 Book 4, Part 3 of Ovid'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. Recording by David Goldfarb. Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Nazo, translated by Brooks Moore. Book 4, Part 3. Throughout the land of Thebes, miraculous the power of Bacchus waxed, and far and wide Eno, his aunt, reported the great deeds by this divinity performed. Of all her sisters only she escaped unharmed when fate destroyed them, and she knew not grief, only for sorrow of her sister's woes. While Eno vaunted of her mother joys and of her kingly husband, Athimus, and of the mighty God her foster child, Juno, disdaining her in secret, said, How shall the offspring of a concubine transform Mayonian mariners, overwhelm them in the ocean, sacrifice a son to his deluded mother, who, insane, tears out his entrails? How shall he invent wings for three daughters of King Minas, while Juno unavenged bewails despite? Is it the end? The utmost of my power? His deeds instruct the way, true wisdom heeds an enemy's device. By the strange death of Penthus all that madness could perform was well revealed to all. What then denies a frenzy may unravel Eno's course to such a fate as wrought her sister's woe? A shelving path in shadows of sad ewe, through utter silence to the deep descends, infernal, where the languid sticks exhaled vapours, and there the shadows of the dead descend after they leave their sacred urns and ghostly forms invade, and far and wide those dreary regions horror and bleak cold obtain. The ghosts arrived not know the way which leadeth to the Stygian city gates, not know the melancholy palace where the swarthy Pluto stays, though streets and ways a thousand to that city lead, and gates out swing from every side, and as the sea with never seen increase engulfs the streams unnumbered of the world, that realm enfolds the souls of men, nor ever is it filled. Around the shadowy spirits go, bloodless, boneless, and bodiless. They throng the place of judgment, or they haunt the mansion where abides the utmost tyrant, or they tend to various callings as their whilome way. Their punishment confines to pain the multitude condemned. To this abode, impelled by rage and hate, from habitation celestial, Juno of Saturn-born descends, submissive to its dreadful element. No sooner had she entered the sad gates than groans were uttered by the threshold, pressed by her immortal form, and Cerberus, upraising his three visorged mouths, gave vent to triple-barking howls. He called to her the sisters, night begot, implacable, terrific furies. They did sit before the prison portals, adamant, confined, combing black vipers from their horrid hair. When her admit the night surrounding shades, they recognized those deities up-rose. O dread confines, dark seat of wretched vice, where stretched a thwart nine acres titious, must thou endure thine entrails to be torn. O tantalus, thou canst not touch the wave, and from thy clutch the hanging branches rise. O Sisyphus, thou canst not stay the stone, catching or pushing. It must fall again. O thou Ixian, world around, around, thyself must follow to escape thyself. And O belladies, plotter of sad death upon thy cousins, thou art always doomed to dip forever ever spilling waves. Even that the daughter of Saternas fixed a stern look on those wretches, first her glanced arrested on Ixian, but the next on Sisyphus, and thus the goddess spoke, for why should he alone of all his kin suffer eternal doom, while Athimus, luxurious and assumptuous palace reigns, and haughty with his wife, despises me. So grieved she, and expressed the rage of hate that such descent inspired, beseeching us, no longer should the house of Cadmus stand, so that the sister furies plunge in crime over weaning Athimus. In treating them she mingled promises with her commands. When Juno ended speech, to Siphony, whose locks entangled are not ever smooth, tossed them around, that backward from her face such crawling snakes were thrown, then answered she, since what thy will decrees may well be done, why need we to consult with many words? Leave thou this hateful region, and convey thyself contented to a better realm. Rejoicing Juno hastens to the clouds, before she enters her celestial home, Iris, the child of Thalmas, purifies her limbs in sprinkled water. Waiting not, to Siphony revengeful takes a torch, besmeared with blood invested in a robe, dripping with crimson gore, and twisting snakes and girdled, she departs her dire abode, with twitching madness, terror, fear, and woe, and when she had arrived the destined house, the doorposts shrank from her, the maple doors turned ashen gray, the sun, amazed, fled. Afrighted, Athimus and Eno viewed and fled these prodigies, but suddenly that baneful fury stood across the way, blocking the passage. There she stands, with arms extended and alive, with twisting vipers. She shakes her hair, the moving serpents hiss, they cling upon her shoulders and they glide around her temples, dart their fangs, and vomit corruption. Plucking from the midst two snakes, she hurls them with her pestilential hand upon her victims, Athimus and Eno, whom, although the vipers strike upon their breasts, no injury attacks their mortal parts, only their minds are stricken with wild rage, inciting to mad violence and crime, and with a monstrous composite of foam, once gathered from the mouth of Cerberus, the venom of Echidna, purposeless aberrances, crimes, tears, hatred, the lust of homicide and the dark vaporings of foolish brains, a liquid poison mixed and mingled with fresh blood in hollow brass and boiled and stirred up with a slip of hemlock. She took of it, and as they trembled through that mad mixed poison on them, and it scorched their inmost vitals, and she waved her torch repeatedly within a circle's rim and added flame to flame. Confident of having executed her commands, the fury hastened to the void expanse where he Pluto reigns, and swiftly put aside the serpents that were wreathed around her robes. At once the son of Eolus, enraged, shouts loudly in his palace, "'Home, my lads! Spread out your nets! A savage lioness and her twin welps are lurking in the wood! Behold them!' In his madness he believes his wife a savage beast. He follows her, and quickly from her bosom snatches up her smiling babe Learchus, holding forth his tiny arms, and whirls him in the air, times twice and thrice, as whirls the whizzing sling, and dashes him in pieces on the rocks, cracking his infant bones. The mother, roused to frenzy, who can tell if grief the cause or fires of scattered poison, yells aloud, and with her torn hair tangled running mad, she carries swiftly in her clutching arms her little meliserta, and begins to shout, "'Eave away, Bacchee!' You know here's the shouted name of Bacchus, and she laughs and taunts her. Let thy foster child award!' There is a crag, out jutting on the deep, worn hollow at the base by many waves, where not the rain may ripple on that pool. High up the rugged summit overhangs its ragged brows above the open sea. There Eno climbs, with frenzy given strength, and fearless with her burden in her arms, leaps in the waves where whitening foams arise. Bacchus takes pity on her guiltless child, unfortunate granddaughter, and begins to soothe her uncle Neptune with these words, "'O Neptune, ruler of the deep, to whom next to the power in heaven was given sway, consider my request, open thy heart to my descendants which thine eyes behold tossed on the wild Ionian sea. I do implore thee, remember they are thy true deities, are thine as well as mine, for it is known my birth was from the white foam of thy sea, a truth made certain by migration name.' Neptune regards her prayer, he takes from them their mortal dross, he clothes in majesty and hallows their appearance, even their names and forms are altered. Meliserta changed is now Pellimon called, and Eno changed Lucothea called, are known as deities. When her Sedonian attendants traced fresh footprints to the last verge of the rock and found no further vestige, they declared her dead, nor had they any doubt of it. They tore their garments and their hair, and wailed the house of Katmus, and they cursed at Juno for the sad fate of the wretched concubine. That goddess could no longer brook their words, and thus made answer, I will make of you eternal monuments of my revenge.' Her words were instantly confirmed. The one whose love for Eno was the greatest cried, "'Into the deep, look, look, I seek my queen!' But even as she tried to leap, she stood fast, rooted to the ever-living rock. Another as she tried to beat her breast with blows repeated, noticed that her arms grew stiff and hard. Another as by chance was petrified with hands stretched over the waves. Another could be seen as suddenly her fingers hardened, clutching at her hair to tear it from the roots. And each remained forever in the posture first assumed. But others of those women, sprung from Katmus, were changed to birds that, always with wide wings, skimmed lightly the dark surface of that sea. Unwitting that his daughter and his son are ocean deities, Agenor's son, depressed by sorrow and unnumbered woes, calamities and prodigies untold, the founder fled the city he had built, as though fatalities that gathered round that city grieved him deeper than the fate of his own family, and thence at last arrived the confines of Illyria, in exile with his wife. Created with woe, bowed down with years, their minds recalled the time when first disaster fell upon their house. Relating their misfortunes, Katmus spoke, Was that a sacred dragon that my spear impaled, when on the way from Sidon's gates I planted in the earth those dragon teeth unthought of seed? If haplitus the gods, whose rage unerring gives me to revenge, I only pray that I may lengthen out as any serpent. Even as he spoke, he saw and felt himself increase in length, his body coiled into a serpent's form, bright scales enveloped his indurate skin, and as your macules in speckled pride enriched his glowing folds, and as he fell supinely on his breast, his legs were joined and gradually tapered as a serpent's tail. Some time his arms remained, which stretching forth while tears rolled down his human face not changed as yet, he said, Hither, oh hapless one, come hither my unhappy wife, while the autist left of manhood, touch me, take my hand unchanged as yet, ah, soon this serpent form will cover me. So did he speak, nor thought to make an end, but suddenly his tongue became twin-forked, as often as he tried a hissing sound escaped, the only voice that nature left him, and his wife bewailed and smote her breast. Ah, Katmus, ah, most helpless one, put off that monster's shape! Your feet, your shoulders, and your hands are gone, your manly form, your very color gone, all, all is changed! Oh, why not ye celestial gods, me likewise to a serpent-shaped transform? So ended her complaint. Katmus caressed her gently with his tongue, and slid to her dear bosom, just as if he knew his wife, and he embraced her, and he touched her neck. All their attendants who had seen the change were filled with fear, but when, as crested snakes, the twain appeared in brightly glistening mail, their grief was lightened, and the pair, and wreathed in twisting coils, departed from that place, and sought a covert in the nearest grove. There then these gentle serpents never shun mankind, nor wound, nor strike with poison fangs, for they are always conscious of the past. The fortune of their grandson Bakas gave great comfort to them, as a god adored in conquered India, by Achaia praised in stately temples. But Ecriceus, the son of Abbas of the Cadmian race, remained to banish Bakas from the walls of Argos, and to lift up hostile arms against that deity, who he denied was born to Jove. He would not even grant that Perseus from the loins of Jupiter was god of Denai in the showering gold. So might he as the hidden power of truth, Ecriceus soon lamented that affront to Bakas, and that ever he refused to own his grandson, for the one achieved high heaven, and the other as he bore the viperous monster head, on sounding wings hovered a conqueror in the fluent air over sands, Libyan, where the gorgon head dropped clots of gore, that, quickening on the ground, became unnumbered serpents, fitting cause to curse with vipers that infested land. Then swafted by the never constant winds, through boundless latitudes, now here, now there, as flits of vapor cloud in dizzy flight, down looking from the lofty skies on earth, removed far, so compassed he the world. Three times did he behold the frozen bears, times thrice his gaze was on the crabs bent arms, now shifting to the west, now to the east, how often changed his course. Time came when, day declining, he began to fear the night, by which he stopped his flight far in the west, the realm of Atlas, where he sought repose to Lucifer might call Aurora's fires, Aurora chariot of the day. There dwelt huge Atlas, vaster than the race of man. John of Yapetus, his lordly sway, extended over those extreme domains and over oceans that command their waves to take the panting coursers of the sun, and bathe the worried chariot of the day. For him a thousand flocks, a thousand herds over wandered pasture fields, and neighbour tribes might none disturb that land. A glint with gold bright leaves adorn the trees, boughs golden rot, bear apples of pure gold. And Perseus spoke to Atlas. Oh, my friend, if thou art moved to hear the story of a noble race, the author of my life is Jupiter. If valiant deeds perhaps are thy delight, mine may deserve thy praise. Behold of thee kind treatment I implore, a place of rest. But Atlas, mindful of an oracle, since by famous the Parnassian told, recalled these words. Oh, Atlas, mark the day a son of Jupiter shall come to spoil, for when thy tree is being stripped of golden fruit, the glory shall be his. Fearful of this, Atlas had built solid walls around his orchard and secured a dragon, huge, that kept perpetual guard and thence expelled all strangers from his land. Wherefore, he said, be gone, the glory of your deeds is all pretense, even Jupiter will fail your need. With that he added force and strove to drive the hesitating alien from his doors, who pled reprieve or threatened with bold words. Although he dared not rival Atlas might, Perseus made this reply, for that my love you hold in light esteem, let this be yours. He said no more, but turning his own face he showed upon his left Medusa's head abhorrent features. Atlas, huge and vast, becomes a mountain. His great beard and hair are forests, and his shoulders and his hands mountainous ridges, and his head the top of a high peak, his bones are changed to rocks. Augmented on all sides, enormous height attains his growth, so ordained it ye, O mighty gods, who now the heavens expanse unnumbered stars on him command to rest. In their eternal prison Aeolus, grandson of Hippitus, had shut the winds, and Lucifer, reminder of our toil, in splendor rose upon the lofty sky, and Perseus bound his wings upon his feet on each foot bound he then. His sword he girded and sped wing footed through the liquid air. In numerous kingdoms far behind were left, till people's Ethiopic and the lands of Cepheus were beneath his lofty view. There Amon the unjust had made decree and drama to the innocent should grieve her mother's tongue. They bound her fettered arms fast to the rock, when Perseus her beheld as marble he would deem her, but the breeze moved in her hair, and from her streaming eyes the warm tears fell. Her beauty so amazed his heart, unconscious captive of her charms, that almost his swift wings forgot to wave. Alighted on the ground he thus began, O fairest, whom these chains become not so, but worthy are for links that lovers bind, make known to me your country's name and yours, and wherefore bound in chains. A moment then, as overcome with shame she made no sound, were not she fettered she would surely hide her blushing head, but what she could perform that did she do, she filled her eyes with tears. So pleaded he that lest refusal seem implied confession of a crime, she told her name, her country's name, and how her charms had been her mother's pride. But as she spoke the mighty ocean roared, over the waves a monster fast approached, its head held high, abreast the wide expanse. The virgin shrieked, no aid her wretched father gave, nor aid her still more wretched mother, but they wept and mingled lamentations with their tears, clinging distracted to her fettered form, and thus the stranger spoke to them. Time waits for tears, but flies the moment of our need. Were I who am the son of Regal Jove, and her whom he embraced in showers of gold, leaving her pregnant in her brazen cell? I, Perseus, who destroyed the gorgon, wreathed with snake-hair. I, who dared on waving wings to cleave ethereal air. Were I to ask the maiden marriage, I should be preferred above all others as your son-in-law? Not satisfied with deeds achieved, I strived to add such merit as the gods permit. Now therefore should my valor save her life, be it conditioned that I win her love. To this her parents gave a glad assent, for who could hesitate? And they entreat and promise him the kingdom as a dower. As a great ship with steady prow speeds on, forced forwards by the sweating arms of youth it plows the deep. So, breasting the great waves, the monster moved, until to reach the rock no further space remained than might the world of belleric string encompass, through the middle skies, with the plummet mold of lead. That instant, spurning with his feet the ground, the youth rose upwards to a cloudy height, and when the shadow of the hero marked the surface of the sea, this monster sought vainly to vent his fury on the shade. As the swift bird of Jove, when he beholds a basking serpent in an open field exposing to the sun its mottled back, and seizes on its tail, lest it shall turn to strike with venomed fang, he fixes fast his grasping talons in the scaly neck. So did the winged youth in rapid flight through yielding elements, pressed down on the great monster's back, and thrust his sword sheared to the hilt in its right shoulder. Loud its frightful torture sounded over the waves. So fought the hero's son of Inacus. Wild with the grievous wound, the monster rears high in the air, or plunges in the waves, or wheels around as turns the frightened boar shunning the hounds around him in full cry. The hero on his active wings avoids the monster's jaws, or with his crooked sword tortures its back wherever he may pierce its mail of hollow shell, or strikes betwixt the ribs each side, or wounds its lashing tail long tapered as a fish. The monster spouts forth streams, incarnadine'd with blood, that spray upon the hero's wings, who drenched and heavy with the spume, no longer dares to trust existence to his dripping wings, but he discerns a rot, which rises clear above the water when the sea is calm, but now is covered by the lashing waves. On this he rests, and as his left hand holds firm on the utmost ledge he thrusts his sword, times more than three, unswerving in his aim, sheer through the monster's entrails. Shouts of praise resound along the shores, and even the gods may hear his glory in their high abodes. Her parents, Cepheus and Cassiope, most joyfully salute their son-in-law, declaring him the saviour of their house. And now her chain struck off, the lovely cause and gairdun of his toil walks on the shore. The hero washes his victorious hands in water newly taken from the sea, but lest the sand upon the shore might harm the viper-covered head, he first prepared a bed of springing leaves on which he threw weeds of the sea produced beneath the waves. On them he laid Medusa's awful face, daughter of Forcus, and the living weeds, fresh taken from the boundless deep, imbibed the monster's poison in their spongy pith. They hardened at the touch, and felt in branch and leaf unwanted stiffness. See nymphs too attempted to perform that prodigy on numerous other weeds, with like result. So pleased at their success they raised new seeds from plants wide-scattered on the salt expanse. Even from that day the coral has retained such wondrous nature that exposed to air it hardens, thus a plant beneath the waves becomes a stone when taken from the sea. Three alters to three gods he made of turf. To thee, victorious virgin, did he build an altar on the right, to Mercury an altar on the left, and unto Job an altar in the midst. He sacrificed a heifer to Minerva, and a calf to Mercury the wing-foot, and a bull to thee, O greatest of the deities. Without a dour he takes Andromeda, the garden of his glorious victory, nor hesitates. Now pacing in the van both love and hymen waved the flaring torch, abundant perfumes lavished in the flames. The houses are bedecked with wreathed flowers and liars and flageolets resound, and songs, felicit notes that happy hearts declare. The portals opened, sumptuous halls display their golden splendors, and the noble lords of Cepheus court take places of the feast magnificently served. After the feast, when every heart was warming to the joys of Genial Bacchus, then Lincidian Perseus asked about the land in its ways, about the customs and the character of its heroes. Straightway one of the dinner companions made reply and asked in turn, Now, valiant Perseus, pray tell the story of the deed that all may know, and what the arts and power prevailed when you struck off the serpent-covered head. There is, continued Perseus of the house of Aginor, there is a spot beneath cold Atlas, wherein bulwarks of enormous strength to guard its rocky entrance, dwelt two sisters born of Forkus. These were want to share and turn a single eye between them, this by craft I got possession of when one essayed to hand it to the other, I put forth my hand and took it as it passed between. Then, far, remote, through rocky pathless crags, over wild hills that bristled with great woods, I thence arrived to where the gorgon dwelt. Along the way, in fields and by the roads, I saw on all sides men and animals, like statues, turned to flinty stone at sight of dread Medusa's visage. Nevertheless, reflected on the brazen shield I bore upon my left, I saw her horrid face. When she was helpless in the power of sleep, and even her serpent hair was slumber-bound, I struck, and took her head shear from the neck. To wing of Pegasus the blood gave birth, and his brother also, twins of rapid wing. So did he speak, and truly told besides the perils of his journey, arduous and long, he told of seas and lands that far beneath him he had seen, and of the stars that he had touched while on his waving wings. And yet, before they were aware, the tale was ended, he was silent. Then rejoined a noble with inquiry while alone of those three sisters snakes were interspersed in dread Medusa's locks, and he replied, "'Because, O stranger, it is your desire to learn what worthy is for me to tell. Hear ye the cause.' Beyond all others she was famed for beauty, and the envious hope of many suitors. Words would fail to tell the glory of her hair most wonderful of all her charms. A friend declared to me he saw its lovely splendor. Upon declares, the sovereign of the sea attained her love in chaste Minerva's temple, while enraged she turned her head away and held her shield before her eyes. To punish that great crime, Minerva changed the Gorgon's splendid hair to serpents horrible, and now to strike her foes with fear she wears upon her breast those awful vipers creatures of her rage. End of book four, part three, recording by David Goldfarb, Houston, Texas. Book five, part one of Ovid'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 Brooksmore. Book five, part one. While Perseus, the brave son of Jupiter, surrounded at the feast by Cepheus' lords, narrated this, a raging multitude with sudden outcry filled the royal courts. Not with the clamors of a wedding feast, but boisterous rage, pretentious of dread war, as when the fury of a great wind strikes a tranquil sea, tempestuous billows roll across the peaceful bosom of the deep. So were the pleasures at the banquet changed to sudden tumult. Foremost of that throng, the rash ringleader Phineus, shook his spear, brass-tipped of ash, and shouted, Ha, tis I, I come avenger of my ravished bride. Let now your flittering wings deliver you, or even Jupiter, dissolved in showers of imitation gold. So boasted he, aiming his spear at Perseus. Thus to him cried Cepheus, Hold your hand and strike him not. What strange delusions, O my brother, have compelled you to this crime. Is it the just requital of heroic worth? A fair regarden for the life of her you loved? If truth were known, not Perseus ravished her from you, but either t'was the awful god that rules the neurades, or Amon crowned with crescent horns, or that monstrosity of oceans vast abyss which came to glut his famine on the issue of my loins. Nor was your suit abandoned till the time when she must perish and be lost to you. So cruel are you, seeking my daughter's death, rejoicing lightly in our deep despair. And was it not enough for you to stand subheimly by, while she was bound in chains, and offer no assistance, though you were her lover and betrothed? And will you grieve that she was rescued from a dreadful fate, and spoil her champion of his just rewards? Rewards that now may seem magnificent, but not denied to you if you had won and saved, when she was fettered to the rock. Let him, whose strength to my declining years restored my child, receive the merit due his words and deeds. And know his suit was not preferred to yours, but granted to prevent her certain death. Not daining to reply, against them Phineas stood, and glancing back from him to Perseus, with alternate looks as doubtful which should feel his first attack made brief delay. Then vain at Perseus hurled his spear with all the force that rage inspired, but missing him it quivered in the couch. Beyond endurance Perseus leaped forth from the cushioned seats and fiercely sent that outrenched weapon back. It would have pierced his hostile breast had not the miscreant crouched behind the altars. Oh, perverted good, that thus an altar should have bet the wrong. But though the craven Phineas escaped, not vainly flew the whizzing point but struck in rotis's far-head. As the barb was torn out of the bone, the victim's heels began to kick upon the floor, and spouting blood defiled the festival board. Then truly flame and uncontrolled rage the vulgar crowd, and hurl their harmful darts. And there are some who hold that Cepheus and his son-in-law deserved to die, but Cepheus had passed forth the threshold of his palace, having called on all the gods of hospitality and truth and justice to attest. He gave no comfort to the enemies of peace. Unconquered palace is at hand, and holds her ages to protect her brother's life. She lends him dauntless courage. At the feast was one from India's distant shores whose name was Athos. It was said that Limnate, the daughter of the river Ganges, him in fitreous caverns bright had brought to birth. And now at 16 summers in his prime, the handsome youth was clad in costly robes, a purple mantle with golden fringe covered his shoulders. And a necklace, carved of gold, enhanced the beauty of his throat. His hair encompassed with a coronal, delighted with sweet myrrh. Well-taught was he to hurl the javelin at a distant mark, and none with better skill could stretch the bow. No sooner had he bent the plyate horns than Perseus, with his smoking billet, seized from the mid-alter, struck him on the face, and smashed his features in his broken skull. And when Assyrian Lycobus had seen his dear companion, whom he truly loved, beating his handsome countenance in blood, and when he had bewailed his lost life, that ebbed away from that unpidious wound, he snatched the bow that Athos used and said, Let us in single combat seek revenge, not long will you rejoice the stripling's fate, a deed most worthy shame. So speaking, forth the piercing arrow bounded from the cord, which, though avoided, struck the hero's cloak and fastened in its folds. Then Perseus turned upon him with the trusted curving sword, cause of Medusa's death, and drove the blade deep in his breast. The dying victim's eyes, now swimming in a shadowous night, looked round for Athos, whom, beholding, he reclined upon, and ushered to the other world, sad consolation of united death. And Forbus, the descendant of Methion, who hailed from Far Sain, with his friend and Fimodan of Libya, in their haste to join the battle, slipped up in the blood and fell together, just as they arose that glittering sword was driven through the throat of Forbus into the ribs of his companion. But Aerithus, the son of Aktor, swung a battleaxe so weighty, Perseus chose not combat with his curving blade. He seized, in his two hands, a huge bowl wrought around with large design, outstanding from its mass. This lifting up, he dashes on his foe, who vomits crimson blood, and falling back, beats on the hard floor with his dying head. And next he slew Caucasian Ibaris and Polly Damon from Semiramis, nobly descended. And Spurcius, son Lycidus, long-haired Alysses, unshawn, clitis and fledgius, the hero slew, and trampled on the dying heaped around. Not daring to engage his enemy in open contest, Phineus held aloof and hurled his javelin, badly aimed by some mishance, or turned it wounded Aydus, who had followed neither side, vain hoping thus to shun the conflict. Aydus filled with rage on Phineus gazed with futile hate, and said, since I am forced unwilling to such deeds behold whom you have made your enemy, O savage Phineus, let your recompense be stroke for stroke. So speaking, from the wound he drew the steel but faint from loss of blood, before his arm could hurl the weapon back, he sank upon his knees. Here also lies Adityes, noblest of the Saphonies, save Cepheus only, slaughtered by the sword of Climynus. And Prothonor lies victim to Hipsius, by his side Hipsius slaughtered by Lycidus Falls. And in the midst of this destruction stood a Matheon, now an aged man, revered, who feared the gods and stood for upright deeds. And since his years denied him strength for war, he battled with his tongue, and railed, and cursed their impious weapons. As that aged man clings to the altar with his trembling hands, Cromus, with ruthless sword, cuts off his head, which straightway falls upon the altar whence his dying tongue denounces them in words of execration, and his soul expires amid the altar flames. Then Brodeus and Ammon, his twin brother, who not knew their equals at the Cestus by the hand of Phineus fell, for what avails indeed the Cestus as a weapon matched with swords. Ampicus by the same hand fell, the priest of Ceres with his temples wreathed in white. And oh, Iopetides, not for this did you attend the feast. Your voice attuned melodius to the harp was in request to celebrate the wedding day with song. A work of peace, as you did stand aside holding the peaceful plectrum in your hand, the mocking pedilus in ridicule said, go, senior ditties, to the Stygian shades. And mocking thus, he drove his pointed sword in your right temple. As your limbs gave way, your dying fingers swept the tuneful strings. And falling, you did chant a mournful dirge. You, to avenge enraged Lycormus, tore a huge bar from the doorpost on the right, and dashing it against the mocker crushed his neck bones. As a slaughtered bullock falls, he tumbled to the ground. Then on the left, syniphean pellities began to wrench an oak plank from the doorpost, but the spear of Corithus, the son of Marmaras, pinioned his right hand to the wooden post, and while he struggled, Abbas pierced his side. He fell not to the floor, but dying hung suspended from the doorpost by his hand. And of the friends of Perseus, Melanius was slain and Doralus, whose wealth was large in Nassimonian land. No other lord as Doralus, such vast estates possessed, no other owned so many heaps of corn. The missile steel stood fastened in his groin, obliquely fixed, a fatal spot. And when the author of his wound, Halcyonius, the Bactrian, beheld his victim thus, rolling his eyes and sobbing forth his soul, he railed. Keep for yourself, of all your lands, as much as you can cover. And he left the bleeding corpse. But Perseus in revenge hurled after him a spear, which in his need he ripped out from the wound, yet warm, and struck the boaster on the middle of his nose. The piercing steel passed through his nose and neck, remained projecting from the front and back. And while good fortune helped his hand, he slew Clannus and Clidius of one mother born. But with a different wound he slaughtered each. For leveled by a mighty arm, his ashen spear drove through the thighs of Clidius, right and left, and Clannus bit the javelin with his teeth. And by his might Mendizian Celadon and Atreus fell, his mother of the tribes of Palestine, his father was unknown, Aethion also, who could well foresee the things to come, but was at last deceived by some false omen. And Thuactis fell, the armor-bearer of the king, and next the infamous Agirteus, who had slain his father. These he slew, and though his strength was nearly spent, so many more remained, for now the multitude with one accord conspired to slaughter him. From every side the raging troops assailed the better cause, in vain the pious father and the bride, together with her mother, filled the halls with lamentations, for the clash of arms the groans of fallen heroes drowned their cries. Bologna, in a sea of blood, has drenched their household gods, polluted by these deeds, and she endeavors to renew the strife. Perseus, alone against that raging throng, is now surrounded by a myriad men, led on by Phineas, and their flying darts as thick as wintry tail are showered around on every side, grazing his eyes and ears. Quickly he fixed his shoulder firm against the rock of a great pillar, which secured his back from danger, and he faced his foes, and baffled their attack. Upon his left Cainian Mulpius pressed, and on his right in a bathion called Ethamon pressed. As when a tiger from a valley hears the lowing of two herds and separate fields, though hunger urges he knows not on which to spring, but rages equally for each. So Perseus, doubtful which may first attack his left or right, knows not on which to turn, but stands attentive witness to the flight of Mulpius, whom he wounded in the leg. Nor could he choose, Ethamon, full of rage, pressed on him to inflict a fatal wound deep in his neck, but with unconscious force struck the stone pillar with his ringing sword and shattered the metal blade close to the hilt. The flying fragment pierced its owner's neck, but not with mortal wound. In vain he pled for mercy, stretching forth his helpless arms. Perseus transfixed him with his glittering blade, Cailinian. When he saw his strength was yielding to the multitude, he said, Since you have forced disaster on yourselves, why should I hesitate to save myself? O friends, avert your faces if you stand before me. And he raised Medusa's head. Thessalus answered him, Seek other dupes to chase with wonders. Just as he prepared to hurl the deadly javelin from his hand he stood, unmoving in that attitude a marble statue. Ampex close to him, exulting in a mighty spirit, made a lunge to pierce lincities in the breast, but as his sword was flashing in the air his right arm grew so rigid, there he stood unable to draw back or thrust it forth. But Nilius, who had feigned himself, begot by sevenfold Nile, and carved his shield with gold and silver streams, alternate seven shouted, Look, look, O Perseus, him from whom I sprung, and you shall carry to the silent shades a mighty consolation in your death that you were slain by such a one as I. That in the midst of boasting the last words were silence and his open mouth, although incapable of motion, seemed intent to utter speech. Then Erex, chiding, says, Your craven spirits have benumbed you, not Medusa's poison. Come with me and strike this youthful mover of magician charms down to the ground. He started with a rush. The earth detained his steps. It held him fast. He could not speak. He stood, complete with arms, a statue. Such a penalty was theirs and justly earned. But nearby there was one, a Kantius, who, defending Perseus, saw Medusa as he fought, and at the sight the soldier hardened to an upright stone. Assured he was alive, a styagese now struck him with his long sword, but the blade resounded with a ringing note, and there astonished at the sound a styagese himself assumed that nature, and remained with wonder pictured on his marble face. And not to weary with the names of men sprung from the middle classes, there remained two hundred warriors eager for the fight, as soon as they could see Medusa's face, two hundred warriors stiffened into stone. At last, repentant, Phineas dreads the war, unjust, for in a helpless fright he sees the statues standing in strange attitudes, and recognizing his adherents calls on each by name to rescue from that death, still unbelieving he begins to touch the body as nearest to himself, and all are hard stone. Having turned his eyes away, he stretched his hands and arms obliquely back to Perseus, and confessed his wicked deeds, and thus imploring spoke, Remove, I pray, O Perseus, thou invincible remove from me that dreadful Gorgon, take away the stone-creating countenance of thy unspeakable Medusa, for we ward not out of hatred nor to gain a throne, but clashed our weapons for a woman's sake. Thy merit proved thy valid claim, and time gave argument for mine. It grieves me not to yield, O bravest, only give me life, and all the rest be thine. Such words implored the craven, never daring to address his eyes to whom he spoke, and thus returned the valiant Perseus. I will grant to you, O timid-hearted Phineas, as behoves your conduct, and it should appear a gift magnanimous to one who fears to move. Take courage, for no steel shall violate your caucus, and, moreover, you shall be a monument that ages may record your unforgotten name. You shall be seen thus always in the palace where resides my father-in-law, that my surrendered spouse may soften her great grief when she but sees the darling image of her first betrothed. He spoke and moved Medusa to that side where Phineas had turned his trembling face, and as he struggled to avert his gaze, his neck grew stiff. The moisture in his eyes was hardened into stone, and since that day his timid face and coward eyes and hands, forever shall be guilty as in life. After such deeds, victorious Perseus turned, and sought the confines of his native land, together with his bride, which, having reached, he punished Proteus, who by force of arms had routed his own brother from the throne of Argos. By his aid, a Chrissius, although his undeserving parent, gained his citadels once more. For Proteus failed, with all his arms and towers unjustly held, to quell the grim-eyed monster, snake-begin. Yet not the valor of the youth upheld by many labors, nor his grievous wrongs have softened you, a polydectee's king of little seraphus, but bitter hate ungoverned wrangles in your hardened heart. There is no limit to your unjust rage. Even his praises are defamed by you, and all your arguments are given to prove Medusa's death a fraud. Perseus rejoined. By this we give our true pledge of the truth, avert your eyes. And by Medusa's face he made the features of that impious king of bloodless stone. Through all these mighty deeds, Pallas, Minerva, had availed to guide her gold-begotten brother. Now she sped, surrounded in a cloud from seraphus, while Synthesis on the right and Gyrus far faded from her view. And where a path, high over the deep sea, leads the near way, she winged the air for Thebes and Helicon haunt of the Virgin Nine. High on that mount, she stayed her flight, and with these words bespoke those well-taught sisters. Fame has given to me the knowledge of a new-made fountain, gift of Pegasus, that fleet's steed from the blood of Dread Medusa sprung. It opened when this hard hoof struck the ground. It is the cause that brought me. For my longing to have seen this fountain, miraculous and wonderful, grows not the lesson that myself did see the swift steed nascent from maternal blood, to which Urania thus, whatever the cause that brings thee to our habitation, thou, O goddess, art to us the greatest joy. And now, to answer thee, reports are true, this fountain is the work of Pegasus. And having said these words, she gladly thence conducted Pallas to the sacred streams. And Pallas, after she had long admired that fountain flowing where the hoof had struck, turned round to view the groves of ancient trees, the grottoes and the grass bespangled, rich with flowers unnumbered. Also beautiful she deemed the charm of that locality, a fair surrounding for the studious days of those Nimonian maids. But one of them addressed her thus, O thou, whose valor gave thy mind to greater deeds. If thou had stooped to us, Minerva, we had welcomed thee most worthy of our choir. Thy words are true, and well hast thou approved the joys of art in this retreat. Most happy would we be if only we were safe. But wickedness admits of no restraint, and everything affrights our virgin minds. And everywhere the dreadful Pyreneus haunts our sight. Scarcely have we recovered from the shock. That savage, with his troops of Thrace, had seized the lands of Dallas and of Focus, where he ruled in tyranny. And when we sought the temples of Parnassus, he observed us on our way. And knowing our estate, pretending to revere our sacred lives, he said, O muses, I beseech you, pause. Choose now the shelter of my roof, and shun the heavy stars that team with pouring rain, nor hesitate, for often the glorious gods have entered humbler homes. Moved by his words and by the growing storm we gave assent, and entered his first house. But presently the storm abated, and the southern wind was conquered by the north. The black clouds fled, and soon the skies were clear. At once we sought to quit the house, but Pyreneus closed all means of exit and prepared to force our virtue. Instantly we spread our wings and so escaped. But on a lofty tower he stood as if to follow and exclaimed, A path for you marks out a way for me. And quite insane he leaped down from the top of that high tower, falling on his face the bones were crushed, and as his life ebbed out the ground was crimsoned with his wicked blood. So spoke the muse, and now was heard the sound of penins in the air, and voices, too, gave salutations from the lofty trees. Minerva, thinking they were human tongues, looked up in question, whence the perfect words. But on the boughs, nine ugly magpies perched, those mockers of all sounds which now complained their hapless fate. And as she wondering stood Eurania, goddess of the muse, rejoined, Look, those but lately worsted in dispute augment the number of unnumbered birds. Pierus was their father, very rich in lands of Pella, and their mother called a vipae of Paonia. When she brought them forth, nine times evoked, in labor's nine, Lucena's aid. And duly puffed with pride, because it chanced their number equaled ours, these stupid sisters hitherto engaged in wordy contest, fared through many towns, through all hemonia and akea, came to us and said, O, cease your empty songs attuned to dulcet numbers that deceive the vulgar untapped wrong. If all is yours of confidence, O, thespian deities contend with us, our number equals yours. We will not be defeated by your arts, nor shall your songs prevail, and conquered give Hyentian Agonype, yield to us the Medusian fount, and should we fail, we grant to Matthew's plains, to wear up rise Paonia's peaks of snow. Let Chosen Nymphs award the prize. To a shameful to contend, it seemed more shameful to submit. At once the Chosen Nymphs swore justice by their streams, and saddened judgment on their thrones of rock. At once, although the lot had not been cast, the leading sister hastened to begin. She chanted of celestial wars. She gave the giants false renown. She gave the gods small credit for great deeds. She droned out. Fourth, those deepest realms of earth typhoes came, and filled the gods with fear. They turned their backs in flight to Egypt, and the weary to rout, where great Nile spreads his seven-channeled mouth where they are received. Tither the earth begot typhoes hastened, but the gods of heaven deceptive shapes assumed low Jupiter, as Libyan Amon's crooked horns attest, was hidden in the leader of a flock, Apollo in a crow, Bacchus in a goat, Diana in a cat, Venus in a fish, Saturnian Juno in a snow-white cow, Selenian Hermes in an ibis's wings. Such stuff she droned out from her noisy mouth, and then they summoned us, but happily time permits thee not, nor leisure thee permits, that thou shouldst hark into our melodies. Nay, doubt it not, Quoth Palace, but relate your melodies in order, and she sat beneath the pleasant shadows of the grove, and thus again Urania. On our side we trusted all to one. Which having said, Calliope arose, her glorious hair was bound with ivy. She attuned to the cords, enchanted, as she struck the sounding strings. BOOK V PART II First Ceres broke with crooked plough the gleeb. First gave to earth its fruit and wholesome food. First gave the laws all things of Ceres came, of her I sing. And oh, that I could tell her worth in verse, in verse her worth is due. Because he dared to covet heavenly thrones, Tifoyus' giant limbs are weighed down beneath Cecilia's isle, vast in extent. How often thence he strains and strives to rise. But his right hand pacanus holds, his legs are pressed by lilybias, Etna waits his head. Beneath that ponderous mass Tifoyus lies flat on his back, and spews the sands on high, and vomits flames from his ferocious mouth. He often strives to push the earth away, the cities and the mountains from his limbs, by which the lands are shaken. Even the king that rules the silent shades is made to quake, for fear the earth may open and the ground cleft in wide chasms, letting in the day, may terrify the trembling ghosts. Afraid of this disaster that dark despot left his gloomy habitation, carried forth by soot-black horses in his gloomy car, he circumspectly viewed Cecilia's vast foundations. Having well explored and proved no part was shattered, having laid aside his careful fears, he wandered in those parts. Him, Venus, Erychina in her mount thus witnessed, and embraced her winged son, and said, O Cupid, thou who art my son, my arms, my hand, my strength, take up those arms by which thou art victorious over all, and aim thy keenest arrow at the heart of that divinity, whom Fortune gave the last award what time the triple realm by lot was portioned out. The gods of heaven are overcome by thee, and Jupiter and all the deities that swim the deep and the great ruler of the water gods. Why then should Tartarus escape our sway? The third part of the universe at stake, by which thy mother's empire and thy own may be enlarged according to great need. How shameful is our present lot in heaven, the powers of love and I alike despised! For Mark how Pallas has renounced my sway, besides Diana, Javelin Hurler. So will Sarri's daughter choose virginity if we permit, that way her hopes incline. Do thou this goddess proserpene, unite in marriage to her uncle? Venus spoke. Cupid then loosed his quiver, and of all its many arrows by his mother's aid selected one, the keenest of them all, the least uncertain surest from the string, and having fixed his knee against the bow bent back the flexile horn, the flying shaft struck Pluto in the breast. There is a lake of greatest depth not far from Hena's walls, long since called Pergus, and the songs of swans that wake Caster rival not the notes of swans melodious on its gliding waves. A fringe of trees encircling as a wreath its compassed waters, with a leafy veil denies the heat of noon, cool breezes blow beneath the boughs, the humid ground is sprint with purpling flowers and spring eternal rains. While proserpene once dallied in that grove, plucking white lilies and sweet violets, and while she heaped her basket while she filled her bosom in a pretty zeal to strive beyond all others, she was seen, beloved, and carried off by Pluto, such the haste of sudden love. The goddess in great fear called on her mother and on all her friends, and in her frenzy as her robe was rent down from the upper edge her gathered flowers fell from her loosened tunic. This mishap, so perfect was her childish innocence, increased her virgin grief. The ravisher urged on his chariot and inspired his steeds, called each by name and on their necks and mains shook the black rusted rains. They hastened through deep lakes and through the pools of palachy, which boiling upward from the ruptured earth smell of strong sulfur, and they bore him thence to where the sons of Bacchus who had sailed from twin sea Corinth long ago had built a city's walls between unequal ports. Midway between the streams of Keane and Arathusa lies a moon-like pool of silvered narrow horns. There stood the nymph revered above all others in that land whose name was Keane. From her that pond was always called, and as she stood concealed in middle waves that circled her white thighs she recognized the god, and said, O thou shalt go no further Pluto, thou shalt not by force alone become the son-in-law of Ceres. It is better to beseech a mother's aid than drag her child away, and this sustains my word. If I may thus compare great things with small, Anapis loved me also, but he wooed and married me by kind endearments, not by fear as thou hast terrified this girl. So did she speak, and stretching out her arms on either side opposed his way. The son of Saturn blazed with uncontrolled rage, and urged his steeds and hurled his royal scepter in the pool. Cast with a mighty arm it pierced the deeps. The spit and earth made way to Tartarus. It opened a wide basin and received the plunging chariot in the midst. But now the mournful Keane began to grieve, because from her against her fountain-rights the goddess had been torn. The deepening wound still rankled in her breast, and she dissolved in many tears, and wasted in those waves which lately were submissive to her rule. So you could see her members waste away. Her hones begin to bend, her nails get soft, her as your hair, her fingers, legs, and feet, and every slender part melt in the pool. So brief the time in which her gender limbs were changed to flowing waves, and after them her back and shoulders, and her sides and breasts dissolved and vanished into rivulets. And while she changed, the water slowly filled her faulty veins instead of living blood, and nothing that a hand could hold remained. Now it befell, when proserpene was lost, her anxious mother sought through every land and every sea in vain. She rested not. Aurora, when she came with ruddy locks, might never know, nor even Hesperus, if she might deign to rest. She lit two pines from Etna's flames, and held one in each hand, and restless bore them through the frosty glooms. And when Serene the day had dimmed the stars, she saw her daughter by the rising sun, and when the sun declined she rested not. Weiried with labour she began to thirst, for all this while no streams had cooled her lips, when, as by chance, a cottage thatched with straw gladdened her sight. Thither the goddess went, and after knocking at the humble door waited until an ancient woman came, who, when she saw the goddess and had heard her plea for water, gave her a sweet drink but lately brewed of parched barley-meal. And while the goddess quaffed this drink, a boy of bold and hard appearance stood before and laughed, and called her greedy. While he spoke the angry goddess sprinkled him with meal, mixed with the liquid which had not been drunk. His face grew spotted where the mixture struck, and legs appeared where he had arms before, a tail was added to his changing trunk, and lest his former strength might cause great harm, all parts contracted till he measured less than common lizards. While the ancient dame wandered and wept and strove for one caress, the reptile fled and sought a lurking place. His very name describes him to the eye, a body starred with many coloured spots. What lands, what oceans, Ceres wandered then, would weary to relate. The bounded world was narrow for the search. Again she passed through Sicily, again observed all signs, and as she wandered came to Chiana, who strove to tell where Proserpinae had gone, but since her change had neither mouth nor tongue than so was mute. And yet the nymph made plain by certain signs what she desired to say, for on the surface of the waves she showed a well-known girdle Proserpinae had lost, by chance had dropped it in that sacred pool, which when the goddess recognized at last convinced her daughter had been forced from her. She tore her streaming locks, and frenzied struck her bosom with her palms. And in her rage, although she whisked not where her daughter was, she blamed all countries and cried out against their base in gratitude, and she declared the world unworthy of the gift of corn. But Sicily before all other lands, for there was found the token of her loss. For that she broke with savage hand the plows which there had turned the soil, and full of wrath levelled in equal death the peasant and his ox. Both tillers of the soil, and made decree that land should prove deceptive to the seed and rot all planted germs. That fertile isle so noted through the world becomes a waste. The corn is blighted in the early blade. Excessive heat, excessive rain destroys. The winds destroy. The constellations harm. The greedy birds devour the scattered seeds. Thistles and tears and tough weeds choke the wheat. For this the nymph Alfane raised her head above Ellion waves, and having first pushed back her dripping tresses from her brows back to her ears, she thus began to speak. O mother of the Virgin, sought throughout the globe, O mother of nutritious fruits, let these tremendous labours have an end. Do not increase the violence of thy wrath against the earth, devoted to thy sway, and not deserving blame, for only force compelled the earth to open for that wrong. Think not my supplication is to aid my native country, hither am I come an alien, Pisa is my native land, and Ellis gave me birth. Though I sojourn a stranger in this isle of Sicily, it yet delights me more than all the world. I, Arathusa, claim this isle my home, and to implore thee keep my throne secure O greatest of the gods. A better hour, when thou art lightened of thy cares, will come, and when thy countenance again is kind, and then may I declare what cause removes me from my native place, and through the waves of such a mighty ocean guided me to find Ortigia. Through the porous earth by deepest caverns I uplift my head and see unwanted stars. Now it befell, as I was gliding far beneath the world, where flow dark Stygian streams, I saw thy proserpene. Although her countenance betrayed anxiety and grief, a queen she reigned, supremely great in that Opaquus world, queen consort mighty to the king of Hale. Astonished and amazed, as thunder struck, when proserpene's mother heard these words, long while she stood, till great bewilderment gave way to heavy grief. Then to the skies ethereal she mounted in her car, and with beclouded face and streaming hair stood fronting jove, appropriate. I have come, O Jupiter, a suppliant to thee, both for my own offspring as well as thine, if thy hard heart deny a mother grace, yet happily as a father thou canst feel some pity for thy daughter, and I pray thy care for her may not be valued less because my groaning travail brought her forth. My long sought daughter has at last been found, if one can call it found, when certain loss more certain has been proved, or so may deem the knowledge of her state. But I may bear his rude ways if again he bring her back. Thy worthy child should not be forced to wed a bandit chief, nor should my daughter's charms reward his crime. She spoke, and Jupiter took up the word. This daughter is a care, a sacred pledge to me as well as thee, but if it pleases us to acknowledge truth this is a deed of love and injures not. And if, O goddess, thou wilt not oppose, such law, son, cannot compass our disgrace, for though all else were wanting, not can need jove's brother, who in fortune yields to none save me. But if thy fixed desire compel dissent, let pro serpene return to heaven. However, subject to the binding law, if there her tongue have never tasted food, a sure condition by the fates decreed. He spoke, but Seres was no less resolved to lead her daughter thence. Not so the fates permit. The virgin, thoughtless while she strayed among the cultivated Stygian fields, had broken fast. While there she plucked the fruit by bending a pomegranate tree, and plucked and chewed seven grains picked from the pallid rind, and none had seen except a scallophus, him Orphe famed of all Avernian nymphs had brought to birth in some infernal cave days long ago from Atron's embrace. He saw it, and with cruel lips debarred young pro serpene's return. Heaving assay, the queen of Erebus indignant changed that witness to an evil bird. She turned his head, with sprinkled phlegothonian lymph, into a beak, and feathers, and great eyes. His head grew larger, and his shape deformed was cased in tawny wings, his lengthen nails bent inward, and his sluggish arms as wings can hardly move. So he became the vilest bird, a messenger of grief, the lazy owl, sad omen to mankind. The tell-tale's punishment was only just. O siren maids, but wherefore thus have ye the feet and flumes of birds, although remain your virgin features? Is it from the day when pro serpene gathered vernal flowers, because ye mingled with her chosen friends? And after she was lost, in vain, ye sought throughout the world, and wished for wings to waft you over the great deep, that soon the sea might feel your great concern. The gods were kind, ye saw your limbs grow yellow with a growth of sudden sprouting feathers, but because your melodies that gently charm the ear, besides the glory of your speech, might lose the blessing of a tongue, your virgin face and human voice remained. But Jupiter, the mediator of these rival claims, urged by his brother and his grieving sister, divided the long year in equal parts. Now pro serpene as a deity of equal merit in two kingdoms reigns, for six months with her mother she abides, and six months with her husband. Both her mind and her appearance quickly were transformed, for she who seemed so sad in Pluto's eyes, now as a goddess beams in joyful smiles. So when the sun obscured by watery mist conquers the clouds, it shines in splendor forth. And Genial Cereus, full of joy that now her daughter was regained, began to speak. Are the reason of thy wanderings, O Arthusa? Tell me wherefore thou wert made a sacred stream? The waters gave no sound, but soon that goddess raised her head from the deep springs, and after she had dried her green hair with her hand, with fair address she told the ancient amours of that stream which flows through Ellis. I was one among the nymphs of Old Achaea, so she said, and none of them more eager sped than I along the tangled pathways, and I fixed the hunting nets with zealous care. Although I strove not for the praise that beauty gives, and though my form was something stout for grace, it had the name of being beautiful. So worthless seemed the praise, I took no joy in my appearance. As a country lass, I blushed at those endowments which would give delight to others. Even the power to please seemed criminal. And I remember when returning weary from stimful fan woods, and hot with toil that made the glowing sun seem twice as hot, I chanced upon a stream that flowed without a ripple or a sound. So smoothly on I hardly thought it moved. The water was so clear that one could see and count the pebbles in the deepest parts, and silver willows and tall poplar trees, nourished by flowing waters spread their shade over the shelving banks. So I approached, and shrinkingly touched, the cool stream with my feet, and then I ventured deeper to my knees, and, not contented, doffed my fleecy robes and laid them on a bending willow tree. Then naked I plunged deeply in the stream, and while I smote the water with my hands and drew it towards me, striking boldly forth, moving my body in a thousand ways, I thought I heard a most unusual sound, a murmuring noise beneath the middle stream. Alarmed, I hastened to the nearest bank, and as I stood upon its edge, these words hoarsely alpheus uttered from his waves, Oh, wither dost thou hasten? And again, Oh, wither dost thou hasten? said the voice. Just as I was I fled, without my clothes, for I had left them on the other bank, which, when he saw so much the more inflamed, more swiftly he pursued, my nakedness was tempting to his gaze. And thus I ran, and thus relentlessly he pressed my steps, so from the hawk the dove with trembling wings, and so the hawk pursues the frightened dove. Swiftly and long I fled, with winding course to Orcomanus, Psofus and Kilene, and Minulus and Eramanthus, cold and Ellus. Neither could he gain by speed, although his greater strength must soon prevail, for I not longer could endure the strain. Still I sped onward through the fields and woods, by tangled wilds and over rocks and crags. And as I hastened from the setting sun, I thought I saw a growing shadow move beyond my feet. It may have been my fear, imagined it, but surely now I heard the sound of footsteps. I could even feel his breathing on the loose ends of my hair, and I was terrified. At last, worn out by all my efforts to escape, I cried, Oh, help me! Thou whose bow and quivered darts I oft have borne, thy armor-bearer calls, Oh, chase Diana, help, or I am lost! It moved the goddess, and she gathered up a dense cloud and encompassed me about. The baffled river circled round and round, seeking to find me hidden in that cloud. Twice went the river round, and twice cried out, Ho, Arathusa! Arathusa, ho! What were my wretched feelings then? Could I be braver than the lamb that hears the wolves howling around the high-protecting fold, or than the hare which lurking in the bush knows of the snarling hounds and dares not move? And yet Alpheus thence would not depart, for he could find no footprints of my flight. He watched the cloud and spot, and thus besieged a cold sweat gathered on my trembling limbs. The clear blue drops, distilled from every pore, made pools of water where I moved my feet, and dripping moisture trickled from my hair. Much quicker than my story could be told, my body was dissolved to flowing streams. But still the river recognized the waves, and for the love of me transformed his shape from human features to his proper streams, that so his waters might encompass mine. Diana therefore opened up the ground in which I plunged, and thence through gloomy caves was carried to Ortigia, Blessed Isle, to which my chosen goddess gave her name, where first I rose amid the upper air. Thus Arathusa made an end of speech, and presently the fertile goddess yoked two dragons to her chariot. She curbed their mouths with bits. They bore her through the air, in her light car betwixt earth and sky, to the Tritonian citadel, and to Tripolamus, to whom she furnished seed, that he might scatter it in wasted lands and in the fallow fields, which after long neglect again were given to the plough. After he had traveled through uncharted skies over wide Europe and vast Asian lands, he lit upon the coast of Skithia, where a king called Lincas reigned. And there at once he sought the palace of that king, who said, Whence come, you stranger? Wherefore in this land? Come, tell to me your nation and your name. And after he was questioned, thus he said, I came from far-famed Athens, and they call my name Tripolamus. I neither came by ship through waves nor over the dry land. For me the yielding atmosphere makes way. I bear the gifts of Cereus to your land, which scattered over your wide realm may yield an ample harvest of nutritious food. The envious Lincas, wishing to appear the gracious author of all benefits, received the unsuspecting youth with smiles, but when he fell into a heavy sleep that savage king attacked him with a sword. But while attempting to transfix his guest, the goddess Cereus changed him to a lynx, and once again she sent her favored youth to drive her sacred dragons through the clouds. The greatest of our number ended thus her learned songs, and with concordant voice the chosen nymphs adjudged the deities on Helicon who dwell should be proclaimed the victors. But the vanquished nine began to scatter their abuse, to whom rejoined the goddess, since it seems a trifling thing that you should suffer a deserved defeat, and you must add unmerited abuse to heighten your offence, and since by this appears the end of our endurance, we shall certainly proceed to punish you according to the limit of our wrath. But these Amathian sisters laughed to scorn our threatening words, and as they tried to speak and made great clamor and with shameless hands made threatening gestures, suddenly stiff quills sprouted from out their fingernails, and plumes spread over their stretched arms, and they could see the mouth of each companion growing out into a rigid beak, and thus new birds were added to the forest. While they made complaint, these magpies that defile our groves moving their stretched out arms began to float suspended in the air, and since that time their ancient eloquence, their screaming notes, their tiresome zeal of speech have all remained. All this Minerva heard, and she approved their songs and their resentment, but her heart was brooding thus. It is an easy thing to praise another, I should do as they. No creature of the earth should ever slight the majesty that dwells in me, without just retribution. So her thought was turned upon the fortune of Arachne, proud, who would not ever yield to her the praise won by the art of deftly weaving wool, a girl who had not fame for place of birth, nor fame for birth, but only fame for skill. For it was well known that her father dwelt in colophon, where at his humble trade he died in focian purples, fleecy wool. Her mother, also of the lower class, had died. Arachne, in a mountain town by skill, had grown so famous in the land of Lydia, that unnumbered curious nymphs, eager to witness her dexterity, deserted the lush vineyards of Timolus, or even left the cool and flowing streams of bright pactilus, to admire the cloth or to observe her deftly spinning wool. So graceful was their motion, then, if she was twisting the coarse wool and little balls, or if she teased it with her fingertips, or if she softened the fine fleece drawn forth in misty films, or if she twirled the smooth round spindle with her energetic thumb, or if with needle she embroidered cloth, in all her motions one might well perceive how much Minerva had instructed her. But this, she would ever deny, displeased to share her fame, and said, Let her contend in art with me, and if her skill prevails, I then will forfeit all. Minerva heard, and came to her, disguised with long gray hair, and with a staff to steady her weak limbs. She seemed a feeble woman, very old, and quavered, as she said. Old age is not the cause of every ill. Experience comes with lengthened years, and therefore you should not despise my words. It is no harm in you to long for praise of mortals, when your nimble hands are spinning the soft wool, but you should not deny Minerva's art, and you should pray that she may pardon you, for she will grant you pardon if you ask." Arachne, scowling with an evil face, looked at the goddess as she dropped her thread. She could hardly restrain her threatening hand, and trembling in her anger she replied to you, disguised Minerva. Silly fool! Worn out and witless in your palsied age! A great age is your great misfortune. Let your daughter and your son's wife, if the gods have blessed you, let them profit by your words. Within myself my knowledge is contained sufficient. You need not believe that your advice does any good, for I am quite unchanged in my opinion. Let you gone! Advise your goddess to come here herself and not avoid the contest. Instantly the goddess said, Minerva comes to you, and with those brief words put aside the shape of the old woman, and revealed herself, Minerva, goddess. All the other nymphs and matrons of Macdonia worshipped her, but not Arachne, who defiant stood, although at first she flushed up, then went pale, then blushed again, reluctant. So at first the sky suffuses as Aurora moves, and quickly when the glorious sun comes up, pales into white. She even rushed upon her own destruction, for she would not give from her desire to gain the victory. Nor did the daughter of Almighty Jove decline, disdaining to delay with words she hesitated not. And both at once selected their positions, stretched their webs with finest warp, and separated warp with sleigh. The wolf was next inserted in the web by means of the sharp shuttles, which their nimble fingers pushed along, so drawn within the warp, and so the teeth notched in the moving sleigh might strike them. Both in haste girded their garments to their breasts, and moved their skillful arms, beguiling their fatigue in eager action. Myriad tints appeared beside the Tyrion purple, royal dye extracted in brass vessels. As the bow that spans new glory in the curving sky, its glittering rays reflected in the rain, spreads out a multitude of blended tints, incintillating beauty to the sight of all who gaze upon it. So the threads, in woven, mingled in a thousand tints, harmonious and contrasting, shot with gold, and there depicted in those shining webs were shown the histories of ancient days. Minerva worked the Athenian hill of Mars, where ancient sea-crops built his citadel, and shelled the old contention for the name it should be given. All celestial gods surrounded Jupiter on lofty thrones, and all their features were so nicely drawn that each could be distinguished. Jupiter appeared as monarch of those judging gods. There Neptune, guardian of the sea, was shown contending with Minerva. As he struck the rock with his long trident, a wild horse sprang forth which he bequeathed to man. He claimed his right to name the city for that gift. And then she wove a portrait of herself, bearing a shield, and in her hand a lance, sharp pointed, and a helmet on her head, her breast well guarded by her aegis. There she struck her spear into the fertile earth from which a branch of olive seemed to sprout, pale with new clustered fruits. And those twelve gods appeared to judge that olive as a gift surpassed the horse which Neptune gave to man. And so Arachne, rival of her fame, might learn the folly of her mad attempt, from the great deeds of ancient histories, and what award presumption must expect, Minerva wove four corners with life scenes of contest, brightly colored, but of size diminutive. In one of these was shown the snow-clad mountains, Rotopy, and Hemis, which for punishment were changed from human beings to those rigid forms when they aspired to rival the high gods. And in another corner she described that pygmy, whom the angry Juno changed from queenship to crane, because she thought herself an equal of the living gods. She was commanded to wage cruel wars upon her former subjects. In the third she wove the story of Antigone, who dared compare herself to Juno, queen of Jupiter, and showed her as she was transformed into a silly, chattering stork that praised her beauty with her ugly beak. Despite the powers of Ilean and her sire Leidemann, her shoulders fledged white wings. And so the third part finished, there was left one corner, where Minerva deftly worked the story of the father, Siniris, as he was weeping on the temple steps, which once had been his daughter's living limbs. And she adorned the border with designs of peaceful olive, her devoted tree, which having shown she made an end of work. Arachne, of Maonia, wove at first the story of Europa, as the bull deceived her, and so perfect was her art, it seemed a real bull in real waves. Europa seemed to look back towards the land which she had left, and call in her alarm to her companions, and as if she feared the touch of dashing waters, to draw up her timid feet, while she was sitting on the bull's back. And she wove asteria seized by the assaulting eagle, and beneath the swan's white wings showed Lida lying by the stream, and showed Jo dancing as a satyr, when he sought the beautiful antipy, to whom was given twins, and how he seemed amphitrian when he deceived Alcmaena, and how he courted lovely Danai, luring her as a gleaming shower of gold, and poor Agena, hidden in his flame, drove as a shepherd with nemesine, and beautiful preserpina, involved by him apparent as a spotted snake. And in her web, Arachne wove the scenes of Neptune, who was shown first as a bull, when he was deep in love with Virgin Arnie, then as Anipius, when the giant twins Eloidae, were begot, and as the ram that gambled with Bissaltis, as a horse loved by the fruitful Ceres, golden-haired, all-bounteous mother of the yellow grain, and as the bird that hovered round snake-haired Medusa, mother of the winged horse, and as the dolphin, sporting with the nymph Melantho. All of these were woven true to life in proper shades, and there she showed Apollo, when disguised in various forms, as when he seemed a rustic, and as when he wore hawk wings, and then the tawny skin of a great lion, and once more when he deluded Icy as a shepherd-lad, and there was Bacchus, when he was disguised as a large cluster of fictitious grapes, deluding by that wild the beautiful Erygony, and Saturn, as a steed, begetter of the dual-natured Chiron, and then, Arachne, to complete her work, wove all around the web a patterned edge of interlacing flowers and ivy-leaves. Menerva could not find a fleck or a flaw. Even Envy cannot censure perfect art. Enraged because Arachne had such skill she ripped the web, and ruined all the scenes that showed those wicked actions of the gods, and with her boxwood shuttle in her hand struck the unhappy mortal on her head, struck sharply thrice, and even once again Arachne's spirit, deigning not to brook such insult, brooded on it, till she tied a cord around her neck and hung herself. Menerva moved to pity at the side, sustained and saved her from that bitter death, but angry still pronounced another doom. Although I grant you life, most wicked one, your fate shall be to dangle on a cord, and your posterity for ever shall take your example, that your punishment may last for ever. Even as she spoke, before withdrawing from her victim's sight, she sprinkled her with juice, extract of herbs of hecket. At once all hair fell off, her nose and ears remained not, and her head shrunk rapidly in size as well as all her body, leaving her diminutive. Her slender fingers gathered to her sides as long, thin legs, and all her other parts were fast absorbed in her abdomen, whence she vented a fine thread, and ever since Arachne, as a spider, weaves her web. All Lydia was astonished at her fate. The rumour spread to Phrygia, soon the world was filled with fear and wonder. Naiobi had known her long before, when in Mayonia near to Mount Sipolis, but the sad fate which overtook Arachne, lost on her, never ceased her boasting and refused to honour the great gods. So many things increased her pride. She loved to boast her husband's skill, their noble family, the rising grandeur of their kingdom. Such felicities were great delights to her, but nothing could exceed the haughty way she boasted of her children. And in truth Naiobi might have been adudged on earth the happiest mother of mankind, if pride had not destroyed her wit. It happened then that Manto, daughter of Tiresias, who told the future, when she felt the fire of prophecy descend upon her, rushed upon the street and shouted in the midst, You women of Ismenius, go and give to Hyletona and her children to wane incense and prayer. Go and with laurel read your hair and garlands as your sacred prayers arise to heaven. Give heed, for by my speech Lothona has ordained these holy rites." At once the Theban women read their brows with laurel, and they cast and hallowed flame the grateful incense, while they supplicate all favours of the ever-living gods. And while they worship, Naiobi comes there, surrounded with the troop that follow her, and most conspicuous in her purple robe, bright with inwoven threads of yellow gold. Beautiful in her anger she tosses back her graceful head. The glory of her hair shines on her shoulders. Standing forth she looks upon them with her hotty eyes and taunts them. Madness has prevailed on you to worship some imagined gods of heaven, which you have only heard of. But the gods that truly are on earth and can be seen are all neglected. Come! Explain to me. Why has Lothona worshipped and adored and frankincense not offered unto me? For my divinity is known to you. Tantalus was my father, who alone approached the tables of the gods in heaven. My mother, sister of the Pleiades, was daughter of huge Atlas, who supports the world upon his shoulders. I can boast of Jupiter as father of my sire. I count him also as my father-in-law. The peoples of my Phrygia dread my power, and I am mistress of the palace built by Cadmus. By my husband I am queen of those great walls that reared themselves to the sweet music of his sounding lyre. We rule together all the people they encompass and defend. And everywhere my gaze is turned, an evidence of wealth is witnessed. In my features you can see the beauty of a goddess, but above that majesty is all the glory due to me, the mother of my seven sons and daughter seven. And the time will come when by their marriage they will magnify the circle of my power invincible. All must acknowledge my just cause of pride, and must no longer worship in despite of my superior birth, this deity, a daughter of ignoble Coeus, whom one time the great earth would not even grant sufficient space for travail, whom the heavens, the land, the sea together once compelled to wander, hopeless on all hostile shores. Throughout the world she found herself rebuffed, till Delos, sorry for the vagrant, said, Homeless, you roam the lands and I the seas. And even her refuge always was adrift. And there she bore two children, who, compared with mine, are but as one to seven. Who denies my fortunate condition? Who can doubt my future? I am surely safe. The wealth of my abundance is too strong for fortune to assail me. Let her rage to spoil me of large substance, yet so much would still be mine, for I have risen above the blight of apprehension. But suppose a few of my fair children should be taken? Even so deprived I could not be reduced to only two, as this Latona, who might quite as well be childless. Get you gone from this insensate sacrifice, make haste, cast off the reading laurels from your brows. They plucked the garlands from their hair, and left the sacrifice. Obedient to her will, although in gentle murmurs they adored the goddess Naibe had so defamed. Latona, furious when she heard the speech, flew swiftly to the utmost peak of synthesis, and spoke to her two children in these words. Hold your mother, proud of having born such glorious children. I will yield prestige before no goddess, save alone immortal Juno. I have been debased, and driven for all ages from my own. My altars unto me devoted long, and so must languish through eternity unless by you sustained. Nor is this all, that daughter of tantalus, bold Naibe, has added curses to her evil deeds, and with a tongue as wicked as her sires has raised her base-born children over mine, has even called me childless. A sad fate more surely should be hers. O I entreat! But Phoebus answered her. No more complaint is necessary, for it only serves to hinder the swift sequel of her doom. And with the same words Phoebus answered her, and having spoken they descended through the shielding shadows of surrounding clouds, and hovered on the citadel of Cadmus. Where far below them was a level plain which swept round those walls, where trampling steeds with horny hoofs and multitudinous wheels had beaten a wide track, and on the field the older sons of Naibe, on steeds emblazoned with bright dyes and harness rich with studded gold, were circling. One of these, his menace, first born of his mother, while controlling his fleet-coursers foaming mouth, cried out, Ah! wretched me! A shaft had pierced the middle of his breast, and as the rains dropped slowly on the rapid-courser's neck, his drooping form fell forward to the ground. Not far from him, his brother, Sypolus, could hear the whistling of a fatal shaft, and in his fright urged on the plunging steed, as when the watchful pilot, sensible of storms approaching, crowds on sail, hoping to catch a momentary breeze, so fled he, surging in impetuous flight. But while he fled, the shaft, unerring, flew, transfixed him with its quivering death, struck where the neck supports the head and the sharp point protruded from his throat. In his swift flight, as he was leaning forward, he was struck, and rolling over the wild horse's neck, pitched to the ground, and stained it with his blood. Unhappy Fatimus and Tantalus, so named from his maternal grand-sire, now had finished coursing on the track, and smooth, shining with oil were wrestling in the field, and while these brothers struggled, breast to breast, another arrow, hurtling from the sky, pierced them together just as they were clenched. The mingled sound that issued from two throats was like a single groan. Convulsed with pain, the wrestlers fell together on the ground, where stricken with a double agony, rolling their eyeballs, they sobbed out their lives. Alphanor saw them die, beating his breast in agony, ran to lift in his arms their lifeless bodies cold. While doing this, he fell upon them. Phoebus struck him so, piercing his midriff in a vital part, with fatal shot, which when he pulled it forth, dragged with its barb a torn clot of his lung, his blood and life poured out upon the air. The youthful Demacion was next struck, not only once, an arrow pierced his leg just where the sinews of the thigh began, and as he turned and stooped to pluck it out, another keen shaft shot into his neck, up to the fletching. The blood drove it out and spouted after it in crimson jets. Then Ileonius, last of seven sons, lifted his unavailing arms in prayer and cried, O universal deities, gods of eternal heaven, spare my life! Be sought too late, Apollo of the bow could not prevail against the deadly shaft already on its way, and yet his will, compelling, acted to retard its flight, so that it cut no deeper than his heart. The rumours of an awful tragedy, the wailings of sad Niobes loved friends, the terror of her grieving relatives, all gave her some knowledge of her sudden loss. But so bewildered and enraged her mind, that she could hardly realize the gods had privileged to dare against her might. Nor would she till her lord Amphion thrust his sword deep in his breast, by which his life and anguish both were ended in dark night. Alas! Proud Niobes, once haughty queen! Proud Niobes, who but so lately drove her people from Latona's altars, while moving majestic through the midst, she hears their plaudits, now so bitterly debased, her meanest enemy may pity her. She fell upon the bodies of her sons, and in a frenzy of maternal grief kissed their unfeeling lips. Then unto heaven, with arms accusing, railed upon her foe, glut your revenge, Latona, glut your rage, yea, let my lamentations be your joy. Go, satiate your flinty heart with death. Are not my seven sons all dead? Am I not waiting to be carried to my grave? Exult and triumph my victorious foe! Victorious! Nay! Much more remains to me in all my uttermost sorrow than to you, you gloater upon vengeance. Undismayed I stand victorious in my field of woe. No sooner had she spoken than the cord twang'd from the ever-ready bow, and all who heard the fatal sound again were filled with fear. Save Niaby and misery bold, defiant in misfortune. Clothed in black, the sisters of the stricken brothers stood with hair disheveled by the funeral beers, and one, while plucking from her brother's heart a shaft, swooned unto death, fell on her face, on her dear brother's corpse. Another girl, while she consoled her mother, suddenly was stricken with an unseen deadly wound, and doubled in convulsions closed her eyes, tight held them, till both breath and life were lost. Another vainly rushed away from death, she met it, and pitched head first to the ground, and still another died upon her course, another vainly sought a secret death, then another slipped beyond life's edge. So altogether six of seven died, each victim stricken in a different way. One child remained. Then in a frenzy fear the mother, as she covered her with all her garments and her body, wailed, Oh, leave me this one child, the youngest of them all, my darling daughter, only leave me one! But even while she was in treating for its life, the life was taken from her only child. Childless she crouched beside her slaughtered sons, her lifeless daughters, and her husband's corpse. The breeze not even moved her fallen hair. A chill of marble spread upon her flesh, beneath her pale, set brows, her eyes moved not, her bitter tongue turned stiff in her hard jaws, her lovely veins congealed, and her stiff neck and rigid hands could neither bend nor move. Her limbs and body all were changed to stone. Yet ever would she weep, and as her tears were falling she was carried from the place, enveloped in a storm and mighty wind, far to her native land, were fixed upon a mountain summit she dissolves in tears. And to this day the marble drips with tears. Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Neso Translated by Brooks Moore Book 6 Part 2 All men and women after this event feared to incur Letona's fateful wrath, and worshipped with more zeal the deity, Mother of Twins. And as it is the way of men to talk of many other things after a strong occurrence, they recalled what other deeds the goddess had performed, and one of them recited this event. Twas in the ancient days of long ago, some rustics in the fertile fields of Lycia, heedless, insulted the goddess to their harm. Perhaps you've never heard of this event, because those country clowns were little known. The event was wonderful, but I can vouch the truth of it. I visited the place and I have seen the pool of water, where happened the miracle I now relate. My good old father, then advanced in years and capable of travel, ordered me to fetch some cattle, thoroughbreds, from there, and had secured a Lycian for my guide, as I traversed the pastures with the man it chanced I saw an ancient altar, grime'd with sacrificial ashes, in the midst of a large pool, with sedge and reeds around, a quiver in the breeze. And there my guide stood on the marge, and with an awestruck voice began to whisper, Be propitious, hear my supplications, and forget not me. And I, observing him, echoed the words, forget not me. Which having done, I turned to him and said, Whose altar can this be? Perhaps a sacred altar of the fawns, or of the niads, or a native god? To which my guide replied, Young man, such gods may not be worshipped at this altar. She, whom once the royal Juno drove away to wander a harsh world, alone permits this altar to be used. That goddess, whom the wandering Isle of Delos, at the time it drifted as the foam, almost refused a refuge. There Latona, as she leaned against a palm tree, and against the tree most sacred to Minerva, brought forth twins, although their harsh stepmother Juno strove to interfere. And from the island forced to fly by jealous Juno, on her breast she bore her children, twin divinities. At last outweary'd with the toil and parched with thirst, long wandering in those heated days over the arid land of Lycia, where was bred the dire Camara? At the time her parching breasts were drained, she saw this pool of crystal water, shimmering in the veil. Some countrymen were there to gather reeds and useful osears, and the bullrush found with sedge in fanny pools. To them approached Latona, and she knelt upon the merge to cool her thirst with some refreshing water. But those clowns forbade her, and the goddess cried as they so wickedly opposed her need. Why do you so resist, my bitter thirst? The use of water is the sacred rite of all mankind, for nature has not made the sun and air and water for the sole estate of any creature, and to her kind bounty I appeal, although of you I humbly beg the use of it. Not here do I intend to bathe my wearied limbs. I only wish to quench an urgent thirst, for even as I speak my cracking lips and mouth so parched almost denimy words, a drink of water will be like a draft of nectar, giving life, and I shall owe to you the bounty and my life renewed. I'll let these tender infants whose weak arms implore you from my bosom, but incline your hearts to pity. And just as she spoke, it chanced that children did stretch out their arms, and who would not be touched to hear such words, as spoken by this goddess, and refuse. But still those clowns persisted in their wrong against the goddess, for they hindered her and threatened with their foul, abusive tongues to frighten her away, and worse than all, they even muddied with their hands and feet the clear pool, forcing the vile, slimy dregs up from the bottom in a spiteful way by jumping up and down. Enraged at this, she felt no further thirst, nor would she deign to supplicate again, but feeling all the outraged majesty of her high state, she raised her hands to heaven and exclaimed, For ever may you live in that mud-pool. The curse as soon as uttered took effect, and every one of them began to swim beneath the water, and to leap and plunge deep in the pool. Now up they raised their heads, now swim upon the surface, now they squat themselves around the marshy margin, now they plump again down to the chilly deeps, and ever and again with croaking throats, indulge offensive strife upon the banks, or even under water, boom abuse, their ugly voices cause their bloated necks to puff out, and their widened jaws are made still wider in the venting of their spleen. Their backs, so closely fastened to their heads, make them appear as if their shrunken necks have been cut off. Their backbones are dark green, white are their bellies, now their largest part. For ever since that time the foolish frogs muddy their own pools, where they leap and dive. So he related how the clowns were changed to leaping frogs, and after he was through, another told the tale of Marceus in these words. The satyr Marceus, when he played the flute in rivalry against Apollo's lyre, lost that audacious contest. And alas! His life was forfeit. For they had agreed the one who lost should be the victor's prey. And as Apollo punished him he cried, Ah! Why are you now tearing me apart? A flute has not the value of my life. Even as he shrieked out in his agony, his living skin was ripped off from his limbs, till his whole body was a flaming wound, with nerves and veins and viscera exposed. And all the weeping people of that land, and all the fawns and sylvan deities, and all the satyrs and Olympus, his loved pupil, even then renowned in song, and all the nymphs lamented his sad fate, and all the shepherds roaming on the hills, lamented as they tended fleecy flocks, and all those falling tears on fruitful earth descended to her deepest veins as dripped the moistening dews, and gathering as a fount turned upward from her secret winding caves, to issue sparkling in the sun-kissed air, the clearest river in the land of Phrygia, through which it swiftly flows between steep banks down to the sea, and therefore from his name, Tis called the Marseys, to this very day. And after this was told the people turned and wept for Niabe's loved children dead, and also mourned Amphion's sorrow slain. The Theban people hated Niabe, but Pelops, her own brother, mourned her death, and as he rent his garment and laid bare his white left shoulder, you could see the part composed of ivory. At his birth was all of healthy flesh, but when his father cut his limbs asunder, and the gods restored his life, all parts were rightly joined except part of one shoulder which was wanting. So to serve the purpose of the missing flesh, a piece of ivory was inserted there, making his body by such means complete. End of book 6, part 2.