 Book 6, Part 3 of Ovid's Metamorphoses. The lords of many cities that were near now met together and implored their kings to mourn with pilops those unhappy deeds, the lords of Argos, Sparta, and Mycenae, and Caledon, before it had incurred the hatred of Diana, goddess of the Chase, fertile Orcomanus and Corinth, great in wealth of brass, Petrae and fierce Messina, Cleoni, small, and Pilus and Trozan, not ruled by Pythias then, and also all the other cities which are shut off by the Isthmus they are dividing by its two seas, and all the cities which are seen from there. It seemed most wonderful of all those towns Athens alone was wanting, for a war had gathered from the distant seas a host of savage warriors had alarmed her walls and hindered her from mourning for the dead. Now Therias, then the mighty king of Thrace, came to the aid of Athens as defense from that fierce horde, and there by his great deeds achieved a glorious fame. Since his descent was boasted from the mighty Gradivus, and he was gifted with enormous wealth, Pandian, king of Athens, gave to him in sacred wedlock, his dear daughter, Procne. But Juno, guardian of the sacred rites, attended not, nor Hymenaeus, nor the graces. But the fury snatched up brands from burning funeral pires and brandished them as torches. They prepared the nuptial couch, a boating owl flew over the bride's room, and then sat silently upon the roof. With such bad omens, Therias married her, sad, Procne, and those omens cast a gloom on all the household till the fateful birth of their first born. All Thrace went wild with joy, and even they, rejoicing, blessed the gods, when he, the little Aetis, saw the light. And they ordained each year their wedding-day, and every year the birthday of their child, should be observed with festival and song. So the sad veil of fate conceals from us our future woes. Now Titan had drawn forth the changing seasons through five autums, when in gentle accents Procne spoke these words. My dearest husband, if you love me, let me visit my dear sister, or consent that she may come to us and promise her that she may soon return. If you will but permit me to enjoy her company, my heart will bless you as I bless the gods. At once the monarch ordered his long ships to launch upon the sea, and driven by sail and hastened by the swiftly sweeping oars, they entered the deep port of Athens, where he made fair landing on the fortified Piraeus. There, when time was opportune to greet his father-in-law and shake his hand, they both exchanged their wishes for good health, and Therias told the reason why he came. He was relating all his wife's desire. Promising Philemella's safe return from a brief visit, when Philemella appeared rich in her costly raiment, yet more rich in charm and beauty, just as if a fair dryad or nyad should be so attired, appearing radiant from dark solitudes. As if someone should kindle whitening corn or the dry leaves, or hay piled in a stack. So Therias, when he saw the beautiful and blushing virgin, was consumed with love. Her modest beauty was a worthy cause of worthy love, but by his heritage, derived from a debasing climb, his love was base, and fire's unholy burned within from his own lawless nature, just as fierce as are the habits of his evil race. In a wild frenzy of his wicked heart, he thought he would corrupt her trusted maid, her tried attendants, and corrupt even her virtue with large presence. He would waste his kingdom in the effort. He prepared to seize her at the risk of cruel war, and he would do or dare all things to feed his raging fire. He could not brook delay. With most impassioned words he begged for her, pretending he gave voice to Procney's hopes. His own desire made him wax eloquent. As often as his words exceeded bounds, he pleaded he was uttering Procney's words. His hypocritic eyes were filled with tears, as though they represented her desire. And oh you gods above, what devious ways are harbored in the hearts of mortals! Through his villainous desire he gathered praise, and many lauded him for the great love he bore his wife. And even Philemella desires her own undoing, and with fond embraces nestles to her father, while she pleads for his consent, that she may go to visit her dear sister. Terrius viewed her pretty pleading, and in his hot heart imagined he was then embracing her, and as he saw her kiss her father's lips, her arms around his neck, it seemed that each caress was his, and so his fire increased. He even wished he were her father, though if it were so his passion would no less be impious. Overcome at last by these entreaties her kind father gave consent. Greatly she joyed and thanked him for her own misfortune. She imagined a success, instead of all the sorrow that would come. The day declining little of his toil remained for Phoebus. Now his flaming steeds were beating with their hoofs the downward slope of High Olympus, and the regal feast was set before the guests, and flashing wine was poured in golden vessels, and the feast went merrily, until the satisfied assembly sought in gentle sleep their rest. Not so the love-hot Terrius, king of Thrace, who sleepless, imagined in his doting mind the form of Philemella, recalled the shape of her fair hands, and in his memory reviewed her movements, and his flaming heart pictured her beauties yet unseen. He fed his frenzy on itself, and could not sleep. Fair broke the day, and now the ancient king, Pandian, took his son-in-law's right hand to bid farewell, and as he wept commended his dear daughter, Philemella, under his guarding care. And in your care, my son-in-law, I trust my daughter's health. Good reason, grounded on my love, compels my sad approval. You have begged for her, and both my daughters have persuaded me. Wherefore I do entreat you and implore your honour, as I call upon the gods, that you will ever shield her with the love of a kind father, and return her safe as soon as may be, my last comfort given to bless my doting age. And all delay will agitate and vex my failing heart. And oh, my dearest daughter Philemella, if you have any love for me, return without too long delay and comfort me, lest I may grieve, for it is quite enough that I should suffer while your sister stays away. The old king made them promise, and he kissed his daughter while he wept. Then did he join their hands and pledge of their fidelity, and as he gave his blessing, cautioned them to kiss his absent daughter and her son for his dear sake. Then, as he spoke alas'd farewell, his trembling voice was filled with sobs, and he could hardly speak, for a great fear from some vague intuition of his mind surged over him, and he was left forlorn. So soon as Philemella was safe aboard the painted ship, and as the sailors urged the swiftly gliding keel across the deep and dim land, fast faded from their view, then terrius, in exultant humour, thought, Now all is well, the object of my love sails with me while the sailors ply the oars. He scarcely could control his barbarous desire, with difficulty stayed his lust, he followed all her actions with hot eyes. So when the ravenous bird of Jupiter has caught with crooked talons the poor hare, and dropped it, ruthless in his lofty nest, where there is no escape, his cruel eyes gloat on the victim he anticipates. And now, as terrius reached his journey's end, they landed from the travel-weird ship safe on the shores of his own kingdom. Then he hastened with the frightened Philemella into most wild and silent solitudes of an old forest, where, concealing among deep thickets a forbidding old house stood. There he immured the pale and trembling maid, who vainly in her fright began to call upon her absent sister, and her tears implored his pity. His obdurate mind could not be softened by such piteous cries, but even while her agonizing screams implored her sisters and her father's aid, and while she vainly called upon the gods, he over-mastered her with brutal force. The poor child trembled as a frightened lamb, which, just delivered from the frothing jaws of a gaunt wolf, dreads every moving twig. She trembled as a timid injured dove, her feathers dripping with her own life-blood, that dreads the ravening talons of a hawk from which some fortune has delivered her. But presently, as consciousness returned, she tore her streaming hair and beat her arms, and, stretching forth her hands and frenzied grief, cried out, O barbarous and brutal wretch! Unnatural monster of abhorrent deeds! Could not my anxious father's parting words nor his foreboding tears restrain your lust? Have you no slight regard for your chaste wife, my dearest sister? And are you without all honour so to spoil virginity now making me invade my sister's claim? You have befoul the sacred fount of life. You are a lawless bond of double sin. O this dark punishment was not my due. Come, finish with my murder your black deed, so nothing wicked may remain undone. But, O, if you had only slaughtered me before your criminal embrace befouled my purity, I should have had a shade entirely pure and free from any stain. O, if there is a majesty in heaven, and if my ruin has not wrecked the world, then you shall suffer for this grievous wrong, and time shall hasten to avenge my wreck. I shall declare your sin before the world, and publish my own shame to punish you. And if I am prisoned in the solitudes, my voice will wake the echoes in the wood and move the conscious rocks. Hear me, O heaven, and let my implications rouse the gods. Ah, if there can be a god in heaven! Her cries roused the dastard tyrant's wrath, and frightened him, lest ever his foul deed might shock his kingdom. And roused at once by rage and guilty fear, he seized her hair, forced her weak arms against her back, and bound them fast with brazen chains, then drew his sword. When she first saw his sword above her head, flashing and sharp, she wished only for death, and offered her bare throat. But while she screamed and struggling called upon her father's name, he caught her tongue with pincers, pitiless, and cut it with his sword. The mangled root still quivered, but the bleeding tongue itself fell murmuring on the blood-stained floor. As the tail of a slain snake still writhes upon the ground, so did the throbbing tongue, and while it died move up to her as if to seek her feet. And it is said that after this foul crime the monster violated her again. And after these vile deeds, that wicked king returned to Procney, who, when she first met her brutal husband, anxiously inquired for tidings of her sister. But with sighs and tears he told a false tale of her death, and with such woe that all believed it true. Then Procney, full of lamentation, took her royal robe, bordered with purest gold, and putting it away, assumed instead garments of sable mourning. And she built a noble sepulcher, and offered there her pious gifts to an imagined shade, lamenting the sad death of her who lived. A year had passed by since that awful date. The sun had coursed the zodiac's twelve signs. But what could Philomela hope or do? For like a jail the strong walls of the house were built of massive stone, and guards around prevented flight, and mutilated she could not communicate with any one to tell her injuries and tragic woe. But even in despair and utmost grief there is an ingenuity which gives inventive genius to protect from harm. And now the grief distracted Philomela, wove in a warp with purple marks and white, a story of the crime. And when twas done she gave it to her one attendant there, and begged her by appropriate signs to take it secretly to Procney. She took the web, and she carried it to Procney, with no thoughts of words or messages by art conveyed. The wife of that inhuman tyrant took the cloth, and after she unwrapped it saw and understood the mournful record sent. She pondered it in silence, and her tongue could find no words to utter her despair. Her grief and frenzy were too great for tears. In a mad rage her rapid mind confounded the right and wrong, intent upon revenge. Since it was now the time of festival, when all the Thracian matrons celebrated the rites of Bacchus, every third year thus, night then was in their secret, and at night the slopes of Rhodope resounded loud with clashing of shrill symbols. So at night the frantic Queen of Therias left her home, and clothed according to the well-known rites of Bacchus, hurried to the wilderness. Her head was covered with the green vine-leaves, and from her left side native deerskin hung, and on her shoulder rested a light spear. So fashioned the revengeful Procney rushed to the dark woods, attended by a host of screaming followers, and wild with rage pretended it was Bacchus urged her forth. At last she reached the lonely building, where her sister, Philemella, was amured, and as she howled and shouted, EWOE! She forced the massive doors, and having seized her sister instantly concealed her face in ivy-leaves, arrayed her in the trappings of Bacchanalian rites. When this was done they rushed from there, demented, to the house where as the Queen of Therias Procney dwelt. When Philemella knew she had arrived at that accursed house, her countenance, though pale with grief, took on a ghastlier hue, and wretched in her misery and fright she shuddered in convulsions. Procney took the cymbals Bacchanalian from her then, and as she held her in a strict embrace unveiled her downcast head. But she refused to lift her eyes, and fixing her sad gaze on vacant space she raised her hand instead. As if in oath she called upon the gods to witness truly she had done no wrong, but suffered a disgrace of violence. Lo! Procney, wild with a consuming rage, cut short her sister's terror in these words. This is no time for weeping. Awful deeds demand a great revenge. Take up the sword and any weapon fiercer than its edge. My breast is hardened to the worst of crime. Make haste with me. Together let us put this palace to the torch. Come, let us maim the beastly terrius with revenging iron, cut out his tongue, and quench his cruel eyes, and hurl and burn him writhing in the flames. Or shall we pierce him with a grisly blade, and let his black soul issue from deep wounds a thousand, slaughter him with every death imagined in the misery of hate? While Procney still was raving out such words, Itis, her son, was hastening to his mother, and when she saw him, her revengeful eyes conceiving a dark punishment, she says, Aha! Here comes the image of his father. She gave no other warning, but prepared to execute a horrible revenge. But when the tender child came up to her, and called her mother, put his little arms around her neck, and when he smiled and kissed her often, gracious in his cunning ways, again the instinct of true motherhood pulsed in her veins, and moved to pity. She began to weep in spite of her resolve. Feeling the tender impulse of her love unnerving her, she turned her eyes from him and looked upon her sister, and from her glanced at her darling boy again. And so, while she was looking at them both by turn, she said, Why does the little one prevail with pretty words, while Philomela stands in silence always with her tongue torn out? She cannot call her sister, whom he calls his mother. Oh, you daughter of Pandian, consider what a wretch your husband is. The wife of such a monster must be flint. Compassion in her heart is but a crime. No more, she hesitated. But as swift as the fierce Tigris of the Ganges leaps, seizes the suckling offspring of the Hind and drags it through the forest to its lair, so Procney seized and dragged the frightened boy to a most lonely section of the house, and there she put him to the cruel sword. While he, aware of his sad fate, stretched forth his little hands and cried, Oh, mother, ah! and clung to her, clung to her while she struck, her fixed eyes maddened, glaring horribly, struck wildly, lopping off his tender limbs. But Philomela cut through his tender throat. Then they together mangled his remains, still quivering with the remnant of his life, and boiled apart of him in steaming pots, that bubbled over with the dead child's blood, and roasted other parts on hissing spits. And after all was ready, Procney bat her husband, Tarius, to the loathsome feast, and with a false pretense of sacred rites according to the custom of her land, by which but one man may partake of it. She sent the servants from the banquet hall. Tarius, majestic on his ancient throne high in imagined state, devoured his son, and gorged himself with flesh of his own flesh, and in his rage of gluttony called out for itis to attend and share the feast. Cursed with the joy she could conceal no more, and eager to gloat over his distress, Procney cried out, Inside yourself, you have the thing that you are asking for! Amazed, he looked around and called his son again. That instant Philomela sprang forth, her hair disordered, and all stained with blood of murder. Unable then to speak, she hurled the head of itis in his father's fear-struck face, and more than ever longed for fitting words. The Thracian Tarius overturned the table, and Howling called up from the Stygian pit the viperous sisters. Tearing at his breast, in miserable efforts to disgorge the half-digested gobbets of his son, he called himself his own child, Seppelker, and wept the hot tears of a frenzied man. Then with his sword he rushed at the two sisters. Seeing from him they seemed to rise on wings, and it was true, for they had changed to birds. Then Philomela, flitting to the woods, found refuge in the leaves. But Procney flew straight to the sheltering gables of a roof, and always, if you look, you can observe the brand of murder on the swallow's breast—red feathers from that day. And Therias, swift in his great agitation, and his will to wreck a fierce revenge, himself is turned into a crested bird. His long, sharp beak is given him instead of a long sword, and so, because his beak is long and sharp, he rightly bears the name of Hoopo. Before the number of his years was told, Pandian, with the shades of Tartarus, because of this, has wandered in sad dooms. Erectheus, next in line with mighty sway and justice, ruled all Athens on the throne left vacant by the good Pandian's death. Four daughters and four sons were granted him, and of his daughters, two were beautiful, and one of these was wed to Cephalus, grandson of Aeolus. But mighty Boreus desired the hand of Erythia, fair and lovable. King Therias and the Thracians were then such obstacles to Boreus that God was long kept from his dear beloved. Although the great king, who compels the cold north wind, had sought with prayers to win her hand and urged his love and gentleness, not force. When quite aware his wishes were disdained, he roughly said with customary rage and violence, away with sentimental talk, my prayers and kind intentions are despised, but I should blame nobody but myself. Then why should I, despising my great strength, debase myself to weakness and soft prayers? Mine is my right and violence my strength. By force I drive the force of gloomy clouds. Tremendous actions are the wine of life. Monarch of violence rolling on clouds I toss wide waters and I fell huge trees, knotted old oaks, and whirled upon ice-wings I scatter the light snow, and pelt the earth with sleet and hail. I rush through boundless voids. My thunders rumble in the hollow clouds and crash upon my brothers, fire to fire. Possessed of demon rage I penetrate, sheared to the utmost caverns of old earth, and straining up from those unfathomed deep scatter the terror-stricken shades of hell, and hurl death-dealing earthquakes through the world. Such are the fateful powers I should use, and never trust in treaties to prevail or win my bride. Force is the law of life. And now impetuous Boreus, having howled resounding words, unrolled his rustling wings, that fanned the earth and ruffled the wide sea, and swiftly wrapping untrod mountain peaks in whirling mantles of far-woven dust, thence downward hovered to the darkened world, and canopied in artificial night has swore the overshadowing wings, caught up the trembling erythia to his breast. Nor did he hesitate in airy course until his huge wings fanned the chilling winds around Saconian walls. There she was pledged the wife of that cold northern king of storms, and unto him she gave those hero twins, endowed with wings of their immortal sire, and graceful in their mother's form and face. Their bird-like wings were not fledged at their birth, and those twin boys, Zetes and Calais, at first were void of feathers and soft down. But when their golden hair and beards were grown, wings like an eagle's came, and feather down grew golden on their cheeks, and when from youth they entered manhood, quick they were to join the Argonauts, who for the golden fleece, sought in that first ship, ventured on the sea. Book 7. Part I. Over the storm-tossed waves the Argonauts had sailed in Argo, their long ship to where King Phineas, needy in his old age, reigned, deprived of sight and feeble. When the sons of Boreas had landed on the shore, and seen the harpies snatching from the king his nourishment, befouling it with beaks obscene, they drove those human vultures thence. And having suffered hardships and great toils, after the day they rescued the sad king from the vile harpies, those twin valiant youths, Zetes and Calais, came with their chief, the mighty Jason, where the faces flows. From the green margin of that river, all the crew of Argonauts, by Jason led, went to the king Aetes and required the golden fleece that he received from Phrixus. When they had bargained with him, full of wiles he offered to restore the golden fleece, only to those who might to him return, victorious from hard labours of great risk. Medea, the king's daughter, near his throne, saw Jason, leader of the Argonauts, as he was pressing to secure a prize, and loved him at first sight with a consuming flame. Although she struggled to suppress her love, unable to restrain herself, she said, In vain I've striven to subdue my heart. Some God it must be which I cannot tell is working to destroy my hapless life, or else it is the burning flame of love that in me rages. If it is not love, why do the mandates of my father seem too harsh? They surely are too harsh. Why do I fear that he may perish whom I have seen only once? What is the secret cause that I am agitated by such fears? It is no other than the God of love. Thrust from your virgin breasts such burning flames, and overcome their hot unhappiness. If I could do so, I should be myself. But some deluding power is holding me helpless against my will. Desire persuades me one way, but my reason still persuades another way. I see a better course, and I approve, but follow its defeat. O royal maiden, why are you consumed with love for this strange man, and why are you so willing to be carried by the nuptial ties so far from your own country, where indeed are many brave men worthy of your love? Whether for life or death his numbered hours are in the mercy of the living gods, and that he may not suffer risk of death too well foreseen, now let my prayers prevail, righteously uttered of a generous heart without the stress of love. What wicked thing has Jason done? His handsome person, youth, and noble ways would move a heart of stone. Have I a heart of flint, or was I born a tigress to deny him timely aid? Unless I interpose, he will be slain by the hot breath of brazen-footed bulls, or will be slaughtered by the warriors sprung miraculous from earth, or will be given to satisfy the ravenous appetite of a huge dragon. Let my gloating eyes be satiate with his dying agonies. Let me incite the fury of these bulls. Stir to their bloodlust, mad-born sons of earth. Rouse up the never-sleeping dragon's rage. Avert it, gods. But why should I cry out upon the gods to save him from such wrong, when by my actions and my power myself may shield him from all evils? Such a course would wreck the kingdom of my father, and by me the wily stranger would escape from him, and spreading to the wind his ready sails he would forget and leave me to my fate. Oh, if he should forget my sacrifice, and so prefer those who neglected him, let him then perish in his treachery. But these are idle thoughts. His countenance reveals innate nobility and grace. That should dispel all fear of treachery, and guarantee his ever-faithful heart. The gods will witness our united souls, and he shall pledge his faith. Secure of it, my fear will be removed. Be ready then, and make a virtue of necessity. Your Jason owes himself to you, and he must join you in true wedlock. Then you shall be celebrated through the land of Greece by throngs of women for the man you saved. Shall I then sail away? And so forsake my sister, brother, father, gods, and land that gave me birth. My father is indeed a stern man, and my native land is all too barbarous. My brother is a child, my sister's good will is good help for me, and heaven's supreme God is within my breast. I shall not so be leaving valued hopes, but will be going surely to great things. And I should gain applause from all the world as having saved the threatened Argonauts, the most noble of the Greeks, and in their land which certainly is better than my own, become the bride of Jason, for whose love I should not hesitate to give the world, and in whose love the living gods rejoice so greatly. For his sake they would bestow their favours on my head, and make the stars my habitation. Should I hesitate because the racked, strewn mountains bar the way, and clash together in the yukes and waves, or fear caribdis, fatal to large ships, that sucks the deep sea in its whirling gulf and spouts far upward with alternate force, or Silla, circled with infuriate hounds howling in rage from deep Sicilian waves. Safe in the shielding arms of him I love, on Jason's bosom leaning, I shall be born safely over wide and hostile seas, and in his dear embrace forget my fears, or if for anything I suffer dread, it will be only for the one I love. Alas, Medea, this vain argument has only furnished plausible excuse for criminal desires, and desecrates the marriage right. It is a wicked thing to think upon. Before it is too late, forget your passion and deny this guilt. And after she had said these words, her eyes were open to the prize of modesty, chaste virtue and pure affection, and Cupid, vanquished, turned away and fled. Then to an ancient altar of the goddess named Hecate, Percy's daughter took her way in the deep shadows of a forest. She was strong of purpose now, and all the flames of a vanquished passion had died down. But when she saw the son of Eson, dying flames leaped up again. Her cheeks grew red, then all her face went pale again, as a small spark when hid beneath the ashes, if fed by a breath of wind grows and regains its strength as it is fanned to life. So now her love that had been smoldering, and which she would have thought was almost dead, when she had again seen this manly youth, blazed up once more. For on that day his graceful person seemed as glorious as a god. And as she gazed and fixed her eyes upon his countenance, her frenzy so prevailed, she was convinced that he was not immortal. And her eyes were fascinated, and she could not turn away from him. But when he spoke to her, and promised marriage, grasping her right hand, she answered, as her eyes suffused with tears. I see what I will do. A ignorance of truth will not be my undoing now but love itself. By my assistance you shall be preserved. But when preserved, fulfill your promise." He swore that she could trust in him. Then by the goddess of the triple form, Diana, Trivia, or Luna called, and by her sacred groves and feigns he vowed, and by the hallowed son that sees all things, and by his own adventures and his life. On these the youthful Jason took his oath. With this she was assured, and quickly gave to him the magic herbs. He learnt their youth sent full of joy withdrew into his house. Now when the dawn had dimmed the glittering stars, the people hastened to the sacred field of Mars, and on the hills expectant stood. Arrayed in purple, and in majesty distinguished by his ivory scepter, sat the king surrounded by a multitude. Below them, on the visioned field of Mars, huge brazen-footed bulls were breathing forth from adamantine nostrils, living flames, blasting the verdant herbage in their path. As forges glowing with hot flames resound, or as much quicklime burnt in earthen kilns, crackles and hisses as if mad with rage, sprinkled with water, liberating heat, so their hot throats and triple-heated sides resounding told of pent-up fires within. The son of Eason went to meet them. As he came to meet them the fierce animals turned on him faces terrible, and sharp horns tipped with iron, and they pawed the dusty earth with cloven feet, and filled the place with fiery bellowings. The minions were stark with fear. He went up to the bulls not feeling their hot breath at all, so great the power of his charmed drugs. And while he was stroking their down-hanging doolaps with a fearless hand, he placed the yoke down on their necks, and made them draw the heavy plow, and cut through fields that never felt the steel before. The colchians were mazed and silent, but the loud shouting of the minions increased their hero's courage. Taking then the serpent's teeth out of a brazen helmet, he sewed them broadcast in the new plowed field. The moist earth softened these seeds that were steeped in virulent poison, and the teeth swelled up and took new forms. And just as in its mother an infant gradually assumes the form of man, and is perfected through all parts within, and has not come forth to the light till fully formed, so when the forms of men had been completed in the womb of earth made pregnant, they rose up from it, and what is yet more wonderful, each one clashed weapons that had been brought forth with him. When his companions saw the warriors turn as if with one accord, to hurl their spears sharp pointed at the head of Jason, fear unnerved the boldest, and their courage failed. So, too, the maid whose sorcery had saved him from much danger, when she saw the youth encompassed by those raging enemies, and he alone against so many, struck with sudden panic, she turned ashen white, her bloodless cheeks were blanched, and chilled with fear she wilted to the ground. And lest the herb so lately given him might fail his need, she added incantations and invoked mysterious arts. While she protected him he seized upon a heavy stone, and hurled it in the midst of his new enemies. Distracted by this caste and murderous, they turned from him, and clashing their new arms, those earth-born brothers fought amongst themselves till all were slaughtered in bloodthirsty strife. Gladly the Greeks acclaimed him conqueror, and pressed around him for the first embrace. Then, too, Medea, barbarous colchin made, although her modesty restrained her heart, eagerly longed to fold him in her arms. But careful of her good name, held aloof, rejoicing in deep, silent love, and she acknowledged to the gods her mighty gift of incantations. But the dragon, still alert, magnificent and terrible with gorgeous crest and triple tongue, and fangs barbed as a javelin, guards the golden fleece, and Jason can obtain that quest only if slumber may seal up the monster's eyes. Jason, successful, sprinkled on his crest leafy induces of a magic herb, and then recited thrice the words which bring deep slumber, potent words which would be calm the storm-tossed ocean, and would stop the flow of the most rapid rivers of our earth, and slowly slumber sealed the dragon's eyes. While that great monster slept, the hero took the golden fleece, and proudly sailed away, bearing his treasure, and the willing maid whose aid had saved him, to his native port Iulcus, victorious with the Argonauts. Now, when the valiant Argonauts returned to Thessaly, their happy relatives, fathers and mothers, praised the living gods, and with their hallowed gifts enhanced the flames with precious incense, and they offered Joe a sacred bullock, rich with gilded horns. But Jason's father, Eason, came not down rejoicing to behold his son, for now worn out with many years he waited death, and Jason to Medea grieving said, Dearest, to whom my life and love are due, although your kindness has been great to me, and you have granted more than I should ask, yet one more thing I beg of you. If your enchantments can accomplish my desire, take from my life some years that I should live and add them to my father's ending days." And as he spoke, he could not check his tears. Medea, moved by his affection, thought how much less she had grieved for her loved sire, and she replied, A wicked thing, you ask, can I be capable of using you in such a manner as to take your life and give it to another? Ask me not a thing so dreadful, may the gods forbid. I will endeavour to perform for you a task much greater. By the powers of night I will most certainly return to him the lost years of your father, but must not deprive you of your own. O grant the power, great goddess of the triple form, that I might not fail to accomplish this great deed. Three nights were wanting for the moon to join her circling horns and form a perfect orb. When these were passed, the rounded light shone full and bright upon the earth. Through the still night alone, Medea stalled forth from the house with feet bare, and in flowing garment clothed, her long hair unadorned and not confined. Deep slumber has relaxed the world and all that's living, animals and birds and men, and even the hedges and the breathing leaves are still, and motionless the laden air. Only the stars are twinkling, and to them she looks and beckons with imploring hands. Now thrice around she paces, and three times bespringles her long hair with water dipped from crystal streams, a which having done she kneels a moment on the cold bare ground, and screaming three times calls upon the night. O faithful night, regard my mysteries, O golden lighted stars, O softly moving moon, genial your fire succeeds the heated day, O hecket, grave, three-faced queen of these charms of enchanters and enchanters' arts, O fruitful earth, giver of potent herbs, O gentle breezes and destructive winds, You mountains, rivers, lakes, and sacred groves, and every dreaded god of silent night attend upon me. When my power commands, the rivers turn from their accustomed ways and roll far backward to their secret springs. I speak, and the wild troubled seas calm, and I command the waters to arise. The clouds I scatter, and I bring the clouds. I smooth the winds and ruffle up their rage. I weave my spells, and I recite my charms. I pluck the fangs of serpents, and I move the living rocks and twist the rooted oaks. I blast the forests. Mountains, at my word, tremble and quake, and from her granite tombs the liberated ghosts arise as earth astonished groans. From your appointed ways, O wonder-working moon, I draw you down against the magic-making sound of gongs and brazen vessels of Tamisa's oar. I cast my spells, and veil the jeweled rays of Phoebus Wayne, and quench Aurora's fires. At my command you tame the flaming bulls which long disdain to bend beneath the yoke, until they press their necks against the plows. And subject to my will you raised up war till the strong company of dragon-birth were slaughtered as they fought amongst themselves, and last you lulled asleep the warden's eyes, guards of the golden fleece, till then away can sleeping never. So, deceiving him, you sent the treasure to the Grecian cities. Witness my need of supernatural herbs, elixirs potent to renew the years of age, giving the bloom of youth. You shall not fail to grant me this, for not in vain the stars are flashing conformation, not in vain the flying dragons harnessed by their necks from skies descending bring my chariot down. A chariot sent from heaven came to her. And soon as she had stroked the dragon's necks and shaken in her hands the guiding rains, as soon as she had mounted, she was born quickly above, through unresisting air. And sailing over Thessaly she saw the Vale of Tempe, where the level soil is widely covered with a crumbling chalk. She turned her dragons towards new regions there. And she observed the herbs by Asa-born, the weeds on lofty Pellion, Otherus, Pindus, and vast Olympus. And from here she plucked the needed roots, or there the blossoms clipped all with the moon-curved sickle made of brass. Many the wild weeds by Apidanus, as well as blue Amphirisus banks, she chose, and not escaped anypias from her search. Pinean stretches, and Spurchean banks all yielded what she chose. And Boebi's shore, where Sway the rushes, she plucked up grass, a secret grass, from fair Euboean fields, life-giving virtues in their waving blades, as yet unknown for transformation wrought on Glockus. All those fields she visited, with ceaseless diligence in quest of charms, nine days and nine nights sought strong herbs, and the swift dragons with their active wings failed not to guide the chariot where she willed, until they reached her home. The dragons, then, had not been even touched by anything, except the odor of surrounding herbs, and yet they sloughed their skins the growth of years. She would not cross the threshold of her home nor pass its gates, but standing in the field alone beneath the canopy of heaven, she shunned all contact with her husband, while she built up from the ever-living turf two altars, one of which upon the right to Hecket was given, but the one upon the left was sacred, then, to you, O Hebe, goddess of eternal youth. Bestuning woodland boughs and sweet vervein adorned these altars, nearby which she dug as many trenches. Then, when all was done, she slaughtered a black ram, and sprinkled with blood the thirsty trenches, after which she poured from rich, carchesean goblets generous wine and warm milk, grateful to propitious gods, the deities of earth on whom she called, in treating as she did so, Pluto, lord of ghostly shades, and ravished prosopene, that they should not, in undue haste, deprive her patient's aged limbs of life. When certain she compelled the gods' regard, assured her incantations, and long prayers were both approved and heard, she bade her people bring out the body of her father-in-law, old Eson's worn-out body, and when she had buried him in a deep slumber by her spells, as if he were a dead man, she then stretched him out upon a bed of herbs. She ordered Jason and his servants thence, and warned them not to spy upon her rites with eyes profane. As soon as they retired, Medea, with disheveled hair and wild abandon, as a Bacchanalian, paced three times around the blazing altars, while she dipped her torches, splintered at the top, into the trenches, dark with blood, and lit the dipped ends in the sacred altar flames. Times three she purified the ancient man with flames, and thrice with water, and three times with sulfur, as the boiling mixture sieved and bubbled in the brazen cauldron near. And into this acerbic juices, roots and flowers and seeds, from veils hemonian, and mixed elixirs, into which she cast stones of strange virtue from the Orient, and sifted sands of ebbing-ocean's tide, white whore-frost gathered when the moon was full, the nauseating flesh and luckless wings of the uncanny screech-owl, and the entrails from mysterious animal that changed from wolf to man, from man to wolf again, the scaly sloughing of a water-snake, the medic-liver of a long-lived stag, and the hard beak and head of an old crow which was alive nine centuries before. These and a thousand nameless things the foreign sorceress prepared and mixed, and blended all together with a branch of peaceful olive, old and dry with years. And while she stirred the withered olive branch in the hot mixture, it began to change from brown to green, and presently put forth new leaves, and soon was heavy with the wealth of luscious olives. As the ever-rising fire threw bubbling froth beyond the cauldron's rim, the ground was covered with fresh verdure, flowers and all luxuriant grasses and green plants. Medea, when she saw this wonder, took her unsheathed knife, and cut the old man's throat. Then, letting all his old blood out of him, she filled his ancient veins with rich elixir. As he received it through his lips, or wound, his beard and hair no longer white with age, turned quickly to their natural vigor, dark and lustrous, and his wasted form renewed appeared in all the vigor of bright youth, no longer lean and sallow, for new blood coursed in his well-filled veins. Astonished when released from his deep sleep, and strong in youth, his memory assured him such he was years four times ten before that day. Bacchus, from his celestial vantage, saw this marvel, and convinced his nurses might then all regain their former vigor, he plaid with Medea to restore their youth. The colchin woman granted his request. End of book 7, part 1 Book 7, part 2 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 Elizabeth Klett Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Neso Translated by Brooks Moore Book 7, part 2 But so her malice might be satisfied, Medea feigned she had a quarrel with her husband, and for safety she had fled to Peleus. There, since the king himself was heavy with old age, his daughters gave her generous reception. And these girls the shrewd Medea in a short time won, by her false show of friendliness. And while among the most remarkable of her achievements she was telling how she had rejuvenated Aeson, and she dwelt particularly on that strange event, these daughters were induced to hope that by some skill like this their father might regain his lost youth also. And they begged of her this boon, persuading her to name the price no matter if it was large. She did not reply at once, and seemed to hesitate, and so she held their fond minds in a deep suspense by her feigned meditation. When she had at length declared she would restore his youth, she said to them, That you may have strong confidence in this, my promised boon, the oldest leader of your flock of sheep shall be changed to a lamb again by my prized drugs. Straight away a woolly ram, worn out with length of untold years, was brought, his great horns curved around his hollow temples. After she had cut his scrawny throat with her sharp knife the salient, barely staining with his thin blood, Medea plunged his carcass in a bronze-made kettle, throwing in it at the same time juices of great potency. These made his body shrink and burnt away his two horns, and with horns his ears. And now thin bleating was heard from within the pot, and even while they wondered at the sound a lamb jumped out and frisking ran away to find some udder with its needed milk. Amazed, the daughters looked on, and now that these promises had been performed they urged more eagerly their first request. Three times Phoebus unyoped his steeds after their plunge in Ebro's stream, and on the fourth night stars shone brilliant on the dark foil of the sky, and then the treacherous daughter of Aetys set some clear water over a hot fire and put in it herbs of no potency. And now a death-like sleep held the king down, his body all relaxed, and with the king his guards a sleep which incantations with the potency of magic words had given. The sad king's daughters, as they had been bed, were in his room, and with Medea stood around his bed. Why do you hesitate? Medea said. You laggards, come and draw your swords. Let out his old blood that I may refill his empty veins again with young blood. In your hands your father's life and youth are resting. You, his daughters, must have love for him, and if the hopes you have are not all vain, come, do your duty by your father. Drive out old age at the point of your good weapons, and let out his blood enfeebled. Cure him with the stroke of iron." Spurred on by these words, as each one of them was filial, she became the leader in the most unfilial act, and that she might not be most wicked did the wicked deed. No one could bear to see her own blows, so they turned their eyes away, and every face averted so they blindly struck him with their cruel hands. The old man streaming with his blood still raised himself on elbow, and half mangled tried to get up from his bed. With all those swords around him he stretched out his pale arms, and he cried, What will you do, my daughters? What has armed you to the death of your loved father? Their wrong courage left them, and their hands fell. When he would have said still more, Medea cut his throat, and plunged his mangled body into boiling water. Only because her winged dragon sailed swiftly with her up to the lofty sky, escaped Medea punishment for this unheard of crime. Her chariot sailed above embowered peleon, long the lofty home of Chiron, over Othrus, and the veil made famous where Cerambus met his fate. Cerambus, by the aid of nymphs from there, was wafted through the air on wings, when earth was covered by the overwhelming sea, and so escaped Deucalion's flood, uncrowned. She passed by Pitaen upon the left with its huge serpent image of hard stone, and also passed the grove called Idas, where the stolen bull was changed by Bacchus' power into a hunted stag. In that same veil Paris lies buried in the sand, and over fields where Mera, warning, harked, Medea flew, over the city of Euripolis upon the Isle of Coase, whose women wore the horns of cattle, when from there had gone the herd of Hercules, and over roads beloved of Phoebus, where Talkinian tribes dwelt, whose bad eyes corrupting power shot forth. Jove, utterly despising, thrust them deep beneath his brother's waves, over the walls of old Carthia, where Alcidamus had seen with wonder a tame dove arise from his own daughter's body. And she saw the lakes of Hyrie and Tumizia's veil by swans frequented. There, to satisfy his love for sickness, Phileus gave two living vultures, shell for him subdued a lion and delivered it to him, and mastered a great bull at his command. But when the wearied Phileus refused to render to his friend the valued bull, indignant the youth said, You shall regret your hasty words, which having said he leaped from a high precipice as if to death, but gliding through the air on snow-white wings was changed into a swan. Dissolved in tears his mother Hyrie knew not he was saved, and weeping formed the lake that bears her name. And over Pluron, where untrembling wings escaped the mother Combe from her son's Medea flu, and over the far Isle Caloria sacred to Letona, she beheld the conscious fields whose lawful king together with his queen were changed to birds. Upon her right Céline could be seen. There, Menophon, degraded as a beast, outraged his mother. In the distance she beheld Sophisius, who lamented long his hapless grandson, by Apollo changed into a bloated sea-calf, and she saw the house where King Umellus mourned the death of his aspiring son. Born on the wings of her enchanted dragons, she arrived at Corinth, whose inhabitants, Tiz said, from many mushrooms watered by the rain, sprang into being. There she spent some years. But after the new wife had been burnt by the cultured witchcraft, and two seas had seen the king's own palace all aflame, then savagely she drew her sword, and bathed it in the blood of her own infant sons, by which atrocious act she was revenged, and she, a wife and mother, fled the sword of her own husband, Jason. On the wings of her enchanted titan dragons, born, she made escape securely, nor delayed until she entered the defended walls of great, menervous city, at the hour when aged Paraphys, transformed by Jove together with his queen, on eagle wings flew over its encircling walls, with whom the guilty Halcyon, skimming seas safely escaped upon her balanced wings. And after all these events, Medea went to Aegeus, king of Athens, where she found protection from her enemies for all this evil done. With added wickedness, Aegeus, after that, united her to him in marriage. All unknown to him came Theseus to his kingly court. Before the time his valour had established peace on all the isthmus, raved by dual seas, Medea, seeking his destruction, brewed the juice of Achanite, investing shores of Scythia, wear'd his fabled the plant grew on soil infected by Cerberian teeth. There is a gloomy entrance to a cave that follows a declivitous descent. There Hercules, with chains of adamant, dragged from the dreary edge of Tartarus that monster watchdog Cerberus, which vain opposing turned his eyes a slant from light, from dazzling day. Delirious, enraged, that monster shook the air with triple howls, and frothing sprinkled as it raved the fields once green with spewing of white poison foam. And this, converted into plants, sucked up a deadly venom with the nourishment of former soils, from which productive grew upon the rock thus formed the noxious plant, by rustics from that caused, named Achanite. Medea worked on Ageus to present his own son, Theseus, with a deadly cup of Achanite, prevailing by her arch so that he deemed his son an enemy. Theseus unwittingly received the cup, but just before he touched it to his lips, his father recognized the sword he wore, for graven on its ivory hilt was wrought a known device, the token of his race. Astonished, Ageus struck the poison cup from his devoted son's confiding lips. Medea suddenly escaped from death in a dark whirlwind, her witch singing raised. Recoiling from such utter wickedness, rejoicing that his son escaped from death, the grateful father kindled altar flames, and gave rich treasure to the living gods. He slaughtered scores of oxen, decked with flowers and gilded horns. The son is never shone upon a day more famous in that land, for all the elders in the common folk united in festivities, with wine-inspiring wit and song. Oh, you, they sang! Immortal Theseus, victory was yours! Did you not slaughter the huge bull of Crete? Yes, you did slay the boar of Chromion, where now the peasant unmolested plows. And Paraphetes, wielder of the club, was worsted when he struggled with your strength. And fierce Procrustes, matched with you beside the rapid river, met his death, and even Cercyon and Elucis lost his wicked life, inferior to your might. And Sinus, a monstrosity of strength, who bent the trunks of trees and used his might against the world for everything that's wrong. For evil he would force down to the earth, pine-tops to shoot men's bodies through the air. Even the road to Magara is safe, for you did hurl a robber's siren, sheer over the cliff. Both land and sea denied his bones a resting place, as tossed about they changed into the cliffs that bear his name. How can we tell the number of your deeds, deeds glorious, that now exceed your years? For you, brave hero, we give public thanks and prayers, to you we drain our cups of wine. And all the palace rings with happy songs, and with the grateful prayers of all the people. And Sorrow, in that city, is not known. But pleasure always is alloyed with grief, and Sorrow mingles in the joyous hour. While the king Aegeus and his son rejoiced, Minos prepared for war. He was invincible in men and ships, and stronger in his rage direct due vengeance on the king who slew his son Andrugeus. But first he sought some friends to aid his warfare, and he scoured the sea with a swift fleet, which was his strength. Anafi and Astipalia both agreed to join his cause, the first one moved by promises, the second by his threats. Level Mykonos and the chalky fields of Simola's agreed to aid, and Cyrus covered with wild time. Level Seraphos, Paros of marble cliffs, and that place which Arnie, the impious Sifnian, had betrayed, who having got the gold which in her greed she had demanded, was changed to a bird which ever since that day imagines gold at its chief delight, a black-foot, black-winged doll. But Oliaros, Didemay, Antinos, Giaros, Andros, and Peparithos, rich in its glossy olives, gave no aid to the strong Cretan fleet. Sailing from them, Minos went to Onopia, known realm of the Asiidae. Men of old time had called the place Inopia, but Aegeus styled it Aegean from his mother's name. At his approach an eager rabble rushed resolve to see and know so great a man. Telemon met him and his brother younger than Telemon, and Focus, who was third in age. Even Aegeus appeared slow with the weight of years and asked him what could be a reason for his coming there. The ruler of a hundred cities sighed, as he beheld the sons of Aegeus, for they reminded him of his lost son, and heavy with his sorrow he replied, I come imploring you to take up arms and aid me in the war against my foes, for I must give that comfort to the shade of my misfortune son whose blood they shed. But Aegeus replied to Minos, Nay, it is a vain request you make, for we are bound in strict alliance to the land and people of Socropia. Full of rage, because he was denied, the king of Crete, Minos, as he departed from their shores, replied, Let such a treaty be your bane. But he departed with his crafty threat, believing it expedient not to waste his power in wars until the proper time. Before the ships of Crete had disappeared, before the mist and blue of waves concealed their fading outlines from the anxious throng which gathered on Anopian shores, a ship of Athens covered with wide sails appeared, and anchored safely by their friendly shore, and presently the mighty Cephalus, well known through all that nation for his deeds, addressed them as he landed, and declared the good will of his people. Him, the sons of Aegeus, remembered well, although they had not seen him for some untold years. They led him to their father's welcome home, and with him also his two comrades went, Clytus, and Beauties. Center of all eyes the hero still retained his charm. The customary greetings were exchanged. The graceful hero, bearing in his hands a branch of olive from his native soil, delivered the Athenian message, which requested aid and offered for their thought the treaty and ancestral league between their nations. And he added, Minos sought not only conquest of the Athenian state, but sovereignty of all the states of Greece. And when this eloquence had shown his cause, with left hand on his gleaming scepter's hilt, King Aecus exclaimed, Ask not our aid, but take it, Athens, and count boldly yours all of the force this island holds, and all things which the state of my affairs supplies. My strength for this war is not light, and I have many soldiers for myself and for my enemy. Thanks to the gods, the times are happy, giving no excuse for my refusal. May it prove so, Cephalus replied, and may your city multiply in men. Just now, as I was landing, I rejoiced to meet youths, fair and matched in age, and yet I miss among them many whom I saw before when last I visited your city. Aecus then groaned, and with sad voice replied, With weeping we began, but better fortune followed. Wood that I could tell the last of it and not the first, giving my heart command that simple words and briefly spoken may not long detain. Those happy youths who waited at your need, who smiled upon you and for whom you ask, because their absence grieves your noble mind they've perished, and their bleaching bones or scattered ashes only may remain. Sad remnants, impotent, of vanished power, so recently my hope and my resource. Because this island bears a rival's name, a deadly pestilence was visited on my confiding people, through the rage of jealous Juno flaming for revenge. This great calamity at first appeared a natural disease, but soon its power baffled our utmost efforts. Medicines availing not, a rain of terror swept from shore to shore and fearful havoc raged. Thick darkness gathered from descending skies enveloped our devoted land with heat and languid sickness, for the space of full four moons. Four times the moon increased her size. Hot south winds blew with pestilential breath upon us. At the same time the diseased infection reached our needed springs and pools, thousands of serpents crawling over our deserted fields defiled our rivers with their poison. The swift power of the disease at first was limited to death of dogs and birds and cattle, or among wild beasts. The luckless plowman marvels when he sees his strong bulls fall while at their task and sink down in the furrow. Wooly flocks bleed feebly while their wool falls off without a cause and while their bodies pine away. The prized horse of high courage and of great renown when on the race-course has now lost victorious spirit and forgetting his remembered glory groans in his shut stall, doomed for inglorious death. The bore forgets to rage, the stag to trust his speed, and even the famished bear to fight the stronger herd. Death seizes on the vitals of all life, and in the woods and in the fields and the roads, the loathsome bodies of the dead corrupt the heavy hanging air. Even the dogs, the vultures, and the wolves refused to touch the putrid flesh, there in the sultry sun rotting upon the earth, emitting steams and exhalations with a vainful sweep increasing the dread contagion's wide extent. So spreading with renewed destruction gained from its own poison, the fierce pestilence appeared to leap from molding carcasses of all the brute creation, till it struck the wretched tillers of the soil, and then extended its dominion over all this mighty city. Always it began as if the patient's bowels were scorched with flames, red blotches on the body next appeared, and sharp pains in the lungs prevented breath. The swollen tongue would presently lull out, rough and discoloured from the gaping mouth, wide gasping to inhale the noxious air, and show red throbbing veins. The softest bed and richest covering gave to none relief, but rather the diseased would bear himself to cool his burning breast upon the ground, only to heat the earth, and no relief returned. And no physician could be found, for those whom ministered among the sick were first to suffer from the dread disease. The cruel malady broke out among the very ones who offered remedies. The hallowed art of medicine became a deadly snare to those who knew it best. The only safety was in flight, and those who were the nearest to the stricken ones, and who most faithfully observed their wants, were always first to suffer as their wards. And many, certain of approaching death, indulged their wicked passions, recklessly abandoned without the sense of shame, promiscuously huddled by the wells and rivers and cool fountains, but their thirst no water could assuage, and death alone was able to extinguish their desire. Too weak to rise, they die in water, they pollute, while others drink its death. Amadness seizing on them made their beds become most irksome to their tortured nerves. Demented they could not endure the pain and leaped insanely forth. Or if too weak the wretches rolled their bodies on the ground insistent to escape from hated homes, imagined sources of calamity. For since the cause was hidden and unknown, the horrible locality was blamed. Suspicion seizes on each frail presence as proof of what can never be resolved. And many half-dead wretches staggered out on sultry roads as long as they could stand, and others weeping stretched out upon the ground, died in convulsions as their rolling eyes gazed upwards at the overhanging clouds. Under the sad stars they breathed out their souls. And oh, the deep despair that seized on me, the sovereign of that wretched people! I was tortured with a passionate desire to die the same death, and I hated life. No matter where my shrinking eyes were turned I saw a multitude of gruesome forms and ghastly attitudes bestrew the ground, scattered as rotten apples that have dropped from moving branches, or as acorns thick around a gnarled oak. Lift up your eyes, behold that holy temple, unto Job long dedicated. What availed the prayers of frightened multitudes were incense burned on those devoted altars. In the midst of his most fervent supplications, the husband, as he pled for his dear wife, or the fond father for his stricken son, would suddenly, before a word prevailed, die clutching at the altars of his gods, while holding in his stiffened hand a spray of frankincense still waiting for the fire. How often sacrificial bulls have been brought to those temples, and while white-robed priests was pouring offered wine between their horns, have fallen without waiting for the stroke. While I prepared a sacrifice to Job for my behalf, my country, and three sons, the victim, ever moaning dismal sounds before a blow was struck, fell suddenly beside the altar, and his scanty blood ran thinly from the knives that slaughtered him. His entrails, wanting all the marks of truth, were so diseased the warnings of the gods could not be read. The baneful malady had penetrated to the heart of life. And I have seen the carcasses of men lie rotting at the sacred temple gates, or by the very altars where they fell, making death odious to the living gods. And often I have seen some desperate man end life by his own halter, and so cheat by voluntary death his fear of death, in mad haste to outrun approaching fate. The bodies of the dead indecently were cast forth, lacking sacred funeral rites as hitherto the custom. All the gates were crowded with processions of the dead. Unburied, they might lie upon the ground, or else deserted on their lofty pires with no one to lament their dismal end, dissolve in their dishonored ashes. All restraint forgotten, a mad rabble fought and took possession of the burning pires, and even the dead were ravished of their rest. And who should mourn them wanting? All the souls of sons and husbands and of old and young must wander unlamented, and the land sufficed not for the crowded sepulchres, and the dense forest was denuded of all trees. Heartbroken at the sight of this great woe I wailed, O Jupiter, if truth were told of your sweet comfort in Agena's arms, if you were not ashamed of me, your son, restore my people, or entomb my corpse, that I may suffer as the ones I love. Great lightning flashed around me, and the sound of thunder proved that my complaint was heard. Accepting it, I cried, let these great joe, the happy signs of your assent, be shown good omens given as a sacred pledge. Nearby a sacred oak tree grown from seed brought thither from Dodona, spread abroad its branches thinly covered with green leaves, and creeping as an army on the tree we saw a train of ants that carried grain, half hidden in the deep and wrinkled bark. And while I wondered at the endless line, I said, Good Father, give me citizens of equal number for my empty walls. Soon as I said those words, though not a wind was moving nor a breeze, the lofty tree began to tremble, and I heard a sound of motion in its branches. Wonder not that sudden fear possessed me, and my hair began to rise, and I could hardly stand for so my weak knees tottered. As I made obeisance to the soil and sacred tree, perhaps I cherished in my heart a thought, that not acknowledged, cheered me with some hope. At night I lay exhausted by such thoughts, a deep sleep seized my body, but the tree seemed always present, to my gaze distinct with all its branches. I could even see the birds among its leaves, and from its boughs that trembled in the still air moving ants were scattered to the ground and troops below, and ever as they touched the soil they grew larger and larger. As they raised themselves they stood with upright bodies and put off their lean shapes, and absorbed their many feet, and even as their dark brown color changed their rounded forms took on a human shape. When my strange dream departed, I awoke, the vision vanished, I complained to heaven against the idle comfort of such dreams, but as I voiced my own lament, I heard a mighty murmur echoing through the halls of my deserted palace, and a multitude of voices in confusion, where the sound of scarce and echo had disturbed the still-deserted chambers for so many days. All this I thought the fancy of my dream, until my brave son Telemon in haste threw open the closed doorway as he called, Come quickly, Father, and behold a sight beyond the utmost of your fondest dreams. I did go out, and there I saw such men each in his turn as I had seen transformed in that weird vision of the moving ants. They all advanced, and hailed me as their king. So soon as I had offered vows to Jove, I subdivided the deserted farms and dwellings in the cities to these men miraculously raised, which now are called my murmidons, the living evidence of my strange vision. You have seen these men, and since that day their name has been declared decisive evidence. They have retained the well-known customs of the days before their transformation. Patiently they toil, they store the profits of their labour, which they guard with valiant skill. They'll follow you to any war, well-matched in years and courage, and I do promise, when this east wind turns, this wind that favoured you and brought you here, and when a south wind favours our design, then my brave murmidons will go with you. This narrative and many other tales had occupied the day. As twilight fell, festivities were blended in the night. The night in turn afforded sweet repose. Soon as the golden sun had shown his light, the east wind blowing still, the ships were stayed from sailing home. The sons of Pallas came to Cephalus, who was the elder called, and Cephalus together with the sons of Pallas went to see the king. Deep sleep still held the king, and Focus, who was the son of Acus, received them at the gate, instead of Telemon and Pellius, who were marshalling the men for war. Into the inner court and beautiful apartments Focus conducted the Athenians, and they sat down together. Focus then observed that Cephalus held in his hand a curious javelin with golden head, and shaft of some rare wood. And as they talked he said, It is my pleasure to explore the forest in the chase of startled game, and so I have learned the nature of rare woods, but never have I seen the match of this from which was fashioned this good javelin. It lacks the yellow tint of forest ash. It is not knotted like all corner wood. Although I cannot name the kind of wood, my eyes have never seen a javelin shaft so beautiful as this. To him replied a friend of Cephalus. But you will find its beauty is not equal to its worth, for whatsoever it is aimed against its flight is always certain to the mark, nor is it subject to the shift of chance, and after it is struck, although no hand may cast it back, it certainly returns, blood-stained with every victim. Then indeed was Focus anxious to be told whence came and who had given such a precious gift, and Cephalus appeared to tell him all, but craftily was silent on one strange condition of the fatal gift. As he recalled the mournful fate of his dear wife, his eyes filled up with tears. Ah, pity me, he said. If fate should grant me many years, I must weep every time that I regard this weapon which has been my cause of tears. The unforgiven death of my dear wife—ah, wood that I had never handled it. My sweet wife, Procress! If you could compare her beauty with her sisters, Oritheas, ravished by the blustering Boreus, you would declare my wife more beautiful. Tis she her sire Erectheus joined to me, tis she the god Love also joined to me. They called me happy, and in truth I was, and all pronounced us so until the gods decreed otherwise. Two joyful months of our united Love were almost past, when as the gray light of the dawn dispelled upon the summit of Hymetis Green, Aurora, glorious in her golden robes, observed me busy with encircling nets, trapping the antlered deer. Against my will incited by desire, she carried me away with her. Oh, let me not increase her anger, for I tell you what is true, I found no comfort in her lovely face. And although she is the very queen of light, and reigns upon the edge of shadowy space where she is nourished on rich nectar-wine, adding delight to beauty, I could give no heed to her entreaties, for the thought of my beloved Procress intervened, and only her sweet name was on my lips. I told Aurora of our wedding joys and all refreshing joys of Love, and my first union of my couch deserted now. Enraged against me, then the goddess said, Keep to your Procress, I but trouble you, you ungrateful clown, but if you can be warned you will no longer wish for her. And so in anger she returned me to my wife. Alas, as I retraced the weary way, long brooding over all Aurora said, suspicion made me doubtful of my wife, so faithful and so fair. But many things reminding me of steadfast virtue, I suppressed all doubts, until the dreary thought of my long absence filled my jealous mind, from which I argued to the criminal advances of Aurora. For if she, so lovely in appearance, did conceal such passion and the garb of innocence until the moment of temptation, how could I be certain of the purity of even the strongest when the best are frail? So brooding, every effort I devised to cause my own undoing. By the means of bribing presence, favoured by disguise, I sought to win her guarded chastity. Aurora had disguised me, and her guile determined me to work in subtle snares. Unknown to all my friends I paced the streets of sacred Athens till I reached my home. I hoped to search out evidence of guilt, but everything seemed waiting my return, and all the household breathed an air of grief. With difficulty I disguised obtained an entrance to her presence by the use of artifice as many, and when I there saw her, silent in her grief, amazed my heart no longer prompted me to test such constant love. An infinite desire took hold upon me. I could scarce restrain an impulse to caress and kiss her. Pale with grief that I was gone, her lovely face in sorrow was more beautiful. The world has not another, so divinely fair. Ah, Procrus, it is wonderful to think of beauty so surpassing fair it seems more lovable in sorrow. Why relate to you how often she repulsed my feigned attempts upon her virtue? To each please she said, I serve one man, no matter where he may be I will keep my love for one. Who but a man insane with jealousy would doubt the virtue of a loving wife when tempted by the most insidious wiles whose hallowed honour was her husband's love? But I, not satisfied with proof complete, would not abandon my depraved desire to poison the pure fountain I should guard. Increasing my temptations I caused her to hesitate and covet a rich gift. Then, angered at my own success, I said, discarding all disguise, behold the man whose lavish promise has established proof, the witness of your shameful treachery, your absent husband has returned to this! Unable to endure a ruined home, where desecration held her sin to view, despairing and in silent shame she fled, and I, the author of that wickedness ran after, but enraged at my deceit and hating all mankind, she wandered far in wildest mountains, hunting the wild game. I grieved at her desertion, and the fires of my neglected love consumed my health, with greater violence my love increased. Until unable to endure such pain, I begged forgiveness and acknowledged fault, nor hesitated to declare that I might yield the same way tempted if such great gifts had been offered to me. When I had made abject confession and she had avenged her outraged feelings, she came back to me, and we spent golden years in harmony. She gave to me the hound she fondly loved, the very one Diana gave to her when lovingly the goddess had declared, this hound all others shall excel in speed. Nor was that gift the only one given by kind Diana when my wife was hers, as you may guess. This javelin I hold forth no other but a goddess could bestow. Would you be told the story of both gifts attend my words and you shall be amazed, for never such another sad event has added sorrow to the grieving world. After the son of Lyas, Oedipus, had solved the riddle of the monster's sphinx, so often baffling to the wits of men, and after she had fallen from her hill, mangled, forgetful of her riddling craft, not unrevenged the mighty Themis, brooked her loss. Without delay that goddess raised another savage beast to ravage Thebes, by which the farmer's cattle were devoured, the land was ruined and its people slain. Then all the valiant young men of the realm, with whom I also went, enclosed the field where lurked the monster, in a mesh of many tangled nets. But not a strand could stay its onrush, and it leapt the crest of every barrier where the toils were set. Already they had urged their eager dogs which swiftly as a bird it left behind, eluding all the hunters as it fled. At last all begged me to let slip the leash of straining tempest, such I called the hound my dear wife's present. As he tugged and pulled upon the tightened cords, I let them slip. No sooner done than he was lost to sight, although wherever struck his rapid feet the hot dust world. Not swifter flies the spear, nor whizzing bullet from the twisted sling, nor feathered arrow from the twanging bow. A high hill jutted from a rolling plain on which I mounted to enjoy the sight of that unequaled chase. One moment caught, the next as surely free, the wild beast seemed now here, now there, elusive in its flight, swiftly sped onward or with sudden turn, doubled in circles to deceive or gain. With equal speed pursuing at each turn the rapid hound could neither gain nor lose. Now springing forward and now doubling back, his great speed foiled, he snapped at empty air. I then turned to my javelin's aid, and while I poised it in my right hand, turned away my gaze a moment as I sought to twine my practised fingers in the guiding thongs, but when again I lifted up my eyes to cast the javelin where the monster sped, I saw two marble statues standing there transformed upon the plain. One statue seemed to strain in attitude of rapid flight, the other with wide open jaws was changed just in the act of barking and pursuit. Surely some god, if any god controls, decreed both equal, neither could succeed. Now after these miraculous events, it seemed he wished to stop, but focus said, What charge have you against the javelin? And Cephalus rejoined. I must relate my sorrows last, for I would tell you first the story of my joys. Too sweet to think upon the gliding tide of those few years of married life when my dear wife and I were happy in our love and confidence. No woman could allure me then from her, and even Venus could not tempt my love. All my great passion for my dearest wife was equaled by the passion she returned. As early as the sun, when golden rays first glittered on the mountains, I would rise in youthful ardour to explore the fields in search of game. With no companions hound nor steeds nor nets, this javelin was alone my safety and my companion in my sport. And often when my right hand felt its weight, a wearied of the slaughter it had caused, I would come back to rest in the cool shade and breezes from cool veils, the breeze I wooed, blowing so gently on me in the heat, the breeze I waited for, she was my rest from labour. I remember, Aura, come, I used to say, come soothe me, come into my breast most welcome one, and yes indeed you do relieve the heat with which I burn. And as I felt the sweet breeze of the morn, as if an answer to my song my fate impelled me further to declare my joy in song. You are my comfort, you are my delight. Refresh me, cherish me, breathe on my face. I love you, child of lonely haunts and trees. Such words I once was singing, not aware of someone spying on me from the trees, who thought I sang to some beloved nymph, or goddess by the name of Aura, so I always called the breeze. Unhappy man! The meddling tell-tale went to progress with the story of supposed unfaithfulness, and slyly told in whispers all he heard. True love is credulous, and as I heard the story, progress in a swoon fell down. When she awakened from her bitter swoon she ceased not wailing her unhappy fate, and wretched moaned for an imagined woe. So she lamented what was never done. Her woe incited by a whispered tale she feared the fiction of a harmless name. But hope returning soothed her wretched state, and now no longer willing to believe such wrong unless her own eyes saw it, she refused to think her husband sinned. When dawn had banished night, and eye rejoicing ranged the breathing woods victorious in the hunt, paused and said, Come, Aura, lovely breeze, relieve my panting breast. It seemed I heard the smothered moans of sorrow as I spoke, but not conceiving harm, I said again, Come here, O my delight! And as those words fell from my lips, I thought I heard a soft sound in the thicket as of moving leaves, and thinking surely it was a hidden beast, I threw this winged javelin at the spot. It was my own wife, Procress, and the shaft was buried in her breast. Ah, wretched me! she cried, and when I heard her well-known voice distracted I ran towards her, only to find her bathed in blood and dying from the wound of that same javelin she had given to me, and in her agony she drew it forth. Ah, me, alas! from her dear tender side! I lifted her limp body to my own, in these blood-guilty arms, and wrapped the wound with fragments of my tunic that I tore in haste to stanch her blood, and all the while I moaned, Oh, do not now forsake me slain by these accursed hands! Weak with the loss of blood and dying, she compelled herself to utter these few words. It is my death, let my eyes not close upon this life before I plead with you, by the dear ties of sacred marriage, by your God and mine, and if my love for you can move your heart, and even by the cause of my sad death, my love for you increasing as I die. Ah, put away that aura you have called, that she may never separate your soul, your love for me. So, by those dying words I knew that she had heard me call the name of Aura, when I wished the cooling breeze, and thought I called a goddess, cause of all her jealous sorrow in my bitter woe. Alas, too late I told her the sad truth, but she was sinking, and her little strength swiftly was ebbing with her flowing blood. As long as life remained her loving gaze was fixed on mine, and her unhappy life at last was breathed out on my grieving face. It seemed to me a look of sweet content was in her face, as if she feared not death. In tears he told these things, and as they wept in came the aged monarch Acheus, and with the monarch his two valiant sons, and troops new levied, trained to glorious arms. Metamorphosis, by Publius Ovidius Neso, translated by Brooks Moore, Book Eight, Part One Now Lucifer unveiled the glorious day, and as the session of the night dissolved, the cool east wind declined, and vapours wreathe the moistened valleys. Rearing to the south, the welcome wind gave passage to the sons of Acheus, and wafted cephalus on his returning body, propitious, where before the wanted hour they entered port. King Minus, while the fair wind moved their ship, was laying waste to land of Magara. He gathered a great army round the walls built by Alcathus, where reigned in splendour King Nicus, mighty and renowned in war, upon the centre of whose hoary head a lock of purple hair was growing. Its proved virtue gave protection to his throne. Six times the horns of rising Phoebe grew, and still the changing fortune of the war was in suspense, so victory day by day between them hovered on uncertain wings. Within that city was a regal tower on tuneful walls, where once Apollo laid his golden harp, and in the throbbing stone the sounds remained. And there, in times of peace the daughter of King Nicus loved to mount the walls and strike the sounding stone with pebbles, so when the war began she often viewed the dreadful conquest from that height, until, so long the hostile camp remained, she had become acquainted with the names, and knew the habits, horses, and the arms of many a chief, and could discern the signs of their Sedonian quivers. More than all, the features of King Minus were engraved upon the tablets of her mind, and when he wore his helmet, crested with gay plumes, she deemed it glorious. When he held his shield shining with gold, no other seemed so grand, and when he poised to hurl the tough spear home, she praised his skill and strength. And when he bent his curving bow with arrow on the cord, she pictured him as Phoebus taking aim. But when, arrayed in purple and upon the back of his white war-horse, proudly decked with richly broided housings, he reigned in the nervous steed and took his helmet off, showing his fearless features. Then the maid, daughter of Nysus, could control herself no longer, and a frenzy seized her mind. She called the javelin happy which he touched, and blessed were the reins within his hand. She had an impulse to direct her steps, attend a virgin, through the hostile ranks, or cast her body from the topmost towers into the Nossian camp. She had a wild desire to open to the enemy the heavy brass-bound gates, or anything that Minus could desire. And as she sat beholding the white tents, she cried, Alas! should I rejoice or grieve to see this war? I grieve that Minus is the enemy of her who loves him, but unless the war had brought him, how could he be known to me? But should he take me for a hostage? That might end the war a pledge of peace. He might keep me for his companion. Oh, Supreme of mankind, she who bore you must have been as beautiful as you are. Ample calls for Jove to lose his heart. Oh, happy hour! If moving upon wings through yielding air, I could alight within the hostile camp in front of Minus, and declare to him my name and passion. Then would I implore what dowry he could wish, and would provide whatever he might ask, except alone the city of my father. Perish all my secret hopes for one act of mine should offer treason to accomplish it, and yet the kindness of a conqueror has often proved a blessing manifest to those who were defeated. Certainly the war he carries on is justified by his slain son. He is a mighty king, sliced strengthened in his cause. Undoubtedly we shall be conquered, and if such a fate awaits our city, why should he by force, instead of my consuming love, prevail to open for his army the great gates? Only the thought of it has filled her soul. She is determined to deliver up her country as a dowry with herself, and so decide the war. How I fear the bitter fate should any warrior hurl his cruel spear and pierce you by mischance, for surely none can be so hardened to transfix your breast with purpose known. Oh, let her love prevail to open for his army the great gates! Only the thought of it has filled her soul. She is determined to deliver up her country as a dowry to open for his army the great gates. How I fear the war! But what avails this idle talk? A guard surrounds the gates. My father keeps the keys, and he alone is my obstruction, and the innocent account of my despair. Would to the gods, I had no father. Is not man the god of his own fortune, though his idle prayers avail not to compel his destiny? Another woman, crazed with passionate desires to meditate, but with a fierce abandon would destroy whatever checked her passion. Who is there with love to equal mine? I dare to go through flames and swords, but swords and flames are not now needed, for I only need my royal father's lock of purple hair. More precious than fine gold, it has the power to give my heart all that it may desire. While Silla said this, night that heals our cares came on, and she grew bolder in the dark. And now it is the late and silent hour when slumber takes possession of the breast. Outwearyed with the cares of busy day, then as her father slept, with stealthy tread she entered his abode, and there despoiled, and clipped his fatal lock of purple hair. Concealing in her bosom the sad prize of crime degenerate, she had once went forth a gate unguarded, and with shameless haste sped through the hostile army to the tent of Minos, whom astonished she addressed. Only my love has led me to this deed. The daughter of King Niceth I am called the maiden Silla. Unto you I come and offer up a power that will prevail against my country, and I stipulate no recompense except yourself. Take then this purple hair, a token of my love. Deem it not lightly as a lock of hair held idly forth to you, it is in truth my father's life. And as she spoke she held out in her guilty hand the prize, and begged him to accept it with her love. Shocked at the thought of such a heinous crime, Minos refused and said, Oh, excreable thing! despise the abomination of our time! May all the gods forever banish you from their wide universe, and may the earth and the deep ocean be denied to you. So great a monster shall not be allowed to desecrate the sacred retreat where Jupiter was born. So Minos spoke. Nevertheless he conquered Megara, so aided by the damsel's wicked deed, and as a just and mighty king imposed his own conditions on the vanquished land. He ordered his great fleet to tarry not, the horses were let loose, and the long oars quickly propelled his brazen pointed ships. When Silla saw them launching forth, observed them sailing on the mighty deep, she called with vain entreaties. But at last, aware the prince ignored her and refused to recompense her wickedness, enraged and raving, she held up her impious hands, her long hair streaming on the wind, and said, Oh, wherever you have flown and left behind the author of your glory, oh wretch, wretch to whom I offered up my native land and sacrificed my father, where have you now flown, ungrateful man whose victory is both my crime and virtue, and the gift presented to you, and my passion, have these not moved you? All my love and hope in you alone, forsaken by my prince, shall I return to my defeated land? If never ruined it would shut its walls against me. Shall I seek my father's face whom I delivered to all conquering arms? My fellow citizens despise my name, my friends and neighbours hate me. I have shut the world against me, only in the hope that Crete would surely welcome me. And now he has forbidden me. And is it so I am requited by this thankless wretch? Europa could not be your mother, Spawn of Cruel Circus, Savage Cub of fierce Armenian Tigris, or Caribdis, tossed by the wild south wind begot you. Can you be the son of Jupiter? Your mother was not ever tripped by the false semblance of a bull. All that story of your birth is false. You are the offspring of a bull as fierce as you are. Let your vengeance fall upon me, O my father Nicus. Let the ruined city I betrayed rejoice at my misfortunes, richly merited. Destroy me, you whom I have ruined. I should perish for my crimes. But why should you, who conquered by my crime, abandon me? The treason to my father and my land becomes an act of kindness in your cause. That woman is a worthy mate for you who hid in wood, deceived the raging bull, and bought to him the infamy of Crete. I do not wonder that passive I preferred the bull to you, more savage than the wildest beast. Alas! Alas for me! Do my complaints reach your unwilling ears, or do the same winds waft away my words that blow upon your ship's ungrateful man? Ah wretched that I am! He takes delight in hastening from me. The deep waves resound as smitten by the oars. His ship departs, and I am lost, and even my native land is fading from his sight. O heart of Flint! You shall not prosper in your cruelty, and you shall not forget my sacrifice. In spite of everything I follow you. I'll grasp the curving stern of your swift ship, and I will follow through on ending seas. And as she spoke, she leapt into the waves and followed the receding ships, for strength from passion came to her, and soon she clung unwelcome to the sailing Gnossian ship. Meanwhile the gods had changed her father's form, and now he hovered over the salt-deep, a hawk with tawny wings. So when he saw his daughter clinging to the hostile ship, he would have torn her with his rending beak. He darted towards her through the yielding air. In terror she let go. But as she fell the light-air held her from the ocean's spray, her feather-weight supported by the breeze. She spread her wings and changed into a bird. They called her Kiris when she cut the wind, and Kiris, cut the lock, remains her name. King Minos, when he reached the land of Crete and left his ships, remembered he had made a vow to Jupiter and offered up a hundred balls. The splendid spoils of war adorned his palace. Now the infamous reproach of Crete had grown till it exposed a double-natured shame. So Minos moved to cover his disgrace, resolved to hide the monster in a prison, and he built with intricate design by Deedalus contrived an architect of wonderful ability and famous. This he planned of mazy wanderings that deceived the eyes and labyrinthic passages involved. So sports the clear meander in the fields of frigia winding doubtful. Back and forth it meets itself until the wandering stream fatigued impedes its wearied waters flow from source to sea, from sea to source involved. So Deedalus contrived in numerous paths and windings vague so intricate that he, the architect, could hardly retrace his steps. In this the Minotaur was long concealed, and there devoured Athenian victims sent three seasons, nine years each, till Cicius, son of Aegeus, slew him and retraced his way, finding the path by Ariani's thread. Without delay the victor fled from Crete, together with the loving maid, and sailed for dear Isle of Naxos, where he left the maid for lawn, abandoned. Her, in time, lamenting and deserted, Bacchus found, and for his love immortalised her name. He set in the dark heavens the bright crown that rested on her brows. Through the soft air at world, while all the sparkling jewels changed to flashing fires, assuming in the sky between the serpent holder and the kneeler, the well-known shape of Ariani's crown. End of Book 8, Part 1 Book 8, Part 2 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 Paul Huckabee. Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Neso. Translated by Brooks Moore. Book 8, Part 2 But Daedalus abhorred the Isle of Crete, and his long exile on that sea-girt shore increased the love of his own native place. Though Minos blocks escape by sea and land, he said, the unconfined skies remain, though Minos may be lord of all the world, his scepter is not regnant of the air, and by that untried way is our escape. This said, he turned his mind to arts unknown and nature unrevealed. He fashioned quills and feathers in due order, deftly formed from small to large as any rustic pipe from straws of an equal slant. He bound with thread the middle feathers, and the lower fixed with plyant wax, till so, in gentle curves arranged, he bent them to the shape of birds. While he was working, his son Icarus, with smiling countenance and unaware of danger to himself, perchance would chase the feathers ruffled by the shifting breeze, or soften with his thumb the yellow wax, and by his playfulness, retard the work his anxious father planned. But when at last the father finished it, he poised himself, and lightly floating on the winnowed air, waved his great feathered wings with bird-like ease, and likewise he had fashioned for his son such wings, before they ventured in the air, he said, my son, I caution you to keep the middle way, for if your pinions dip too low, the waters may impede your flight, and if they soar too high, the sun may scorch them, fly midway, gaze not at the boundless sky, far Ursa Major and Bo-O-T's next, nor on Orion with his flashing brand, but follow my safe guidance. As he spoke, he fitted on his son the plumed wings with trembling hands, while down his withered cheeks the tears were falling. Then he gave his son a last kiss, and upon his gliding wings assumed a careful lead solicitously, as when the bird leads forth her tender young from high-swing nest to try the yielding air, so he prevailed on willing Icarus, encouraged and instructed him in all the fatal art, and as he waved his wings, looked backward on his son. Beneath their flight the fisherman, while casting his long rod, or the tired shepherd, leaning on his crook, or the rough plowman, as he raised his eyes, astonished might observe them on the wing, and worshipped them as gods. Upon the left they passed Samos, Juno's sacred isle, Delos and Paros, too, were left behind, and on the right, Libinthus and Calimni, fruitful in honey. Proud of his success, the foolish Icarus, foresuck his guide, and bold invanity began to soar. Rising upon his wings to touch the skies, but as he neared the scorching sun, his heat softened the fragrant wax that held his plumes, and the heat increasing melted the soft wax. He waved his naked arms instead of wings, with no more feathers to sustain his flight, and as he called upon his father's name his voice was smothered in the dark blue sea, now called Icarion from the dead boy's name. The unlucky father, not a father, called, Where are you, Icarus? And where are you? In what place shall I seek you, Icarus? He called again, and then he saw the wings of his dear Icarus floating on the waves, and he began to rail and curse his art. He found the body on an island shore, now called Icaria, and at once prepared to bury the unfortunate remains. While he laboured a pert partridge near, observed him from the covert of an oak, and whistled his unnatural delight. Know you the cause? T'was then a single bird, the first one of its kind. T'was never seen before the sister of deadless had brought him perdix, her dear son, to be his pupil, and as the years went by the gifted youth began to rival his instructor's art. He took the jagged backbone of a fish, and with it as a model made a saw with sharp teeth fashioned from a strip of iron, and he was first to make two arms of iron smooth hinged upon the centre so that one would make a pivot while the other, turned, described a circle, wherefore deadless, enraged and envious, sought to slay the youth, and cast him headlong from Minerva's fain. Then spread the rumour of an accident, but Pallas, goddess of ingenious men, saving the pupil, changed him to a bird, and in the middle of the air he flew on feathered wings, and so his active mind and vigor of his genius were absorbed into his wings and feet. Although the name of perdix was retained, the partridge hides in shaded places by the leafy trees, its nested eggs among the bush's twigs, nor does it seek to rise in lofty flight, for it is mindful of its former fall. Wearied with travel, deadless arrived at Sicily, where Cocholus was king, and when the wandering deadless implored the monarch's kind protection from his foe, he gathered a great army for his guest, and gained renown from an applauding world. Now, after Theseus had destroyed in Crete the dreadful monster, Athens then had ceased to pay her mournful tribute, and with wreaths her people decked the temples of the gods, and they invoked Minerva, Jupiter, and many other gods whom they adored with sacrifice and precious offerings, and jars of frankincense. Quick-flying fame had spread reports of Theseus through the land, and all the peoples of Achaea from that day, when danger threatened would entreat his aid. So it befell the land of Caledon. Through Meliega and her native hero implored the valiant Theseus to destroy a raging bore, a ravage of her realm. Diana in her wrath had sent the bore to wreak her vengeance, and they say the cause was this. The nation had had a fruitful year for which the good king, Onius, had decreed that all should offer the first fruits of corn to Cerys, and to backers wine of grapes, and oil of olives to the golden-haired Minerva. Thus the gods were all adored, beginning with the lowest to the highest, except alone Diana, and of all the gods her alters only were neglected. No frankincense unto her was given. Neglect enrages even deities. Am I to suffer this indignity, she cried, though I am thus dishonoured, I will not be unrevenged. And so the bore was sent to ravage the fair land of Caledon. And this avenging bore was quite as large as bulls now feeding on the green Epirus, and larger than the bulls of Sicily. A dreadful bore, his burning bloodshot eyes seemed coals of living fire, and his rough neck was knotted with stiff muscles, and thick set with bristles like sharp spikes, a seething troth dripped on his shoulders, and his tusks were like the spoils of ind. Discordant roars reverberated from his hideous jaws, and lightning, belched forth from his hurried throat, scorched the green fields. He trampled the green corn, and doomed the farmer to lament his crops. In vain the threshing floor has been prepared. In vain the barns await the promised yield. Long branches of the vine and heavy grapes are scattered in confusion, and the fruits and branches of the olive tree, whose leaves should never wither, are cast on the ground. His spleen was ventured on the simple flocks, which neither dogs nor shepherd could protect, and the brave bulls could not defend their herds. The people fled in all directions from the fields, for safety to the cities. Terror reigned. There seemed no remedy to save the land, till Maliega chose a band of youths, united for the glory of great deeds. What heroes shall a mortal song proclaim? Castor and Pollux, twins of Tindaris, one famous for his skill in horsemanship, the other for his boxing. Jason, too, was there, the glorious builder of the world's first ship, and Theseus, with his friend, Perthoas, and Toxius, and Plexippus, fated sons of Thestius, and the son of Aphraeus, Linkius, with his fleet-footed brother, Eidus, and Ceneus, first a woman, then a man, the brave Lusipus, and the Argonaut, a castus, swift of dart, and Warlike Dryus, Hippotheus, and Phenix, not then blind. The son of King Amintor, and the twain who sprung from Actor, Phileus, there the brooch from Elis, Telemann was one of them, and even Phileus, father of the great Achilles, and the son of Phaerys joined, and Iolus, and the swift Euretion, Echion, fleet of foot, Nerecian Lelix, and Penopius, and Hylius, and Hipposus, and Nestor, youthful, then, and the four sons Hippocoan, from Eld Amaclae sent, the father-in-law of Queen Penelope, and Chaos of Arcadia, and the wise Soothsayer, Mopsus, and the prophet, son of Oakless, victim of a traitor wife, and Atalanta, virgin of the groves, of Mount Lysaeus, glory of her sex. A polished buckle fastened her attire, her lustrous hair was fashioned in a knot, her weapons rattled in an ivory case, swung from her white left shoulder, as she held a bow in her left hand. Her face appeared as maidenly for boy, or boyish for girl, when Meliega saw her. He at once longed for her beauty, though some god forbade. The fires of love flamed in him, and he said, Happy the husband who shall win this girl, neither the time nor his own modesty, permitted him to say another word. But now the dreadful contest with the bore engaged this hero's energy and thought. A wood, ambiguous, not impaired with age, slopes from a plain, and shadows the wide fields. And there this band of valiant heroes went, eager to slay the dreaded enemy. Some spread the nets, and some let loose the dogs. Some traced the wide spore of the monsters' hooves. There is a deep gorge, where the rivulets that gather from the rain discharged themselves. And there the bending willow, the toothed sedge, the marsh rush, osier, and tall tangled reed, in wild profusion cover up the marsh. Aroused from this retreat, the startled bore, as quick as lightning from the clashing clouds, crashed all the trees that numbered his mad way. The young men raised a shout, leveled their spears, and brandished their keen weapons. But the bore rushed onward and scattered them with deadly side-long stroke. Echion was the first to hurl his spear, but slanting in its course, it only glanced a nearby maple tree. And next the spear of long-remembered Jason cut the air. So swiftly hurled, it seemed it might transfix the bore's back, but with overforce it sped beyond the monster. Poising first his dart, the son of Ampix, as he cast it, he implored Apollo, in my prayer if I have truly worshipped you, hearken to me as always I adore you, let my spear un-earing strike its aim. Apollo heard and guided the swift spear. But as it sped, Diana struck the iron head from the shaft, and the blunt wood fell harmless from his hide. Then with the monster's savage anger roused. As the bright lightning's flash, his red eyes flamed. Death was hot as fire, as when a stone is aimed at walls or strong towers, which protect encompassed armies, launched by the torch-rope it strikes with dreaded impact. So the bore, with fatal onset, rushed among this band of noble lads, and stretched upon the ground Eupalomon and Pelagon, whose guard was on the right, and their companions bore their bodies from the field. Another youth, the brave son of Hippacoan, was a deadly wound. While turning to escape, the sinew of his thigh was cut, and failed to bear his tottering steps. A nester might have perished then, so long before he fought the heroes of old Troy, but everwise he vaulted on his long lance from the ground into the branches of a sheltering tree, where in a safe position he could look down on his baffled foe. The raging bore whetted his gleaming tushes on an oak. Then with his sharpened tusks bored the thigh of mighty Hippacus, observed of all, and mounted on their horses, whiter than the northern snow, the twins, long afterward transformed to constellations, sallied forth, and brandishing their lances, poised in air, determined to destroy the bristling bore. It thwarted their design by hiding in a thicket intricate, where neither steed nor lance could penetrate, but Telemon pursued undaunted, whilst tripped up by tangled roots fell headlong. Peleus stooped to rescue him. While he regained his feet, the virgin, Atalanta, took her bow, and fitting a sharp arrow to the notch, twang the tight cord. The feathered shaft quivered beneath the monster's ear. The red blood stained his hard bristles, flushed with her success, rejoiced the maid, but not more gladly than the hero Meliega. Here it was who first observed the blood, and pointed out the stain to his companions, as he cried, Give honour to the courage of a maid! Unwilling to be worsted by a maid, the rushing heroes raised a mighty cry. And as they shouted in excitement, hurled their weapons in confusion, and so great the multitude their actions interfered. Behold, and Chaos, wielding his war-axe, and rushing madly to his fate, exclaimed, Witness it! See the weapons of a man excel a woman's. Ho! Make way for my achievement! Let Diana shield the brute. Despite her utmost effort, my right hand shall slaughter him. So mighty in his boast he puffed himself, and lifting with both hands his double-edged axe, he stood erect on tiptoe, fiercely bold. The savage bore caught him, and ripped his tushes through his groin, a spot where death is sure. And Chaos fell, and his torn entrails, and his crimson blood stained the fair verdure of the spot with death. Ixion's doubty son was running straight against the monster, shaking his long lance with nervous vigor in his strong right hand. But Theseus, standing at a distance, called, Beware! Beware! You dearest of my friends, be valiant at a distance, or the fate of rashly bold and Chaos may be yours. Even as he spoke, he balanced in his hand his brazen pointed lance of corner wood, with aim so true, it seemed the great bore's death was certain. But an evergreen oak branch shielded the beast. Then Jason hurled his dart, which turned by chance, transfixed a lookless dog, pinned him, yelping to the sanguine earth. So fared those heroes. Better fortune gave success to Meliega. First he threw a spear that missed and quivered in the ground, but next he hurled a spear with certain aim. It pierced the middle of the monster's back, and rushing in upon the dreaded beast, while raging it was whirling round and round. The fearless prince provoked to greater rage the wounded adversary. The bloody throth dripped down his champing jaws. His purple blood poured from a rankling wound. Without delay the mighty Meliega plunged the spear deep into the monster's shoulder. All his friends raised a glad shout, and gathered round him, tried to grasp his hand. With wonder they beheld the monster's bulk stretched out upon the plain, and fearful still to touch him. They entertained their weapons in his spouting blood. At length the hero Meliega pressed his conquering foot upon the monster's head, and said, Oh Atalanta, glorious maid of Nonakris, to you is yielded my spoil, my lawful right, and I rejoice to share the merit of this glorious victory. And while he spoke he gave to her the pelt covered with horrid bristles, and the head frightful with gory tusks. And she rejoiced in Meliega and his royal gift. But all the others, envious, began to murmur, and the sons of Thestius levelled their pointed spears, and shouted, Give up the prize, let not the confidence of your great beauty be a snare to you. A woman should not, into fearing, filch the manly honours of a mighty hunt. Aside, and let your witless lover yield. So threatened they, and took from her the prize, and forcibly despoiled him of his rights. The warlike prince, indignant and enraged, rowed with resentment, shouted out, What! Ho! You spoilers of this honour, that is ours? Brave deeds are different far from craven threats. And with his cruel sword he pierced the breast of rash Plexipus, taken unawares. And while his brother Toxius, struck with fear, stood hesitating whether to avenge or run to safety, Meliega plunged the hot sword, smoking with a brother's blood into his breast also. And so perished they.