 Book 12, Part 2 of Ovid's Metamorphoses. The daughter of Elatis, Keynes was remarkable for charm, most beautiful of all Thessalian maidens. Many sighed for her in vain through all the neighbouring towns, and yours Achilles, for that was her home. But Pelius did not try to win her love, for he was either married at that time to your dear mother, or was pledged to her. Keynes never became the willing bride of any suitor, but report declares, while she was walking on a lonely shore, the god of ocean saw and ravaged her. And in the joy of that love, Neptune said, Request of me whatever you desire, and nothing shall deny your dearest wish. The story tells us, that he made this pledge, and Keynes said to Neptune, The great wrong which I have suffered from you justifies the wonderful request that I must make. I ask that I may never suffer such an injury again, grant I may be no longer woman, and I'll ask no more. While she was speaking to him, the last words of her strange prayer were uttered in so deep in such a manly tone, it seemed indeed they must be from a man. That was a fact, Neptune not only had allowed her prayer, but made the new man proof against all wounds of spear or sword. Rejoicing in the gift, he went his way as keenier satracities, spent years in every manful exercise, and roamed the plains of northern Thessaly. The son of Bald Ixian, Pyrethus, Wedding, Hippodame, had asked us guests the cloud-born centaurs to recline around the ordered tables in a cool cave set under some shading trees. Thessalian chiefs were there, and I myself was with them there. The festival place resounded with the rout and noisy clamour singing nuptial verse, and in the great room filled with smoking fire the maiden came escorted by a crowd of matrons and young married women. She most beautiful of all that lovely throng! And so Pyrethus, the fortunate son of Bald Ixian, was so praised by all, for his pure joy and lovely wife it seemed his very blessings must have led to fatal harm. For savage Eurotus, wildest of the wild centaurs, now inflamed with sudden envy, drunkenness and lust, upset the tables and made Havoc there so dreadful that the banquet suddenly was changed from love to uproar. Released by the hair the bride was violently dragged away, when Eurotus caught up Hippodame, each one of all the centaurs took at will the maid or matron that he longed for most. The palace, seeming like a captured town, resounded with the frighted shrieks of women. At once we all sprang up, and Thessias cried what madness Eurotus has driven you to this vile wickedness. While I have life you dare attack Pyrethus, you know not what you do, for one wrong injures both. The valiant hero did not merely talk. He pushed them off as they were pressing on, and rescued her whom Eurotus had seized. Since Eurotus could not defend such deeds with words, he turned and beat with violent hands the face of him who saved the bride and struck his generous breast. By chance an ancient bowl was near at hand. This rough with figures carved, the sun of Aegius caught, and hurled at full in that vile centaurs' face. He, spouting out thick gouts of blood, and bleeding from his wounds, his brains and wine mixed, kicked the blood-soaked sand. His double-membered centaur brothers, wild with passion at his death, all shouted out, to arms, to arms, their courage raised by wine, in their first onset hurled cups flew about, and shattered wine casks, hollow basins, things before adapted to a banquet, now for death and carnage in the furious fight. Amicus I, opinion's son, began to spoil the inner sanctuary of its gifts. He snatched up from that shrine a chandelier adorned with glittering lamps, and lifted high with all the force of one who strives to break the bull's white neck with sacrificial axe. He dashed it at the head of Celadon, one of the Lapithae, and crushed his skull into the features of his face. His eyes leapt from his sockets, and the shattered bones of his smashed face gave way so that his nose was driven back and fastened in his throat. But Bellata's of Pella tore away a table-leg of maple-wood, and felled Amicus to the ground. His sunken chin cast down upon his breast, and as he spat his teeth out mixed with blood, a second blow dispatched him to the shades of Tartarus. Grineus, seeing a smoking altar, cried, Good use for this, with which words he raised up that heavy blazing altar. Hurling it into the middle of the Lapithae, he struck down Brotias and Oryas. Macaulay, mother of that Oryas, was famous for incantations, which she had often used to conjure down the shining twin horns of the unwilling moon. Exaedius threatened, You shall not escape, let me but have a weapon. And with that he whirled the antlers of a vote of stag, which he found there, hung on a tall pine-tree, and with that double-branching horn he pierced the eyes of Grineus, and he gouged them out. One eye stuck to the horn, the other rolled down on his beard, to which it strictly clung in dreadful, clotted gore. Then Ritas snatched a blazing brand of plum-wood from an altar, and whirling it upon the right smashed through the temples of Caraxxus, wonderful with golden hair. Seized by the violent flames his yellow locks burned fiercely as a field of autumn grain, and even the scorching blood gay from the sore wound a terrific noise as a red-hot iron and pincers which the smith lifts out and plunges in the tepid pool, hissing and sizzling. Caraxxus shook the fire from his burnt locks, and heaved up on his shoulders a large threshold stone torn from the ground, a weight sufficient for a team of oxen. The vast weight impeded him, so that it could not even touch his foe, and yet the massive stone did hit his friend, Cometes, who was standing near to him, and crushed him down. Then Ritas crazed with joy, exulting yelled, I pray that all of you may be so strong. Wielding his half-burned stake with heavy blows again and again, he broke the sutures of his enemy's skull until the bones were mingled with his oozing brains. Victorious then rushed he upon Evagris and Carithus and Dryas. First of these was youthful Caraxxus, whose cheeks were then just covered with soft down. When he fell dead, Evagris cried, What glory do you get killing a boy? But Ritas did not give him time for uttering one word more. He pushed the red-hot stake into the foe-man's mouth while he still spoke and down into his lungs. He then pursued the savoured Dryas, while whirling the red fire fast about his head. But not with like success. For while he still rejoiced in killings, Dryas turned and pierced him with a stake where neck and shoulder meet. Ritas groaned, and with a great effort pulled the stake out from the bone, then fled away, drenched in his blood. An Ornius followed him. Lecabus fled, and Meeden, with a wound in his right shoulder. Thormasson, Pisonor, and Mermaeus fled with them. Mermaeus, who used to excel all others in a race, ran slowly, crippled by a recent wound. Folus and Melanius ran for their lives, and with them Abas, Hunter of Wild Boars, and Asbolus, the Orga, who in vain had urged his friends to shun that hapless fight. As Nessus joined the rout, he said to him, You need not flee, for you shall be reserved a victim for the bow of Hercules. But neither Lysidus, Uranimus, nor Erius, nor Imbrius had escaped from death. For all of these the strong right hand of Dryas pierced as they confronted him. Cranius there received a wound in front, although he turned in flight as he looked back, a heavy javelin between his eyes pierced through him where his nose and forehead joined. In all this uproar, Aphodas lay flat, in endless slumber from the wine he drank, incessant, and his nerveless hand still held the cup of mixed wine as he lay full-stretched upon a shaggy bearskin from Mount Ossa. When Forba saw him, harmless in that sleep, he laid his fingers in his javelin's thong, and shouted loudly, Mix your wine down there with waters of the sticks! And stopping talk, let fly his javelin at the sleeping youth, the ashen shaft iron-tipped was driven through his neck, exposed as he by chance lay there, his head thrown back. He did not even feel a touch of death, and from his deep pier's throat his crimson blood flowed out upon the couch, and in the wine-bowl still grasped in his hand. I saw Petraeus when he strove to tear up from the earth an acorn-bearing oak, and while he struggled with it back and forth and was just ready to wrench up the trunk, Pyrethus hurled a well-aimed spear at him, transfixed his ribs, and pinned his body tight, writhing to that hard oak. And Lycus fell, and Cromus fell, before Pyrethus. They gave less glory to the conqueror than Helops or than Dictus. Helops was killed by a javelin which pierced his temples from the right side, clear through to his left ear, and Dictus running in a desperate haste, hoping in vain to escape Ixian sun slipped on the steep edge of a precipice, and as he fell down headlong crashed into the top of a huge ash-tree which impaled his dying body on its broken spikes. Alphaeus, eager to avenge him, tried to lift a rock from that steep mountain-side, but as he heaved the son of Igeus struck him squarely with an oaken club, and smashed and broke the huge bones of that centaur's arm. He has no time, and does not want to give that useless foe to death. He leaps upon the back of tall bayonor, never trained to carry riders, and he fixed his knees firm in the centaur's ribs and holding tight to the long hair seized by his left hand, struck and shattered the hard features and fierce face and bony temples with his club of gnarled, strong oak. And with it he struck to the ground Nadimnes and Lycopes' dart expert, and Hippasus, whose beard hid all his breast. And Raphias, taller than the highest trees, and Therias, who would carry home alive the raging bears, caught and Thessalian hills. Demoleon could no longer stand and look on Thesius and his unrestrained success. He struggled with vast effort to tear up an old pine, trunk and all with its long roots, and failing shortly in that first attempt he broke it off and hurled at this foe. But Thesius saw the pine-tree in its flight, and warned by Pallas, got beyond its range. His boast was, Pallas had directed him. And yet the missile was not launched in vain, it sheared the left shoulder and the breast from tall Krantor. He Achilles was your father's armour-bearer, and was given by King Amontor when he sued for peace. When Peleus at a distance saw him torn and mangled, he exclaimed, at least receive this sacrifice, O Krantor, most beloved, dearest of young men. And with sturdy arm and all his strength of soul as well, he hurled as ash and lance against Demoleon, which piercing through his shivered ribs hung there and quivered in the bones. The centaur wrenched the wooden shaft out with his frenzied hands, but could not move the pointed head which stuck within his lungs. His very anguish gave him such a desperation that he rose against his foe and trampled and beat down the hero with his hoofs. Peleus allowed the blows to fall on helm and ringing shield. Protected so, he watched his time and thrust up through the centaur's shoulder. By once stroke he pierced two breasts where horse and man form met. Before this, Peleus with the spear killed both Miley's and Flegreus, and with the sword I Finis and Clanus. Now he killed Doralas, who was clad in a wolf-skinned cap and fought with curving bull's horns dripping blood. To him I said, for courage gave me strength, your horns are much inferior to my steel, and through my spear. Since he could not avoid the gleaming point, he held up his right hand to shield his forehead from the threatened wound. His hand was pierced and pinned against his forehead. He shouted madly. Peleus, near him while he stood there pinned and helpless with his wound, struck him with sharp sword on the belly deep. He leapt forth fiercely as he trailed as bowels upon the ground, with his entangled legs treading upon them, bursting them, he fell with empty belly lifeless to the earth. Calaris, beauty did not save your life, if beauty isn't any of your tribe. Your golden beard was in its early growth, your golden hair came flowing to your shoulders. In your bright face there was a pleasing glance. The neck and shoulders and the hands and breast, and every aspect of his human form resembled those admired statues which are gifted artists' carve. Even the shape of the fine horse beneath the human form was perfect too. Give him the head and neck of a full-blooded horse, and he would seem a steed for castor, for his back was shaped so comfortable to be sat upon, and muscles swell upon his arching chest. His lustrous body was as black as pitch, yet his legs and flowing tail were white as snow. Many a female of his kind loved him, but only heronomy gained his love. There was no other centaur made so beautiful as she within the wounds. By coaxing ways she had won Solaris, by loving and confessing love. By daintiness, so far as that was possible in one of such a form, she held his love. For now she smoothed her long locks with a comb, and now she decked herself with rosemary, and now with violets, or with roses in her hair, and sometimes she wore lilies, white as snow. And twice each day she bathed her lovely face in the sweet stream that falls down from the height of Woodard Pagassa. And daily, twice she dipped her body in the stream. She wore upon her shoulders and left side her skin, greatly becoming of selected worth. Their love was equal, and together they would wander over mountain sides and rest together in cool caves. And so it was they went together to that palace cave, known to the Lepithae. Together they fought fiercely in this battle, side by side. Thrown by an unknown hand, a javelin pierced Solaris, just below the fatal spot where the chest rises to the neck. His heart, though only slightly wounded, grew quite cold, and his whole body felt cold, afterwards as quickly as the weapon was drawn out. Then Halonami held in her embrace the dying body, fondled the dread wound and fixing her lips closely to the lips, endeavour to hold back his dying breath. But soon she saw that he indeed was dead. With mourning words which clamour over the fight prevented me from hearing, she threw herself on the spear that pierced her Solaris and fell upon his breast, embracing him in death. Another sight still comes before my eyes, the centaur Fyocomies with his log. He wore six lion-skins well wrapped round his body, and with fixed connecting knots they covered him both horse and man. He hurled a trunk to yolks of oxen scarce could move, and struck the hapless son of Olenus, a crushing blow upon the head. The broad round dome was shattered, and his dying brains oozed out through the hollow nostrils, mouth, and ears as curdled milk seeps down through oaken twigs, or other lickers, crushed out under weights, flow through a well pierced sieve, and thick squeeze out through numerous holes. As he began to spoil his victim, and your father can affirm the truth of this, I thrust my sword deep in the wretches groin. Chthonius, too, and Tilliboas fell there by my sword. The former had a two-pronged stick as his sole weapon, and the other had a spear with which he wounded me. You see the scar, the old scar still as surely visible. Those were my days of youth and strength, and then I ought to have warred against the citadel of Pergama. I could have checked, or even vanquished, the arms of Hector, but alas Hector had not been born, or was perhaps a boy. Old age has dulled my youthful strength. What use is it to speak of Perifas, who overcame paratis double-formed? Why tell of Ampix, who with pointless shaft victorious thrust a keekless through the face. Macarius, hurling a heavy crowbar pierced Orygdopus and laid him low. A hunting-spear that Nessus strongly hurled was buried in the groin of Cymilus. Do not believe that Mopsus, son of Ampixus, was merely a prophet of events to come. He slew a daring two-formed monster there. How ditties tried in vain to speak before his death, but could not, for his tongue was nailed against his chin, his chin against his throat. Five of the centaurs keneas but to death. Stifolus, Bromus, and Antimachus, Alimus, and Paracmos with his axe. I forgot their wounds, but noted well their names and number. Latreus, huge of limb, had killed and stripped Imaephian Helesis. Now, in his armour, he came rushing out. In years he was between old age and youth. But he retained the vigor of his youth. His temples showed his hair was mixed with grey, conspicuous for his Macedonian lance and sword and shield, facing both sides. Each way he insolently clashed his arms. And while he rode, poured out these words in empty air, shall I put up with one like you, O keneas? For you are still a woman in my sight. Have you forgot your birth, or that disgrace by which you won reward? At what a price you got the false resemblance to a man! Consider both your birth, and what you have submitted to. Take upper distaf and wool-basket. Pressed your threads with practised thumb, leave warfare to your men. While puffed up pride was vaunting out such nonsense, keneas hurled a spear and pierced the stretched up running side, just where the man was joined upon the horse. The centaur, Latreus, raved with pain and struck with his great pike the face of keneas. His pike rebounded as the hail that slounced up from the roof, or as a pebble might rebound from hollow drum. Then coming near he tried to drive a sword into the hard side of keneas, but it could not make a wound. Aha! he cried. This will not get you off. The good edge of my sword will take your life, although the point is blunt. He turned the edge against the flank of keneas and swung round the hero's loins with his long, curving arm. The flesh resounded like a marble block. The kene blade shattered on the unyielding skin, and after keneas had exposed his limbs unheard to Latreus, who stood there amazed. Come now, he said, and let us try my steel against your body, and clear to the hilt down through the monster's shoulder blade he plunged his deadly sword, and turning it again deep in the centaur's entrails made new wounds within his wound. Then quite beside themselves the double-natured monsters rushed against that single-handed youth with huge uproar and thrust and hurl their weapons all at him. Their blunted weapons fell, and he remained unharmed and without even a mark. That strange sight left them speechless. Oh, what shame at length, cried Monarchus! Our mighty host, a nation of us, are defeated and defied by one who hardly is a man. Although indeed he is a man, and we have proved by our weak actions, we are certainly what he was. Shame on us! Oh, what if we have twofold strength, of what avail I huge and mighty limbs, doubly united in the strongest, largest bodies in this world? And how can I believe that we were born of any goddess? It is surely vain to claim descent of great Ixian, who high souled sought Juno for his mighty mate. Imagine it, while we are conquered by an enemy who is but half a man. Wake up! Let us heap tree-trunks and stones and mountains on him. Crush his stubborn life, let forests smother him to death. Their weight will be as deadly as a hundred wounds. While he was raving, by some chance he found tree thrown down there by the boisterous wind. Example to the rest, he threw that tree against the powerful foe, and in short time Othris was bare of trees, and Pelion had no shade, buried under that mountainous forest heap, Kenius heaved up against the weight of oaks upon his brawny shoulders piled. But as the load increased above his face and head, he could not draw breath. Moving for life, he strove to lift his head into the air, and sometimes he convulsed the towering mass, as if great Ida, now before our eyes, should tremble with some heaving of the earth. What happened to him could not well be known. Some thought his body was borne down by weight into the vast expanse of Tartarus. The son of Ampicus did not agree, for from the middle of the pile we saw a bird with golden wings mount high in air. Before or since I never saw the like. When Mopsis was aware of that bird's flight, it circled round the camp on rustling wings. With eyes and mind he followed it, and shouted aloud, Hail glory of the Lepithian race, their greatest hero, now a bird unique! And we believed the verdict of the seer. Our grief increased resentment, and we bore it with disgust, that one was overwhelmed by such a multitude. Then in revenge we plied our swords till half our foes were dead, and only flight and darkness saved the rest. Nestor at hardly toll this marvellous tale of bitter strife betwixt the Lepithae, and those half-human, vanquished centaurs, when, to Lepilimus, incensed, because no word of praise was given to Hercules, replied in this way, Old sir, it is very strange you have neglected to say one good word in praise of Hercules. My father told me often, that he overcame in battle those cloud-born centaurs. Nestor, very loath, replied, Why force me to recall all wrongs to uncover sorrow buried by the years that made me hate your father? It is true his deeds were wonderful beyond relief, heaven knows, and fill the earth with well-earned praise, which I should rather wish might be denied. Deophobus, the wise Pallidamus, an even great hector, made no praise from me. Your father, I recall, once overthrew a mercenaries' walls, and with no cause destroyed Elis in Pylos, and with fire and sword ruined my own loved home. I cannot name all whom he killed, but there were twelve of us, the sons of Nelius, and all warrior-youths, and all those twelve at me alone he killed. Ten of them met the common fate of war, but Sada was the death of Peraclaminus. Neptune, the founder of my family, had granted him a power to assume whatever shape he chose, and when he wished to lay that shape aside. When he in vain had been transformed to many other shapes, he turned into the form of that bird which is wont to carry in his crooked talons the forks lightnings, favorite bird of Jove. With wings and crooked bill and sharp-hooked talons he assailed and tore the face of Hercules. But when he soared away on eagle wings, up to the clouds and hovered, poised in air, that hero aimed his two unerring bow and hit him where the new wing joined his side. The wound was not large, but his sinew's cut failed to uphold him, and denied his wings their strength and motion. He fell down to earth, his weakened pinions could not catch the air, and the sharp arrow which had lightly pierced the wing was driven upward through the side into the left part of my brother's neck. O noble leader of the Rhodian fleet, why should I sing the praise of Hercules? But for my brother's I take no revenge except withholding praise of his great deans, with you my friendship will remain secure. When Nestor, with his honeyed tongue, had told these tales of old, they all took wine again, and they arose and gave the night to sleep. But Neptune, who commands the ocean waves, lamented with the father's grief his son, whose person he had changed into a bird, the swan of Phaethon. And towards Achilles, grim victor in the fight, his lasting hate made him pursue resentment far beyond the ordinary manner of the Gaons. After nine years of war he spoke these words, addressing long-haired, sminthian Apollo. O nephew, the most dear to me of all my brother's sons, with me you built in vain the walls of Troy, you must be lost in grief when you look on those towers so soon to fall. Or do you not lament the multitudes slain in defense of them? To name but one, does not the ghost of Hector dragged around his pergama appear to you? And yet the fierce Achilles, whose bloodstained more than slaughtering war, lives on this earth for the destruction of our toil. Let him once get into my power, and I will make him feel the action of my triple spear. But since I may not meet him face to face, do you with sudden arrow give him death? The Delian God Apollo gave assent, both for his own hate, and his uncle's rage. Veiled in a cloud, he found the Trojan host, and there, while bloody strife went on, he saw the hero Paris shoot at intervals his arrows at the nameless host of Greeks. Revealing his divinity, he said, why spend your arrows on the common men if he would serve your people? Take good aim at great Achilles, and at last avenge all hapless brothers whom he gave to death. He pointed out Achilles, laying low the Trojan warriors with his mighty spear. On him he turned the Trojan's willing bow, and guided with his hand the fatal shaft. It was the first joy that old Priam knew since Hector's death. So then Achilles, you who overcame the mighty, were subdued by a coward who seduced a Grecian wife. Ah, if you could not die by manly hands, your choice had been the axe. Now that great terror of the Trojan race, the glory and defence of the Pulaskians, Achilles, first in war, lay on the pyre. The God of fire first armed, then burned his limbs. And now he is but ashes, and of him so great, renowned and mighty, but a pitiful handful of small dust insufficient for a little earn. But all his glory lives enough to fill the world, a great reward. And in that glory is his real life. In a true sense he will never know the void of Tartarus. But soon his very shield, that men might know to whom it had belonged, brings war, and arms are taken for his arms. The Diomedes or Ajax call the less ventured to claim the hero's mighty shield. Menelaus and other warlike chiefs, even Agamemnon, all withdrew their claims. Only the greater Ajax and Ulysses had such assurance that they dared contest for that great prize. Then Agamemnon chose to avoid the odium of preferring one. He bade the Argolic chieftains take their seats within the camp, and left to all of them the hearing and decision of the cause. End of Book 12, Part 2. Book 13, Part 1 of Avid's Metamorphoses This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Nassau Translated by Brooks Moore Book 13, Part 1. The chiefs were seated, and the soldiers formed a circle around them. Then Ajax, the approved lord of the sevenfold shield, arose and spoke. Impatient in his wrath he looked with stern set features out over Sijian shores, and over the fleet of ships upon the beach, and stretching out his hands, he said, We plead, O Jupiter, our cause before the ships. Ulysses vies with me. He did not shrink from giving way before the flames of Hector. When I withstood them, and I saved the fleet. It is safer, then, to fight with lying words than with his hands. I am not prompt to speak, nor he to act. I am as good in war and deadly battle as he is in talk. Peleskians, I do not suppose my deeds must here be mentioned. You have witnessed them, but let Ulysses tell of deeds which he performed without a witness, and which night alone is conscious of. I own the prize we seek is great, but such arrival makes it small. To Ajax there is no cause for pride in having any prize, however great, for which Ulysses hoped. But he has won reward enough already. He can boast, when vanquished, that he strove with me. I, even if my merit were in doubt, should still excel in birth. I am the son of Telemann, who with great Hercules brought low the power of Troy, and in the ship of Jason voyaged even to Colchian shores. His father, Iacus, now is a judge among the silent shades, where Sisyphus toils and is mocked for ever with the stone. Great Jove himself calls Iacus his son. Thus Ajax is the third from Jupiter. But Greeks, let not this line of my descent avail me, if I do not share it with my cousin, great Achilles. I demand these arms now do me as a cousin. Why should this one, from the blood of Sisyphus, and like him for his thefts and frauds, intrude the name of that loaded family upon honored descendants of brave Iacus? Will you deny me arms, because I took up arms earlier, no man prompting me, and called this man the better, who last of all took up arms, and pretending he was mad, declined war, till the son of Naplius more shrewd than he, but to his future cost, discovered the contrivance of the fraud, and had the coward dragged forth to the arms he had avoided. And shall this man have the world's best arms, who wanted none? Will I lack honor and my cousin's gift, because I faced the danger with the first? Would that his madness had been real, or had been accepted as reality, that he never had attended us, as our companion to the Phrygian Towers, this counselor of evil? Then good son of Poeus, limbness would not hold you now, exposed through guilt of ours. You, as men say, hidden in forest lairs, are moving with your groans the very rocks, and asking for Ulysses what he so well deserves. But if indeed there are still gods, you shall not ask in vain, and now, one of our leaders, he that was sworn to the same arms with ourselves, by whom the arrows of great Hercules are used as his successor, broken by disease and famine, clothed with feathers, now must feed on birds, and squander for his wretched fare, the arrows destined for the wreck of Troy. At least he lives, because he has not stayed too nearer Ulysses. Hapless Palamedes might wish that he too had been left behind, than he would live, or would have met a death without dishonor. For this man, who well remembered the unfortunate discovery of his famed madness, made a fraudulent attack on Palamedes, who, he said, betrayed the Grecian interest. He proved his false charge to the Greeks, by showing them the gold which he himself hid in the ground. By exile or by death, he has decreased the true strength of the Greeks. And so he fights, for such things men have caused to fear Ulysses. Should he excel the faithful nester by his eloquence, I'd yet be well convinced the way he foresook nester was a crime. Old nester, who he implored in vain his aid, when he was hindered by his wounded steed, and wearied with the years of his old age, was then deserted by that scheming man. The charge that I have made is strictly true, and the son of Titius knows it all too well. For he, at that time called him by his name, rebuked him, and abraded his weak friend for coward flight. The gods above behold the affairs of men with justice. That same man, who would not help a friend, now calls for help. He who foresook a friend should be forsaken. The law he made returns upon himself. He called aloud on his companions, I came, and saw him trembling, pale with fear, and shuddering at the thought of coming death. I held my shield above him where he lay, and that way saved the villain's dastard life, and little praise I have deserved for that. If you still wish to claim this armor, let us both return to that place and restore the enemy, your wound and usual fear, there hide behind my shield, and under that contend with me. Yet when I faced the foe he whom his wound had left no power to stand, forgot the wound, and took to headlong flight. Hector approached, and brought the gods with him to battle, and wherever he rushed on, not only this Ulysses was alarmed, but even the valiant, for so great the fear he caused them. Hector, proud in his success in blood and slaughter, I then dared to meet, and with a huge stone from a distance hurled, I laid him flat. When he demanded one to fight with, I engaged him quite alone. For you, my Greek friends, prayed the lot might fall upon me, and your prayers prevailed. If you should ask me of this fight, I will declare I was not vanquished there by him. Behold the Trojans brought forth fire and sword, and drove as well against the Grecian fleet, where now has eloquent Ulysses gone. Truly I did protect a thousand ships with my breast, saving the hopes of your return. For all these many ships award me arms, but let me speak the truth. The arms will gain more fame than I, for they will share my glory, and they need Ajax. Ajax needs not them. Let the Ithican compare with deeds like mine, his sleeping Rhesus, his unwarlike Dolan, Hellenus taken and payless gained by Theft, all done by night, and all with Diomed. If you must give these arms for deeds so mean, then give the greater share to Diomed. Why give arms to Ulysses, who by stealth and quite unarmed, as always done his work, deceiving his unwary enemies by stratagems? Ulysses' brilliant helmet, rich with sparkling gold, will certainly betray his plans, and will discover him when hid. His soft, doulician head, beneath the helm of great Achilles, will not bear the weight. His heavy spear from Pellion must be burdensome for his unwarlike hands, nor will the shield graven with the vasty world be seen a dastard left hand, smooth for theft. Why, Cateph, will you beg them for a gift, which will but weaken you? If by mistake the Grecian people should award you this, it would not fright the foe, but offer spoils, and that swift flight, in which alone you have excelled all others dastard wretch, would soon grow laggard, dragging such a weight. And that good shield of yours, which has but rarely felt a conflict, is unhurt. For mine, a gape with wounds a thousand from swift striking darts, a new one must be found. In short, what need is there for words? Let us be tried in war. Let all the arms of brave Achilles now be thrown among the foe, order them all to be retrieved, and decorate for war, whoever brings them back, a worthy prize. Ajax, the son of Telemann, stopped speech, and murmuring among the multitude, followed his closing words, until Ulysses, Laertian hero, stood up there and fixed his eyes a short time on the ground, then raised them towards the chiefs, and with his opening words, which they awaited, the grace of his art was not found wanting to his eloquence. Book 13 Part 2 of Avid's Metamorphoses. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Nassau. Translated by Brooks Moore. Book 13 Part 2. If my desire and yours could have prevailed, O noble Greeks, the man who should receive a prize so valued would not be in doubt, and you would now enjoy your arms, and we enjoy you, great Achilles, since unjust fate has denied him both to me and you, and here he wiped his eyes dry with his hands as though then shedding tears. Who could succeed the great Achilles better than the one through whom the great Achilles joined the Greeks? Let Ajax, when no votes, because he seems to be as stupid as the truth declares. Let not my talents, which were always used for service of the Greeks, increase my harm, and let this eloquence of mine, if such we call it, which is pleading now for me as it has pleaded many times for you. Awake, no envy. Let each man show his best. Now as for ancestors and noble birth and deeds we have not done ourselves, all these I hardly call them ours. But if he boasts, because he is the great grandson of Jov, the founder of my family, you know, is Jupiter. By birth I am just, the same degree, removed from Jupiter as he. Laertes is my father. My grand sire is Arceus, and my great grand sire is Jov, and my line has no banished criminal. My mother's grand sire, Mercury, would give me further claims of birth on either side a god. But not because my mother's line is better, and not because my father certainly is innocent of his own brother's blood, have I advanced my claim to own those arms. Let personal merit weigh the cause alone. Let Ajax, when no credit from the fact that Telemon was brother unto Peleus, let not his merit be that he is near by blood. May honor of manhood weigh and your award. But if you seek the heir and next of kin, Peleus is father, and Pyrrhus is the son of great Achilles. Where is Ajax, then? These arms might go to Pythia, or to Scyros. Peleuser might claim the prize because he is Achilles' cousin. Does he seek these arms? And if he did, would you allow his claim? Since then the contest lies in deeds alone, though I have done more than may be well told, I will recall them as they have occurred. These narrowed mother, who foresaw his death, concealed her son by change of dress. By that disguise Ajax, among the rest, was well deceived. I showed, with women's wares, arms that might win the spirit of a man. The hero still wore clothing of a girl, when, as he held a shield and spear, I said, Son of a goddess, Pergamma, but waits to fall by you, why do you hesitate to assure the overthrow of mighty Troy? With these bold words I laid my hand on him, and, too, brave actions I sent forth the brave. His deeds of bravery are therefore mine. It was my power that conquered Tlifas, as he fought with his lands. It was through me that, vanquished and suppliant, he at last was healed. I caused the fall of Thebes, believe me, I took Lesbos, Tenedos, Crissa and Scylla, and the cities of Apollo, and I took Scyros. And two of the Lyrnessian wall, as shaken by my hand, destroyed and thrown down level with the ground, let this suffice. I found the man who caused Fierce Hector's death. Through me, the famous Hector now, lies low, and for those arms which made Achilles known, I now demand these arms. To him, alive, I gave them. At his death they should be mine. After the grief of one had reached all Greece, and ships a thousand filled Yobion Aulis, the breezes long expected would not blow or adverse held the helpless fleet ashore. Then ruthless oracles gave their command that Agamemnon should make sacrifice of his loved daughter, and so satisfied Diana's cruel heart. The father stood up resolute, enraged against the gods, apparent even though a king. I turned, by tactful words, a father's tender heart to the great issue of the public wheel. I will confess it, and when I have confessed, made the son of Atreus pardon, I had to plead a difficult case before a partial judge. The people's good, his brothers, and stern duty that followed his great office, won his ear till royal honour outweighed claims of blood. I sought the mother, who could not be won by pleading, but must be deceived by craft. Had Ajax gone to her, our thousand sales would still droop, waiting for the favouring breeze. As a bold envoy I was even sent off to the towers of Ilium, and there I saw the Senate House of Lofty Troy, and fearless, entered it, while it was full of heroes. There undaunted I spoke for the cause which all the Greeks had given me. Accusing Paris, I demanded back the gold and stolen Helen, and I moved both Priam and Atenor. All the while Paris, his brothers and their robber crew, could scarce withhold their wicked hands from me, and all this, meant a loss, is well known to you. That was the first danger I shared with you. I need not linger over the many things which, by my council and my bravery, I have accomplished through this long-drawn war. A long time after the first battle-clash, the foe lay quiet within city walls, giving no challenge for an open fight. He stood nine years of siege, before we fought what were you doing all that tedious time. What use were you, good only, in a fight? If you will make inquiry of my deeds, I fashion ambuscades for enemies, and circled our defenses with a trench. I cheered allies, so that they might all endure with patient minds a long protracted war. I showed how our own army might subsist and how it could be armed, and I was sent wherever the necessity required. Then at the wish of Jove, our king, deceived by a false dream, bids us give up the war. He could excuse his order by the cause. Let Ajax tell him Troy must be laid low, or let him fight. At least he can do that. Why does he fail to stop the fugitives? Why not take arms and tell the wavering crowd to rally round him? Would that be too much for one who never speaks except to boast? But now words fail me. Ajax turns and flees. I witnessed it, and was ashamed to see you turn disgraced, preparing sails for flight. With exclamations and without delay I said, What are you doing? Oh, my friends, has madness seized you that you will quit, Troy, which is as good as taken. But can you bear home after ten years but your disgrace? With these commanding words, which grief itself gave eloquence, I brought resisting Greeks back from their purposed flight. Atreides, called together his allies, all terror struck. And then Ajax, the son of Telemann, dared not vouchsafe one word. But imputed their sighties hurled vile words against the kings, and thanks to me he did not miss reproof. I rose and spoke to my disheartened friends, reviving their lost courage with my words from that time forth. Whatever deeds this man, my rival, may have done, belonged to me, to as I who stayed his flight and brought him back. Which of the noble Greeks has given you praise or sought your company? Yet Diomed has shared his deeds with me, and praises me, and while Ulysses is with him, is brave and confident. Tis worthy of regard when, out of many thousands of the Greeks, a man becomes the choice of Diomed. It was not lot that ordered me to go, and yet, despising dangers of the night, despising dangers of the enemy, I slew one Dolan of the Phrygian race, who dared to do the very things we dared, but not before I had prevailed on him to tell me everything by which I learned perfidious actions which Troy had designed. Of such things now I had discovered all that should be found out, and I might have then returned to enjoy the praise I had deserved. But not content with that, I sought the tent of Rhesus, and within his camp I slew him and his provid attendants. Having thus gained, as a conqueror, my own desires, I drove back in a capture chariot a joyous triumph. Well, deny me, then, the arms of him who steeds the enemy demanded as the price of one night's aid. Ajax himself has been more generous. Why should I name Sarpedon's Lycian troops, among whom I made havoc with my sword? I left Corranos dead and streaming blood. With the sword I killed Elastor, Chromius, Alconder, Pritanus, Helius, Noamon, Thon, Charo, with Chersidamus, and Anomus, all driven by cruel fate, not reckoning humbler men whom I laid low, battling beneath the shadows of the city walls. And fellow citizens, I have my wounds honorable in the front. Do not believe my word alone. Look for yourselves and see. Then with one hand he drew his robe aside. Here is a breast, he cried, that bled for you. But Ajax never shed a drop of blood to aid his friends in all these many years, and has a body free of any wound. What does it prove if he declares that he fought for our ships against both Troy and Jove? I grant he did, for it is not my want with Malus to be little and others' deeds. But let him not claim for himself alone an honor in which all may have a share. Let him concede some credit due to you. Disguised within the fear-inspiring arms of great Achilles, actor's son drove back the host of Trojans from our threatened fleet, or ships, and Ajax would have burned together. Unmindful of the king, the chiefs and me, he dreams that he alone dared to engage in a single fight with Hector. He the ninth to volunteer, and chosen just by lot. But yet, oh brave chief, what availed the fight? Hector returned, not injured by a wound. Ah, bitter fate, with how much grief I am compelled to recollect the time when brave Achilles, bow-work of the Greeks, was slain. Nor tears, nor grief, nor fear could hinder me. I carried his dead body from the ground, uplifted on these shoulders. I repeat, upon these shoulders, from that ground I bore off dead Achilles, and those arms which now I want to bear away again. I have the strength to walk beneath their weight. I have a mind to understand their worth. And the hero's mother, goddess of the sea, when for her son these arms, made by a god, a work of wondrous art, to have them clothe a rude soldier, which has no mind at all? He never could be made to understand the rich engravings pictured on the shield, the ocean, earth, and stars in lofty skies, the Pleiades and Hyades, the bear, which touches not the ocean, far beyond the varied planets, and the fire-bright sword of high Orion. He demands a prize, which, if he had it, would be lost on him. But of his taunting me, because I shrank from hardships of this war, and I was slow to join the expedition. Does he not see that he reviles the great Achilles too? Was my pretense a crime? Then so was his. Was our delay a fault? Mine was the less, for I came sooner. Me, a loving wife, detained from war. A loving mother, him. Some hours we gave to them, the rest to you. Why should I be alarmed, if now I am unable to defend myself against this accusation, which is just the same as you have brought against so great a man? Yet he was found by the dexterity of me, Ulysses, and Ulysses was not found by the dexterity of Ajax. It is no wonder that he pours on me reproaches of his silly tongue, because he charges you with what is worthy shame. Am I depraved because this Palamedes has improperly been charged with crime by me? Then was it honorable for all of you, if you condemned him? Only think that he, the son of Napeleus, made no defense against the crime, so great so manifest. Nor did you only hear the charges brought against him, but you saw the proof yourself, and in the gold his villainy was shown. Nor am I to be blamed if Vulcan's isle of Limnus has become the residence of Phylictites, defend yourselves, for you agreed to it. Yes, I admit I urged him to withdraw from toils of war, and those of travel, and attempt by rest to ease his cruel pain. He took my advice and lives. The advice was not alone well meant, that would have been enough, but it was wise. As our prophets have declared, he must lead us, if we may still maintain our hope for Troy's destruction. Therefore, you must not entrust that work to me. Much better send the son of Telemann. His eloquence will overcome the hero's rage, most fierce from his disease and anger, or else his invention of some while will skillfully deliver him to us. The Samoys will first flow backward, Ida stand without its foliage, and Ikea promise aid to Troy itself. Air, lacking aid from me, the craft of stupid Ajax will avail. Though Phylictites, you should be enraged against your friends, against the king and me. Although you curse and everlastingly devote my head to harm, although you wish to ease your anguish, that I may be given into your power, that you may shed my blood. And though you wait your turn and chance at me, still I will undertake the quest, and will try all my skill to bring you back with me. If my good fortune then will favor me, I shall obtain your arrows, as I made the Trojan seer, my captive, as I learned the heavenly oracles and fate of Troy, and as I brought back through a host of foes, Minerva's image from the citadel. And is it possible Ajax may now compare himself with me? Truly, the fates will hold Troy from our capture if we leave the statue. Where is valiant Ajax now? Where are the boasts of that tremendous man? Why are you trembling, while Ulysses dares to go beyond our guards and brave the night? In spite of hostile swords, he goes within not only the strong walls of Troy, but even the citadel, lifts up the goddess from her shrine and takes her through the enemy. If I had not done this, Telemann's son would bear his shield of seven bull hides in vain. That night I gained the victory over Troy, to as then I won our war with Pragama, because I made it possible to win. Up hinting by your look and muttered words that Diamond was my partner in the deed. The praise he won is his. You certainly fought not alone when you held up your shield to save the Allied fleet. A multitude was with you, but a single man gave me his valued help. And if he did not know a fighting man, cannot gain victory so surely as the wise man, that the victory is given to something rarer than a brave right hand, he would himself be a contender now for these illustrious arms. Ajax, the less would have come forward, too. So would the fierce Europylus. So would Andreaman, son. Nor would Idomenius withhold his claim. Nor would his countrymen, Mariones. Yes, Menelaus, too, would seek the prize. These brave men, my equals in the field, have yielded to my wisdom. Your right hand is valuable in war. Your temper stands in need of my direction. You have strength without intelligence. I look out for the future. You are able in the fight. I help our king to find the proper time. Your body may give service, and my mind must point the way. And just as much as he who guides the ship must be superior to him who rose it, and we all agree the general is greater than the soldier, so do I excel you. In the body lives and intellect much rarer than a hand. By that we measure human excellence. O chieftons, recompense my vigilance. For all these years of anxious care, award this honor to my many services. Our victory is in sight. I have removed the opposing fates, and opening wide the way to capture Pergamma, have captured it. Now, by our common hopes, by Troy's high walls already tottering and about to fall, and by the gods that I won from the foe, by what remains for wisdom to devise, or what may call for bold and fearless deeds. If you think any hope is left for Troy, remember me. Or if you do not give these arms to me, then give them all to her. And he pointed to Minerva's fateful head. The assembled body of the chiefs was moved, and then appeared the power of eloquence the fluent man received, amid applause, the arms of the brave man. His rival, who so often, when alone, stood firm against great Hector and the sword, and flames, and jove, stood not against a single passion wrath. The unconquerable was conquered by his grief. He drew his sword and said, This is at least my own. Or will Ulysses also claim this for himself? I must use this against myself, the blade which often has been wet, dripping with blood of Phrygians I have slain. He'll drip with his own master's blood, lest any man but Ajax vanquish Ajax. Saying this, he turned toward the vital spot in his own breast which never had felt a wound, the fated sword, and plunged it deeply in. Though many sought to aid, no hand had strength to draw that steel deep driven. The blood itself unaided drove it out. The ensanguine earth sprouted from her green turf, that purple flower which grew of old from highest-synthened blood. Its petals now are charged with double-frate. The warrior's name, Apollos, cry of woe. End of Book 13, Part 2, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California for LibriVox. Book 13, Part 3 of Ovid's Metamorphosis. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Metamorphosis, Apublius Ovidius Nassau, translated by Brooks Moore. Book 13, Part 3. The conqueror, Ulysses, now sets sail for Lemnos, country of Hipsapile, and for the land of Thoas, famed afar, those regions infamous in olden days, where women slew their husbands. So he went that he might capture and bring back with him the arrows of brave Hercules. When these were given back to the Greeks, their lord with them, a final hand at last prevailed to end that long-thought war. Both Troy and Priam fell, and Priam's wretched wife lost all she had, until at last she lost her human form. Her savage barkings frightened foreign lands, where the hellen spot is narrowed down. Great Troy was burning. While the fire still raged, Jove's altar drank old Priam's scanty blood. The priestess of Apollo, then, Alas, was dragged by her long hair, while up towards heaven she lifted supplicating hands in vain. The Trojan matrons, clinging while they could to burning temples and ancestral gods, victorious Greeks drag off as welcome spoil. Styonax was hurled down from the very tower from which he often had looked forth and seen his father, by his mother pointed out, when Hector fought for honour and his country's wheel. Now Boria's councils to depart, the sails, moved by a prosperous breeze, resound and wave, the Trojan women cry, Farewell to Troy, ah, we are hurried off! And falling down they kiss the soil and leave the smoking roofs of their loved native land. The last to go on board the fleet was Hecuba, a site most pitiful. She was found among the tombs of her lost sons. While she embraced each urn and fondly kissed their bones, Ulysses came with ruthless hands and bore her off. His prize she in her bosom took away the urn of Hector only, and upon his grave she left some white hair taken from her head, a meager gift, her white hair and her tears. Across the strait from Troy there is a land claimed by Bestonian men, and in that land was a rich palace, built there by a king named Polymnester. To him the Phryngian king in secret gave his youngest son to rear. His palidorious, safe from Troy and war, a prudent course if he had not sent gold arousing greed incitement to a crime. Soon when the fortunes of the Trojans fell, that wicked king of Thrace took his own sword and pierced the throat of his poor foster son, and then, as if the deed could be concealed if he removed the body, hurled the boy from a wild cliff into the waves below. Until the sea might be more calm and gales of wind might be subdued, a trity is moored his fleet of ships upon the Thracian shore, there from wide gapping earth Achilles rose, as large as when he lived, with look as fierce as when his sword once threatened Agamemnon. Forgetting me, do you depart, O Greeks, he said, and is your grateful memory of all my worth interred with my bones? Do not do so, and that my sepulcher may have due worship, let Polynesia be emulated to appease the ghost of dead Achilles. Fiercely, so he spoke, the old friends of Achilles all obeyed his unforgiving shade, and instantly the noble and unhappy virgin, brave, more like a man than woman, was torn from her mother's bosom, cherished more by her, since widowed and alone, and then they led the virgin as a sacrifice from there up to the cruel altar. When the maid observed the savage rites prepared for her, and when she noticed, Neptolemus stand by her with his cruel sword in hand, his fixed eyes on her countenance, she said, Do not delay my generous gift of blood, with no resistance thrust the ready steel into my throat or breast, and then she laid both throat and bosom bare. Polynesia would never wish to live in slavery, and such rites win no favor from a God. Only I fondly wish my mother might not know that I have died. My love of her takes from my joy in death and gives me fear. Not my death truly, but her own sad life should be the most lamented in her tears. Now let your men stand back, and I may go with dignity down to the Stygian shades, and, if my pleas just, let no man's hand touch my pure virgin body. A nobler gift to him, whoever he may be, whom you desire to plate gate with my death today, shall be a free maid's blood. But if my words, my parting wish, has power to touch your hearts, King Priam's daughter, not a captive, pleads, freely return my body to my mother. Let her not pay with gold for this sad right to bury me, but only with her tears. Yes, when she could, she also paid with gold. Before she said these words, the people could no more restrain their tears. But no one saw her shed one tear. Even the priest himself, reluctantly and weeping, drove the steel into her preferred breast. On failing knees she sank down to the earth, but still maintained accountants undaunted to the last. And even unto death it was her care to cover all that ought to be concealed, and save the value of chaste modesty. The Trojan matrons took her and recalled, lamenting, all the sons of Priam dead, the wealth of blood one house had shed for all. And they bewailed the chaste Polynesia, and you, her mother, only lately called a royal mother and a royal wife, the soul of Asia's fair prosperity, now lowest fallen in all the wreck of Troy. The conquering Ulysses only claimed her his because she had brought Hector forth, and Hector hardly found a master for his mother. She continued to embrace the body of a soul so brave, and shed her tears, as she had shed them often before for country lost, for sons, for royal mate. She bathed her daughters' wounds with tears, and kissed them with her lips, and once more beat her breast. Her white hair streamed down in clotting blood. She tore her breast, and this, and more, she said. My daughter, what further sorrow can be mine? My daughter, you lie dead, I see your wounds. They are indeed my own. Lest I should lose one child of mine without a cruel sword, you have your wound. I thought, because you were a woman, you were safe from swords. But you, a woman, felt the deadly steel. That same Achilles, who has given to death so many of your brothers, caused your death, the bane of Troy and the serpent by my nest. When Paris, and when Phoebus, with their shafts, had laid him low. Ah, now at last I said, Achilles will no longer cause me dread. Yet even then he still was to be feared. For him I have been fertile. Only Troy now lies in ruin, and the public woe is ended in one vast calamity. For me alone the woe of Troy still lives. But lately, on the pinnacle of fame, surrounded by my powerful sons-in-law, daughters and daughters-in-law, and strong in my great household, I am now exiled and destitute, and forced from the sad tombs of those I love, to wretched slavery, serving Penelope, who, showing me to curious dames of Ithaca, will point and say, while I am vending to my task, look at that woman who was widely known. The mother of great Hector, once the wife of Priam. After so many have been lost, now you, last comfort of a mother's grief, must make atonement on the foreman's tomb. I bore a victim for my enemy. Why do I live? An iron-witted wretch? Why do I linger? Why does cruel age detain me? Why, pernicious deities, thus hold me to this earth, unless you will that I may weep at future funerals? After the fall of Troy, who would suppose King Priam could be happy? Blessed in death, he has not seen my daughter's dreadful fate. He lost at once his kingdom and his life. Can I imagine you, a royal maid, will soon be honored with due funeral rites, and will be buried in our family tomb? Such fortune comes no more to your sad house. A drift of foreign sand will be your grave. The parting gift will be your mother's tears. We have lost everything, but no, there is one reason why I should endure a while. His mother's dearest, now her only child, once youngest of that great company of sons, Napolodorus lives here and on these shores, protected by the friendly Thracian king. Then why delay to bathe these cruel wounds, her dear face splattered with dreadful blood? So Hepcuba went wailing towards the shore with aged stemp, and tearing her gray hair. At last the unhappy mother said, Give me an urn, O Trojan women, for she wished to dip up salt sea water. But just then she saw the corpse of her last son, thrown out upon the shore. Her Polydorus, killed, disfigured with deep wounds of Thracian swords. The Trojan women cried aloud, and she was struck dumb with her agony, which quiet consumed both voice and tears within her heart. Rigid and still she seemed as a hard rock. And now she gazes at the earth in front, now lifts her haggard head up toward the skies, now scans that body lying stark and dead, now scans his wounds, and most of all the wounds. She arms herself, and draws up all her wrath. It burned as if she still held regal power she gave up all life to the single thought of quick revenge. Just as a lioness rages when plundered of her suckling cub, and follows on his trail the unseen foe. So Hecuba, with rage mixed in her grief, forgetful of her years, not her intent, went hastily to Polynestor, which contrived this dreadful murder, and desired an interview, pretending it was her wish to show him hidden gold for her lost son. The Odrysian king believed it all, accustomed to the love of gain he went with her, and secret to the spot she chose. Then craftily he said in his bland way, Oh Hecuba, you need not wait, give now, unificently to your son, and all you give, and all that you have given, by the good gods, I swear shall be his own. She eyed him sternly as he spoke, and swore so falsely. Then her rage boiled over, and seconded by all her captive train, she flew at him, and drove her fingers deep in his perfidious eyes, and tore them from his face, and plunged her hands into the raw and bleeding sockets, passion made her strong, defiled with his bad blood. How could she tear his eyes gone from their seats? She wildly gouged the sightless sockets of his bleeding face. The Thracians, angered by such violence done upon their king, immediately attacked the Trojan matron with their stones and darts, but she, with horse growling and snapping jaws sprang at the stones, and, when she tried to speak, she barked like a fierce dog. The place still bears a name suggested by her hideous change, and she, long mindful of her old-time woe, ran howling dissonely in thracial fields. Her sad fate moved the Trojans and the Greeks, her friends and foes, and all the heavenly gods. Yes all, for even the sister-wife of Job denied that Hecuba deserved such a fate. Although Aurora had given aid to Troi, she had no heart nor leisure to be moved by fall of Troi or fate of Hecuba. At home she wore a greater grief and care. Her loss of Memnon is afflicting her. Aurora, his rose-tinted mother, saw him perish by Achilles' deadly spear upon the Fringian plain. She saw his death, and the lovied rose that lights the dawning hour turned death-pale, and the sky was veiled in clouds. The parent could not bear to see his limbs laid on the final flames. Just as she was, with loose hair streaming round her, she did not disdain to crouch down at the knees of Job, and said these sad words added to her tears. Beneath all those whom golden heaven sustains, inferior, foresee, through all the world my temples are so few, I have come now a goddess to you. Not with any hope that you may grant me temples, festivals, and altars, heeded with devoted flames, but if you will consider the good deeds which I, a woman, may yet do for you, when at the dawn I mark the edge of night, then you may think of some reward for me. But that is not my care, nor is it how Aurora's purpose here, that she should plead for honors, though deserved. I come bereaved of my son Memnon, who in vain bore arms to aid his uncle, and in the prime of life, oh, thus you willed it, fell stricken by the sword of great Achilles. With my son I pray, oh highest ruler of the gods, some honor, some comfort for his death, a little ease for his mother's grief. Job nodded his assent. Immediately the high-wrought funeral pile of Memnon fell down with its lofty fire, and volumes of black smoke obscured the day, as streams exhaling their dense rising fogs exclude the bright sun from the land below. Black ashes fly, and rolling up a shape retain a form and gather heat and life out of the fire. Their lightness gave them wings, first like a bird, and then in fact a bird. The wings move, worrying, in the neighboring air uncounted sisters of one birth and growth together make one noise. Three times they flew around the funeral pile, and thrice the sound according to their fluttering wings went swift upon the soft breeze. When they turned about, their fourth flight in the skies divided them. As two fierce races from two hostile camps clashed in their warfare, these bird sisters with their beaks and crooked claws clashed, passionate, until their tired wings and opposing breasts could not sustain them, and those kindred foes fell down a sacrifice, memorial, to Memnon's ashes buried in that place. Brave Memnon, author of their birth, has given his name to those birds, marvelously formed, and from him they are called Memnidids, now, always when the sun has passed the twelfth sign of the zodiac, they war again to perish as a sacrifice for him. So others grieved, while Dimus' royal daughter was barking, but Aurora overcome with lasting sorrow could not think of her, and even now she sheds affectionate tears and sprinkles them as do on all the world. The fates did not allow the hope of Troy to be destroyed entirely with her walls, and yes the heroic son of Venus bore on his shoulders holy images, and still another holy weight, his sire, a venerable burden. From all his wealth the pious hero chose this for his care, together with his child, Ascanius. Then with a fleet of exiles he sailed forth, he leaves and tanderous, leaves the wicked realm and shore of Thrace, now dripping with the blood of Polydorus. With fair winds and tide he and his comrades reach Apollo's Isle. But Aeneas, king of Delos, vigilant for all his subjects welfare, and as priests devoted to Apollo, took him there into his temple and his home, and showed the city, the famed shrines, and the two trees, which once Latona, while in labor, held. They burned sweet incense, added it to wine, and laid the flesh of cattle in the flames, an offering marked by custom for the god. Men in the palace and its kingly hall, reclining on luxurious couches, they drank flowing wine with Saras' gift of food. But old Incaisus asked, O chosen priest of Phoebus, can I be deceived? When I first saw these walls, did you not have a son, and twice two daughters? Is it possible I am mistaken? Aeneas replied, shaking his temples, raised with fillets white. It can be no mistake, great hero, you did see the father of five children then. So much the risk of fortune may affect the best of men. You see me now, almost bereft of all. For what assistance can my absent son afford, while he is king, the ruler over Andros, that land named for his name, over which he rules for me? The dealian god gave to my son the art of augury. And likewise, Liber gave my daughters precious gifts, exceeding all my wishes and belief. Since everything my daughters touched assumed the forms of corn, of sparkling wine, or gray green olive oil. Most surely wonderful advantages. Soon as a treatise he who conquered Troy had heard of this, for you should not suppose that we too did not suffer from your storms. He dragged my daughters there with savage force, from my beloved bosom to his hostile camp, and ordered them to feed the Argyve fleet, by their divinely given power of touch. Whichever way they could, they made escape. Two hastened to Euboea, and two sought their brother's island, Andros. Quickly then an Argyve squadron, following, threatened war, unless they were surrendered. The brother's love gave way to fear. And there is reason why you should forgive a timid brother's fear. He had no warrior like Aeneas, none like Hector, by whose prowess you held Troy from its destruction through ten years of war. Strong chains were brought to hold my daughters' arms. Both lifted suppliant hands, which still were free, to heaven, and cried, O Father Bacchus, give us needed aid. And he who had before given them the power of touch did give them aid, if giving freedom without human shape can be called giving aid. I never knew by what means they lost shape and cannot tell, but their calamity is surely known. My daughters were transformed to snow-white doves, white birds of Venus, guardian of your days. With this and other talk they shared the feast, then left the table and retired to sleep. They rose up with the day, and went at once to hear the Oracle of Phoebus speak. He counseled them to leave that land and find their ancient mother and their kindred shores. The king attended them, and gave them gifts when ready to depart. A scepter to Ancissus, and a robe and quiver to his grandson, and it gave a goblet to Aeneas, that which formerly was sent to him by Thersis, once his Theban guest. Thersis had sent it from Aeonian shores, but Alcon the Hylian should be named, for he had made the goblet and inscribed a pictured story on the polished side. There was a city shown with seven gates, from which the name could be derived by all. Inside the walls was a sad funeral, and tombs and fires and funeral pyres were shown, and many matrons with disheveled hair and naked breasts, expressive of their grief, and many nymphs, too, weeping mournfully because their streams were dry. Without a leaf the bear trees stood straight up, and the she-goats were nibbling in dry, stony fields. And there he carved Orion's daughters in the Theban square, one giving her bare throat a cruel cut, one with her shuttle making clumsy wounds, both dying for their people. Next they were borne out through the city with due funeral pomp, and the mourning crowds were gathered around their pyre. Then from the virgin ashes, lest the race should die, two youths arose, whose fame has named Koroni, and they shared in all the rights becoming from their mother's dust. Even so in shining figures all was shown inscribed on ancient bronze. The top rim, made quite rough, was gilded with acanthus leaves. Presence of equal worth the Trojans gave, a maple incense casket for the priest, a bowl, a crown adorned with gold and gems. End of Book 13, Part 3. In recollecting how the Trojans had derived their origin from Tusser's race, they sailed to Crete, but there could not endure ills sent by Jove, and, having left behind the hundred cities, they desired to reach the western harbors of the Ossonian land. Wintery seas then tossed the heroic band, and in a treacherous harbour of those isles, called Straffides, a yellow frightened them. They passed Delichium's port, and Ithaca, Samos, and all the homes of Nerotos, the kingdom of the shrewd deceitful man Ulysses. And they reached Ambracia, contended for by those disputing gods, which is today renowned abroad because of Actaean Apollo, and the stone seen there conspicuous as a transformed judge. They saw Dodona vocal with its oaks, and also the well-known Caeonian bays, where sons of the Melasian king escaped with wings attached from unavailing flames. They set their sails then for the neighbouring land of the Theatians, rich with luscious fruit, then for Epirus and to Buthrotos, and came then to a mimic town of Troy ruled by the Phrygian seer. With prophecies which Hellenus the son of Priam gave, they came to Sicily, whose three high capes jut outward in the sea. Out of these three points Pachynos faces toward the showery south, and Lilibium is exposed to soft, delicious zeffers. But Peloros looks out towards the bears which never touch the sea. The Trojans came there. Favoured by the tide and active oars, by nightfall all the fleet arrived together on Zanclean sands. Silla upon the right infests the shore, Charybdis restless on the left destroys. Charybdis swallows and then vomits forth misfortune ships that she has taken down. Silla's dark waist is girt with savage dogs. She has a maiden's face, and, if we may believe what poets tell, she was in olden times a maiden. Many suitors courted her, but she repulsed them. And because she was so much beloved by all the nereads, she sought these nymphs, and used to tell how she escaped from the love-stricken youths. But Galatia, while her loosened locks were being combed, said to her visitor, Truly, O maiden, a gentle race of men courts you, and so you can, and do, refuse all with impunity. But I, whose sire is nereus, whom the azure Doris bore, though guarded by so many sister-nymphs, escaped the Cyclops' love with tragic loss. And sobbing she was choked with tears. Then with her fingers marble-white and smooth, Silla had wiped away the rising tears of sorrow, and had comforted the nymph. She said, Tell me, dear goddess, and do not conceal from me, for I am true to you, the cause of your great sorrows. And the nymph, daughter of Nereus, thus replied to her. Asus, the son of Faunus, and the nymph Sometheus, was a great delight to his dear father and his mother, but even more to me, for he alone had won my love. Eight birthdays, having passed a second time, his tender cheeks were marked with softest down. While I pursued him with a constant love, the Cyclops followed me as constantly. And, should you ask me, I could not declare whether my hatred of him or my love of Asus was the stronger. They were equal. O gentle Venus, what power equals yours? That savage, dreaded by the forest trees, feared by the stranger who beholds his face, Contemner of Olympus and the gods, now he can feel what love is. He is filled with passion for me. He burns hot for me, forgetful of his cattle and his caves. Now, polyphemous, wretched Cyclops, you are careful of appearance, and you try the art of pleasing. You have even combed your stiffened hair with rakes. It pleases you to trim your shaggy beard with sickles while you gaze at your fierce features in a pool so earnest to compose them. Love of flesh, ferocity, and your keen thirst for blood have ceased. The ships may safely come and go. While all this happened, Telemus arrived at the Sicilian Etna. Telemus, the son of Urimus, who never could mistake an omen, met the dreadful, fierce, huge Cyclops polyphemus, and he said, That single eye now midmost in your brow Ulysses will take from you. In reply the Cyclops only laughed at him and said, Most silly of the prophets, you are wrong. A maiden has already taken it. So he made fun of Telemus, who warned him vainly of the truth. And after that he either burdened with his bulk the shore by stalking back and forth with lengthy strides, or came back weary to his shaded cave. A wedge-formed hill projects far in the sea, and either side there flow the salty waves. To this the giant savage climbed and sat upon the highest point. The woolly flock no longer guided by him followed after. After he had laid his pine-tree down which served him for a staff, although so tall it seemed best fitted for a ship's high mast, he played his shepherd pipes. In them I saw a hundred reeds. The very mountains felt the pipings of that shepherd, and the waves beneath him shook respondent to each note. All this time I was hidden by a rock reclining on the bosom of my own dear Asus, and although afar I heard such words as these which I cannot forget. O Galatea, fairer than the flower of snow-white privet, and more blooming than the meadows, and more slender than the tall, delightful alder, brighter than smooth glass, more wanton than the tender, skipping kid, smoother than shells worn by continual floods, more pleasing than the winter sun, or than the summer shade, more beautiful than fruit of apple trees, more pleasing to the sight than lofty plain tree, clearer than pure ice and sweeter than the ripe grape, softer than soft swan-down and the softest curdled milk, alas! And if you did not fly from me, I would declare you are more beautiful than any watered garden of this world. And yet, O Galatea, I must say that you are wilder than all untrained bullocks, harder than seasoned oak, more treacherous than tumbled waters, tougher than the twigs of osier in the white vine, harder to move than cliffs which front these waves, more violent than any torrent, you are prouder than the flattered peacock, fiercer than hot fire, rougher than thistles, and more cruel than the pregnant she-bear, deffer than the waves of stormy seas, more deadly savage than the trodden water-snake, and what I would endeavor surely to deprive you of, your speed is fleeter than the deer pursued by frightful barkings, and more swift than rapid storm winds in the flitting air. But Galatea, if you knew me well, you would regret your hasty flight from me, and you would even blame your own delay and strive for my affection. I now hold the choice part of this mountain for my cave, roofed over with the native rock. The sun is not felt in the heat of middle day, nor is the winter felt there. Apples load the bending boughs and luscious grapes hang on the lengthened vines, resembling gold, and purple grapes is rich. I keep for you those two delicious fruits. With your own hands you shall yourself uncover strawberries, growing so soft beneath the woodland shade, you shall pluck corners in the autumn ripe and plums, not only darkened with black juice, but larger kinds, as yellow as new wax. If I may be your mate, you shall have chestnuts, fruits of the arbute shall always be near, and every tree shall yield at your desire. The yews here all are mine, and many more are wandering in the valleys, and the woods conceal a multitude, and many more are penned within my caves. If you perchance should ask me, I could never even guess or count the number. It is for the poor to count their cattle. Do not trust my word, but go yourself and see with your own eyes, how they can hardly stand up on their legs because of their distended udders' weight. I have lambs also as a future flock, kept in warm folds, and kids of their same age in other folds. I always have supplies of snow-white milk for drinking, and much more is hardened with good rennet liquefied. The common joys of ordinary things will not be all you should expect of me. Tame doze and hares and she-goats or a pair of doves, or even a nest from a tall tree, for I have found upon a mountaintop the twin cubs of a shaggy, wild she-bear. Of such appearance you can hardly know the one from the other. They will play with you. The very day I found them, I declared, these I will keep for my dear loved one's joy. Do now but raise your shining head above the azure sea. Come, Galatia, come and do not scorn my presence. Certainly I know myself, for only recently I saw my own reflection pictured clear and limpid water, and my features pleased and charmed me when I saw it. See how huge I am! Not even Jove in his high heaven is larger than my body. This I say because you tell me how imperial Jove surpasses. Who is he? I never knew. My long hair plentifully hangs to hide unpleasant features. As a grove of trees overshadowing my shoulders. Never think my body is uncombly, although rough, thick-set with wiry bristles. Every tree without leaves is unseemly. Every horse, unless a mane hangs on his tawny neck, feathers must cover birds, and their soft wool is ornamental on the best-formed sheep. Therefore a beard and rough hair spread upon the body is becoming to all men. I have but one eye centered perfectly within my forehead, so it seems most like a mighty buckler. Ha! Does not the sun see everything from heaven? Yet it has but one eye. Galatia, you must know my father is chief ruler in your sea, and therefore I now offer him to you as your own father-in-law. But oh, do take some pity on a suppliant, and hear his prayer, for only unto you my heart is given. I, who despise the power of Jove, his heavens and piercing lightnings, am afraid of you. Your wrath more fearful than the lightnings flash, but I should be more patient under slights if you avoided all men. Why reject the cyclops for the love that Asus gives, and why prefer his smiles to my embraces, but let him please himself, and let him please you, Galatia, though against my will? If I am given an opportunity, he will be shown that I have every strength proportion to a body vast as mine. I will pull out his palpitating entrails, and scatter his torn limbs about the fields, and over and throughout your salty waves. And then let him unite himself to you. I burn so, and my slighted passion raves with greater fury, and I seem to hold and carry Etna in my breast, transferred there with its flames. O Galatia, can you listen to my passion thus unmoved? I saw all this, and, after he in vain had uttered such complaints, he stood up like a raging bull whose heifer has been lost, that cannot stand still, but must wander on through brush and forests, that he knows so well. When that fierce monster saw me in my aces, we neither knew nor guessed our fate. He roared, I see you, and you never will again parade your love before me. In such a voice as matched his giant size. All Etna shook and trembled at the noise, and I, amazed with horror, plunged into the adjoining sea. My loved one, aces, turned his back, and fled, and cried out, Help me, Galatia! Help! O let your parents help me, and admit me safe within their realm, for I am now near my destruction. But the Cyclops rushed at him, and hurled a fragment he had torn out from the mountain, and, although the extreme edge only of the rock could reach him there, it buried him entirely. Then I did the only thing the fates permitted me. I let my aces take ancestral power of river deities. The purple blood flowed from beneath the rock, but soon the sanguine richness faded, and became at first the color of a stream, disturbed and muddied by a shower, and presently it clarified. The rock that had been thrown then split into, and through the cleft a reed, stately and vigorous, arose to life, and soon the hollow mouth and the great rock resounded with the water's gushing forth. And wonderful to tell, a youth emerged, the water flowing clear about his waist, his new horns circled with entwining reeds, and the youth certainly was aces. Though he was of larger stature, and his face and features all were azure, aces changed into a stream which ever since that time has flowed there and retained its former name. So Galatea, after she had told her sorrow, ceased. And when the company had gone from there, the nearyads swam again in the calm and quiet waves. But Silassoon returned, because she did not trust herself in deep salt waters, and she wandered there naked of garments on the thirsty sand. But tired by chance she found a lonely bay, and cooled her limbs with its enclosing waves. Then suddenly appeared a newly made inhabitant of that deep sea whose name was Glaucus. Looking through the blue sea waves he swam towards her. His shape had been transformed but lately for this watery life, while he was living at Anthodon in Ubia. Now he is lingering from desire for her he saw there, and speaks whatever words he thought might stop her as she fled from him. Yet still she fled from him, and swift through fear climbed to a mountaintop above the sea. Facing the waves, it rose in one huge peak parting the waters with a forest crown. She stood on that high summit quite secure, and doubtful whether he might be a god or monster, wandered at his flowing hair which covered his broad shoulders and his back, and marveled at the color of his skin and at his waist merged into a twisted fish. All this he noticed, and while leaning there against a rock that stood nearby he said, I am no monster maiden, I am not a savage beast. I am in truth a god of waters with such power upon the seas as that of Proteus, Triton, or Palimon, reared on land the son of Athimus. Not long ago I was a mortal man, yet even then my thought turned to the sea, and all my living came from waters deep, for I would drag the nets that swept up fish, or seated on a rock I flung the line forth from the rod. The shore I loved was near a verdant meadow, one side with the waves the other grass, which never had been touched by horned grazing cattle. This sheep and shaggy goats had never cropped it, no industrious bee came there to harvest flowers, no festive garlands had been gathered there adornments of the head, no mower's hands had ever cut it. I was certainly the first to ever sat upon that turf, while I was drying there the dripping nets, and so that I might in due order count the fish that I had caught, I laid out those which by good chance were driven into my nets, or credulous were caught on my barbed hooks. It all seems like a fiction, but what good can I derive from fictions? Just as soon as any of my fish-prey touched the grass they instantly began to move and skip as usual in sea water. While I paused and wondered all of them slid to the waves, and left me their late captor and the shore. I was amazed and doubtful a long time, while I considered what could be the cause, what God had done this, or perhaps the juice of some herb caused it, but I said what herb can have such properties, and with my hand I plucked the grass and chewed it with my teeth. My throat had hardly time to swallow those unheard of juices, when I suddenly felt all my entrails throbbing inwardly, and my entire mind also felt possessed by passions foreign to my life before. I could not stay in that place, and I said with shouting, Farewell, dry land, nevermore shall I revisit you. And with those words upon my lips I plunged beneath the waves. The gods of that deep water gave to me when they received me kindred honors, while they prayed Oceanus and Tethys both to take from me such mortal essence as might yet remain. So I was purified by them, and after a good charm had been nine times repeated over me, which washed away all guilt, I was commanded then to put my breast beneath a hundred streams. So far I can relate to you all things most worthy to be told, for all so far I can remember. But from that time on I was unconscious of the many things that followed. When my mind returned to me I found myself entirely different from what I was before, and my changed mind was not the same as it had always been. Then for the first time I beheld this beard so green in its deep color, and I saw my flowing hair which now I sweep along the spacious seas, and my huge shoulders with their azure colored arms, and I observed my leg extremities hung tapering exactly perfect as a finny fish. But what avail is this new form to me? Although it pleased the ocean deities, what benefit, although I am a God, if you are not persuaded by these things? While he was telling wonders such as these, quite ready to say more, Silla arose and left the God. Provoked at his repulse enraged he hastened to the marvellous court of Cersei, well-known daughter of the son. End of Book 13, Part 4, Recording by Brian Haggerty, Minneapolis, Minnesota.