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Title: The Metamorphoses of Ovid
       Literally Translated into English Prose, with Copious Notes
       and Explanations

Author: Publius Ovidius Naso

Translator: Henry Thomas Riley

Release Date: July 16, 2008 [EBook #26073]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

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[Transcriber’s Note:

This e-text covers the second half, Books VIII-XV, of Henry T. Riley’s
1851 translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The first half, Books I-VII,
is already available from Project Gutenberg as e-text 21765. Note that
this text, unlike the earlier one, is based solely on the 1893 George
Bell reprint.

The text includes characters that will only display in UTF-8 (Unicode)
text readers, including many single words of Greek in the Notes:

  œ, Œ (oe ligature)
  κείρω, ἀκονιτὶ

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apostrophes and quotation marks in this paragraph appear as garbage,
make sure your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding” is set
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last resort, use the latin-1 version of the file instead.

In the original text, words and phrases supplied by the translator
were printed in _italics_. In this e-text they are shown in braces {}.
Italics in the notes and commentary are shown conventionally with
_lines_. Square brackets [] in the body text are in the original.

Line numbers from the Latin poem--not its prose translation--were
printed as headnotes on each page. For this e-text, only the line
numbers of each complete “Fable” are given. Line numbers used in
footnotes are retained from the original text; these, too, refer to
the Latin poem and are independent of line divisions in the translation.

In Transcriber’s Notes, references to Clarke are from the third
edition (1752).]




                      The

                 METAMORPHOSES

                       of

                      OVID.


    Literally Translated into English Prose,
      with Copious Notes and Explanations,


            BY HENRY T. RILEY, B.A.
           of Clare Hall, Cambridge.


                    LONDON:

  GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK ST., COVENT GARDEN,
                 AND NEW YORK.

                     1893.




                    LONDON:

      Reprinted from the Stereotype Plates
          by Wm. Clowes & Sons, Ltd.,
       Stamford Street and Charing Cross.




[The Introduction is included here for completeness, omitting the
Synopses of Books I-VII.]


INTRODUCTION.


The Metamorphoses of Ovid are a compendium of the Mythological
narratives of ancient Greece and Rome, so ingeniously framed, as to
embrace a large amount of information upon almost every subject
connected with the learning, traditions, manners, and customs of
antiquity, and have afforded a fertile field of investigation to the
learned of the civilized world. To present to the public a faithful
translation of a work, universally esteemed, not only for its varied
information, but as being the masterpiece of one of the greatest Poets
of ancient Rome, is the object of the present volume.

To render the work, which, from its nature and design, must, of
necessity, be replete with matter of obscure meaning, more inviting to
the scholar, and more intelligible to those who are unversed in
Classical literature, the translation is accompanied with Notes and
Explanations, which, it is believed, will be found to throw considerable
light upon the origin and meaning of some of the traditions of heathen
Mythology.

In the translation, the text of the Delphin edition has been generally
adopted; and no deviation has been made from it, except in a few
instances, where the reason for such a step is stated in the notes;
at the same time, the texts of Burmann and Gierig have throughout been
carefully consulted. The several editions vary materially in respect to
punctuation; the Translator has consequently used his own discretion in
adopting that which seemed to him the most fully to convey in each
passage the intended meaning of the writer.

The Metamorphoses of Ovid have been frequently translated into the
English language. On referring to Mr. Bohn’s excellent Catalogue of the
Greek and Latin Classics and their Translations, we find that the whole
of the work has been twice translated into English Prose, while five
translations in Verse are there enumerated. A prose version of the
Metamorphoses was published by Joseph Davidson, about the middle of
the last century, which professes to be “as near the original as the
different idioms of the Latin and English will allow;” and to be
“printed for the use of schools, as well as of private gentlemen.” A few
moments’ perusal of this work will satisfy the reader that it has not
the slightest pretension to be considered a literal translation, while,
by its departure from the strict letter of the author, it has gained
nothing in elegance of diction. It is accompanied by “critical,
historical, geographical, and classical notes in English, from the best
Commentators, both ancient and modern, beside a great number of notes,
entirely new;” but notwithstanding this announcement, these annotations
will be found to be but few in number, and, with some exceptions in the
early part of the volume, to throw very little light on the obscurities
of the text. A fifth edition of this translation was published so
recently as 1822, but without any improvement, beyond the furbishing up
of the old-fashioned language of the original preface. A far more
literal translation of the Metamorphoses is that by John Clarke, which
was first published about the year 1735, and had attained to a seventh
edition in 1779. Although this version may be pronounced very nearly to
fulfil the promise set forth in its title page, of being “as literal as
possible,” still, from the singular inelegance of its style, and the
fact of its being couched in the conversational language of the early
part of the last century, and being unaccompanied by any attempt at
explanation, it may safely be pronounced to be ill adapted to the
requirements of the present age. Indeed, it would not, perhaps, be too
much to assert, that, although the translator may, in his own words,
“have done an acceptable service to such gentlemen as are desirous of
regaining or improving the skill they acquired at school,” he has, in
many instances, burlesqued rather than translated his author. Some of
the curiosities of his version will be found set forth in the notes;
but, for the purpose of the more readily justifying this assertion,
a few of them are adduced: the word “nitidus” is always rendered “neat,”
whether applied to a fish, a cow, a chariot, a laurel, the steps of a
temple, or the art of wrestling. He renders “horridus,” “in a rude
pickle;” “virgo” is generally translated “the young lady;” “vir” is
“a gentleman;” “senex” and “senior” are indifferently “the old blade,”
“the old fellow,” or “the old gentleman;” while “summa arx” is “the very
tip-top.” “Misera” is “poor soul;” “exsilio” means “to bounce forth;”
“pellex” is “a miss;” “lumina” are “the peepers;” “turbatum fugere” is
“to scower off in a mighty bustle;” “confundor” is “to be jumbled;” and
“squalidus” is “in a sorry pickle.” “Importuna” is “a plaguy baggage;”
“adulterium” is rendered “her pranks;” “ambages” becomes either “a long
rabble of words,” “a long-winded detail,” or “a tale of a tub;”
“miserabile carmen” is “a dismal ditty;” “increpare hos” is “to rattle
these blades;” “penetralia” means “the parlour;” while “accingere,” more
literally than elegantly, is translated “buckle to.” “Situs” is “nasty
stuff;” “oscula jungere” is “to tip him a kiss;” “pingue ingenium” is a
circumlocution for “a blockhead;” “anilia instrumenta” are “his old
woman’s accoutrements;” and “repetito munere Bacchi” is conveyed to the
sense of the reader as, “they return again to their bottle, and take the
other glass.” These are but a specimen of the blemishes which disfigure
the most literal of the English translations of the Metamorphoses.

  [Transcriber’s Note:

  The Clarke “translation” was published as part of a student edition
  of Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, with the Latin on the top half of the page,
  the English below. It was not intended as an independent text.]

In the year 1656, a little volume was published, by J[ohn] B[ulloker,]
entitled “Ovid’s Metamorphosis, translated grammatically, and, according
to the propriety of our English tongue, so far as grammar and the verse
will bear, written chiefly for the use of schools, to be used according
to the directions in the preface to the painfull schoolmaster, and more
fully in the book called, ‘Ludus Literarius, or the Grammar school,
chap. 8.’” Notwithstanding a title so pretentious, it contains a
translation of no more than the first 567 lines of the first Book,
executed in a fanciful and pedantic manner; and its rarity is now the
only merit of the volume. A literal interlinear translation of the first
Book “on the plan recommended by Mr. Locke,” was published in 1839,
which had been already preceded by “a selection from the Metamorphoses
of Ovid, adapted to the Hamiltonian system, by a literal and interlineal
translation,” published by James Hamilton, the author of the Hamiltonian
system. This work contains selections only from the first six books, and
consequently embraces but a very small portion of the entire work.

For the better elucidation of the different fabulous narratives and
allusions, explanations have been added, which are principally derived
from the writings of Herodotus, Apollodorus, Pausanias, Dio Cassius,
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Strabo, Hyginus, Nonnus, and others of the
historians, philosophers, and mythologists of antiquity. A great number
of these illustrations are collected in the elaborate edition of Ovid,
published by the Abbé Banier, one of the most learned scholars of the
last century; who has, therein, and in his “Explanations of the Fables
of Antiquity,” with indefatigable labour and research, culled from the
works of ancient authors, all such information as he considered likely
to throw any light upon the Mythology and history of Greece and Rome.

This course has been adopted, because it was considered that a statement
of the opinions of contemporary authors would be the most likely to
enable the reader to form his own ideas upon the various subjects
presented to his notice. Indeed, except in two or three instances, space
has been found too limited to allow of more than an occasional reference
to the opinions of modern scholars. Such being the object of the
explanations, the reader will not be surprised at the absence of
critical and lengthened discussions on many of those moot points of
Mythology and early history which have occupied, with no very positive
result, the attention of Niebuhr, Lobeck, Müller, Buttmann, and many
other scholars of profound learning.




A SYNOPTICAL VIEW

OF THE

PRINCIPAL TRANSFORMATIONS MENTIONED IN

THE METAMORPHOSES.


BOOK VIII.

In the mean time Minos besieges Megara. Scylla, becoming enamoured of
him, betrays her country, the safety of which depends upon the purple
lock of her father Nisu. Being afterwards rejected by Minos, she clings
to his ship, and is changed into a bird, while her father becomes a sea
eagle. Minos returns to Crete, and having erected the Labyrinth with the
assistance of Dædalus, he there encloses the Minotaur, the disgrace of
his family, and feeds it with his Athenian captives. Theseus being one
of these, slays the monster: and having escaped from the Labyrinth by
the aid of Ariadne, he takes her with him, but deserts her in the isle
of Dia, where Bacchus meets with her, and places her crown among the
Constellations. Dædalus being unable to escape from the island of Crete,
invents wings and flies away; while Icarus, accompanying his father, is
drowned. The partridge beholds the father celebrating his funeral rites,
and testifies his joy: Perdix, or Talus, who had been envied by Minos
for his ingenuity, and had been thrown by him from the temple of
Minerva, having been transformed into that bird. Theseus, having now
become celebrated, is invited to the chase of the Calydonian boar, which
Atalanta is the first to wound. Meleager slays the monster; and his
death is accelerated by his mother Althæa, who places in the fire the
fatal billet. Returning from the expedition, Theseus comes to Acheloüs,
and sees the islands called the Echinades, into which the Naiads have
been transformed. Pirithoüs denies the possibility of this; but Lelex
quotes, as an example, the case of Baucis and Philemon, who were changed
into trees, while their house became a temple, and the neighbouring
country a pool of water. Acheloüs then tells the story of the
transformations of Proteus and of Metra, and how Metra supported her
father Erisicthon, while afflicted with violent hunger.


BOOK IX.

Acheloüs then relates his own transformations, when he was contending
with Hercules for the hand of Deïanira. Hercules wins her, and Nessus
attempts to carry her off: on which Hercules pierces him with one of his
arrows that has been dipped in the blood of the Hydra. In revenge,
Nessus, as he is dying, gives to Deïanira his garment stained with his
blood. She, distrusting her husband’s affection, sends him the garment;
he puts it on, and his vitals are consumed by the venom. As he is dying,
he hurls his attendant Lychas into the sea, where he becomes a rock.
Hercules is conveyed to heaven, and is enrolled in the number of the
Deities. Alcmena, his mother, goes to her daughter-in-law Iole, and
tells her how Galanthis was changed into a weasel; while she, in her
turn, tells the story of the transformation of her sister Dryope into
the lotus. In the meantime Iolaüs comes, whose youth has been restored
by Hebe. Jupiter shows, by the example of his sons Æacus and Minos, that
all are not so blessed. Miletus, flying from Minos, arrives in Asia, and
becomes the father of Byblis and Caunus. Byblis falls in love with her
brother, and is transformed into a fountain. This would have appeared
more surprising to all, if Iphis had not a short time before, on the day
of her nuptials, been changed into a man.


BOOK X.

Hymenæus attends these nuptials, and then goes to those of Orpheus; but
with a bad omen, as Eurydice dies soon after, and cannot be brought to
life. In his sorrow, Orpheus repairs to the solitudes of the mountains,
where the trees flock around him at the sound of his lyre; and, among
others, the pine, into which Atys has been changed; and the cypress,
produced from the transformation of Cyparissus. Orpheus sings of the
rape of Ganymede; of the change of Hyacinthus, who was beloved and slain
by Apollo, into a flower; of the transformation of the Cerastæ into
bulls; of the Propœtides, who were changed into stones; and of the
statue of Pygmalion, which was changed into a living woman, who became
the mother of Paphos. He then sings, how Myrrha, for her incestuous
intercourse with her father, was changed into the myrrh tree; and how
Adonis (to whom Venus relates the transformation of Hippomenes and
Atalanta into lions) was transformed into an anemone.


BOOK XI.

Orpheus is torn to pieces by the Thracian women; on which, a serpent,
which attacks his face, is changed into stone. The women are transformed
into trees by Bacchus, who deserts Thrace, and betakes himself to
Phrygia; where Midas, for his care of Silenus, receives the power of
making gold. He loathes this gift; and bathing in the river Pactolus,
its sands become golden. For his stupidity, his ears are changed by
Apollo into those of an ass. After this, that God goes to Troy, and aids
Laomedon in building its walls. Hercules rescues his daughter Hesione,
when fastened to a rock, and his companion Telamon receives her as his
wife; while his brother Peleus marries the sea Goddess, Thetis. Going to
visit Ceyx, he learns how Dædalion has been changed into a hawk, and
sees a wolf changed into a rock. Ceyx goes to consult the oracle of
Claros, and perishes by shipwreck. On this, Morpheus appears to
Halcyone, in the form of her husband, and she is changed into a
kingfisher; into which bird Ceyx is also transformed. Persons who
observe them, as they fly, call to mind how Æsacus, the son of Priam,
was changed into a sea bird, called the didapper.


BOOK XII.

Priam performs the obsequies for Æsacus, believing him to be dead. The
children of Priam attend, with the exception of Paris, who, having gone
to Greece, carries off Helen, the wife of Menelaüs. The Greeks pursue
Paris, but are detained at Aulis, where they see a serpent changed into
stone, and prepare to sacrifice Iphigenia to Diana; but a hind is
substituted for her. The Trojans hearing of the approach of the Greeks,
in arms await their arrival. At the first onset, Cygnus, dashed by
Achilles against a stone, is changed by Neptune into the swan, a bird of
the same name, he having been vulnerable by no weapon. At the banquet of
the chiefs, Nestor calls to mind Cæneus, who was also invulnerable; and
who having been changed from a woman into a man, on being buried under a
heap of trees, was transformed into a bird. This Cæneus was one of the
Lapithæ, at the battle of whom with the Centaurs, Nestor was present.
Nestor also tells how his brother, Periclymenus, was changed into an
eagle. Meanwhile, Neptune laments the death of Cygnus, and entreats
Apollo to direct the arrow of Paris against the heel of Achilles, which
is done, and that hero is slain.


BOOK XIII.

Ajax Telamon and Ulysses contend for the arms of Achilles. Ihe former
slays himself, on which a hyacinth springs up from his blood. Troy being
taken, Hecuba is carried to Thrace, where she tears out the eyes of
Polymnestor, and is afterwards changed into a bitch. While the Gods
deplore her misfortunes, Aurora is occupied with grief for the death of
her son Memnon, from whose ashes the birds called Memnonides arise.
Æneas flying from Troy, visits Anius, whose daughters have been changed
into doves; and after touching at other places, remarkable for various
transformations, he arrives in Sicily, where is the maiden Scylla, to
whom Galatea relates how Polyphemus courted her, and how he slew Acis.
On this, Glaucus, who has been changed into a sea Deity, makes his
appearance.


BOOK XIV.

Circe changes Scylla into a monster. Æneas arrives in Africa, and is
entertained by Dido. Passing by the islands called Pithecusæ, where the
Cecropes have been transformed from men into apes, he comes to Italy;
and landing near the spot which he calls Caicta, he learns from Macareus
many particulars respecting Ulysses and the incantations of Circe, and
how king Picus was changed into a woodpecker. He afterwards wages war
with Turnus. Through Venulus, Turnus asks assistance of Diomedes, whose
companions have been transformed into birds, and he is refused. Venulus,
as he returns, sees the spot where an Apulian shepherd had been changed
into an olive tree. The ships of Æneas, when on fire, become sea Nymphs,
just as a heron formerly arose from the flames of the city of Ardea.
Æneas is now made a Deity. Other kings succeed him, and in the time of
Procas Pomona lives. She is beloved by Vertumnus, who first assumes the
form of an old woman; and having told the story of Anaxarete, who was
changed into a stone for her cruelty, he reassumes the shape of a youth,
and prevails upon the Goddess. Cold waters, by the aid of the Naiads
become warm. Romulus having succeeded Numitor, he is made a Deity under
the name of Quirinus, while his wife Hersilia becomes the Goddess Hora.


BOOK XV.

Numa succeeds; who, on making inquiry respecting the origin of the city
of Crotona, learns how black pebbles were changed into white; he also
attends the lectures of Pythagoras, on the changes which all matter is
eternally undergoing. Egeria laments the death of Numa, and will not
listen to the consolations of Hippolytus, who tells her of his own
transformation, and she pines away into a fountain. This is not less
wonderful, than how Tages sprang from a clod of earth; or how the lance
of Romulus became a tree; or how Cippus became decked with horns. The
Poet concludes by passing to recent events; and after shewing how
Æsculapius was first worshipped by the Romans, in the sacred isle of the
Tiber, he relates the Deification of Julius Cæsar and his change into a
Star; and foretells imperishable fame for himself.




BOOK THE EIGHTH.


FABLE I. [VIII.1-151]

  Minos commences the war with the siege of Megara. The preservation
  of the city depends on a lock of the hair of its king, Nisus. His
  daughter, Scylla, falling in love with Minos, cuts off the fatal
  lock, and gives it to him. Minos makes himself master of the place;
  and, abhorring Scylla and the crime she has been guilty of, he takes
  his departure. In despair, she throws herself into the sea, and
  follows his fleet. Nisus, being transformed into a sea eagle,
  attacks her in revenge, and she is changed into a bird called Ciris.

Now, Lucifer unveiling the day and dispelling the season of night, the
East wind[1] fell, and the moist vapours arose. The favourable South
winds gave a passage to the sons of Æacus,[2] and Cephalus returning;
with which, being prosperously impelled, they made the port they were
bound for, before it was expected.

In the meantime Minos is laying waste the Lelegeian coasts,[3] and
previously tries the strength of his arms against the city Alcathoë,
which Nisus had; among whose honoured hoary hairs a lock, distinguished
by its purple colour, descended from the middle of his crown, the
safeguard of his powerful kingdom. The sixth horns of the rising Phœbe
were {now} growing again, and the fortune of the war was still in
suspense, and for a long time did victory hover between them both with
uncertain wings. There was a regal tower built with vocal walls, on
which the son of Latona[4] is reported to have laid his golden harp;
{and} its sound adhered to the stone. The daughter of Nisus was wont
often to go up thither, and to strike the resounding stones with a
little pebble, when it was a time of peace. She used, likewise, often to
view the fight, and the contests of the hardy warfare, from that tower.
And now, by the continuance of the hostilities, she had become
acquainted with both the names of the chiefs, their arms, their horses,
their dresses, and the Cydonean[5] quivers.

Before the rest, she had observed the face of the chieftain, the son of
Europa; even better than was enough for merely knowing him. In her
opinion, Minos, whether it was that he had enclosed his head in a helm
crested with feathers, was beauteous in a helmet; or whether he had
taken up a shield shining with gold, it became him to assume that
shield. Drawing his arm back, did he hurl the slender javelin; the
maiden commended his skill, joined with strength. Did he bend the wide
bow with the arrow laid upon it; she used to swear that thus Phœbus
stood, when assuming his arrows. But when he exposed his face, by taking
off the brazen {helmet}, and, arrayed in purple, pressed the back of a
white horse, beauteous with embroidered housings, and guided his foaming
mouth; the virgin daughter of Nisus was hardly mistress of herself,
hardly able to control a sound mind. She used to call the javelin happy
which he touched, and the reins happy which he was pressing with his
hand. She had an impulse (were it only possible) to direct her virgin
footsteps through the hostile ranks; she had an impulse to cast her body
from the top of the towers into the Gnossian camp, or to open the gates,
strengthened with brass, to the enemy; or, {indeed}, anything else, if
Minos should wish it. And as she was sitting, looking at the white tents
of the Dictæan king, she said, “I am in doubt whether I should rejoice,
or whether I should grieve, that this mournful war is carried on.
I grieve that Minos is the enemy of the person who loves him; but unless
there had been a war, would he have been known to me? yet, taking me for
a hostage, he might cease the war, and have me for his companion, me as
a pledge of peace. If, most beauteous of beings, she who bore thee, was
such as thou art thyself, with reason was the God {Jupiter} inflamed
with {love for} her. Oh! thrice happy were I, if, moving upon wings
through the air, I could light upon the camp of the Gnossian king, and,
owning myself and my flame, could ask him with what dowry he could wish
to be purchased; provided only, that he did not ask the city of my
father. For, perish rather the desired alliance, than that I should
prevail by treason; although the clemency of a merciful conqueror has
often made it of advantage to many, to be conquered. He certainly
carries on a just war for his slain son,[6] and is strong both in his
cause, and in the arms that defend his cause.

“We shall be conquered, as I suppose. If this fate awaits this city, why
should his own arms, and not my love, open the walls to him? It will be
better for him to conquer without slaughter and delay, and the expense
of his own blood. How much, indeed, do I dread, Minos, lest any one
should unknowingly wound thy breast! for who is so hardened as to dare,
unless unknowingly, to direct his cruel lance against thee? The design
pleases me; and my determination is to deliver up my country as a dowry,
together with myself, and {so} to put an end to the war. But to be
willing, is too little; a guard watches the approaches, and my father
keeps the keys of the gates. Him alone, in my wretchedness, do I dread;
he alone obstructs my desires. Would that the Gods would grant I might
be without a father! Every one, indeed, is a God to himself. Fortune is
an enemy to idle prayers. Another woman, inflamed with a passion so
great, would long since have taken a pleasure in destroying whatever
stood in the way of her love. And why should any one be bolder than
myself? I could dare to go through flames, {and} amid swords. But in
this case there is no occasion for any flames or {any} swords; I {only}
want the lock of my father. That purple lock is more precious to me than
gold; it will make me happy, and mistress of my own wish.”

As she is saying such things, the night draws on, the greatest nurse of
cares, and with the darkness her boldness increases. The first slumbers
are now come, in which sleep takes possession of the breast wearied with
the cares of the day. She silently enters the chamber of her father, and
({O abominable} crime!) the daughter despoils the father of his fatal
lock, and having got the prize of crime, carries with her the spoil of
her impiety; and issuing forth by the gate, she goes through the midst
of the enemy, (so great is her confidence in her deserts) to the king,
whom, in astonishment, she thus addresses: “’Twas love that urged the
deed. I {am} Scylla, the royal issue of Nisus; to thee do I deliver the
fortunes of my country and my own, {as well}; I ask for no reward, but
thyself. Take this purple lock, as a pledge of my love; and do not
consider that I am delivering to thee a lock of hair, but the life of my
father.” And {then}, in her right hand, she holds forth the infamous
present. Minos refuses it, {thus} held out; and shocked at the thought
of so unheard of a crime, he says, “May the Gods, O thou reproach of our
age, banish thee from their universe; and may both earth and sea be
denied to thee. At least, I will not allow so great a monster to come
into Crete, the birth-place of Jupiter, which is my realm.” He {thus}
spoke;[7] and when, {like} a most just lawgiver, he had imposed
conditions on the vanquished, he ordered the halsers of the fleet to be
loosened, and the brazen {beaked} ships to be impelled with the oars.
Scylla, when she beheld the launched ships sailing on the main, and
{saw} that the prince did not give her the {expected} reward of her
wickedness, having spent {all} her entreaties, fell into a violent rage,
and holding up her hands, with her hair dishevelled, in her frenzy she
exclaimed,

“Whither dost thou fly, the origin of thy achievements {thus} left
behind, O thou preferred before my country, preferred before my father?
Whither dost thou fly, barbarous {man}? whose victory is both my crime
and my merit. Has neither the gift presented to thee, nor yet my
passion, moved thee? nor yet {the fact} that all my hopes were centred
in thee alone? For whither shall I return, forsaken {by thee}? To my
country? Subdued, it is ruined. But suppose it were {still} safe; by my
treachery, it is shut against me. To the face of my father, that I have
placed in thy power. My fellow-citizens hate me deservedly; the
neighbours dread my example. I have closed the whole world against me,
that Crete alone might be open {to me}. And dost thou thus forbid me
that as well? Is it thus, ungrateful one, that thou dost desert me?
Europa was not thy mother, but the inhospitable Syrtis,[8] or
Armenian[9] tigresses, or Charybdis disturbed by the South wind. Nor
wast thou the son of Jupiter; nor was thy mother beguiled by the
{assumed} form of a bull. That story of thy birth is false. He was both
a fierce bull, and one charmed with the love of no heifer, that begot
thee. Nisus, my father, take vengeance upon me. Thou city so lately
betrayed, rejoice at my misfortunes; for I have deserved them,
I confess, and I am worthy to perish. Yet let some one of those, whom I
have impiously ruined, destroy me. Why dost thou, who hast conquered by
means of my crime, chastise that crime? This, which was treason to my
country and to my father, was an act of kindness to thee. She is truly
worthy[10] of thee for a husband, who, adulterously {enclosed} in wood,
deceived the fierce-looking bull, and bore in her womb an offspring of
shape dissimilar {to herself}. And do my complaints reach thy ears?
Or do the same winds bear away my fruitless words, and thy ships,
ungrateful man? Now, {ah!} now, it is not to be wondered at that
Pasiphaë preferred the bull to thee; thou didst have the more savage
nature {of the two}. Wretch that I am! He joys in speeding onward, and
the waves resound, cleaved by his oars. Together with myself, alas!
my {native} land recedes from him. Nothing dost thou avail; oh thou!
forgetful to no purpose of my deserts. In spite of thee, will I follow
thee, and grasping thy crooked stern, I will be dragged through the long
seas.”

Scarce has she said {this, when} she leaps into the waves, and follows
the ships, Cupid giving her strength, and she hangs, an unwelcome
companion, to the Gnossian ship. When her father beholds her, (for now
he is hovering in the air, and he has lately been made a sea eagle, with
tawny wings), he is going to tear her in pieces with his crooked beak.
Through fear she quits the stern; but the light air seems to support her
as she is falling, that she may not touch the sea. It is feathers {that
support her}. With feathers, being changed into a bird, she is called
Ciris;[11] and this name does she obtain from cutting off the lock.

    [Footnote 1: _The East wind._--Ver. 2. Eurus, or the East wind,
    while blowing, would prevent the return of Cephalus from the
    island of Ægina to Athens.]

    [Footnote 2: _The sons of Æacus._--Ver. 4. ‘Æacidis’ may mean
    either the forces sent by Æacus, or his sons Telamon and Peleus,
    in command of those troops. It has been well observed, that
    ‘redeuntibus,’ ‘returning,’ is here somewhat improperly applied to
    the troops of Æacus, for they were not, strictly speaking,
    returning to Athens although Cephalus was.]

    [Footnote 3: _Lelegeian coasts._--Ver. 6. Of Megara, which is also
    called Alcathoë, from Alcathoüs, its restorer.]

    [Footnote 4: _Of Latona._--Ver. 15. The story was, that when
    Alcathoüs was rebuilding the walls of Megara, Apollo assisted him,
    and laying down his lyre among the stones, its tones were
    communicated to them.]

    [Footnote 5: _Cydonean._--Ver 22. From Cydon, a city of Crete.]

    [Footnote 6: _His slain son._--Ver. 58. Namely, his son Androgeus,
    who had been put to death, as already mentioned.]

    [Footnote 7: _He thus spoke._--Ver. 101. The poet omits the
    continuation of the siege by Minos, and how he took Megara by
    storm, as not pertaining to the developement of his story.]

    [Footnote 8: _Inhospitable Syrtis._--Ver. 120. There were two
    famous quicksands, or ‘Syrtes,’ in the Mediterranean Sea, near the
    coast of Africa; the former near Cyrene, and the latter near
    Byzacium, which were known by the name of ‘Syrtis Major’ and
    ‘Syrtis Minor.’ The inhabitants of the neighbouring coasts were
    savage and inhospitable, and subsisted by plundering the
    shipwrecked vessels.]

    [Footnote 9: _Armenian._--Ver. 121. Armenia was a country of Asia,
    lying between Mount Taurus and the Caucasian chain, and extending
    from Cappadocia to the Caspian Sea. It was divided into the
    greater and the less Armenia, the one to the East, the other to
    the West. Its tigers were noted for their extreme fierceness.]

    [Footnote 10: _She is truly worthy._--Ver. 131. Pasiphaë, who was
    the mother of the Minotaur.]

    [Footnote 11: _She is called Ciris._--Ver. 151. From the Greek
    word κείρω, ‘to clip,’ or ‘cut.’ According to Virgil, who, in his
    Ciris, describes this transformation, this bird was of variegated
    colours, with a purple breast, and legs of a reddish hue, and
    lived a solitary life in retired spots. It is uncertain what kind
    of bird it was; some think it was a hawk, some a lark, and others
    a partridge. It has been suggested that Ovid did not enter into
    the details of this transformation, because it had been so
    recently depicted in beautiful language by Virgil. Hyginus says
    that the ‘Ciris’ was a fish.]


EXPLANATION.

  Minos, having raised an army and received auxiliary troops from his
  allies, made war upon the Athenians, to revenge the death of his
  son, Androgeus. Having conquered Nisea, he laid siege to Megara,
  which was betrayed by the perfidy of Scylla, the daughter of its
  king, Nisus. Pausanias and other historians say that the story here
  related by the Poet is based on fact; and that Scylla held a secret
  correspondence with Minos during the siege of Megara, and, at
  length, introduced him into the town, by opening the gates to him
  with the keys which she had stolen from her father, while he was
  asleep. This is probably alluded to under the allegorical
  description of the fatal lock of hair, though why it should be
  depicted in that form especially, it is difficult to guess. The
  change of Scylla into a lark, or partridge, and of her father into a
  sea eagle, are poetical fictions based on the equivocal meanings of
  their names, the one Greek and the other Hebrew; for the name
  ‘Ciris’ resembles the Greek verb κείρω, which signifies ‘to clip,’
  or ‘cut short.’ ‘Nisus,’ too, resembles the Hebrew word ‘Netz,’
  which means a bird resembling the osprey, or sea eagle. Apollodorus
  says, that Minos ordered Scylla to be thrown into the sea; and
  Zenodotus, that he caused her to be hanged at the mainmast of his
  ship.


FABLE II. [VIII.152-182]

  Minos, having overcome the Athenians, obliges them to pay a tribute
  of youths and virgins of the best families, to be exposed to the
  Minotaur. The lot falls on Theseus, who, by the assistance of
  Ariadne, kills the monster, escapes from the labyrinth, which
  Dædalus made, and carries Ariadne to the island of Naxos, where he
  abandons her. Bacchus wooes her, and, to immortalize her name, he
  transforms the crown which he has given her into a Constellation.

Minos paid, as a vow to Jupiter, the bodies of a hundred bulls, as soon
as, disembarking from his ships, he reached the land of the Curetes; and
his palace was decorated with the spoils there hung up. The reproach of
his family had {now} grown up, and the shameful adultery of his mother
was notorious, from the unnatural shape of the two-formed monster. Minos
resolves to remove the disgrace from his abode, and to enclose it in a
habitation of many divisions, and an abode full of mazes. Dædalus, a man
very famed for his skill in architecture, plans the work, and confounds
the marks {of distinction}, and leads the eyes into mazy wanderings, by
the intricacy of its various passages. No otherwise than as the limpid
Mæander sports in the Phrygian fields, and flows backwards and forwards
with its varying course, and, meeting itself, beholds its waters that
are to follow, and fatigues its wandering current, now {pointing} to its
source, and now to the open sea. Just so, Dædalus fills innumerable
paths with windings; and scarcely can he himself return to the entrance,
so great are the intricacies of the place. After he has shut up here the
double figure of a bull and of a youth;[12] and the third supply, chosen
by lot each nine years, has subdued the monster twice {before} gorged
with Athenian blood; and when the difficult entrance, retraced by none
of those {who have entered it} before, has been found by the aid of the
maiden, by means of the thread gathered up again; immediately, the son
of Ægeus, carrying away the daughter of Minos, sets sail for Dia,[13]
and barbarously deserts his companion on those shores.

Her, {thus} deserted and greatly lamenting, Liber embraces and aids;
and, that she may be famed by a lasting Constellation, he places in the
heavens the crown taken from off her head. It flies through the yielding
air, and, as it flies, its jewels are suddenly changed into fires, and
they settle in their places, the shape of the crown {still} remaining;
which is in the middle,[14] between {the Constellation} resting on his
knee,[15] and that which holds the serpents.

    [Footnote 12: _Of a youth._--Ver. 169. Clarke translates this
    line, ‘In which, after he had shut the double figure of a bull and
    a young fellow.’]

    [Footnote 13: _Sets sail for Dia._--Ver. 174. Dia was another name
    of the island of Naxos, one of the Cyclades, where Theseus left
    Ariadne. Commentators have complained, with some justice, that
    Ovid has here omitted the story of Ariadne; but it should be
    remembered that he has given it at length in the third book of the
    Fasti, commencing at line 460.]

    [Footnote 14: _In the middle._--Ver. 182. The crown of Ariadne was
    made a Constellation between those of Hercules and Ophiuchus. Some
    writers say, that the crown was given by Bacchus to Ariadne as a
    marriage present; while others state that it was made by Vulcan of
    gold and Indian jewels, by the light of which Theseus was aided in
    his escape from the labyrinth, and that he afterwards presented it
    to Ariadne. Some authors, and Ovid himself, in the Fasti,
    represent Ariadne herself as becoming a Constellation.]

    [Footnote 15: _Resting on his knee._--Ver. 182. Hercules, as a
    Constellation, is represented in the attitude of kneeling, when
    about to slay the dragon that watched the gardens of the
    Hesperides.]


EXPLANATION.

  Oppressed with famine, and seeing the enemy at their gates, the
  Athenians went to consult the oracle at Delphi; and were answered,
  that to be delivered from their calamities, they must give
  satisfaction to Minos. They immediately sent ambassadors to him,
  humbly suing for peace, which he granted them, on condition that
  each year, according to Apollodorus and Diodorus Siculus, or every
  nine years, according to Plutarch and Ovid, they should send him
  seven young men and as many virgins. The severity of these
  conditions provoked the Athenians to render Minos as odious as
  possible; whereupon, they promulgated the story, that he destined
  the youths that were sent to him, to fight in the Labyrinth against
  the Minotaur, which was the fruit of an intrigue of his wife
  Pasiphaë with a white bull which Neptune had sent out of the sea.
  They added, that Dædalus favoured this extraordinary passion of the
  queen; and that Venus inspired Pasiphaë with it, to be revenged for
  having been surprised with Mars by Apollo, her father. Plato,
  Plutarch, and other writers acknowledge that these stories were
  invented from the hatred which the Greeks bore to the king of Crete.

  As, however, these extravagant fables have generally some foundation
  in fact, we are informed by Servius, Tzetzes, and Zenobius, that,
  in the absence of Minos, Pasiphaë fell in love with a young noble of
  the Cretan court, named Taurus, who, according to Plutarch, was the
  commander of the fleet of Minos; that Dædalus, their confidant,
  allowed their assignations to take place in his house, and that the
  queen was afterwards delivered of twins, of which the one resembled
  Minos, and the other Taurus. This, according to those authors, was
  the foundation of the story as to the fate for which the young
  Athenians were said to be destined. Philochorus, quoted by Plutarch,
  says that Minos instituted funeral games in honour of his son
  Androgeus, and that those who were vanquished became the slaves of
  the conquerors. That author adds, that Taurus was the first who won
  all the prizes in these games, and that he used the unfortunate
  Athenians, who became his slaves, with great barbarity. Aristotle
  tells us that the tribute was paid three times by the Athenians, and
  that the lives of the captives were spent in the most dreadful
  servitude.

  Dædalus, on returning into Crete, built a labyrinth there, in which,
  very probably, these games were celebrated. Palæphatus, however,
  says that Theseus fought in a cavern, where the son of Taurus had
  been confined. Plutarch and Catullus say, that Theseus voluntarily
  offered to go to Crete with the other Athenians, while Diodorus
  Siculus says that the lot fell on him to be of the number. His
  delivery by Ariadne, through her giving him the thread, is probably
  a poetical method of informing us that she gave her lover the plan
  of the labyrinth where he was confined, that he might know its
  windings and the passage out. Eustathius, indeed, says, that Ariadne
  received a thread from Dædalus; but he must mean a plan of the
  labyrinth, which he himself had designed. The story of Ariadne’s
  intercourse with Bacchus is most probably founded on the fact, that
  on arriving at the Isle of Naxos, when she was deserted by Theseus,
  she became the wife of a priest of Bacchus.


FABLE III. [VIII.183-259]

  Dædalus, weary of his exile, finds means, by making himself wings,
  to escape out of Crete. His son Icarus, forgetting the advice of his
  father, and flying too high, the Sun melts his wings, and he
  perishes in the sea, which afterwards bore his name. The sister of
  Dædalus commits her son Perdix to his care, for the purpose of being
  educated. Dædalus, being jealous of the talent of his nephew, throws
  him from a tower, with the intention of killing him; but Minerva
  supports him in his fall, and transforms him into a partridge.

In the meantime, Dædalus, abhorring Crete and his prolonged exile,[16]
and inflamed by the love of his native soil, was enclosed {there} by the
sea. “Although Minos,” said he, “may beset the land and the sea, still
the skies, at least, are open. By that way will we go: let Minos possess
everything {besides}: he does not sway the air.” {Thus} he spoke; and he
turned his thoughts to arts unknown {till then}; and varied {the course}
{of} nature. For he arranges feathers in order, beginning from the
least, the shorter one succeeding the longer; so that you might suppose
they grew on an incline. Thus does the rustic pipe sometimes rise by
degrees, with unequal straws. Then he binds those in the middle with
thread, and the lowermost ones with wax; and, thus ranged, with a gentle
curvature, he bends them, so as to imitate real {wings of} birds. His
son Icarus stands together with him; and, ignorant that he is handling
{the source of} danger to himself, with a smiling countenance, he
sometimes catches at the feathers which the shifting breeze is ruffling;
and, at other times, he softens the yellow wax with his thumb; and, by
his playfulness, he retards the wondrous work of his father.

After the finishing hand was put to the work, the workman himself poised
his own body upon the two wings, and hung suspended in the beaten air.
He provided his son {with them} as well; and said to him, “Icarus,
I recommend thee to keep the middle tract; lest, if thou shouldst go too
low, the water should clog thy wings; if too high, the fire {of the sun}
should scorch them. Fly between both; and I bid thee neither to look at
Boötes, nor Helice,[17] nor the drawn sword of Orion. Under my guidance,
take thy way.” At the same time, he delivered him rules for flying, and
fitted the untried wings to his shoulders. Amid his work and his
admonitions, the cheeks of the old man were wet, and the hands of the
father trembled. He gives kisses to his son, never again to be repeated;
and, raised upon his wings, he flies before, and is concerned for his
companion, just as the bird which has led forth her tender young from
the lofty nest into the air. And he encourages him to follow, and
instructs him in the fatal art, and both moves his own wings himself,
and looks back on those of his son. A person while he is angling for
fish with his quivering rod, or the shepherd leaning on his crook, or
the ploughman on the plough tail, when he beholds them, is astonished,
and believes them to be Divinities, who thus can cleave the air. And now
Samos,[18] sacred to Juno, and Delos, and Paros, were left behind to the
left hand. On the right were Lebynthus,[19] and Calymne,[20] fruitful in
honey; when the boy began to be pleased with a bolder flight, and
forsook his guide; and, touched with a desire of reaching heaven,
pursued his course still higher. The vicinity of the scorching Sun
softened the fragrant wax that fastened his wings. The wax was melted;
he shook his naked arms, and, wanting his oar-like wings, he caught no
{more} air. His face, too, as he called on the name of his father, was
received in the azure water, which received its name[21] from him.

But the unhappy father, now no more a father, said, “Icarus, where art
thou? In what spot shall I seek thee, Icarus?” did he say; {when} he
beheld his wings in the waters, and {then} he cursed his own arts; and
he buried his body in a tomb, and the land was called from the name of
him buried there. As he was laying the body of his unfortunate son in
the tomb, a prattling partridge beheld him from a branching
holm-oak,[22] and, by its notes, testified its delight. ’Twas then but a
single bird {of its kind}, and never seen in former years, and, lately
made a bird, was a grievous reproof, Dædalus, to thee. For, ignorant {of
the decrees} of fate, his sister had entrusted her son to be instructed
by him, a boy who had passed twice six birthdays, with a mind eager for
instruction. ’Twas he, too, who took the backbones observed in the
middle of the fish, for an example, and cut {a} continued {row of} teeth
in iron, with a sharp edge, and {thus} discovered the use of the saw.

He was the first, too, that bound two arms of iron to one centre, that,
being divided {and} of equal length, the one part might stand fixed,
{and} the other might describe a circle. Dædalus was envious, and threw
him headlong from the sacred citadel of Minerva, falsely pretending that
he had fallen {by accident}. But Pallas, who favours ingenuity, received
him, and made him a bird; and, in the middle of the air, he flew upon
wings. Yet the vigour of his genius, once so active, passed into his
wings and into his feet; his name, too, remained the same as before. Yet
this bird does not raise its body aloft, nor make its nest in the
branches and the lofty tops {of trees, but} flies near the ground, and
lays its eggs in hedges: and, mindful of its former fall, it dreads the
higher regions.

    [Footnote 16: _His prolonged exile._--Ver. 184. Dædalus had been
    exiled for murdering one of his scholars in a fit of jealousy;
    probably Perdix, his nephew, whose story is related by Ovid.]

    [Footnote 17: _Helice._--Ver. 207. This was another name of the
    Constellation called the Greater Bear, into which Calisto had been
    changed.]

    [Footnote 18: _Samos._--Ver. 220. This island, off the coast of
    Caria in Asia Minor, was famous as the birth-place of Juno, and
    the spot where she was married to Jupiter. She had a famous temple
    there.]

    [Footnote 19: _Lebynthus._--Ver. 222. This island was one of the
    Cyclades, or, according to some writers, one of the Sporades,
    a group that lay between the Cyclades and Crete.]

    [Footnote 20: _Calymne._--Ver. 222. This island was near Rhodes.
    Its honey is praised by Strabo.]

    [Footnote 21: _Received its name._--Ver. 230. The island of Samos
    being near the spot where he fell, received the name of Icaria.]

    [Footnote 22: _Branching holm oak._--Ver. 237. Ovid here forgot
    that partridges do not perch in trees; a fact, which, however,
    he himself remarks in line 257.]


EXPLANATION.

  Dædalus was a talented Athenian, of the family of Erechtheus; and he
  was particularly famed for his skill in statuary and architecture.
  He became jealous of the talents of his nephew, Talos, whom Ovid
  here calls Perdix; and, envying his inventions of the saw, the
  compasses, and the art of turning, he killed him privately. Flying
  to Crete, he was favourably received by Minos, who was then at war
  with the Athenians. He there built the Labyrinth, as Pliny the Elder
  asserts, after the plan of that in Egypt, which is described by
  Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, and Strabo. Philochorus, however, as
  quoted by Plutarch, says that it did not resemble the Labyrinth of
  Egypt, and that it was only a prison in which criminals were
  confined.

  Minos, being informed that Dædalus had assisted Pasiphaë in carrying
  out her criminal designs, kept him in prison; but escaping thence,
  by the aid of Pasiphaë, he embarked in a ship which she had prepared
  for him. Using sails, which till then, according to Pausanias and
  Palæphatus, were unknown, he escaped from the galleys of Minos,
  which were provided with oars only. Icarus, either fell into the
  sea, or, overpowered with the fatigues of the voyage, died near an
  island in the Archipelago, which afterwards received his name. These
  facts have been disguised by the poets under the ingenious fiction
  of the wings, and the neglect of Icarus to follow his father’s
  advice, as here related.


FABLE IV. [VIII.260-546]

  Diana, offended at the neglect of Œneus, king of Calydon, when
  performing his vows to the Gods, sends a wild boar to ravage his
  dominions; on which Œneus assembled the princes of the country for
  its pursuit. His son Meleager leads the chase, and, having killed
  the monster, presents its head to his mistress, Atalanta, the
  daughter of the king of Arcadia. He afterwards kills his two uncles,
  Plexippus and Toxeus, who would deprive her of this badge of his
  victory. Their sister Althæa, the mother of Meleager, filled with
  grief at their death, loads her son with execrations; and,
  remembering the torch which she received from the Fates at his
  birth, and on which the preservation of his life depends, she throws
  it into the fire. As soon as it is consumed, Meleager expires in the
  greatest torments. His sisters mourn over his body, until Diana
  changes them into birds.

And now the Ætnæan land received Dædalus in his fatigue; and
Cocalus,[23] taking up arms for him as he entreated, was commended for
his kindness. {And} now Athens has ceased to pay her mournful tribute,
through the exploits of Theseus. The temples are decked with garlands,
and they invoke warlike Minerva, with Jupiter and the other Gods, whom
they adore with the blood {of victims} vowed, and with presents offered,
and censers[24] of frankincense. Wandering Fame had spread the renown of
Theseus throughout the Argive cities, and the nations which rich Achaia
contained, implored his aid amid great dangers. Calydon, {too}, although
it had Meleager,[25] suppliantly addressed him with anxious entreaties.
The occasion of asking {aid} was a boar, the servant and the avenger of
Diana in her wrath.

For they say that Œneus, for the blessings of a plenteous year, had
offered the first fruits of the corn to Ceres, to Bacchus his wine, and
the Palladian juice[26] {of olives} to the yellow-haired Minerva. These
invidious honours commencing with the rural {Deities}, were continued to
all the Gods above; they say that the altars of the daughter of Latona,
who was omitted, were alone left without frankincense. Wrath affects
even the Deities. “But {this},” says she, “I will not tamely put up
with; and I, who am thus dishonoured, will not be said to be unrevenged
{as well}:” and she sends a boar as an avenger throughout the lands of
Œneus, than which not even does verdant Epirus[27] possess bulls of
greater size; even the fields of Sicily have them of less magnitude. His
eyes shine with blood and flames, his rough neck is stiff; bristles,
too,[28] stand up, like spikes, thickly set; like palisades[29] do those
bristles project, just like high spikes. Boiling foam, with a harsh
noise, flows down his broad shoulders; his tusks rival the tusks of
India. Thunders issue from his mouth; the foliage is burnt up with the
blast. One while he tramples down the corn in the growing blade, and
crops the expectations of the husbandman, doomed to lament, as yet
unripe, and he intercepts the corn in the ear. In vain does the
threshing floor, and in vain do the barns await the promised harvest.
The heavy grapes, with the long branches of the vine, are scattered
about, and the berries with the boughs of the ever-green olive. He vents
his fury, too, upon the flocks. These, neither dogs nor shepherds {can
protect}; not {even} the fierce bulls are able to defend the herds. The
people fly in all directions, and do not consider themselves safe, but
in the walls of a city, until Meleager, and, together {with him},
a choice body of youths, unite from a desire for fame.

The two sons of Tyndarus,[30] the one famous for boxing, the other for
his skill in horsemanship; Jason, too, the builder of the first ship,
and Theseus, with Pirithoüs,[31] happy unison, and the two sons of
Thestius,[32] and Lynceus,[33] the son of Aphareus, and the swift Idas,
and Cæneus,[34] now no longer a woman; and the valiant Leucippus,[35]
and Acastus,[36] famous for the dart, and Hippothoüs,[37] and Dryas,[38]
and Phœnix,[39] the son of Amyntor, and the two sons of Actor,[40] and
Phyleus,[41] sent from Elis, {are there}. Nor is Telamon[42] absent; the
father, too, of the great Achilles;[43] and with the son of Pheres,[44]
and the Hyantian Iolaüs,[45] the active Eurytion,[46] and Echion,[47]
invincible in the race, and the Narycian Lelex,[48] and Panopeus,[49]
and Hyleus,[50] and bold Hippasus,[51] and Nestor,[52] now but in his
early years. Those, too, whom Hippocoön[53] sent from ancient
Amyclæ,[54] and the father-in-law of Penelope,[55] with the Parrhasian
Ancæus,[56] and the sage son of Ampycus,[57] and the descendant of
Œclus,[58] as yet safe from his wife, and Tegeæan[59] {Atalanta}, the
glory of the Lycæan groves. A polished buckle fastened the top of her
robe; her plain hair was gathered into a single knot. The ivory keeper
of her weapons rattled, hanging from her left shoulder; her left hand,
too, held a bow. Such was her dress, and her face such as you might say,
with reason, was that of a maid in a boy, that of a boy in a maid. Her
the Calydonian hero both beheld, and at the same moment sighed for her,
against the will of the God; and he caught the latent flame, and said,
“Oh, happy {will he be}, if she shall vouchsafe {to make} any one her
husband.” The occasion and propriety allow him to say no more; the
greater deeds of the mighty contest {now} engage him.

A wood, thick with trees, which no age has cut down, rises from a plain,
and looks down upon the fields below. After the heroes are come there,
some extend the nets; some take the couples off the dogs, some follow
close the traces of his feet, and are anxious to discover their own
danger. There is a hollow channel, along which rivulets of rain water
are wont to discharge themselves. The bending willows cover the lower
parts of the cavity, and smooth sedges, and marshy rushes, and oziers,
and thin reeds with their long stalks. Aroused from this spot, the boar
rushes violently into the midst of the enemy, like lightning darted from
the bursting clouds. In his onset the grove is laid level, and the wood,
borne down, makes a crashing noise. The young men raise a shout, and
with strong right hands hold their weapons extended before them,
brandished with their broad points. Onward he rushes, and disperses the
dogs, as any one {of them} opposes his career; and scatters them, as
they bark {at him}, with sidelong wounds. The spear that was first
hurled by the arm of Echion, was unavailing, and made a slight incision
in the trunk of a maple tree. The next, if it had not employed too much
of the strength of him who threw it, seemed as if it would stick in the
back it was aimed at: it went beyond. The owner of the weapon was the
Pagasæan Jason. “Phœbus,” said the son of Ampycus,[60] “if I have
worshipped thee, and if I do worship thee, grant me {the favour} to
reach what is {now} aimed at, with unerring weapon.” The God consented
to his prayer, so far as he could. The boar was struck by him, but
without a wound; Diana took the steel head from off the flying weapon;
the shaft reached him without the point. The rage of the monster was
aroused, and not less violently was he inflamed than the lightnings;
light darted from his eyes, and flame was breathed from his breast. As
the stone flies, launched by the tightened rope, when it is aimed[61] at
either walls, or towers filled with soldiers, with the like unerring
onset is the destroying boar borne on among the youths, and lays upon
the ground Eupalamus and Pelagon,[62] who guard the right wing. {Thus}
prostrate, their companions bear them off. But Enæsimus, the son of
Hippocoön, does not escape a deadly wound. The sinews of his knee, cut
{by the boar}, fail him as he trembles, and prepares to turn his back.

Perhaps, too, the Pylian {Nestor} would have perished[63] before the
times of the Trojan {war}: but taking a spring, by means of his lance,
planted {in the ground}, he leaped into the branches of a tree that was
standing close by, and, safe in his position, looked down upon the enemy
which he had escaped. He, having whetted his tusk on the trunk of an
oak, fiercely stood, ready for their destruction; and, trusting to his
weapons newly pointed, gored the thigh of the great Othriades[64] with
his crooked tusks. But the two brothers, not yet made Constellations of
the heavens, distinguished from the rest, were borne upon horses whiter
than the bleached snow; {and} both were brandishing the points of their
lances, poised in the air, with a tremulous motion. They would have
inflicted wounds, had not the bristly {monster} entered the shady wood,
a place penetrable by neither weapons nor horses. Telamon pursues him;
and, heedless in the heat of pursuit, falls headlong, tripped up by the
root of a tree. While Peleus[65] is lifting him up, the Tegeæan damsel
fits a swift arrow to the string, and, bending the bow, lets it fly.
Fixed under the ear of the beast, the arrow razes the surface of the
skin, and dyes the bristles red with a little blood. And not more joyful
is she at the success of her aim than Meleager is.

He is supposed to have observed it first, and first to have pointed out
the blood to his companions, and to have said, “Thou shalt receive due
honour for thy bravery.” The heroes blush {in emulation}; and they
encourage one another, and raise their spirits with shouts, and
discharge their weapons without any order. Their {very} multitude is a
hindrance to those that are thrown, and it baffles the blow for which it
is designed. Behold! the Arcadian,[66] wielding his battle-axe, rushing
madly on to his fate, said, “Learn, O youths, how much the weapons of
men excel those of women, and give way for my achievement. Though the
daughter of Latona herself should protect him by her own arms, still,
in spite of Diana, shall my right hand destroy him.” Such words did he
boastingly utter with self-confident lips; and lifting his double-edged
axe with both hands, he stood erect upon tiptoe. The beast seized him
{thus} bold, and, where there is the nearest way to death, directed his
two tusks to the upper part of his groin. Ancæus fell; and his bowels,
twisted, rush forth, falling with plenteous blood, and the earth was
soaked with gore. Pirithoüs, the son of Ixion, was advancing straight
against the enemy, shaking his spear in his powerful right hand. To him
the son of Ægeus, at a distance, said, “O thou, dearer to me than
myself; stop, thou better part of my soul; we may be valiant at a
distance: his rash courage was the destruction of Ancæus.” {Thus} he
spoke, and he hurled his lance of cornel wood, heavy with its brazen
point; which, well poised, and likely to fulfil his desires, a leafy
branch of a beech-tree opposed.

The son of Æson, too, hurled his javelin, which {unlucky} chance turned
away from {the beast}, to the destruction of an unoffending dog, and
running through his entrails, it was pinned through {those} entrails
into the earth. But the hand of the son of Œneus has different success;
and of two discharged by him, the first spear is fastened in the earth,
the second in the middle of his back. There is no delay; while he rages,
while he is wheeling his body round, and pouring forth foam, hissing
with the fresh blood, the giver of the wound comes up, and provokes his
adversary to fury, and buries his shining hunting spear in his opposite
shoulder. His companions attest their delight in an encouraging shout,
and in their right hands endeavour to grasp the conquering right hand;
and with wonder they behold the huge beast as he lies upon a large space
of ground, and they do not deem it safe as yet to touch him; but yet
they, each of them, stain their weapons with his blood. {Jason} himself,
placing his foot upon it, presses his frightful head, and thus he says:
“Receive, Nonacrian Nymph, the spoil that is my right; and let my glory
be shared by thee.” Immediately he gives her the skin as the spoil,
thick with the stiffening bristles, and the head remarkable for the huge
tusks. The giver of the present, as well as the present, is a {source}
of pleasure to her. The others envy her, and there is a murmuring
throughout the whole company. Of these, stretching out their arms, with
a loud voice, the sons of Thestius cry out, “Come, lay them down, and do
not thou, a woman, interfere with our honours; let not thy confidence in
thy beauty deceive thee, and let the donor, seized with this passion for
thee, keep at a distance.” And {then} from her they take the present,
{and} from him the right {of disposing} of the present.

The warlike[67] {prince} did not brook it, and, indignant with swelling
rage, he said, “Learn, ye spoilers of the honour that belongs to
another, how much deeds differ from threats;” and, with his cruel sword,
he pierced the breast of Plexippus, dreading no such thing. Nor suffered
he Toxeus, who was doubtful what to do, and both wishful to avenge his
brother, and fearing his brother’s fate, long to be in doubt; but a
second time warmed his weapon, reeking with the former slaughter, in the
blood of the brother.

Althæa was carrying gifts to the temples of the Gods, her son being
victorious, when she beheld her slain brothers carried off {from the
field}: uttering a shriek, she filled the city with her sad
lamentations, and assumed black garments in exchange for her golden
ones. But soon as the author of their death was made known, all grief
vanished; and from tears it was turned to a thirst for vengeance. There
was a billet, which, when the daughter of Thestius was lying in labour
{with her son}, the three Sisters, {the Fates}, placed in the flames,
and spinning the fatal threads, with their thumbs pressed upon them,
they said, “We give to thee, O new-born {babe}, and to this wood, the
same period {of existence}.” Having uttered this charm, the Goddesses
departed; {and} the mother snatched the flaming brand from the fire, and
sprinkled it with flowing water. Long had it been concealed in her most
retired apartment; and being {thus} preserved, had preserved, O youth,
thy life. This {billet} the mother {now} brings forth, and orders
torches to be heaped on broken pieces {of wood}; and when heaped,
applies to them the hostile flames. Then four times essaying to lay the
branch upon the flames, four times does she pause in the attempt. Both
the mother and the sister struggle hard, and the two different titles
influence her breast in different ways. Often is her countenance pale
with apprehension of the impending crime; often does rage, glowing in
her eyes, produce its red colour. And one while is her countenance like
that of one making some cruel threat or other; at another moment, such
as you could suppose to be full of compassion. And when the fierce heat
of her feelings has dried up her tears, still are tears found {to flow}.
Just as the ship, which the wind and a tide running contrary to the
wind, seize, is sensible of the double assault, and unsteadily obeys
them both; no otherwise does the daughter of Thestius fluctuate between
{two} varying affections, and in turn lays by her anger, and rouses it
again, {when thus} laid by. Still, the sister begins to get the better
of the parent; and that, with blood she may appease the shades of her
relations, in her unnatural conduct she proves affectionate.

For after the pernicious flames gained strength, she said, “Let this
funeral pile consume my entrails.” And as she was holding the fatal
billet in her ruthless hand, she stood, in her wretchedness, before the
sepulchral altars,[68] and said, “Ye Eumenides,[69] the three Goddesses
of punishment, turn your faces towards these baleful rites; I am both
avenging and am committing a crime. With death must death be expiated;
crime must be added to crime, funeral to funeral; by accumulated
calamities, let this unnatural race perish. Shall Œneus, in happiness,
be blessed in his victorious son; and shall Thestius be childless? It is
better that you both should mourn. Only do ye, ghosts of my brothers,
phantoms newly made, regard this my act of affection, and receive this
funeral offering,[70] provided at a cost so great, the guilty pledge of
my womb. Ah, wretched me! Whither am I hurried away? Pardon, my
brothers, {the feelings of} a mother. My hands fail me in my purpose,
I confess that he deserves to die; but the author of his death is
repugnant to me. Shall he then go unpunished? Alive and victorious, and
flushed with his success, shall he possess the realms of Calydon? {And}
shall you lie, a little heap of ashes, and {as} lifeless phantoms? For
my part, I will not endure this. Let the guilty wretch perish, and let
him carry along with him the hopes of his father,[71] and the ruin of
his kingdom and country. {But} where are the feelings of a mother, where
are the affectionate ties of the parent? Where, too, are the pangs which
for twice five months[72] I have endured? Oh, that thou hadst been
burnt, when an infant, in that first fire! And would that I had allowed
it! By my aid hast thou lived; now, for thy own deserts, shalt thou die.
Take the reward of thy deeds; and return to me that life which was twice
given thee, first at thy birth, next when the billet was rescued; or
else place me as well in the tomb of my brothers. I both desire {to do
it}, and I am unable. What shall I do? one while the wounds of my
brothers are before my eyes, and the form of a murder so dreadful; at
another time, affection and the name of mother break my resolution.
Wretch that I am! To my sorrow, brothers, will you prevail; but {still}
prevail; so long as I myself shall follow the appeasing sacrifice that I
shall give you, and you yourselves;” she {thus} said, and turning
herself away, with trembling right hand she threw the fatal brand into
the midst of the flames.

That billet either utters, or seems to utter, a groan, and, caught by
the reluctant flames, it is consumed. Unsuspecting, and at a distance,
Meleager is burned by that flame, and feels his entrails scorched by the
secret fires; but with fortitude he supports the mighty pain. Still, he
grieves that he dies by an inglorious death, and without {shedding his}
blood, and says that the wounds of Ancæus were a happy lot. And while,
with a sigh, he calls upon his aged father, and his brother, and his
affectionate sisters, and with his last words the companion of his
bed,[73] perhaps, too, his mother {as well}; the fire and his torments
increase; and {then} again do they diminish. Both of them are
extinguished together, and by degrees his spirit vanishes into the light
air.

Lofty Calydon {now} lies prostrate. Young and old mourn, both people and
nobles lament; and the Calydonian matrons of Evenus,[74] tearing their
hair, bewail him. Lying along upon the ground, his father pollutes his
white hair and his aged features with dust, and chides his prolonged
existence. But her own hand, conscious to itself of the ruthless deed,
exacted punishment of the mother, the sword piercing her entrails.[75]
If a God had given me a mouth sounding with a hundred tongues, and an
enlarged genius, and the whole of Helicon {besides}; {still} I could not
enumerate the mournful expressions of his unhappy sisters. Regardless of
shame, they beat their livid bosoms, and while the body {still} exists,
they embrace it, and embrace it again; they give kisses to it, {and}
they give kisses to the bier {there} set. After {he is reduced to}
ashes, they pour them, when gathered up, to their breasts; and they lie
prostrate around the tomb, and kissing his name cut out in the stone,
they pour their tears upon his name. Them, the daughter of Latona, at
length satiated with the calamities of the house of Parthaon,[76] bears
aloft on wings springing from their bodies, except Gorge,[77] and the
daughter-in-law of noble Alcmena; and she stretches long wings over
their arms, and makes their mouths horny, and sends them, {thus}
transformed, through the air.

    [Footnote 23: _Cocalus._--Ver. 261. He was the king of Sicily, who
    received Dædalus with hospitality.]

    [Footnote 24: _And censers._--Ver. 265. Acerris. The ‘acerra’ was
    properly a box used for holding incense for the purposes of
    sacrifice, which was taken from it, and placed on the burning
    altar. According to Festus, the word meant a small altar, which
    was placed before the dead, and on which perfumes were burnt. The
    Law of the Twelve Tables restricted the use of ‘acerræ’ at
    funerals.]

    [Footnote 25: _Meleager._--Ver. 270. He was the son of Œneus, king
    of Calydon, a city of Ætolia, who had offended Diana by neglecting
    her rites.]

    [Footnote 26: _Palladian juice._--Ver. 275. Oil, the extraction of
    which, from the olive, Minerva had taught to mortals.]

    [Footnote 27: _Epirus._--Ver. 283. This country, sometimes also
    called Chaonia, was on the north of Greece, between Macedonia,
    Thessaly, and the Ionian sea, comprising the greater part of what
    is now called Albania. It was famous for its oxen. According to
    Pliny the Elder, Pyrrhus, its king, paid particular attention to
    improving the breed.]

    [Footnote 28: _Bristles too._--Ver. 285. This line, or the
    following one, is clearly an interpolation, and ought to be
    omitted.]

    [Footnote 29: _Palisades._--Ver. 286. The word ‘vallum’ is found
    applied either to the whole, or a portion only, of the
    fortifications of a Roman camp. It is derived from ‘vallus,’ ‘a
    stake;’ and properly means the palisade which ran along the outer
    edge of the ‘agger,’ or ‘mound:’ but it frequently includes the
    ‘agger’ also. The ‘vallum,’ in the latter sense, together with the
    ‘fossa,’ or ‘ditch,’ which surrounded the camp outside of the
    ‘vallum,’ formed a complete fortification.]

    [Footnote 30: _Sons of Tyndarus._--Ver. 301. These were Castor and
    Pollux, the putative sons of Tyndarus, but really the sons of
    Jupiter, who seduced Leda under the form of a swan. According to
    some, however, Pollux only was the son of Jupiter. Castor was
    skilled in horsemanship, while Pollux excelled in the use of the
    cestus.]

    [Footnote 31: _Pirithoüs._--Ver. 303. He was the son of Ixion of
    Larissa, and the bosom friend of Theseus.]

    [Footnote 32: _Sons of Thestius._--Ver. 304. These were Toxeus and
    Plexippus, the uncles of Meleager, and the brothers of Althæa, who
    avenged their death in the manner afterwards described by Ovid.
    Pausanias calls them Prothoüs and Cometes. Lactantius adds a
    third, Agenor.]

    [Footnote 33: _Lynceus._--Ver. 304. Lynceus and Idas were the sons
    of Aphareus. From his skill in physical science, the former was
    said to be able to see into the interior of the earth.]

    [Footnote 34: _Cæneus._--Ver. 305. This person was originally a
    female, by name Cænis. At her request, she was changed by Neptune
    into a man, and was made invulnerable. Her story is related at
    length in the 12th book of the Metamorphoses.]

    [Footnote 35: _Leucippus._--Ver. 306. He was the son of Perieres,
    and the brother of Aphareus. His daughters were Elaira, or Ilaira,
    and Phœbe, whom Castor and Pollux attempted to carry off.]

    [Footnote 36: _Acastus._--Ver. 306. He was the son of Pelias, king
    of Thessaly.]

    [Footnote 37: _Hippothoüs._--Ver. 307. According to Hyginus,
    he was the son of Geryon, or rather, according to Pausanias,
    of Cercyon.]

    [Footnote 38: _Dryas._--Ver. 307. The son of Mars, or, according
    to some writers, of Iapetus.]

    [Footnote 39: _Phœnix._--Ver. 307. He was the son of Amyntor.
    Having engaged in an intrigue, by the contrivance of his mother,
    with his father’s mistress, he fled to the court of Peleus, king
    of Thessaly, who entrusted to him the education of Achilles, and
    the command of the Dolopians. He attended his pupil to the Trojan
    war, and became blind in his latter years.]

    [Footnote 40: _Two sons of Actor._--Ver. 308. These were Eurytus
    and Cteatus, the sons of Actor, of Elis. They were afterwards
    slain by Hercules.]

    [Footnote 41: _Phyleus._--Ver. 308. He was the son of Augeas, king
    of Elis, whose stables were cleansed by Hercules.]

    [Footnote 42: _Telamon._--Ver. 309. He was the son of Æacus. Ajax
    Telamon was his son.]

    [Footnote 43: _Great Achilles._--Ver. 309. His father was Peleus,
    the brother of Ajax, and the son of Æacus and Ægina. Peleus was
    famed for his chastity.]

    [Footnote 44: _The son of Pheres._--Ver. 310. This was Admetus,
    the son of Pheres, of Pheræ, in Thessaly.]

    [Footnote 45: _Hyantian Iolaüs._--Ver. 310. Iolaüs, the Bœotian,
    the son of Iphiclus, aided Hercules in slaying the Hydra.]

    [Footnote 46: _Eurytion._--Ver. 311. He was the son of Irus, and
    attended the Argonautic expedition.]

    [Footnote 47: _Echion._--Ver. 311. He was an Arcadian, the son of
    Mercury and the Nymph Antianira, and was famous for his speed.]

    [Footnote 48: _Narycian Lelex._--Ver. 312. So called from Naryx,
    a city of the Locrians.]

    [Footnote 49: _Panopeus._--Ver. 312. He was the son of Phocus, who
    built the city of Panopæa, in Phocis, and was the father of
    Epytus, who constructed the Trojan horse.]

    [Footnote 50: _Hyleus._--Ver. 312. According to Callimachus,
    he was slain, together with Rhœtus, by Atalanta, for making an
    attempt upon her virtue.]

    [Footnote 51: _Hippasus._--Ver. 313. He was a son of Eurytus.]

    [Footnote 52: _Nestor._--Ver. 313. He was the son of Neleus and
    Chloris. He was king of Pylos, and went to the Trojan war in his
    ninetieth, or, as some writers say, in his two hundredth year.]

    [Footnote 53: _Hippocoön._--Ver. 314. He was the son of Amycus. He
    sent his four sons, Enæsimus, Alcon, Amycus, and Dexippus, to hunt
    the Calydonian boar. The first was killed by the monster, and the
    other three, with their father, were afterwards slain by
    Hercules.]

    [Footnote 54: _Amyclæ._--Ver. 314. This was an ancient city of
    Laconia, built by Amycla, the son of Lacedæmon.]

    [Footnote 55: _Of Penelope._--Ver. 315. This was Laërtes, the
    father of Ulysses, the husband of Penelope, and king of Ithaca.]

    [Footnote 56: _Ancæus._--Ver. 315. He was an Arcadian, the son of
    Lycurgus.]

    [Footnote 57: _Son of Ampycus._--Ver. 316. Ampycus was the son of
    Titanor, and the father of Mopsus, a famous soothsayer.]

    [Footnote 58: _Descendant Œclus._--Ver. 317. This was Amphiaraüs,
    who, having the gift of prophecy, foresaw that he would not live
    to return from the Theban war; and, therefore, hid himself, that
    he might not be obliged to join in the expedition. His wife,
    Eriphyle, being bribed by Adrastus with a gold necklace, betrayed
    his hiding-place; on which, proceeding to Thebes, he was swallowed
    up in the earth, together with his chariot. Ovid refers here to
    the treachery of his wife.]

    [Footnote 59: _Tegeæan._--Ver. 317. Atalanta was the daughter of
    Iasius, and was a native of Tegeæa, in Arcadia. She was the mother
    of Parthenopæus, by Meleager. She is thought, by some, to have
    been a different person from Atalanta, the daughter of Schœneus,
    famed for her swiftness in running, who is mentioned in the tenth
    book of the Metamorphoses.]

    [Footnote 60: _Son of Ampycus._--Ver. 350. Mopsus was a priest of
    Apollo.]

    [Footnote 61: _When it is aimed._--Ver. 357. When discharged from
    the ‘balista,’ or ‘catapulta,’ or other engine of war.]

    [Footnote 62: _Eupalamus and Pelagon._--Ver. 360. They are not
    previously named in the list of combatants; and nothing further is
    known of them.]

    [Footnote 63: _Would have perished._--Ver. 365. What is here told
    of Nestor, one of the Commentators on Homer attributes to
    Thersites, who, according to him, being the son of Agrius, the
    uncle of Meleager, was present on this occasion.]

    [Footnote 64: _Othriades._--Ver. 371. Nothing further is known of
    him.]

    [Footnote 65: _Peleus._--Ver. 375. According to Apollodorus,
    Peleus accidentally slew Eurytion on this occasion.]

    [Footnote 66: _The Arcadian._--Ver. 391. This was Ancæus, who is
    mentioned before, in line 215.]

    [Footnote 67: _Warlike._--Ver. 437. ‘Mavortius’ may possibly mean
    ‘the son of Mars,’ as, according to Hyginus, Mars was engaged in
    an intrigue with Althæa.]

    [Footnote 68: _Sepulchral altars._--Ver. 480. The ‘sepulchralis
    ara’ is the funeral pile, which was built in the form of an altar,
    with four equal sides. Ovid also calls it ‘funeris ara,’ in the
    Tristia, book iii. Elegy xiii. line 21.]

    [Footnote 69: _Eumenides._--Ver. 482. This name properly signifies
    ‘the well-disposed,’ or ‘wellwishers,’ and was applied to the
    Furies by way of euphemism, it being deemed unlucky to mention
    their names.]

    [Footnote 70: _Funeral offering._--Ver. 490. The ‘inferiæ’ were
    sacrifices offered to the shades of the dead. The Romans appear to
    have regarded the souls of the departed as Gods; for which reason
    they presented them wine, milk, and garlands, and offered them
    victims in sacrifice.]

    [Footnote 71: _Hopes of his father._--Ver. 498. Œneus had other
    sons besides Meleager, who were slain in the war that arose in
    consequence of the death of Plexippus and Toxeus. Nicander says
    they were five in number; Apollodorus names but three, Toxeus,
    Tyreus, and Clymenus.]

    [Footnote 72: _Twice five months._--Ver. 500. That is, lunar
    months.]

    [Footnote 73: _Of his bed._--Ver. 521. Antoninus Liberalis calls
    her Cleopatra, but Hyginus says that her name was Alcyone. Homer,
    however, reconciles this discrepancy, by saying that the original
    name of the wife of Meleager was Cleopatra, but that she was
    called Alcyone, because her mother had the same fate as Alcyone,
    or Halcyone.]

    [Footnote 74: _Evenus._--Ver. 527. Evenus was a river of Ætolia.]

    [Footnote 75: _Piercing her entrails._--Ver. 531. Hyginus says
    that she hanged herself.]

    [Footnote 76: _Parthaon._--Ver. 541. Parthaon was the grandfather
    of Meleager and his sisters, Œneus being his son.]

    [Footnote 77: _Gorge._--Ver. 542. Gorge married Andræmon, and
    Deïanira was the wife of Hercules, the son of Alcmena. The two
    sisters of Meleager who were changed into birds were Eurymede and
    Melanippe.]


EXPLANATION.

  It is generally supposed that the story of the chase of the
  Calydonian boar, though embracing much of the fabulous, is still
  based upon historical facts. Homer, in the 9th book of the Iliad,
  alludes to it, though in somewhat different terms from the account
  here given by Ovid; and from the ancient historians we learn, that
  Œneus, offering the first fruits to the Gods, forgot Diana in his
  sacrifices. A wild boar, the same year having ravaged some part of
  his dominions, and particularly a vineyard, on the cultivation of
  which he had bestowed much pains, these circumstances, combined,
  gave occasion for saying that the boar had been sent by Diana. As
  the wild beast had killed some country people, Meleager collected
  the neighbouring nobles, for the purpose of destroying it. Plexippus
  and Toxeus, having been killed, in the manner mentioned by the Poet,
  Althæa, their sister, in her grief, devoted her son to the Furies;
  and, perhaps, having used some magical incantations, the story of
  the fatal billet was invented.

  Homer does not mention the death of Meleager; but, on the contrary,
  says that his mother, Althæa, was pacified. Some writers, however,
  think that he really was poisoned by his mother. The story of the
  change of the sisters of Meleager into birds is only the common
  poetical fiction, denoting the extent of their grief at the untimely
  death of their brother.


FABLE V. [VIII.547-610]

  Theseus, returning from the chase of the Calydonian boar, is stopped
  by an inundation of the river Acheloüs, and accepts of an invitation
  from the God of that river, to come to his grotto. After the repast,
  Acheloüs gives him the history of the five Naiads, who had been
  changed into the islands called Echinades, and an account of his own
  amour with the Nymph Perimele, whom, being thrown by her father into
  the sea, Neptune had transformed into an island.

In the meantime, Theseus having performed his part in the joint labour,
was going to the Erecthean towers of Tritonis. {But} Acheloüs, swollen
with rains, opposed his journey,[78] and caused him delay as he was
going. “Come,” said he, “famous Cecropian, beneath my roof; and do not
trust thyself to the rapid floods. They are wont to bear away strong
beams, and to roll down stones, as they lie across, with immense
roaring. I have seen high folds, contiguous to my banks, swept away,
together with the flocks; nor was it of any avail there for the herd to
be strong, nor for the horses to be swift. Many bodies, too, of young
men has this torrent overwhelmed in its whirling eddies, when the snows
of the mountains dissolved. Rest is the safer {for thee}; until the
river runs within its usual bounds, until its own channel receives the
flowing waters.”

To {this} the son of Ægeus agreed; and replied, “I will make use of thy
dwelling and of thy advice, Acheloüs;” and both he did make use of.
He entered an abode built of pumice stone with its many holes, and the
sand-stone far from smooth. The floor was moist with soft moss, shells
with alternate {rows of} murex arched the roof. And now, Hyperion having
measured out two parts of the light, Theseus and the companions of his
labours lay down upon couches; on the one side the son of Ixion,[79] on
the other, Lelex, the hero of Trœzen, having his temples now covered
with thin grey hairs; and some others whom the river of the Acarnanians,
overjoyed with a guest so great, had graced with the like honour.
Immediately, some Nymphs, barefoot, furnished with the banquet the
tables that were set before them; and the dainties being removed, they
served up wine in {bowls adorned with} gems. Then the mighty hero,
surveying the seas that lay beneath his eyes, said, “What place is
this?” and he pointed with his finger; “and inform me what name that
island bears; although it does not seem to be one only?” In answer to
these words, the River said, “It is not, indeed, one object that we see;
five countries lie {there}; they deceive through their distance. And
that thou mayst be the less surprised at the deeds of the despised
Diana, these were Naiads; who, when they had slain twice five bullocks,
and had invited the Gods of the country to a sacrifice, kept a joyous
festival, regardless of me. {At this} I swelled, and I was as great as I
ever am, in my course, when I am the fullest; and, redoubled both in
rage and in flood, I tore away woods from woods, and fields from fields;
and together with the spot, I hurled the Nymphs[80] into the sea, who
then, at last, were mindful of me. My waves and those of the main
divided the land, {before} continuous, and separated it into as many
parts, as thou seest {islands, called} Echinades, in the midst of the
waves.

“But yet, as thou thyself seest from afar, one island, see! was
withdrawn far off from the rest, {an island} pleasing to me. The mariner
calls it Perimele.[81] This beloved Nymph did I deprive of the name of a
virgin. This her father, Hippodamas, took amiss, and pushed the body of
his daughter, when about to bring forth, from a rock, into the sea.
I received her; and bearing her up when swimming, I said, ‘O thou bearer
of the Trident, who hast obtained, by lot, next in rank to the heavens,
the realms of the flowing waters, in which we sacred rivers end, {and}
to which we run; come hither, Neptune, and graciously listen to me, as I
pray. Her, whom I am bearing up, I have injured. If her father,
Hippodamas, had been mild and reasonable, or if he had been less
unnatural, he ought to have pitied her, and to have forgiven me. Give
thy assistance; and grant a place, Neptune, I beseech thee, to her,
plunged in the waters by the cruelty of her father; or allow her to
become a place herself. Her, even, {thus} will I embrace.’ The King of
the ocean moved his head, and shook all the waters with his assent. The
Nymph was afraid; but yet she swam. Her breast, as she was swimming,
I myself touched, as it throbbed with a tremulous motion; and while I
felt it, I perceived her whole body grow hard, and her breast become
covered with earth growing over it. While I was speaking, fresh earth
enclosed her floating limbs, and a heavy island grew upon her changed
members.”

    [Footnote 78: _Opposed his journey._--Ver. 548. It has been
    objected to this passage, that the river Acheloüs, which rises in
    Mount Pindus, and divides Acarnania from Ætolia, could not
    possibly lie in the road of Theseus, as he returned from Calydon
    to Athens.]

    [Footnote 79: _Son of Ixion._--Ver. 566. Pirithoüs lay on the one
    side, and Lelex on the other; the latter is called ‘Trœzenius,’
    from the fact of his having lived with Pittheus, the king of
    Trœzen.]

    [Footnote 80: _I hurled the Nymphs._--Ver. 585. Clarke translates
    ‘Nymphas in freta provolvi,’ ‘I tumbled the nymphs into the sea.’]

    [Footnote 81: _Perimele._--Ver. 590. According to Apollodorus, the
    name of the wife of Acheloüs was Perimede; and she bore him two
    sons, Hippodamas and Orestes. The Echinades were five small
    islands in the Ionian Sea, near the coast of Acarnania, which are
    now called Curzolari.]


EXPLANATION.

  This story is simply based upon physical grounds. The river
  Acheloüs, running between Acarnania and Ætolia, and flowing into the
  Ionian Sea, carried with it a great quantity of sand and mud, which
  probably formed the islands at its mouth, called the Echinades. The
  same solution probably applies to the narrative of the fate of the
  Nymph Perimele.


FABLE VI. [VIII.611-737]

  Jupiter and Mercury, disguised in human shape, are received by
  Philemon and Baucis, after having been refused admittance by their
  neighbours. The Gods, in acknowledgment of their hospitality,
  transform their cottage into a temple, of which, at their own
  request, they are made the priest and priestess; and, after a long
  life, the worthy couple are changed into trees. The village where
  they live is laid under water, on account of the impiety of the
  inhabitants, and is turned into a lake. Acheloüs here relates the
  surprising changes of Proteus.

After these things the river was silent. The wondrous deed had
astonished them all. The son of Ixion laughed at them,[82] believing
{the story}; and as he was a despiser of the Gods, and of a haughty
disposition, he said, “Acheloüs, thou dost relate a fiction, and dost
deem the Gods more powerful than they are, if they both give and take
away the form {of things}.” {At this} all were amazed, and did not
approve of such language; and before all, Lelex, ripe in understanding
and age, spoke thus: “The power of heaven is immense, and has no limits;
and whatever the Gods above will, ’tis done.

“And that thou mayst the less doubt {of this}, there is upon the
Phrygian hills, an oak near to the lime tree, enclosed by a low
wall.[83] I, myself, have seen the spot; for Pittheus sent me into the
land of Pelops, once governed by his father, {Pelops}. Not far thence is
a standing water, formerly habitable ground, but now frequented by
cormorants and coots, that delight in fens. Jupiter came hither in the
shape of a man, and together with his parent, the grandson of Atlas,
{Mercury}, the bearer of the Caduceus, having laid aside his wings. To a
thousand houses did they go, asking for lodging and for rest. A thousand
houses did the bolts fasten {against them}. Yet one received them,
a small one indeed, thatched with straw,[84] and the reeds of the marsh.
But a pious old woman {named} Baucis, and Philemon of a like age, were
united in their youthful years in that {cottage}, and in it, they grew
old together; and by owning their poverty, they rendered it light, and
not to be endured with discontented mind. It matters not, whether you
ask for the masters there, or for the servants; the whole family are but
two; the same persons both obey and command. When, therefore, the
inhabitants of heaven reached this little abode, and, bending their
necks, entered the humble door, the old man bade them rest their limbs
on a bench set {there}; upon which the attentive Baucis threw a coarse
cloth. Then she moves the warm embers on the hearth, and stirs up the
fire they had had the day before, and supplies it with leaves and dry
bark, and with her aged breath kindles it into a flame; and brings out
of the house faggots split into many pieces, and dry bits of branches,
and breaks them, and puts them beneath a small boiler. Some pot-herbs,
too, which her husband has gathered in the well-watered garden, she
strips of their leaves.

“With a two-pronged fork {Philemon} lifts down[85] a rusty side of
bacon, that hangs from a black beam; and cuts off a small portion from
the chine that has been kept so long; and when cut, softens it in
boiling water. In the meantime, with discourse they beguile the
intervening hours; and suffer not the length of time to be perceived.
There is a beechen trough there, that hangs on a peg by its crooked
handle; this is filled with warm water, and receives their limbs to
refresh them. On the middle of the couch, its feet and frame[86] being
made of willow, is placed a cushion of soft sedge. This they cover with
cloths, which they have not been accustomed to place there but on
festive occasions; but even these cloths are coarse and old, {though}
not unfitting for a couch of willow. The Gods seat themselves. The old
woman, wearing an apron, and shaking {with palsy}, sets the table
{before them}. But the third leg of the table is too short; a potsherd,
{placed beneath}, makes it equal. After this, being placed beneath, has
taken away the inequality, green mint rubs down the table {thus} made
level. Here are set the double-tinted berries[87] of the chaste Minerva,
and cornel-berries, gathered in autumn, {and} preserved in a thin
pickle; endive, too, and radishes, and a large piece of curdled milk,
and eggs, that have been gently turned in the slow embers; all {served}
in earthenware. After this, an embossed goblet of similar clay is placed
{there}; cups, too, made of beech wood, varnished, where they are
hollowed out, with yellow wax.

“There is {now} a short pause;[88] the fire {then} sends up the warm
repast; and wine kept no long time, is again put on; and {then}, set
aside for a little time, it gives place to the second course. Here are
nuts, {and} here are dried figs mixed with wrinkled dates, plums too,
and fragrant apples in wide baskets, and grapes gathered from the purple
vines. In the middle there is white honey-comb. Above all, there are
welcome looks, and no indifferent and niggardly feelings. In the
meanwhile, as oft as Baucis and the alarmed Philemon behold the goblet,
{when} drunk off, replenish itself of its own accord, and the wine
increase of itself, astonished at this singular event, they are
frightened, and, with hands held up, they offer their prayers, and
entreat pardon for their entertainment, and their want of preparation.
There was a single goose, the guardian of their little cottage, which
its owners were preparing to kill for the Deities, their guests. Swift
with its wings, it wearied them, {rendered} slow by age, and it escaped
them a long time, and at length seemed to fly for safety to the Gods
themselves. The immortals forbade it[89] to be killed, and said, ‘We are
Divinities, and this impious neighbourhood shall suffer deserved
punishment. To you it will be allowed to be free from this calamity;
only leave your habitation, and attend our steps, and go together to the
summit of the mountain.’

“They both obeyed; and, supported by staffs, they endeavoured to place
their feet {on the top} of the high hill. They were {now} as far from
the top, as an arrow discharged can go at once, {when} they turned their
eyes, and beheld the other parts sinking in a morass, {and} their own
abode alone remaining. While they were wondering at these things, {and}
while they were bewailing the fate of their {fellow countrymen}, that
old cottage of {theirs}, {too} little for even two owners, was changed
into a temple. Columns took the place of forked stakes, the thatch grew
yellow, and the earth was covered with marble; the doors appeared
carved, and the roof to be of gold. Then, the son of Saturn uttered such
words as these with benign lips: ‘Tell us, good old man, and thou, wife,
worthy of a husband {so} good, what it is you desire?’ Having spoken a
few words to Baucis, Philemon discovered their joint request to the
Gods: ‘We desire to be your priests, and to have the care of your
temple; and, since we have passed our years in harmony, let the same
hour take us off both together; and let me not ever see the tomb of my
wife, nor let me be destined to be buried by her.’ Fulfilment attended
their wishes. So long as life was granted, they were the keepers of the
temple; and when, enervated by years and old age, they were standing, by
chance, before the sacred steps, and were relating the fortunes of the
spot, Baucis beheld Philemon, and the aged Philemon saw Baucis, {too},
shooting into leaf. And now the tops of the trees growing above their
two faces, so long as they could they exchanged words with each other,
and said together, ‘Farewell! my spouse;’ and at the same moment the
branches covered their concealed faces. The inhabitants of Tyana[90]
still shew these adjoining trees, made of their two bodies. Old men, no
romancers, (and there was no reason why they should wish to deceive me)
told me this. I, indeed, saw garlands hanging on the branches, and
placing {there} some fresh ones {myself}, I said, ‘The good are the
{peculiar} care of the Gods, and those who worshipped {the Gods}, are
{now} worshipped {themselves}.’”

He had {now} ceased; and the thing {itself} and the relator {of it} had
astonished them all; {and} especially Theseus, whom, desiring to hear of
the wonderful actions of the Gods, the Calydonian river leaning on his
elbow, addressed in words such as these: “There are, O most valiant
{hero}, some things, whose form has been once changed, and {then} has
continued under that change. There are some whose privilege it is to
pass into many shapes, as thou, Proteus, inhabitant of the sea that
embraces the earth. For people have seen thee one while a young man, and
again a lion; at one time thou wast a furious boar, at another a
serpent, which they dreaded to touch; {and} sometimes, horns rendered
thee a bull. Ofttimes thou mightst be seen as a stone; often, too, as a
tree. Sometimes imitating the appearance of flowing water, thou wast a
river; sometimes fire, the {very} contrary of water.”

    [Footnote 82: _Laughed at them._--Ver. 612. The Centaurs, from one
    of whom Pirithoüs was sprung, were famed for their contempt of,
    and enmity to, the Gods.]

    [Footnote 83: _By a low wall._--Ver. 620. As a memorial of the
    wonderful events here related by Lelex.]

    [Footnote 84: _Thatched with straw._--Ver. 630. It was the custom
    with the ancients, when reaping, to take off only the heads of the
    corn, and to leave the stubble to be reaped at another time. From
    this passage, we see that straw was used for the purpose of
    thatching.]

    [Footnote 85: _Lifts down._--Ver. 647. The lifting down the flitch
    of bacon might induce us to believe that the account of this story
    was written yesterday, and not nearly two thousand years since.
    So true is it, that there is nothing new under the sun.]

    [Footnote 86: _Feet and frame._--Ver. 659. ‘Sponda.’ This was the
    frame of the bedstead, and more especially the sides of it. In the
    case of a bed used for two persons, the two sides were
    distinguished by different names; the side at which they entered
    was open, and was called ‘sponda:’ the other side, which was
    protected by a board, was called ‘pluteus.’ The two sides were
    also called ‘torus exterior,’ or ‘sponda exterior,’ and ‘torus
    interior,’ or ‘sponda interior.’]

    [Footnote 87: _Double-tinted berries._--Ver. 664. Green on one
    side, and swarthy on the other.]

    [Footnote 88: _A short pause._--Ver. 671. This was the second
    course. The Roman ‘cœna,’ or chief meal, consisted of three
    stages. First, the ‘promulsis,’ ‘antecœna,’ or ‘gustatio,’ when
    they ate such things as served to stimulate the appetite. Then
    came the first course, which formed the substantial part of the
    meal; and next the second course, at which the ‘bellaria,’
    consisting of pastry and fruits, such as are now used at dessert,
    were served.]

    [Footnote 89: _Immortals forbade it._--Ver. 688. This act of
    humanity reflects credit on the two Deities, and contrasts
    favourably with their usual cruel and revengeful disposition, in
    common with their fellow Divinities of the heathen Mythology.]

    [Footnote 90: _Of Tyana._--Ver. 719. This was a city of
    Cappadocia, in Asia Minor.]


EXPLANATION.

  The story of Baucis and Philemon, which is here so beautifully
  related by the Poet, is a moral tale, which shows the merit of
  hospitality, and how, in some cases at least, virtue speedily brings
  its own reward. If the story is based upon any actual facts, the
  history of its origin is entirely unknown. Huet, the theologian,
  indeed, supposes that it is founded on the history of the reception
  of the Angels by Abraham. This is a bold surmise, but entirely in
  accordance with his position, that the greatest part of the fictions
  of the heathen mythology were mere glosses or perversions of the
  histories of the Old Testament. If derived from Scripture, the story
  is just as likely to be founded on the hospitable reception of the
  Prophet Elijah by the woman of Zarephath; and the miraculous
  increase of the wine in the goblet, calls to mind ‘the barrel of
  meal that wasted not, and the cruse of oil that did not fail.’ The
  story of the wretched fate of the inhospitable neighbours of Baucis
  and Philemon is thought, by some modern writers, to be founded upon
  the Scriptural account of the destruction of the wicked cities of
  the plain.

  Ancient writers have made many attempts to solve the wondrous story
  of Proteus. Some say that he was an elegant orator, who charmed his
  auditors by the force of his eloquence. Lucian says that he was an
  actor of pantomime, so supple that he could assume various postures.
  Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, and Clement of Alexandria, assert that
  he was an ancient king of Egypt, successor to Pheron, and that he
  lived at the time, of the Trojan war. Herodotus, who represents him
  as a prince of great wisdom and justice, does not make any allusion
  to his powers of transformation, which was his great merit in the
  eyes of the poets. Diodorus Siculus says that his alleged changes
  may have had their rise in a custom which Proteus had of adorning
  his helmet, sometimes with the skin of a panther, sometimes with
  that of a lion, and sometimes with that of a serpent, or of some
  other animal. When Lycophron states that Neptune saved Proteus from
  the fury of his children, by making him go through caverns from
  Pallene to Egypt, he follows the tradition which says that he
  originally came from that town in Thessaly, and that he retired
  thence to Egypt. Virgil, and Servius, his Commentator, assert that
  Proteus returned to Thessaly after the death of his children, who
  were slain by Hercules; in which assertion, however, they are not
  supported by Homer or Herodotus.


FABLE VII. [VIII.738-884]

  Acheloüs continues his narrative with the story of Metra, the
  daughter of Erisicthon, who is attacked with insatiable hunger, for
  having cut down an oak, in one of the groves of Ceres. Metra begs of
  Neptune, who was formerly in love with her, the power of
  transforming herself into different shapes; that she may be enabled,
  if possible, to satisfy the voracious appetite of her father. By
  these means, Erisicthon, being obliged to expose her for sale, in
  order to purchase himself food, always recovers her again; until,
  by his repeated sale of her, the fraud is discovered. He at last
  becomes the avenger of his own impiety, by devouring his own limbs.

“Nor has the wife of Autolycus,[91] the daughter of Erisicthon, less
privileges {than he}. Her father was one who despised the majesty of the
Gods; and he offered them no honours on their altars. He is likewise
said to have profaned with an axe a grove of Ceres, and to have violated
her ancient woods with the iron. In these there was standing an oak with
an ancient trunk, a wood {in itself} alone, fillets and tablets, {as}
memorials,[92] and garlands, proofs of wishes that had been granted,
surrounded the middle of it. Often, beneath this {tree}, did the Dryads
lead up the festive dance; often, too, with hands joined in order, did
they go round the compass of its trunk; and the girth of the oak made up
three times five ells. The rest of the wood, too, lay as much under this
oak as the grass lay beneath the whole of the wood. Yet not on that
account {even} did the son of Triopas[93] withhold the axe from it; and
he ordered his servants to cut down the sacred oak; and when he saw them
hesitate, {thus} ordered, the wicked {wretch}, snatching from one of
them an axe, uttered these words: ‘Were it not only beloved by a
Goddess, but even were it a Goddess itself, it should now touch the
ground with its leafy top.’ {Thus} he said; and while he was poising his
weapon for a side stroke, the Deoïan oak[94] shuddered, and uttered a
groan; and at once, its green leaves, and, with them, its acorns began
to turn pale; and the long branches to be moistened with sweat. As soon
as his impious hand had made an incision in its trunk, the blood flowed
from the severed bark no otherwise than, as, at the time when the bull,
a large victim, falls before the altars, the blood pours forth from his
divided neck. All were amazed and one of the number attempted to hinder
the wicked design, and to restrain the cruel axe. The Thessalian eyes
him, and says, ‘Take the reward of thy pious intentions,’ and turns the
axe from the tree upon the man, and hews off his head; and {then} hacks
at the oak again; when such words as these are uttered from the middle
of the oak: ‘I, a Nymph,[95] most pleasing to Ceres, am beneath this
wood; I, {now} dying, foretell to thee that the punishment of thy deeds,
the solace of my death, is at hand.’

“He pursued his wicked design; and, at last, weakened by numberless
blows, and pulled downward with ropes, the tree fell down, and with its
weight levelled a great part of the wood. All her sisters, the Dryads,
being shocked at the loss of the grove and their own, in their grief
repaired to Ceres, in black array,[96] and requested the punishment of
Erisicthon. She assented to their {request}, and the most beauteous
Goddess, with the nodding of her head, shook the fields loaded with the
heavy crops; and contrived {for him} a kind of punishment, lamentable,
if he had not, for his crimes, been deserving of the sympathy of none,
{namely}, to torment him with deadly Famine. And since that Goddess
could not be approached by herself (for the Destinies do not allow Ceres
and Famine to come together), in such words as these she addressed
rustic Oreas, one of the mountain Deities: ‘There is an icy region in
the extreme part of Scythia, a dreary soil, a land, desolate, without
corn {and} without trees; there dwell drowsy Cold, and Paleness, and
Trembling, and famishing Hunger; order her to bury herself in the breast
of this sacrilegious {wretch}. Let no abundance of provisions overcome
her; and let her surpass my powers in the contest. And that the length
of the road may not alarm thee, take my chariot, take the dragons, which
thou mayst guide aloft with the reins;’ and {then} she gave them to her.

“She, borne through the air on the chariot {thus} granted, arrived in
Scythia; and, on the top of a steep mountain (they call it Caucasus),
she unyoked the neck of the dragons, and beheld Famine, whom she was
seeking, in a stony field, tearing up herbs, growing here and there,
with her nails and with her teeth. Rough was her hair, her eyes hollow,
paleness on her face, her lips white with scurf,[97] her jaws rough with
rustiness; her skin hard, through which her bowels might be seen; her
dry bones were projecting beneath her crooked loins; instead of a belly,
there was {only} the place for a belly. You would think her breast was
hanging, and was only supported from the chine[98] of the back. Leanness
had, {to appearance}, increased her joints, and the caps of her knees
were stiff, and excrescences projected from her overgrown ancles. Soon
as {Oreas} beheld her at a distance (for she did not dare come near
her), she delivered the commands of the Goddess; and, staying for so
short a time, although she was at a distance from her, {and} although
she had just come thither, still did she seem to feel hunger; and,
turning the reins, she drove aloft the dragon’s back to Hæmonia.

“Famine executes the orders of Ceres (although she is ever opposing her
operations), and is borne by the winds through the air to the assigned
abode, and immediately enters the bedchamber of the sacrilegious
{wretch}, and embraces him, sunk in a deep sleep ({for} it is
night-time), with her two wings. She breathes herself into the man, and
blows upon his jaws, and his breast, and his face; and she scatters
hunger through his empty veins. And having {thus} executed her
commission, she forsakes the fruitful world, and returns to her famished
abode, her wonted fields. Gentle sleep is still soothing[99] Erisicthon
with its balmy wings. In a vision of his sleep he craves for food, and
moves his jaws to no purpose, and tires his teeth {grinding} upon teeth,
and wearies his throat deluded with imaginary food; and, instead of
victuals, he devours in vain the yielding air. But when sleep is
banished, his desire for eating is outrageous, and holds sway over his
craving jaws, and his insatiate entrails. And no delay {is there}; he
calls what the sea, what the earth, what the air produces, and complains
of hunger with the tables set before him, and requires food in {the
midst of} food. And what might be enough for {whole} cities, and what
{might be enough} for a {whole} people, is not sufficient for one man.
The more, too, he swallows down into his stomach, the more does he
desire. And just as the ocean receives rivers from the whole earth, and
{yet} is not satiated with water, and drinks up the rivers of distant
countries, and as the devouring fire never refuses fuel, and burns up
beams of wood without number, and the greater the quantity that is given
to it, the more does it crave, and it is the more voracious through the
very abundance {of fuel}; so do the jaws of the impious Erisicthon
receive all victuals {presented}, and at the same time ask for {more}.
In him all food is {only} a ground for {more} food, and there is always
room vacant for eating {still more}.

“And now, through his appetite, and the voracity of his capacious
stomach, he had diminished his paternal estate; but yet, even then, did
his shocking hunger remain undiminished, and the craving of his
insatiable appetite continued in full vigour. At last, after he has
swallowed down his estate into his paunch,[100] his daughter {alone} is
remaining, undeserving of him for a father; her, too, he sells, pressed
by want. Born of a noble race, she cannot brook a master; and stretching
out her hands, over the neighbouring sea, she says, ‘Deliver me from a
master, thou who dost possess the prize of my ravished virginity.’ This
{prize} Neptune had {possessed himself of}. He, not despising her
prayer, although, the moment before, she has been seen by her master in
pursuit of her, both alters her form, and gives her the appearance of a
man, and a habit befitting such as catch fish. Looking at her, her
master says, ‘O thou manager of the rod, who dost cover the brazen
{hook}, as it hangs, with tiny morsels, even so may the sea be smooth
{for thee}, even so may the fish in the water be {ever} credulous for
thee, and may they perceive no hook till caught; tell me where she is,
who this moment was standing upon this shore (for standing on the shore
I saw her), with her hair dishevelled, {and} in humble garb; for no
further do her footsteps extend.’ She perceives that the favour of the
God has turned to good purpose, and, well pleased that she is inquired
after of herself, she replies to him, as he inquires, in these words:
‘Whoever thou art, excuse me, {but} I have not turned my eyes on any
side from this water, and, busily employed, I have been attending to my
pursuit. And that thou mayst the less disbelieve {me}, may the God of
the sea so aid this employment of mine, no man has been for some time
standing on this shore, myself only excepted, nor has any woman been
standing {here}.’ Her master believed her, and, turning his feet {to go
away}, he paced the sands, and, {thus} deceived, withdrew. Her own shape
was restored to her.

“But when her father found that his {daughter} had a body capable of
being transformed, he often sold the grand-daughter of Triopas to
{other} masters. But she used to escape, sometimes as a mare, sometimes
as a bird, now as a cow, now as a stag; and {so} provided a dishonest
maintenance for her hungry parent. Yet, after this violence of his
distemper had consumed all his provision, and had added fresh fuel to
his dreadful malady: he himself, with mangling bites, began to tear his
own limbs, and the miserable {wretch} used to feed his own body by
diminishing it. {But} why do I dwell on the instances of others? I, too,
O youths,[101] have a power of often changing my body, {though} limited
in the number {of those changes}. For, one while, I appear what I now
am, another while I am wreathed as a snake; then {as} the leader of a
herd, I receive strength in my horns. In my horns, {I say}, so long as I
could. Now, one side of my forehead is deprived of its weapons, as thou
seest thyself.” Sighs followed his words.

    [Footnote 91: _Autolycus._--Ver. 738. He was the father of
    Anticlea, the mother of Ulysses, and was instructed by Mercury in
    the art of thieving. His wife was Metra, whose transformations are
    here described by the Poet.]

    [Footnote 92: _Tablets as memorials._--Ver. 744. That is, they had
    inscribed on them the grateful thanks of the parties who placed
    them there to Ceres, for having granted their wishes.]

    [Footnote 93: _Son of Triopas._--Ver. 751. Erisicthon was the son
    of Triopas.]

    [Footnote 94: _Deoïan oak._--Ver. 758. Belonging to Ceres. See
    Book vi. line 114.]

    [Footnote 95: _I, a Nymph._--Ver. 771. She was one of the
    Hamadryads, whose lives terminated with those of the trees which
    they respectively inhabited.]

    [Footnote 96: _In black array._--Ver. 778. The Romans wore
    mourning for the dead; which seems, in the time of the Republic,
    to have been black or dark blue for either sex. Under the Empire,
    the men continued to wear black, but the women wore white. On such
    occasions all ornaments were laid aside.]

    [Footnote 97: _With scurf._--Ver. 802. Clarke gives this
    translation of ‘Labra incana situ:’ ‘Her lips very white with
    nasty stuff.’]

    [Footnote 98: _From the chine._--Ver. 806. ‘A spinæ tantummodo
    crate teneri,’ is translated by Clarke, ‘Was only supported by the
    wattling of her backbone.’]

    [Footnote 99: _Is still soothing._--Ver. 823. Clarke renders the
    words ‘Lenis adhuc somnus--Erisicthona pennis mulcebat;’ ‘Gentle
    sleep as yet clapped Erisicthon with her wings.’]

    [Footnote 100: _Into his paunch._--Ver. 846. Clarke translates
    ‘Tandem, demisso in viscera censu;’ ‘at last, after he had
    swallowed down all his estate into his g--ts.’]

    [Footnote 101: _I too, O youths._--Ver. 880. Acheloüs is
    addressing Theseus, Pirithoüs, and Lelex. The words, ‘Etiam mihi
    sæpe novandi Corporis, O Juvenes,’ is rendered by Clarke, ‘I too,
    gentlemen, have the power of changing my body.’]


EXPLANATION.

  The story of Metra and Erisicthon has no other foundation, in all
  probability, than the diligent care which she took, as a dutiful
  daughter, to support her father, when he had ruined himself by his
  luxury and extravagance. She, probably, was a young woman, who, in
  the hour of need, could, in common parlance, ‘turn her hand’ to any
  useful employment. Some, however, suppose that, by her changes are
  meant the wages she received from those whom she served in the
  capacity of a slave, and which she gave to her father; and it must
  be remembered that, in ancient times, as money was scarce, the wages
  of domestics were often paid in kind. Other writers again suggest,
  less to the credit of the damsel, that her changes denote the price
  she received for her debaucheries. Ovid adds, that she married
  Autolycus, the robber, who stole the oxen of Eurytus. Callimachus
  also, in his Hymn to Ceres, gives the story of Erisicthon at length.
  He was the great grandfather of Ulysses, and was probably a man
  noted for his infidelity and impiety, as well as his riotous course
  of life. The story is probably of Eastern origin, and if a little
  expanded might vie with many of the interesting fictions which we
  read in the Arabian Night’s Entertainments.




BOOK THE NINTH.


FABLE I. [IX.1-100]

  Deïanira, the daughter of Œneus, having been wooed by several
  suitors, her father gives his consent that she shall marry him who
  proves to be the bravest of them. Her other suitors, having given
  way to Hercules and Acheloüs, they engage in single combat.
  Acheloüs, to gain the advantage over his rival, transforms himself
  into various shapes, and, at length, into that of a bull. These
  attempts are in vain, and Hercules overcomes him, and breaks off one
  of his horns. The Naiads, the daughters of Acheloüs, take it up, and
  fill it with the variety of fruits which Autumn affords; on which it
  obtains the name of the Horn of Plenty.

Theseus, the Neptunian hero,[1] inquires what is the cause of his
sighing, and of his forehead being mutilated; when thus begins the
Calydonian river, having his unadorned hair crowned with reeds:

“A mournful task thou art exacting; for who, when overcome, is desirous
to relate his own battles? yet I will relate them in order; nor was it
so disgraceful to be overcome, as it is glorious to have engaged; and a
conqueror so mighty affords me a great consolation. If, perchance,
Deïanira,[2] by her name, has at last reached thy ears, once she was a
most beautiful maiden, and the envied hope of many a wooer; together
with these, when the house of him, whom I desired as my father-in-law,
was entered by me, I said, ‘Receive me, O son of Parthaon,[3] for thy
son-in-law.’ Alcides, too, said {the same}; the others yielded to {us}
two. He alleged that he was offering {to the damsel} both Jupiter as a
father-in-law, and the glory of his labours; the orders, too, of his
step-mother, successfully executed. On the other hand (I thought it
disgraceful for a God to give way to a mortal, for then he was not a
God), I said, ‘Thou beholdest me, a king of the waters, flowing amid thy
realms,[4] with my winding course; nor {am I some} stranger sent thee
for a son-in-law, from foreign lands, but I shall be one of thy people,
and a part of thy state. Only let it not be to my prejudice, that the
royal Juno does not hate me, and that all punishment, by labours
enjoined, is afar from me. For, since thou, {Hercules}, dost boast
thyself born of Alcmena for thy mother; Jupiter is either thy pretended
sire, or thy real one through a criminal deed: by the adultery of thy
mother art thou claiming a father. Choose, {then}, whether thou wouldst
rather have Jupiter {for thy} pretended {father}, or that thou art
sprung {from him} through a disgraceful deed?’

“While I was saying such things as these, for some time he looked at me
with a scowling eye, and did not very successfully check his inflamed
wrath; and he returned me just as many words {as these}: ‘My right hand
is better than my tongue. If only I do but prevail in fighting, do thou
get the better in talking;’ and {then} he fiercely {attacked} me. I was
ashamed, after having so lately spoken big words, to yield. I threw on
one side my green garment from off my body, and opposed my arms {to
his}, and I held my hands bent inwards,[5] from before my breast, on
their guard, and I prepared my limbs for the combat. He sprinkled me
with dust, taken up in the hollow of his hands, and, in his turn, grew
yellow with the casting of yellow sand[6] {upon himself}. And at one
moment he aimed at my neck, at another my legs, as they shifted about,
or you would suppose he was aiming {at them}; and he assaulted me on
every side. My bulk defended me, and I was attacked in vain; no
otherwise than a mole, which the waves beat against with loud noise:
it remains {unshaken}, and by its own weight is secure.

“We retire a little, and {then} again we rush together in conflict, and
we stand firm, determined not to yield; foot, too, is joined to foot;
and {then} I, bending forward full with my breast, press upon his
fingers with my fingers, and his forehead with my forehead. In no
different manner have I beheld the strong bulls engage, when the most
beauteous mate[7] in all the pasture is sought as the reward of the
combat; the herds look on and tremble, uncertain which the mastery of so
great a domain awaits. Thrice without effect did Alcides attempt to hurl
away from him my breast, as it bore hard against him; the fourth time,
he shook off my hold, and loosened my arms clasped around him; and,
striking me with his hand, (I am resolved to confess the truth) he
turned me quite round, and clung, a mighty load, to my back. If any
credit {is to be given me}, (and, indeed, no glory is sought by me
through an untrue narration) I seemed to myself {as though} weighed down
with a mountain placed upon me. Yet, with great difficulty, I disengaged
my arms streaming with much perspiration, {and}, with great exertion,
I unlocked his firm grasp from my body. He pressed on me as I panted for
breath, and prevented me from recovering my strength, and {then} seized
hold of my neck. Then, at last, was the earth pressed by my knee, and
with my mouth I bit the sand. Inferior in strength, I had recourse to my
arts,[8] and transformed into a long serpent, I escaped from the hero.

“After I had twisted my body into winding folds, and darted my forked
tongue with dreadful hissings, the Tirynthian laughed, and deriding my
arts, he said, ‘It was the labour of my cradle to conquer serpents;[9]
and although, Acheloüs, thou shouldst excel other snakes, how large a
part wilt thou, {but} one serpent, be of the Lernæan Echidna? By her
{very} wounds was she multiplied, and not one head of her hundred in
number[10] was cut off {by me} without danger {to myself}; but rather so
that her neck became stronger, with two successors {to the former head}.
{Yet} her I subdued, branching with serpents springing from {each}
wound, and growing stronger by her disasters; and, {so} subdued, I slew
her. What canst thou think will become of thee, who, changed into a
fictitious serpent, art wielding arms that belong to another, and whom a
form, obtained as a favour, is {now} disguising?’ {Thus} he spoke; and
he planted the grip of his fingers on the upper part of my neck. I was
tortured, just as though my throat was squeezed with pincers; and I
struggled hard to disengage my jaws from his fingers.

“Thus vanquished, too, there still remained for me my third form, {that}
of a furious bull; with my limbs changed into {those of} a bull I
renewed the fight. He threw his arms over my brawny neck, on the left
side, and, dragging {at me}, followed me in my onward course; and
seizing my horns, he fastened them in the hard ground, and felled me
upon the deep sand. And that was not enough; while his relentless right
hand was holding my stubborn horn, he broke it, and tore it away from my
mutilated forehead. This, heaped with fruit and odoriferous flowers, the
Naiads have consecrated, and the bounteous {Goddess}, Plenty, is
enriched by my horn.” {Thus} he said; but a Nymph, girt up after the
manner of Diana, one of his handmaids, with her hair hanging loose on
either side, came in, and brought the whole {of the produce} of Autumn
in the most plentiful horn, and choice fruit for a second course.

Day comes on, and the rising sun striking the tops of the hills, the
young men depart; nor do they stay till the stream has quiet {restored
to it}, and a smooth course, and {till} the troubled waters subside.
Acheloüs conceals his rustic features, and his mutilated horn, in the
midst of the waves; yet the loss of this honour, taken from him, {alone}
affects him; in other respects, he is unhurt. The injury, too, which has
befallen his head, is {now} concealed with willow branches, or with
reeds placed upon it.

    [Footnote 1: _The Neptunian hero._--Ver. 1. Theseus was the
    grandson of Neptune, through his father Ægeus.]

    [Footnote 2: _Deïanira._--Ver. 9. She was the daughter of Œneus,
    king of Ætolia, and became the wife of Hercules.]

    [Footnote 3: _Parthaon._--Ver. 12. He was the son of Agenor and
    Epicaste. Homer, however, makes Portheus, and not Parthaon, to
    have been the father of Œneus.]

    [Footnote 4: _Amid thy realms._--Ver. 18. The river Acheloüs
    flowed between Ætolia and Acarnania.]

    [Footnote 5: _Bent inwards._--Ver. 33. ‘Varus,’ which we here
    translate ‘bent inwards,’ according to some authorities, means
    ‘bent outwards.’]

    [Footnote 6: _Casting of yellow sand._--Ver. 35. It was the custom
    of wrestlers, after they had anointed the body with ‘ceroma’ or
    wrestler’s oil, in order to render the body supple and pliant, to
    sprinkle the body with sand, or dust, to enable the antagonist to
    take a firm hold. It was, however, considered more praiseworthy to
    conquer in a contest which was ἀκονιτὶ ‘without the use of sand.’]

    [Footnote 7: _Most beauteous mate._--Ver. 47. Clarke translates
    ‘nitidissima conjux,’ ‘the neatest cow.’]

    [Footnote 8: _Recourse to my arts._--Ver. 62. ‘Devertor ad artes,’
    is rendered by Clarke, ‘I fly to my tricks.’]

    [Footnote 9: _To conquer serpents._--Ver. 67. Hercules, while an
    infant in his cradle, was said to have strangled two serpents,
    which Juno sent for the purpose of destroying him.]

    [Footnote 10: _Hundred in number._--Ver. 71. The number of heads
    of the Hydra varies in the accounts given by different writers.
    Seven, nine, fifty, and a hundred are the numbers mentioned. This,
    however, is not surprising, as we are told that where one was cut
    off, two sprang up in their place, until Hercules, to prevent such
    consequences, adopted the precaution of searing the neck, where
    the head had been cut off, with a red hot iron.]


EXPLANATION.

  The river Acheloüs, which ran between Acarnania and Ætolia, often
  did considerable damage to those countries by its inundations, and,
  at the same time, by confounding or sweeping away the limits which
  separated those nations, it engaged them in continual warfare with
  each other. Hercules, who seems really to have been a person of
  great scientific skill, which he was ever ready to employ for the
  service of his fellow men, raised banks to it, and made its course
  so uniform and straight, that he was the means of establishing
  perpetual peace between these adjoining nations.

  The early authors who recorded these events have narrated them under
  a thick and almost impenetrable veil of fiction. They say that
  Hercules engaged in combat with the God of that river, who
  immediately transformed himself into a serpent, by which was
  probably meant merely the serpentine windings of its course. Next
  they say, that the God changed himself into a bull, under which
  allegorical form they refer to the rapid and impetuous overflowing
  of its banks, ever rushing onwards, bearing down everything in its
  course, and leaving traces of its ravages throughout the country in
  its vicinity. This mode of description the more readily occurred to
  them in the case of Acheloüs, as from the roaring noise which they
  often make in their course, rivers in general were frequently
  represented under the figure of a bull, and, of course, as wearing
  horns, the great instruments of the havoc which they created.

  It was said, then, that Hercules at length overcame this bull, and
  broke off one of his horns; by which was meant, according to Strabo,
  that he brought both the branches of the river into one channel.
  Again, this horn became the Horn of Plenty in that region; or, in
  other words, being withdrawn from its bed, the river left a large
  track of very fertile ground for agricultural purposes. As to the
  Cornucopia, or Horn of Plenty of the heathen Mythology, there is
  some variation in the accounts respecting it. Some writers say that
  by it was meant the horn of the goat Amalthea, which suckled
  Jupiter, and that the Nymphs gave it to Acheloüs, who again gave it
  in exchange for that of which Hercules afterwards deprived him.
  Deïanira, having given her hand to Hercules, as the recompense of
  the important services which he had rendered to her father, Œneus,
  it was fabled that she had been promised to Acheloüs, who was
  vanquished by his rival; and on this foundation was built the
  superstructure of the famous combat which the Poet here describes.
  After having remained for some time at the court of his
  father-in-law, Hercules was obliged to leave it, in consequence of
  having killed the son of Architritilus, who was the cupbearer of
  that prince.


FABLE II. [IX.101-272]

  Hercules, returning with Deïanira, as the prize of his victory,
  entrusts her to the Centaur Nessus, to carry her over the river
  Evenus. Nessus seizes the opportunity of Hercules being on the other
  side of the river, and attempts to carry her off; on which Hercules,
  perceiving his design, shoots him with an arrow, and thus prevents
  its execution. The Centaur, when expiring, in order to gratify his
  revenge, gives Deïanira his tunic dipped in his blood, assuring her
  that it contains an effectual charm against all infidelity on the
  part of her husband. Afterwards, on hearing that Hercules is in love
  with Iole, Deïanira sends him the tunic, that it may have the
  supposed effect. As soon as he puts it on, he is affected with
  excruciating torments, and is seized with such violent fits of
  madness, that he throws Lychas, the bearer of the garment, into the
  sea, where he is changed into a rock. Hercules, then, in obedience
  to a response of the oracle, which he consults, prepares a funeral
  pile, and laying himself upon it, his friend Philoctetes applies the
  torch to it, on which the hero, having first recounted his labours,
  expires in the flames. After his body is consumed, Jupiter
  translates him to the heavens, and he is placed in the number of the
  Gods.

But a passion for this same maiden proved fatal to thee, fierce
Nessus,[11] pierced through the back with a swift arrow. For the son of
Jupiter, as he was returning to his native city with his new-made wife,
had {now} come to the rapid waters of {the river} Evenus.[12] The stream
was swollen to a greater extent than usual with the winter rains, and
was full of whirlpools, and impassable. Nessus came up to him,
regardless of himself, {but} feeling anxiety for his wife, both strong
of limb,[13] and well acquainted with the fords, and said, “Alcides, she
shall be landed on yonder bank through my services, do thou employ thy
strength in swimming;” and the Aonian {hero} entrusted to Nessus the
Calydonian damsel full of alarm, and pale with apprehension, and
{equally} dreading both the river and {Nessus} himself. Immediately,
just as he was, loaded both with his quiver and the spoil of the lion,
(for he had thrown his club and his crooked bow to the opposite side),
he said, “Since I have undertaken it, the stream must be passed.”

And he does not hesitate; nor does he seek out where the stream is the
smoothest, and he spurns to be borne over by the compliance of the
river. And now having reached the bank, and as he is taking up the bow
which he had thrown over, he recognizes the voice of his wife; and as
Nessus is preparing to rob him of what he has entrusted to his care, he
cries out, “Whither, thou ravisher, does thy vain confidence in thy feet
hurry thee? to thee am I speaking, Nessus, thou two-shaped {monster}.
Listen; and do not carry off my property. If no regard for myself
influences thee, still the wheel of thy father[14] might have restrained
thee from forbidden embraces. Thou shall not escape, however, although
thou dost confide[15] in thy powers of a horse; with a wound, {and} not
with my feet, will I overtake thee.” {These} last words he confirms by
deeds, and pierces him through the back, as he is flying, with an arrow
discharged {at him}. The barbed steel stands out from his breast; soon
as it is wrenched out, the blood gushes forth from both wounds, mingled
with the venom of the Lernæan poison. Nessus takes it out, and says to
himself, “And yet I shall not die unrevenged;” and gives his garment,
dyed in the warm blood, as a present to her whom he is carrying off,
as though an incentive to love.

Long was the space of intervening time, and the feats of the mighty
Hercules and the hatred of his step-mother had filled the earth.
{Returning} victorious from Œchalia, he is preparing a sacrifice which
he had vowed to Cenæan Jupiter,[16] when tattling Rumour (who takes
pleasure in adding false things to the truth, and from a very little
{beginning}, swells to a great bulk by her lies) runs before to thy
ears, Deïanira, {to the effect} that the son of Amphitryon is seized
with a passion for Iole. As she loves him, she believes it; and being
alarmed with the report of this new amour, at first she indulges in
tears and in her misery gives vent to her grief in weeping. Soon,
however, she says, “But why do I weep? My rival will be delighted with
these tears; and since she is coming I must make haste, and some
contrivance must be resolved on while it is {still} possible, and while,
as yet, another has not taken possession of my bed. Shall I complain,
or shall I be silent? Shall I return to Calydon, or shall I stay here?
Shall I depart from this abode? or, if nothing more, shall I oppose
{their entrance}? What if, O Meleager, remembering that I am thy sister,
I resolve on a desperate deed, and testify, by murdering my rival, how
much, injury and a woman’s grief can effect?”

Her mind wavers, amid various resolves. Before them all, she prefers to
send the garment dyed in the blood of Nessus, to restore strength to his
declining love. Not knowing herself what she is giving, she delivers
{the cause of} her own sorrows to the unsuspecting Lichas,[17] and bids
him, in gentle words, to deliver this most fatal gift to her husband. In
his ignorance, the hero receives it, and places upon his shoulders the
venom of the Lernæan Echidna. He is placing frankincense on the rising
flames, and {is offering} the words of prayer, and pouring wine from the
bowl upon the marble altars. The virulence of the bane waxes warm, and,
melted by the flames, it runs, widely diffused over the limbs of
Hercules. So long as he is able, he suppresses his groans with his
wonted fortitude. After his endurance is overcome by his anguish, he
pushes down the altars, and fills the woody Œta with his cries. There is
no {further} delay; he attempts to tear off the deadly garment; {but}
where it is torn off, it tears away the skin, and, shocking to relate,
it either sticks to his limbs, being tried in vain to be pulled off,
or it lays bare his mangled limbs, and his huge bones. The blood itself
hisses, just as when a red hot plate {of metal is} dipped in cold water;
and it boils with the burning poison. There is no limit {to his misery};
the devouring flames prey upon his entrails, and a livid perspiration
flows from his whole body; his half-burnt sinews also crack; and his
marrow being {now} dissolved by the subtle poison, lifting his hands
towards the stars {of heaven}, he exclaims, “Daughter of Saturn, satiate
thyself with my anguish; satiate thyself, and look down from on high,
O cruel {Goddess}, at this {my} destruction, and glut thy relentless
heart. Or, if I am to be pitied even by an enemy (for an enemy I am to
thee), take away a life insupportable through these dreadful agonies,
hateful, too, {to myself}, and {only} destined to trouble. Death will be
a gain to me. It becomes a stepmother to grant such a favour.

“And was it for this that I subdued Busiris, who polluted the temples
{of the Gods} with the blood of strangers? And did I {for this},
withdraw from the savage Antæus[18] the support given him by his mother?
Did neither the triple shape of the Iberian shepherd[19], nor thy triple
form, O Cerberus, alarm me? And did you, my hands, seize the horns of
the mighty bull? Does Elis, {too}, possess {the result} of your labours,
and the Stymphalian waters, and the Parthenian[20] grove {as well}? By
your valour was it that the belt, inlaid with the gold of Thermodon[21],
was gained, the apples too, guarded in vain by the wakeful dragon? And
could neither the Centaurs resist me, nor yet the boar, the ravager of
Arcadia? And was it not of no avail to the Hydra to grow through {its
own} loss, and to recover double strength? And what besides? When I
beheld the Thracian steeds fattened with human blood, and the mangers
filled with mangled bodies, did I throw them down when {thus} beheld,
and slay both the master and {the horses} themselves? {And} does the
carcass of the Nemean {lion} lie crushed by these arms? With this neck
did I support the heavens?[22] The unrelenting wife of Jupiter[23] was
weary of commanding, {but} I was {still} unwearied with doing. But {now}
a new calamity is come upon me, to which resistance can be made neither
by valour, nor by weapons, nor by arms. A consuming flame is pervading
the inmost recesses of my lungs, and is preying on all my limbs. But
Eurystheus {still} survives. And are there,” says he, “any who can
believe that the Deities exist?”

And {then}, racked with pain, he ranges along the lofty Œta, no
otherwise than if a tiger should chance to carry the hunting spears
fixed in his body, and the perpetrator of the deed should be taking to
flight. Often might you have beheld him uttering groans, often shrieking
aloud, often striving to tear away the whole of his garments, and
levelling trees, and venting his fury against mountains, or stretching
out his arms towards the heaven of his father. Lo! he espies Lichas,
trembling and lying concealed in a hollow rock, and, as his pain has
summoned together all his fury, he says, “Didst thou, Lichas, bring
{this} fatal present; and shalt thou be the cause of my death?” He
trembles, and {turning} pale, is alarmed, and timorously utters some
words of excuse. As he is speaking, and endeavouring to clasp his knees
with his hands, Alcides seizes hold of him, and whirling him round three
or four times, he hurls him into the Eubœan waves, with greater force
than {if sent} from an engine of war. As he soars aloft in the aerial
breeze he grows hard; and as they say that showers freeze with the cold
winds, {and} that thence snow is formed, and that from the snow,
revolving {in its descent}, the soft body is compressed, and is {then}
made round in many a hailstone,[24] so have former ages declared, that,
hurled through the air by the strong arms {of Hercules}, and bereft of
blood through fear, and having no moisture left in him, he was
transformed into hard stone. Even to this day, in the Eubœan sea,
a small rock projects to a height, and retains the traces of the human
form. This, the sailors are afraid to tread upon, as though it could
feel it; and they call it Lichas.

But thou, the famous offspring of Jupiter, having cut down, trees which
lofty Œta bore, and having raised them for a pile, dost order the son of
Pœas[25] to take the bow and the capacious quiver, and the arrows which
are again to visit[26] the Trojan realms; by whose assistance flames are
put beneath the pile; and while the structure is being seized by the
devouring fires, thou dost cover the summit of the heap of wood with the
skin of the Nemean {lion}, and dost lie down with thy neck resting on
thy club, with no other countenance than if thou art lying as a guest
crowned with garlands, amid the full cups of wine.

And now, the flames, prevailing and spreading on every side, roared,[27]
and reached the limbs {thus} undismayed, and him who despised them. The
Gods were alarmed for {this} protector of the earth;[28] Saturnian
Jupiter (for he perceived it) thus addressed them with joyful voice:
“This fear of yours is my own delight, O ye Gods of heaven, and, with
all my heart, I gladly congratulate myself that I am called the governor
and the father of a grateful people, and that my progeny, too, is secure
in your esteem. For, although this {concern} is given {in return} for
his mighty exploits, {still} I myself am obliged {by} it. But, however,
that your affectionate breasts may not be alarmed with vain fears,
despise these flames of Œta. He who has conquered all things, shall
conquer the fires which you behold; nor shall he be sensible of the
potency of the flame, but in the part {of him} which he derived from his
mother. {That part of him}, which he derived from me, is immortal, and
exempt and secure from death, and to be subdued by no flames. This, too,
when disengaged from earth, I will receive into the celestial regions,
and I trust that this act of mine will be agreeable to all the Deities.
Yet if any one, if any one, {I say}, perchance should grieve at Hercules
being a Divinity, {and} should be unwilling that this honour should be
conferred on him; still he shall know that he deserves it to be bestowed
{on him}, and {even} against his will, shall approve of it.”

{To this} the Gods assented; his royal spouse, too, seemed to bear the
rest {of his remarks} with no discontented {air}, but only the last
words with a countenance of discontent, and to take it amiss that she
was {so plainly} pointed at. In the mean time, whatever was liable to be
destroyed by flame, Mulciber consumed; and the figure of Hercules
remained, not to be recognized; nor did he have anything derived from
the form of his mother, and he only retained the traces of {immortal}
Jupiter. And as when a serpent revived, by throwing off old age with his
slough, is wont to be instinct with fresh life, and to glisten in his
new-made scales; so, when the Tirynthian {hero} has put off his mortal
limbs, he flourishes in his more æthereal part, and begins to appear
more majestic, and to become venerable in his august dignity. Him the
omnipotent Father, taking up among encircling clouds, bears aloft amid
the glittering stars, in his chariot drawn by {its} four steeds.

    [Footnote 11: _Nessus._--Ver. 101. He was one of the Centaurs
    which were begotten by Ixion the cloud sent by Jupiter, under the
    form of Juno.]

    [Footnote 12: _Evenus._--Ver. 104. This was a river of Ætolia,
    which was also called by the name of ‘Lycormas.’]

    [Footnote 13: _Strong of limb._--Ver. 108. ‘Membrisque valens,’ is
    rendered by Clarke, ‘being an able-limbed fellow.’]

    [Footnote 14: _Wheel of thy father._--Ver. 124. He alludes to the
    punishment of Ixion, the father of Nessus, who was fastened to a
    revolving wheel in the Infernal Regions, as a punishment for his
    attempt on the chastity of Juno.]

    [Footnote 15: _Thou dost confide._--Ver. 125. ‘Quamvis ope fidis
    equinâ,’ is translated by Clarke, ‘Although thou trustest to the
    help of thy horse part.’]

    [Footnote 16: _Cenæan Jupiter._--Ver. 136. Jupiter was called
    Cenæan, from Cenæum, a promontory of Eubœa, where Hercules, after
    having taken the town of Œchalia, built an altar in honour of
    Jupiter. Hercules slew Eurytus, the king of Œchalia, and carried
    away his daughter Iole.]

    [Footnote 17: _Lichas._--Ver. 155. This was the attendant of
    Hercules, whom he sent to Deïanira for the garment which he used
    to wear while performing sacrifice.]

    [Footnote 18: _The savage Antæus._--Ver. 183. He alludes to the
    fresh strength which the giant Antæus gained each time he touched
    the earth.]

    [Footnote 19: _Iberian shepherd._--Ver. 184. Allusion is here made
    to Geryon, who had three bodies, and whom Hercules slew, and then
    carried away his herds. It has been suggested that the story of
    his triple form originated in the fact that he and his two
    brothers reigned amicably in conjunction over some portion of
    Spain, or the islands adjoining to it.]

    [Footnote 20: _Parthenian._--Ver. 188. A part of Arcadia was so
    called from Parthenium, a mountain which divided it from Argolis;
    there was also, according to Pliny the Elder, a town of the same
    name in Arcadia.]

    [Footnote 21: _Gold of Thermodon._--Ver. 189. The Thermodon was a
    river of Scythia, near which the Amazons were said to dwell.
    Eurystheus ordered Hercules to bring to him the belt of Hippolyta,
    the queen of the Amazons.]

    [Footnote 22: _Support the heavens._--Ver. 198. Atlas, king of
    Mauritania, was said to support the heavens on his shoulders, of
    which burden Hercules relieved him for a time, when he partook of
    his hospitality. It has been suggested that the meaning of this
    story is, that Hercules learned the study of astronomy from
    Atlas.]

    [Footnote 23: _Wife of Jupiter._--Ver. 199. Juno gave her commands
    to Hercules through Eurystheus, the son of Sthenelus, king of
    Mycenæ, who imposed upon him his various labours.]

    [Footnote 24: _Many a hailstone._--Ver. 222. Ovid here seems to
    think that snow is an intermediate state between rain and hail,
    and that hail is formed by the rapid motion of the snow as it
    falls.]

    [Footnote 25: _The son of Pœas._--Ver. 233. Philoctetes was the
    son of Pœas.]

    [Footnote 26: _Again to visit._--Ver. 232. It was decreed by the
    destinies that Troy should not be taken, unless the bow and arrows
    of Hercules were present; for which reason it was necessary to
    send for Philoctetes, who was the possessor of them. Troy had
    already seen them, when Hercules punished Laomedon, its king, for
    his perfidious conduct.]

    [Footnote 27: _Roared._--Ver. 239. ‘Diffusa sonabat--flamma’ is
    translated by Clarke, ‘The flame, being diffused on all sides,
    rattled.’]

    [Footnote 28: _Protector of the earth._--Ver. 241. Hercules
    merited this character, for having cleared the earth of monsters,
    robbers, and tyrants.]


EXPLANATION.

  Hercules, leaving the court of Calydon with his wife, proceeded on
  the road to the city of Trachyn, in Thessaly, to atone for the
  accidental death of Eunomus, and to be absolved from it by Ceyx, who
  was the king of that territory. Being obliged to cross the river
  Evenus, which had overflowed its banks, the adventure happened with
  the Centaur Nessus, which the Poet has here related. We learn from
  other writers, that after Nessus had expired, he was buried on Mount
  Taphiusa; and Strabo informs us, that his tomb (in which, probably,
  the ashes of other Centaurs were deposited) sent forth so offensive
  a smell, that the Locrians, who were the inhabitants of the adjacent
  country, were surnamed the ‘Ozolæ,’ that is, the ‘ill-smelling,’ or
  ‘stinking,’ Locrians. Although the river Evenus lay in the road
  between Calydon and Trachyn, still it did not run through the middle
  of the latter city, as some authors have supposed; for in such case
  Hercules would have been more likely to have passed it by the aid of
  a bridge or of a boat, than to have recourse to the assistance of
  the Centaur Nessus, and to have availed himself of his acquaintance
  with the fords of the stream.

  Hercules, in lapse of time, becoming tired of Deïanira, by whom he
  had one son, named Hyllus, fell in love with Iole, the daughter of
  Eurytus; and that prince, refusing to give her to him, he made war
  upon Œchalia, and, having slain Eurytus, he bore off his daughter.
  Upon his return from that expedition, he sent Lychas for the
  vestments which he had occasion to use in a sacrifice which it was
  his intention to offer. Deïanira, jealous on account of his passion
  for Iole, sent him either a philtre or love potion, which
  unintentionally caused his death, or else a tunic smeared on the
  inside with a certain kind of pitch, found near Babylon, which, when
  thoroughly warmed, stuck fast to his skin; and this it is, most
  probably, which has been termed by poets and historians, the tunic
  of Nessus. It seems, however, pretty clear that Hercules fell into a
  languishing distemper, without any hopes of recovery, and, probably,
  in a fit of madness, he threw Lychas into the sea, which
  circumstance was made by the poets to account for the existence
  there of a rock known by that name.

  Proceeding afterwards to Trachyn, he caused Deïanira to hang herself
  in despair; and, having consulted the oracle concerning his
  distemper, he was ordered to go with his friends to Mount Œta, and
  there to raise a funeral pile. He understood the fatal answer, and
  immediately prepared to execute its commands. When the pile was
  ready, Hercules ascended it, and laid himself down with an air of
  resignation, on which Philoctetes kindled the fire, which consumed
  him. Some, however, of the ancient authors say, with more
  probability, that Hercules died at Trachyn, and that his corpse was
  burned on Mount Œta. His apotheosis commenced at the ceremonial of
  his funeral, and, from the moment of his death, he was worshipped as
  a Demigod. Diodorus Siculus says that it was Iolus who first
  introduced this worship. It was also said that, as soon as
  Philoctetes had applied fire to the pile, it thundered, and the
  lightnings descending from heaven immediately consumed Hercules.
  A tomb was raised for him on Mount Œta, with an altar, upon which a
  bull, a wild boar, and a he-goat were yearly sacrificed in his
  honour, at the time of his festival. The Thebans, and, after them,
  the other people of Greece, soon followed the example of the
  Trachinians, and temples and altars were raised to him in various
  places, where he was honoured as a Demigod.


FABLE III. [IX.273-323]

  Juno, to be revenged on Alcmena for her amour with Jupiter, desires
  Ilithyïa, the Goddess who presides over births, not to assist her on
  the occasion of the birth of Hercules. Lucina complies with her
  request, and places herself on an altar at the gate of Alcmena’s
  abode, where, by a magic spell, she increases her pains and impedes
  her delivery. Galanthis, one of her maids, seeing the Goddess at the
  door, imagines that she may possibly exercise some bad influence on
  her mistress’s labour, and, to make her retire, declares that
  Alcmena is already delivered. Upon Ilithyïa withdrawing, Alcmena’s
  pains are assuaged, and Hercules is born. The Goddess, to punish
  Galanthis for her officiousness, transforms her into a weazel,
  a creature which was supposed to bring forth its young through its
  mouth.

Atlas was sensible[29] of this burden. Nor, as yet, had Eurystheus, the
son of Sthenelus, laid aside his wrath {against Hercules}; and, in his
fury, he vented his hatred for the father against his offspring. But the
Argive Alcmena, disquieted with prolonged anxieties {for her son} has
Iole, to whom to disclose the complaints of her old age, to whom to
relate the achievements of her son attested by {all} the world, or to
whom {to tell} her own misfortunes. At the command of Hercules, Hyllus
had received her both into his bed and his affections, and had filled
her womb with a noble offspring. To her, thus Alcmena began {her
story}:--

“May the Gods be propitious to thee at least; and may they shorten the
tedious hours, at the hour when, having accomplished thy time, thou
shalt be invoking Ilithyïa,[30] who presides over the trembling
parturient women; her whom the influence of Juno rendered inexorable to
myself. For, when now the natal hour of Hercules, destined for so many
toils, was at hand, and the tenth sign {of the Zodiac} was laden with
the {great} luminary, the heavy weight was extending my womb; and that
which I bore was so great, that you might {easily} pronounce Jupiter to
be the father of the concealed burden. And now I was no longer able to
endure my labours: even now, too, as I am speaking, a cold shudder
seizes my limbs, and a part of my pain is the remembrance of it.
Tormented for seven nights, and during as many days, tired out with
misery, and extending my arms towards heaven, with loud cries I used to
invoke Lucina and the two Nixi.[31] She came, indeed, but corrupted
beforehand, and she had the intention to give my life to the vengeful
Juno. And when she heard my groans, she seated herself upon that altar
before the door, and pressing her left knee with her right knee, her
fingers being joined together in {form of} a comb,[32] she retarded my
delivery; she uttered charms, too, in a low voice; and {those} charms
impeded the birth {now} begun. I struggled hard, and, in my frenzy,
I vainly uttered reproaches against the ungrateful Jupiter, and I
desired to die, and complained in words that would have moved {even} the
hard stones. The Cadmeian matrons attended me, and offered up vows, and
encouraged me in my pains.

“There was present one of my hand-maids of the lower class of people,
Galanthis {by name}, with yellow hair, {and} active in the execution of
my orders; one beloved for her good services. She perceived that
something unusual[33] was being done by the resentful Juno; and, while
she was often going in and out of the door, she saw the Goddess, sitting
upon the altar, and supporting her arms upon her knees, linked by the
fingers; and {then} she said, ‘Whoever thou art, congratulate my
mistress; the Argive Alcmena is delivered, and, having brought forth,
she has gained her wishes.’ The Goddess who presides[34] over pregnancy
leaped up, and, struck with surprise, loosened her joined hands.
I, myself, on the loosening of those bonds, was delivered. The story is,
that Galanthis laughed, upon deceiving the Divinity. The cruel Goddess
dragged her along {thus} laughing and seized by her very hair, and she
hindered her as she attempted to raise her body from the earth, and
changed her arms into fore feet.

“Her former activity {still} remains, and her back has not lost its
colour; {but} her shape is different from her former one. Because she
had assisted me in labour by a lying mouth, she brings forth from the
mouth,[35] and, just as before, she frequents my house.”

    [Footnote 29: _Atlas was sensible._--Ver. 273. By reason of his
    supporting the heavens, to the inhabitants of which Hercules was
    now added.]

    [Footnote 30: _Ilithyïa._--Ver. 283. This Goddess is said by some
    to have been the daughter of Jupiter and Juno, while other writers
    consider her to have been the same either with Diana, or Juno
    Lucina.]

    [Footnote 31: _The two Nixi._--Ver. 294. Festus says, ‘the three
    statues in the Capitol, before the shrine of Minerva, were called
    the Gods Nixii.’ Nothing whatever is known of these Gods, who
    appear to have been obstetrical Divinities. It has been suggested,
    as there were three of them, that the reading should be, not
    ‘Nixosque pares,’ but ‘Nixosque Lares,’ ‘and the Lares the Nixi.’]

    [Footnote 32: _Form of a comb._--Ver. 299. This charm probably was
    suggestive of difficult or impeded parturition, the bones of the
    pelvis being firmly knit together in manner somewhat resembling
    the fingers when inserted one between the other, instead of
    yielding for the passage of the infant. Pliny the Elder informs us
    how parturition may be impeded by the use of charms.]

    [Footnote 33: _Something unusual._--Ver. 309. ‘Nescio quid.’ This
    very indefinite phrase is repeatedly used by Ovid; and in such
    cases, it expresses either actual doubt or uncertainty, as in the
    present instance; or it is used to denote something remarkable or
    indescribable, or to show that a thing is insignificant, mean, and
    contemptible.]

    [Footnote 34: _Goddess who presides._--Ver. 315. This was
    Ilithyïa, or Lucina, who was acting as the emissary of Juno.]

    [Footnote 35: _From the mouth._--Ver. 323. This notion is supposed
    to have been grounded on the fact of the weasel (like many other
    animals) carrying her young in her mouth from place to place.]


EXPLANATION.

  According to Diodorus Siculus and Apollodorus, Amphitryon was the
  son of Alceus, the son of Perseus, and his wife, Alcmena, was the
  daughter of Electryon, also the son of Perseus; and thus they were
  cousins. When their marriage was about to take place, an unforeseen
  accident prevented it. Electryon, who was king of Mycenæ, being
  obliged to revenge the death of his children, whom the sons of
  Taphius, king of the Teleboans, had killed in combat, returned
  victorious, and brought back with him his flocks, which he had
  recovered from Taphius. Amphitryon, who went to meet his uncle, to
  congratulate him upon the success of his expedition, throwing his
  club at a cow, which happened to stray from the herd, unfortunately
  killed him. This accidental homicide lost him the kingdom of Mycenæ,
  which was to have formed the dower of Alcmena. Sthenelus, the
  brother of Electryon, taking advantage of the public indignation,
  which was the result of the accident, drove Amphitryon out of the
  country of Argos, and made himself master of his brother’s
  dominions, which he left, at his death, to his son Eurystheus, the
  inveterate persecutor of Hercules.

  Amphitryon, obliged to retire to Thebes, was there absolved by
  Creon; but when, as he thought, he was about to receive the hand of
  Alcmena, who accompanied him to the court of that prince, she
  declared that, not being satisfied with the revenge which her father
  had taken on the Teleboans, she would consent to be the prize of him
  who would undertake to declare war against them. Amphitryon accepted
  these conditions, and, forming an alliance with Creon, Cephalus, and
  some other princes, made a descent upon the islands which the enemy
  possessed, and, making himself master of them, bestowed one of them
  on his ally, Cephalus.

  It was during this war that Hercules came into the world; and
  whether Amphitryon had secretly consummated his marriage before his
  departure, or whether he had returned privately to Thebes, or to
  Tirynthus, where Hercules was said to have been born, it was
  published, that Jupiter, to deceive Alcmena, had taken the form of
  her husband, and was the father of the infant Hercules. If this is
  not the true explanation of the story, it may have been invented to
  conceal some intrigue in which Alcmena was detected; or, in process
  of time, to account for the extraordinary strength and valour of
  Hercules, it may have been said that Jupiter, and not Amphitryon,
  was the father of Hercules. Indeed, we find Seneca, in one of his
  Tragedies, putting these words into the mouth of Hercules:--
  ‘Whether all that has been said upon this subject be held as
  undoubted truth, or whether it proves to be but a fable, and that my
  father was, after all, in reality, but a mortal; my mother’s fault
  is sufficiently effaced by my valour, and I have merit sufficient to
  have had Jupiter for my father.’ The more readily, perhaps, to
  account for the transcendent strength and prowess of Hercules, the
  story was invented, that Jupiter made the night on which he was
  received by Alcmena under the form of Amphitryon, as long as three,
  or, according to Plautus, Hyginus, and Seneca, nine nights. Some
  writers say that Alcmena brought forth twins, one of which,
  Iphiclus, was the son of Amphitryon, while Hercules had Jupiter for
  his father.

  With respect to the metamorphosis of Galanthis, it is but a little
  episode here introduced by Ovid, to give greater plausibility to the
  other part of the story. It most probably originated in the
  resemblance of the names of that slave to that of the weazel, which
  the Greeks called γαλῆ. Ælian, indeed, tells us that the Thebans
  paid honour to that animal, because it had helped Alcmena in her
  labour. The more ancient poets also added, that Juno retarded the
  birth of Hercules till the mother of Eurystheus was delivered, which
  was the cause of his being the subject of that king; though others
  state that this came to pass by the command of the oracle of Delphi.
  This king of Mycenæ having ordered him to rid Greece of the numerous
  robbers and wild beasts that infested it, it is most probable that,
  as we learn from Dionysius of Halicarnassus, he performed this
  service at the head of the troops of Eurystheus. If this is the
  case, the persecutions which the poets have ascribed to the jealousy
  of Juno, really originated either in the policy or the jealousy of
  the court of Mycenæ.

  As Ovid has here cursorily taken notice of the labours of Hercules,
  we may observe, that it is very probable that his history is
  embellished with the pretended adventures of many persons who bore
  his name, and, perhaps, with those of others besides. Cicero, in his
  ‘Treatise on the Nature of the Gods,’ mentions six persons who bore
  the name of Hercules; and possibly, after a minute examination,
  a much greater number might be reckoned, many nations of antiquity
  having given the name to such great men of their own as had rendered
  themselves famous by their actions. Thus, we find one in Egypt in
  the time of Osiris, in Phœnicia, among the Gauls, in Spain, and in
  other countries. Confining ourselves to the Grecian Hercules,
  surnamed Alcides, we find that his exploits have generally been sung
  of by the poets, under the name of the Twelve Labours; but, on
  entering into the detail of them, we find them much more numerous.
  Killing some serpents in his youth, it was published, not only that
  he had done so, but that they had been sent by Juno for the purpose
  of destroying him. The forest of Nemea serving as a retreat for a
  great number of lions that ravaged the country, Hercules hunted
  them, and, killing the most furious of them, always wore his skin.

  Several thieves, having made the neighbourhood of Lake Stymphalus,
  in Arcadia, their resort, he freed the country of them; the nails
  and wings which the poets gave them, in representing them as birds,
  being typical of their voracity and activity. The marshes of Lerna,
  near Argos, were infested by great numbers of serpents, which, as
  fast as they were destroyed, were replaced by new swarms; draining
  the marshes, and, probably, setting fire to the adjacent thickets or
  jungles, he destroyed these pestilent reptiles, on which it was
  fabled that he had destroyed the Hydra of Lerna, with its heads,
  which grew as fast as they were cut off. The forest of Erymanthus
  was full of wild boars, which laid waste all the neighbouring
  country: he destroyed them all, and brought one with him to the
  court of Eurystheus, of a size so monstrous, that the king was
  alarmed on seeing it, and was obliged to run and hide himself.

  The stables of Augeas, king of Elis, were so filled with manure,
  by reason of the great quantity of oxen that he kept, that Hercules
  being called upon to cleanse them, employed his engineering skill in
  bringing the river Alpheus through them. Having pursued a hind for a
  whole year, which Eurystheus had commanded him to take, it was
  circulated, probably on account of her untiring swiftness, that she
  had feet of brass. The river Acheloüs having overflowed the adjacent
  country, he raised banks to it, as already mentioned. Theseus was a
  prisoner in Epirus, where he had been with Pirithous, to bring away
  the daughter of Aidoneus. Hercules delivered him; and that was the
  foundation of the Fable which said that he had gone down to Hades,
  or Hell. In the cavern of Tænarus there was a monstrous serpent;
  this he was ordered to kill, and, probably, this gave rise to the
  story of Cerberus being chained by him. Pelias having been killed by
  his daughters, his son Acastus pursued them to the court of Admetus,
  who, refusing to deliver up Alcestis, of whom he was enamoured, was
  taken prisoner in an engagement, and was delivered by that princess,
  who herself offered to be his ransom. Hercules being then in
  Thessaly, he took her away from Acastus, who was about to put her to
  death, and returned her to Admetus. This, probably, was the
  foundation of the fable which stated, that he had recovered her from
  the Infernal Regions, after having vanquished death, and bound him
  in chains.

  The Amazons were a nation of great celebrity in the time of
  Hercules, and their frequent victories had rendered them very
  formidable to their neighbours. Eurystheus ordered him to go and
  bring away the girdle of Hippolyta, or, in other words, to make war
  upon them, and to pillage their treasures. Embarking on the Euxine
  Sea, Hercules arrived on the banks of the Thermodon, and, giving
  battle to the female warriors, defeated them; killing some, and
  putting the rest to flight. He took Antiope, or Hippolyta, prisoner,
  whom he gave to Theseus; but her sister, Menalippa, redeemed herself
  by giving up the famous girdle, or, in other words, by paying a
  large ransom. It is very probable, that in that expedition, he slew
  Diomedes, the barbarous king of Thrace, and brought away his mares,
  which were said to have been fed by him on human flesh. In returning
  by way of Thessaly, he embarked in the expedition of the Argonauts;
  but, leaving them soon afterwards, he went to Troy, and delivered
  Hesione from the monster which was to have devoured her; but not
  receiving from Laomedon, the king, the recompense which had been
  promised him, he killed that prince, sacked the city, and brought
  away Hesione, whom he gave to Telamon, who had accompanied him on
  the expedition.

  This is probably the extent of the labours of Hercules in Greece,
  Thrace, and Phrygia. The poets have made him engage in many other
  laborious undertakings in distant countries, which most probably
  ought not to be attributed to the Grecian Hercules. Among other
  stories told of him, it is said, that having set out to fight with
  Geryon, the king of Spain, he was so much incommoded by the heat of
  the sun, that his wrath was excited against the luminary, and he
  fired his arrows at it, on which, the Sun, struck with admiration at
  his spirited conduct, made him a present of a golden goblet. After
  this, embarking and arriving in Spain, he defeated Geryon, a prince
  who was famed for having three heads, which probably either meant
  that he reigned over the three Balearic islands of Maiorca, Minorca,
  and Iviza, or else that Hercules defeated three princes who were
  strictly allied. Having thence passed the straits of Gibraltar to go
  over to Africa, he fought with the Giant Antæus, who sought to
  oppose his landing. That prince was said to be a son of the Earth,
  and was reported to recover fresh strength every time he was thrown
  on the ground; consequently, Hercules was obliged to hold him in his
  arms, till he had squeezed him to death. The solution of this fable
  is most probably that Antæus, always finding succour in a country
  where he was known as a powerful monarch, Hercules took measures to
  deprive him of aid, by engaging him in a sea fight, and thereby
  defeated him, without much trouble, as well as the Pygmies, who were
  probably some African tribes of stunted stature, who came to his
  assistance.

  Hercules, returning from these two expeditions, passed through Gaul
  with the herds of Geryon, and went into Italy, where Cacus,
  a celebrated robber, who had made the caverns of Mount Aventine his
  haunts, having stolen some of his oxen, he, with the assistance,
  according to Dionysius of Halicarnassus, of Evander and Faunus,
  destroyed him, and shared his spoils with his allies. In his journey
  from Africa, Hercules delivered Atlas from the enmity of Busiris,
  the tyrant of Egypt, whom he killed; and gave such good advice to
  the Mauritanian king, that it was said that he supported the heavens
  for some time on his own shoulders, to relieve those of Atlas. The
  latter, by way of acknowledgment of his services, made him a present
  of several fine sheep, or rather, according to Diodorus Siculus, of
  some orange and lemon trees, which he carried with him into Greece.
  These were represented as the golden apples watched by a dragon in
  the garden of the Hesperides. As the ocean there terminated the
  scene of his conquests, he was said to have raised two pillars on
  those shores, to signify the fact of his having been there, and the
  impossibility of proceeding any further.

  The deliverance of Prometheus, as already mentioned; the death of
  the two brothers, the Cercopes, famous robbers; the defeat of the
  Bull of Marathon; the death of Lygis, who disputed the passage of
  the Alps with him; that of the giant Alcyaneus, who hurled at him a
  stone so vast that it crushed twenty-four men to death; that of
  Eryx, king of Sicily, whom he killed with a blow of the cestus, for
  refusing to deliver to him the oxen which he had stolen; the combat
  with Cycnus, which was terminated by a peal of thunder, which
  separated the combatants; another combat against the Giants in Gaul,
  during which, as it was said, Jupiter rained down vast quantities of
  stones; all these are also attributed to Hercules, besides many more
  stories, which, if diligently collected, would swell to a large
  volume.

  The foregoing remarks on the history of Hercules, give us an insight
  into the ideas which, based upon the explanations given by the
  authors of antiquity, the Abbè Banier, one of the most accomplished
  scholars of his age, entertained on this subject. We will conclude
  with some very able and instructive remarks on this mythus, which we
  extract from Mr. Keightley’s Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy.
  He says--

  “Various theories have been formed respecting the mythus of
  Hercules. It is evidently one of very remote antiquity, long
  perhaps, anterior to the times of Homer. We confess that we cannot
  see any very valid reason for supposing no such real personage to
  have existed; for it will, perhaps, be found that mythology not
  unfrequently prefers to absolute fiction, the assuming of some real
  historic character, and making it the object of the marvels devised
  by lively and exuberant imagination, in order thereby to obtain more
  ready credence for the strange events which it creates. Such, then,
  may the real Hercules have been,--a Dorian, a Theban, or an Argive
  hero, whose feats of strength lived in the traditions of the people,
  and whom national vanity raised to the rank of a son of Zeus
  [Jupiter], and poetic fancy, as geographic knowledge extended, sent
  on journies throughout the known world, and accumulated in his
  person the fabled exploits of similar heroes of other regions.

  “We may perceive, by the twelve tasks, that the astronomical theory
  was applied to the mythus of the hero, and that he was regarded as a
  personification of the Sun, which passes through the twelve signs of
  the Zodiac. This, probably, took place during the Alexandrian
  period. Some resemblance between his attributes and those of the
  Deity, with whom the Egyptian priests were pleased to identify him,
  may have given occasion to this notion; and he also bore some
  similitude to the God whom the Phœnicians chiefly worshipped, and
  who, it is probable, was the Sun. But we must steadily bear in mind,
  that Hercules was a hero in the popular legend long before any
  intercourse was opened between Greece and Egypt; and that, however
  (which is certainly not very likely) a God might be introduced from
  Phœnicia, the same could hardly be the case with a popular
  hero.--A very ingenious theory on the mythus of Hercules is given by
  Buttmann (Mythologus, vol. i., p. 246). Though acknowledging that
  Perseus, Theseus, and Hercules may have been real persons, he is
  disposed, from an attentive consideration of all the circumstances
  in the mythus of the last, to regard him as one of those poetical
  persons or personifications, who, as he says, have obtained such
  firm footing in the dark periods of antiquity, as to have acquired
  the complete air of historic personages.

  “In his view of the life of Hercules, it is a mythus of extreme
  antiquity and great beauty, setting forth the ideal of human
  perfection, consecrated to the weal of mankind, or rather, in its
  original form, to that of his own nation. This perfection, according
  to the ideas of the heroic age, consists in the greatest bodily
  strength, united with the advantages of mind and soul recognised by
  that age. Such a hero is, he says, a man; but these noble qualities
  in him are of divine origin. He is, therefore, the son of the king
  of the Gods by a mortal mother. To render his perfection the more
  manifest, the Poet makes him to have a twin brother, the child of a
  mortal sire. As virtue is not to be learned, Hercules exhibits his
  strength and courage in infancy; he strangles the snakes, which
  fills his brother with terror. The character of the hero throughout
  life, as that of the avenger of injustice and punisher of evil, must
  exhibit itself in the boy as the wild instinct of nature; and the
  mythus makes him kill his tutor Linus with a blow of the lyre. When
  sent away by Amphitryon, he prepares himself, in the stillness and
  solitude of the shepherd’s life, by feats of strength and courage,
  for his future task of purifying the earth of violence.

  “--The number of tasks may not originally have been twelve, though
  most accounts agree in that number, but they were all of a nature
  agreeable to the ideas of an heroic age--the destruction of
  monsters, and bringing home to his own country the valuable
  productions of other regions. These are, however, regarded by
  Buttmann as being chiefly allegorical. The Hydra, for instance,
  he takes to have been meant to represent the evils of democratic
  anarchy, with its numerous heads, against which, though one may not
  be able to effect anything, yet the union of even two may suffice to
  become dominant over it.

  “The toils of the hero conclude with the greatest and most rare of
  all in the heroic age--the conquest over death. This is represented
  by his descent into the under world, and dragging Cerberus to light
  is a proof of his victory. In the old mythus, he was made to engage
  with and wound Hades; and the Alcestis of Euripides exhibits him in
  conflict with Death. But virtue, to be a useful example, must
  occasionally succumb to human weakness in the power of the evil
  principle. Hence, Hercules falls into fits of madness, sent on him
  by Hera [Juno]; and hence--he becomes the willing slave of Omphale,
  the fair queen of Lydia, and changes his club and lion’s skin for
  the distaff and the female robe.

  “The mythus concludes most nobly with the assumption of the hero
  into Olympus. His protecting Deity abandons him to the power of his
  persevering enemy; his mortal part is consumed by fire, the fiercest
  of elements; his shade (εἴδωλον), like those of other men, descends
  to the realms of Hades, while the divine portion himself (αὐτὸς)
  mounts from the pyre in a thunder-cloud, and the object of Hera’s
  persecution being now accomplished, espouses youth, the daughter of
  his reconciled foe.

  “Muller (Dorians, vol. i. part ii. ch. 11, 12) is also disposed to
  view in Hercules a personification of the highest powers of man in
  the heroic age. He regards him as having been the national hero of
  the Dorian race, and appropriates to him all the exploits of the
  hero in Thessaly, Ætolia, and Epirus, which last place he supposes
  to have been the original scene of the Geryoneia, which was
  afterwards transformed to the western stream of the ocean. He
  thinks, however, that the Argives had an ancient hero of perhaps the
  same name, to whom the Peloponnesus adventures belong, and whom the
  Dorians combined with their own hero. The servitude to Eurystheus,
  and the enmity of Hera, he looks on as inventions of the Dorians to
  justify their own invasion of the Peloponnesus. This critic also
  proves that the Theban Hercules had nothing to do with the Gods and
  traditions of the Cadmeians; and he thinks that it was the Dorian
  Heracleides who introduced the knowledge of him into Thebes, or that
  he came from Delphi with the worship of Apollo, a Deity with whom,
  as the tutelar God of the Dorians, he supposes their national hero
  to have been closely connected.”


FABLE IV. [IX.324-425]

  The Nymph Lotis, pursued by Priapus, in her flight, is changed into
  a tree. Dryope, going to sacrifice to the Naiads at the same spot,
  and ignorant of the circumstance, breaks a branch off the tree for
  her child, which she is carrying with her, and is subjected to a
  similar transformation. While Iole is relating these circumstances
  to Alcmena, she is surprised to see her brother Iolaüs restored to
  youth. The Poet here introduces the prediction of Themis concerning
  the children of Calirrhoë.

Thus she said; and, moved by the remembrance of her old servant, she
heaved a deep sigh. Her daughter-in-law[36] addressed her, thus
grieving. “Even her form being taken away from one that was an alien to
thy blood, affects thee, O mother. What if I were to relate to thee the
wondrous fate of my own sister? although tears and sorrow hinder me, and
forbid me to speak. Dryope, the most remarkable for her beauty of the
Œchalian maids, was the only daughter of her mother ({for} my father had
me by another {wife}). Deprived of her virginity, and having suffered
violence from the God that owns Delphi and Delos, Andræmon married her,
and he was esteemed fortunate in his wife.

“There is a lake that gives the appearance of a sloping shore, by its
shelving border; groves of myrtle crown the upper part. Hither did
Dryope come, unsuspecting of her fate; and, that thou mayst be the more
indignant {at her lot}, she was about to offer garlands to the Nymphs.
In her bosom, too, she was bearing her son, who had not yet completed
his first year, a pleasing burden; and she was nursing him, with the
help of {her} warm milk. Not far from the lake was blooming a watery
lotus that vied with the Tyrian tints, in hope of {future} berries.
Dryope had plucked thence some flowers, which she might give as
playthings to her child; and I, too, was just on the point of doing the
same; for I was present. I saw bloody drops fall from the flower, and
the boughs shake with a tremulous quivering; for, as the swains say,
now, at length, too late {in their information}, the Nymph Lotis, flying
from the lust of Priapus,[37] had transferred her changed form into this
{plant}, her name being {still} preserved.

“Of this my sister was ignorant. When, in her alarm, she is endeavouring
to retire and to depart, having adored the Nymphs, her feet are held
fast by a root. She strives hard to tear them up, but she moves nothing
except her upper parts. From below, a bark slowly grows up, and, by
degrees, it envelopes the whole of her groin. When she sees this,
endeavouring to tear her hair with her hands, she fills her hand with
leaves, {for} leaves are covering all her head. But the boy Amphissos
(for his grandfather Eurytus gave him this name) feels his mother’s
breast growing hard; nor does the milky stream follow upon his sucking.
I was a spectator of thy cruel destiny, and I could give thee no help,
my sister; and {yet}, as long as I could, I delayed the growing trunk
and branches by embracing them; and, I confess it, I was desirous to be
hidden beneath the same bark. Behold! her husband Andræmon and her most
wretched father[38] appear, and inquire for Dryope: on their inquiring
for Dryope, I show them the lotus. They give kisses to the wood {still}
warm {with life}, and, extended {on the ground}, they cling to the roots
of their own tree. {And} now, dear sister, thou hadst nothing except thy
face, that was not tree. Tears drop upon the leaves made out of thy
changed body; and, while she can, and {while} her mouth gives passage to
her voice, she pours forth such complaints {as these} into the air:--

“‘If any credit {is to be given} to the wretched, I swear by the Deities
that I merited not this cruel usage. I suffer punishment without a
crime. I lived in innocence; if I am speaking false, withered away, may
I lose the leaves which I bear, and, cut down with axes, may I be burnt.
Yet take this infant away from the branches of his mother, and give him
to his nurse; and often, beneath my tree, make him drink milk, and
beneath my tree let him play; and, when he shall be able to speak, make
him salute his mother, and let him in sadness say, ‘Beneath this trunk
is my mother concealed.’ Yet let him dread the ponds, and let him not
pluck flowers from the trees; and let him think that all shrubs are the
bodies of Goddesses. Farewell, dear husband; and thou, sister; and,
{thou} my father; in whom, if there is any affection {towards me},
protect my branches from the wounds of the sharp pruning-knife, {and}
from the bite of the cattle. And since it is not allowed me to bend down
towards you, stretch your limbs up hither, and come near for my kisses,
while they can {still} be reached, and lift up my little son. More I
cannot say. For the soft bark is now creeping along my white neck, and I
am being enveloped at the top of my head. Remove your hands from my
eyes;[39] {and}, without your help, let the bark, closing over them,
cover my dying eyes.’ Her mouth ceased at once to speak, at once to
exist; and long after her body was changed, were her newly formed
branches {still} warm.”

And {now}, while Iole was relating the wretched fate of her sister, and
while Alcmena was drying away the tears of the daughter of Eurytus, with
her fingers applied {to her face}, and still she herself was weeping,
a novel event hushed all their sorrow; for Iolaüs[40] stood at the lofty
threshold, almost a boy {again}, and covering his cheeks with a down
almost imperceptible, having his visage changed to {that of} the first
years {of manhood}. Hebe, the daughter of Juno had granted him this
favour, overcome by the solicitations of her husband. When she was about
to swear that she would hereafter grant such favours to no one, Themis
did not allow her. “For now,” said she, “Thebes is commencing civil
warfare,[41] and Capaneus will not be able to be overcome, except by
Jupiter, and the two brothers will engage in bloody combat, and the
earth dividing, the prophet {Amphiaraüs} will see his {destined} shades,
while he still lives;[42] and the son avenging one parent, by {the death
of} the {other} parent, will be dutiful and wicked in the same action;
and confounded by his misfortunes, deprived both of his reason and of
his home, he will be persecuted both by the features of the Eumenides,
and by the ghost of his mother; until his wife shall call upon him for
the fatal gold, and the Phegeïan sword shall stab the side of their
kinsman. Then, at last, shall Calirrhoë, the daughter of Acheloüs,
suppliantly ask of mighty Jupiter these years {of youth} for her infant
sons. Jupiter, concerned {for them}, will prescribe for them the
{peculiar} gift of her who is {both} his step-daughter and his
daughter-in-law,[43] and will make them men in their years of
childhood.”

When Themis, foreseeing the future, had said these words with prophetic
voice, the Gods above murmured in varying discourse; and the complaint
was,[44] why it might not be allowed others to grant the same gifts.
{Aurora}, the daughter of Pallas, complained of the aged years of her
husband; the gentle Ceres complained that Iäsion[45] was growing grey;
Mulciber demanded for Ericthonius a life to live over again; a concern
for the future influenced Venus, too, and she made an offer to renew the
years of Anchises.

    [Footnote 36: _Her daughter-in-law._--Ver. 325. Iole was the wife
    of Hyllus, the son of Deïanira, by Hercules.]

    [Footnote 37: _Lust of Priapus._--Ver. 347. ‘Fugiens obscœna
    Priapi,’ is rendered by Clarke, ‘Flying from the nasty attempts of
    Priapus upon her.’]

    [Footnote 38: _Most wretched father._--Ver. 363. Eurytus was the
    father of Dryope.]

    [Footnote 39: _From my eyes._--Ver. 390. This alludes to the
    custom among the ancients of closing the eyes of the dying, which
    duty was performed by the nearest relations, who, closing the eyes
    and mouth, called upon the dying person by name, and exclaimed
    ‘Vale,’ ‘farewell.’]

    [Footnote 40: _Iolaüs._--Ver. 399. He was the son of Iphiclus, the
    brother of Hercules. See the Explanation in the next page.]

    [Footnote 41: _Civil warfare._--Ver. 404. This alludes to the
    Theban war, carried on between Eteocles and Polynices, the sons of
    Œdipus and Jocasta. Agreeing to reign in alternate years, Eteocles
    refused to give place to his brother when his year had terminated,
    on which Polynices fled to the court of Adrastus, king of Argos,
    and raised troops against his brother.]

    [Footnote 42: _While he still lives._--Ver. 407. This was
    Amphiaraüs, the son of Œcleus, and Hypermnestra, who was betrayed
    by his wife Eriphyle.]

    [Footnote 43: _Daughter-in-law._--Ver. 415. Hebe, the Goddess of
    Youth, was the daughter of Juno alone, without the participation
    of Jupiter; and from this circumstance she is styled the
    step-daughter of Jupiter. She was also his daughter-in-law on
    becoming the wife of Hercules.]

    [Footnote 44: _The complaint was._--Ver. 420. ‘Murmur erat,’ is
    rendered by Clarke, ‘The grumbling was, why, &c.’]

    [Footnote 45: _Iäsion._--Ver. 422. Iäsius, or Iäsion, was the son
    of Jupiter and Electra, and was the father of Plutus, the God of
    Riches, by the Goddess Cybele.]


EXPLANATION.

  The adventure of Dryope is one of those narratives which have no
  connexion with the main story which the Poet is relating, and, if
  really founded on fact, it would almost baffle any attempt to guess
  at its origin. It is, most probably, built entirely upon the name of
  the damsel who was said to have met with the untimely and unnatural
  fate so well depicted by the Poet.

  The name of Dryope comes, very probably, from the Greek word Δρῦς,
  ‘an oak,’ which tree has a considerable resemblance to the lotus
  tree. If we seek for an historical solution, perhaps Dryope was
  punished for attempting to profane a tree consecrated to the Gods,
  a crime of which Erisicthon was guilty, and for which he was so
  signally punished. All the particulars that we know of Dryope are,
  that she was the daughter of Eurytus, and the sister of Iole; and
  that she was the wife of Andræmon.

  Ovid says, that while Iole was relating this adventure to Alcmena,
  Iolaüs, who, according to some, was the son of Hercules, by Hebe,
  after his apotheosis, and, according to others, was the son of
  Iphiclus, the brother of Hercules, became young, at the intercession
  of that Goddess, who had appeased Juno. This was, probably, no other
  than a method of accounting for the great age to which and
  individual of the name of Iolaüs had lived.

  Ovid then passes on to the surprising change in the children of
  Calirrhoë, the outline of which the story may be thus
  explained:--Amphiaraüs, foreseeing, (by the aid of the prophetic
  art, as we learn from Homer, Diodorus Siculus, Pliny and Statius),
  that the civil wars of Thebes, his native country, would prove fatal
  to him, retired from the court of Adrastus, King of Argos, whose
  sister he had married, to conceal himself in some place of safety.
  The Argives, to whom the oracle had declared, that Thebes could not
  be taken unless they had Amphiaraüs with their troops, searched for
  him in every direction; but their labour would have been in vain, if
  Eriphyle, his wife, gained by a necklace of great value, which her
  brother Adrastus gave her, had not discovered where he was.
  Discovered in his retreat, Amphiaraüs accompanied the Argives, and
  while, according to the rules of the soothsaying art, he was
  observing a flight of birds, in order to derive an augury from it,
  his horses fell down a precipice, and he lost his life. Statius and
  other writers, to describe this event in a poetical manner, say that
  the earth opened and swallowed up him and his chariot.

  Amphiaraüs had engaged his son Alcmæon, in case he lost his life in
  the war, to kill Eriphyle; which injunction he performed as soon as
  he heard of the death of his father. Alcmæon, going to the court of
  Phegeus, to receive expiation for his crime, and to deliver himself
  from the persecution of the Furies, or, in other words, by the
  ceremonial of expiation, to tranquillize his troubled conscience,
  that prince received him with kindness, and gave him his daughter
  Alphesibæa in marriage. Alcmæon made her a present of his mother
  Eriphyle’s necklace; but, having afterwards repudiated her to marry
  Calirrhoë, or Arsinoë, the daughter of Acheloüs, he went to demand
  the necklace from his brothers-in-law, who assassinated him.
  Amphiterus and Acarnanus, who were his sons by Calirrhoë, revenged
  the death of their father when they were very young; and this it is,
  possibly, which is meant by the Poet when he says that the Goddess
  Hebe augmented the number of their years, the purpose being, to put
  them speedily in a position to enable them to avenge the death of
  their father.

  Thus we see, that Iolaüs was, like Æson, who also renewed his youth,
  a person who, in his old age, gave marks of unusual vigour; while in
  Amphiterus and Arcananus, to whom Hebe added years, are depicted two
  young men, who, by a deed of blood, exacted retribution for the
  death of their father, at a time when they were in general only
  looked upon as mere children.


FABLE V. [IX.426-665]

  Byblis falls in love with her brother Caunus, and her passion is
  inflamed to such a degree, that he is obliged to leave his native
  country, to avoid any encouragement of her incestuous flame. On
  this, she follows him; and, in her way through Caria, she is changed
  into a fountain.

Every God has[46] some one to favour; and their jarring discord is
increasing by their {various} interests, until Jupiter opens his mouth,
and says, “O, if you have any regard for me, to what rash steps are you
proceeding? Does any one {of you} seem to himself so powerful as to
overcome even the Fates? By the Fates has Iolaüs returned to those years
which he has spent; by the Fates ought the sons of Calirrhoë to become
young men, {and} not by ambition or by dint of arms. And do you, too,
endure this as well with more contented mind, {for} even me do the Fates
govern; could I but change them, declining years should not be making my
{son} Æacus to bend {beneath them}; and Rhadamanthus should have the
everlasting flower of age, together with my {son}, Minos, who is {now}
looked down upon on account of the grievous weight of old age, and does
not reign with the dignity with which once {he did}.”

The words of Jupiter influenced the Divinities; and no one continued to
complain when they saw Rhadamanthus and Æacus, and Minos, weary with
years; {Minos}, who, when he was in the prime of life, had alarmed great
nations with his very name. Then, {however}, he was enfeebled by age,
and was alarmed by Miletus, the son of Deione,[47] exulting in the
strength of youth, and in Phœbus as his sire; and {though} believing
that he was aiming at his kingdom, still he did not dare to drive him
away from his native home. Of thy own accord, Miletus, thou didst fly,
and in the swift ship thou didst pass over the Ægean waters, and in the
land of Asia didst build a city, bearing the name of its founder. Here
Cyane, the daughter of {the river} Mæander, that so often returns to the
same place, while she was following the windings of her father’s bank,
of a body excelling in beauty, being known by thee, brought forth a
double offspring, Byblis, with Caunus, {her brother}.

Byblis is an example that damsels {only} ought to love what it is
allowed them {to love}; Byblis, seized with a passion for her brother,
the descendant of Apollo, loved him not as a sister {loves} a brother,
nor in such manner as she ought. At first, indeed, she understands
nothing of the flame, and she does not think[48] that she is doing wrong
in so often giving him kisses, {and} in throwing her arms round the neck
of her brother; and for a long time she {herself} is deceived, by this
resemblance of natural affection. By degrees this affection degenerates,
and decked out, she comes to see her brother, and is too anxious to
appear beautiful; and if there is any woman there more beautiful, she
envies her. But, as yet she is not fully discovered to herself, and
under that flame conceives no wishes; but still, inwardly she is
agitated. At one moment she calls him sweetheart,[49] at another, she
hates the mention of his relationship; and now she prefers that he
should call her Byblis, rather than sister. Still, while awake, she does
not dare admit any criminal hopes into her mind; {but} when dissolved in
soft sleep, she often sees the {object} which she is in love with. She
seems to be even embracing her brother, and she blushes, though she is
lying buried in sleep. Slumber departs; for a long time she is silent,
and she recalls to {memory} the appearance of her dream, and thus she
speaks with wavering mind:

“Ah, wretched me! What means this vision of the silent night? How far am
I from wishing it real. Why have I seen this dream? He is, indeed,
beautiful, even to envious eyes. He pleases me, too; and were he not my
brother, I could love him, and he would be worthy of me. But it is my
misfortune that I am his sister. So long as I strive, while awake,
to commit no such {attempt}, let sleep often return with the like
appearance. No witness is there in sleep; and yet there is the
resemblance of the delight. O Venus and winged Cupid, together with thy
voluptuous mother, how great the joys I experienced! how substantial the
transport which affected me! How I lay dissolved {in delight} throughout
my whole marrow! How pleasing to remember it; although short-lived was
that pleasure, and the night sped onward rapidly, and was envious of my
attempts {at bliss}. Oh, could I only be united {to thee}, by changing
my name, how happily, Caunus, could I become the daughter-in-law of thy
father! how happily, Caunus, couldst thou become the son-in-law of my
father! O, that the Gods would grant that all things were in common with
us, except our ancestors. Would that thou wast more nobly born than
myself. For this reason then, most beauteous one, thou wilt make some
stranger, whom I know not, a mother; but to me, who have unhappily got
the same parents as thyself, thou wilt be nothing {more} than a brother.
That {tie} alone we shall have, which bars all else. What, then, do my
visions avail me? And what weight have dreams? And do dreams have any
weight? The Gods {fare} better; for the Gods have their own sisters {in
marriage}. Thus Saturn married Ops,[50] related to him by blood; Ocean
Tethys, the ruler of Olympus Juno. The Gods above have their privileges.
Why do I attempt to reduce human customs to the rule of divine
ordinances, and those so different? Either this forbidden flame shall be
expelled from my heart, or if I cannot effect that, I pray that I may
first perish, and that when dead I may be laid out on my bed, and that
my brother may give me kisses as I lie. And besides, this matter
requires the inclination of us both; suppose it pleases me; to him it
will seem to be a crime. But the sons of Æolus[51] did not shun the
embraces of their sisters. But whence have I known of these? Why have I
furnished myself with these precedents? Whither am I hurried onward? Far
hence begone, ye lawless flames! and let not my brother be loved by me,
but as it is lawful for a sister {to love him}. But yet, if he had been
first seized with a passion for me, perhaps I might have indulged his
desires. Am I then, myself, to court him, whom I would not have
rejected, had he courted me? And canst thou speak out? And canst thou
confess it? Love will compel me. I can. Or if shame shall restrain my
lips, a private letter shall confess the latent flame.”

This thought pleases her, this determines her wavering mind. She raises
herself on her side, and leaning on her left elbow, she says, “He shall
see it; let me confess my frantic passion. Ah, wretched me! How am I
degrading myself! What flame is my mind {now} kindling!” And {then},
with trembling hand, she puts together the words well weighed. Her right
hand holds the iron {pen}, the other, clean wax tablets.[52] She begins,
and {then} she hesitates; she writes, and {then} corrects what is
written; she marks, and {then} scratches out; she alters, and condemns,
and approves; and one while she throws them down when taken up, and at
another time, she takes them up again, when thrown aside. What she would
have, she knows not. Whatever she seems on the point of doing, is not to
her taste. In her features are assurance mingled with shame. {The word}
‘sister’ is written; it seems {as well} to efface {the word} ‘sister,’
and {then} to write such words as these upon the smoothed wax: “Thy
lover wishes thee that health which she, herself, is not to enjoy,
unless thou shalt grant it. I am ashamed! Oh, I am ashamed to disclose
my name! and shouldst thou inquire what it is I wish; without my
name[53] could I wish my cause to be pleaded, and that I might not be
known as Byblis, until the hopes of {enjoying} my desires were realized.
There might have been as a proof to thee of my wounded heart, my {pale}
complexion, my falling away, my {downcast} looks, and my eyes often wet
with tears, sighs, too, fetched without any seeming cause; frequent
embraces too, and kisses, which, if perchance thou didst observe, could
not be deemed to be those of a sister. Still I, myself, though I had a
grievous wound in my soul, {and} although there was a raging fire
within, have done everything, as the Gods are my witnesses, that at last
I might be cured; and long, in my wretchedness, have I struggled to
escape the ruthless weapon of Cupid; and I have endured more hardships
than thou wouldst believe that a maiden could endure.

“Vanquished {at length}, I am forced to own {my passion}; and with
timorous prayers, to entreat thy aid. Thou alone canst save, thou
destroy, one who loves thee. Choose which thou wilt do. She is not thy
enemy who begs this; but one who, though most nearly connected with
thee, desires to be still more closely connected, and to be united to
thee in a nearer tie. Let aged men be acquainted with ordinances, and
make inquiry what is lawful, and what is wicked, and what is proper; and
let them employ themselves in considering the laws. A passion that dares
all consequences is suited to our years. As yet, we know not what is
lawful, and we believe that all things are lawful, and {so} follow the
example of the great Gods. Neither a severe father, nor regard for
character, nor fear, shall restrain us, {if} only the cause for fearing
is removed. Under a brother’s name will we conceal our stolen joys {so}
sweet. I have the liberty of conversing with thee in private; and {even}
before others do we give embraces, and exchange kisses. How little is it
that is wanting! do have pity on the love of her who confesses it, and
who would not confess it, did not extreme passion compel her; and merit
not to be inscribed on my tomb as the cause {of my death}.”

The filled tablets fall short for her hand, as it vainly inscribes such
words as these, and the last line is placed in the margin.[54] At once
she seals up her own condemnation, with the impress of a signet, which
she wets with her tears, {for} the moisture has deserted her tongue.
Filled with shame, she {then} calls one of her male domestics, and
gently addressing him in timorous tones, she said, “Carry these, most
trusty one, to my,” and, after a long pause, she added, “brother.” While
she was delivering them, the tablets, slipping from her hands, fell
down. She was shocked by this omen, but still she sent them. The
servant, having got a fit opportunity, goes {to her brother} and
delivers the secret writing. The Mæandrian youth,[55] seized with sudden
anger, throws away the tablets {so} received, when he has read a part;
and, with difficulty withholding his hands from the face of the
trembling servant, he says, “Fly hence, O thou accursed pander to
forbidden lust, who shouldst have given me satisfaction by thy death,
if {it was} not {that} thy destruction would bring disgrace on my
character.” Frightened, he hastens away, and reports to his mistress the
threatening expressions of Caunus. Thou, Byblis, on hearing of his
refusal, turnest pale, and thy breast, beset with an icy chill, is
struck with alarm; yet when thy senses return, so, too, does thy frantic
passion return, and thy tongue with difficulty utters such words as
these, the air being struck {by thy accents}:

“And deservedly {am I thus treated}; for why, in my rashness, did I make
the discovery of this wound? why have I so speedily committed words to a
hasty letter, which ought {rather} to have been concealed? The feelings
of his mind ought first to have been tried beforehand by me, with
ambiguous expressions. Lest he should not follow me in my course,
I ought, with some part of my sail[56] {only}, to have observed what
kind of a breeze it was, and to have scudded over the sea in safety;
{whereas}, now, I have filled my canvass with winds {before} untried.
I am driven upon rocks in consequence; and sunk, I am buried beneath the
whole ocean, and my sails have {now} no retreat. And besides, was I not
forbidden, by unerring omens, to indulge my passion, at the time when
the waxen {tablets} fell, as I ordered him to deliver them, and made my
hopes sink to the ground? and ought not either the day to have been
changed, or else my whole intentions; but rather, {of the two},[57] the
day? {Some} God himself warned me, and gave me unerring signs, if I had
not been deranged; and yet I ought to have spoken out myself, and not to
have committed myself to writing, and personally {I ought} to have
discovered my passion; {then} he would have seen my tears, {then} he
would have seen the features of her who loved him; I might have given
utterance to more than what the letter contained. I might have thrown my
arms around his reluctant neck, and have embraced his feet, and lying
{on the ground}, I might have begged for life; and if I had been
repelled, I might have seemed on the point of death. All this, {I say},
I might {then} have done; if each of these things could not {singly}
have softened his obdurate feelings, {yet} all of them might.

“Perhaps, too, there may be some fault in the servant that was sent.
He did not wait on him at a convenient moment; he did not choose,
I suppose, a fitting time; nor did he request both the hour and his
attention to be disengaged. ’Tis this that has undone me; for he was not
born of a tigress, nor does he carry in his breast hard flints, or solid
iron, or adamant; nor yet did he suck the milk of a lioness. He will
{yet} be won. Again must he be attacked.[58] And no weariness will I
admit of in {the accomplishment of} my design, so long as this breath
{of mine} shall remain. For the best thing (if I could {only} recall
what has been destined) would have been, not to have made the attempt;
the next best thing is, to urge the accomplishment of what is begun; for
he cannot (suppose I were to relinquish my design) ever be unmindful of
this my attempt; and because I have desisted, I shall appear to have
desired for but an instant, or even to have been trying him, and to have
solicited him with the intention to betray; or, at least, I shall be
thought not to have been overcome by this God, who with such intensity
{now} burns, and has burnt my breast, but rather by lust. In fine,
I cannot now be guiltless of a wicked deed; I have both written {to
him}, and I have solicited {him}; my inclination has been defiled.
Though I were to add nothing more, I cannot be pronounced innocent: as
to what remains, {’twill add} much to {the gratifying of} my wishes,
{but} little to my criminality.”

{Thus} she says; and (so great is the unsteadiness of her wavering mind)
though she is loath to try him, she has a wish to try him, and she
exceeds {all} bounds, and, to her misery, exposes herself to be often
repulsed. At length, when there is {now} no end {to this}, he flies from
his country and {the commission of} this crime, and founds a new
city[59] in a foreign land. But then, they say that the daughter of
Miletus, in her sadness, was bereft of all understanding. Then did she
tear her garments away from her breast, and in her frenzy beat her arms.
And now she is openly raving, and she proclaims the unlawful hopes of
{unnatural} lust. Deprived of these {hopes}, she deserts her native
land, and her hated home, and follows the steps of her flying brother.
And as the Ismarian[60] Bacchanals, son of Semele, aroused by thy
thyrsus, celebrate thy triennial festivals, as they return, no otherwise
did the Bubasian matrons[61] see Byblis howling over the wide fields;
leaving which, she wandered through {the country of} the Carians, and
the warlike Leleges,[62] and Lycia.

And now she has left behind Cragos,[63] and Lymira,[64] and the waves of
Xanthus, and the mountain in which the Chimæra had fire in its middle
parts, the breast and the face of a lioness, and the tail of a serpent.
The woods {at length} fail thee; when thou, Byblis, wearied with
following him, dost fall down, and laying thy tresses upon the hard
ground, art silent, and dost press the fallen leaves with thy face.
Often, too, do the Lelegeïan Nymphs endeavour to raise her in their
tender arms; often do they advise her to curb her passion, and they
apply consolation to a mind insensible {to their advice}. Silent does
Byblis lie, and she tears the green herbs with her nails, and waters the
grass with the stream of her tears. They say that the Naiads placed
beneath these {tears} a channel which could never become dry; and what
greater gift had they to bestow? Immediately, as drops from the cut bark
of the pitch tree, or as the viscid bitumen distils from the impregnated
earth, or as water which has frozen with the cold, at the approach of
Favonius, gently blowing, melts away in the sun, so is Byblis, the
descendant of Phœbus, dissolving in her tears, changed into a fountain,
which even now, in those vallies, bears the name of its mistress, and
flows beneath a gloomy oak.

    [Footnote 46: _Every God has._--Ver. 425-6. ‘Cui studeat, Deus
    omnis habet crescitque favore Turbida seditio.’ Clarke thus
    renders these words, ‘Every God has somebody to stickle for, and a
    turbulent sedition arises by their favours for their darlings.’]

    [Footnote 47: _Son of Deione._--Ver. 442. According to some
    writers, Miletus was the son of Apollo and Deione, though others
    say that Thia was the name of his mother. He was the founder of
    the celebrated city of Miletus, in Caria, a country of Asia
    Minor.]

    [Footnote 48: _Does not think._--Ver. 457. Clarke translates this
    line, ‘Nor does she think she does amiss that she so often tips
    him a kiss.’ Antoninus Liberalis says, that Eidothea, the daughter
    of the king of Paria, and not Cyane, was the mother of Byblis and
    Caunus.]

    [Footnote 49: _Sweetheart._--Ver. 465. The word ‘dominus’ was
    often used as a term of endearment between lovers.]

    [Footnote 50: _Married Ops._--Ver. 497. Ops, the daughter of Cœlus
    or Uranus, who was also called Cybele, Rhea, and ‘the great
    Mother,’ was fabled to have been the wife of her brother Saturn;
    while Oceanus, the son of Cœlus and Vesta, married his sister
    Tethys.]

    [Footnote 51: _Sons of Æolus._--Ver. 506. Æolus had six sons, to
    whom he was said to have given their sisters for wives. In the
    case, however, of his daughter Canace, who was pregnant by her
    brother Macareus, Æolus was more severe, as he sent her a sword,
    with which to put herself to death.]

    [Footnote 52: _Clean wax tablets._--Ver. 521. Before the tablet
    was written upon, the wax was ‘vacua,’ empty; or, as we say of
    writing-paper, ‘clean.’ There was a blunt end to the upper part of
    the ‘stylus,’ or iron pen, with which the wax was smoothed down
    when any writing was erased.]

    [Footnote 53: _Without my name._--Ver. 531-2. ‘Sine nomine vellem
    Posset agi mea causa meo,’ is rendered by Clarke, ‘I could wish my
    business might be transacted without my name.’]

    [Footnote 54: _In the margin._--Ver. 564. Clarke translates,
    ‘Summusque in margine versus adhæsit,’ ‘And the last line was
    clapped into the margin.’]

    [Footnote 55: _Meandrian youth._--Ver. 573. Caunus was the
    grandson of the river Mæander.]

    [Footnote 56: _Part of my sail._--Ver. 589. She borrows this
    metaphor from sailors, who, before setting out, sometimes unfurl a
    little portion of the sail, to see how the wind blows.]

    [Footnote 57: _Rather of the two._--Ver. 598. Willing to believe
    anything in the wrong rather than herself; she is sure that the
    day was an unlucky one.]

    [Footnote 58: _Be attacked._--Ver. 615. ‘Repeteudas erit,’ Clarke
    translates, ‘I must at him again.’]

    [Footnote 59: _Founds a new city._--Ver. 633. This was Caunus,
    a city of Caria.]

    [Footnote 60: _Ismarian._--Ver. 641. Ismarus was a mountain of
    Thrace. The festival here alluded to was the ‘trieterica,’ or
    triennial feast of Bacchus.]

    [Footnote 61: _Bubasian matrons._--Ver. 643. We learn from Pliny
    the Elder that Bubasus was a region of Caria.]

    [Footnote 62: _Leleges._--Ver. 644. The Leleges were a warlike
    people of Caria, in Asia Minor, who were supposed to have sprung
    from Grecian emigrants, who first inhabited the adjacent island,
    and afterwards the continent. They were said to have their name
    from the Greek word λελεγμένοι ‘gathered,’ because they were
    collected from various places.]

    [Footnote 63: _Cragos._--Ver. 645. Cragos was a mountain of
    Lycia.]

    [Footnote 64: _Lymira._--Ver. 645. This was a city of Lycia, near
    Cragos.]


EXPLANATION.

  This shocking story has been also recounted by Antoninus Liberalis
  and both he and Ovid have embellished it with circumstances, which
  are the fruit of a lively imagination. They make Byblis travel over
  several countries in search of her brother, who flies from her
  extravagant passion, and they both agree in tracing her to Caria.
  There, according to Antoninus Liberalis, she was transformed into a
  Hamadryad, just as she was on the point of throwing herself from the
  summit of a mountain. Ovid, on the other hand, says that she was
  changed into a fountain, which afterwards bore her name.

  It is, however, most probable, that if the story is founded on
  truth, the whole of the circumstances happened in Caria; since we
  learn, both from Apollodorus and Pausanias, that Miletus, her
  father, went from the island of Crete to lead a colony into Caria,
  when he conquered a city, to which he gave his own name. Pausanias
  says, that all the men of the city being killed during the siege,
  the conquerors married their wives and daughters. Cyanea, the
  daughter of Mæander, fell to the share of Miletus, and Caunus and
  Byblis were the offspring of that marriage. Byblis, having conceived
  a criminal passion for her brother, he was obliged to leave his
  father’s court, that he might avoid her importunities; upon which
  she died of grief. As she often went to weep by a fountain, which
  was outside of the town, those who related the adventure, magnified
  it, by stating that she was changed into the fountain, which, after
  her death, bore her name. We are informed by Photius, on the
  authority of the historian Conon, that it was Caunus who fell in
  love with Byblis, and that she hanged herself upon a walnut tree.
  Ovid also, in his ‘Art of Love,’ follows the tradition that she
  hanged herself. ‘Arsit et est laqueo fortiter ulta nefas.’ Miletus
  lived in the time of the first Minos, and, according to some
  writers, married his daughter Acallis; but, having disagreed with
  his father-in-law, he was obliged to leave Crete, and retired to
  Caria.

  The Persians had certain state ordinances, by which their monarchs
  were enjoined to marry their own sisters; and, as Asia Minor was
  overrun by them at the time when Crœsus was conquered by Cyrus, it
  is possible that the story of Byblis and Caunus may have originated
  in the disgust which the natives felt for their conquerors, and as a
  covert reproach to them for sanctioning alliances of so incestuous a
  nature. While Ovid enters into details in the story, which trench on
  the rules of modesty and decorum, the moral of the tale, aided by
  some of his precepts, is not uninstructive as a warning to youth to
  learn betimes how to regulate the passions.


FABLE VI. [IX.666-797]

  Ligdus commands his wife Telethusa, who is pregnant, to destroy the
  infant, should it prove to be a girl; on which, the Goddess Isis
  appears to her in a dream, and, forbidding her to obey, promises her
  her protection. Telethusa is delivered of a daughter, who is called
  Iphis, and passes for a son. Iphis is afterwards married to Ianthe,
  on which, Isis, to reward her mother’s piety, transforms her into a
  man.

The fame of this new prodigy would, perhaps, have filled the hundred
cities of Crete, if Crete had not lately produced a nearer wonder {of
her own}, in the change of Iphis.

For once on a time the Phæstian land[65] adjoining to the Gnossian
kingdom produced one Ligdus, of obscure name, a man of the freeborn
class of common people. Nor were his means any greater than his rank,
but his life and his honour were untainted. He startled the ears of his
wife in her pregnancy, with these words, when her lying-in was near at
hand: “Two things there are which I wish for; that thou mayst be
delivered with very little pain, and that thou mayst bring forth a male
child. The other alternative is a cause of greater trouble, and
providence has denied us means {for bringing up a female}. The thing I
abominate; but if a female should, by chance, be brought forth at thy
delivery, (I command it with reluctance, forgive me, natural affection)
let it be put to death.” {Thus} he said, and they bathed their faces
with tears streaming down; both he who commanded, and she to whom the
commands were given. But yet Telethusa incessantly urged her husband,
with fruitless entreaties, not to confine his hopes within a compass so
limited. {But} Ligdus’s resolution was fixed.

And now was she hardly {able} to bear her womb big with the burden ripe
for birth; when in the middle of the night, under the form of a vision,
the daughter of Inachus, attended by a train of her votaries, either
stood, or seemed to stand, before her bed. The horns of the moon were
upon her forehead, with ears of corn with their bright golden colour,
and the royal ornament {of the diadem}; with her was the barking
Anubis,[66] and the holy Bubastis,[67] and the particoloured Apis;[68]
he, too, who suppresses[69] his voice, and with his finger enjoins
silence. There were the sistra too, and Osiris,[70] never enough sought
for; and the foreign serpent,[71] filled with soporiferous poison. When
thus the Goddess addressed her, as though roused from her sleep, and
seeing {all} distinctly: “O Telethusa, one of my votaries, lay aside thy
grievous cares, and evade the commands of thy husband; and do not
hesitate, when Lucina shall have given thee ease by delivery, to bring
up {the child}, whatever it shall be. I am a befriending Goddess,[72]
and, when invoked, I give assistance; and thou shalt not complain that
thou hast worshipped an ungrateful Divinity.”

{Thus} she advises her, and {then} retires from her chamber. The Cretan
matron arises joyful from her bed; and suppliantly raising her pure
hands towards the stars {of heaven}, prays that her vision may be
fulfilled. When her pains increased, and her burden forced itself into
the light, and a girl was born to the father unaware of it, the mother
ordered it to be brought up, pretending it was a boy; and the thing
gained belief, nor was any one but the nurse acquainted with the fact.
The father performed his vows, and gave {the child} the name of its
grandfather. The grandfather had been called Iphis. The mother rejoiced
in that name because it was common {to both sexes}, nor would she be
deceiving[73] any one by it. Her deception lay unperceived under this
fraud, the result of natural affection. The {child’s} dress was that of
a boy; the face such, that, whether you gave it to a girl or to a boy,
either would be beautiful. In the meantime the third year had {now}
succeeded the tenth, when her father, O Iphis, promised to thee, in
marriage, the yellow-haired Iänthe, who was a virgin the most commended
among all the women of Phæstus, for the endowments of her beauty; the
daughter of the Dictæan Telestes. Equal was their age, their beauty
equal; and they received their first instruction, the elements {suited}
to their age, from the same preceptor.

Love, in consequence, touches the inexperienced breasts of them both,
and inflicts on each an equal wound; but {how} different are their
hopes! Iänthe awaits the time of their union, and of the ceremonial
agreed upon, and believes that she, whom she thinks to be a man, will be
{her husband}. Iphis is in love with her whom she despairs to be able to
enjoy, and this very thing increases her flame; and, {herself} a maid,
she burns with passion for a maid. And, with difficulty, suppressing her
tears, she says, “What issue {of my love} awaits me, whom the anxieties
unknown to any {before}, and {so} unnatural, of an unheard-of passion,
have seized upon? if the Gods would spare me, (they ought to have
destroyed me, and if they would not have destroyed me), at least they
should have inflicted some natural evil, and {one} common {to the human
race}. Passion for a cow does not inflame a cow, nor does that for mares
{inflame} the mares. The ram inflames the ewes; its own female follows
the buck. And so do birds couple; and among all animals, no female is
seized with passion for a female. Would that I did not exist.

“Yet, lest Crete might not be the producer of {all kinds of} prodigies,
the daughter of the Sun loved a bull; that is to say, a female {loved} a
male. My passion, if I confess the truth, is more extravagant than that.
Still she pursued the hopes of enjoyment; still, by a subtle
contrivance, and under the form of a cow, did she couple with the bull,
and her paramour was one that might be deceived. But though the
ingenuity of the whole world were to centre here, though Dædalus himself
were to fly back again with his waxen wings, what could he do? Could he,
by his skilful arts, make me from a maiden into a youth? or could he
transform thee, Iänthe? But why dost thou not fortify thy mind, and
recover thyself, Iphis? And why not shake off this passion, void of
{all} reason, and senseless {as it is}? Consider what it was thou wast
born (unless thou art deceiving thyself as well), and pursue that which
is allowable, and love that which, as a woman, thou oughtst {to love}.
Hope it is that produces, Hope it is that nourishes love. This, the
{very} case {itself} deprives thee of. No guard is keeping thee away
from her dear embrace; no care of a watchful husband, no father’s
severity; does not she herself deny thy solicitations. And yet she
cannot be enjoyed by thee; nor, were everything possible done, couldst
thou be blessed; {not}, though Gods and men were to do their utmost. And
now, too, no portion of my desires is baffled, and the compliant Deities
have granted me whatever they were able, and what I {desire}, my father
wishes, she herself wishes, and {so does} my destined father-in-law; but
nature, more powerful than all these, wills it not; she alone is an
obstacle to me. Lo, the longed-for time approaches, and the wedding-day
is at hand, when Iänthe should be mine; and {yet} she will not fall to
my lot. In the midst of water, I shall be athirst. Why, Juno, guardian
of the marriage rites, and why, Hymenæus, do you come to this
ceremonial, where there is not the person who should marry {the wife},
{and} where both {of us females}, we are coupled in wedlock?”

After {saying} these words, she closes her lips. And no less does the
other maid burn, and she prays thee, Hymenæus, to come quickly.
Telethusa, dreading the same thing that she desires, at one time puts
off the time {of the wedding}, and then raises delays, by feigning
illness. Often, by way of excuse, she pretends omens and visions. But
now she has exhausted all the resources of fiction; and the time for the
marriage {so long} delayed is {now} at hand, and {only} one day remains;
whereon she takes off the fillets for the hair from her own head and
from that of her daughter,[74] and embracing the altar with dishevelled
locks, she says, “O Isis, thou who dost inhabit Parætonium,[75] and the
Mareotic fields,[76] and Pharos,[77] and the Nile divided into its seven
horns, give aid, I beseech thee, and ease me of my fears. Thee, Goddess,
thee, I once beheld, and these thy symbols; and all {of them} I
recognized; both thy attendants, and thy torches, and the sound of the
sistra, and I noted thy commands with mindful care. That this {girl}[78]
{now} sees the light, that I, myself, am not punished, is {the result
of} thy counsel, and thy admonition; pity us both, and aid us with thy
assistance.”

Tears followed her words. The Goddess seemed to move, (and she {really}
did move) her altars; and the doors of her temple shook. Her horns,
too,[79] shone, resembling {those of} the moon, and the tinkling sistrum
sounded. The mother departs from the temple, not free from concern
indeed, still pleased with this auspicious omen. Iphis follows her, her
companion as she goes, with longer strides than she had been wont; her
fairness does not continue on her face; both her strength is increased,
and her features are more stern; and shorter is the length of her
scattered locks. There is more vigour, also, than she had {as} a female.
{And} now thou art a male, who so lately wast a female. Bring offerings
to the temple, and rejoice with no hesitating confidence. They do bring
their offerings to the temple. They add, too, an inscription; the
inscription contains {one} short line: “Iphis, a male, offers the
presents, which, as a female, he had vowed.”

The following morn has disclosed the wide world with the rays {of the
Sun}; when Venus, and Juno, and Hymenæus, repair to the social
fires[80]; and Iphis, {now} a youth, gains his {dear} Iänthe.

    [Footnote 65: _Phæstian land._--Ver. 668. Phæstus was a city of
    Crete, built by Minos.]

    [Footnote 66: _Anubis._--Ver. 689. This was an Egyptian Deity,
    which had the body of a man, and the head of a dog. Some writers
    say that it was Mercury who was so represented, and that this form
    was given him in remembrance of the fact of Isis having used dogs
    in her search for Osiris, when he was slain by his brother Typhon.
    Other authors say, that Anubis was the son of Osiris, and that he
    distinguished himself with an helmet, bearing the figure of a dog,
    when he followed his father to battle.]

    [Footnote 67: _Bubastis._--Ver. 690. Though she is here an
    attendant of Isis, Diodorus Siculus represents her to have been
    the same divinity as Isis. Herodotus, however, says that Diana was
    worshipped by the Egyptians under that name. There was a city of
    Lower Egypt, called Bubastis, in which Isis was greatly venerated.]

    [Footnote 68: _Apis._--Ver. 690. This is supposed to have been
    another name for Osiris, whose body, having been burned on the
    funeral pile, the Egyptians believed that he re-appeared under the
    form of a bull; the name for which animal was ‘apis.’]

    [Footnote 69: _Who suppresses._--Ver. 691. This was the Egyptian
    divinity Harpocrates, the God of Secresy and Silence, who was
    represented with his finger laid on his lips.]

    [Footnote 70: _Osiris._--Ver. 692. When slain by his brother
    Typhon, Isis long sought him in vain, till, finding his scattered
    limbs by the aid of dogs, she entombed them. As the Egyptians had
    a yearly festival, at which they bewailed the loss of Osiris, and
    feigned that they were seeking him, Ovid calls that God, ‘Nunquam
    satis quæsitus,’ ‘Never enough sought for.’]

    [Footnote 71: _Foreign serpent._--Ver. 693. This is, most
    probably, the asp, a small serpent of Egypt, which is frequently
    found represented on the statues of Isis. Its bite was said to
    produce a lethargic sleep, ending in death. Cleopatra ended her
    life by the bite of one, which she ordered to be conveyed to her
    in a basket of fruit. Some commentators have supposed that the
    crocodile is here alluded to; but, as others have justly observed,
    the crocodile has no poisonous sting, but rather a capacity for
    devouring.]

    [Footnote 72: _A befriending Goddess._--Ver. 698. Diodorus Siculus
    says, that Isis was the discoverer of numerous remedies for
    disease, and that she greatly improved the healing art.]

    [Footnote 73: _Be deceiving._--Ver. 709. The name ‘Iphis’ being
    equally well for a male or a female.]

    [Footnote 74: _Of her daughter._--Ver. 770. We must suppose that
    Iphis wore the ‘vitta,’ which was an article of female dress, in
    private only, and in presence of her mother. Of course, in public,
    such an ornament would not have suited her, when appearing in the
    character of a man.]

    [Footnote 75: _Parætonium._--Ver. 772. Strabo says, that
    Parætonium was a city of Libya, with a capacious harbour.]

    [Footnote 76: _Mareotic fields._--Ver. 772. The Mareotic Lake was
    in the neighbourhood of the city of Alexandria.]

    [Footnote 77: _Pharos._--Ver. 772. This was an island opposite to
    Alexandria, famed for its light-house, which was erected to warn
    sailors from off the dangerous quicksands in the neighbourhood.]

    [Footnote 78: _This girl._--Ver. 778. Pointing at Iphis, who had
    attended her, Antoninus Liberalis says, that Telethusa prayed that
    Iphis might be transformed into a man, and cited a number of
    precedents for such a change.]

    [Footnote 79: _Her horns too._--Ver. 783. Isis was sometimes
    worshipped under the form of a cow, to the horns of which
    reference is here made.]

    [Footnote 80: _The social fires._--Ver. 795. On the occasion of
    marriages, offerings were made on the altars of Hymenæus and the
    other Deities, who were the guardians of conjugal rites.]


EXPLANATION.

  The story of Iphis being changed from a young woman into a man,
  of which Ovid lays the scene in the isle of Crete, is one of those
  facts upon which ancient history is entirely silent. Perhaps, the
  origin of the story was a disguise of a damsel in male dress,
  carried on, for family reasons, even to the very point of marriage;
  or it may have been based upon an account of some remarkable
  instance of androgynous formation.

  Ovid may possibly have invented the story himself, merely as a
  vehicle for showing how the Deities recompense piety and strict
  obedience to their injunctions.




BOOK THE TENTH.


FABLE I. [X.1-85]

  Eurydice, the wife of Orpheus, while sporting in the fields, with
  other Nymphs, is bitten by a serpent, which causes her death. After
  having mourned for her, Orpheus resolves to go down to the Infernal
  Regions in quest of her. Pluto and the Fates consent to her return,
  on condition that Orpheus shall not look on her till he is out of
  their dominions. His curiosity prevailing, he neglects this
  injunction, on which she is immediately snatched away from him,
  beyond the possibility of recovery. Upon this occasion, the Poet
  relates the story of a shepherd, who was turned into a rock by a
  look of Cerberus; and that of Olenus and Lethæa, who were
  transformed into stones.

Thence Hymenæus, clad in a saffron-coloured[1] robe, passed through the
unmeasured tract of air, and directed his course to the regions of the
Ciconians[2], and, in vain, was invoked by the voice of Orpheus. He
presented himself indeed, but he brought with him neither auspicious
words, nor joyful looks, nor {yet} a happy omen. The torch, too, which
he held, was hissing with a smoke that brought tears to the eyes, and as
it was, it found no flames amid its waving. The issue was more
disastrous than the omens; for the newmade bride, while she was
strolling along the grass, attended by a train of Naiads, was killed,
having received the sting of a serpent on her ancle.

After the Rhodopeïan bard had sufficiently bewailed her in the upper
{realms of} air, that he might try the shades below as well, he dared to
descend to Styx by the Tænarian gate, and amid the phantom inhabitants
and ghosts that had enjoyed the tomb, he went to Persephone, and him
that held these unpleasing realms, the Ruler of the shades; and touching
his strings in concert with his words, he thus said, “O ye Deities of
the world that lies beneath the earth, to which we {all} come {at last},
each that is born to mortality; if I may be allowed, and you suffer me
to speak the truth, laying aside[3] the artful expressions of a
deceitful tongue; I have not descended hither {from curiosity} to see
dark Tartarus, nor to bind the threefold throat of the Medusæan monster,
bristling with serpents. {But} my wife was the cause of my coming; into
whom a serpent, trodden upon {by her}, diffused its poison, and cut
short her growing years. I was wishful to be able to endure {this}, and
I will not deny that I have endeavoured {to do so}. Love has proved the
stronger. That God is well known in the regions above. Whether he be so
here, too, I am uncertain; but yet I imagine that even here he is; and
if the story of the rape of former days is not untrue, ’twas love that
united you {two} together. By these places filled with horrors, by this
vast Chaos, and by the silence of these boundless realms, I entreat you,
weave over again the quick-spun thread {of the life} of Eurydice.

“To you we all belong; and having staid but a little while {above},
sooner or later we {all} hasten to one abode. Hither are we all
hastening. This is our last home; and you possess the most lasting
dominion over the human race. She, too, when, in due season she shall
have completed her allotted {number of} years, will be under your sway.
The enjoyment {of her} I beg as a favour. But if the Fates deny me this
privilege in behalf of my wife, I have determined that I will not
return. Triumph in the death of us both.”

As he said such things, and touched the strings to his words, the
bloodless spirits wept. Tantalus did not catch at the retreating water,
and the wheel of Ixion stood still, {as though} in amazement; the birds
did not tear the liver {of Tityus}; and the granddaughters of Belus
paused at their urns; thou, too, Sisyphus, didst seat thyself on thy
stone. The story is, that then, for the first time, the cheeks of the
Eumenides, overcome by his music, were wet with tears; nor could the
royal consort, nor he who rules the infernal regions, endure to deny him
his request; and they called for Eurydice. She was among the shades
newly arrived, and she advanced with a slow pace, by reason of her
wound.

The Rhodopeïan hero receives her, and, at the same time, {this}
condition, that he turn not back his eyes until he has passed the
Avernian vallies, or else that the grant will be revoked. The ascending
path is mounted in deep silence, steep, dark, and enveloped in deepening
gloom. And {now} they were not far from the verge of the upper earth.
He, enamoured, fearing lest she should flag, and impatient to behold
her, turned his eyes; and immediately she sank back again. She, hapless
one! both stretching out her arms, and struggling to be grasped, and to
grasp him, caught nothing but the fleeting air. And now, dying a second
time, she did not at all complain of her husband; for why should she
complain of being beloved? And now she pronounced the last farewell,
which scarcely did he catch with his ears; and again was she hurried
back to the same place.

No otherwise was Orpheus amazed at this twofold death of his wife, than
he who, trembling, beheld the three necks[4] of the dog, the middle one
supporting chains; whom fear did not forsake, before his former nature
{deserted him}, as stone gathered over his body: and {than} Olenus,[5]
who took on himself the crime {of another}, and was willing to appear
guilty; and {than} thou, unhappy Lethæa, confiding in thy beauty;
breasts, once most united, now rocks, which the watery Ida supports. The
ferryman drove him away entreating, and, in vain, desiring again to
cross {the stream}. Still, for seven days, in squalid guise[6] did he
sit on the banks without the gifts of Ceres. Vexation, and sorrow of
mind, and tears were his sustenance. Complaining that the Deities of
Erebus[7] were cruel, he betook himself to lofty Rhodope, and Hæmus,[8]
buffeted by the North winds. The third Titan had {now} ended the year
bounded by the Fishes of the ocean;[9] and Orpheus had avoided all
intercourse with woman, either because it had ended in misfortune to
him, or because he had given a promise {to that effect}. Yet a passion
possessed many a female to unite herself to the bard, {and} many a one
grieved when repulsed. He also was the {first} adviser of the people of
Thrace to transfer their affections to tender youths; and, on this side
of manhood, to enjoy the short spring of life, and its early flowers.

    [Footnote 1: _Saffron-coloured._--Ver. 1. This was in order to be
    dressed in a colour similar to that of the ‘flammeum,’ which was a
    veil of a bright yellow colour, worn by the bride. This custom
    prevailed among the Romans, among whom the shoes worn by the bride
    were of the same colour with the veil.]

    [Footnote 2: _Ciconians._--Ver. 2. These were a people of Thrace,
    near the river Hebrus and the Bistonian Lake.]

    [Footnote 3: _Laying aside._--Ver. 19. ‘Falsi positis ambagibus
    oris,’ is rendered by Clarke, ‘Laying aside all the long-winded
    fetches of a false tongue.’]

    [Footnote 4: _The three necks._--Ver. 65. There was a story among
    the ancients, that when Cerberus was dragged by Hercules from the
    Infernal Regions, a certain man, through fear of Hercules, hid
    himself in a cave; and that on peeping out, and beholding
    Cerberus, he was changed into a stone by his fright. Suidas says,
    that in his time the stone was still to be seen, and that the
    story gave rise to a proverb.]

    [Footnote 5: _Olenus._--Ver. 69. Olenus, who was supposed to be
    the son of Vulcan, had a beautiful wife, whose name was Lethæa.
    When about to be punished for comparing her own beauty to that of
    the Goddesses, Olenus offered to submit to the penalty in her
    stead, on which they were both changed into stones.]

    [Footnote 6: _In squalid guise._--Ver. 74. ‘Squallidus in
    ripa--sedit,’ is rendered by Clarke, ‘He sat in a sorry pickle on
    the bank.’]

    [Footnote 7: _Erebus._--Ver. 76. Erebus was the son of Chaos and
    Darkness; but his name is often used to signify the Infernal
    Regions.]

    [Footnote 8: _Hæmus._--Ver. 77. This was a mountain of Thrace,
    which was much exposed to the North winds.]

    [Footnote 9: _Fishes of the ocean._--Ver. 78. ‘Pisces,’ ‘the
    Fishes,’ being the last sign of the Zodiac, when the sun has
    passed through it, the year is completed.]


EXPLANATION.

  Though Ovid has separated the adventures of Orpheus, whose death he
  does not relate till the beginning of the eleventh Book, we will
  here shortly enter upon an examination of some of the more important
  points of his history.

  As, in his time, Poetry and Music were in a very low state of
  perfection, and as he excelled in both of those arts, it was said
  that he was the son of Apollo and the Muse Calliope; and it was
  added, that he charmed lions and tigers, and made even the trees
  sensible of the melodious tones of his lyre. These were mere
  hyperbolical expressions, which signified the wondrous charms of his
  eloquence and of his music combined, which he employed in
  cultivating the genius of a savage and uncouth people. Some
  conjecture that this personage originally came from Asia into
  Thrace, and suppose that he, together with Linus and Eumolpus,
  brought poetry and music into Greece, the use of which, till then,
  was unknown in that country; and that they introduced, at the same
  time, the worship of Ceres, Mars, and the orgies of Bacchus, which,
  from him who instituted them, received their name of ‘Orphica.’
  Orpheus, too, is supposed to have united the office of high priest
  with that of king. Horace styles him the interpreter of the Gods;
  and he was said to have interposed with the Deities for the
  deliverance of the Argonauts from a dangerous tempest. It is thought
  that he passed some part of his life in Egypt, and became acquainted
  with many particulars of the ancient religion of the Egyptians,
  which he introduced into the theology of Greece. Some modern writers
  even go so far as to suggest that he learned from the Hebrews, who
  were then sojourning in Egypt, the knowledge of the true God.

  His wife, Eurydice, dying very young, he was inconsolable for her
  loss. To alleviate his grief, he went to Thesprotia, in Epirus, the
  natives of which region were said to possess incantations, for the
  purpose of raising the ghosts of the departed. Here, according to
  some accounts, being deceived by a phantom, which was made to appear
  before him, he died of sorrow; but, according to other writers,
  he renounced the society of mankind for ever and retired to the
  mountains of Thrace. His journey to that distant country gave
  occasion to say, that he descended to the Infernal Regions. This is
  the more likely, as he is supposed to have there promulgated his
  notions of the infernal world, which, according to Diodorus Siculus,
  he had learned among the Egyptians.

  Tzetzes, however, assures us that this part of his history is
  founded on the circumstance, that Orpheus cured his wife of the bite
  of a serpent, which had till then been considered to be mortal; and
  that the poets gave an hyperbolical version of the story, in saying
  that he had rescued her from Hell. He says, too, that he had learned
  in Egypt the art of magic, which was much cultivated there, and
  especially the method of charming serpents.

  After the loss of his wife, he retired to mount Rhodope, to assuage
  the violence of his grief. There, according to Ovid and other poets,
  the Mænades, or Bacchanals, to be revenged for his contempt of them
  and their rites, tore him in pieces; which story is somewhat
  diversified by the writers who relate that Venus, exasperated
  against Calliope, the mother of Orpheus, for having adjudged to
  Proserpine the possession of Adonis, caused the women of Thrace to
  become enamoured of her son, and to tear him in pieces while
  disputing the possession of him. An ancient author, quoted by
  Hyginus, says that Orpheus was killed by the stroke of a
  thunderbolt, while he was accompanying the Argonauts; and
  Apollodorus says the same. Diodorus Siculus calls him one of the
  kings of Thrace; while other writers, among whom are Cicero and
  Aristotle, assert that there never was such a person as Orpheus. The
  learned Vossius says, that the Phœnician word ‘ariph,’ which
  signifies ‘learned,’ gave rise to the story of Orpheus. Le Clerc
  thinks that in consequence of the same Greek word signifying ‘an
  enchanter,’ and also meaning ‘a singer,’ he acquired the reputation
  of having been a most skilful magician.

  We may, perhaps, safely conclude, that Orpheus really did introduce
  the worship of many Gods into Greece; and that, possibly, while he
  promulgated the necessity of expiating crimes, he introduced
  exorcism, and brought magic into fashion in Greece. Lucian affirms
  that he was also the first to teach the elements of astronomy.
  Several works were attributed to him, which are now no longer in
  existence; among which were a Poem on the Expedition of the
  Argonauts, one on the War of the Giants, another on the Rape of
  Proserpine, and a fourth upon the Labours of Hercules. The Poem on
  the Argonautic Expedition, which now exists, and is attributed to
  him, is supposed to have been really written by a poet named
  Onomacritus, who lived in the sixth century B.C., in the time of
  Pisistratus.

  After his death, Orpheus was reckoned in the number of Heroes or
  Demigods; and we are informed by Philostratus that his head was
  preserved at Lesbos, where it gave oracular responses. Orpheus is
  not mentioned by Homer or Hesiod. The learned scholar Lobeck, in his
  Aglaophamus, has entered very deeply into an investigation of the
  real nature of the discoveries and institutions ascribed to him.


FABLE II. [X.86-105]

  Orpheus, retiring to Mount Rhodope, by the charms of his music,
  attracts to himself all kinds of creatures, rocks, and trees; among
  the latter is the pine tree, only known since the transformation of
  Attis.

There was a hill, and upon the hill a most level space of a plain, which
the blades of grass made green: {all} shade was wanting in the spot.
After the bard, sprung from the Gods, had seated himself in this place,
and touched his tuneful strings, a shade came over the spot. The tree of
Chaonia[10] was not absent, nor the grove of the Heliades,[11] nor the
mast-tree with its lofty branches, nor the tender lime-trees, nor yet
the beech, and the virgin laurel,[12] and the brittle hazels, and the
oak, adapted for making spears, and the fir without knots, and the holm
bending beneath its acorns, and the genial plane-tree,[13] and the
parti-coloured maple,[14] and, together with them, the willows growing
by the rivers, and the watery lotus, and the evergreen box, and the
slender tamarisks, and the two-coloured myrtle, and the tine-tree,[15]
with its azure berries.

You, too, the ivy-trees, with your creeping tendrils, came, and
together, the branching vines, and the elms clothed with vines; the
ashes, too, and the pitch-trees, and the arbute, laden with its blushing
fruit, and the bending palm,[16] the reward of the conqueror; the pine,
too, with its tufted foliage,[17] and bristling at the top, pleasing to
the Mother of the Gods; since for this the Cybeleïan Attis put off the
human form, and hardened into that trunk.

    [Footnote 10: _Tree of Chaonia._--Ver. 90. This was the oak, for
    the growth of which Chaonia, a province of Epirus, was famous.]

    [Footnote 11: _Grove of the Heliades._--Ver. 91. He alludes to the
    poplars, into which tree, as we have already seen, the Heliades,
    or daughters of the sun, were changed after the death of Phaëton.]

    [Footnote 12: _Virgin laurel._--Ver. 92. The laurel is so styled
    from the Virgin Daphne, who refused to listen to the solicitations
    of Apollo.]

    [Footnote 13: _Genial plane-tree._--Ver. 95. The plane tree was
    much valued by the ancients, as affording, by its extending
    branches, a pleasant shade to festive parties. Virgil says, in the
    Fourth Book of the Georgics, line 146, ‘Atque ministrantem
    platanum potantibus umbram,’ ‘And the plane-tree that gives its
    shade for those that carouse.’]

    [Footnote 14: _Parti-coloured maple._--Ver. 95. The grain of the
    maple being of a varying colour, it was much valued by the
    ancients, for the purpose of making articles of furniture.]

    [Footnote 15: _The tine tree._--Ver. 98. The ‘tinus,’ or ‘tine
    tree,’ according to Pliny the Elder, was a wild laurel, with green
    berries.]

    [Footnote 16: _The bending palm._--Ver. 102. The branches of the
    palm were remarkable for their flexibility, while no
    superincumbent weight could break them. On this account they were
    considered as emblematical of victory.]

    [Footnote 17: _Tufted foliage._--Ver. 103. The pine is called
    ‘succincta,’ because it sends forth its branches from the top, and
    not from the sides.]


EXPLANATION.

  The story of Attis, or Athis, here briefly referred to, is related
  by the ancient writers in many different ways; so much so, that it
  is not possible to reconcile the discrepancy that exists between
  them. From Diodorus Siculus we learn that Cybele, the daughter of
  Mæon, King of Phrygia, falling in love with a young shepherd named
  Attis, her father ordered him to be put to death. In despair, at the
  loss of her lover, Cybele left her father’s abode, and, accompanied
  by Marsyas, crossed the mountains of Phrygia. Apollo, (or, as
  Vossius supposes, some priest of that God,) touched with the
  misfortunes of the damsel, took her to the country of the
  Hyperboreans in Scythia, where she died. Some time after, the plague
  ravaging Phrygia, and the oracle being consulted, an answer was
  returned, that, to ensure the ceasing of the contagion, they must
  look for the body of Attis, and give it funeral rites, and render to
  Cybele the same honour which they were wont to pay to the Gods: all
  which was done with such scrupulous care, that in time she became
  one of the most esteemed Divinities.

  Arnobius, says that Attis was a shepherd, with whom Cybele fell in
  love in her old age. Unmoved by her rank, and repelled by her faded
  charms, he despised her advances. Midas, King of Pessinus, on seeing
  this, destined his own daughter, Agdistis, for the young Attis.
  Fearing the resentment of Cybele, he caused the gates of the city to
  be shut on the day on which the marriage was to be solemnized.
  Cybele being informed of this, hastened to Pessinus, and, destroying
  the gates, met with Attis, who had concealed himself behind a pine
  tree, and caused him to be emasculated; on which Agdistis committed
  self-destruction in a fit of sorrow.

  Servius, Lactantius, and St. Augustine, give another version of the
  story, which it is not necessary here to enlarge upon, any farther
  than to say, that it depicts the love of a powerful queen for a
  young man who repulsed her advances. Ovid, also, gives a similar
  account in the fourth Book of the Fasti, line 220. Other authors,
  quoted by Arnobius, have given some additional circumstances, the
  origin of which it is almost impossible to guess at. They say that a
  female called Nana, by touching a pomegranate or an almond tree,
  which grew from the blood of Agdistis whom Bacchus had slain,
  conceived Attis, who afterwards became very dear to Cybele.

  All that we can conclude from these accounts, and more especially
  from that given by Ovid in the Fasti, is, that the worship of Cybele
  being established in Phrygia, Attis was one of her priests; and
  that, as he led the example of mutilating himself, all her other
  priests, who were called Galli, submitted to a similar operation,
  to the great surprise of the uninitiated, who were not slow in
  inventing some wonderful story to account for an act so
  extraordinary.


FABLE III. [X.106-142]

  Cyparissus is about to kill himself for having slain, by accident,
  a favourite deer; but, before he is able to execute his design,
  Apollo transforms him into a Cypress.

Amid this throng was present the cypress, resembling the cone,[18] now a
tree, {but} once a youth, beloved by that God who fits the lyre with the
strings, and the bow with strings. For there was a large stag, sacred to
the Nymphs who inhabit the Carthæan fields; and, with his horns
extending afar, he himself afforded an ample shade to his own head. His
horns were shining with gold, and a necklace studded with gems,[19]
falling upon his shoulders, hung down from his smooth round neck;
a silver ball,[20] fastened with little straps, played upon his
forehead; and pendants of brass,[21] of equal size, shone on either ear
around his hollow temples. He, too, void of fear, and laying aside his
natural timorousness, used to frequent the houses, and to offer his neck
to be patted by any hands, even though unknown {to him}.

But yet, above all others, he was pleasing to thee, Cyparissus, most
beauteous of the nation of Cea.[22] Thou wast wont to lead the stag to
new pastures, and to the streams of running waters; sometimes thou didst
wreathe flowers of various colours about his horns, and at other times,
seated on his back, {like} a horseman, {first} in this direction and
{then} in that, thou didst guide his easy mouth with the purple bridle.
’Twas summer and the middle of the day, and the bending arms of the
Crab, that loves the sea-shore, were glowing with the heat of the sun;
the stag, fatigued, was reclining his body on the grassy earth, and was
enjoying the coolness from the shade of a tree. By inadvertence the boy
Cyparissus pierced him with a sharp javelin; and, when he saw him dying
from the cruel wound, he resolved to attempt to die {as well}. What
consolations did not Phœbus apply? and he advised him to grieve with
moderation, and according to the occasion. Still did he lament, and as a
last favour, he requested this of the Gods above, that he might mourn
for ever. And now, his blood quite exhausted by incessant weeping, his
limbs began to be changed into a green colour, and the hair, which but
lately hung from his snow-white forehead, to become a rough bush, and,
a stiffness being assumed, to point to the starry heavens with a
tapering top. The God {Phœbus} lamented deeply, and in his sorrow he
said, “Thou shalt be mourned by me, and shalt mourn for others, and
shalt {ever} attend upon those who are sorrowing[23] {for the dead}.”

    [Footnote 18: _Resembling the cone._--Ver. 106. In the Roman
    Circus for the chariot races, a low wall ran lengthways down the
    course, which, from its resemblance in position to the spinal
    bone, was called by the name of ‘spina.’ At each extremity of this
    ‘spina,’ there were placed upon a base, three large cones, or
    pyramids of wood, in shape very much like cypress trees, to which
    fact allusion is here made. They were called ‘metæ,’ ‘goals.’]

    [Footnote 19: _Studded with gems._--Ver. 113. Necklaces were much
    worn in ancient times by the Indians, Persians, and Egyptians.
    They were more especially used by the Greek and Roman females as
    bridal ornaments. The ‘monile baccatum,’ or ‘bead necklace,’ was
    the most common, being made of berries, glass, or other materials,
    strung together. They were so strung with thread, silk, or wire,
    and links of gold. Emeralds seem to have been much used for this
    purpose, and amber was also similarly employed. Thus Ovid says,
    in the second Book of the Metamorphoses, line 366, that the amber
    distilled from the trees, into which the sisters of Phaëton were
    changed, was sent to be worn by the Latian matrons. Horses and
    favourite animals, as in the present instance, were decked with
    ‘monilia,’ or necklaces.]

    [Footnote 20: _A silver ball._--Ver. 114. The ‘bulla’ was a ball
    of metal, so called from its resemblance in shape to a bubble of
    water. These were especially worn by the Roman children, suspended
    from the neck, and were mostly made of thin plates of gold, being
    of about the size of a walnut. The use of these ornaments was
    derived from the people of Etruria; and though originally worn
    only by the children of the Patricians, they were subsequently
    used by all of free birth. The children of the Libertini, or
    ‘freedmen,’ indeed wore ‘bullæ,’ but they were only made of
    leather. The ‘bulla’ was laid aside at the same time as the ‘toga
    prætexta,’ and was on that occasion consecrated to the Lares. The
    bulls of the Popes of Rome, received their names from this word;
    the ornament which was pendent from the rescript or decree being
    used to signify the document itself.]

    [Footnote 21: _Pendants of brass._--Ver. 116. The ear-ring was
    called among the Greeks ἐνώτιον, and by the Romans ‘inauris.’ The
    Greeks also called it ἐλλόβιον, from its being inserted in the
    lobe of the ear. Earrings were worn by both sexes among the
    Lydians, Persians, Libyans, Carthaginians, and other nations.
    Among the Greeks and Romans, the females alone were in the habit
    of wearing them. As with us, the ear-ring consisted of a ring and
    drop, the ring being generally of gold, though bronze was
    sometimes used by the common people. Pearls, especially those of
    elongated form, which were called ‘elenchi,’ were very much valued
    for pendants.]

    [Footnote 22: _Nation of Cea._--Ver. 120. Cea was one of the
    Cyclades, and Carthæa was one of its four cities.]

    [Footnote 23: _Who are sorrowing._--Ver. 142. The Poet in this
    manner accounts for the Roman custom of placing branches of
    Cypress before the doors of houses in which a dead body lay. Pliny
    the Elder says, that the Cypress was sacred to Pluto, and that for
    that reason it was used at funerals, and was placed upon the pile.
    Varro says, that it was used for the purpose of removing, by its
    own strong scent, the bad smell of the spot where the bodies were
    burnt, and also of the bodies themselves. It was also said to be
    so used, because, when once its bark is cut, it withers, and is
    consequently emblematical of the frail tenure of human life.]


EXPLANATION.

  Cyparissus, who, according to Ovid was born at Carthæa, a town in
  the isle of Cea, was probably a youth of considerable poetical
  talent and proficiency in the polite arts, which caused him to be
  deemed the favourite of Apollo. His transformation into a Cypress is
  founded on the resemblance between their names, that tree being
  called by the Greeks κυπάρισσος. The conclusion of the story is that
  Apollo, to console himself, enjoined that the Cypress tree should be
  the symbol of sorrow, or in other words that it should be used at
  funerals and be planted near graves and sepulchres; which fiction
  was most likely founded on the fact, that the tree was employed for
  those purposes; perhaps because its branches, almost destitute of
  leaves, have a somewhat melancholy aspect.

  Some ancient writers also tell us that Cyparissus was a youth
  beloved by the God Sylvanus, for which reason that God is often
  represented with branches of Cypress in his hand.


FABLE IV. [X.143-161]

  Jupiter, charmed with the beauty of the youth Ganymede, transforms
  himself into an Eagle, for the purpose of carrying him off. He is
  taken up into Heaven, and is made the Cup-bearer of the Divinities.

Such a grove {of trees} had the bard attracted {round him}, and he sat
in the midst of an assembly of wild beasts, and of a multitude of birds.
When he had sufficiently tried the strings struck with his thumb, and
perceived that the various tones, though they gave different sounds,
{still} harmonize, in this song he raised his voice: “Begin, my parent
Muse, my song from Jove, all things submit to the sway of Jove. By me,
often before has the power of Jove been sung. In loftier strains have I
sung of the Giants, and the victorious thunderbolts scattered over the
Phlegræan plains.[24] Now is there occasion for a softer lyre; and let
us sing of youths beloved by the Gods above, and of girls surprised by
unlawful flames, who, by their wanton desires, have been deserving of
punishment.

“The king of the Gods above was once inflamed with a passion for
Ganymede, and something was found that Jupiter preferred to be, rather
than what he was. Yet into no bird does he vouchsafe to be transformed,
but that which can carry his bolts.[25] And no delay {is there}.
Striking the air with his fictitious wings, he carries off the youth of
Ilium; who even now mingles his cups {for him}, and, much against the
will of Juno, serves nectar to Jove.”

    [Footnote 24: _Phlegræan plains._--Ver. 151. Some authors place
    the Phlegræan {plains} near Cumæ, in Italy, and say that in a spot
    near there, much impregnated with sulphur, Jupiter, aided by
    Hercules and the other Deities, conquered the Giants with his
    lightnings. Others say that their locality was in that part of
    Macedonia which was afterwards called Pallene; others again,
    in Thessaly, or Thrace.]

    [Footnote 25: _Carry his bolts._--Ver. 158. The eagle was feigned
    to be the attendant bird of Jove, among other reasons, because it
    was supposed to fly higher than any other bird, to be able to fix
    its gaze on the sun without being dazzled, and never to receive
    injury from lightning. It was also said to have been the
    armour-bearer of Jupiter in his wars against the Titans, and to
    have carried his thunderbolts.]


EXPLANATION.

  The rape of Ganymede is probably based upon an actual occurrence,
  which may be thus explained. Tros, the king of Troy, having
  conquered several of his neighbours, as Eusebius, Cedrenus, and
  Suidas relate, sent his son Ganymede into Lydia, accompanied by
  several of the nobles of his court, to offer sacrifice in the temple
  dedicated to Jupiter; Tantalus, the king of that country, who was
  ignorant of the designs of the Trojan king, took his people for
  spies, and put Ganymede in prison. He having been arrested in a
  temple of Jupiter, by order of a prince, whose ensign was an eagle,
  it gave occasion for the report that he had been carried off by
  Jupiter in the shape of an eagle.

  The reason why Jupiter is said to have made Ganymede his cup-bearer
  is difficult to conjecture, unless we suppose that he had served his
  father, in that employment at the Trojan court. The poets say that
  he was placed by the Gods among the Constellations, where he shines
  as Aquarius, or the Water-bearer.

  The capture of Ganymede occasioned a protracted and bloody war
  between Tros and Tantalus; and after their death, Ilus, the son of
  Tros, continued it against Pelops, the son of Tantalus, and obliged
  him to quit his kingdom and retire to the court of Œnomaüs, king of
  Pisa, whose daughter he married, and by her had a son named Atreus,
  who was the father of Agamemnon and Menelaüs. Thus we see that
  probably Paris, the great grandson of Tros, carried off Helen, as a
  reprisal on Menelaüs, the great grandson of Tantalus, the persecutor
  of Ganymede. Agamemnon did not fail to turn this fact to his own
  advantage, by putting the Greeks in mind of the evils which his
  family had suffered from the kings of Troy.


FABLE V. [X.162-219]

  As Apollo is playing at quoits with the youth Hyacinthus, one of
  them, thrown by the Divinity, rebounds from the earth, and striking
  Hyacinthus on the head, kills him. From his blood springs up the
  flower which still bears his name.

“Phœbus would have placed thee too, descendant of Amycla,[26] in the
heavens, if the stern Fates had given him time to place thee there.
Still, so far as is possible, thou art immortal; and as oft as the
spring drives away the winter, and the Ram succeeds the watery Fish, so
often dost thou spring up and blossom upon the green turf. Thee, beyond
{all} others, did my father love, and Delphi, situate in the middle[27]
of the earth, was without its guardian {Deity}, while the God was
frequenting the Eurotas, and the unfortified Sparta;[28] and neither his
lyre nor his arrows were {held} in esteem {by him}.

“Unmindful of his own dignity, he did not refuse to carry the nets, or
to hold the dogs, or to go, as his companion, over the ridges of the
rugged mountains; and by lengthened intimacy he augmented his flame. And
now Titan was almost in his mid course between the approaching and the
past night, and was at an equal distance from them both; {when} they
stripped their bodies of their garments, and shone with the juice of the
oily olive, and engaged in the game of the broad quoit.[29] First,
Phœbus tossed it, well poised, into the airy breeze, and clove the
opposite clouds with its weight. After a long pause, the heavy mass fell
on the hard ground, and showed skill united with strength. Immediately
the Tænarian youth,[30] in his thoughtlessness, and urged on by
eagerness for the sport, hastened to take up the circlet; but the hard
ground sent it back into the air with a rebound against thy face,
Hyacinthus.

“Equally as pale as the youth does the Divinity himself turn; and he
bears up thy sinking limbs; and at one moment he cherishes thee, at
another, he stanches thy sad wound; {and} now he stops the fleeting life
by the application of herbs. His skill is of no avail. The wound is
incurable. As if, in a well-watered garden, any one should break down
violets, or poppies, and lilies, as they adhere to their yellow stalks;
drooping, they would suddenly hang down their languid heads, and could
not support themselves; and would look towards the ground with their
tops. So sink his dying features; and, forsaken by its vigour, the neck
is a burden to itself, and reclines upon the shoulder. ‘Son of Œbalus,’
says Phœbus, ‘thou fallest, deprived of thy early youth; and I look on
thy wound as my own condemnation. Thou art {the object of} my grief, and
{the cause of} my crime. With thy death is my right hand to be charged;
I am the author of thy destruction. Yet what is my fault? unless to
engage in sport can be termed a fault; unless it can be called a fault,
too, to have loved thee. And oh! that I could give my life for thee, or
together with thee; but since I am restrained by the decrees of destiny,
thou shalt ever be with me, and shalt dwell on my mindful lips. The lyre
struck with my hand, my songs, too, shall celebrate thee; and,
{becoming} a new flower, by the inscription {on thee}, thou shalt
imitate[31] my lamentations. The time, too, shall come, at which a most
valiant hero[32] shall add his {name} to this flower, and it shall be
read upon the same leaves.’

“While such things are being uttered by the prophetic lips of Apollo,
behold! the blood which, poured on the ground, has stained the grass,
ceases to be blood, and a flower springs up, more bright than the Tyrian
purple, and it assumes the appearance which lilies {have}, were there
not in this a purple hue, {and} in them that of silver. This was not
enough for Phœbus, for ’twas he that was the author of this honour. He
himself inscribed his own lamentations on the leaves, and the flower has
‘ai, ai,’ inscribed {thereon}; and the mournful characters[33] {there}
are traced. Nor is Sparta ashamed to have given birth to Hyacinthus; and
his honours continue to the present time; the Hyacinthian festival[34]
returns, too, each year, to be celebrated with the prescribed
ceremonials, after the manner of former {celebrations}.”

    [Footnote 26: _Descendant of Amycla._--Ver. 162. Hyacinthus is
    here called Amyclides, as though being the son of Amycla, whereas,
    in line 196 he is called ‘Œbalides,’ as though the son of Œbalus.
    Pausamas and Apollodorus (in one instance) say that he was the son
    of Amycla, the Lacedæmonian, who founded the city of Amyclæ;
    though, in another place, Apollodorus says that Piërus was his
    father. On the other hand, Hyginus, Lucian, and Servius say that
    he was the son of Œbalus. Some explain ‘Amyclide,’ as meaning
    ‘born at Amyclæ;’ and, indeed, Claudian says that he was born
    there. Others, again, would have Œbalide to signify ‘born at
    Œbalia.’ But, if he was the son of Amycla, this could not be the
    signification, as Œbalia was founded by Œbalus, who was the
    grandson of Amycla. The poet, most probably, meant to style him
    the descendant of Amycla, as being his great grandson, and the son
    of Œbalus. Again, in the 217th line of this Book, the Poet says
    that he was born at Sparta; but, in the fifth Book of the Fasti,
    line 223, he mentions Therapnæ, a town of Laconia, as having been
    his birthplace. Perizonius thinks that Ovid has here inadvertently
    confounded the different versions of the story of Hyacinthus.]

    [Footnote 27: _In the middle._--Ver. 168. Delphi, situated on a
    ridge of Parnassus, was styled the navel of the world, as it was
    supposed to be situate in the middle of the earth. The story was,
    that Jupiter, having let go two eagles, or pigeons, at the
    opposite extremities of the earth, with the view of ascertaining
    the central spot of it, they met in their flight at this place.]

    [Footnote 28: _Unfortified Sparta._--Ver. 169. Sparta was not
    fortified, because Lycurgus considered that it ought to trust for
    its defence to nothing but the valour and patriotism of its
    citizens.]

    [Footnote 29: _The broad quoit._--Ver. 177. The ‘discus,’ or
    quoit, of the ancients, was made of brass, iron, stone, or wood,
    and was about ten or twelve inches in diameter. Sometimes, a heavy
    mass of iron, of spherical form, was thrown instead of the
    ‘discus.’ It was perforated in the middle, and a rope or thong
    being passed through, was used in throwing it.]

    [Footnote 30: _The Tænarian youth._--Ver. 183. Hyacinthus is so
    called, not as having been born there, but because Tænarus was a
    famous headland or promontory of Laconia, his native country.]

    [Footnote 31: _Thou shalt imitate._--Ver. 206. The blood of
    Hyacinthus, changing into a flower, according to the ideas of the
    poets, the words Αἰ, Αἰ, expressive, in the Greek language, of
    lamentation, were said to be impressed on its leaves.]

    [Footnote 32: _Most valiant hero._--Ver. 207. He alludes to Ajax,
    the son of Telamon, from whose blood, when he slew himself,
    a similar flower was said to have arisen, with the letters Αἰ, Αἰ,
    on its leaves, expressive either of grief, or denoting the first
    two letters of his name, Αἴας. See Book xiii. line 397. The
    hyacinth was the emblem of death, among the ancient Greeks.]

    [Footnote 33: _Mournful characters._--Ver. 216. The letters are
    called ‘funesta,’ because the words αἰ, αἰ were the expressions of
    lamentation at funerals.]

    [Footnote 34: _Hyacinthian festival._--Ver. 219. The Hyacinthia
    was a festival celebrated every year at Amyclæ, in Laconia, by the
    people of that town and of Sparta. Some writers say that it was
    held solely in honour of Apollo; others, of Hyacinthus; but it is
    much more probable, that it was intended to be in honour of both
    Apollo and Hyacinthus. The festival lasted for three days, and
    began on the longest day of the Spartan month, Hecatombæus. On the
    first and last day, sacrifices were offered to the dead, and the
    fate of Hyacinthus was lamented. Garlands were forbidden to be
    worn on those days, bread was not allowed to be eaten, and no
    songs were recited in praise of Apollo. On the second day,
    rejoicing and amusements prevailed; the praises of Apollo were
    sung, and horse races were celebrated; after which, females,
    riding in chariots made of wicker-work, and splendidly adorned,
    formed a beautiful procession. On this day, sacrifices were
    offered, and the citizens kept open houses for their friends and
    relations. Athenæus mentions a favourite meal of the Laconians on
    this occasion, which was called κοπίς, and consisted of cakes,
    bread, meat, broth, raw herbs, figs, and other fruits, with the
    seeds of the lupine. Macrobius says, that chaplets of ivy were
    worn at the Hyacinthia; but, of course, that remark can only apply
    to the second day. Even when they had taken the field against an
    enemy, the people of Amyclæ were in the habit of returning home on
    the approach of the Hyacinthia, to celebrate that festival.]


EXPLANATION.

  Hyacinthus, as Pausanias relates, was a youth of Laconia. His father
  educated him with so much care, that he was looked upon as the
  favourite of Apollo, and of the Muses. As he was one day playing
  with his companions, he unfortunately received a blow on the head
  from a quoit, from the effects of which he died soon after. Some
  funeral verses were probably composed on the occasion; in which it
  was said, with the view of comforting his relations, that Boreas,
  jealous of the affection which Apollo had evinced for the youth, had
  turned aside the quoit with which they played; and thus, by degrees,
  in length of time the name of Apollo became inseparably connected
  with the story.

  The Lacedæmonians each year celebrated a solemn festival near his
  tomb, where they offered sacrifices to him; and we are told by
  Athenæus, that they instituted games in his honour, which were
  called after his name. Pausanias makes mention of his tomb, upon
  which he says was engraved the figure of Apollo. His alleged change
  into the flower of the same name is probably solely owing to the
  similarity of their names. It is not very clear what flower it is
  that was known to the ancients under the name of Hyacinthus.
  Dioscorides believes it to be that called ‘vaccinium’ by the Romans,
  which is of a purple colour, and on which can be traced, though
  imperfectly, the letters αἰ (alas!) mentioned by Ovid. The
  lamentations of Apollo, on the death of Hyacinthus, formed the
  subject of bitter, and, indeed, deserved raillery, for several of
  the satirical writers among the ancients.


FABLE VI. [X.220-242]

  Venus, incensed at the Cerastæ for polluting the island of Cyprus,
  which is sacred to her, with the human sacrifices which they offer
  to their Gods, transforms them into bulls; and the Propœtides, as a
  punishment for their dissolute conduct, are transformed into rocks.

“But if, perchance, you were to ask of Amathus,[35] abounding in metals,
whether she would wish to have produced the Propœtides; she would deny
it, as well as those whose foreheads were of old rugged with two horns,
from which they also derived the name of Cerastæ. Before the doors of
these was standing an altar of Jupiter Hospes,[36] {a scene} of tragic
horrors; if any stranger had seen it stained with blood, he would have
supposed that sucking calves had been killed there, and Amathusian
sheep;[37] strangers were slain there. Genial Venus, offended at the
wicked sacrifices {there offered}, was preparing to abandon her own
cities and the Ophiusian lands.[38] ‘But how,’ said she, ‘have these
delightful spots, how have my cities offended? What criminality is there
in them? Let the inhuman race rather suffer punishment by exile or by
death, or if there is any middle course between death and exile; and
what can that be, but the punishment of changing their shape?’

“While she is hesitating into what she shall change them, she turns her
eyes towards their horns, and is put in mind that those may be left to
them; and {then} she transforms their huge limbs into {those of} fierce
bulls.

“And yet the obscene Propœtides presumed to deny that Venus is a
Goddess; for which they are reported the first {of all women} to have
prostituted their bodies,[39] with their beauty, through the anger of
the Goddess. And when their shame was gone, and the blood of their face
was hardened, they were, by a slight transition, changed into hard
rocks.”

    [Footnote 35: _Amathus._--Ver. 220. Amathus was a city of Cyprus,
    sacred to Venus, and famous for the mines in its neighbourhood.]

    [Footnote 36: _Jupiter Hospes._--Ver. 224. Jupiter, in his
    character of Ζεῦς ξένιος, was the guardian and protector of
    travellers and wayfarers.]

    [Footnote 37: _Amathusian sheep._--Ver. 227. Amathusia was one of
    the names of the island of Cyprus.]

    [Footnote 38: _Ophiusian lands._--Ver. 229. Cyprus was anciently
    called Ophiusia, on account of the number of serpents that
    infested it; ὄφις being the Greek for a serpent.]

    [Footnote 39: _Their bodies._--Ver. 240. The women of Cyprus were
    notorious for the levity of their character. We learn from
    Herodotus that they had recourse to prostitution to raise their
    marriage portions.]


EXPLANATION.

  The Cerastæ, a people of the island of Cyprus, were, perhaps, said
  to have been changed into bulls, to show the barbarous nature and
  rustic manners of those islanders, who stained their altars with the
  blood of strangers, in sacrifice to the Gods.

  An equivocation of names also, probably, aided in originating the
  story. The island of Cyprus is surrounded with promontories which
  rise out of the sea, and whose pointed rocks appear at a distance
  like horns, from which it had the name of Cerastis, the Greek word
  κέρας, signifying a ‘horn.’ Thus, the inhabitants having the name of
  Cerastæ, it was most easy to invent a fiction of their having been
  once turned into oxen, to account the more readily for their bearing
  that name.

  The Propœtides, who inhabited the same island, were females of very
  dissolute character. Justin, and other writers, mention a singular
  and horrible custom in that island, of prostituting young girls in
  the very temple of Venus. It was most probably the utter disregard
  of these women for common decency, that occasioned the poets to say
  that they were transformed into rocks.


FABLE VII. [X.243-297]

  Pygmalion, shocked by the dissolute lives of the Propœtides, throws
  off all fondness for the female sex, and resolves on leading a life
  of perpetual celibacy. Falling in love with a statue which he has
  made, Venus animates it; on which he marries this new object of his
  affections, and has a son by her, who gives his name to the island.

“When Pygmalion saw these women spending their lives in criminal
pursuits, shocked at the vices which Nature had {so} plentifully
imparted to the female disposition, he lived a single life without a
wife, and for a long time was without a partner of his bed. In the
meantime, he ingeniously carved {a statue of} snow-white ivory with
wondrous skill; and gave it a beauty with which no woman can be born;
and {then} conceived a passion for his own workmanship. The appearance
was that of a real virgin, whom you might suppose to be alive, and if
modesty did not hinder her, to be desirous to move; so much did art lie
concealed under his skill. Pygmalion admires it; and entertains, within
his breast, a flame for this fictitious body.

“Often does he apply his hands to the work, to try whether it is a
{human} body, or whether it is ivory; and yet he does not own it to be
ivory. He gives it kisses, and fancies that they are returned, and
speaks to it, and takes hold of it, and thinks that his fingers make an
impression on the limbs which they touch, and is fearful lest a livid
mark should come on her limbs {when} pressed. And one while he employs
soft expressions, at another time he brings her presents that are
agreeable to maidens, {such as} shells, and smooth pebbles, and little
birds, and flowers of a thousand tints, and lilies, and painted balls,
and tears of the Heliades, that have fallen from the trees. He decks her
limbs, too, with clothing, and puts jewels on her fingers; he puts,
{too}, a long necklace on her neck. Smooth pendants hang from her ears,
and bows from her breast.[40] All things are becoming {to her}; and she
does not seem less beautiful than when naked. He places her on coverings
dyed with the Sidonian shell, and calls her the companion of his bed,
and lays down her reclining neck upon soft feathers, as though it were
sensible.

“A festival of Venus, much celebrated throughout all Cyprus, had {now}
come; and heifers, with snow-white necks, having their spreading horns
tipped with gold, fell, struck {by the axe}. Frankincense, too, was
smoking, when, having made his offering, Pygmalion stood before the
altar, and timorously said, ‘If ye Gods can grant all things, let my
wife be, I pray,’ {and} he did not dare to say ‘this ivory maid,’ {but}
‘like to this {statue} of ivory.’ The golden Venus, as she herself was
present at her own festival, understood what that prayer meant; and as
an omen of the Divinity being favourable, thrice was the flame kindled
up, and it sent up a tapering flame into the air. Soon as he returned,
he repaired to the image of his maiden, and, lying along the couch, he
gave her kisses. She seems to grow warm. Again he applies his mouth;
with his hands, too, he feels her breast. The pressed ivory becomes
soft, and losing its hardness, yields to the fingers, and gives way,
just as Hymettian wax[41] grows soft in the sun, and being worked with
the fingers is turned into many shapes, and becomes pliable by the very
handling. While he is amazed, and is rejoicing, {though} with
apprehension, and is fearing that he is deceived; the lover again and
again touches the object of his desires with his hand. It is a {real}
body; the veins throb, when touched with the thumb.

“Then, indeed, the Paphian hero conceives {in his mind} the most lavish
expressions, with which to give thanks to Venus, and at length presses
lips, no {longer} fictitious, with his own lips. The maiden, too, feels
the kisses given her, and blushes; and raising her timorous eyes towards
the light {of day}, she sees at once her lover and the heavens. The
Goddess was present at the marriage which she {thus} effected. And now,
the horns of the moon having been nine times gathered into a full orb,
she brought forth Paphos; from whom the island derived its name.”

    [Footnote 40: _Bows from her breast._--Ver. 265. The ‘Redimiculum’
    was a sort of fillet, or head band, worn by females. Passing over
    the shoulders, it hung on each side, over the breast. In the
    statues of Venus, it was often imitated in gold. Clarke translates
    it by the word ‘solitaire.’]

    [Footnote 41: _Hymettian wax._--Ver. 284. Hymettus was a mountain
    of Attica, much famed for its honey.]


EXPLANATION.

  The Pygmalion here mentioned must not be mistaken for the person of
  the same name, who was the brother of Dido, and king of Tyre. The
  story is most probably an allegory, which was based on the fact that
  Pygmalion being a man of virtuous principles, and disgusted with the
  vicious conduct of the women of Cyprus, took a great deal of care in
  training the mind and conduct of a young female, whom he kept at a
  distance from the contact of the prevailing vices; and whom, after
  having recovered her from the obdurate and rocky state to which the
  other females were reduced, he made his wife, and had a son by her
  named Paphos; who was said to have been the founder of the city of
  Cyprus, known by his name.


FABLE VIII. [X.298-518]

  Myrrha, the daughter of Cinyras and Cenchris, having conceived an
  incestuous passion for her own father, and despairing of satisfying
  it, attempts to hang herself. Her nurse surprises her in the act,
  and prevents her death. Myrrha, after repeated entreaties and
  assurances of assistance, discloses to her the cause of her despair.
  The nurse, by means of a stratagem, procures her the object of her
  desires, which being discovered by her father, he pursues his
  daughter with the intention of killing her. Myrrha flies from her
  father’s dominions and being delivered of Adonis, is transformed
  into a tree.

“Of him was that Cinyras sprung, who, if he had been without issue,
might have been reckoned among the happy. Of horrible events shall I
{now} sing. Daughters, be far hence; far hence be parents, {too}; or, if
my verse shall charm your minds, let credit not be given to me in this
part {of my song}, and do not believe that it happened; or, if you will
believe, believe as well in the punishment of the deed.

“Yet, if Nature allows this crime to appear to have been committed,
I congratulate the Ismarian matrons, and my own {division of the} globe.
I congratulate this land, that it is afar from those regions which
produced so great an abomination. Let the Panchæan land[42] be rich in
amomum, and let it produce cinnamon, and its zedoary,[43] and
frankincense distilling from its tree, and its other flowers, so long as
it produces the myrrh-tree, as well. The new tree was not of so much
worth {as to be a recompense for the crime to which it owed its origin}.
Cupid himself denies, Myrrha, that it was his arrows that injured thee;
and he defends his torches from that imputation; one of the three
Sisters kindled {this flame} within thee, with a Stygian firebrand and
with swelling vipers. It is a crime to hate a parent; {but} this love is
a greater degree of wickedness than hatred. On every side worthy nobles
are desiring thee {in marriage}, and throughout the whole East the
youths come to the contest for thy bed. Choose out of all these one for
thyself, Myrrha, so that, in all that number, there be not one person,
{namely, thy father}.

“She, indeed, is sensible {of her criminality}, and struggles hard
against her infamous passion, and says to herself, ‘Whither am I being
carried away by my feelings? What am I attempting? I beseech you, O ye
Gods, and natural affection, and ye sacred ties of parents, forbid this
guilt: defend me from a crime so great! if, indeed, this be a crime. But
yet the ties of parent and child are said not to forbid this {kind of}
union; and other animals couple with no distinction. It is not
considered shameful for the heifer to mate with her sire; his own
daughter becomes the mate of the horse; the he-goat, too, consorts with
the flocks of which he is the father; and the bird conceives by him,
from whose seed she herself was conceived. Happy they, to whom these
things are allowed! The care of man has provided harsh laws, and what
Nature permits, malignant ordinances forbid. {And} yet there are said to
be nations[44] in which both the mother is united to the son, and the
daughter to the father, and natural affection is increased by a twofold
passion. Ah, wretched me! that it was not my chance to be born there,
{and that} I am injured by my lot {being cast} in this place! {but} why
do I ruminate on these things? Forbidden hopes, begone! He is deserving
to be beloved, but as a father {only}. Were I not, therefore, the
daughter of the great Cinyras, with Cinyras I might be united. Now,
because he is so much mine, he is not mine, and his very nearness {of
relationship} is my misfortune.

“‘A stranger, I were more likely to succeed. I could wish to go far away
hence, and to leave my native country, so I might {but} escape this
crime. A fatal delusion detains me {thus} in love; that being present,
I may look at Cinyras, and touch him, and talk with him, and give him
kisses, if nothing more is allowed me. But canst thou hope for anything
more, impious maid? and dost thou not perceive both how many laws, and
{how many} names thou art confounding? Wilt thou be both the rival of
thy mother, and the harlot of thy father? Wilt thou be called the sister
of thy son, and the mother of thy brother? and wilt thou not dread the
Sisters that have black snakes for their hair, whom guilty minds see
threatening their eyes and their faces with their relentless torches?
But do not thou conceive criminality in thy mind, so long as thou hast
suffered none in body, and violate not the laws of all-powerful Nature
by forbidden embraces. Suppose he were to be compliant, the action
itself forbids {thee; but} he is virtuous, and regardful of what is
right. And {yet}, O that there were a like infatuation in him!’

“{Thus} she says; but Cinyras, whom an honourable crowd of suitors is
causing to be in doubt what he is to do, inquires of herself, as he
repeats their names, of which husband she would wish {to be the wife}.
At first she is silent; and, fixing her eyes upon her father’s
countenance, she is in confusion, and fills her eyes with the warm
tears. Cinyras, supposing this to be {the effect} of virgin bashfulness,
bids her not weep, and dries her cheeks, and gives her kisses. On these
being given, Myrrha is too much delighted; and, being questioned what
sort of a husband she would have, she says, ‘One like thyself.’ But he
praises the answer not {really}[45] understood by him, and says, ‘Ever
be thus affectionate.’ On mention being made of affection, the maiden,
conscious of her guilt, fixed her eyes on the ground.

“It is {now} midnight, and sleep has dispelled the cares, and {has
eased} the minds {of mortals}. But the virgin daughter of Cinyras, kept
awake, is preyed upon by an unconquerable flame, and ruminates upon her
wild desires. And one while she despairs, and at another she resolves to
try; and is both ashamed, and {yet} is desirous, and is not certain what
she is to do; and, just as a huge tree, wounded by the axe, when the
last stroke {now} remains, is in doubt, {as it were}, on which side it
is to fall, and is dreaded in each direction; so does her mind, shaken
by varying passions, waver in uncertainty, this way and that, and
receives an impulse in either direction; {and} no limit or repose is
found for her love, but death: ’tis death that pleases her. She raises
herself upright, and determines to insert her neck[46] in a halter; and
tying her girdle to the top of the door-post, she says, ‘Farewell, dear
Cinyras, and understand the cause of my death;’ and {then} fits the
noose to her pale neck.

“They say that the sound of her words reached the attentive ears of her
nurse,[47] as she was guarding the door of her foster-child. The old
woman rises, and opens the door; and, seeing the instruments of the
death she has contemplated, at the same moment she cries aloud, and
smites herself, and rends her bosom, and snatching the girdle from her
neck, tears it to pieces. {And} then, at last, she has time to weep,
then to give her embraces, and to inquire into the occasion for the
halter. The maid is silent, {as} {though} dumb, and, without moving,
looks upon the earth; and {thus} detected, is sorry for her attempt at
death in this slow manner. The old woman {still} urges her; and laying
bare her grey hair, and her withered breasts, begs her, by her cradle
and by her first nourishment, to entrust her with that which is causing
her grief. She, turning from her as she asks, heaves a sigh. The nurse
is determined to find it out, and not to promise her fidelity only.
‘Tell me,’ says she, ‘and allow me to give thee assistance; my old age
is not an inactive one. If it is a frantic passion, I have the means of
curing it with charms and herbs; if any one has hurt thee by spells, by
magic rites shalt thou be cured; or if it is the anger of the Gods, that
anger can be appeased by sacrifice. What more {than these} can I think
of? No doubt thy fortunes and thy family are prosperous, and in the way
of continuing so; thy mother and thy father are {still} surviving.’
Myrrha, on hearing her father’s {name}, heaves a sigh from the bottom of
her heart. Nor, even yet, does her nurse apprehend in her mind any
unlawful passion; {and} still she has a presentiment that it is
something {connected with} love. Persisting in her purpose, she entreats
her, whatever it is, to disclose it to her, and takes her, as she weeps,
in her aged lap; and so embracing her in her feeble arms, she says,
‘Daughter, I understand it; thou art in love, and in this case (lay
aside thy fears) my assiduity will be of service to thee; nor shall thy
father ever be aware of it.’

“Furious, she sprang away from her bosom; and pressing the bed with her
face, she said, ‘Depart, I entreat thee, and spare my wretched shame.’
Upon the other insisting, she said, ‘Either depart, or cease to inquire
why it is I grieve; that which thou art striving to know, is impious.’
The old woman is struck with horror, and stretches forth her hands
palsied both with years and with fear, and suppliantly falls before the
feet of her foster-child. And one while she soothes her, sometimes she
terrifies her {with the consequences}, if she is not made acquainted
with it; and {then} she threatens her with the discovery of the halter,
{and} of her attempted destruction, and promises her good offices, if
the passion is confided to her. She lifts up her head, and fills the
breast of her nurse with tears bursting forth; and often endeavouring to
confess, as often does she check her voice; and she covers her blushing
face with her garments, and says, ‘O, mother, happy in thy husband!’
Thus much {she says}; and {then} she sighs. A trembling shoots through
the chilled limbs and the bones of her nurse, for she understands her;
and her white hoariness stands bristling with stiff hair all over her
head; and she adds many a word to drive away a passion so dreadful, if
{only} she can. But the maiden is well aware that she is not advised to
a false step; still she is resolved to die, if she does not enjoy him
whom she loves. ‘Live {then},’ says {the nurse}, ‘thou shalt enjoy
thy----’ and, not daring to say ‘parent,’ she is silent; and {then} she
confirms her promise with an oath.

“The pious matrons were {now} celebrating the annual festival of
Ceres,[48] on which, having their bodies clothed with snow-white robes,
they offer garlands made of ears of corn, as the first fruits of the
harvest; and for nine nights they reckon embraces, and the contact of a
husband, among the things forbidden. Cenchreïs, the king’s wife, is
absent in that company, and attends the mysterious rites. Therefore,
while his bed is without his lawful wife, the nurse, wickedly
industrious, having found Cinyras overcome with wine, discloses to him a
real passion, {but} under a feigned name, and praises the beauty {of the
damsel}. On his enquiring the age of the maiden, she says, ‘She is of
the same age as Myrrha.’ After she is commanded to bring her, and as
soon as she has returned home, she says, ‘Rejoice, my fosterling, we
have prevailed.’ The unhappy maid does not feel joy throughout her
entire body, and her boding breast is sad. And still she does rejoice:
so great is the discord in her mind.

“’Twas the time when all things are silent, and Boötes had turned his
wain with the pole obliquely directed among the Triones.[49] She
approaches to {perpetrate} her enormity. The golden moon flies from the
heavens; black clouds conceal the hiding stars; the night is deprived of
its fires. Thou, Icarus, dost conceal thy rising countenance; and
{thou}, Erigone, raised to the heavens through thy affectionate love for
thy father. Three times was she recalled by the presage of her foot
stumbling; thrice did the funereal owl give an omen by its dismal cry.
Yet {onward} she goes, and the gloom and the dark night lessen her
shame. In her left hand she holds that of her nurse, the other, by
groping, explores the secret road. {And} now she is arrived at the door
of the chamber; and now she opens the door; now she is led in; but her
knees tremble beneath her sinking hams, her colour and her blood vanish;
and her courage deserts her as she moves along. The nearer she is to
{the commission of} her crime, the more she dreads it, and she repents
of her attempt, and could wish to be able to return unknown. The old
woman leads her on by the hand as she lingers, and when she has
delivered her up on her approach to the lofty bed, she says, ‘Take her,
Cinyras, she is thy own,’ and {so} unites their doomed bodies. The
father receives his own bowels into the polluted bed, and allays her
virgin fears, and encourages her as she trembles. Perhaps, too, he may
have called her by a name {suited to} her age, and she may have called
him ‘father,’ that the {appropriate} names might not be wanting in this
deed of horror. Pregnant by her father, she departs from the chamber,
and, in her impiety, bears his seed in her incestuous womb, and carries
{with her}, criminality in her conception. The ensuing night repeats the
guilty deed; nor on that {night} is there an end. At last, Cinyras,
after so many embraces, longing to know who is his paramour, on lights
being brought in, discovers both the crime and his own daughter.

“His words checked through grief, he draws his shining sword from the
scabbard as it hangs. Myrrha flies, rescued from death by the gloom and
the favour of a dark night; and wandering along the wide fields, she
leaves the Arabians famed for their palms, and the Panchæan fields. And
she wanders during nine horns of the returning moon; when, at length,
being weary, she rests in the Sabæan country,[50] and with difficulty
she supports the burden of her womb. Then, uncertain what to wish, and
between the fear of death and weariness of life, she uttered such a
prayer {as this}: ‘O ye Deities, if any of you favour those who are
penitent; I have deserved severe punishment, and I do not shrink from
it. But that, neither existing, I may pollute the living, nor dead,
those who are departed, expel me from both these realms; and
transforming me, deny me both life and death.’ {Some} Divinity {ever}
regards the penitent; at least, the last of her prayers found its Gods
{to execute it}. For the earth closes over her legs as she speaks, and a
root shoots forth obliquely through her bursting nails, {as} a firm
support to her tall trunk. Her bones, too, become hard wood, and her
marrow continuing in the middle, her blood changes into sap, her arms
into great branches, her fingers into smaller ones; her skin grows hard
with bark. And now the growing tree has run over her heavy womb, and has
covered her breast, and is ready to enclose her neck. She cannot endure
delay, and sinks down to meet the approaching wood, and hides her
features within the bark. Though she has lost her former senses together
with her {human} shape, she still weeps on, and warm drops distil[51]
from the tree. There is a value even in her tears, and the myrrh
distilling from the bark, retains the name of its mistress, and will be
unheard-of in no {future} age.

“But the infant conceived in guilt grows beneath the wood, and seeks out
a passage, by which he may extricate himself, having left his mother.
Her pregnant womb swells in the middle of the tree. The burden distends
the mother, nor have her pangs words of their own {whereby to express
themselves}; nor can Lucina be invoked by her voice {while} bringing
forth. Yet she is like one struggling {to be delivered}; and the bending
tree utters frequent groans, and is moistened with falling tears. Gentle
Lucina stands by the moaning boughs, and applies her hands, and utters
words that promote delivery. The tree gapes open, in chinks, and through
the cleft bark it discharges the living burden. The child cries; the
Naiads, laying him on the soft grass, anoint him with the tears of his
mother.

“Even Envy {herself} would have commended his face; for just as the
bodies of naked Cupids are painted in a picture, such was he. But that
their dress may not make any difference, either give to him or take away
from them, the polished quivers.”

    [Footnote 42: _The Panchæan land._--Ver. 309. Panchæa was a region
    of Arabia Felix, abounding in the choicest wines and frankincense.
    Here, the Phœnix was said to find the materials for making its
    nest.]

    [Footnote 43: _Its zedoary._--Ver. 308. ‘Costus,’ or ‘costum,’ was
    an Indian shrub, which yielded a fragrant ointment, much esteemed
    by the ancients. Clarke translates it ‘Coysts,’ a word apparently
    of his own coining.]

    [Footnote 44: _Said to be nations._--Ver. 331. We do not read of
    any such nations, except the fabulous Troglodytes of Ethiopia, who
    were supposed to live promiscuously, like the brutes. Attica, king
    of the Huns, long after Ovid’s time, married his own daughter,
    amid the rejoicings of his subjects.]

    [Footnote 45: _Not really._--Ver. 365. That is to say, not
    understood by him in the sense in which Myrrha meant it.]

    [Footnote 46: _To insert her neck._--Ver. 378. ‘Laqueoque
    innectere fauces Destinat,’ is translated by Clarke, ‘And resolves
    to stitch up her neck in a halter.’]

    [Footnote 47: _Of her nurse._--Ver. 382. Antoninus Liberalis gives
    this hag the name of Hippolyte.]

    [Footnote 48: _Festival of Ceres._--Ver. 431. Commentators, in
    general, suppose that he here alludes to the festival of the
    Thesmophoria, which was celebrated in honour of Demeter, or Ceres,
    in various parts of Greece; in general, by the married women,
    though the virgins joined in some of the ceremonies. Demosthenes,
    Diodorus Siculus, and Plutarch, say that it was first celebrated
    by Orpheus; while Herodotus states, that it was introduced from
    Egypt by the daughters of Danaüs; and that, after the Dorian
    conquest, it fell into disuse, being retained only by the people
    of Arcadia. It was intended to commemorate the introduction of
    laws and the regulations of civilized life, which were generally
    ascribed to Demeter. It is not known whether the festival lasted
    four or five days with the Athenians. Many days were spent by the
    matrons in preparing for its celebration. The solemnity was
    commenced by the women walking in procession from Athens to
    Eleusis. In this procession they carried on their heads
    representations of the laws which had been introduced by Ceres,
    and other symbols of civilized life. They then spent the night at
    Eleusis, in celebrating the mysteries of the Goddess. The second
    day was one of mourning, during which the women sat on the ground
    around the statues of Ceres, taking no food but cakes made of
    sesame and honey. On it no meetings of the people were held.
    Probably it was in the afternoon of this day that there was a
    procession at Athens, in which the women walked bare-footed behind
    a waggon, upon which were baskets, with sacred symbols. The third
    day was one of merriment and festivity among the women, in
    commemoration of Iämbe, who was said to have amused the Goddess
    during her grief at the loss of Proserpine. An atoning sacrifice,
    called ζήμια, was probably offered to the Goddess, at the end of
    this day. It is most probable that the ceremonial lasted but three
    days. The women wore white dresses during the period of its
    performance, and they adopted the same colour during the
    celebration of the Cerealia at Rome. Burmann thinks, that an
    Eastern festival, in honour of Ceres, is here referred to. If so,
    no accounts of it whatever have come down to us.]

    [Footnote 49: _Among the Triones._--Ver. 446. ‘Triones’. This
    word, which is applied to the stars of the Ursa Major, or
    Charles’s Wain, literally means ‘oxen;’ and is by some thought to
    come from ‘tero,’ ‘to bruise,’ because oxen were used for the
    purpose of threshing corn; but it is more likely to have its
    origin from ‘terra,’ ‘the earth,’ because oxen were used for
    ploughing. The Poet employs this periphrasis, to signify the
    middle of the night.]

    [Footnote 50: _Sabæan country._--Ver. 480. Sabæa, or Saba, was a
    region of Arabia Felix, now called ‘Yemen.’ It was famed for its
    myrrh, frankincense, and spices. In the Scriptures it is called
    Sheba, and it was the queen of this region, who came to listen to
    the wisdom of Solomon.]

    [Footnote 51: _Warm drops distil._--Ver. 500. He alludes to the
    manner in which frankincense is produced, it exuding from the bark
    of the tree in drops; this gum, Pliny the Elder and Lucretius call
    by the name of ‘stacta,’ or ‘stacte.’ The ancients flavoured their
    wines with myrrh.]


EXPLANATION.

  Le Clerc, forming his ideas on what Lucian, Phurnutus, and other
  authors have said on the subject, explains the story of Cinyras and
  Myrrha in the following manner. Cynnor, or Cinyras, the grandfather
  of Adonis, having one day drank to excess, fell asleep in a posture
  which violated the rules of decency. Mor, or Myrrha, his
  daughter-in-law, the wife of Ammon, together with her son Adonis,
  seeing him in that condition, acquainted her husband with her
  father’s lapse. On his repeating this to Cinyras, the latter was so
  full of indignation, that he loaded Myrrha and Adonis with
  imprecations.

  Loaded with the execrations of her father, Myrrha retired into
  Arabia, where she remained some time; and because Adonis passed some
  portion of his youth there, the poets feigned that Myrrha was
  delivered of him in that country. Her transformation into a tree was
  only invented on account of the equivocal character of her name,
  ‘Mor,’ which meant in the Arabic language ‘Myrrh.’ It is very
  probable that the story was founded on a tradition among the
  Phœnicians of the history of Noah, and of the malediction which Ham
  drew on himself by his undutiful conduct towards his father.


FABLE IX. [X.519-707]

  Adonis is educated by the Naiads. His beauty makes a strong
  impression on the Goddess Venus, and, in her passion, she traverses
  the same wilds in pursuit of the youth, which his mother did, when
  flying from the wrath of her father. After chasing the wild beasts,
  she invites Adonis to a poplar shade, where she warns him of his
  danger in hunting lions, wild boars, and such formidable animals.
  On this occasion, too, she relates the adventures of Hippomenes and
  Atalanta. The beauty of the latter was such, that her charms daily
  attracted crowds of suitors. Having consulted the oracle, whether
  she shall marry, she is answered that a husband will certainly prove
  her destruction. On this, to avoid marrying, she makes it a rule to
  offer to run with her suitors, promising that she herself will be
  the prize of the victor, but only on condition that immediate death
  shall be the fate of those who are vanquished by her. As she excels
  in running, her design succeeds, and several suitors die in the
  attempt to win her. Hippomenes, smitten with her charms, is not
  daunted at their ill success; but boldly enters the lists, after
  imploring the aid of Venus. Atalanta is struck with his beauty, and
  is much embarrassed, whether she shall yield to the charms of the
  youth, or to the dissuasions of the oracle. Hippomenes attracts her
  attention in the race, by throwing down some golden apples which
  Venus has given him, and then, reaching the goal before her, he
  carries off the reward of victory. Venus, to punish his subsequent
  ingratitude towards her, raises his desires to such a pitch, that he
  incurs the resentment of Cybele, by defiling her shrine with the
  embraces of his mistress; on which they are both transformed into
  lions, and thenceforth draw the chariot of the Goddess.

“Winged time glides on insensibly and deceives us; and there is nothing
more fleeting than years. He, born of his own sister and of his
grandfather, who, so lately enclosed in a tree, was so lately born, and
but just now a most beauteous infant, is now a youth, now a man, {and}
now more beauteous than he {was before}. {And} now he pleases even
Venus,[52] and revenges the flames of his mother, {kindled by her}. For,
while the boy that wears the quiver is giving kisses to his mother, he
unconsciously grazes her breast with a protruding arrow. The Goddess,
wounded, pushed away her son with her hand. The wound was inflicted more
deeply than it seemed to be, and at first had deceived {even} herself.
Charmed with the beauty of the youth, she does not now care for the
Cytherian shores, nor does she revisit Paphos, surrounded with the deep
sea, and Cnidos,[53] abounding in fish, or Amathus, rich in metals.

“She abandons even the skies; him she {ever} attends; and she who has
been always accustomed to indulge in the shade, and to improve her
beauty, by taking care of it, wanders over the tops of mountains,
through the woods, and over bushy rocks, bare to the knee and with her
robes tucked up after the manner of Diana, and she cheers on the dogs,
and hunts animals that are harmless prey, either the fleet hares, or the
stag with its lofty horns, or the hinds; she keeps afar from the fierce
boars, and avoids the ravening wolves, and the bears armed with claws,
and the lions glutted with the slaughter of the herds. Thee, too,
Adonis, she counsels to fear them, if she can aught avail by advising
thee. And she says, “Be brave against those {animals} that fly; boldness
is not safe against those that are bold. Forbear, youth, to be rash at
my hazard, and attack not the wild beasts to which nature has granted
arms, lest thy {thirst for} glory should cost me dear. Neither thy age,
nor thy beauty, nor {other} things which have made an impression on
Venus, make any impression on lions and bristly boars, and the eyes and
the tempers of wild beasts. The fierce boars carry lightning[54] in
their curving tusks; there is rage and fury unlimited in the tawny
lions; and the {whole} race is odious to me.”

“Upon his asking, what is the reason, she says, ‘I will tell thee, and
thou wilt be surprised at the prodigious result of a fault long since
committed. But {this} toil to which I am unaccustomed has now fatigued
me, and see! a convenient poplar invites us, by its shade, and the turf
furnishes a couch. Here I am desirous to repose myself, together with
thee;’ and {forthwith} she rests herself on the ground, and presses at
once the grass and himself. And with her neck reclining on the bosom of
the youth, smiling, she thus says, and she mingles kisses in the midst
of her words:--

“Perhaps thou mayst have heard how a certain damsel excelled the
swiftest men in the contest of speed. That report was no idle tale; for
she did excel them. Nor couldst thou have said, whether she was more
distinguished in the merit of her swiftness, or in the excellence of her
beauty. Upon her consulting the oracle about a husband, the God said to
her, ‘Thou hast no need, Atalanta, of a husband; avoid obtaining a
husband. And yet thou wilt not avoid it, and, while {still} living, thou
wilt lose thyself.’ Alarmed with the response of the God, she lives a
single life in the shady woods, and determinedly repulses the pressing
multitude of her suitors with these conditions. ‘I am not,’ says she,
‘to be gained, unless first surpassed in speed. Engage with me in
running. Both a wife and a wedding shall be given as the reward of the
swift; death {shall be} the recompense of the slow. Let that be the
condition of the contest.’ She, indeed, was cruel {in this proposal};
but (so great is the power of beauty) a rash multitude of suitors agreed
to these terms. Hippomenes had sat, as a spectator, of this unreasonable
race, and said, ‘Is a wife sought by any one, amid dangers so great?’
And {thus} he condemned the excessive ardour of the youths. {But} when
he beheld her face, and her body with her clothes laid aside, such as
mine is, or such as thine would be, {Adonis}, if thou wast to become a
woman, he was astonished, and raising his hands, he said, ‘Pardon me, ye
whom I was just now censuring; the reward which you contended for was
not yet known to me.’

“In commending her, he kindles the flame, and wishes that none of the
young men may run more swiftly than she, and, in his envy, is
apprehensive of it. ‘But why,’ says he, ‘is my chance in this contest
left untried? The Divinity himself assists the daring.’ While Hippomenes
is pondering such things within himself, the virgin flies with winged
pace. Although she appears to the Aonian youth to go no less swiftly
than the Scythian arrow, he admires her still more in her beauty, and
the very speed makes her beauteous. The breeze that meets her bears back
her pinions on her swift feet, and her hair is thrown over her ivory
shoulders and the leggings which are below her knees with their
variegated border, and upon her virgin whiteness her body has contracted
a blush; no otherwise than as when purple hangings[55] over a whitened
hall tint it with a shade of a similar colour. While the stranger is
observing these things, the last course is run,[56] and the victorious
Atalanta is adorned with a festive crown. The vanquished utter sighs,
and pay the penalty, according to the stipulation. Still, not awed by
the end of these young men, he stands up in the midst; and fixing his
eyes on the maiden, he says, ‘Why dost thou seek an easy victory by
conquering the inactive? Contend {now} with me. If fortune shall render
me victorious, thou wilt not take it ill to be conquered by one so
illustrious. For my father was Megareus, Onchestius his;[57] Neptune was
his grandsire; I am the great grandson of the king of the waves. Nor is
my merit inferior to my extraction. Or if I shall be conquered, in the
conquest of Hippomenes thou wilt have a great and honourable name.’

“As he utters such words as these, the daughter of Schœneus regards him
with a benign countenance, and is in doubt whether she shall wish to be
overcome or to conquer; and thus she says: ‘What Deity, a foe to the
beauteous, wishes to undo this {youth}? and commands him, at the risk of
a life {so} dear, to seek this alliance? In my own opinion, I am not of
so great value. Nor {yet} am I moved by his beauty. Still, by this, too,
I could be moved. But, {’tis} because he is still a boy; ’tis not
himself that affects me, but his age. And is it not, too, because he has
courage and a mind undismayed by death? And is it not, besides, because
he is reckoned fourth in descent from the {monarch} of the sea? And is
it not, because he loves me, and thinks a marriage with me of so much
worth as to perish {for it}, if cruel fortune should deny me to him?
Stranger, while {still} thou mayst, begone, and abandon an alliance
stained with blood. A match with me is cruelly hazardous. No woman will
be unwilling to be married to thee; and thou mayst be desired {even} by
a prudent maid. But why have I any concern for thee, when so many have
already perished? Let him look to it; {and} let him die, since he is not
warned by the fate of so many of my wooers, and is impelled onwards to
weariness of life.

“‘Shall he then die because he was desirous with me to live? And shall
he suffer an undeserved death, the reward of his love? My victory will
not be able to support the odium {of the deed}. But it is no fault of
mine. I wish thou wouldst desist! or since thou art {thus} mad, would
that thou wast more fleet {than I!} But what a feminine look[58] there
is in his youthful face! Ah, wretched Hippomenes, I would that I had not
been seen by thee! Thou wast worthy to have lived! And if I had been
more fortunate; and if the vexatious Divinities had not denied me {the
blessings of} marriage, thou wast one with whom I could have shared my
bed.’ Thus she said; and as one inexperienced, and smitten by Cupid for
the first time, not knowing what she is doing, she is in love, and {yet}
does not know that she is in love.

“{And} now, both the people and her father, demanded the usual race,
when Hippomenes, the descendant of Neptune, invoked me with anxious
voice; ‘I entreat that Cytherea may favour my undertaking, and aid the
passion that she has inspired {in me}.’ The breeze, not envious, wafted
to me this tender prayer; I was moved, I confess it; nor was any long
delay made in {giving} aid. There is a field, the natives call it by
name the Tamasenian {field},[59] the choicest spot in the Cyprian land;
this the elders of former days consecrated to me, and ordered to be
added as an endowment for my temple. In the middle of this field a tree
flourishes, with yellow foliage, {and} with branches tinkling with
yellow gold. Hence, by chance as I was coming, I carried three golden
apples, that I had plucked, in my hand; and being visible to none but
him, I approached Hippomenes, and I showed him what {was to be} the use
of them. The trumpets have {now} given the signal, when each {of them}
darts precipitately from the starting place, and skims the surface of
the sand with nimble feet. You might have thought them able to pace the
sea with dry feet, and to run along the ears of white standing corn
{while} erect. The shouts and the applause of the populace give courage
to the youth, and the words of those who exclaim, ‘Now, now, Hippomenes,
is the moment to speed onward! make haste. Now use all thy strength!
Away with delay! thou shalt be conqueror.’ It is doubtful whether the
Megarean hero, or the virgin daughter of Schœneus rejoiced the most at
these sayings. O how often when she could have passed by him, did she
slacken her speed, and {then} unwillingly left behind the features that
long she had gazed upon.

“A parched panting is coming from his faint mouth, and the goal is
{still} a great way off. Then, at length, the descendant of Neptune
throws one of the three products of the tree. The virgin is amazed, and
from a desire for the shining fruit, she turns from her course, and
picks up the rolling gold. Hippomenes passes her. The theatres ring[60]
with applause. She makes amends for her delay, and the time that she has
lost, with a swift pace, and again she leaves the youth behind. And,
retarded by the throwing of a second apple, again she overtakes the
{young} man, and passes by him. The last part of the race {now}
remained. ‘{And} now,’ said he, ‘O Goddess, giver of this present, aid
me;’ and {then} with youthful might, he threw the shining gold, in an
oblique direction, on one side of the plain, in order that she might
return the more slowly. The maiden seemed to be in doubt, whether she
should fetch it; I forced her to take it up, and added weight to the
apple, when she had taken it up, and I impeded her, both by the
heaviness of the burden, and the delay in reaching it. And that my
narrative may not be more tedious than that race, the virgin was outrun,
and the conqueror obtained the prize.

“And was I not, Adonis, deserving that he should return thanks to me,
and the tribute of frankincense? but, in his ingratitude, he gave me
neither thanks nor frankincense. I was thrown into a sudden passion; and
provoked at being slighted, I provided by {making} an example, that I
should not be despised in future times, and I aroused myself against
them both. They were passing by a temple, concealed within a shady wood,
which the famous Echion had formerly built for the Mother of the Gods,
according to his vow; and the length of their journey moved them to take
rest {there}. There, an unseasonable desire of caressing {his wife}
seized Hippomenes, excited by my agency. Near the temple was a recess,
with {but} little light, like a cave, covered with native pumice stone,
{one} sacred from ancient religious observance; where the priest had
conveyed many a wooden image of the ancient Gods. This he entered, and
he defiled the sanctuary by a forbidden crime. The sacred images turned
away their eyes, and the Mother {of the Gods}, crowned with turrets,[61]
was in doubt whether she should plunge these guilty ones in the Stygian
stream. That seemed {too} light a punishment. Wherefore yellow manes
cover their necks so lately smooth; their fingers are bent into claws,
of their shoulders are made fore-legs;[62] their whole weight passes
into their breasts. The surface of the sand is swept by their tails.[63]
Their look has anger {in it}; instead of words they utter growls;
instead of chambers they haunt the woods; and dreadful to others, {as}
lions, they champ the bits of Cybele with subdued jaws. Do thou, beloved
by me, avoid these, and together with these, all kinds of wild beasts
which turn not their backs in flight, but their breasts to the fight;
lest thy courage should be fatal to us both.”

    [Footnote 52: _Pleases even Venus._--Ver. 524. According to
    Apollodorus, Venus had caused Myrrha to imbibe her infamous
    passion, because she had treated the worship of that Goddess with
    contempt.]

    [Footnote 53: _Cnidos._--Ver. 531. This was a city of Caria,
    situate on a promontory. Strangers resorted thither, to behold a
    statue of Venus there, which was made by Praxiteles.]

    [Footnote 54: _Carry lightning._--Ver. 551. The lightning shock
    seems to be attributed to the wild boar, from the vehemence with
    which he strikes down every impediment in his way.]

    [Footnote 55: _Purple hangings._--Ver. 595. Curtains, or hangings,
    called ‘aulæa,’ were used by the ancients to ornament their halls,
    sitting rooms, and bed chambers. In private houses they were also
    sometimes hung as coverings over doors, and in the interior, as
    substitutes for them. In the palace of the Roman emperors,
    a slave, called ‘velarius,’ was posted at each of the principal
    doors, to raise the curtain when any one passed through. Window
    curtains were also used by the Romans, while they were employed in
    the temples, to veil the statue of the Divinity. Ovid here speaks
    of them as being of purple colour; while Lucretius mentions them
    as being of yellow, red, and rusty hue.]

    [Footnote 56: _Last course is run._--Ver. 597. Among the Romans,
    the race consisted of seven rounds of the Circus, or rather
    circuits of the ‘spina,’ or wall, in the midst of it, at each end
    of which was the ‘meta,’ or goal. Livy and Dio Cassius speak of
    seven conical balls, resembling eggs, which were called ‘ova,’ and
    were placed upon the ‘spina.’ Their use was to enable the
    spectators to count the number of rounds which had been run, for
    which reason they were seven in number; and as each round was run,
    one of the ‘ova’ was put up, or, according to Varro, taken down.
    The form of the egg was adopted in honour of Castor and Pollux,
    who were said to have been produced from eggs. The words
    ‘novissima meta’ here mean either ‘the last part of the course,’
    or, possibly, ‘the last time round the course.’]

    [Footnote 57: _Onchestius his._--Ver. 605. But Hyginus says that
    Neptune was the father of Megareus, or Macareus, as the Scholiast
    of Sophocles calls him. Neptune being the father of Onchestius,
    Hippomenes was the fourth from Neptune, inclusively. Onchestius
    founded a city of that name in Bœotia, in honour of Neptune, who
    had a temple there; in the time of Pausanias the place was in
    ruins. That author tells us that Megareus aided Nisus against
    Minos, and was slain in that war.]

    [Footnote 58: _A feminine look._--Ver. 631. Clarke renders this
    line-- ‘But what a lady-like countenance there is in his boyish
    face!’]

    [Footnote 59: _Tamasenian field._--Ver. 644. Tamasis, or Tamaseus,
    is mentioned by Pliny as a city of Cyprus.]

    [Footnote 60: _The theatres ring._--Ver. 668. ‘Spectacula’ may
    mean either the seats, or benches, on which the spectators sat,
    or an amphitheatre. The former is most probably the meaning in the
    present instance.]

    [Footnote 61: _Crowned with turrets._--Ver. 696. Cybele, the
    Goddess of the Earth, was usually represented as crowned with
    turrets, and drawn in a chariot by lions.]

    [Footnote 62: _Are made fore-legs._--Ver. 700. ‘Armus’ is
    generally the shoulder of a brute; while ‘humerus’ is that of a
    man. ‘Armus’ is sometimes used to signify the human shoulder.]

    [Footnote 63: _By their tails._--Ver. 701. Pliny the Elder remarks
    that the temper of the lion is signified by his tail, in the same
    way as that of the horse by his ears. When in motion, it shows
    that he is angry; when quiet, that he is in a good temper.]


EXPLANATION.

  The Atalanta who is mentioned in this story was the daughter of
  Schœneus, and the granddaughter of Athamas, whose misfortunes
  obliged him to retire into Bœotia, where he built a little town,
  which was called after his name, as we learn from Pausanias and
  Eustathius. Ovid omits to say that it was one of the conditions of
  the agreement, that the lover was to have the start in the race.
  According to some writers, the golden apples were from the gardens
  of the Hesperides; while, according to others, they were plucked by
  Venus in the isle of Cyprus. The story seems to be founded merely on
  the fact, that Hippomenes contrived by means of bribes to find the
  way to the favour of his mistress.

  Apollodorus, however, relates the story in a different manner;
  he says that the father of Atalanta desiring to have sons, but no
  daughters, exposed her, on her birth, in a desert, that she might
  perish. A she-bear found the infant, and nourished it, until it was
  discovered by some hunters. As the damsel grew up, she made hunting
  her favourite pursuit, and slew two Centaurs, who offered her
  violence, with her arrows. On her parents pressing her to marry, she
  consented to be the wife of that man only who could outrun her, on
  condition that those who were conquered by her in the race should be
  put to death. Several of her suitors having failed in the attempt,
  one of the name of Melanion, by using a similar stratagem to that
  attributed by Ovid to Hippomenes, conquered her in the race, and
  became her husband. Having profaned the temple of Jupiter, they were
  transformed, Melanion into a lion, and Atalanta into a lioness.
  According to Apollodorus, her father’s name was Iasius, though in
  his first book he says she was the daughter of Schœneus. He also
  says that she was the same person that was present at the hunt of
  the Calydonian boar, though other writers represent them to have
  been different personages. Euripides makes Mænalus to have been the
  name of her father.

  Atalanta had by Melanion, or, as some authors say, by Mars, a son
  named Parthenopæus, who was present at the Theban war. Ælian gives a
  long account of her history, which does not very much differ from
  the narrative of Apollodorus.


FABLE X. [X.708-739]

  Adonis being too ardent in the pursuit of a wild boar, the beast
  kills him, on which Venus changes his blood into a flower of crimson
  colour.


“She, indeed, {thus} warned him; and, harnessing her swans, winged her
way through the air; but his courage stood in opposition to her advice.
By chance, his dogs having followed its sure track, roused a boar, and
the son of Cinyras pierced him, endeavouring to escape from the wood,
with a wound from the side. Immediately the fierce boar, with his
crooked snout, struck out the hunting-spear, stained with his blood, and
{then} pursued him, trembling and seeking a safe retreat, and lodged his
entire tusks in his groin, and stretched him expiring on the yellow
sand.

“Cytherea, borne in her light chariot[64] through the middle of the air,
had not yet arrived at Cyprus upon the wings of her swans. She
recognized afar his groans, as he was dying, and turned her white birds
in that direction. And when, from the lofty sky, she beheld him half
dead, and bathing his body in his own blood, she rapidly descended, and
rent both her garments and her hair, and she smote her breast with her
distracted hands. And complaining of the Fates, she says, ‘But, however,
all things shall not be in your power; the memorials of my sorrow,
Adonis, shall ever remain; and the representation of thy death, repeated
yearly, shall exhibit an imitation of my mourning. But thy blood shall
be changed into a flower. Was it formerly allowed thee, Persephone, to
change the limbs[65] of a female into fragrant mint; and shall the hero,
the son of Cinyras, {if} changed, be a cause of displeasure against me?’
Having thus said, she sprinkles his blood with odoriferous nectar,
which, touched by it, effervesces, just as the transparent bubbles are
wont to rise in rainy weather. Nor was there a pause longer than a full
hour, when a flower sprang up from the blood, of the same colour {with
it}, such as the pomegranates are wont to bear, which conceal their
seeds beneath their tough rind. Yet the enjoyment of it is but
short-lived; for the same winds[66] which give it a name, beat it down,
as it has but a slender hold, and is apt to fall by reason of its
extreme slenderness.”

    [Footnote 64: _In her light chariot._--Ver. 717. ‘Vecta levi curru
    Cytherea,’ Clarke quaintly renders, ‘The Cytherean Goddess riding
    in her light chair.’]

    [Footnote 65: _To change the limbs._--Ver. 729. Proserpine was
    said to have changed the Nymph, ‘Mentha,’ into a plant of that
    name, which we call ‘mint.’ Some writers say that she found her
    intriguing with Pluto while, according to other writers, she was
    the mistress of Pollux.]

    [Footnote 66: _The same winds._--Ver. 739. The flower which sprang
    from the blood of Adonis was the anemone, or wind-flower, of which
    Pliny the Elder says-- ‘This flower never opens but when the wind
    is blowing, from which too, it receives its name, as ἄνεμος means
    the wind.’ --(Book i. c. 23).]


EXPLANATION.

  Theocritus, Bion, Hyginus, and Antoninus Liberalis, beside several
  other authors, relate the history of the loves of Venus and Adonis.
  They inform us of many particulars which Ovid has here neglected to
  remark. They say that Mars, jealous of the passion which Venus had
  for Adonis, implored the aid of Diana, who, to gratify his revenge,
  sent the boar that destroyed the youth. According to some writers,
  it was Apollo himself that took the form of that animal; and they
  say that Adonis descending to the Infernal Regions, Proserpine fell
  in love with him, and refused to allow him to return,
  notwithstanding the orders of Jupiter. On this, the king of heaven
  fearing to displease both the Goddesses, referred the dispute to the
  Muse Calliope, who directed that Adonis should pass one half of his
  time with Venus on earth, and the other half in the Infernal
  Regions. They also tell us that it took up a year before the dispute
  could be determined, and that the Hours brought Adonis at last to
  the upper world, on which, Venus being dissatisfied with the
  decision of Calliope, instigated the women of Thrace to kill her son
  Orpheus.

  The mythologists have considered this story to be based on grounds
  either historical or physical. Cicero, in his Discourse on the
  Nature of the Gods, says, that there were several persons who had
  the name of Venus, and that the fourth, surnamed Astarte, was a
  Syrian, who married Adonis, the son of Cinyras, king of Cyprus.
  Hunting in the forests of Mount Libanus, or Lebanon, he was wounded
  in the groin by a wild boar, which accident ultimately caused his
  death. Astarte caused the city of Byblos and all Syria to mourn for
  his loss; and, to keep his name and his sad fate in remembrance,
  established feasts in his honour, to be celebrated each year. Going
  still further, if we suppose the story to have originated in
  historical facts, it seems not improbable that Adonis did not die of
  his wound, and that, contrary to all expectation, he was cured; as
  the Syrians, after having mourned for several days during his
  festival, rejoiced as though he had been raised from the dead, at a
  second festival called ‘The Return.’ The worship both of Venus and
  Adonis probably originated in Syria, and was spread through Asia
  Minor into Greece; while the Carthaginians, a Phœnician colony
  introduced it into Sicily. The festival of Adonis is most amusingly
  described by Theocritus the Sicilian poet, in his ‘Adoniazusæ.’ Some
  authors have suggested that Adonis was the same with the Egyptian
  God Osiris, and that the affliction of Venus represented that of
  Isis at the death of her husband. According to Hesiod, Adonis was
  the son of Phœnix and Alphesibœa, while Panyasis says that he was
  son of Theias, the king of the Assyrians.

  In support of the view which some commentators take of the story of
  Adonis having been founded on physical circumstance, we cannot do
  better than quote the able remarks of Mr. Keightley on the subject.
  He says (Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy, p. 109)-- “The tale
  of Adonis is apparently an Eastern mythus. His very name is Semitic
  (Hebrew ‘Adon,’ ‘Lord’), and those of his parents also refer to that
  part of the world. He appears to be the same with the Thammuz,
  mentioned by the prophet Ezekiel, and to be a Phœnician
  personification of the sun who, during a part of the year is absent,
  or, as the legend expresses it, with the Goddess of the under world:
  during the remainder with Astarte, the regent of heaven. It is
  uncertain when the Adonia were first celebrated in Greece; but we
  find Plato alluding to the gardens of Adonis, as boxes of flowers
  used in them were called; and the ill fortune of the Athenian
  expedition to Sicily was in part ascribed to the circumstance of the
  fleet having sailed during that festival.”

  This notion of the mourning for Adonis being a testimony of grief
  for the absence of the Sun during the winter, is not, however, to be
  too readily acquiesced in. Lobeck (Aglaophamus, p. 691), for
  example, asks, with some appearance of reason, why those nations
  whose heaven was mildest, and their winter shortest, should so
  bitterly bewail the regular changes of the seasons, as to feign that
  the Gods themselves were carried off or slain; and he shrewdly
  observes, that, in that case, the mournful and the joyful parts of
  the festival should have been held at different times of the year,
  and not joined together, as they were. He further inquires, whether
  the ancient writers, who esteemed these Gods to be so little
  superior to men, may not have believed them to have been really and
  not metaphorically put to death? And, in truth, it is not easy to
  give a satisfactory answer to these questions.




BOOK THE ELEVENTH.


FABLE I. [XI.1-84]

  While Orpheus is singing to his lyre on Mount Rhodope, the women of
  Thrace celebrate their orgies. During that ceremony they take
  advantage of the opportunity to punish Orpheus for his indifference
  towards their sex; and, in the fury inspired by their rites, they
  beat him to death. His head and lyre are carried by the stream of
  the river Hebrus into the sea, and are cast on shore on the isle of
  Lesbos. A serpent, about to attack the head when thrown on shore,
  is changed into a stone, and the Bacchanals who have killed him are
  transformed into trees.

While with songs such as these, the Thracian poet is leading the woods
and the natures of savage beasts, and the following rocks, lo! the
matrons of the Ciconians, having their raving breasts covered with the
skins of wild beasts, from the summit of a hill, espy Orpheus adapting
his voice to the sounded strings {of his harp}. One of these, tossing
her hair along the light breeze, says, “See! see! here is our
contemner!” and hurls her spear at the melodious mouth of the bard of
Apollo: {but}, being wreathed at the end with leaves, it makes a mark
without any wound. The weapon of another is a stone, which, when thrown,
is overpowered in the very air by the harmony of his voice and his lyre,
and lies before his feet, a suppliant, as it were, for an attempt so
daring.

But still this rash warfare increases, and {all} moderation departs, and
direful fury reigns {triumphant}. And {yet} all their weapons would have
been conquered by his music; but the vast clamour, and the Berecynthian
pipe[1] with the blown horns, and the tambourines, and the clapping of
hands, and Bacchanalian yells, prevented the sound of the lyre from
being heard. Then, at last, the stones became red with the blood of the
bard, {now} no longer heard. But first the Mænades lay hands on
innumerable birds, even yet charmed with his voice as he sang, and
serpents, and a throng of wild beasts, the glory of {this} audience of
Orpheus; and after that, they turn upon Orpheus with blood-stained right
hands; and they flock together, as the birds, if at any time they see
the bird of night strolling about by day; {and} as when the stag that is
doomed to die[2] in the morning sand in the raised amphitheatre is a
prey to the dogs; they both attack the bard, and hurl the thyrsi,
covered with green leaves, not made for such purposes as these. Some
throw clods, some branches torn from trees, others flint stones. And
that weapons may not be wanting for their fury, by chance some oxen are
turning up the earth with the depressed ploughshare; and not far from
thence, some strong-armed peasants, providing the harvest with plenteous
sweat, are digging the hard fields; they, seeing this {frantic} troop,
run away, and leave the implements of their labour; and there lie,
dispersed throughout the deserted fields, harrows and heavy rakes, and
long spades.

After they, in their rage, have seized upon these, and have torn to
pieces the oxen with their threatening horns, they return to the
destruction of the bard; and they impiously murder him, extending his
hands, and then for the first time uttering words in vain, and making no
effect on them with his voice. And (Oh Jupiter!) through those lips
listened to by rocks, and understood by the senses of wild beasts, his
life breathed forth, departs into the breezes.[3] The mournful birds,
the crowd of wild beasts, the hard stones, the woods that oft had
followed thy song bewailed thee. Trees, {too}, shedding their foliage,
mourned thee, losing their leaves. They say, too, that rivers swelled
with their own tears; and the Naiads and Dryads had mourning garments of
dark colour, and dishevelled hair. The limbs lie scattered[4] in various
places. Thou, Hebrus, dost receive the head and the lyre; and (wondrous
{to relate}!) while it rolls down the midst of the stream, the lyre
complains in I know not what kind of mournful strain. His lifeless
tongue, {too}, utters a mournful sound, {to which} the banks mournfully
reply. And now, borne onward to the sea, they leave their native stream,
and reach the shores of Methymnæan Lesbos.[5] Here an infuriated serpent
attacks the head thrown up on the foreign sands, and the hair
besprinkled with the oozing blood. At last Phœbus comes to its aid, and
drives it away as it tries to inflict its sting, and hardens the open
jaws of the serpent into stone, and makes solid its gaping mouth just as
it is. His ghost descends under the earth, and he recognizes all the
spots which he has formerly seen; and seeking Eurydice through the
fields of the blessed, he finds her, and enfolds her in his eager arms.
Here, one while, they walk together side by side,[6] and at another time
he follows her as she goes before, and {again} at another time, walking
in front, precedes her; and now, in safety, Orpheus looks back upon his
own Eurydice.

Yet Lyæus did not suffer this wickedness to go unpunished; and grieving
for the loss of the bard of his sacred rites, he immediately fastened
down in the woods, by a twisting root, all the Edonian matrons who had
committed this crime. For he drew out the toes of her feet, just as each
one had pursued him, and thrust them by their sharp points into the
solid earth. And, as when a bird has entangled its leg in a snare, which
the cunning fowler has concealed, and perceives that it is held fast, it
beats its wings, and, fluttering, tightens the noose with its struggles;
so, as each one of these had stuck fast, fixed in the ground, in her
alarm, she attempted flight in vain; but the pliant root held her fast,
and confined her, springing forward[7] {to escape}. And while she is
looking where her toes are, where, {too}, are her feet and her nails,
she sees wood growing up upon her well-turned legs. Endeavouring, too,
to smite her thigh, with grieving right hand, she strikes solid oak; her
breast, too, becomes oak; her shoulders are oak. You would suppose that
her extended arms are real boughs, and you would not be deceived in {so}
supposing.

    [Footnote 1: _Berecynthian pipe._--Ver. 16. This pipe, made of
    box-wood, was much used in the rites of Cybele, or Berecynthia.]

    [Footnote 2: _Doomed to die._--Ver. 26. The Romans were wont to
    exhibit shows of hunting in the amphitheatre in the morning; and
    at mid-day the gladiatorial spectacles commenced. The ‘arena’ was
    the name given to the central open space, which derived its name
    from the sand with which it was covered, chiefly for the purpose
    of absorbing the blood of the wild beasts and of the combatants.
    Caligula, Nero, and Carus showed their extravagant disposition by
    using cinnabar and borax instead of sand. In the earlier
    amphitheatres there were ditches, called ‘Euripi,’ between the
    open space, or arena, and the seats, to defend the spectators from
    the animals. They were introduced by Julius Cæsar, but were filled
    up by Nero, to gain space for the spectators. Those who fought
    with the beasts (as it will be remembered St. Paul did at Ephesus)
    were either condemned criminals or captives, or persons who did so
    for pay, being trained for the purpose. Lucius Metellus was the
    first that we read of who introduced wild beasts in the theatre
    for the amusement of the public. He exhibited in the Circus one
    hundred and forty-two elephants, which he brought from Sicily,
    after his victory over the Carthaginians, and which are said to
    have been slain, more because the Romans did not know what to do
    with them, than for the amusement of the public. Lions and
    panthers were first exhibited by M. Fulvius, after the Ætolian
    war. In the Circensian games, exhibited by the Curule Ædiles,
    P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica, and P. Lentulus, B.C. 168, there were
    sixty-three African panthers and forty bears and elephants. These
    latter animals were sometimes introduced to fight with bulls.
    Sylla, when Prætor, exhibited one hundred lions, which were
    pierced with javelins. We also read of hippopotami and crocodiles
    being introduced for the same purpose, while cameleopards were
    also hunted in the games given by Julius Caesar in his third
    consulship. He also introduced bull fights, and Augustus first
    exhibited the rhinoceros, and a serpent, fifty cubits in length.
    When Titus constructed his great amphitheatre, five thousand wild
    beasts and four thousand tame animals were slain; while in the
    games celebrated by Trajan, after his victories over the Dacians,
    eleven thousand animals are said to have been killed. For further
    information on this subject, the reader is referred to the article
    ‘Venatio,’ in Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities,
    which valuable work contains a large quantity of interesting
    matter on this barbarous practice of the Romans.]

    [Footnote 3: _Into the breezes._--Ver. 43. ‘In ventos anima
    exhalata recessit’ is rendered by Clarke-- ‘his life breathed out,
    marches off into the wind.’]

    [Footnote 4: _Limbs lie scattered._--Ver. 50. The limbs of Orpheus
    were collected by the Muses, and, according to Pausanias, were
    buried by them in Dium in Macedonia, while his head was carried to
    Lesbos.]

    [Footnote 5: _Methymnæan Lesbos._--Ver. 55. Methymna was a town in
    the isle of Lesbos, famed for its wines.]

    [Footnote 6: _Side by side._--Ver. 64. ‘Conjunctis passibus’ means
    ‘at an equal pace, and side by side.’]

    [Footnote 7: _Springing forward._--Ver. 78. ‘Exsultantem’ is
    rendered by Clarke, ‘bouncing hard to get away.’]


EXPLANATION.

  Some of the ancient mythologists say that the story of the serpent,
  changed into stone for insulting the head of Orpheus, was founded on
  the history of a certain inhabitant of the isle of Lesbos, who was
  punished for attacking the reputation of Orpheus. This critic
  excited contempt, as a malignant and ignorant person, who
  endeavoured, as it were, to sting the character of the deceased
  poet, and therefore, by way of exposing his spite and stupidity, he
  was said to have been changed from a serpent into a stone. According
  to Philostratus, the poet’s head was preserved in the temple of
  Apollo at Lesbos; and he tells us that Diomedes, and Neoptolemus,
  the son of Achilles, brought Philoctetes to Troy, after having
  explained to him the oracular response which the head of Orpheus had
  given to him from the bottom of a cave at Lesbos.

  The harp of Orpheus was preserved in the same temple; and so many
  wonders were reported of it, that Neanthus, the son of the tyrant
  Pytharus, purchased it of the priests of Apollo, believing that its
  sound would be sufficient to put rocks and trees in motion; but,
  according to Lucian, he succeeded so ill, that on his trying the
  harp, the dogs of the neighbouring villages fell upon him and tore
  him to pieces.

  The transformation of the women of Thrace into trees, for the murder
  of Orpheus, is probably an allegory intended to show that these
  furious and ill-conditioned females did not escape punishment for
  their misdeeds; and that they were driven by society to pass the
  rest of their lives in woods and caverns.


FABLE II. [XI.85-145]

  Bacchus, having punished the Thracian women for the murder of
  Orpheus, leaves Thrace. His tutor, Silenus, having become
  intoxicated, loses his companions, and is brought by some Phrygian
  peasants to Midas. He sends him to Bacchus, on which the God, in
  acknowledgment of his kindness, promises him whatever favour he may
  desire. Midas asks to be able to turn everything that he touches
  into gold. This power is granted; but, soon convinced of his folly,
  Midas begs the God to deprive him of it, on which he is ordered to
  bathe in the river Pactolus. He obeys the God, and communicates the
  power which he possesses to the stream; from which time that river
  has golden sands.

And this is not enough for Bacchus. He resolves to forsake the country
itself, and, with a superior train, he repairs to the vineyards of his
own Tymolus, and Pactolus; although it was not golden at that time, nor
to be coveted for its precious sands. The usual throng, {both} Satyrs
and Bacchanals, surround him, but Silenus is away. The Phrygian rustics
took him, as he was staggering with age and wine, and, bound with
garlands, they led him to {their} king, Midas, to whom, together with
the Cecropian Eumolpus,[8] the Thracian Orpheus had intrusted the
{mysterious} orgies {of Bacchus}. Soon as he recognized this associate
and companion of these rites, he hospitably kept a festival on the
coming of this guest, for twice five days, and {as many} nights joined
in succession.

“And now the eleventh Lucifer had closed the lofty host of the stars,
when the king came rejoicing to the Lydian lands, and restored Silenus
to the youth, his foster-child. To him the God, being glad at the
recovery of his foster-father, gave the choice of desiring a favour,
pleasing, {indeed}, but useless, {as it turned out}. He, destined to
make a foolish use of the favour, says, ‘Cause that whatever I shall
touch with my body shall be turned into yellow gold.’ Liber assents to
his wish, and grants him the hurtful favour, and is grieved that he has
not asked for something better. The Berecynthian hero[9] departs joyful,
and rejoices in his own misfortune, and tries the truth of his promise
by touching everything. And, hardly believing himself, he pulls down a
twig from a holm-oak, growing on a bough not lofty; the twig becomes
gold. He takes up a stone from the ground; the stone, too, turns pale
with gold. He touches a clod, also; by his potent touch the clod becomes
a mass {of gold}. He plucks some dry ears of corn, that wheat is golden.
He holds an apple taken from a tree, you would suppose that the
Hesperides had given it. If he places his fingers upon the lofty
door-posts, {then} the posts are seen to glisten. When, too, he has
washed his hands in the liquid stream, the water flowing from his hands
might have deceived Danaë. He scarcely can contain his own hopes in his
mind, imagining everything to be of gold. As he is {thus} rejoicing, his
servants set before him a table supplied with dainties, and not
deficient in parched corn. But then, whether he touches the gifts of
Ceres with his right hand, the gifts of Ceres, {as gold}, become hard;
or if he attempts to bite the dainties with hungry teeth, those
dainties, upon the application of his teeth, shine as yellow plates of
gold. {Bacchus}, the grantor of this favour, he mingles with pure water;
you could see liquid gold flowing through his jaws.

“Astonished at the novelty of his misfortune, being both rich and
wretched, he wishes to escape from his wealth, and {now} he hates what
but so lately he has wished for; no plenty relieves his hunger, dry
thirst parches his throat, and he is deservedly tormented by the {now}
hated gold; and raising his hands towards heaven, and his shining arms,
he says, “Grant me pardon, father Lenæus; I have done wrong, but have
pity on me, I pray, and deliver me from this specious calamity!”
Bacchus, the gentle Divinity among the Gods, restored him, as he
confessed that he had done wrong, {to his former state}, and annulled
his given promise, and the favour that was granted: “And that thou mayst
not remain overlaid with thy gold, so unhappily desired, go,” said he,
“to the river adjoining to great Sardis,[10] and trace thy way, meeting
the waters as they fall from the height of the mountain, until thou
comest to the rise of the stream. And plunge thy head beneath the
bubbling spring, where it bursts forth most abundantly, and at once
purge thy body, at once thy crime.” The king placed himself beneath the
waters prescribed; the golden virtue tinged the river, and departed from
the human body into the stream. And even now, the fields, receiving the
ore of this ancient vein {of gold}, are hard, growing of pallid colour,
from their clods imbibing the gold.

    [Footnote 8: _Eumolpus._--Ver. 93. There were three celebrated
    persons of antiquity named Eumolpus. The first was a Thracian, the
    son of Neptune and Chione, who lived in the time of Erectheus,
    king of Athens, against whom he led the people of Eleusis, and who
    established the Eleusinian mysteries. Some of his posterity
    settling at Athens, the Eumolpus here named was born there. He was
    the son of Musæus and the disciple of Orpheus. The third Eumolpus
    is supposed to have lived between the times of the two already
    named.]

    [Footnote 9: _Berecynthian hero._--Ver. 106. Midas is so called
    from mount Berecynthus in Phrygia.]

    [Footnote 10: _Sardis._--Ver. 137. The city of Sardis was the
    capital of Lydia, where Crœsus had his palace. The river Pactolus
    flowed through it.]


EXPLANATION.

  The ancients divided the Divinities into several classes, and in the
  last class, which Ovid calls the populace, or commonalty of the
  Gods, were the Satyrs and Sileni. The latter, according to
  Pausanias, were no other than Satyrs of advanced age. There seems,
  however, to have been one among them, to whom the name of Silenus
  was especially given, and to him the present story relates.
  According to Pindar and Pausanias he was born at Malea, in Laconia;
  while Theopompus, quoted by Ælian, represents him as being the son
  of a Nymph. He was inferior to the higher Divinities, but superior
  to man, in not being subject to mortality. He was represented as
  bald, flat-nosed, and red-faced, a perfect specimen of a drunken old
  man. He is often introduced either sitting on an ass, or reeling
  along on foot, with a thyrsus to support him.

  He was said to have tended the education of the infant Bacchus, and
  indeed, according to the author whose works are quoted as those of
  Orpheus, he was an especial favourite of the Gods; while some
  writers represent him not as a drunken old man, but as a learned
  philosopher and a skilful commander. Lucian combines the two
  characters, and describes him as an aged man with large straight
  ears and a huge belly, wearing yellow clothes, and generally mounted
  on an ass, or supported by a staff, but, nevertheless, as being a
  skilful general. Hyginus says, that the Phrygian peasants found
  Midas near a fountain, into which, according to Xenophon, some one
  had put wine, which had made him drunk. In his interview with Midas,
  according to Theopompus, as quoted by Ælian, they had a conversation
  concerning that unknown region of the earth, to which Plato refers
  under the name of the New Atlantis, and which, after long employing
  the speculations of the ancient philosophers, was realized to the
  moderns in the discovery of America. The passage is sufficiently
  curious to deserve to be quoted. He says, “Asia, Europe, and Libya,
  are but three islands, surrounded by the ocean; but beyond that
  ocean there is a vast continent, whose bounds are entirely unknown
  to us. The men and the animals of that country are much larger, and
  live much longer than those of this part of the world. Their towns
  are fine and magnificent; their customs are different from ours; and
  they are governed by different laws. They have two cities, one of
  which is called ‘the Warlike,’ and the other ‘the Devout.’ The
  inhabitants of the first city are much given to warfare, and make
  continual attacks upon their neighbours, whom they bring under their
  subjection. Those who inhabit the other city are peaceable, and
  blessed with plenty; the earth without toil or tillage furnishing
  them with abundance of the necessaries of life. Except their sick,
  they all live in the midst of riches and continual festivity and
  pleasure; but they are so just and righteous that the Gods
  themselves delight to go frequently and pass their time among them.

  “The warlike people of the first city having extended their
  conquests in their own vast continent, made an irruption into ours,
  with a million of men, as far as the country of the Hyperboreans;
  but when they saw their mode of living, they deemed them to be
  unworthy of their notice, and returned home. These warriors rarely
  die of sickness; they delight in warfare, and generally lose their
  lives in battle. There is also in this new world another numerous
  people called Meropes; and in their country is a place called
  ‘Anostus,’ that is to say, ‘not to be repassed,’ because no one ever
  comes back from thence. It is a dreadful abyss, having no other than
  a reddish sort of light. There are two rivers in that place; one
  called the River of Sorrow, and the other the River of Mirth. Trees
  as large as planes grow about these rivers. Those who eat of the
  fruit of the trees growing near the River of Sorrow, pass their
  lives in affliction, weeping continually, even to their last breath;
  but such as eat of the fruit of the other trees, forget the past,
  and revert through the different stages of their life, and then
  die.”

  Ælian regards the passage as a mere fable, and the latter part is
  clearly allegorical. The mention of the two cities, ‘the Warlike’
  and ‘the Devout,’ can hardly fail to remind us of Japan, with its
  spiritual and temporal capitals.

  Some writers say, that Silenus was the king of Caria, and was the
  contemporary and friend of Midas, to whom his counsel proved of
  considerable service, in governing his dominions. He was probably
  called the foster-father or tutor, of Bacchus, because he introduced
  his worship into Phrygia and the neighbouring countries.


FABLE III. [XI.146-193]

  Pan is so elated with the praises of some Nymphs who hear the music
  of his pipe, that he presumes to challenge Apollo to play with him.
  The mountain God, Tmolus, who is chosen umpire of the contest,
  decides in favour of Apollo, and the whole company approve of his
  judgment except Midas, who, for his stupidity in preferring Pan,
  receives a pair of asses’ ears. He carefully conceals them till they
  are discovered by his barber, who publishes his deformity in a very
  singular manner.

He, abhorring riches, inhabited the woods and the fields, and {followed}
Pan, who always dwells in caves of the mountains; but his obtuse
understanding[11] still remained, and the impulse of his foolish mind
was fated again, as before, to be an injury to its owner. For the lofty
Tmolus, looking far and wide over the sea, stands erect, steep with its
lofty ascent; and extending in its descent on either side, is bounded on
the one side by Sardis, on the other by the little Hypæpæ.

While Pan is there boasting of his strains to the charming Nymphs, and
is warbling a little tune upon the reeds joined with wax, daring to
despise the playing of Apollo in comparison with his own, he comes to
the unequal contest under the arbitration of Tmolus.[12] The aged umpire
seats himself upon his own mountain, and frees his ears of the
{incumbering} trees. His azure-coloured hair is only covered with oak,
and acorns hang around his hollow temples. And looking at the God of the
flocks, he says, “there is no delay in {me}, your umpire.” He sounds his
rustic reeds, and delights Midas with his uncouth music; for he, by
chance, is present as he plays. After this the sacred Tmolus turns his
face towards the countenance of Apollo; his words follow {the direction
of} his face. He, having his yellow head wreathed with Parnassian
laurel, sweeps the ground with his robe, soaked in Tyrian purple,[13]
and supports with his left hand his lyre, adorned with gems and Indian
ivory; the other hand holds the plectrum. The very posture is that of an
artist. He then touches the strings with a skilful thumb; charmed by the
sweetness of which, Tmolus bids Pan to hold his reeds in submission to
the lyre; and the judgment and decision of the sacred mountain pleases
them all. Yet it is blamed, and is called unjust by the voice of Midas
alone. But the Delian {God} does not allow his stupid ears to retain
their human shape: but draws them out to a {great} length, and he fills
them with grey hairs, and makes them unsteady at the lower part, and
gives them the power of moving. The rest {of his body} is that of a man;
in one part alone is he condemned {to punishment}; and he assumes the
ears of the slowly moving ass.

He, indeed, concealed them, and endeavoured to veil his temples, laden
with this foul disgrace, with a purple turban. But a servant, who was
wont to cut his hair, when long, with the steel {scissars}, saw it; who,
when he did not dare disclose the disgraceful thing he had seen, though
desirous to publish it, and yet could not keep it secret, retired, and
dug up the ground, and disclosed, in a low voice, what kind of ears he
had beheld on his master, and whispered it to the earth cast up. And
{then} he buried this discovery of his voice with the earth thrown in
again, and, having covered up the ditch, departed in silence.

There, a grove, thick set with quivering reeds, began to rise; and as
soon as it came to maturity, after a complete year, it betrayed its
planter. For, moved by the gentle South wind, it repeated the words
{there} buried, and disclosed the ears of his master.

    [Footnote 11: _Obtuse understanding._--Ver. 148. ‘Pingue sed
    ingenium mansit,’ is rendered by Clarke, ‘but he continued a
    blockhead still.’]

    [Footnote 12: _Tmolus._--Ver. 156. This was the tutelary divinity
    of the mountain of Tmolus, or Tymolus.]

    [Footnote 13: _Soaked in Tyrian purple._--Ver. 166. Being
    saturated with Tyrian purple, the garment would be ‘dibaphus,’ or
    ‘twice dipt;’ being first dyed in the grain, and again when woven.
    Of course, these were the most valuable kind of cloths.]


EXPLANATION.

  Midas, according to Pausanias, was the son of Gordius and Cybele,
  and reigned in the Greater Phrygia. Strabo says that he and his
  father kept their court near the river Sangar, in cities which, in
  the time of that author had become mean villages. As Midas was very
  rich, and at the same time very frugal, it was reported that
  whatever he touched was at once turned into gold; and Bacchus was
  probably introduced into his story, because Midas had favoured the
  introduction of his worship, and was consequently supposed to have
  owed his success to the good offices of that Divinity. He was
  probably the first who extracted gold from the sands of the river
  Pactolus, and in that circumstance the story may have originated.
  Strabo says that Midas found the treasures which he possessed in the
  mines of Mount Bermius. It was said that in his infancy some ants
  were seen to creep into his cradle, and to put grains of wheat in
  his mouth, which was supposed to portend that he would be rich and
  frugal.

  As he was very stupid and ignorant, the fable of his preference of
  the music of Pan to that of Apollo was invented, to which was added,
  perhaps, as a mark of his stupidity, that the God gave him a pair of
  asses’ ears. The scholiast of Aristophanes, to explain the story,
  says either it was intended to shew that Midas, like the ass, was
  very quick of hearing, or in other words, had numerous spies in all
  parts of his dominions; or, it was invented, because his usual place
  of residence was called Onouta, ὄνου ὦτα, ‘the ears of an ass.’
  Strabo says that he took a draught of warm bullock’s blood, from the
  effects of which he died; and, according to Plutarch, he did so to
  deliver himself from the frightful dreams with which he was
  tormented.

  Tmolus, the king of Lydia, according to Clitophon, was the son of
  Mars and the Nymph Theogene, or, according to Eustathius, of Sipylus
  and Eptonia. Having violated Arriphe, a Nymph of Diana, he was, as a
  punishment, tossed by a bull, and falling on some sharp pointed
  stakes, he lost his life, and was buried on the mountain that
  afterwards bore his name.


FABLE IV. [XI.194-220]

  Apollo and Neptune build the walls of Troy for king Laomedon, who
  refuses to give the Gods the reward which he has promised: on which
  Neptune punishes his perjury by an inundation of his country.
  Laomedon is then obliged to expose his daughter to a sea monster,
  in order to appease the God. Hercules delivers her; and Laomedon
  defrauds him likewise of the horses which he has promised him.
  In revenge, Hercules plunders the city of Troy, and carries off
  Hesione, whom he gives in marriage to his companion Telamon.

The son of Latona, having {thus} revenged himself, departs from Tmolus,
and, borne through the liquid air, rests on the plains of Laomedon, on
this side of the narrow sea of Helle, the daughter of Nephele. On the
right hand of Sigæum and on the left of the lofty Rhœtæum,[14] there is
an ancient altar dedicated to the Panomphæan[15] Thunderer. Thence, he
sees Laomedon {now} first building the walls of rising Troy, and that
this great undertaking is growing up with difficult labour, and requires
no small resources. And {then}, with the trident-bearing father of the
raging deep, he assumes a mortal form, and for the Phrygian king they
build the walls,[16] a sum of gold being agreed on for the defences.

The work is {now} finished; the king refuses the reward, and, as a
completion of his perfidy, adds perjury to his false words. “Thou shalt
not escape unpunished,” says the king of the sea; and he drives all his
waters towards the shores of covetous Troy. He turns the land, too, into
the form of the sea, and carries off the wealth of the husbandmen, and
overwhelms the fields with waves. Nor is this punishment sufficient: the
daughter of the king, is also demanded for a sea monster. Chained to the
rugged rocks, Alcides delivers her, and demands the promised reward, the
horses agreed upon; and the recompense of so great a service being
denied him, he captures the twice-perjured walls of conquered Troy. Nor
does Telamon, a sharer in the warfare, come off without honour; and he
obtains Hesione, who is given to him.

But Peleus was distinguished by a Goddess for his wife; nor was he more
proud of the name of his grandfather than that of his father-in-law.[17]
Since, not to his lot alone did it fall to be the grandson of Jove; to
him alone, was a Goddess given for a wife.

    [Footnote 14: _Rhœtæum._--Ver. 197. Sigæum and Rhœtæum were two
    promontories, near Troy, between which was an altar dedicated to
    Jupiter Panomphæus.]

    [Footnote 15: _Panomphæan._--Ver. 198. Jupiter had the title
    ‘Panomphæus,’ from πᾶν, ‘all,’ and ὀμφὴ, ‘the voice,’ either
    because he was worshipped by the voices of all, or because he was
    the author of all prophecy.]

    [Footnote 16: _Build the walls._--Ver. 204. It has been suggested
    that the story of Laomedon obtaining the aid of Neptune in
    building the walls of Troy, only meant that he built it of bricks
    made of clay mixed with water, and dried in the sun.]

    [Footnote 17: _His father-in-law._--Ver. 219. Nereus, the father
    of Thetis; was a Divinity of the sea, and was gifted with the
    power of prophecy.]


EXPLANATION.

  Laomedon, being King of Troy, and the city being open and
  defenceless, he undertook to enclose it with walls, and succeeded so
  well, that the work was attributed to Apollo. The strong banks which
  he was obliged to raise to keep out the sea and to prevent
  inundations, were regarded as the work of Neptune. In time, these
  banks being broken down by tempests, it was reported that the God of
  the sea had thus revenged himself on Laomedon, for refusing him the
  reward which had been agreed upon between them. This story received
  the more ready credit from the circumstance mentioned by Herodotus
  and Eustathius, that this king used the treasure belonging to the
  temple of Neptune, in raising these embankments, and building the
  walls of his city; having promised the priests to restore it when he
  should be in a condition to do so; which promise he never performed.
  Homer says that Neptune and Apollo tended the flocks while all the
  subjects of Laomedon were engaged in building the walls.

  When these embankments were laid under water, and a plague began to
  rage within the city, the Trojans were told by an oracle that to
  appease the God of the sea, they must sacrifice a virgin of the
  royal blood. The lot fell upon Hesione, and she was exposed to the
  fury of a sea-monster. Hercules offered to deliver her for a reward
  of six horses, and having succeeded, was refused his recompense by
  Laomedon; whom he slew, and then plundered his city. He then gave
  the kingdom to Podarces, the son of Laomedon, and Hesione to his
  companion Telamon, who had assisted him. This monster was probably
  an allegorical representation of the inundations of the sea; and
  Hesione having been made the price of him that could succeed in
  devising a remedy, she was said to have been exposed to the fury of
  a monster. The six horses promised by Laomedon were perhaps so many
  ships, which Hercules demanded for his recompense; and this is the
  more likely, as the ancients said that these horses were so light
  and swift, that they ran upon the waves, which story seems to point
  at the qualities of a galley or ship under sail.

  Lycophron gives a more wonderful version of the story. He says that
  the monster, to which Hesione was exposed, devoured Hercules, and
  that he was three days in its belly, and came out, having lost all
  his hair. This is, probably, a way of telling us that Hercules and
  his assistants were obliged to work in the water, which incommoded
  them very much. Palæphatus gives another explanation: he says that
  Hesione was about to be delivered up to a pirate, and that Hercules,
  on boarding his ship, was wounded, although afterwards victorious.


FABLES V. AND VI. [XI.221-409]

  Proteus foretells that Thetis shall have a son, who shall be more
  powerful than his father, and shall exceed him in valour. Jupiter,
  who is in love with Thetis, is alarmed at this prediction, and
  yields her to Peleus. The Goddess flies from his advances by
  assuming various shapes, till, by the advice of Proteus, he holds
  her fast, and then having married her, she bears Achilles. Peleus
  goes afterwards to Ceyx, king of Trachyn, to expiate the death of
  his brother Phocus, whom he has killed. Ceyx is in a profound
  melancholy, and tells him how his brother Dædalion, in the
  transports of his grief for his daughter Chione, who had been slain
  for vying with Diana, has been transformed into a hawk. During this
  relation, Peleus is informed that a wolf which Psamathe has sent to
  revenge the death of Phocus, is destroying his herds. He endeavours
  to avert the wrath of the Goddess, but she is deaf to his
  entreaties, till, by the intercession of Thetis, she is appeased,
  and she turns the wolf into stone.

For the aged Proteus had said to Thetis, “Goddess of the waves,
conceive; thou shalt be the mother of a youth, who by his gallant
actions shall surpass the deeds of his father, and shall be called
greater than he.” Therefore, lest the world might contain something
greater than Jove, although he had felt no gentle flame in his breast,
Jupiter avoided the embraces of Thetis,[18] {the Goddess} of the sea,
and commanded his grandson, the son of Æacus,[19] to succeed to his own
pretensions, and rush into the embraces of the ocean maid. There is a
bay of Hæmonia, curved into a bending arch; its arms project out; there,
were the water {but} deeper, there would be a harbour, {but} the sea is
{just} covering the surface of the sand. It has a firm shore, which
retains not the impression of the foot, nor delays the step {of the
traveller}, nor is covered with sea-weeds. There is a grove of myrtle at
hand, planted with particoloured berries. In the middle there is a cave,
whether formed by nature or art, it is doubtful; still, by art rather.
To this, Thetis, thou wast wont often to come naked, seated on thy
harnessed dolphin. There Peleus seized upon thee, as thou wast lying
fast bound in sleep; and because, being tried by entreaties, thou didst
resist, he resolved upon violence, clasping thy neck with both his arms.
And, unless thou hadst had recourse to thy wonted arts, by frequently
changing thy shape, he would have succeeded in his attempt. But, at one
moment, thou wast a bird (still, as a bird he held thee fast); at
another time a large tree: to {that} tree did Peleus cling. Thy third
form was that of a spotted tiger; frightened by that, the son of Æacus
loosened his arms from thy body.

Then pouring wine upon its waters,[20] he worshipped the Gods of the
sea, both with the entrails of sheep and with the smoke of frankincense;
until the Carpathian[21] prophet said, from the middle of the waves,
“Son of Æacus, thou shalt gain the alliance desired by thee. Do thou
only, when she shall be resting fast asleep in the cool cave, bind her
unawares with cords and tenacious bonds. And let her not deceive thee,
by imitating a hundred forms; but hold her fast, whatever she shall be,
until she shall reassume the form which she had before.” Proteus said
this, and hid his face in the sea, and received his own waves at his
closing words. Titan was {now} descending, and, with the pole of his
chariot bent downward, was taking possession of the Hesperian main; when
the beautiful Nereid, leaving the deep, entered her wonted place of
repose. Hardly had Peleus well seized the virgin’s limbs, {when} she
changed her shape, until she perceived her limbs to be held fast, and
her arms to be extended different ways. Then, at last, she sighed, and
said, “Not without {the aid of} a Divinity, dost thou overcome me;” and
then she appeared {as} Thetis {again}. The hero embraced her {thus}
revealed, and enjoyed his wish, and by her was the father of great
Achilles.

And happy was Peleus in his son, happy, too, in his wife, and one to
whose lot all {blessings} had fallen, if you except the crime of his
killing Phocus. The Trachinian land[22] received him guilty of his
brother’s blood, and banished from his native home. Here Ceyx, sprung
from Lucifer for his father, and having the comeliness of his sire in
his face, held the sway without violence and without bloodshed, who,
being sad at that time and unlike his {former} self, lamented the loss
of his brother. After the son of Æacus, wearied, both with troubles and
the length of the journey, has arrived there, and has entered the city
with a few attending him, and has left the flocks of sheep and the herds
which he has brought with him, not far from the walls, in a shady
valley; when an opportunity is first afforded him of approaching the
prince, extending the symbols of peace[23] with his suppliant hand,
he tells him who he is, and from whom descended. He only conceals his
crime, and, dissembling as to the {true} reason of his banishment, he
entreats {him} to aid him {by a reception} either in his city or in his
territory. On the other hand, the Trachinian {prince} addresses him with
gentle lips, in words such as these: “Peleus, our bounties are open even
to the lowest ranks, nor do I hold an inhospitable sway. To this my
inclination, thou bringest in addition as powerful inducements, an
illustrious name, and Jupiter as thy grandsire. And do not lose thy time
in entreaty; all that thou askest thou shalt have. Look upon all these
things, whatever thou seest, as in part thy own: would that thou couldst
behold them in better condition!” and {then} he weeps. Pelcus and his
companions enquire what it is that occasions grief so great. To them he
{thus} speaks:--

“Perhaps you may think that this bird, which lives upon prey, and
affrights all the birds, always had wings. It was a man; and as great is
the vigour of its courage, as he {who was} Dædalion by name was active,
and bold in war, and ready for violence; {he was} sprung from him, for
his father, who summons forth[24] Aurora, and withdraws the last from
the heavens. Peace was cherished by me; the care of maintaining peace
and my marriage contract was mine; cruel warfare pleased my brother;
that prowess of his subdued both kings and nations, which, changed, now
chases the Thisbean doves.[25] Chione was his daughter, who, highly
endowed with beauty, was pleasing to a thousand suitors, when
marriageable at the age of twice seven years. By chance Phœbus, and the
son of Maia, returning, the one from his own Delphi, the other from the
heights of Cyllene, beheld her at the same moment, and at the same
moment were inspired with passion. Apollo defers his hope of enjoyment
until the hours of night; the other brooks no delay, and with his wand,
that causes sleep, touches the maiden’s face. At the potent touch she
lies entranced, and suffers violence from the God. Night has {now}
bespangled the heavens with stars; Phœbus personates an old woman, and
takes those delights before enjoyed {in imagination}. When her mature
womb had completed the {destined} time, Autolycus was born, a crafty
offspring of the stock of the God with winged feet, ingenious at every
kind of theft, {and} who used, not degenerating from his father’s
skill,[26] to make white out of black, and black out of white. From
Phœbus was born (for she brought forth twins) Philammon, famous for his
tuneful song, and for his lyre.

“{But} what avails it for her to have brought forth two children, and to
have been pleasing to two Gods, and to have sprung from a valiant
father, and the Thunderer as her ancestor?[27] Is even glory {thus}
prejudicial to many? To her, at least, it was a prejudice; who dared to
prefer herself to Diana, and decried the charms of the Goddess. But
violent wrath was excited in her, and she said, ‘We will please her by
our deeds.’[28] And there was no delay: she bent her bow, and let fly an
arrow from the string, and pierced with the reed the tongue that
deserved it. The tongue was silent; nor did her voice, and the words
which she attempted {to utter, now} follow; and life, with her blood,
left her, as she endeavoured to speak. Oh hapless affection! What pain
did I {then} endure in my heart, as her uncle, and what consolations did
I give to my affectionate brother? These the father received no
otherwise than rocks do the murmurs of the ocean, and he bitterly
lamented his daughter {thus} snatched from him. But when he beheld her
burning, four times had he an impulse to rush into the midst of the
pile; thence repulsed, four times did he commit his swift limbs to
flight, and, like an ox, bearing upon his galled neck the stings of
hornets, he rushed where there was no path. Already did he seem to me to
run faster than a human being, and you would have supposed that his feet
had assumed wings. Therefore he outran all; and, made swift by the
desire for death, he gained the heights of Parnassus.

“Apollo pitying him, when Dædalion would have thrown himself from the
top of the rock, made him into a bird, and supported him, hovering {in
the air} upon {these} sudden wings; and he gave him a curved beak, and
crooked claws on his talons, his former courage, and strength greater
{in proportion} than his body; and, now {become} a hawk, sufficiently
benignant to none, he rages {equally} against all birds; and grieving
{himself}, becomes the cause of grief to others.”

While the son of Lucifer is relating these wonders about his brother,
hastening with panting speed, Phocæan Antenor, the keeper of his herds,
runs up to him. “Alas, Peleus! Peleus!” says he, “I am the messenger to
thee of a great calamity;” and {then} Peleus bids him declare whatever
news it is that he has brought; and the Trachinian hero himself is in
suspense, and trembles through apprehension. The other tells {his
story:} “I had driven the weary bullocks to the winding shore, when the
Sun at his height, in the midst of his course, could look back on as
much of it as he could see to be {now} remaining; and a part of the oxen
had bent their knees on the yellow sands, and, as they lay, viewed the
expanse of the wide waters; some, with slow steps, were wandering here
and there; others were swimming, and appearing with their lofty necks
above the waves. A temple is hard by the sea, adorned neither with
marble nor with gold, but {made} of solid beams, and shaded with an
ancient grove; the Nereids and Nereus possess it. A sailor, while he was
drying his nets upon the shore, told us that these were the Gods of the
temple. Adjacent to this is a marsh, planted thickly with numerous
willows, which the water of the stagnating waves of the sea has made
into a swamp. From that spot, a huge monster, a wolf, roaring with a
loud bellowing, alarms the neighbouring places, and comes forth from the
thicket of the marsh, {both} having his thundering jaws covered with
foam and with clotted blood, {and} his eyes suffused with red flame.
Though he was raging both with fury and with hunger, still was he more
excited by fury; for he did not care to satisfy his hunger by the
slaughter of the oxen, and to satiate his dreadful appetite, but he
mangled the whole herd, and, like a true foe, pulled each {to the
ground}. Some, too, of ourselves, while we were defending them, wounded
with his fatal bite, were killed. The shore and the nearest waves were
red with blood, and the fens were filled with the lowings {of the herd}.
But delay is dangerous, and the case does not allow us to hesitate:
while anything is {still} left, let us all unite, and let us take up
arms, arms, {I say}, and in a body let us bear weapons.”

{Thus} speaks the countryman. And the loss does not affect Peleus; but,
remembering his crime, he considers that the bereaved Nereid has sent
these misfortunes of his, as an offering to the departed Phocus. The
Œtæan king[29] commands his men to put on their armour, and to take up
stout weapons; together with whom, he himself is preparing to go. But
Halcyone, his wife, alarmed at the tumult, runs out, and not yet having
arranged all her hair, even that which is {arranged} she throws in
disorder; and clinging to the neck of her husband, she entreats him,
both with words and tears, to send assistance without himself, and {so}
to save two lives in one. The son of Æacus says to her, “O queen, lay
aside thy commendable and affectionate fears; the kindness of thy
proposal is {too} great {for me}. It does not please me, that arms
should be employed against this new monster. The Divinity of the sea
must be adored.” There is a lofty tower; a fire {is} upon the extreme
summit,[30] a place grateful to wearied ships. They go up there, and
with sighs they behold the bulls lying scattered upon the sea shore, and
the cruel ravager with blood-stained mouth, having his long hair stained
with gore. Peleus, thence extending his hands towards the open sea,
entreats the azure Psamathe to lay aside her wrath, and to give him her
aid. But she is not moved by the words of the son of Æacus, thus
entreating. Thetis, interceding on behalf of her husband, obtains that
favour {for him}.

But still the wolf persists, not recalled from the furious slaughter,
{and} keenly urged by the sweetness of the blood; until she changes him
into marble, as he is fastening on the neck of a mangled heifer. His
body preserves every thing except its colour. The colour of the stone
shows that he is not now a wolf, and ought not now to be feared. Still,
the Fates do not permit the banished Peleus to settle in this land: the
wandering exile goes to the Magnetes,[31] and there receives from the
Hæmonian Acastus[32] an expiation of the murder.

    [Footnote 18: _Embraces of Thetis._--Ver. 226. Fulgentius
    suggests, that the meaning of this is, that Jupiter, or fire, will
    not unite with Thetis, who represents water.]

    [Footnote 19: _Son of Æacus._--Ver. 227. Peleus was the son of
    Æacus, who was the son of Jupiter, by Ægina, the daughter of
    Æsopus.]

    [Footnote 20: _Upon its waters._--Ver. 247. While libations were
    made to the other Divinities, either on their altars, or on the
    ground, the marine Deities were so honoured by pouring wine on the
    waves of the sea.]

    [Footnote 21: _Carpathian._--Ver. 249. The Carpathian sea was so
    called from the Isle of Carpathus, which lay between the island of
    Rhodes and the Egyptian coast.]

    [Footnote 22: _Trachinian land._--Ver. 269. Apollodorus says, that
    Peleus, when exiled, repaired to Phthia, and not to the city of
    Trachyn.]

    [Footnote 23: _Symbols of peace._--Ver. 276. The ‘velamenta’ were
    branches of olive, surrounded with bandages of wool, which were
    held in the hands of those who begged for mercy or pardon. The
    wool covering the hand was emblematical of peace, the hand being
    thereby rendered powerless to effect mischief.]

    [Footnote 24: _Who summons forth._--Ver. 296. This is a
    periphrasis for Lucifer, or the Morning Star, which precedes, and
    appears to summon the dawn.]

    [Footnote 25: _Thisbean doves._--Ver. 300. Thisbe was a town of
    Bœotia, so called from Thisbe, the daughter of Æsopus. It was
    famous for the number of doves which it produced.]

    [Footnote 26: _Father’s skill._--Ver. 314. Being the son of
    Mercury, who was noted for his thieving propensities.]

    [Footnote 27: _Her ancestor._--Ver. 319. Jupiter was the
    great-grandfather of Chione, being the father of Lucifer, and the
    grandfather of Dædalion.]

    [Footnote 28: _By our deeds._--Ver. 323. This is said
    sarcastically, as much as to say, ‘If I do not please her by my
    looks, at least I will by my actions.’]

    [Footnote 29: _The Œtæan king._--Ver. 383. Namely, Ceyx, the king
    of Trachyn, which city Hercules had founded, at the foot of Mount
    Œta.]

    [Footnote 30: _The extreme summit._--Ver. 393. The upper stories
    of the ancient light-houses had windows looking towards the sea;
    and torches, or fires (probably in cressets, or fire-pans, at the
    end of poles), were kept burning on them by night, to guide
    vessels. ‘Pharos,’ or ‘Pharus,’ the name given to light-houses,
    is derived from the celebrated one built on the island of Pharos,
    at the entrance of the port of Alexandria. It was erected by
    Sostratus, of Cnidos, at the expense of one of the Ptolemies, and
    cost 800 talents. It was of huge dimensions, square, and
    constructed of white stone. It contained many stories, and
    diminished in width from below upwards. There were ‘phari,’ or
    ‘light-houses,’ at Ostia, Ravenna, Capreæ, and Brundisium.]

    [Footnote 31: _The Magnetes._--Ver. 408. The Magnetes were the
    people of Magnesia, a district of Thessaly. They were famed for
    their skill in horsemanship.]

    [Footnote 32: _Hæmonian Acastus._--Ver. 409. Acastus was the son
    of Pelias. His wife Hippolyta, being enamoured of Peleus, and he
    not encouraging her advances, she accused him of having made an
    attempt on her virtue. On this, Acastus determined upon his death;
    and having taken him to Mount Pelion, on the pretext of hunting,
    he took away his arms, and left him there, to be torn to pieces by
    the wild beasts. Mercury, or, according to some, Chiron, came to
    his assistance, and gave him a sword made by Vulcan, with which he
    slew Acastus and his wife.]


EXPLANATION.

  Thetis being a woman of extraordinary beauty, it is not improbable,
  that in the Epithalamia that were composed on her marriage, it was
  asserted, that the Gods had contended for her hand, and had been
  forced to give way, in obedience to the superior power of destiny.
  Hyginus says that Prometheus was the only person that was acquainted
  with the oracle; and that he imparted it to Jupiter, on condition
  that he would deliver him from the eagle that tormented him:
  whereupon the God sent Hercules to Mount Caucasus, to perform his
  promise. It was on the occasion of this marriage that the Goddess
  Discord presented the golden apple, the dispute for which occasioned
  the Trojan war. The part of the story which relates how she assumed
  various forms, to avoid the advances of Peleus, is perhaps an
  ingenious method of stating, that having several suitors, she was
  originally disinclined to Peleus, and used every pretext to avoid
  him, until, by the advice of a wise friend, he found means to remove
  all the difficulties which opposed his alliance with her.

  Some writers state that Thetis was the daughter of Chiron; but
  Euripides, in a fragment of his Iphigenia, tells us that Achilles,
  who was the son of this marriage, took a pride in carrying the
  figure of a Nereid on his shield. The three sons of Æacus were
  Peleus, Telamon, and Phocus; while they were playing at quoits, the
  latter accidentally received a blow from Peleus, which killed him.
  Ovid, however, seems here to imply that Peleus killed his brother
  purposely.

  The story of Chione most probably took its rise from the difference
  between the inclinations of the two children that she bore.
  Autolycus, being cunning, and addicted to theft, he was styled the
  son of Mercury; while Philammon being a lover of music, Apollo was
  said to be his father. According to Pausanias, Autolycus was the son
  of Dædalion, and not of Chione. The story of the wolf, the minister
  of the vengeance of Psamathe, for the death of Phocus, is probably
  built on historical grounds. Æacus had two wives, Ægina and
  Psamathe, the sister of Thetis; by the first he had Peleus and
  Telamon; by the second, Phocus. Lycomedes, the king of Scyros, the
  brother of Psamathe, resolved to revenge the death of his nephew,
  whom Peleus had killed: and declared war against Ceyx, for receiving
  him into his dominions. The troops of Lycomedes ravaged the country,
  and carried away the flocks of Peleus: on which prayers and
  entreaties were resorted to, with the view of pacifying him; which
  object having been effected, he withdrew his troops. On this, it was
  rumoured that he was changed into a rock, after having ravaged the
  country like a wild beast, which comparison was perhaps suggested by
  the fact of his name being partly compounded of the word λυκὸς,
  ‘a wolf.’


FABLE VII. [XI.410-748]

  Ceyx, going to Claros, to consult the oracle about his brother’s
  fate, is shipwrecked on the voyage. Juno sends Iris to the God of
  Sleep, who, at her request, dispatches Morpheus to Halcyone, in a
  dream, to inform her of the death of her husband. She awakes in the
  morning, full of solicitude, and goes to the shore where she finds
  the body of Ceyx thrown up by the waves. She is about to cast
  herself into the sea in despair, when the Gods transform them both
  into king-fishers.

In the mean time, Ceyx being disturbed in mind, both on account of the
strange fate of his brother, and {the wonders} that had succeeded his
brother, prepares to go to the Clarian God, that he may consult the
sacred oracle, the consolation of mortals: for the profane Phorbas,[33]
with his Phlegyans, renders the {oracle} of Delphi inaccessible. Yet he
first makes thee acquainted with his design, most faithful Halcyone,
whose bones receive a chill, and a paleness, much resembling boxwood,
comes over her face, and her cheeks are wet with tears gushing forth.
Three times attempting to speak, three times she moistens her face with
tears, and, sobs interrupting her affectionate complaints, she says:--

“What fault of mine, my dearest, has changed thy mind? Where is that
care of me, which once used to exist? Canst thou now be absent without
anxiety, thy Halcyone being left behind? Now, is a long journey pleasing
to thee? Now, am I dearer to thee when at a distance? But I suppose thy
journey is by land, and I shall only grieve, and shall not fear as well,
and my anxiety will be free from apprehension. The seas and the aspect
of the stormy ocean affright me. And lately I beheld broken planks on
the sea shore; and often have I read the names upon tombs,[34] without
bodies {there buried}. And let not any deceitful assurance influence thy
mind, that the grandson of Hippotas[35] is thy father-in-law; who
confines the strong winds in prison, and assuages the seas when he
pleases. When, once let loose, the winds have taken possession of the
deep, nothing is forbidden to them; every land and every sea is
disregarded by them. Even the clouds of heaven do they insult, and by
their bold onsets strike forth the brilliant fires.[36] The more I know
them, (for I do know them, and, when little, have often seen them in my
father’s abode,) the more I think they are to be dreaded. But if thy
resolution, my dear husband, cannot be altered by my entreaties, and if
thou art {but} too determined to go; take me, too, as well. At least, we
shall be tossed together; nor shall I fear anything, but what I shall be
{then} suffering; and together we shall endure whatever shall happen;
together we shall be carried over the wide seas.”

By such words and the tears of the daughter of Æolus, is her husband,
son of the {Morning} Star, {much} affected; for the flame {of love}
exists no less in him. But he neither wishes to abandon his proposed
voyage, nor to admit Halcyone to a share in the danger; and he says,
in answer, many things to console her timorous breast. And yet she does
not, on that account, approve of his reasons. To them he adds this
alleviation, with which alone he influences his affectionate {wife}:
“All delay will, indeed, be tedious to me; but I swear to thee by the
fire of my sire, (if only the fates allow me to return,) that I will
come back before the moon has twice completed her orb.” When, by these
promises, a hope has been given her of his {speedy} return, he forthwith
orders a ship, drawn out of the dock, to be launched in the sea, and to
be supplied with its {proper} equipments. On seeing this, Halcyone again
shuddered, as though presaging the future, and shed her flowing tears,
and gave him embraces; and at last, in extreme misery, she said, with a
sad voice, “Farewell!” and then she sank with all her body {to the
ground}.


But the youths, while Ceyx is {still} seeking pretexts for delay, in
double rows,[37] draw the oars towards their hardy breasts, and cleave
the main with equal strokes. She raises her weeping eyes, and sees her
husband standing on the crooked stern, and by waving his hand making the
first signs to her; and she returns the signals. When the land has
receded further, and her eyes are unable to distinguish his countenance:
{still}, while she can, she follows the retreating ship with her sight.
When this too, borne onward, cannot be distinguished from the distance;
still she looks at the sails waving from the top of the mast. When she
no {longer} sees the sails; she anxiously seeks her deserted bed, and
lays herself on the couch. The bed, and the spot, renew the tears of
Halcyone, and remind her what part {of herself} is wanting.

They have {now} gone out of harbour, and the breeze shakes the rigging;
the sailor urges the pendent oars towards their sides;[38] and fixes the
sailyards[39] on the top of the mast, and spreads the canvass full from
the mast, and catches the coming breezes. Either the smaller part, or,
at least, not more than half her course, had {now} been cut by the ship,
and both lands were at a great distance, when, towards night, the sea
began to grow white with swelling waves, and the boisterous East wind to
blow with greater violence. Presently the master cries, “At once, lower
the top sails, and furl the whole of the sail to the yards!” He orders,
{but} the adverse storm impedes the execution; and the roaring of the
sea does not allow any voice to be heard.

Yet, of their own accord, some hasten to draw in the oars, some to
secure the sides, some to withdraw the sails from the winds. This one
pumps up the waves, and pours back the sea into the sea; another takes
off the yards. While these things are being done without any order, the
raging storm is increasing, and the fierce winds wage war on every side,
and stir up the furious main. The master of the ship is himself alarmed,
and himself confesses that he does not know what is their {present}
condition, nor what to order or forbid; so great is the amount of their
misfortunes, and more powerful than all his skill. For the men are
making a noise with their shouts, the cordage with its rattling, the
heavy waves with the dashing of {other} waves, the skies with the
thunder. The sea is upturned with billows, and appears to reach the
heavens, and to sprinkle the surrounding clouds with its foam. And one
while, when it turns up the yellow sands from the bottom, it is of the
same colour with them; at another time {it is} blacker than the Stygian
waves. Sometimes it is level, and is white with resounding foam. The
Trachinian ship too, is influenced by these vicissitudes; and now aloft,
as though from the summit of a mountain, it seems to look down upon the
vallies and the depths of Acheron; at another moment, when the
engulphing sea has surrounded it, sunk below, it seems to be looking at
heaven above from the infernal waters. Struck on its side by the waves,
it often sends forth a low crashing sound, and beaten against, it sounds
with no less noise, than on an occasion when the iron battering ram, or
the balista, is shaking the shattered towers. And as fierce lions are
wont, gaining strength in their career, to rush with their breasts upon
the weapons, and arms extended {against them}; so the water, when upon
the rising of the winds it had rushed onwards, advanced against the
rigging of the ship, and was much higher than it.

And now the bolts shrink, and despoiled of their covering of wax,[40]
the seams open wide, and afford a passage to the fatal waves. Behold!
vast showers fall from the dissolving clouds, and you would believe that
the whole of the heavens is descending into the deep, and that the
swelling sea is ascending to the tracts of heaven. The sails are wet
with the rain, and the waves of the ocean are mingled with the waters of
the skies. The firmament is without its fires; {and} the gloomy night is
oppressed both with its own darkness and that of the storm. Yet the
lightnings disperse these, and give light as they flash; the waters are
on fire with the flames of the thunder-bolts. And now, too, the waves
make an inroad into the hollow texture of the ship; and as a soldier,
superior to all the rest of the number, after he has often sprung
forward against the fortifications of a defended city, at length gains
his desires; and, inflamed with the desire of glory, {though but} one
among a thousand more, he still mounts the wall, so, when the violent
waves have beaten against the lofty sides, the fury of the tenth
wave,[41] rising more impetuously {than the rest}, rushes onward; and it
ceases not to attack the wearied ship, before it descends within the
walls, as it were, of the captured bark. Part, then, of the sea is still
attempting to get into the ship, part is within it. All are now in
alarm, with no less intensity than a city is wont to be alarmed, while
some are undermining the walls without, and others within have
possession of the walls. {All} art fails them, and their courage sinks;
and as many {shapes of} death seem to rush and to break in {upon them},
as the waves that approach. One does not refrain from tears; another is
stupefied; another calls those happy[42] whom funeral rites await;
another, in his prayers, addresses the Gods, and lifting up his hands in
vain to that heaven which he sees not, implores their aid. His brothers
and his parent recur to the mind of another; to another, his home, with
his pledges {of affection}, and {so} what has been left behind by each.

{The remembrance of} Halcyone affects Ceyx; on the lips of Ceyx there is
nothing but Halcyone; and though her alone he regrets, still he rejoices
that she is absent. {Gladly}, too, would he look back to the shore of
his native land, and turn his last glance towards his home; but he knows
not where it is. The sea is raging in a hurricane[43] so vast, and all
the sky is concealed beneath the shade brought on by the clouds of
pitchy darkness, and the face of the night is redoubled {in gloom}. The
mast is broken by the violence of the drenching tempest; the helm, too,
is broken; and the undaunted wave, standing over its spoil, looks down
like a conqueror, upon the waves as they encircle {below}. Nor, when
precipitated, does it rush down less violently, than if any {God} were
to hurl Athos or Pindus, torn up from its foundations, into the open
sea; and with its weight and its violence together, it sinks the ship to
the bottom. With her, a great part of the crew overwhelmed in the deep
water, and not rising again to the air, meet their fate. Some seize hold
of portions and broken pieces of the ship. Ceyx himself seizes a
fragment of the wreck, with that hand with which he was wont {to wield}
the sceptre, and in vain, alas! he invokes his father, and his
father-in-law. But chiefly on his lips, as he swims, is his wife
Halcyone. Her he thinks of, and {her name} he repeats: he prays the
waves to impel his body before her eyes; and that when dead he may be
entombed by the hands of his friends. While he {still} swims, he calls
upon Halcyone far away, as often as the billows allow[44] him to open
his mouth, and in the very waves he murmurs {her name}. {When}, lo!
a darkening arch[45] of waters breaks over the middle of the waves, and
buries his head sinking beneath the bursting billow. Lucifer was
obscured that night, and such that you could not have recognized him;
and since he was not allowed to depart from the heavens,[46] he
concealed his face beneath thick clouds.

In the meantime, the daughter of Æolus, ignorant of so great
misfortunes, reckons the nights; and now she hastens {to prepare} the
garments[47] for him to put on, and now, those which, when he comes, she
herself may wear, and vainly promises herself his return. She, indeed,
piously offers frankincense to all the Gods above; but, before all, she
pays her adorations at the temple of Juno, and comes to the altars on
behalf of her husband, who is not in existence. And she prays that her
husband may be safe, and that he may return, and may prefer no woman
before her. But this {last} alone can be her lot, out of so many of her
wishes. But the Goddess endures not any longer to be supplicated on
behalf of one who is dead; and, that she may repel her polluted
hands[48] from the altars,--she says, “Iris, most faithful messenger of
my words, hasten quickly to the soporiferous court of Sleep, and command
him, under the form of Ceyx who is dead, to send a vision to Halcyone,
to relate her real misfortune.” {Thus} she says. Iris assumes garment of
a thousand colours, and, marking the heavens with her curving arch, she
repairs to the abode of the king, {Sleep}, as bidden, concealed beneath
a rock.

There is near the Cimmerians[49] a cave with a long recess, a hollowed
mountain, the home and the habitation of slothful Sleep, into which the
Sun, {whether} rising, or in his mid course, or setting, can never come.
Fogs mingled with darkness are exhaled from the ground, and {it is} a
twilight with a dubious light. No wakeful bird, with the notes of his
crested features, there calls forth the morn; nor do the watchful dogs,
or the geese more sagacious[50] than the dogs, break the silence with
their voices. No wild beasts, no cattle, no boughs waving with the
breeze, no {loud} outbursts of the human voice, {there} make any sound;
mute Rest has there her abode. But from the bottom of the rock runs a
stream, the waters of Lethe,[51] through which the rivulet, trickling
with a murmuring noise amid the sounding pebbles, invites sleep. Before
the doors of the cavern, poppies bloom in abundance, and innumerable
herbs, from the juice of which the humid night gathers sleep, and
spreads it over the darkened Earth. There is no door in the whole
dwelling, to make a noise by the turning of the hinges; no porter at the
entrance. But in the middle is a couch, raised high upon black ebony,
stuffed with feathers, of a dark colour, concealed by a dark coverlet;
on which the God himself lies, his limbs dissolved in sloth. Around him
lie, in every direction, imitating divers shapes, unsubstantial dreams
as many as the harvest bears ears of corn, the wood green leaves, the
shore the sands thrown up. Into this, soon as the maiden had entered,
and had put aside with her hands the visions that were in her way, the
sacred house shone with the splendour of her garment, and the God, with
difficulty lifting up his eyes sunk in languid sloth, again and again
relapsing, and striking the upper part of his breast with his nodding
chin, at last aroused himself from his {dozing}; and, raised on his
elbow, he inquired why she had come; for he knew {who she was}.

But she {replied}, “Sleep, thou repose of all things; Sleep, thou
gentlest of the Deities; thou peace of the mind, from which care flies,
who dost soothe the hearts {of men}, wearied with the toils of the day,
and refittest them for labour, command a vision, that resembles in
similitude the real shape, to go to Halcyone, in Herculean Trachyn, in
the form of the king, and to assume the form of one that has suffered
shipwreck. Juno commands this.” After Iris had executed her commission,
she departed; for she could no longer endure the effects of the vapour;
and, as soon as she perceived sleep creeping over her limbs, she took to
flight,[52] and departed along the bow by which she had come just
before.

But Father {Sleep}, out of the multitude of his thousand sons, raises
Morpheus,[53] a {skilful} artist, and an imitator of {any human} shape.
No one more dexterously than he mimics the gait, and the countenance,
and the mode of speaking; he adds the dress, too, and the words most
commonly used by any one. But he imitates men only; for another one
becomes a wild beast, becomes a bird, {or} becomes a serpent, with its
lengthened body: this one, the Gods above call Icelos; the tribe of
mortals, Phobetor. There is likewise a third, {master} of a different
art, {called} Phantasos: he cleverly changes {himself} into earth, and
stone, and water, and a tree, and all those things which are destitute
of life. These are wont, by night, to show their features to kings and
to generals, {while} others wander amid the people and the commonalty.
These, Sleep, the aged {God}, passes by, and selects Morpheus alone from
all his brothers, to execute the commands of the daughter of Thaumas;
and again he both drops his head, sunk in languid drowsiness, and
shrinks back within the lofty couch.

{Morpheus} flies through the dark with wings that make no noise, and in
a short space of intervening time arrives at the Hæmonian city; and,
laying aside his wings from off his body, he assumes the form of Ceyx;
and in that form, wan, and like one without blood, without garments,
he stands before the bed of his wretched wife. The beard of the hero
appears to be dripping, and the water to be falling thickly from his
soaking hair. Then leaning on the bed, with tears running down his face,
he says these words: “My most wretched wife, dost thou recognise {thy}
Ceyx, or are my looks {so} changed with death? Observe me; thou wilt
{surely} know me: and, instead of thy husband, thou wilt find the ghost
of thy husband. Thy prayers, Halcyone, have availed me nothing; I have
perished. Do not promise thyself, {thus} deceived, my {return}. The
cloudy South wind caught my ship in the Ægean Sea,[54] and dashed it to
pieces, tossed by the mighty blasts; and the waves choked my utterance,
in vain calling upon thy name. It is no untruthful messenger that tells
thee this: thou dost not hear these things through vague rumours.
I, myself, shipwrecked, in person, am telling thee my fate. Come, arise
then, shed tears, and put on mourning; and do not send me unlamented to
the phantom {realms of} Tartarus.”

To these words Morpheus adds a voice, which she may believe to be that
of her husband. He seems, too, to be shedding real tears, and his hands
have the gesture of Ceyx. As she weeps, Halcyone groans aloud, and moves
her arms in her sleep, and catching at his body, grasps the air; and she
cries aloud, “Stay, whither dost thou hurry? We will go together.”
Disturbed by her own voice, and by the appearance of her husband, she
shakes off sleep; and first she looks about there, to see if he, who has
been so lately seen, is there; for the servants, roused by her voice,
have brought in lights. After she has found him nowhere, she smites her
face with her hands, and tears her garments from off her breast, and
beats her breast itself. Nor cares she to loosen her hair; she tears it,
and says to her nurse, as she inquires what is the occasion of her
sorrow: “Halcyone is no more! no more! with her own Ceyx is she dead.
Away with words of comfort. He has perished by shipwreck. I have seen
him, and I knew him; and as he departed, desirous to detain him,
I extended my hands towards him. The ghost fled: but, yet it was the
undoubted and the real ghost of my husband. It had not, indeed, if thou
askest me {that}, his wonted features; nor was he looking cheerful with
his former countenance. Hapless, I beheld him, pale, and naked, and with
his hair still dripping. Lo! ill-fated {man}, he stood on this very
spot;” and she seeks the prints of his footsteps, if any are left. “This
it was, this is what I dreaded in my ill-boding mind, and I entreated
that thou wouldst not, deserting me, follow the winds. But, I could have
wished, since thou didst depart to perish, that, at least, thou hadst
taken me as well. To have gone with thee, {yes}, with thee, would have
been an advantage to me; for then neither should I have spent any part
of my life otherwise than together with thee, nor would my death have
been divided {from thee}. Now, absent {from thee}, I perish; now,
absent, I am tossed on the waves; and the sea has thee without me.

“My heart were more cruel than the sea itself, were I to strive to
protract my life any further; and, were I to struggle to survive so
great a misfortune. But I will not struggle, nor, hapless one, will I
abandon thee; and, at least, I will {now} come to be thy companion. And,
in the tomb, if the urn {does} not, yet the inscription[55] shall unite
us: if {I touch} not thy bones with my bones, still will I unite thy
name with my name.” Grief forbids her saying more, and wailings come
between each word, and groans are heaved from her sorrow-stricken
breast.

It is {now} morning: she goes forth from her abode to the sea-shore,
and, wretched, repairs to that place from which she had seen him go, and
says, “While he lingered, and while he was loosening the cables, at his
departure, he gave me kisses upon this sea-shore;” and while she calls
to recollection the incidents which she had observed with her eyes, and
looks out upon the sea, she observes on the flowing wave, I know not
what {object}, like a body, within a distant space: and at first she is
doubtful what it is. After the water has brought it a little nearer,
and, although it is {still} distant, it is plain that it is a corpse.
Ignorant who it may be, because it is ship-wrecked, she is moved at the
omen, and, though unknown, would fain give it a tear. “Alas! thou
wretched one!” she says, “whoever thou art; and if thou hast any wife!”
Driven by the waves, the body approaches nearer. The more she looks at
it, the less and the less is she mistress of her senses. And now she
sees it brought close to the land, that now she can well distinguish it:
it is her husband. “’Tis he!” she exclaims, and, on the instant, she
tears her face, her hair, {and} her garments; and, extending her
trembling hands towards Ceyx, she says, “And is it thus, Oh dearest
husband! is it thus, Oh ill-fated one! that thou dost return to me?”

A mole, made by the hand of man, adjoins the waves, which breaks the
first fury of the ocean, and weakens the first shock of its waters. Upon
that she leaped, and ’tis wondrous that she could. She flew, and beating
the light air with her wings newly formed, she, a wretched bird, skimmed
the surface of the water. And, while she flew, her croaking mouth, with
its slender bill, uttered a sound like that of one in sadness, and full
of complaining. But when she touched the body, dumb, and without blood,
embracing the beloved limbs with her new-made wings, in vain she gave
him cold kisses with her hardened bill. The people were in doubt whether
Ceyx was sensible of this, or whether, by the motion of the wave, he
seemed to raise his countenance; but {really} he was sensible of it;
and, at length, through the pity of the Gods above, both were changed
into birds. Meeting with the same fate, even then their love remained.
Nor, when {now} birds, is the conjugal tie dissolved: they couple, and
they become parents; and for seven calm days,[56] in the winter-time,
does Halcyone brood upon her nest floating on the sea.[57] Then the
passage of the deep is safe; Æolus keeps the winds in, and restrains
them from sallying forth, and secures a {smooth} sea for his
descendants.

    [Footnote 33: _The profane Phorbas._--Ver. 414. The temple at
    Delphi was much nearer and more convenient for Ceyx to resort to;
    but at that period it was in the hands of the Phlegyans, a people
    of Thessaly, of predatory and lawless habits, who had plundered
    the Delphic shrine. They were destroyed by thunderbolts and
    pestilence, or, according to some authors, by Neptune, who swept
    them away in a flood. Phorbas, here mentioned, was one of the
    Lapithæ, a savage robber, who forced strangers to box with him,
    and then slew them. Having the presumption to challenge the Gods,
    he was slain by Apollo.]

    [Footnote 34: _Names upon tombs._--Ver. 429. Cenotaphs, or
    honorary tombs, were erected in honour of those, who having been
    drowned, their bodies could not be found. One great reason for
    erecting these memorials was the notion, that the souls of those
    who had received no funeral honours, wandered in agony on the
    banks of the Styx for the space of one hundred years.]

    [Footnote 35: _Hippotas._--Ver. 431. Æolus was the grandson of
    Hippotas, through his daughter Sergesta, who bore Æolus to
    Jupiter. Ovid says that he was the father of Halcyone; but,
    according to Lucian, she was the daughter of Æolus the Hellenian,
    the grandson of Deucalion.]

    [Footnote 36: _Brilliant fires._--Ver. 436. Ovid probably here had
    in view the description given by Lucretius, commencing Book i.
    line 272.]

    [Footnote 37: _In double rows._--Ver. 462. By this it is implied
    that the ship of Ceyx was a ‘biremis,’ or one with two ranks of
    rowers; one rank being placed above the other. Pliny the Elder
    attributes the invention of the ‘biremis’ to the Erythræans. Those
    with three ranks of rowers were introduced by the Corinthians;
    while Dionysius, the first king of Sicily, was the inventor of the
    Quadriremis, or ship with four ranks of rowers. Quinqueremes, or
    those with five ranks, are said to have been the invention of the
    Salaminians. The first use of those with six ranks has been
    ascribed to the Syracusans. Ships were sometimes built with
    twelve, twenty, and even forty ranks of rowers, but they appear to
    have been intended rather for curiosity than for use. As, of
    course, the labour of each ascending rank increased, through the
    necessity of the higher ranks using longer oars, the pay of the
    lowest rank was the lowest, their work being the easiest. Where
    there were twenty ranks or more, the upper oars required more than
    one man to manage them. Ptolemy Philopater had a vessel built as a
    curiosity, which had no less than four thousand rowers.]

    [Footnote 38: _Towards their sides._--Ver. 475. ‘Obvertere lateri
    remos’ most probably means ‘To feather the oars,’ which it is
    especially necessary to do in a gale, to avoid the retarding power
    of the wind against the surface of the blade of the oar.]

    [Footnote 39: _Fixes the sail-yards._--Ver. 476. ‘Cornua’ means,
    literally, ‘The ends or points of the sail-yards,’ or ‘Antennæ:’
    but here the word is used to signify the sail-yards themselves.]

    [Footnote 40: _Covering of wax._--Ver. 514. The ‘Cera’ with which
    the seams of the ships were stopped, was most probably a
    composition of wax and pitch, or other bituminous and resinous
    substances.]

    [Footnote 41: _The tenth wave._--Ver. 530. This is said in
    allusion to the belief that every tenth wave exceeded the others
    in violence.]

    [Footnote 42: _Calls those happy._--Ver. 540. Those who died on
    shore would obtain funeral rites; while those who perished by
    shipwreck might become food for the fishes, a fate which was
    regarded by the ancients with peculiar horror. Another reason for
    thus regarding death by shipwreck, was the general belief among
    the ancients, that the soul was an emanation from æther, or fire,
    and that it was contrary to the laws of nature for it to be
    extinguished by water. Ovid says in his Tristia, or Lament (Book
    I. El. 2, l. 51-57), ‘I fear not death: ’tis the dreadful kind of
    death; Take away the shipwreck: then death will be a gain to me.
    ’Tis something for one, either dying a natural death, or by the
    sword, to lay his breathless corpse in the firm ground, and to
    impart his wishes to his kindred, and to hope for a sepulchre, and
    not to be food for the fishes of the sea.’]

    [Footnote 43: _A hurricane._--Ver. 548-9. ‘Tanta vertigine pontus
    Fervet’ is transcribed by Clarke, ‘The sea is confounded with so
    great a vertigo.’]

    [Footnote 44: _The billows allow._--Ver. 566. ‘Quoties sinit
    hiscere fluctus’ is rendered by Clarke, ‘As oft as the waves
    suffer him to gape.’]

    [Footnote 45: _A darkening arch._--Ver. 568. Possibly ‘niger
    arcus’ means a sweeping wave, black with the sand which it has
    swept from the depths of the ocean; or else with the reflection of
    the dark clouds.]

    [Footnote 46: _From the heavens._--Ver. 571. The word Olympus is
    frequently used by the poets to signify ‘the heavens;’ as the
    mountain of that name in Thessaly, from its extreme height, was
    supposed to be the abode of the Gods.]

    [Footnote 47: _Prepare the garments._--Ver. 575. Horace tells us
    that their clients wove garments for the Roman patricians; and the
    females of noble family did the same for their husbands, children,
    and brothers. Ovid, in the Fasti, describes Lucretia as making a
    ‘lacerna,’ or cloak, for her husband Collatinus. She says to her
    hand-maidens, ‘With all speed there must be sent to your master a
    cloak made with our hands.’ (Book ii. l. 746.) Suetonius tells us
    that Augustus would wear no clothes but those made by his wife,
    sister, or daughter.]

    [Footnote 48: _Polluted hands._--Ver. 584. All persons who had
    been engaged in the burial of the dead were considered to be
    polluted, and were not allowed to enter the temples of the Gods
    till they had been purified. Among the Greeks, persons who had
    been supposed to have died in foreign countries, and whose funeral
    rites had been performed in an honorary manner by their own
    relatives, if it turned out that they were not dead, and they
    returned to their own country, were considered impure, and were
    only purified by being dressed in swaddling clothes, and treated
    like new-born infants. We shall, then, be hardly surprised at Juno
    considering Halcyone to be polluted by the death of her husband
    Ceyx, although at a distance, and as yet unknown to her.]

    [Footnote 49: _The Cimmerians._--Ver. 592. Ovid appropriately
    places the abode of the drowsy God in the cold, damp, and foggy
    regions of the Cimmerians, who are supposed, by some authors, to
    have been a people of Sarmatia, or Scythia, near the Palus Mæotis,
    or sea of Azof. Other writers suppose that a fabulous race of
    people, said to live near Baiæ in Italy, and to inhabit dark caves
    throughout the day, while they sallied forth to plunder at night,
    are here referred to. This description of the abode of Sleep, and
    of his appearance and attendants, is supposed to have been
    borrowed by Ovid from one of the Greek poets.]

    [Footnote 50: _Geese more sagacious._--Ver. 599. This is said in
    compliment to the geese, for the service they rendered, in giving
    the alarm, and saving the Capitol, when in danger of being taken
    by the Gauls.]

    [Footnote 51: _Waters of Lethe._--Ver. 603. After the dead had
    tasted the waters of Lethe, one of the rivers of Hell, it was
    supposed that they lost all recollection of the events of their
    former life.]

    [Footnote 52: _Took to flight._--Ver. 632. Clarke translates this
    line, ‘Away she scours, and returns through the bow through which
    she had come.’]

    [Footnote 53: _Morpheus._--Ver. 635. Morpheus was so called from
    the Greek μορφὴ, ‘shape,’ or ‘figure,’ because he assumed various
    shapes. Icelos has his name from the Greek ἴκελος, ‘like,’ for a
    similar reason. Phobetor is from the Greek φοβὸς, ‘fear,’ because
    it was his office to terrify mortals. Lucian appears to mean the
    same Deity, under the name of Taraxion. Phantasos is from the
    Greek φάντασις, ‘fancy.’]

    [Footnote 54: _In the Ægean Sea._--Ver. 663. The Ægean Sea lay
    between the city of Trachyn and the coast of Ionia, whither Ceyx
    had gone.]

    [Footnote 55: _The inscription._--Ver. 706. The epitaphs on the
    tombs of the ancients usually contained the name of the person,
    his age, and (with the Greeks) some account of the principal
    events of his life. Halcyone, in her affectionate grief, promises
    her husband, at least, an honorary funeral, and a share in her own
    epitaph.]

    [Footnote 56: _Seven calm days._--Ver. 745. Simonides mentions
    eleven as being the number of the days; Philochorus, nine; but
    Demagoras says seven, the number here adopted by Ovid.]

    [Footnote 57: _Floating on the sea._--Ver. 746. The male of the
    kingfisher was said by the ancients to be so constant to his mate,
    that on her death he refused to couple with any other, for which
    reason the poets considered that bird as the emblem of conjugal
    affection. The sea was supposed to be always calm when the female
    was sitting; from which time of serenity, our proverb, which
    speaks of ‘Halcyon days,’ takes its rise.]


EXPLANATION.

  According to the testimony of several of the ancient writers, Ceyx
  was the king of Trachyn, and was a prince of great knowledge and
  experience; and many had recourse to him to atone for the murders
  which they had committed, whether through imprudence or otherwise.
  Pausanias says that Eurystheus having summoned Ceyx to deliver up to
  him the children of Hercules, that prince, who was not able to
  maintain a war against so powerful a king, sent the youths to
  Theseus, who took them into his protection.

  To recover from the melancholy consequent upon the death of his
  brother Dædalion and his niece Chione, he went to Claros to consult
  the oracle of Apollo, and was shipwrecked on his return; on which,
  his wife, Halcyone, was so afflicted, that she died of grief, or
  else threw herself into the sea, as Hyginus informs us. It was said
  that they were changed into the birds which we call kingfishers,
  a story which, probably, has no other foundation than the name of
  Halcyone, which signifies that bird; which by the ancients was
  considered to be the symbol of conjugal affection.

  Apollodorus, however, does not give us so favourable an idea of the
  virtue of these persons as Ovid has done. According to him, it was
  their pride which proved the cause of their destruction. Jupiter
  enraged at Ceyx, because he had assumed his name as Halcyone had
  done that of Juno, changed them both into birds, he becoming a
  cormorant, and she a kingfisher. This story is remarkable for the
  beautiful and affecting manner in which it is told.


FABLE VIII. [XI.749-795]

  The Nymph Hesperia flying from Æsacus, who is enamoured of her,
  is bitten by a serpent, and instantly dies from the effects of the
  wound. He is so afflicted at her death, that he throws himself into
  the sea, and is transformed into a didapper.

Some old man[58] observes them as they fly over the widely extended
seas, and commends their love, preserved to the end {of their
existence}. One, close by, or the same, if chance so orders it, says,
“This one, too, which you see, as it cuts through the sea, and having
its legs drawn up,” pointing at a didapper, with its wide throat, “was
the son of a king. And, if you want to come down to him in one
lengthened series, his ancestors are Ilus, and Assaracus, and
Ganymede,[59] snatched away by Jupiter, and the aged Laomedon, and
Priam, to whom were allotted the last days of Troy. He himself was the
brother of Hector, and had he not experienced a strange fate in his
early youth, perhaps he would have had a name not inferior to {that} of
Hector; although the daughter of Dymas bore this {last}. Alexirhoë, the
daughter of the two-horned Granicus,[60] is said secretly to have
brought forth Æsacus, under shady Ida.

“He loathed the cities, and distant from the splendid court, frequented
the lonely mountains, and the unambitious fields; nor went but rarely
among the throngs of Ilium. Yet, not having a breast either churlish, or
impregnable to love, he espies Hesperie, the daughter of Cebrenus,[61]
on the banks of her sire, who has been often sought by him throughout
all the woods, drying her locks, thrown over her shoulders, in the sun.
The Nymph, {thus} seen, takes to flight, just as the frightened hind
from the tawny wolf; and {as} the water-duck, surprised at a distance,
having left her {wonted} stream, from the hawk. Her the Trojan hero
pursues, and, swift with love, closely follows her, made swift by fear.
Behold! a snake, lurking in the grass, with its barbed sting, wounds her
foot as she flies, and leaves its venom in her body. With her flight is
her life cut short. Frantic, he embraces her breathless, and cries
aloud,-- “I grieve, I grieve that {ever} I pursued {thee}. But I did not
apprehend this; nor was it of so much value to me to conquer. We two
have proved the destruction of wretched thee. The wound was given by the
serpent; by me was the occasion given. I should be more guilty than he,
did I not give the consolation for thy fate by my own death.” {Thus} he
said; and from a rock which the hoarse waves had undermined, he hurled
himself into the sea. Tethys, pitying him as he fell, received him
softly, and covered him with feathers as he swam through the sea; and
the power of obtaining the death he sought was not granted to him. The
lover is vexed that, against his will, he is obliged to live on, and
that opposition is made to his spirit, desirous to depart from its
wretched abode. And, as he has assumed newformed wings on his shoulders,
he flies aloft, and again he throws his body in the waves: his feathers
break the fall. Æsacus is enraged; and headlong he plunges into the
deep,[62] and incessantly tries the way of destruction. Love caused his
leanness; the spaces between the joints of his legs are long; his neck
remains long, {and} his head is far away from his body. He loves the
sea, and has his name because he plunges[63] in it.

    [Footnote 58: _Some old man._--Ver. 749-50. ‘Hos aliquis
    senior--spectat;’ these words are translated by Clarke, ‘Some old
    blade spies them.’]

    [Footnote 59: _Ganymede._--Ver. 756. Ovid need not have inserted
    Assaracus and Ganymede, as they were only the brothers of Ilus,
    and the three were the sons of Tros. Ilus was the father of
    Laomedon, whose son was Priam, the father of Æsacus.]

    [Footnote 60: _Granicus._--Ver. 763. The Granicus was a river of
    Mysia, near which Alexander the Great defeated Darius with immense
    slaughter.]

    [Footnote 61: _Cebrenus._--Ver. 769. The Cebrenus was a little
    stream of Phrygia, not far from Troy.]

    [Footnote 62: _Plunges into the deep._--Ver. 791-2. ‘Inque
    profundum Pronus abit,’ Clarke renders, ‘Goes plumb down into the
    deep.’ Certainly this is nearer to its French origin, ‘a plomb,’
    than the present form, ‘plump down;’ but, like many other
    instances in his translation, it decidedly does not help us, as he
    professes to do, to ‘the attainment of the elegancy of this great
    Poet.’]

    [Footnote 63: _Because he plunges._--Ver. 795. He accounts for the
    Latin name of the diver, or didapper, ‘mergus,’ by saying that it
    was so called, ‘a mergendo,’ from its diving, which doubtless was
    the origin of the name, though not taking its rise in the fiction
    here related by the Poet.]


EXPLANATION.

  Ovid and Apollodorus agree that Æsacus was the son of Priam, and
  that he was changed into a didapper, or diver, but they differ in
  the other circumstances of his life. Instead of being the son of
  Alexirhoë, Apollodorus says that he was the son of Priam and Arisbe
  the daughter of Merope, his first wife; that his father made him
  marry Sterope, who dying very young, he was so afflicted at her
  death, that he threw himself into the sea. He also says that Priam
  having repudiated Arisbe to marry Hecuba, the daughter of Cisseus,
  Æsacus seeing his mother-in-law pregnant of her second son, foretold
  his father that her progeny would be the cause of a bloody war,
  which would end in the destruction of the kingdom of Troy; and that
  upon this prediction, the infant, when born, was exposed on Mount
  Ida.

  Tzetzes adds, that Æsacus told his father that it was absolutely
  necessary to put to death both the mother and the infant which was
  born on that same day; on which Priam being informed that Cilla, the
  wife of Thymætes, being delivered on that day of a son, he ordered
  them both to be killed; thinking thereby to escape the realization
  of the prediction. Servius, on the authority of Euphorion, relates
  the story in much the same manner; but a poet quoted by Cicero in
  his first book on Divination, says that it was the oracle of Zelia,
  a little town at the foot of Mount Ida, which gave that answer as an
  interpretation of the dream of Hecuba. Pausanias says it was the
  sibyl Herophila who interpreted the dream, while other ancient
  writers state that it was Cassandra. Apollodorus says that Æsacus
  learned from his grandfather Merops the art of foretelling things to
  come.




BOOK THE TWELFTH.


FABLES I. AND II. [XII.1-145]

  The Greeks assemble their troops at Aulis, to proceed against the
  city of Troy, and revenge the rape of Helen; but the fleet is
  detained in port by contrary winds. Calchas, the priest, after a
  prediction concerning the success of the expedition, declares that
  the weather will never be favourable till Agamemnon shall have
  sacrificed his daughter Iphigenia. She is immediately led to the
  altar for that purpose; but Diana, appeased by this act of
  obedience, carries away the maiden, and substitutes a hind in her
  place, on which a fair wind arises. Upon the Greeks landing at Troy,
  a battle is fought, in which Protesilaüs is killed by Hector, and
  Achilles kills Cygnus, a Trojan, on which his father Neptune
  transforms him into a swan.

His father Priam mourned him, not knowing that Æsacus, having assumed
wings, was {still} living; Hector, too, with his brothers, made
unavailing offerings[1] at a tomb, that bore his name {on it}. The
presence of Paris was wanting, at this mournful office: who, soon after,
brought into his country a lengthened war, together with a ravished
wife;[2] and a thousand ships[3] uniting together, followed him, and,
together {with them}, the whole body[4] of the Pelasgian nation. Nor
would vengeance have been delayed, had not the raging winds made the
seas impassable, and the Bœotian land detained in fishy Aulis the ships
ready to depart. Here, when they had prepared a sacrifice to Jupiter,
after the manner of their country, as the ancient altar was heated with
kindled fires, the Greeks beheld an azure-coloured serpent creep into a
plane tree, which was standing near the sacrifice they had begun. There
was on the top of the tree a nest of twice four birds, which the serpent
seized[5] together, and the dam as she fluttered around {the scene of}
her loss, and he buried them in his greedy maw. All stood amazed. But
{Calchas}, the son of Thestor, a soothsayer, foreseeing the truth, says,
“Rejoice, Pelasgians, we shall conquer. Troy will fall, but the
continuance of our toil will be long;” and he allots the nine birds to
the years of the war. {The serpent}, just as he is, coiling around the
green branches in the tree, becomes a stone, and, under the form of a
serpent, retains that stone {form}.

Nereus continued boisterous in the Ionian waves, and did not impel the
sails onwards; and there are some who think that Neptune favoured Troy,
because he made the walls of the city. But not {so} the son of Thestor.
For neither was he ignorant, nor did he conceal, that the wrath of the
virgin Goddess must be appeased by the blood of a virgin. After the
public good had prevailed over affection, and the king over the father,
and Iphigenia, ready to offer her chaste blood, stood before the altar,
while the priests were weeping; the Goddess was appeased, and cast a
mist before their eyes, and, amid the service and the hurry of the
rites, and the voices of the suppliants, is said to have changed
Iphigenia, the Mycenian maiden, for a substituted hind. Wherefore, when
the Goddess was appeased by a death which was {more} fitting, and at the
same moment the wrath of Phœbe, and of the sea was past, the thousand
ships received the winds astern, and having suffered much, they gained
the Phrygian shore.

There is a spot in the middle of the world, between the land and the
sea, and the regions of heaven, the confines of the threefold universe,
whence is beheld whatever anywhere exists, although it may be in far
{distant} regions, and every sound pierces the hollow ears. {Of this
place} Fame is possessed, and chooses for herself a habitation on the
top[6] of a tower, and has added innumerable avenues, and a thousand
openings to her house, and has closed the entrances with no gates. Night
and day are they open. It is all of sounding brass; it is all
resounding, and it reechoes the voice, and repeats what it hears. Within
there is no rest, and silence in no part. Nor yet is there a clamour,
but the murmur of a low voice, such as is wont to arise from the waves
of the sea, if one listens at a distance, or like the sound which the
end of the thundering {makes} when Jupiter has clashed the black clouds
together. A crowd occupies the hall; the fickle vulgar come and go; and
a thousand rumours, false mixed with true, wander up and down, and
circulate confused words. Of these, some fill the empty ears with
conversation; some are carrying elsewhere what is told them; the measure
of the fiction is ever on the increase, and each fresh narrator adds
something to what he has heard. There, is Credulity, there, rash
Mistake, and empty Joy, and alarmed Fears, and sudden Sedition, and
Whispers of doubtful origin. She sees what things are done in heaven and
on the sea, and on the earth; and she pries into the whole universe.

She has made it known that Grecian ships are on their way, with valiant
troops: nor does the enemy appear in arms unlooked for. The Trojans
oppose their landing, and defend the shore, and thou, Protesilaüs,[7]
art, by the decrees of fate, the first to fall by the spear of
Hector;[8] and the battles {now} commenced, and the courageous spirits
of {the Trojans}, and Hector, {till then} unknown, cost the Greeks dear.
Nor do the Phrygians experience at small expense of blood what the
Grecian right hand can do. And now the Sigæan shores are red {with
blood}: now Cygnus, the son of Neptune, has slain a thousand men. Now is
Achilles pressing on in his chariot, and levelling the Trojan ranks,
with the blow of his Peleian spear; and seeking through the lines either
Cygnus or Hector, he engages with Cygnus: Hector is reserved for the
tenth year. Then animating the horses, having their white necks pressed
with the yoke, he directed his chariot against the enemy, and
brandishing his quivering spear with his arm, he said, “O youth, whoever
thou art, take this consolation in thy death, that thou art slain by the
Hæmonian Achilles.”

Thus far the grandson of Æacus. His heavy lance followed his words. But,
although there was no missing in the unerring lance, yet it availed
nothing, by the sharpness of its point, {thus} discharged; and as it
only bruised his breast with a blunt stroke, {the other} said, “Thou son
of a Goddess, (for by report have we known of thee beforehand) why art
thou surprised that wounds are warded off from me? (for {Achilles} was
surprised); not this helmet that thou seest tawny with the horse’s mane,
nor the hollowed shield, the burden of my left arm, are assistant to me;
from them ornament {alone} is sought; for this cause, too, Mars is wont
to take up arms. All the assistance of defensive armour shall be
removed, {and} yet I shall come off unhurt. It is something to be born,
not of a Nereid,[9] but {of one} who rules both Nereus and his daughter,
and the whole ocean.”

{Thus} he spoke; and he hurled against the descendant of Æacus his dart,
destined to stick in the rim of his shield; it broke through both the
brass and the next nine folds of bull’s hide; but stopping in the tenth
circle {of the hide}, the hero wrenched it out, and again hurled the
quivering weapon with a strong hand; again his body was without a wound,
and unharmed, nor was a third spear able {even} to graze Cygnus,
unprotected, and exposing himself. Achilles raged no otherwise than as a
bull,[10] in the open Circus,[11] when with his dreadful horns he butts
against the purple-coloured garments, used as the means of provoking
him, and perceives that his wounds are evaded. Still, he examines
whether the point has chanced to fall from off the spear. It is {still}
adhering to the shaft. “My hand then is weak,” says he, “and it has
spent {all} the strength it had before, upon one man. For decidedly it
was strong enough, both when at first I overthrew the walls of
Lyrnessus, or when I filled both Tenedos and Eëtionian[12] Thebes with
their own blood. Or when Caÿcus[13] flowed empurpled with the slaughter
of its people: and Telephus[14] was twice sensible of the virtue of my
spear. Here, too, where so many have been slain, heaps of whom I both
have made along this shore, and I {now} behold, my right hand has proved
mighty, and is mighty.”

{Thus} he spoke; and as if he distrusted what he had done before, he
hurled his spear against Menœtes, one of the Lycian multitude,[15] who
{was} standing opposite, and he tore asunder both his coat of mail, and
his breast beneath it. He beating the solid earth with his dying head,
he drew the same weapon from out of the reeking wound, and said, “This
is the hand, this the lance, with which I conquered but now. The same
will I use against him; in his {case}, I pray that the event may prove
the same.” Thus he said, and he hurled it at Cygnus, nor did the ashen
lance miss him; and, not escaped {by him}, it resounded on his left
shoulder: thence it was repelled, as though by a wall, or a solid rock.
Yet Achilles saw Cygnus marked with blood, where he had been struck, and
he rejoiced, {but in} vain. There was no wound; that was the blood of
Menœtes.

Then indeed, raging, he leaps headlong from his lofty chariot, and hand
to hand, with his gleaming sword striking at his fearless foe, he
perceives that the shield and the helmet are pierced with his sword, and
that his weapon, too, is blunted upon his hard body. He endures it no
longer; and drawing back his shield, he three or four times strikes the
face of the hero, and his hollow temples, with the hilt of the sword;
and following, he presses onward as the other gives ground, and
confounds him, and drives him on, and gives him no respite in his
confusion. Horror seizes on him, and darkness swims before his eyes; and
as he moves backwards his retreating steps, a stone in the middle of the
field stands in his way. Impelled over this, with his breast upwards,
Achilles throws Cygnus with great violence, and dashes him[16] to the
earth. Then, pressing down his breast with his shield and his hard
knees, he draws tight the straps of his helmet; which, fastened beneath
his pressed chin, squeeze close his throat, and take away his
respiration and the passage of his breath.

He is preparing to strip his vanquished {foe}; he sees {nothing but} his
armour, left behind. The God of the Ocean changed his body into a white
bird, of which he {so} lately bore the name.

    [Footnote 1: _Unavailing offerings._--Ver. 3. ‘Inferias inanes’ is
    a poetical expression, signifying the offering sacrifices of
    honey, milk, wine, blood, flowers, frankincense, and other things,
    at a tomb, which was empty or honorary. The Greeks called these
    kind of sacrifices by the name of χοαὶ.]

    [Footnote 2: _A ravished wife._--Ver. 5. This was Helen, the wife
    of Menelaüs, whose abduction by Paris was the cause of the Trojan
    war.]

    [Footnote 3: _A thousand ships._--Ver. 7. That is, a thousand in
    round numbers. For Homer makes them, 1186; Dictys Cretensis, 1225;
    and Dares, 1140.]

    [Footnote 4: _The whole body._--Ver. 7. The adjective ‘commune’ is
    here used substantively, and signifies ‘the whole body.’]

    [Footnote 5: _Serpent seized._--Ver. 16-17. Clarke translates this
    line, ‘Which the snake whipt up, as also the dam flying about her
    loss, and buried them in his greedy paunch.’]

    [Footnote 6: _On the top._--Ver. 43. ‘Summaque domum sibi legit in
    arce,’ is translated by Clarke, ‘And chooses there a house for
    herself, on the very tip-top of it.’]

    [Footnote 7: _Protesilaüs._--Ver. 68. He was the husband of
    Laodamia, the daughter of Acastus. His father was Iphiclus, who
    was noted for his extreme swiftness.]

    [Footnote 8: _Spear of Hector._--Ver. 67. Some writers say that he
    fell by the hand of Æneas.]

    [Footnote 9: _Of a Nereid._--Ver. 93. Cygnus says this
    sarcastically, in allusion to Achilles being born of Thetis,
    a daughter of Nereus.]

    [Footnote 10: _As a bull._--Ver. 103-4. Clarke translates these
    lines in this comical strain: ‘Achilles was as mad as a bull in
    the open Circus, when he pushes at the red coat, stuffed, used on
    purpose to provoke him.’]

    [Footnote 11: _The open Circus._--Ver. 104. We learn from Seneca,
    that it was the custom in the ‘venationes’ of the Circus to
    irritate the bull against his antagonist, by thrusting in his path
    figures stuffed with straw or hay, and covered with red cloth.
    Similar means are used to provoke the bull in the Spanish
    bull-fights of the present day.]

    [Footnote 12: _Eëtionian._--Ver. 110. Eëtion, the father of
    Andromache, the wife of Hector, was the king of Thebes in Cilicia,
    which place was ravaged by the Greeks for having sent assistance
    to the Trojans.]

    [Footnote 13: _Caÿcus._--Ver. 111. The Caÿcus was a river of
    Mysia, in Asia Minor, which country had incurred the resentment of
    the Greeks, for having assisted the Trojans.]

    [Footnote 14: _Telephus._--Ver. 112. Telephus, the son of Hercules
    and the Nymph Auge, was wounded in combat by Achilles. By the
    direction of the oracle, he applied to Achilles for his cure,
    which was effected by means of the rust of the weapon with which
    the wound was made.]

    [Footnote 15: _Lycian multitude._--Ver. 116. The Lycians, whose
    territory was in Asia Minor, between Caria and Pamphylia, were
    allies of the Trojans.]

    [Footnote 16: _And dashes him._--Ver. 139. Clarke renders this
    line, ‘He overset him, and thwacked him against the ground.’]


EXPLANATION.

  It is not improbable that the prediction of Calchas, at Aulis, that
  the war against Troy would endure nine years, had no other
  foundation than his desire to check an enterprise which must be
  attended with much bloodshed, and difficulties of the most
  formidable nature. It is not unlikely, too, that this interpretation
  of the story of the serpent devouring the birds may have been
  planned by some of the Grecian generals, who did not dare openly to
  refuse their assistance to Agamemnon. The story of Iphigenia was,
  perhaps, founded on a similar policy. The ancient poets and
  historians are by no means agreed as to the fate of Iphigenia, as
  some say that she really was sacrificed, while others state that she
  was transformed into a she-bear, others into an old woman, and
  Nicander affirms that she was changed into a heifer.

  There is no story more celebrated among the ancients than that of
  the intended immolation of Iphigenia. Euripides wrote two tragedies
  on the subject. Homer, however, makes no allusion to the story of
  Iphigenia; but he mentions Iphianassa, the daughter of Agamemnon,
  who was sent for, to be a hostage on his reconciliation with
  Achilles; she is probably the same person that is meant by the later
  poets, under the name of Iphigenia.

  It has been suggested by some modern commentators, that the story of
  Iphigenia was founded on the sacrifice of his own daughter, by
  Jeptha, the judge of Israel, which circumstance happened much about
  the same time. The story of the substitution of the hind for the
  damsel, when about to be slain, was possibly founded on the
  substituted offering for Isaac when about to be offered by his
  father; for it is not probable that the people of Greece were
  entirely ignorant of the existence of the books of Moses, and that
  wonderful narrative would be not unlikely to make an impression on
  minds ever ready to be attracted by the marvellous. Some writers
  have taken pains to show that Agamemnon did not sacrifice, or
  contemplate sacrificing, his own daughter, by asserting that the
  Iphigenia here mentioned was the daughter of Helen, who was educated
  by Clytemnestra, the wife of Agamemnon, and the sister of Helen.
  Pausanias also adopts this view, and gives for his authorities
  Euphorion of Chalcis, Alexander, Stesichorus, and the people of
  Argos, who preserved a tradition to the same effect.

  Lucretius, Virgil, and Diodorus Siculus are in the number of those
  who assert that Iphigenia actually was immolated. According to
  Dictys the Cretan, and several of the ancient scholiasts, Ulysses
  having left the Grecian camp without the knowledge of Agamemnon,
  went to Argos, and returned with Iphigenia, under the pretext that
  her father intended to marry her to Achilles. Some writers state
  that Achilles was in love with Iphigenia; and that he was greatly
  enraged at Ulysses for bringing her to the camp, and opposed her
  sacrifice to the utmost of his power.

  Ovid then proceeds to recount the adventures of the Greeks, after
  their arrival at Troy. An oracle had warned the Greeks, that he who
  should be the first to land on the Trojan shores, would inevitably
  be slain. Protesilaüs seeing that this prediction damped the courage
  of his companions, led the way, and sacrificed his life for the
  safety of his friends, being slain by Hector immediately on his
  landing. Cygnus, signalizing himself by his bravery, attracted the
  attention of Achilles, who singled him out as a worthy antagonist.
  It was said that this hero was the son of Neptune; perhaps because
  he was powerful by sea, and the prince of some island in the
  Archipelago. He was said to be invulnerable, most probably because
  his shield was arrow-proof. The story of his transformation into a
  swan, has evidently no other foundation than the resemblance between
  his name and that of that bird.


FABLES III. AND IV. [XII.146-535]

  A truce ensuing, the Grecian chiefs having assembled at a feast,
  express their surprise at the fact of Cygnus being invulnerable.
  Nestor, by way of showing a still more surprising instance, relates
  how the Nymph Cænis, the daughter of Elatus, having yielded to the
  caresses of Neptune, was transformed by him into a man, and made
  invulnerable. Cæneus being present at the wedding feast of
  Pirithoüs, the son of Ixion, where Eurytus was a guest, the latter,
  being elevated with wine, made an attempt upon Hippodamia, the
  bride; on which a quarrel arose between the Centaurs and the
  Lapithæ. After many on both sides had been slain, Cæneus still
  remained unhurt; on which, the Centaurs having heaped up trunks of
  trees upon him, he was pressed to death; Neptune then changed his
  body into a bird.

This toil[17] {and} this combat brought on a cessation for many days;
and both sides rested, laying aside their arms. And while a watchful
guard was keeping the Phrygian walls, and a watchful guard was keeping
the Argive trenches, a festive day had arrived, on which Achilles, the
conqueror of Cygnus, appeased Pallas with the blood of a heifer, adorned
with fillets. As soon as he had placed its entrails[18] upon the glowing
altars, and the smell, acceptable to the Deities, mounted up to the
skies, the sacred rites had their share, the other part was served up at
the table. The chiefs reclined on couches, and sated their bodies with
roasted flesh,[19] and banished both their cares and their thirst with
wine. No harps, no melody of voices,[20] no long pipe of boxwood pierced
with many a hole, delights them; but in discourse they pass the night,
and valour is the subject-matter of their conversation. They relate the
combats of the enemy and their own; and often do they delight to
recount, in turn, both the dangers that they have encountered and that
they have surmounted. For of what {else} should Achilles speak? or of
what, in preference, should they speak before the great Achilles? {But}
especially the recent victory over the conquered Cygnus was the subject
of discourse. It seemed wonderful to them all, that the body of the
youth was penetrable by no weapon, and was susceptible of no wounds, and
that it blunted the steel itself. This same thing, the grandson of
Æacus, this, the Greeks wondered at.

When thus Nestor says {to them}: “Cygnus has been the only despiser of
weapons in your time, and penetrable by no blows. But I myself formerly
saw the Perrhæbean[21] Cæneus bear a thousand blows with his body
unhurt; Cæneus the Perrhæbean, {I say}, who, famous for his
achievements, inhabited Othrys. And that this, too, might be the more
wondrous in him, he was born a woman.” They are surprised, whoever are
present, at the singular nature of this prodigy, and they beg him to
tell the story. Among them, Achilles says, “Pray tell us, (for we all
have the same desire to hear it,) O eloquent old man,[22] the wisdom of
our age; who was {this} Cæneus, {and} why changed to the opposite sex?
in what war, and in the engagements of what contest was he known to
thee? by whom was he conquered, if he was conquered by any one?”

Then the aged man {replied}: “Although tardy old age is a disadvantage
to me, and many things which I saw in my early years escape me {now},
yet I remember most {of them}; and there is nothing, amid so many
transactions of war and peace, that is more firmly fixed in my mind than
that circumstance. And if extended age could make any one a witness of
many deeds, I have lived two hundred[23] years, {and} now my third
century is being passed {by me}. Cænis, the daughter of Elatus, was
remarkable for her charms; the most beauteous virgin among the
Thessalian maids, and one sighed for in vain by the wishes of many
wooers through the neighbouring {cities}, and through thy cities,
Achilles, for she was thy countrywoman. Perhaps, too, Peleus would have
attempted that alliance; but at that time the marriage of thy mother had
either befallen him, or had been promised him. Cænis did not enter into
any nuptial ties; and as she was walking along the lonely shore, she
suffered violence from the God of the ocean. ’Twas thus that report
stated; and when Neptune had experienced the pleasures of this new
amour, he said, ‘Be thy wishes secure from all repulse; choose whatever
thou mayst desire.’ The same report has related this too; Cænis replied,
‘This mishap makes my desire extreme, that I may not be in a condition
to suffer any such thing {in future}. Grant that I be no {longer} a
woman, {and} thou wilt have granted me all.’ She spoke these last words
with a hoarser tone, and the voice might seem to be that of a man, as
{indeed} it was.

“For now the God of the deep ocean had consented to her wish; and had
granted moreover that he should not be able to be pierced by any wounds,
or to fall by {any} steel. Exulting in his privilege, the Atracian[24]
departed; and {now} spent his time in manly exercises, and roamed over
the Peneïan plains. {Pirithoüs}, the son of the bold Ixion, had married
Hippodame,[25] and had bidden the cloud-born monsters to sit down at the
tables ranged in order, in a cave shaded with trees. The Hæmonian nobles
were there; I, too, was there, and the festive palace resounded with the
confused rout. Lo! they sing the marriage song, and the halls smoke with
the fires;[26] the maiden, too, is there, remarkable for her beauty,
surrounded by a crowd of matrons and newly married women. We {all}
pronounce Pirithoüs fortunate in her for a wife; an omen which we had
well nigh falsified. For thy breast, Eurytus, most savage of the savage
Centaurs, is inflamed as much with wine as with seeing the maiden; and
drunkenness, redoubled by lust, holds sway {over thee}. On the sudden
the tables being overset, disturb the feast, and the bride is violently
dragged away by her seized hair. Eurytus snatches up Hippodame, {and}
the others such as each one fancies, or is able {to seize}; and there is
{all} the appearance of a captured city. The house rings with the cries
of women. Quickly we all rise; and first, Theseus says, ‘What madness,
Eurytus, is impelling thee, who, while I {still} live, dost provoke
Pirithoüs, and, in thy ignorance, in one dost injure two?’ And that the
valiant hero may not say these things in vain, he pushes them off as
they are pressing on, and takes her whom they have seized away from them
as they grow furious.

“He says nothing in answer, nor, indeed, can he defend such actions by
words; but he attacks the face of her protector with insolent hands, and
strikes his generous breast. By chance, there is near at hand an ancient
bowl, rough with projecting figures, which, huge as it is, the son of
Ægeus, himself huger {still}, takes up and hurls full in his face. He,
vomiting both from his wounds and his mouth clots of blood,[27] and
brains and wine together, lying on his back, kicks on the soaking sand.
{The} double-limbed[28] {Centaurs} are inflamed at the death of their
brother; and all vying, with one voice exclaim, ‘To arms! to arms!’ Wine
gives them courage, and, in the first onset, cups hurled are flying
about, and shattered casks[29] and hollow cauldrons; things before
adapted for a banquet, now for war and slaughter. First, the son of
Ophion, Amycus, did not hesitate to spoil the interior of the house of
its ornaments; and first, from the shrine he tore up a chandelier,[30]
thick set with blazing lamps; and lifting it on high, like him who
attempts to break the white neck of the bull with sacrificial axe, he
dashed it against the forehead of Celadon the Lapithean, and left his
skull mashed into his face, no {longer} to be recognized. His eyes
started out, and the bones of his face being dashed to pieces, his nose
was driven back, and was fixed in the middle of his palate. Him, Belates
the Pellæan, having torn away the foot of a maple table, laid flat on
the ground, with his chin sunk upon his breast, and vomiting forth his
teeth mixed with blood; and sent him, by a twofold wound, to the shades
of Tartarus.

“As Gryneus stood next, looking at the smoking altar with a grim look,
he said, ‘{And} why do we not make use of this?’ and {then} he raised an
immense altar, together with its fire; and hurled it into the midst of
the throng of the Lapithæ, and struck down two {of them}, Broteus and
Orius. The mother of Orius was Mycale, who was known by her incantations
to have often drawn down the horns of the struggling moon. {On this}
Exadius says, ‘Thou shalt not go unpunished, if only the opportunity of
getting a weapon is given me;’ and, as his weapon, he wields the antlers
of a votive stag,[31] which were upon a lofty pine-tree. With the double
branches of these, Gryneus is pierced through the eyes, and has those
eyes scooped out. A part of them adheres to the antlers, a part runs
down his beard, and hangs down clotted with gore. Lo! Rhœtus snatches up
an immense flaming brand, from the middle of the altar, and on the right
side breaks through the temples of Charaxus, covered with yellow hair.
His locks, seized by the violent flames, burn like dry corn, and the
blood seared in the wound emits a terrific noise in its hissing, such as
the iron glowing in the flames is often wont to emit, which, when the
smith has drawn it out with the crooked pincers, he plunges into the
trough; whereon it whizzes, and, sinking in the bubbling water, hisses.
Wounded, he shakes the devouring fire from his locks, and takes upon his
shoulders the threshold, torn up out of the ground, a {whole}
waggon-load, which its very weight hinders him from throwing full
against the foe. The stony mass, too, bears down Cometes, a friend, who
is standing at a short distance; nor does Rhœtus {then} restrain his
joy, {and} he says, ‘In such manner do I pray that the rest of the
throng of thy party may be brave;’ and {then} he increases the wound,
redoubled with the half-burnt stake, and three or four times he breaks
the sutures of his head with heavy blows, and its bones sink within the
oozing brains.

“Victorious, he passes on to Evagrus, and Corythus, and Dryas; of which
{number}, when Corythus, having his cheeks covered[32] with their first
down, has fallen, Evagrus says, ‘What glory has been acquired by thee,
in killing a boy?’ Rhœtus permits him to say no more, and fiercely
thrusts the glowing flames into the open mouth of the hero, as he is
speaking, and through the mouth into the breast. Thee, too, cruel Dryas,
he pursues, whirling the fire around his head, but the same issue does
not await thee as well. Thou piercest him with a stake burnt at the end,
while triumphing in the success of an uninterrupted slaughter, in the
spot where the neck is united to the shoulder. Rhœtus groans aloud, and
with difficulty wrenches the stake out of the hard bone, and, drenched
in his own blood, he flies. Orneus flies, too, and Lycabas, and Medon,
wounded in his right shoulder-blade, and Thaumas with Pisenor; Mermerus,
too, who lately excelled all in speed of foot, {but} now goes more
slowly from the wound he has received; Pholus, too, and Melaneus, and
Abas a hunter of boars, and Astylos the augur, who has in vain dissuaded
his own party from this warfare. He also says to Nessus,[33] as he
dreads the wounds, ‘Fly not! {for} thou shalt be reserved for the bow of
Hercules.’ But Eurynomus and Lycidas, and Areos, and Imbreus did not
escape death, all of whom the right hand of Dryas pierced right through.
Thou, too, Crenæus, didst receive a wound in front,[34] although thou
didst turn thy back in flight; for looking back, thou didst receive the
fatal steel between thy two eyes, where the nose is joined to the lower
part of the forehead. In the midst of so much noise, Aphidas was lying
fast asleep from the wine which he had drunk incessantly, and was not
aroused, and in his languid hand was grasping the mixed bowl, stretched
at full length upon the shaggy skin of a bear of Ossa. Soon as Phorbas
beheld him from afar, wielding no arms, he inserted his fingers in the
strap of his lance,[35] and said, ‘Drink thy wine mingled with {the
water of} Styx;’ and, delaying no longer, he hurled his javelin against
the youth, and the ash pointed with steel was driven into his neck, as,
by chance, he lay {there} on his back. His death happened without his
being sensible of it; and the blood flowed from his full throat, both
upon the couch and into the bowl itself.

“I saw Petræus endeavouring to tear up an acorn-bearing oak from the
earth; {and}, as he was grasping it in his embrace, and was shaking it
on this side and that, and was moving about the loosened tree, the lance
of Pirithoüs hurled at the ribs of Petræus, transfixed his struggling
breast together with the tough oak. They said, {too}, that Lycus fell by
the valour of Pirithoüs, {and} that Chromis fell {by the hand} of
Pirithoüs. But each of them {gave} less glory to the conqueror, than
Dictys and Helops gave. Helops was transfixed by the javelin, which
passed right through his temples, and, hurled from the right side,
penetrated to his left ear. Dictys, slipping from the steep point of a
rock, while, in his fear, he is flying from the pursuing son of Ixion,
falls down headlong, and, by the weight of his body, breaks a huge ash
tree, and spits his own entrails upon it, {thus} broken. Aphareus
advances {as} his avenger, and endeavours to hurl a stone torn away from
the mountain. As he is endeavouring {to do so}, the son of Ægeus attacks
him with an oaken club, and breaks the huge bones of his arm, and has
neither leisure, nor, {indeed}, does he care to put his useless body to
death; and he leaps upon the back of the tall Bianor, not used to
bear[36] any other than himself; and he fixes his knees in his ribs, and
holding his long hair, seized with his left hand, shatters his face, and
his threatening features, and his very hard temples, with the knotty
oak. With his oak, {too}, he levels Nedymnus, and Lycotas the darter,
and Hippasus having his breast covered with his flowing beard, and
Ripheus, who towered above the topmost woods, and Tereus, who used to
carry home the bears, caught in the Hæmonian mountains, alive and
raging.

“Demoleon could not any longer endure Theseus enjoying this success in
the combat, and he tried with vast efforts to tear up from the thick-set
wood an aged pine; because he could not effect this, he hurled it,
broken short, against his foe. But Theseus withdrew afar from the
approaching missile, through the warning of Pallas; so {at least} he
himself wished it to be thought. Yet the tree did not fall without
effect: for it struck off from the throat of the tall Crantor, both his
breast and his left shoulder. He, Achilles, had been the armour-bearer
of thy father: him Amyntor, king of the Dolopians,[37] when conquered in
war, had given to the son of Æacus, as a pledge and confirmation of
peace. When Peleus saw him at a distance, mangled with a foul wound, he
said, ‘Accept however, Crantor, most beloved of youths, this sacrifice;’
and, with a strong arm, and energy of intention, he hurled his ashen
lance against Demoleon, which broke through the enclosures of his ribs,
and quivered, sticking amid the bones. He draws out with his hand the
shaft without the point; even that follows, with much difficulty; the
point is retained within his lungs. The very pain gives vigour to his
resolution; {though} wounded, he rears against the enemy, and tramples
upon the hero with his horse’s feet. The other receives the re-echoing
strokes upon his helmet and his shield, and defends his shoulders, and
holds his arms extended before him, and through the shoulder-blades he
pierces two breasts[38] at one stroke. But first, from afar, he had
consigned to death Phlegræus, and Hyles; in closer combat, Hiphinoüs and
Clanis. To these is added Dorylas, who had his temples covered with a
wolf’s skin, and the real horns of oxen reddened with much blood, that
performed the duty of a cruel weapon.

“To him I said, for courage gave me strength, ‘Behold, how much thy
horns are inferior to my steel;’ and {then} I threw my javelin. When he
could not avoid this, he held up his right hand before his forehead,
about to receive the blow; {and} to his forehead his hand was pinned.
A shout arose; but Peleus struck him delaying, and overpowered by the
painful wound, (for he was standing next to him) with his sword beneath
the middle of his belly. He leaped forth, and fiercely dragged his own
bowels on the ground, and trod on them {thus} dragged, and burst them
{thus} trodden; and he entangled his legs, as well in them, and fell
down, with his belly emptied {of its inner parts}. Nor did thy beauty,
Cyllarus,[39] save thee while fighting, if only we allow beauty to that
{monstrous} nature {of thine}. His beard was beginning {to grow}; the
colour of his beard was that of gold; and golden-coloured hair was
hanging from his shoulders to the middle of his shoulder-blades. In his
face there was a pleasing briskness; his neck, and his shoulders, and
his hands, and his breast {were} resembling the applauded statues of the
artists, and {so} in those parts in which he was a man; nor was the
shape of the horse beneath that {shape}, faulty and inferior to {that
of} the man. Give him {but} the neck and the head {of a horse, and} he
would be worthy of Castor. So fit is his back to be sat upon, so stands
his breast erect with muscle; {he is} all over blacker than black pitch;
yet his tail is white; the colour, too, of his legs is white. Many a
female of his own kind longed for him; but Hylonome alone gained him,
than whom no female more handsome lived in the lofty woods, among the
half beasts. She alone attaches Cyllarus, both by her blandishments, and
by loving, and by confessing that she loves him. Her care, too, of her
person is as great as can be in those limbs: so that her hair is
smoothed with a comb; so that she now decks herself with rosemary, now
with violets or roses, {and} sometimes she wears white lilies; and twice
a day she washes her face with streams that fall from the height of the
Pagasæan wood; {and} twice she dips her body in the stream: and she
throws over her shoulder or her left side no skins but what are
becoming, and are those of choice beasts.

“Their love was equal: together they wandered upon the mountains;
together they entered the caves; and then, too, together had they
entered the Lapithæan house; together were they waging the fierce
warfare. The author {of the deed} is unknown: {but} a javelin came from
the left side, and pierced thee, Cyllarus, below {the spot} where the
breast is joined to the neck. The heart, being pierced with a small
wound, grew cold, together with the whole body, after the weapon was
drawn out. Immediately, Hylonome receives his dying limbs, and cherishes
the wound, by laying her hand on it, and places her mouth on his, and
strives to stop the fleeting life. When she sees him dead, having
uttered what the clamour hinders from reaching my ears, she falls upon
the weapon that has pierced him, and as she dies, embraces her husband.
He, too, {now} stands before my eyes, Phæocomes, {namely}, who had bound
six lions’ skins together with connecting knots; covered all over, both
horse and man. He, having discharged the trunk of a tree, which two
yokes of oxen joined together could hardly have moved, battered the son
of Phonolenus on the top of his head. The very broad round form of his
skull was broken; and through his mouth, and through his hollow
nostrils, and his eyes, and his ears, his softened brains poured down;
just as curdled milk is wont through the oaken twigs, or as {any} liquor
flows under the weight of a well-pierced sieve, and is squeezed out
thick through the numerous holes. But I, while he was preparing to strip
him of his arms as he lay, (this thy sire knows,) plunged my sword into
the lower part of his belly, as he was spoiling him. Chthonius, too, and
Teleboas, lay {pierced} by my sword. The former was bearing a two-forked
bough {as his weapon}, the latter a javelin; with his javelin he gave me
a wound. You see the marks; look! the old scar is still visible.

“Then ought I[40] to have been sent to the taking of Troy; then I might,
if not have overcome, {still} have stayed the arms of the mighty Hector.
But at that time Hector was not existing, or {but} a boy; {and} now my
age is failing. Why tell thee of Periphas, the conqueror of the
two-formed Pyretus? Why of Ampyx, who fixed his cornel-wood spear,
without a point, full in the face of the four-footed Oëclus? Macareus,
struck down the Pelethronian[41] Erigdupus,[42] by driving a crowbar
into his breast. I remember, too, that a hunting spear, hurled by the
hand of Nessus, was buried in the groin of Cymelus. And do not believe
that Mopsus,[43] the son of Ampycus, only foretold things to come;
a two-formed {monster} was slain by Mopsus, darting {at him}, and Odites
in vain attempted to speak, his tongue being nailed to his chin, and his
chin to his throat. Cæneus had put five to death, Stiphelus, and Bromus,
and Antimachus, and Helimus, and Pyracmos, wielding the axe. I do not
remember {their respective} wounds, {but} I marked their numbers, and
their names. Latreus, most huge both in his limbs and his body, sallied
forth, armed with the spoils of Emathian[44] Halesus, whom he had
consigned to death. His age was between that of a youth, and an old man;
his vigour that of a youth; grey hairs variegated his temples.
Conspicuous by his buckler, and his helmet, and his Macedonian pike;[45]
and turning his face towards both sides, he brandished his arms, and
rode in one same round, and vaunting, poured forth thus many words into
the yielding air:--

“‘And shall I put up with thee, too, Cænis? for to me thou shalt ever be
a woman, to me always Cænis. Does not thy natal origin lower thy
{spirit}? And does it not occur to thy mind for what {foul} deed thou
didst get thy reward, and at what price the false resemblance to a man?
Consider both what thou wast born, as well as what thou hast submitted
to: go, and take up a distaff together with thy baskets, and twist the
threads[46] with thy thumb; leave warfare to men.’ As he is vaunting in
such terms, Cæneus pierces his side, stretched in running, with a lance
hurled at him, just where the man is joined to the horse. He raves with
pain, and strikes at the exposed face of the Phylleian [47] youth with
his pike. It bounds back no otherwise than hail from the roof of a
house; or than if any one were to beat a hollow drum with a little
pebble. Hand to hand he encounters him, and strives to plunge his sword
into his tough side; {but} the parts are impervious to his sword. ‘Yet,’
says he, ‘thou shalt not escape me; with the middle of the sword shalt
thou be slain, since the point is blunt;’ and {then} he slants the sword
against his side, and grasps his stomach with his long right arm. The
blow produces an echo, as on a body of marble when struck; and the
shivered blade flies different ways, upon striking his neck.

“After Cæneus had enough exposed his unhurt limbs to him in his
amazement, ‘Come now,’ said he, ‘let us try thy body with my steel;’ and
up to the hilt he plunged his fatal sword into his shoulder-blade, and
extended his hand unseen into his entrails, and worked it about, and in
the wound made a {fresh} wound. Lo! the double-limbed {monsters,}
enraged, rush on in an impetuous manner, and all of them hurl and thrust
their weapons at him alone. Their weapons fall blunted. Unstabbed and
bloodless the Elateïan Cæneus remains from each blow. This strange thing
makes them astonished. ‘Oh great disgrace!’ cries Monychus; ‘a {whole}
people, we are overcome by one, and that hardly a man; although,
{indeed}, he is a man; and we by our dastardly actions, are what he
{once} was. What signify our huge limbs? What our twofold strength? What
that our twofold nature has united in us the stoutest animals in
existence? I neither believe that we are born of a Goddess for our
mother, nor of Ixion, who was so great a person, that he conceived hopes
of {even} the supreme Juno. By a half male foe are we baffled. Heap upon
him stones and beams, and entire mountains, and dash out his long-lived
breath, by throwing {whole} woods {upon him}. Let a {whole} wood press
on his jaws; and weight shall be in the place of wounds.’

“{Thus} he said; and by chance having got a tree, thrown down by the
power of the boisterous South wind, he threw it against the powerful
foe: and he was an example {to the rest}; and in a short time, Othrys,
thou wast bare of trees, and Pelion had no shades. Overwhelmed by this
huge heap, Cæneus swelters beneath the weight of the trees, and bears on
his brawny shoulders the piled-up oaks. But after the load has increased
upon his face and his head, and his breath has no air to draw; at one
moment he faints, at another he endeavours, in vain, to raise himself
into the {open} air, and to throw off the wood cast {upon him}: and
sometimes he moves it. Just as lo! we see, if lofty Ida is convulsed
with earthquakes. The event is doubtful. Some gave out that his body was
hurled to roomy Tartarus by the weight of the wood. The son of Ampycus
denied this, and saw go forth into the liquid air, from amid the pile,
a bird with tawny wings; which then was beheld by me for the first time,
then, {too}, for the last. When Mopsus saw it with gentle flight
surveying his camp, and making a noise around it with a vast clamour,
following him both with his eyes and his feelings, he said, ‘Hail! thou
glory of the Lapithæan race, once the greatest of men, but now the only
bird {of thy kind}, Cæneus.’ This thing was credited from its assertor.
Grief added resentment, and we bore it with disgust, that one was
overpowered by foes so many. Nor did we cease to exercise our weapons,
in {shedding their} blood, before a part of them was put to death, and
flight and the night dispersed the rest.”

    [Footnote 17: _This toil._--Ver. 146. Clarke translates ‘Hic
    labor,’ ‘This laborious bout.’]

    [Footnote 18: _Its entrails._--Ver. 152. The ‘prosecta,’ or
    ‘prosiciæ,’ or ‘ablegamina,’ were portions of the animal which
    were the first cut off, for the purpose of becoming as a sacrifice
    to the Deities. The ‘prosecta,’ in general, consisted of a portion
    of the entrails.]

    [Footnote 19: _Roasted flesh._--Ver. 155. We are informed by
    Servius, that boiled meat was not eaten in the heroic ages.]

    [Footnote 20: _Melody of voices._--Ver. 157. Plutarch remarks,
    that that entertainment is the most pleasant where no musician is
    introduced; conversation, in his opinion, being preferable.]

    [Footnote 21: _Perrhæbean._--Ver. 172. The Perrhæbeans were a
    people of Thessaly, who, having been conquered by the Lapithæ,
    betook themselves to the mountain fortresses of Pindus.]

    [Footnote 22: _Eloquent old man._--Ver. 176-181. Clarke renders
    these lines, ‘Come, tell us, O eloquent old gentleman, the wisdom
    of our age, who was that Cæneus, and why he was turned into the
    other sex? in which war, or what engagement, he was known to you?
    by whom he was conquered, if he was conquered by any one?’ Upon
    that, the old blade replied.’]

    [Footnote 23: _Two hundred._--Ver. 188. Ovid does not here follow
    the more probable version, that the age of Nestor was three
    generations of thirty years each.]

    [Footnote 24: _The Atracian._--Ver. 209. ‘Atracides’ is an
    epithet, meaning ‘Thessalian,’ as Atrax, or Atracia, was a town of
    Thessaly, situated near the banks of the river Peneus.]

    [Footnote 25: _Hippodame._--Ver. 210. She is called Ischomache by
    Propertius, and Deidamia by Plutarch.]

    [Footnote 26: _With the fires._--Ver. 215. These fires would be
    those of the nuptial torches, and of the altars for sacrifice to
    Hymenæus and the other tutelary divinities of marriage.]

    [Footnote 27: _Clots of blood._--Ver. 238. Clarke renders
    ‘Sanguinis globos,’ ‘goblets of blood.’]

    [Footnote 28: _Double-limbed._--Ver. 240. Clarke translates,
    ‘Ardescunt bimembres,’ ‘The double-limbed fellows are in a
    flame.’]

    [Footnote 29: _Shattered cask._--Ver. 243. ‘Cadi’ were not only
    earthenware vessels, in which wine was kept, but also the vessels
    used for drawing water.]

    [Footnote 30: _A chandelier._--Ver. 247. ‘Funale’ ordinarily
    means, ‘a link,’ or ‘torch,’ made of fibrous substances twisted
    together, and smeared with pitch or wax. In this instance the word
    seems to mean a chandelier with several branches.]

    [Footnote 31: _A votive stag._--Ver. 267. It appears that the
    horns of a stag were frequently offered as a votive gift to the
    Deities, especially to Diana, the patroness of the chase. Thus in
    the seventh Eclogue of Virgil, Mycon vows to present to Diana,
    ‘Vivacis cornua cervi,’ ‘The horns of a long-lived stag.’]

    [Footnote 32: _Cheeks covered._--Ver. 291. ‘Prima tectus lanugine
    malas,’ is not very elegantly rendered by Clarke, ‘Having his
    chaps covered with down, then first putting out.’]

    [Footnote 33: _Nessus._--Ver. 309. We have already seen how Nessus
    the Centaur met his death from the arrow of Hercules, when about
    to offer violence to Deïanira.]

    [Footnote 34: _A wound in front._--Ver. 312. It has been suggested
    that, perhaps Ovid here had in his mind the story of one
    Pomponius, of whom Quintilian relates, that, having received a
    wound in his face, he was showing it to Cæsar, on which he was
    advised by the latter never to look behind him when he was running
    away.]

    [Footnote 35: _Strap of his lance._--Ver. 321. The ‘amentum’ was
    the thong, or strap of leather, with which the lance, or javelin,
    was fastened, in order to draw it back when thrown.]

    [Footnote 36: _Not used to bear._--Ver. 346. He alludes to the
    twofold nature, or ‘horse-part’ of the Centaur, as Clarke calls
    it.]

    [Footnote 37: _The Dolopians._--Ver. 364. They were a people of
    Phthiotis and Thessaly.]

    [Footnote 38: _Pierces two breasts._--Ver. 377. He says this by
    poetical license, in allusion to the two-fold form of the
    Centaurs.]

    [Footnote 39: _Cyllarus._--Ver. 393. This was also the name of the
    horse which Castor tamed, to which Ovid alludes in the 401st
    line.]

    [Footnote 40: _Then ought I._--Ver. 445. Nestor here shows a
    little of the propensity for boasting, which distinguishes him in
    the Iliad.]

    [Footnote 41: _Pelethronian._--Ver. 452. Pelethronia was a region
    of Thessaly, which contained a town and a mountain of that name.]

    [Footnote 42: _Erigdupus._--Ver. 453. The signification of this
    name is ‘The noise of strife.’]

    [Footnote 43: _Mopsus._--Ver. 456. He was a prophet, and one of
    the Lapithæ. There are two other persons mentioned in ancient
    history of the same name.]

    [Footnote 44: _Emathian._--Ver. 462. Properly, Emathia was a name
    of Macedonia; but it is here applied to Thessaly, which adjoined
    to that country.]

    [Footnote 45: _Macedonian pike._--Ver. 466. The ‘sarissa’ is
    supposed to have been a kind of pike with which the soldiers of
    the Macedonia phalanx were armed. Its ordinary length was
    twenty-one feet; but those used by the phalanx were twenty-four
    feet long.]

    [Footnote 46: _Twist the threads._--Ver. 475. The woof was called
    ‘subtegmen,’ ‘subtemen,’ or ‘trama,’ while the warp was called
    ‘stamen,’ from ‘stare,’ ‘to stand,’ on account of its erect
    position in the loom.]

    [Footnote 47: _Phylleian._--Ver. 479. Phyllus was a city of
    Phthiotis, in Thessaly.]


EXPLANATION.

  We learn from Diodorus Siculus, and other ancient authors, that the
  people of Thessaly, and those especially who lived near Mount
  Pelion, were the first who trained horses for riding, and used them
  as a substitute for chariots. Pliny the Elder says that they
  excelled all the other people of Greece in horsemanship, and that
  they carried it to such perfection, that the name of ἱππεὺς,
  ‘a horseman,’ and that of ‘Thessalian,’ became synonymous. Again,
  the Thessalians, from their dexterity in killing the wild bulls that
  infested the neighbouring mountains, sometimes with darts or spears,
  and at other times in close engagement, acquired the name of
  Hippocentaurs, that is, ‘horsemen that hunted bulls,’ or simply
  κένταυροι, ‘Centaurs.’

  It is not improbable that, because the Thessalians began to practise
  riding in the reign of Ixion, the poets made the Centaurs his sons;
  and they were said to have a cloud for their mother, which Jupiter
  put in the place of Juno, to baulk the attempt of Ixion on her
  virtue, because, according to Palæphatus, many of them lived in a
  city called Nephele, which, in Greek, signifies a cloud. As another
  method of accounting for their alleged descent from a cloud, it has
  been suggested that the Centaurs were a rapacious race of men, who
  ravaged the neighbouring country: that those who wrote the first
  accounts of them, in the ancient dialect of Greece, gave them the
  name of Nephelim, (the epithet of the giants of Scripture,) many
  Phœnician words having been imported in the early language of that
  country; and that in later times, finding them called by this name,
  the Greek word Nephelè, signifying ‘a cloud,’ persons readily
  adopted the fable that they were born of one.

  The Centaurs being the descendants of Centaurus, the son of Ixion,
  and Pirithoüs being also the son of Ixion, by Dia, the former,
  declared war against Pirithoüs, asserting, that, as the descendants
  of Ixion, they had a right to share in the succession to his
  dominions. This quarrel, however, was made up, and they continued on
  friendly terms, until the attempt of Eurytus, or Eurytion, on
  Hippodamia, the bride of Pirithoüs, which was followed by the
  consequences here described by Ovid. The Centaurs are twice
  mentioned in the Iliad as φῆρες, or ‘wild beasts,’ and once under
  the name of ‘Centaurs.’ Pindar is the first writer that mentions
  them as being of a twofold form, partly man, and partly horse. In
  the twenty-first Book of the Odyssey, line 295, Eurytion is said to
  have had his ears and nose cut off by way of punishment, and that,
  from that period, ‘discord arose between the Centaurs and men.’

  Buttman, (Mythologus, ii. p. 22, as quoted by Mr. Keightley), says
  that the names of Centaurs and Lapithæ are two purely poetic names,
  used to designate two opposite races of men,--the former, the rude
  horse-riding tribes, which tradition records to have been spread
  over the north of Greece: the latter, the more civilized race, which
  founded towns, and gradually drove their wild neighbours back into
  the mountains. He thinks that the explanation of the word
  ‘Centaurs,’ as ‘Air-piercers,’ (from κεντεῖν τὴν αὔραν) not an
  improbable one, for the idea is suggested by the figure of a Cossack
  leaning forward with his protruded lance as he gallops along. But he
  regards the idea of κένταυρος, having been in its origin simply
  κέντωρ, as much more probable, [it meaning simply ‘the spurrer-on.’]
  Lapithæ may, he thinks, have signified ‘Stone persuaders,’ from λᾶας
  πείθειν, a poetic appellation for the builders of towns. He supposes
  Hippodamia to have been a Centauress, married to the prince of the
  Lapithæ, and thus accounts for the Centaurs having been at the
  wedding. Mr. Keightley, in his ‘Mythology of Ancient Greece and
  Italy,’ remarks that ‘it is certainly not a little strange that a
  rude mountain race like the Centaurs should be viewed as horsemen;
  and the legend which ascribes the perfecting of the art of
  horsemanship to the Lapithæ, is unquestionably the more probable
  one. The name Centaur, which so much resembles the Greek verb
  κεντέω, ‘to spur,’ we fancy gave origin to the fiction. This
  derivation of it is, however, rather dubious.’

  After the battle here described, the Centaurs retreated to the
  mountains of Arcadia. The Lapithæ pursuing them, drove them to the
  Promontory of Malea in Laconia, where, according to Apollodorus,
  Neptune took them into his protection. Servius and Antimachus, as
  quoted by Comes Natalis, say that some of them fled to the Isle of
  the Sirens (or rather to that side of Italy which those Nymphs had
  made their abode); and that there they were destroyed by the
  voluptuous and debauched lives they led.

  The fable of Cæneus, which Ovid has introduced, is perhaps simply
  founded on the prodigious strength and the goodness of the armour of
  a person of that name. The story of Halyonome killing herself on the
  body of Cyllarus, may possibly have been handed down by tradition.
  It is not unlikely that, if the Centaurs were horsemen, their women
  were not unacquainted with horsemanship; indeed, representations of
  female Centaurs are given, on ancient monuments, as drawing the
  chariot of Bacchus.


FABLES V. AND VI. [XII.536-628]

  Periclymenus, the brother of Nestor, who has received from Neptune
  the power of transforming himself, is changed into an eagle, in a
  combat with Hercules; and in his flight is shot by him with an
  arrow. Neptune prays Apollo to avenge the death of Cygnus: because
  the Destinies will not permit him to do so himself. Apollo enters
  the Trojan camp in disguise, and directs the arrow which Paris aims
  at Achilles; who is mortally wounded in the heel, the only
  vulnerable part of his body.

As the Pylian related this fight between the Lapithæ and the Centaurs,
{but} half human, Tlepolemus[48] could not endure his sorrow for Alcides
being passed by with silent lips, and said, “It is strange, old man,
that thou shouldst have a forgetfulness of the exploits of Hercules;
at least, my father himself used often to relate to me, that these
cloud-begotten {monsters} were conquered by him.” The Pylian, sad at
this, said, “Why dost thou force me to call to mind my misfortunes, and
to rip up my sorrows, concealed beneath years, and to confess my hatred
of, and disgust at, thy father? He, indeed, ye Gods! performed things
beyond all belief, and filled the world with his services; which I could
rather wish could be denied; but we are in the habit of praising neither
Deiphobus nor Polydamas,[49] nor Hector himself: for who would commend
an enemy? That father of thine once overthrew the walls of Messene, and
demolished guiltless cities, Elis and Pylos, and carried the sword and
flames into my abode. And, that I may say nothing of others whom he
slew, we were twice six sons of Neleus, goodly youths; the twice six
fell by the might of Hercules, myself alone excepted. And that the
others were vanquished might have been endured; {but} the death of
Periclymenus is wonderful; to whom Neptune, the founder of the Neleian
family, had granted to be able to assume whatever shapes he might
choose, and again, when assumed, to lay them aside. He, after he had in
vain been turned into all other shapes, was turned into the form of the
bird that is wont to carry the lightnings in his crooked talons, the
most acceptable to the king of the Gods. Using the strength of {that}
bird, his wings, and his crooked bill, together with his hooked talons,
he tore the face of the hero. The Tirynthian hero aims at him his bow,
too unerring, and hits him, as he moves his limbs aloft amid the clouds,
and hovering {in the air}, just where the wing is joined to the side.

“Nor is the wound a great one, but his sinews, cut by the wound, fail
him, and deny him motion and strength for flying. He fell down to the
earth, his weakened pinions not catching the air; and where the smooth
arrow had stuck in his wing, it was pressed {still further} by the
weight of his pierced body, and it was driven, through the upper side,
into the left part of the neck. Do I seem to be owing encomiums to the
exploits of thy {father} Hercules, most graceful leader of the Rhodian
fleet?[50] Yet I will no further avenge my brothers, than by being
silent on his brave deeds: with thyself I have a firm friendship.” After
the son[51] of Neleus had said these things with his honied tongue, the
gifts of Bacchus being resumed after the discourse of the aged man, they
arose from their couches: the rest of the night was given to sleep.

But the God who commands the waters of the sea with his trident,
laments, with the affection of a father, the body of his son, changed
into the bird of the son of Sthenelus; and abhorring the ruthless
Achilles, pursues his resentful wrath in more than an ordinary manner.
And now, the war having been protracted for almost twice five years,
with such words as these he addresses the unshorn Smintheus:[52]
“O thou, most acceptable to me, by far, of the sons of my brother, who,
together with me, didst build the walls of Troy in vain; and dost thou
not grieve when thou lookest upon these towers so soon to fall? or dost
thou not lament that so many thousands are slain in defending these
walls? and (not to recount them all) does not the ghost of Hector,
dragged around his Pergamus, recur to thee? Though still the fierce
Achilles, more blood-stained than war itself, lives on, the destroyer of
our toil, let him but put himself in my power, I will make him feel what
I can do with my triple spear. But since it is not allowed us to
encounter the enemy in close fight, destroy him, when off his guard,
with a secret shaft.”

He nodded his assent; and the Delian {God}, indulging together both his
own resentment and that of his uncle, veiled in a cloud, comes to the
Trojan army, and in the midst of the slaughter of the men, he sees
Paris, at intervals, scattering his darts among the ignoble Greeks; and,
discovering himself to be a Divinity, he says, “Why dost thou waste thy
arrows upon the blood of the vulgar? If thou hast any concern for thy
friends, turn upon the grandson of Æacus, and avenge thy slaughtered
brothers.” {Thus} he said; and pointing at the son of Peleus, mowing
down the bodies of the Trojans with the sword, he turned his bow towards
him, and directed his unerring arrow with a fatal right hand. This was
{the only thing} at which, after {the death of} Hector, the aged Priam
could rejoice. And art thou then, Achilles, the conqueror of men so
great, conquered by the cowardly ravisher of a Grecian wife? But if it
had been fated for thee to fall by the hand of a woman, thou wouldst
rather have fallen by the Thermodontean[53] battle-axe.

Now that dread of the Phrygians, the glory and defence of the Pelasgian
name, the grandson of Æacus, a head invincible in war, had been burnt:
the same Divinity had armed him,[54] and had burned him. He is now {but}
ashes; and there remains of Achilles, so renowned, I know not what; that
which will not well fill a little urn. But his glory lives, which can
fill the whole world: this allowance is befitting that hero, and in this
the son of Peleus is equal to himself, and knows not the empty Tartarus.
Even his very shield gives occasion for war, that you may know to whom
it belongs; and arms are wielded for arms. The son of Tydeus does not
dare to claim them, nor Ajax, the son of Oïleus,[55] nor the younger son
of Atreus, nor he who is his superior both in war and age, nor {any}
others; the hope of so much glory exists only in him begotten by Telamon
and {the son} of Laërtes. The descendant of Tantalus[56] removes from
himself the burden and the odium {of a decision}, and orders the Argive
leaders to sit in the midst of the camp, and transfers the judgment of
the dispute to them all.

    [Footnote 48: _Tlepolemus._--Ver. 537. He was a son of Hercules,
    by Astioche.]

    [Footnote 49: _Polydamas._--Ver. 547. He was a noble Trojan, of
    great bravery, who had married a daughter of Priam.]

    [Footnote 50: _Rhodian fleet._--Ver. 575. Tlepolemus, when a
    youth, slew his uncle, Lycimnius, the son of Mars. Flying from his
    country with some followers, he retired to the Island of Rhodes,
    where he gained the sovereignty. He went to the Trojan war with
    nine ships, to aid the Greeks, where he fell by the hand of
    Sarpedon.]

    [Footnote 51: _After the son._--Ver. 578-9. ‘A sermone senis
    repetito munere Bacchi Surrexere toris.’ These words are thus
    quaintly rendered in Clarke’s translation: ‘From listening to the
    old gentleman’s discourse, they return again to their bottle; and
    taking the other glass, they departed.’]

    [Footnote 52: _Smintheus._--Ver. 585. Apollo was so called, in
    many of the cities of Asia, and was worshipped under this name,
    in the Isle of Tenedos. He is said by Eustathius, to have been so
    called from Smynthus, a town near Troy. But, according to other
    accounts, he received the epithet from the Cretan word σμίνθος,
    a mouse; being supposed to protect man against the depredations of
    that kind of vermin.]

    [Footnote 53: _Thermodontean._--Ver. 611. He alludes to
    Penthesilea, the Queen of the Amazons, who, aiding the Trojans
    against the Greeks, was slain by Achilles. The battle-axe was the
    usual weapon of the Amazons]

    [Footnote 54: _Had armed him._--Ver. 614. Vulcan, the God of Fire,
    made his armour at the request of his mother, Thetis; and now his
    body was burned by fire.]

    [Footnote 55: _Son of Oïleus._--Ver. 622. This was Ajax, the King
    of the Locrians.]

    [Footnote 56: _Descendant of Tantalus._--Ver. 626. Agamemnon was
    the son of Atreus, grandson of Pelops, and great-grandson of
    Tantalus. He wisely refused to take upon himself alone the onus of
    deciding the contention between Ajax and Ulysses.]


EXPLANATION.

  Periclymenus was the son of Neleus and Chloris, as we are told by
  Homer, Apollodorus, and other authors. According to these authors,
  Neleus, king of Orchomenus, was the son of Neptune, who assumed the
  form of the river Enipeus, the more easily to deceive Tyro, the
  daughter of Salmoneus. Neleus married Chloris, the daughter of
  Amphion, king of Thebes, who bore him eleven sons and one daughter,
  of which number, Homer names but three. Periclymenus, the youngest
  of the family, was a warlike prince, and, according to Apollodorus,
  accompanied Jason in the expedition of the Argonauts. Hercules,
  after having instituted the Olympic games, marched into Messenia,
  and declared war with Neleus. The ancient writers differ as to the
  cause of this expedition; but they agree in stating, that Hercules
  made himself master of Pylos, a town which Neleus had built, as a
  refuge from the capricious humours of his brother Pelias; and that
  Neleus and all his children were killed, except Nestor, who had been
  brought up among the Geranians, and who afterwards reigned in Pylos.
  The story which here relates how Periclymenus transformed himself
  into an eagle, and was then killed by Hercules, may possibly mean,
  that having long resisted the attacks of his formidable enemy, he
  was at length put to flight, and slain by an arrow. It is said that
  Neptune had given him the power to metamorphose himself into
  different figures, very probably because his grandfather, who was a
  maritime prince, had taught him the art of war and various
  stratagems, which he industriously made use of, to avert the ruin of
  his family.

  In relation to the story of the death of Achilles, Dictys the Cretan
  tells us, that Achilles having seen Polyxena, the daughter of Priam,
  along with Cassandra, as she was sacrificing to Apollo, fell in love
  with her, and demanded her in marriage and that Hector would not
  consent to it, except on condition of his betraying the Greeks. This
  demand, so injurious to his honour, provoked Achilles so much, that
  he forthwith slew Hector, and dragged his body round the walls of
  the city. He further says that when Priam went to demand the body of
  Hector, he took Polyxena with him, in order to soften Achilles. His
  design succeeded, and Priam then agreed to give her to him in
  marriage. On the day appointed for the solemnity in the temple of
  Apollo, Paris, concealing himself behind the altar, while Deiphobus
  pretended to embrace Achilles, wounded him in the heel, and killed
  him on the spot, either because the arrow was poisoned, or because
  he was wounded on the great tendon, which has since been called
  ‘tendon Achillis,’ a spot where a wound might very easily be mortal.

  This story of the death of Achilles does not seem to have been known
  to Homer; for he appears, in the twenty-fourth book of the Odyssey,
  to insinuate that that hero died in battle, fighting for the Grecian
  cause.

  After his death Achilles was honoured as a Demigod, and Strabo says
  that he had a temple near the promontory of Sigæum. Pausanias and
  Pliny the Elder make mention of an island in the Euxine Sea, where
  the memory of Achilles was expressly honoured, from which
  circumstances it had the name of Achillea.




BOOK THE THIRTEENTH.


FABLE I. [XIII.1-438]

  After the death of Achilles, Ajax and Ulysses contend for his
  armour; the Greek chiefs having adjudged it to the last, Ajax kills
  himself in despair, and his blood is changed into a flower. When
  Ulysses has brought Philoctetes, who is possessed of the arrows of
  Hercules, to the siege, and the destinies of Troy are thereby
  accomplished, the city is taken and sacked, and Hecuba becomes the
  slave of Ulysses.

The chiefs were seated; and a ring of the common people standing
{around}, Ajax, the lord of the seven-fold shield, arose before them.
And as he was impatient in his wrath, with stern features he looked back
upon the Sigæan shores, and the fleet upon the shore, and, stretching
out his hands, he said, “We are pleading,[1] O Jupiter, our cause before
the ships, and Ulysses vies with me! But he did not hesitate to yield to
the flames of Hector, which I withstood, {and} which I drove from this
fleet. It is safer, therefore, for him to contend with artful words than
with his {right} hand. But neither does my talent lie in speaking, nor
his[2] in acting; and as great ability as I have in fierce warfare, so
much has he in talking. Nor do I think, O Pelasgians, that my deeds need
be related to you; for you have been eye-witnesses of them. Let Ulysses
recount his, which he has performed without any witness, {and} of which
night alone[3] is conscious. I own that the prize that is sought is
great; but the rival of Ajax lessens its value. It is no proud thing,
great though it may be, to possess any thing which Ulysses has hoped
for. Already has he obtained the reward of this contest, in which, when
he shall have been worsted, he will be said to have contended with me.
And I, if my prowess were to be questioned, should prevail by the
nobleness of my birth, being the son of Telamon, who took the city[4] of
Troy under the valiant Hercules, and entered the Colchian shores in the
Pagasæan ship. Æacus was his father, who there gives laws to the silent
{shades}, where the heavy stone urges {downward} Sisyphus,[5] the son of
Æolus.

“The supreme Jupiter owns Æacus, and confesses that he is his offspring.
Thus Ajax is the third[6] from Jupiter. And yet, O Greeks, let not this
line of descent avail me in this cause, if it be not common to me with
the great Achilles. He was my cousin;[7] I ask for what belonged to my
cousin? Why does one descended from the blood of Sisyphus, and very like
him in thefts and fraud, intrude the name of a strange family among the
descendants of Æacus? Are the arms to be denied me, because I took up
arms before {him}, and through the means of no informer?[8] and shall
one seem preferable who was the last to take them up, and who, by
feigning madness, declined war, until the son of Nauplius,[9] more
cunning than he, but more unhappy for himself, discovered the
contrivance[10] of his cowardly mind, and dragged him forth to the arms
which he had avoided. Now let him take the best arms who would have
taken none. Let me be dishonoured, and stripped of the gifts that
belonged to my cousin, who presented myself in the front of danger. And
I could wish that that madness had been either real or believed {so to
be}, and that he had never attended us as a companion to the Phrygian
towers, this counsellor of evil! Then, son of Pœas,[11] Lemnos would not
have had thee exposed {there} through our guilt; who now, as they say,
concealed in sylvan caves, art moving the {very} rocks with thy groans,
and art wishing for the son of Laërtes what he has deserved; which, may
the Gods, the Gods, {I say}, grant thee not to pray in vain.

“And now, he that was sworn upon the same arms with ourselves, one of
our leaders, alas! by whom, as his successor, the arrows of Hercules are
used, broken by disease and famine, is being clothed[12] and fed by
birds; and in shooting fowls, he is employing the shafts destined for
the destruction of Troy. Still, he lives, because he did not accompany
Ulysses. And the unhappy Palamedes would have preferred that he had been
left behind; {then} he would have been living, or, at least, he would
have had a death without any criminality. Him, {Ulysses} remembering too
well the unlucky discovery of his madness, pretended to be betraying the
Grecian interests, and proved his feigned charge, and shewed {the
Greeks} the gold, which he had previously hidden in the ground. By exile
then, or by death,[13] has he withdrawn from the Greeks their {best}
strength. Thus Ulysses fights, thus is he to be dreaded. Though he were
to excel even the faithful Nestor in eloquence, yet he would never cause
me to believe that the forsaking of Nestor[14] was not a crime; who,
when he implored {the aid of} Ulysses, retarded by the wound of his
steed, and wearied with the years of old age, was deserted by his
companion. The son of Tydeus knows full well that these charges are not
invented by me, who calling on him often by name, rebuked him, and
upbraided[15] his trembling friend with his flight. The Gods above
behold the affairs of men with just eyes. Lo! he wants help, himself,
who gave it not; and as he left {another}, so was he doomed to be left:
{such} law had he made for himself.

“He called aloud to his companions. I came, and I saw him trembling, and
pale with fear, and shuddering at the impending death. I opposed the
mass of my shield {to the enemy}, and covered him[16] as he lay; and I
preserved (and that is the least part of my praise) his dastardly life.
If thou dost persist in vying, let us return to that place; restore the
enemy, and thy wound, and thy wonted fear; and hide behind my shield,
and under that contend with me. But, after I delivered him, he to whom
his wounds {before} gave no strength for standing, fled, retarded by no
wound {whatever}. Hector approaches, and brings the Gods along with him
to battle, and where he rushes on, not only art thou alarmed, Ulysses,
but even the valiant {are}; so great terror does he bring. Him, as he
exulted in the successes of his bloodstained slaughter, in close
conflict, I laid flat with a huge stone. Him demanding one with whom he
might engage, did I alone withstand; and you, Greeks, prayed {it might
fall} to my lot;[17] and your prayers prevailed. If you inquire into the
issue of this fight, I was not beaten by him.

“Lo! the Trojans bring fire and sword, and Jove, {as well}, against the
Grecian fleet. Where is now the eloquent Ulysses? I, forsooth, protected
a thousand ships, the hopes of your return, with my breast. Grant me the
arms, in return for so many ships. But, if I may be allowed to speak the
truth, a greater honour is sought for them than is for me, and our glory
is united; and Ajax is sought for the arms, and not the arms by Ajax.
Let the Ithacan {Ulysses} compare with these things Rhesus,[18] and the
unwarlike Dolon,[19] and Helenus,[20] the son of Priam, made captive
with the ravished Pallas. By daylight nothing was done; nothing when
Diomedes was afar. If once you give these arms for services so mean,
divide them, and that of Diomedes would be the greater share of them.
But, why these for the Ithacan? who, by stealth and unarmed, ever does
his work, and deceives the unwary enemy by stratagem? The very
brilliancy of his helmet, as it sparkles with bright gold, will betray
his plans, and discover him as he lies hid. But neither will the
Dulichian[21] head, beneath the helm of Achilles, sustain a weight so
great; and the spear[22] from Pelion must be heavy and burdensome for
unwarlike arms. Nor will the shield, embossed with the form of the great
globe, beseem a dastard left hand, and one formed for theft. Why {then},
caitiff, dost thou ask for a gift that will {but} weaken thee? should
the mistake of the Grecian people bestow it on thee, there would be a
cause for thee to be stripped, not for thee to be dreaded by the enemy.
Thy flight, too, (in which, alone, most dastardly {wretch}! thou dost
excel all {others},) will be retarded, when dragging a load so great.
Besides, that shield of thine, which has so rarely experienced the
conflict, is unhurt; for mine, which is gaping in a thousand wounds from
bearing the darts, a new successor must be obtained. In fine, what need
is there for words? Let us be tried in action. Let the arms of that
brave hero be thrown in the midst of the enemy: order them to be fetched
thence, and adorn him that brings them back, with them so brought off.”

The son of Telamon had {now} ended, and a murmur among the multitude
ensued upon his closing words, until the Laërtian hero stood up, and
fixing his eyes, for a short time, on the ground, raised them towards
the chiefs, and opened his mouth in the accents that were looked for;
nor was gracefulness wanting to his eloquent words.

“If my prayers had been of any avail together with yours, Pelasgians,
the successor to a prize so great would not {now} be in question, and
thou wouldst now be enjoying thine arms, and we thee, O Achilles. But
since the unjust Fates have denied him to me and to yourselves, (and
here he wiped his eyes with his hands as though shedding tears,) who
could better succeed the great Achilles than he through whom[23] the
great Achilles joined the Greeks? Only let it not avail him that he
seems to be as stupid as he {really} is; and let not my talents, which
ever served you, O Greeks, be a prejudice to me: and let this eloquence
of mine, if there is any, which now pleads for its possessor, and has
often {done so} for yourselves, stand clear of envy, and let each man
not disown his own advantages. For {as to} descent and ancestors, and
the things which we have not made ourselves, I scarce call these our
own. But, indeed, since Ajax boasts that he is the great grandson of
Jove, Jupiter, too, is the founder of my family, and by just as many
degrees am I distant from him. For Laërtes is my father, Arcesius his,
Jupiter his; nor was any one of these {ever} condemned[24] and banished.
Through the mother,[25] too, Cyllenian {Mercury}, another noble stock,
is added to myself. On the side of either parent there was a God. But
neither because I am more nobly born on my mother’s side, nor because my
father is innocent of his brother’s blood, do I claim the arms {now} in
question. By {personal} merit weigh the cause. So that it be no merit in
Ajax that Telamon and Peleus were brothers; and {so that} not
consanguinity, but the honour of merit, be regarded in {the disposal of}
these spoils. Or if nearness of relationship and the next heir is
sought, Peleus is his sire, and Pyrrhus is his son. What room, {then},
is there for Ajax? Let them be taken to Phthia[26] or to Scyros. Nor is
Teucer[27] any less a cousin of Achilles than he; and yet does he sue
for, does he expect to bear away the arms?

“Since then the contest is simply one of deeds; I, in truth, have done
more than what it is easy for me to comprise in words. Yet I shall
proceed in the order of events. {Thetis}, the Nereid mother, prescient
of coming death, conceals her son by his dress. The disguise of the
assumed dress deceived all, among whom was Ajax. Amid woman’s trinkets I
mixed arms such as would affect the mind of a man. And not yet had the
hero thrown aside the dress of a maiden, when, as he was brandishing a
shield and a spear, I said, ‘O son of a Goddess, Pergamus reserves
itself to fall through thee. Why, {then}, dost thou delay to overthrow
the mighty Troy?’ And {then} I laid my hands on him, and to brave deeds
I sent forth the brave. His deeds then are my own. ’Twas I that subdued
Telephus, as he fought with his lance; ’twas I that recovered him,
vanquished, and begging {for his life}. That Thebes has fallen, is my
doing. Believe me, that I took Lesbos, that I {took} Tenedos, Chrysa[28]
and Cylla, cities of Apollo, and Scyros {too}. Consider too, that the
Lyrnessian[29] walls were levelled with the ground, shaken by my right
hand. And, not to mention other things, ’twas I, in fact, that found one
who might slay the fierce Hector; through me the renowned Hector lies
prostrate. By those arms through which Achilles was found out, I demand
these arms. To him when living I gave them; after his death I ask them
back again.

“After the grief of one[30] had reached all the Greeks, and a thousand
ships had filled the Eubœan Aulis, the breezes long expected were either
not existing or adverse to the fleet; and the ruthless oracles commanded
Agamemnon to slay his innocent daughter for the cruel Diana. This the
father refuses, and is enraged against the Gods themselves, and, a king,
he is still a father. By my words I swayed the gentle disposition of the
parent to the public advantage. Now, indeed, I make this confession, and
let the son of Atreus forgive me as I confess it; before a partial judge
I upheld a difficult cause. Yet the good of the people and his brother,
and the supreme power of the sceptre granted to him, influence him to
balance praise against blood. I was sent, too, to the mother, who was
not to be persuaded, but to be deceived with craft; to whom, if the son
of Telamon had gone, until even now would our sails have been without
wind. A bold envoy, too, I was sent to the towers of Ilium, and the
senate-house of lofty Troy was seen and entered by me; and still was it
filled with their heroes. Undaunted, I pleaded the cause which all
Greece had entrusted to me; and I accused Paris, and I demanded back the
plunder, and Helen {as well}; and I moved Priam and Antenor[31], related
to Priam. But Paris and his brothers, and those who, under him, had been
ravishers, scarce withheld their wicked hands; {and} this thou knowest,
Menelaüs, and that was the first day of my danger in company with thee.
It were a tedious matter to relate the things which, by my counsel and
my valour, I have successfully executed in the duration of this tedious
warfare.

“After the first encounter, the enemy for a long time kept themselves
within the walls of the city, and there was no opportunity for open
fight. At length, in the tenth year we fought. {And} what wast thou
doing in the mean time, thou, who knowest of nothing but battles? what
was the use of thee? But if thou inquirest into my actions: I lay
ambuscades for the enemy; I surround the trenches[32] with redoubts;
I cheer our allies that they may bear with patient minds the tediousness
of a protracted war; I show, {too}, how we are to be supported, and how
to be armed; I am sent[33] whither necessity requires. Lo! by the advice
of Jove, the king, deceived by a form in his sleep, commands him to
dismiss all care of the war {thus} begun. He is enabled, through the
author of it, to defend his own cause. Ajax should not have allowed
this, and should have demanded that Troy be razed. And he should have
fought, the {only} thing he could do. Why, does he not stop them when
about to depart? Why does he not take up arms, and {why not} suggest
some course for the fickle multitude to pursue? This was not too much
for him, who never says any thing but what is grand. Well, and didst
thou take to flight? I was witness of it, and ashamed I was to see, when
thou wast turning thy back, and wast preparing the sails of disgrace.
Without delay, I exclaimed, ‘What are you doing? What madness made you,
O my friends, quit Troy, {well nigh} taken? And what, in this tenth
year, are you carrying home but disgrace?’

“With these and other {words}, for which grief itself had made me
eloquent, I brought back the resisting {Greeks} from the flying fleet.
The son of Atreus calls together his allies, struck with terror; nor,
even yet, does the son of Telamon dare to utter a word; yet
Thersites[34] dares to launch out against the kings with impudent
remarks, although not unpunished by myself. I am aroused, and I incite
the trembling citizens against the foe, and by my voice I reclaim their
lost courage. From that time, whatever that man, whom I drew away as he
was turning his back, may seem to have done bravely, is {all} my own. In
fine, who of the Greeks is either praising thee, or resorts to thee; but
with me the son of Tydeus shares his exploits; he praises me, and is
ever confident while Ulysses is his companion. It is something, out of
so many thousands of the Greeks, to be singled out alone by Diomedes.
Nor was it lot that ordered me to go forth; and yet, despising the
dangers of the night and of the enemy, I slew Dolon, {one} of the
Phrygian race, who dared the same things that we {dared}; though not
before I had compelled him[35] to disclose everything, and had learned
what perfidious Troy designed. Everything had I {now} discovered, and I
had nothing {further} to find out, and I might now have returned, with
my praises going before me. Not content with that, I sought the tent of
Rhesus, and in his own camp slew himself and his attendants. And thus,
as a conqueror, and having gained my own desires, I returned in the
captured chariot, resembling a joyous triumph. Deny me the arms of him
whose horses the enemy had demanded as the price for {one} night’s
service; and let Ajax be {esteemed} your greater benefactor.

“Why should I make reference to the troops of Lycian Sarpedon,[36] mowed
down by my sword? With much bloodshed I slew Cœranos, the son of
Iphitus, and Alastor, and Chromius, and Alcander, and Halius, and
Noëmon, and Prytanis, and I put to death Thoön, with Chersidamas, and
Charops, and Ennomos, impelled by his relentless fate; five of less
renown fell by my hand beneath the city walls. I, too, fellow-citizens,
have wounds, honourable in their place.[37] Believe not {his} crafty
words; here! behold them.” And {then}, with his hand, he pulls aside his
garment, and, “this is the breast,” says he, “that has been ever
employed in your service.”

“But the son of Telamon has spent none of his blood on his friends for
so many years, and he has a body without a {single} wound.[38] But what
signifies that, if he says that he bore arms for the Pelasgian fleet
against both the Trojans and Jupiter himself? I confess it, he did bear
them; nor is it any part of mine with malice to detract from the good
deeds {of others;} but let him not alone lay claim to what belongs to
all, and let him give to yourselves, as well, so