoon, Trojan slain by Ulysses, 294 Thrace (and adjective Thracian), country northeast of Macedonia, 3 1 , 103, 1 1 9 , 1 2 9 - 1 3 2 , 134, 137, 2 1 1 , 2 1 7 , 219, 226, 240, 303-304,

Thrace (continued) 306, 354; Thracian mares are horses of Diomedes, king of Thrace, which Hercules captured in his eighth labor, 198 Three Sisters, the Fates, 178 Thunderer, epithet of Jove, 37, 246 Thurine, of Thurii, Greek city near site of Sybaris, 347 Thyestes, brother of Atreus, who caused him to eat his sons, 359 Thyoneus, name of Bacchus, 71 Tiber, river in central Italy, 31, 330331. 358, 364, 367-368 Tiberinus, eighth king of Alba Longa, 336 Tigress (Tigris), Actaeon's hound, 55 Tiresias, Theban soothsayer, 58, 64, 121 Tiryns, city in Argolis where Hercules served Eurystheus for twelve years, 194, 283 Tisiphone, one of the Furies, 85 Titans, family of giants sprung from union of heaven and earth, 122, 204; in particular, Titan, the Sungod, 1, 27, 222, 317, 329 Tityos, giant tormented in underworld, 84 Tlepolemus, son of Hercules, leader of Rhodian contingent in Greek army at Troy, 282-283 Tmolus, mountain in Lydia, 30, 116, 242, 244-245 Toxeus, son of Thestius, brother of Plexippus and Althaea, uncle of Meleager, 178 Tracer (Ichnobates), Actaeon's hound, 55 Trachas, better known as Terracina, town in Latium, 367 Trachin, city in Thessaly near Mt. Oete, scene of agony and death of Hercules, 248, 251, 259 Treadhill (Oribasus), Actaeon's hound, 55 Trinacria, ancient name in Sicily, from its shape, 105, 109 Triptolemus, son of Celeus, king of Eleusis, 1 1 4 - 1 1 5 Triton, sea-god, trumpeter of Neptune, 10, 24, 3 1 5 Tritonia, name of Pallas from Lake Triton, her birthplace, 103 Troezen, city in Argolis, 129, 354. 360

396

Troy (and adjective Trojan), city of Priam, 31, 176, 199, 222, 246, 263, 266-268, 270, 279, 283-284, 286, 288-289, 292, 295, 297-298, 301, 304, 306-307, 309, 319, 322, 324325, 331, 334, 35°, 358-359. 367. 369; the Trojan boy is Ganymede, 222 Turnus, king of the Rutuli in Latium, betrothed to Lavinia, 331, 335, 338, 369 Tuscan, of Etruria, 362, 363; applied to Etruscan sea, 317, 324; applied to Lydian Acoetes and his followers, because Tuscans came from Lydian stock, 66, 67, 72, 82 Twice-born, epithet of Bacchus from circumstances of his birth, 71 Twice-mothered, epithet of Bacchus, 7i Twins, Castor and Pollux, sons of Tyndareus (form Tyndarus is also found), 176 Tydeus, son of Oeneus king of Calydon, and father of Diomedes, 284 Tyndarus, or Tyndareus, king of Sparta, father of Castor and Pollux, 174 Typhoeus, or Typhon, earth-born giant, enemy of gods, 104, 105 Tyre (and adjective Tyrian), city on island off coast of Phoenicia, afterwards artificially joined to mainland; chief source of famous crimson or purple pigment extracted from murex, 48, 50, 53, 56, 65, 82, 96, 118, 202, 225, 328, 353 Ulysses, king of tes, husband 286-299, 301, 324, 326, 334 Urania, Muse of

Ithaca, son of Laerof Penelope, 284, 308, 310, 319, 3 2 2 Astronomy, 102

Venelia, sea-nymph, wife of Janus and mother of Canens, 327 Venulus, envoy of Turnus, 331, 333 Venus, goddess of love, wife of Vulcan, mother of Cupid, and of Aeneas, 14, 53, 76, 86, 105-106, 205, 216, 224-226, 233-239, 306, 318, 332, 335-336, 369, 371 Vertumnus, Italian god of husbandry, 337-341 Vesta, hearth goddess of home and city, 367, 369, 372

Virbius, name of deified Hippolytus, 362 Volturnus, river in Campania, 367 Vulcan, son of Juno and husband of Venus, god of fire and worker in metals, 27, 152, 199, 200, 205, 296, 334. See Mulciber

Wolf (Lycisce), Actaeon's hound, 55 Woodman (Hylaeus), Actaeon's hound, 55

Whirlwind (Laelaps): Actaeon's hound, 55; dog given by Diana to Procris and by ner to Cephalus, 162 White (Leucon), Actaeon's hound, 55 Whitetooth (Agriodus), Actaeon's hound, 55 Winter, personified as attendant of Sun-god, 25

Years, personified as attendants of Sun-god, 25 Youth, personified as god, 146

397

Xanthus: river near Troy, better known as Scamander, 3 1 ; chief river in Lycia, 2 1 1

Zancle, earlier name of Messana (q.v.), 309, 3 1 7 - 3 1 8 , 354 Zephyr, west wind personified as god, 3 Zetes, son of Boreas and Orithyia, twin brother of Calais, 138