 Book 14, Part 1 of Ovid's Metamorphoses Now the Ubean dweller in Great Waves, Glockus, had left behind the crest of Aetna raised upward from a giant's head, and left the Cyclops fields that never had been torn by harrow or by plough and never were indebted to the toil of oxen yoked, left Xancli also, and the opposite walls of Regium, and the sea, abundant cause of shipwreck which confined with double shores, bounds the Ossonian and Sicilian lands. All these behind him, Glockus, swimming on with his huge hands through those Tyrrhenian seas drew near the hills so rich in magic herbs and halls of Cersei, daughter of the sun, halls filled with men in guise of animals. After due salutations had been given, received by her as kindly, Glockus said, You as a goddess certainly should have compassion on me a god, for you alone, if I am worthy of it, can relieve my passion. What the power of herbs can be, Titania, none knows more than I, for by their power I was myself transformed. To make the cause of my strange madness known, I have found Silla on Italian shores directly opposite Messinian walls. It shames me to recount my promises and treaties and caresses, and at last rejection of my suit. If you have known a power of incantation, I implore you, now repeat that incantation here with sacred lips. If herbs have greater power, use the trite power of herbs. But I would not request a cure, the healing of this wound, much better than an end of pain, let her share and feel with me my impassioned flame. But Cersei was more quick than any other to burn with passion's flame. It may have been her nature, or it may have been the work of Venus, angry at her tattling sire. You might do better, she replied, to court one who is willing, one who wants your love and feels a like desire. You did deserve to win her love, yes, to be wooed yourself. In fact, you might be. If you give some hope, you have my word, you shall indeed be wooed. That you may have no doubt, and so retain all confidence in your attraction's power, behold, I am a goddess, and I am the daughter also of the radiant sun, and I who am so potent with my charms, and I who am so potent with my herbs wish only to be yours. Arise her who despises you, and her who is attached to you repay with like attachment, so by one act offer each her just reward. But Glaucas answered her attempt of love, the trees will sooner grow in ocean waves, the seaweed sooner grow on mountaintops, than I shall change my love for graceful Scylla. The goddess in her jealous rage could not and would not injure him whom she still loved, but turned her wrath upon the one preferred. She bruised immediately the many herbs most infamous for horrid juices which, when bruised, she mingled with most artful care and incantations given by Hecate. Then clothed in azure vestments, she passed through her troop of fawning savage animals and issued from the center of her hall, pacing from there to Regium, opposite the dangerous rocks of Zankli, she had once entered the tossed waves boiling up with tides. On these, as if she walked on the firm shore, she set her feet and, hastening on dry shod, she skimmed along the surface of the deep. Not far away there was an inlet curved, round as a bent bow, which was often used by Scylla as a favorite retreat. There she withdrew from heat of sea and sky when in the zenith blazed the unclouded sun and cast the shortest shadows on the ground. Cersei infected it before that hour, polluting it with monster-breeding drugs. She sprinkled juices over it, distilled from an obnoxious root, and thrice times nine she muttered over it with magic lips, her most mysterious charm involved in words of strangest import and of dubious thought. Scylla came there and waited in waist-deep, then saw her loins defiled with barking shapes. Believing they could be no part of her, she ran and tried to drive them back and feared the boisterous canine jaws. But what she fled she carried with her, and, feeling for her thighs, her legs and feet, she found Cerberian jaws instead. She rises from a rage of dogs, and shaggy backs encircle her shortened loins. The lover Glockus wept. He fled the embrace of Cersei and her hostile power of herbs and magic spells. But Scylla did not leave the place of her disaster, and, as soon as she had opportunity, for hate of Cersei, she robbed Ulysses of his men. She would have wrecked the Trojan ships if she had not been changed beforehand to a rock which to this day reveals a craggy rim, and even the rock awakes the sailor's dread. After the Trojan ships, pushed by their oars, had safely passed by Scylla and the fierce Charybdis, and with care had then approached near the Ossonian shore, a roaring gale bore them far southward to the Libyan coast. And then Sidonian Dido, who was doomed not calmly to endure the loss of her loved Phrygian husband, graciously received Aeneas to her home and her regard, and on a pyre, erected with pretense of holy rites, she fell upon the sword. Deceived herself, she there deceived them all. Aeneas, fleeing the new walls built on that sandy shore, revisited the land of Eryx and Ossestes, his true friend. There he performed a hallowed sacrifice, and paid due honor to his father's tomb. And presently he loosened from that shore the ships which Iris, Juno's minister, had almost burned, and sailing past far off the kingdom of the son of Hippotus in those hot regions smoking with the fumes of burning sulfur, and he left behind the rocky haunt of Acolloa's daughters the Sirens. Then when his good ship had lost the pilot, he coasted near Anarimi, near Procada, and near the barren hill which marks another island, Bithicusi, an island named from strange inhabitants. The father of the gods abhorred the frauds and perjuries of the Circopians, and for the crimes of that bad treacherous race transformed its men to ugly animals, appearing unlike men, although like men. He had contracted and had bent their limbs, and flattened out their noses, bent back towards their foreheads. He had furrowed every face with wrinkles of old age, and made them live in that spot. After he had covered all their bodies with long, yellow, ugly hair. Since all that he took away from them the use of language and control of tongues so long inclined to dreadful perjury, and left them always to complain of life and their ill conduct in harsh jabbering. After Aeneas had passed by all those, and seen to his right hand the distant walls guarding the city of Parthenope, he passed on his left hand a mound, grave of the tuneful son of Iolus. Landing on Cume's marshy shore, he reached a cavern, home of the long-lived Sibylla, and prayed that she would give him at the lake of Urnis, access to his father's shade. She raised her countenance from gazing on the ground, and with an inspiration given to her by influence of the gods, she said, Much you would have, O man of famous deeds, whose courage is attested by the sword, whose filial piety is proved by flame. But Trojan, have no fear. I grant your wish, and with my guidance you shall look upon the latest kingdom of the world, shall see Elysian homes and your dear father's shade, for virtue there is everywhere away. She spoke, and pointed out to him a branch refulgent with bright gold found in the woods of Juno of Avernus, and commanded him to pluck it from the stem. Aeneas did what she advised him. Then he saw the wealth of the dread Orcus, and he saw his own ancestors, and beheld the aged ghost of great Ancyces. There he learned the laws of that deep region, and what dangers must be undergone by him in future wars. Retracing with his weary steps the path up to the light, he found relief from toil and converse with the sage Cumian guide. While in thick dusk he trod the frightful way. Whether you are a deity, he said, or human and most favored by the gods, to me you always will appear divine. I will confess, too, my existence here is due to your kind aid, for by your will I visited the dark abodes of death, and I escaped the death which I beheld. For this great service, when I shall emerge into the sunlit air, I will erect for you a temple, and will burn for you the sweet incense kindled at the altar flame. The prophetess looked on him, and with sighs, I am no goddess, she replied, nor is it well to honor any mortal head with tribute of the holy frankincense. And that you may not err through ignorance, I tell you life eternal without end was offered to me, if I would but yield virginity to Phoebus for his love. And while he hoped for this and in desire offered to bribe me for my virtue, first with gifts he said, Maiden of Cume, choose whatever you may wish, and you shall gain all that you wish. I pointed to a heap of dust collected there and foolishly replied, As many birthdays must be given to me as there are particles of sand, for I forgot to wish them days of changeless youth. He gave long life and offered youth besides if I would grant his wish. Thus I refused, I live unwetted still. My happier time has fled away, now comes with tottering step infirm old age which I shall long endure. You find me ending seven long centuries, and there remain for me before my years equal the number of those grains of sand three hundred harvests, three hundred vintages. The time will come when long increase of days will so contract me from my present size, and so far waste away my limbs with age that I shall dwindle to a trifling weight. So trifling it will never be believed I was once loved and even pleased a God. Perhaps even Phoebus will not recognize me, or will deny he ever bore me love. But though I changed till I would never know me, my voice shall live, the fates will leave my voice. Sibylla with such words beguiled their way from Stygian realms up to the Euboean town. Trojan Aeneas, after he had made due sacrifice in Cume, touched the shore that had not yet been given his nurse's name. Macarius of Neritus had come, companion of long-tried Ulysses. There he rested, weary of his lengthened toils. He recognized one left in Aeneas' cave, Greek Achaemenides, and, all amazed to find him yet alive, he said to him, What chance, or what God Achaemenides preserves you? Why is this barbarian ship conveying you a Greek? What land is sought? No longer ragged in the clothes he wore, and his own master, wearing clothes not tacked with sharp thorns. Achaemenides replied, Again may I see polyphemous jaws out-streaming with their slaughtered human blood. If my own home in Ithaca give more delight to me than this barbarian bark, or if I venerate Aeneas less than my own father. If I should give my all, it never could express my gratitude, that I can speak and breathe, and see the heavens illuminated by the gleaming sun. How can I be ungrateful and forget all this? Because of him these limbs of mine were spared the Cyclops' jaws, and, though I were even now to leave the light of life, I should at worst be buried in a tomb not in his maw. What were my feelings when, unless indeed my terror had deprived me of all sense, left there I saw you making for the open sea? I wished to shout aloud, but was afraid it would betray me to the enemy. The shouting of Ulysses nearly caused destruction of your ship, and there I saw the Cyclops when he tore a crag away and hurled the huge rock in the whirling waves. I saw him also throw tremendous stones with his gigantic arms. They flew afar as if impelled by catapults of war. I was struck dumb with terror lest the waves or stones might overwhelm the ship, forgetting that I was still on the shore. But when your flight had saved you from that death of cruelty, the Cyclops, roaring rage, paced all about Mount Edna, groping through its forests with his outstretched arms. Deprived of sight he stumbled there against the rocks until he reached the sea. And stretching out his gore-stained arms into its waters there, he cursed all of the Grecian race and said, Oh, that some accident would carry back Ulysses to me, or but one of his companions, against whom my rage might vent itself, whose joints my hand might tear, whose blood might drench my throat, whose living limbs might quiver in my teeth. How trifling then how insignificant would be the loss of my sight which he took from me! All this and more, he said. A ghastly horror took possession of me when I saw his face in every feature streaming yet with blood, his ruthless hands and the vile open space where his one eye had been. And his coarse limbs and his beard matted through with human blood. It seemed as if death were before my eyes, yet that was but the least part of my woe. I seemed upon the point of being caught, my flesh about to be the food of his. Before my mind was fixed the time I saw two bodies of my loved companions dashed three or four times hard against the ground when he above them, like a lion, crouched, devouring quickly in his hideous jaws their entrails and their flesh and their crushed bones, white marrowed and their mangled, quivering limbs. A trembling fear seized on me as I stood pallid and without power to move from there. While I recalled him chewing greedily and belching out his bloody banquet from his huge mouth, vomiting crushed pieces mixed with philemy wine, and I feared such a doom and readiness awaited wretched me, most carefully concealed for many days, trembling at every sound and fearing death, although desiring death, I fed myself on grass and acorns mixed with leaves. Alone and destitute, despondent unto death, awaiting my destruction, I lost hope. In that condition a long while at last I saw a ship not far off, and by signs prayed for deliverance as I ran in haste down to the shore. My prayers prevailed on them. A Trojan ship took in and saved a Greek. And now, O dearest to me of all men, tell me of your adventures, of your chief and comrades when you sailed out on the sea. Van Macarius told him of Eolus, the son of Hippotus, whose kingdom is the Tuscan Sea, whose prison holds the winds, and how Ulysses had received the winds tied in a bullseye bag, an awesome gift, how nine days with a favoring breeze they sailed and saw afar their longed-for native land. How as the tenth day dawned, the crew was moved by Envy and a lust for gold, which they imagined hidden in that leathern bag, and so untied the thong which held the winds. These rushing out had driven the vessel back over the waves, which they had safely passed, back to the harbor of King Eolus. From there, he said, we sailed until we reached the ancient city of Laemus, Lestragon. Antifities was reigning in that land, and I was sent with two men of our troop, ambassadors, to see him. Two of us escaped with difficulty, but the third stained the accursed Lestragonians' jaws with his devoted blood. Antifities pursued us, calling out his murderous horde. They came, and hurling stones and heavy beams, they overwhelmed and sank both ships and men. One ship escaped, on which Eoluses sailed. Grieving, lamenting for companions' lost, we finally arrived at that land which you may discern far off, and, trust my word, far off it should be seen, I saw it near. And almost righteous Trojan Venus' son Aeneas, whom I call no more afoe, I warn you now, avoid the shores of Cersei. We moored our ship beside that country, too, but mindful of the dangers we had run, with Lestragons and cruel Polyphemus refused to go ashore. Eoluses chose some men by lot, and told them to seek out a roof which he had seen among the trees. But a lot took me, then staunch Polytes next, Eurylicus, Alpinor fond of wine, and eighteen more, and brought us to the walls of Cersei's dwelling. As we drew near and stood before the door, a thousand wolves rushed out from woods nearby, and with the wolves there ran she-bears and lionesses dread to see. And yet we had no cause to fear, for none would harm us with the smallest scratch, why they in friendship even wagged their tails and fawned upon us while we stood in doubt. Then handmaids took us in, and led us on through marble halls to the presence of their queen. She, in a beautiful recess, sat on her throne, clad richly in a shining purple robe, and over it she wore a golden veil, nereads and nymphs who never carted fleece with motion of their fingers, nor drew out a ductile thread. We're setting potent herbs in proper order, and arranging them in baskets. A confusing wealth of flowers were scattered among leaves of every hue, and she prescribed the tasks they all performed. She knew the natural use of every leaf and combinations of their virtues when mixed properly, and, giving them her close attention, she examined every herb as it was weighed. When she observed us there, and had received our greetings and returned them, she smiled as if we should be well received. At once she had her maidens bring a drink of parched barley, of honey and strong wine, and curds of milk, and in the nectrous draught she added secretly her baleful drugs. We took the cups presented to us by her sacred right hand, and as soon as we so thirsty quaffed them with our parching mouths, that ruthless goddess with her outstretched wand touched lightly the topmost hair upon our heads. Although I am ashamed I tell you this, stiff bristles quickly grew out over me, and I could speak no more. Instead of words I uttered hoarse murmurs, and towards the ground began to bend and gaze with all my face. I felt my mouth take on a hardened skin with a long crooked snout, and my neck swell with muscles. With the very member which a moment earlier had received the cup, I now made tracks and sand at the palace court. Then with my friends, who suffered a like change, charms have such power, I was prisoned in a sty. We saw Urilyka's alone avoid our swinish form for he refused the cup. If he had drained it I should still remain one of a bristly herd, nor would his news have made Ulysses sure of our disaster and brought a swift avenger of our fate. Peace-bearing Hermes gave him a white flower from a black root called Moli by the gods. With this protection and the gods' advice he entered Cersei's hall and, as she gave the treacherous cup and with her magic wand assayed to touch his hair, he drove her back and terrified her with his quick-drawn sword. She gave her promise and, right-hands exchanged, he was received unharmed into her couch, where he required the bodies of his friends awarded him as his prized marriage gift. We then were sprinkled with more favored juice of harmless plants, and smitten on the head with the magic wand reversed, and new charms were repeated, all conversely to the charms which had degraded us. Then as she sings, more and yet more we raise ourselves erect, the bristles fall off and the fishers leave our cloven feet, our shoulders overcome their lost shape, and our arms become attached as they had been before. With tears of joy we all embrace him, also weeping tears, and we cling fondly to our chieftain's neck. Not one of us could say a single word till thus we had attested gratitude. End of Book 14, Part 1, Recording by Brian Haggerty, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Recording by Kevin Weir, Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Nazo, Translated by Brooks Moore, Book 14, Part 2. The full space of a year detained us there, and I, remaining that long stretch of time, saw many things, and heard as much besides. And this, among the many other things, was told me secretly by one of the four handmaidens of those rites. While Cersei passed her time from all apart, except my chief, she brought me to a white marbles shape, a youth who bore a woodpecker upon his head. It stood erected in a hallowed place, adorned with many wreaths. When I had asked the statue's name, and why he stood revered in that most sacred temple, and what caused that bird he carried on his head, she said, Listen, Macarius, and learn from this tale to the power of Cersei, and weigh the knowledge well. Pekus, off spring of Saturn, was the king of the Orsonian land, one very fond of horses raised for war. The young man's form was just what you now see, and had you known him as he lived, you would not change a line. His nature was as noble as his shape. He could not yet have seen the steeds contend four times in races held with each fifth year at Grecian Ellis. But his good looks had charmed the dryads born on Latin hills. Nyads would pine for him. Both goddesses of spring, and goddesses of fountains, pine'd for him. And nymphs that live in streaming alboula, Numisus, Anio's course, brief flowing Elmo, and rapid Naur, and Farfarus, so cool in its delightful shades. All these, and those which haunt the forest lake of Scythian Diana, and the other nearby lakes. But heedless of all these, he loved a nymph whom on the hill called Palatine, Tiz said, Vanillia bought her Janus double-faced. When she had reached the age of marriage, she was given to Picus Laurentine, preferred by her above all others. Wonderful indeed her beauty, but more wonderful her skill in singing, from which art they called her Canons. The fascination of her voice would move the woods, and rocks, and tame wild beasts, and stay long rivers, and it even detained the wandering bird. Once, while she sang a lay with high clear voice, Picus, on his keen horse, rode in Laurentian fields to hunt the boar, two spears in his left hand, his purple cloak fastened with gold. The daughter of the sun wandered in woods nearby to find new herbs growing on fertile hills, for she had left Scythian fields called so from her own name. From a concealing thicket she observed the youth with wonder. All the gathered herbs dropped from her hands, forgotten, to the ground, and a hot fever flame seemed to pervade her marrow. When she could collect her thought, she wanted to confess her great desire, but the swift horse and his surrounding guards prevented her approach. Still you shall not escape me, she declared, although you may be born on winds, if I but know myself, and if some potency in herbs remains, and if my art of charms does not deceive. Such were her thoughts, and then she formed an image of a bodiless, wild swine, and let it cross the trail before the king and rush into a woodland dense with trees, which fallen trunks made pathless for his horse. Pickas at once, unconscious of all harm, followed the phantom prey, and hastily quitting the reeking back of his good steed, he wandered in pursuit of a vain hope, on foot through that deep wood. He seized the chance, and by her incantation called strange gods with a strange charm, which had the power to hide the white moon's features and draw thirsty clouds about her father's head. The changing sky then lowered more black at each repeated tone of incantation, and the ground exhaled its vapours, while his people wandered there along the darkened paths until no guard was near to aid the imperiled king. King now gained an opportunity in place, she said, O youth most beautiful, by those fine eyes which captivated mine, and by that graceful person which brings me, even me, a goddess suppliant to you, have pity on my passion. Let the son who looks on all things be your father-in-law. But do not despise Cersei the tightness. But fiercely he repelled her and her prayer. Whoever you may be, you are not mine, he said. Another lady has my heart. I pray that for a lengthening space of time she may so hold me. I will not pollute conjugal ties with the unhellowed loves of any stranger, while the fates preserve to me the child of Janus, my dear Canons. Titan's daughter, when many pleas had failed, said angrily, you shall not leave me with impunity, and you shall not return to Canons. And by your experience you shall now learn what can be done by her so slighted. What a woman deep in love can do, and Cersei is that slighted love. Then twice she turned herself to face the west, and twice to face the east. And three times then she touched the young man with her wand, and sang three incantations. Pekas fled, but marvelling at his unaccustomed speed he saw new wings that spread on either side and bore him onward. Angry at the thought of transformation, also suddenly added a strange bird to the Lassian woods. He struck the wild oaks with his hard new beak, and in his rage inflicted many wounds on the long waving branches his wings took the purple of his robe. The piece of gold which he had used so nicely in his robe was changed to golden feathers, and his neck was rich as yellow gold. Nothing remained of Pekas as he was, except the name. While all this happened his attendants called on Pekas often, but in vain throughout surrounding fields, and finding not a trace of their young king had length by chance they met with Cersei, who had cleared the darkened air and let the clouds disperse before the wind and clear rays of the sun. Then with good cause they blamed her, they demanded the return of their lost king, and with their hunting spears they threatened her. He, sprinkling baleful drugs and poisoned juices over them, invoked the aid of night, and all the gods of night from Erebus and Chaos, and desired the aid of Hecate with long wailing cries. Most wonderful to tell, the forests leapt from fixed localities, and the torn soil uttered deep groans, the trees surrounding changed from life green to sick pallor, and the grass was moistened with the besprinkling drops of blood. The stones sent forth harsh longings, and non-dogs barked loudly, and the ground became a mass of filthy snakes, and unsubstantial hosts of the departed flitted without sound. The men all quaked, appalled. With magic rod she touched their faces, pale and all amazed, and at her touch the youth took on strange forms of wild animals. None kept his proper shape. The setting sun is resting low upon the fire-tartesian shores, and now in vain her husband's expected by the eyes of longing canons. The slaves and people ran about through all the forest, holding lights to meet him. Nor is it enough for that dear nymph to weep and frenzy to tear her hair and beat her breast. She did all that and more. Distracted she rushed forth and wandered through the letton fields. Six nights, six brightening dawns, found her quite unrefreshed with food or sleep, wandering at random over hill and dale. The tiber saw her last, with grief and toil, wearied and lying on its widespread bank. In tears she poured out words with a faint voice, lamenting her sad woe as when the swan about to die sings a funeral dirge. Being with grief at last she pined away, her flesh, her bones, her marrow liquefied and vanished by degrees as formless air, and yet the story lingers near that place, fitly named canons by old time came an eye. Such things I heard and saw through a long year, sluggish, inactive through our idleness. We were all ordered to embark again out on the deep, again to set our sails. The tightness explained the doubtful paths, the great extent and peril of wild seas. I was alarmed, I will confess to you, so having reached these shores I have remained. Macarius finished, and Aeneas's nurse, now buried in a marble urn, had this brief strange inscription on her tomb. My foster child of proven piety burned me kaita here. Although I was at first preserved from Argyre fire, I later burned with fire which was my Jew. The cable loosened from the grassy bank, they steered a course which kept them well away from ill-famed Cersei's wiles, and from her home and sought the groves where Tiber dark with shade breaks with his yellow sands into the sea. Aeneas then fell heir to the home, and won the daughter of Latinus, Thornus's son, not without war. A people very fierce made war, and Turnus, their young chief, indignant, fought to hold a promised bride. With Latium all Etruria was embroiled, a victory hard to win was sought through war. By foreign aid each side got further strength. The camp of Rutile abounds in men, and many throng the opposing camp of Troy. Aeneas did not find Evander's home in vain, but Vennulus with no success came to the realm of exiled Diomed. That hero had marked out his mighty walls with favour of Iapidian downess, and held fields that came to him as marriage-dower. When Vennulus, by Tornus' orders made request for aid, the Aetolian hero said that he was poor in men. He did not wish to risk and battle himself any troops belonging to his father-in-law, and had no troops of his own that he could arm for battle. First you should think I feign, he then went on, although my grief must be renewed because of bitter recollections of the past, I will endure recital now to you. After the lofty Illion was burnt, and Pergama had fed the Grecian flames, and Ajax, the Narecian hero, had brought from a virgin for a virgin wronged, the punishment which he alone deserved on our whole expedition, we were then dispersed and driven by violent winds over the hostile seas. And we, the Greeks, had to endure in darkness, lightning, rain, the wroth both of the heavens and of the sea, and cafarious the climax of our woe. Not to detain you by relating such unhappy things in order, Greece might then have seemed to merit even Priam's tears. Although well-armed Minerva's care preserved me then, and brought me safe through rocks and waves, from my native Argos I was driven again, for outraged Venus took her full revenge, remembering still that wound of long ago, and I endured such hardships on the deep and hazards amid armies on the shore, that often I called those happy whom the storm, and ill that came on all, or cafarious had drowned. I even wished I had been one of them. My best companions, having now endured utmost extremities and wars and seas, lost courage and demanded a swift end of our long wandering. Ackmon, by nature hot, and much embitted by misfortune, said, What now remains for you, my friends, that patience can endure? What can be done by Venus if she wants to, more than she already has done? While we have a dread of greater evils, reason will be found for patience. But when fortune brings her worst, we scorn and trample fear beneath our feet. On the height of woe, why should we care? Let Venus listen, let her hate diametered more than all others, as indeed she does. We all despise her hate. At a great price, we have bought and won the right to such contempt. With language of this kind, Pluronian Ackmon, provoking Venus further than before, revived her former anger. His fierce words were then approved of by a few, while we, the greater number of his real friends, rebuked the words of Ackmon. And while he prepared to answer us, his voice, and even the passage of his voice, were both at once diminished. His hair changed to feathers, while his neck took a new form. His breast and back covered themselves with down, and both his arms grew longer feathers, and his elbows curved into light wings. Much of each foot was changed to long toes, and his mouth grew still and hard with pointed horn. Amazed at his swift change were Lycus, Abbas, Nictius, and Rexanor. And while they stared, they took his feathered shape. The larger portion of my army flew from their boat, resounding all around our oars with flapping of new-fashioned wings. If you should ask the form of these strange birds, they were like snowy swans, though not the same. Now, as Iopidian Adonius, son-in-law, I scarcely hold his town and arid fields with my small remnant of trustworthy men. So Diomed made answer. Vanuilus soon after left the Caledonian realms, Pusitian bays and the Missapian fields. Among those fields he saw a darkened cave in woods and waving reeds. The half-goat pan now lives there, but in all the time the nymphs possessed it. An Apulian shepherd scared them from that spot. At first he terrified them with a sudden fear, but soon ensconed as they considered what the intruder was, they danced before him, moving feet to time. The shepherd clown abused them, capering, grotesquely imitating graceful steps, and railed at them with course and foolish words. He was not silent till a tree's new bark had closed his mouth, for now he is a tree. And the wild olive's fruit took bitterness from him. It now has the tartness of his tongue. When the ambassadors returned and told their tale about Aetolian arms refused, the bold Retulians carried on the war without those forces, and much blood was shed. Then Turnus, with a greedy torch, drew near the Trojan fleet, well abilt of close-knit pine. What had escaped the waves now feared the flame. Soon Maltsebo was burning pitch and wax and other food of fire. Up the high masts he ran and fed upon the tight-felled sails, and even the benches in the curved hull smoked. When the holy mother of the gods, recalling how those same pines were felled on Aida's crest, filled the wind with the sound of cymbals clashed and trill of boxwood flutes. Born through the light air by her famed lion-yoke, she came and said, In vain you cast the fire with empire's hand, Turnus, for I will save this burning fleet. I will not let the greedy flame consume trees that are part and members of my grove. It thundered while she spoke, and heavy clouds, following the thunder, brought a storm of bounding hail. The Australian brothers filled both air and swollen waters with their rage, and rushed to battle. With the aid of one of them, the kindly mother broke the ropes which held the Frigian ships, and, drawing all plough foremost, plunged them underneath the wave. Softening quickly in the waters' quiet depth, their wood was changed to flesh. The curving ploughs were metamorphosed into human heads. Blades of the oars made feet. The looms were changed to swimming legs. The sides turned human flanks. Each keel below the middle of a ship transformed became a spine. The cordage changed to soft hair, and the sailyards changed to arms. The azure colour of the ships remained. As sea nymphs in the water, they began to agitate with virgins sports the waves, which they had always dreaded. Nymphs of the rugged mountains, they are now so changed, they swim and dwell in the soft flowing sea, with every influence of birth forgot. Never forgetful of the myriad risks they have endured among the boisterous waves, they often gave a helping hand to ships tossed in the power of storms. Unless, of course, the ship might carry men of Grecian race. Never forgetful of the Phrygians in catastrophe, their hatred was so great of all palace-skians that they looked with joy upon the fragments of Ulysses's ship, and were delighted when they saw the ship of King Alsinus growing hard upon the breakers, as his wood was turned to stone. Many were hopeful that a fleet which had received life strangely in the forms of nymphs would cause the chieftain of the rootily to feel such awe that he would end their strife. But he continued fighting, and each side had its own gods, and each had courage too, which often can be as potent as the gods. Now they forgot the kingdom as a dower, forgot the scepter of a father-in-law, and even forgot the pure Lavinia. Their one thought was to conquer, and they waged war to prevent the shame of a defeat. But Venus finally beheld the arms of her victorious son, for Ternus fell, and Adir fell, a town which, while he lived, was counted strong. The Trojan swords destroyed it. All its houses burned and sank down in the heated embers, and a bird not known before that time flew upward from a wrecked heap, beating the dead ashes with its flapping wings. The voice, the lean pale look, the sorrows of a captured city, even the name of the ruined city, all these things remain in that bird. Our dear's fallen walls are beaten in lamentation by his wings. The merit of Aenus now had moved the gods. Even Juno stayed her lasting hate, when, with the state of young Aeolus safe, the hero son of Sithiria was prepared for heaven. In a council of the gods, Venus arose, embraced her father's neck, and said, My father, ever kind to me, I do beseech your kind indulgence now. Grant, dearest, to Aeneas my own son, and also your own grandson. Grant to him a godhead power, although of lowest class, sufficient if but granted. It is enough to have looked once upon the unlovely realm, and once to have gone across the stingy and streams. The gods assented, and the queen of Jove nodded assent with calm, approving face. The father said, You well deserve the gift, both you who ask it, and the one for whom you ask it. What you most desire is yours, my daughter. He decreed, and she rejoiced, and thanked her parent. Born by harnessed doves over and through the light air, she arrived safe on Larentine's shores. Numisius there winds through his tall reeds to the neighbouring sea, the waters of his stream. And there she willed Numisius should wash perfectly away from her Aeneas every part that might be subject unto death, and bear it far with quiet current into Neptune's realm. The horned Numisius satisfied the will of Venus, and with flowing waters washed from her Aeneas every mortal part, and sprinkled him so that the essential part of immortality remained alone, and she anointed him, thus purified with heavenly essence. And she touched his face with sweetest nectar and ambrosia mixed, thereby transforming him into a god. The throng of the Corini later named the new god Indigis, and honoured him. Book 14 Part 3 of Ovid's Metamorphoses This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Neso Translated by Brooks Moore Book 14 Part 3 Under the scepter of Ascanius the Latin state transferred was Albin II. Silvius ruled after him, Latinus then, wearing the crown, brought back an older name. Silvius Alba followed after him, Epetus next in time, and Capus next, then Capetus, and reigning after them King Tiberinas followed. He was drowned in waves of that Etrurian stream to which he gave his name. His sons were Remulus and Fierce Acrota, each in turn was king. The elder, Remulus, would imitate the lightning, and he perished by a flash of lightning. Albin Acrota, not so rash, succeeded to his brother, and he left his scepter to the valiant Aventinas. He'll buried on the very mountain which he rolled upon and which received his name, and Procho ruled then, on the Palatine. Under this king Pomona lived, and none of all the Latin hemidriads could attend her garden with more skill, and none was more attentive to the fruitful trees because of them her name was given to her. She cared not for the forests or the streams, but loved the country and the boughs that bear delicious fruit. Her right hand never felt a javelin's weight. Always she left to hold a sharp curved pruning knife, with which she would at one time crop two largely growing shoots, or at another time reduce the branch that straggled. At another time she would engraft a sucker in divided bark, and so find nourishment for some young strange nursling. She never suffered them to thirst, for she would water every winding thread of twisting roots with freshly flowing streams. All this was her delight, her chief pursuit. She never felt the least desire of love. But fearful of some rustic violence, she had her orchard closed within a wall, and both forbade and fled the approach of males. But did not Seder's do to gain her love, a youthful crew expert at every dance, and also pans their brows reed with the pine, Silenus too, more youthful than his years, and that God who is ever scaring thieves with pruning hook or limb, what did they not to gain her love? And though Vertumnus did exceed them in his love, yet he was not more fortunate than they. How often disguised as a rough reaper he brought her barley ears. Fortunately he seemed a reaper to the life. Often he came, his temples wreathed with hay, as if he had been tossing new moon grass. He often held a whip in his tough hand. You could have sworn he had a moment before unyoked his wearied oxen. When he had a pruning knife, he seemed to rear fine fruit in orchard trees, or in the well-kept vines. When he came with a ladder, you would think he must be gathering fruit. Sometimes he was a soldier with a sword, a fisherman, the rod held in his hand. In fact, by means of many shapes he often had obtained access to her, and enjoyed in seeing her beauty. At length he had his brows bound with a cap of color, and then leaning on a stick, with white hair round his temples. He assumed the shape of an old woman. Seeing so the cultivated garden, he admired the fruit and said, But you are so much lovelier. And while he praised her, gazed some kisses too, such as no real will them ever gave. The bent old creature then sat on the grass, gazing at branches weighed down with their fruit of autumn. Opposite to them there was an elm tree beautiful with shining grapes, and after he had praised it with the vine embracing it, he said, But only think. If this trunk stood unwetted to this vine it would have nothing to attract our hearts beyond its leaves, and this delightful vine united to the elm tree finds its rest, but if not so joined to it would fall down prostrate upon the ground. And yet you find no warning in the example of this tree. You have avoided marriage, with no wish to be united. I must wish that you would change and soon desire it. Helen would not have so many suitors for her hand, nor she who caused the battles of the Lapithae, nor would the wife of Timid and not bold Ulysses. Even now, while you avoid those who are courting you, and while you turn in your disgust, a thousand suitors want to marry you, the demigods and gods and deities of Albus mountaintops. But you, if you are wise, and wish to make a good match, listen patiently to me, an old, old woman. I love you much more than all of them, more than you dream or think. Despise all common persons, and choose now veritunus as the partner of your couch, and you may take me as a surety for him. He is not better known even to himself than he is known to me. And he is not now wandering everywhere from here to there throughout the world. He always will frequent the places near here, and he does not, like so many of your woors, fall in love with her he happens to have seen the last. You are his first and last love, and to you alone will he devote his life. He is young, and has a natural gift of grace, so that he can most readily transform himself to any wanted shape, and will become whatever you may wish, even though you ask him things unseen before, and only think, have you not the same tastes? Will he not be the first to welcome fruits which are your great delight? And does he not hold your gifts safely in his glad right hand? But now he does not long for any fruit plucked from the tree, and has no thought of herbs with pleasant juices that the garden gives. He cannot think of anything but you. Have pity on his passion, and believe that he who woos you is here, and he pleads with my lips. You should not forget to fear avenging deities, and the Idaalian who hate all cruel hearts, and also dread the fierce revenge of her of rameless land. And that you may stand more in awe of them, old age has given me opportunities of knowing many such things. I will relate some happenings known in Cyprus, by which you may be persuaded and relent with ease. Ifis, born of a humble family, has seen the famed Anaxeriti, who was of the race of ancient Tusser. He had seen her, and felt fire in flame his bones. Struggling a long time, he could not subdue his passion by his reason, so he came a-suppliant to her doors. And having now confessed his ardent passion to her nurse, besought her by the hopes reposed in her by the loveate girl, not to give him a cold heart and at another time, with fair words given to each of many servants, he besought their kindest interest with an anxious voice. He often gave them coaxing words engraved on tablets of soft wax, and sometimes he would fasten garlands wet with dew of tears upon their doorposts, and he often laid his tender side night long on the hard threshold, sadly reproaching the objure at bolt. Defferer than the deep sea that rises high when the rainy constellation of the kids is setting, harder than the iron which the fire of Noracum refines, more hard than Rockwich in its native state is fixed firm-rooted, she despised and laughed at him, and adding to her cruel deeds and pride, she boasted and deprived him of all hope. Ethis, unable to endure such pain prolonged, spoke these his final words before her door. Anaxeriti, you have conquered me, and you shall have no more annoyances to bear from me. Be joyful and prepare your triumph, and invoke God Payan, crowd yourself with shining laurel. You are now my conqueror, and I resigned will die. Woman of iron, rejoice in victory! At least you will commend me for one thing, one point in which I must please even you, and cause you to confess my right of praise. Remember that my star-crossed love for you died only with the last breath of my life, and now in one short moment I shall be deprived of a twofold light, and no report will come to you, no messenger of death, but doubt not I will come to you so that I can be seen in person, and you may then satiate your cruel eyesight with my lifeless body. If you, God's above, you have some knowledge of our mortal ways, remember me, for now my tongue can pray no longer. Let me be renowned in times far distant, and give all those hours to fame which you have taken from my life on earth. Then to the doorpost which he had often adorned with floral wreaths, he lifted up his swimming eyes and both his pallid arms, and when he had fastened over the capital a rope that held the dangling noose, he said, Are these the garlands that delight your heart? You cruel and a natural woman! Then he thrust in his head, turning even then towards her, and hung a hapless weight with broken neck. The door, struck by the motion of his feet as they were quivering, seemed to utter sounds of groaning, and when it flew open showed the sad sight. All the servants cried aloud, and after they had tried in vain to save him, carried him from there to his mother's house, to her because his father was then dead. She held him to her bosom, and embraced the cold limbs of her dead child, after she had uttered words so natural to the grief of wretched mothers. After she had done what wretched mothers do at such sad times, she led a tearful funeral through the streets, the pale corpse following high upon the beer, on to a pyre laid in the central square. By chance a Naxariti's house was near the way through which the mournful funeral was going with the corpse, and the sad sound of wailing reached the ears of that proud girl, hard-hearted and already goaded on by an avenging god. Moved by the sound, she said, Let me observe their sniveling rites. And she ascended to an upper room, provided with wide windows. Luckily had she looked at Ifis, laid out on the beer, when her eyes stiffened, and she turned all white as warm blood left her body. She tried then to turn back from the window, but she stood transfixed there. She then tried to turn her face away from that sad sight, but could not move. And by degrees the stone which had always existed, petrified in her cold breast, and took possession of her heart and limbs. This is not fiction, and that you may know, Salamas keeps that statue safe to-day, formed of the Virgin and has also built a temple called Venus the Watchful Goddess. Warned by her fate, O sweet nymph, lay aside for long to stay in, and cheerfully unite yourself to one who loves you. Then may frost of springtime never nip your fruiting bud. No rude winds strike the blossom. When the god, fitted for every shape, had said these words, in vain he laid the old woman's form aside, and was again a youth. On her he seemed to blaze, as when the full light of the brilliant sun, after it has dispelled, opposing clouds, has shone forth with not one to intercept. He purposed violence, but there was then no need of force. The lovely nymph was charmed, was captivated by the god's bright form, and felt a passion answering to his love. At Procus death, unjust Amulius seized with his troops the whole Ausonian wealth, and yet old Numitor, obtaining aid from his two grandsons, won the land again which he had lost, and on the festival of palaces where the city walls begun. King Tatius, with his sabines, went to war, Tarpeia, who betrayed the citadel, died justly underneath the weight of arms. Men troops from Curace crept, like silent wolves, without a word toward men subdued by sleep, and tried the gates that Ilias' son had barred. Then Saturn's daughter opened wide a gate, turning the silent hinge. Venus alone perceived the bars of that gate falling down. She surely would have closed it, were it not impossible for any deity to countervail the acts of other gods. The niads of Ausonia occupied a spring that welled up close to Janus' fane. To them she prayed for aid. The fountain-nymphs could not resist the prayer of Venus, when she made her worthy plea, and they released all waters underground. Till then the path by Janus' fane was open, never yet had floods risen to impede the way. But now they laid hot sulfur of a faint blue light beneath the streaming fountain, and with care applied fire to the hallowed ways with smoking pitch. By these, and many other violent means, hot vapours penetrated the source of the good fountain. Only think of it! Those waters which had rivalled the cold alps, now rivalled with their heat the flames themselves. And while each gatepost steamed with boiling spray, the gate, which had been opened, but in vain, to hardy sabines just outside, was made impassable by the heated fountain's flood, till Roman soldiers had regained their arms. After brave Romulus had led them forth and covered Roman ground with sabines dead, and its own people, and the accursed sword shed blood of father-in-law and son-in-law, with peace they chose at last to end the war, rather than fight on to the bitter end. Tatius and Romulus divide the throne. Tatius had fallen, and you, O Romulus, were giving laws to peoples now made one, when Mars put off his helmet and addressed the father of gods and men in words like these. The time has come! For now the Roman state has been established on a strong foundation, and no more must rely on one man's strength. The time has come for you to give the prize, promise to me and your deserving grandson, to raise him from the earth and grant him here a flirting place in heaven. One day you said to me before counsel of the gods, for I recall now with a grateful mind how I took note of your most gracious speech. Him you shall lift up to the blue of heaven. Now let all know the meaning of your words. The god, all-powerful, nodded his assent, and he obscured the air with heavy clouds, and on a trembling world he sent below harsh thunder and bright lightning. Mars at once perceived it was a signal plainly given for promise change. So, leaning on a spear, he mounted boldly into his chariot, and over blood-stained yoke and eager steeds he swung and cracked the loud resounding lash. Descending through steep air he halted on the wooded summit of the Palatine and there, while Ilya's son was giving laws, needing no pomp and circumstance of kings, Mars caught him up. His mortal flesh dissolved into thin air, as when a ball of lead shot up from a broad sling melts all away and soon is lost in heaven. A nobler shape was given to him, one more fitted to adorn rich couches in high heaven, the shape divine of queerness clad in the trabia. His queen, her cilia, wept continually, regarding him as lost, till Regal Juno commended Iris to glide down along her curving bow, and bring to her these words, O matron, glory of Latin race, and of the Sabines, worthy to have been the consort chosen by so great a man, and now to be his partner as the god queerness, weep no more. If you desire to see your husband, let me guide you up to a grove that crowns the hail of queerness, shading a temple of the Roman king. Iris obeyed Juno's will, and gliding down to earth along her tinted bow, conveyed the message to her cilia, who replied, with modest look and hardy-lifted eye, Goddess, although it is not in my power to say your name, I am quite certain you must be a goddess. Lead me, O lead me, until you show to me that hallowed form of my beloved husband. If the fates will but permit me once again to see his features, I will say I have won heaven. But once her cilia, and the virgin child of Thalmas, went together up the hill of Romulus. Descending through thin air there came a star, and then her cilia, her tresses glowing fiery in the light, rose with that star, as it returned through air. And her, the founder of the Roman state, received with dear familiar hands. He changed her old-time form, and with the form her name, he called her Hora, and let her become a goddess, now the mate of queerness. Book 15, Part 1 of Ovid's Metamorphoses. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Nassau, translated by Brooks Moore. Book 15, Part 1. While this was happening, they began to seek for one who could endure the weight of such a task, and could succeed a king so great, and fame the harbinger of truth, destined illustrious Numa for the sovereign power. It did not satisfy his heart to know only the saving ceremonials, and he conceived in his expansive mind much greater views, examining the depth and cause of things. His country and his cares forgotten, this desire led him to visit the city that once welcomed Hercules. Numa desired to know what founder built a Grecian city on Italian shores. One of the old inhabitants, who was well acquainted with past history, replied, rich in Iberian herds, the son of Jove, turned from the ocean, and with favoring wind, he said, he landed on the Sinian shores. And while the herds strayed in the tender grasses, he visited the house, the friendly home, of far-framed Croton. There he rested from his arduous labors. At the time of his departure, he said, here in future days shall be a city of your numerous race. The passing years have proved the promise true, for my cellists choosing that site marked out a city's walls. Argyve Alamon's son, of all the men in his generation, he was most acceptable to the heavenly gods. Bending over him once at dawn, while he was overwhelmed with drowsiness of sleep, the huge club-bearer Hercules addressed him thus, Come now, desert your native shores, go quickly to the pebbly flowing stream of distant Aesar. And he threatened ill in fearful words, unless he should obey. Sleep and the god departed instantly. Alamon's son, arising from his couch, pondered his recent vision thoughtfully, with his conclusions at cross-purposes. The god commanded him to quit the land. The laws forbade departure, threatening death to all who sought to leave their native land. The brilliant sun had hidden in the sea his shining head, and the darkest night had then put forth her starry face. And at that time it seemed as if the same god Hercules was present and repeating his commands, threatening still more engraver penalties, if he should fail to obey. Now so afraid he set about to move his household gods to a new settlement, but rumours then followed him through the city, and he was accused of holding statutes in contempt. The accusation hardly had been made when his offence was evidently proved, even without a witness. Then he raised his face and hands up to the gods above, and suppliant in neglected garb he exclaimed, O mighty Hercules, for whom alone the twice-six labours gave the privilege of heavenly residence, give me your aid, for you were the true cause of my offence. It was an ancient custom of that land to vote with chosen petals, white and black. The white absolved, the black condemned the man. And so that day the fateful votes were given. All cast into the cruel urn were black. Soon as that urn inverted poured forth all the pebbles to be counted, every one was changed completely from its black to white, and so the vote adjudged him innocent. By that most fortunate aid of Hercules he was exempted from the country's law. Myselus, breathing thanks to Hercules, with favouring winds sailed on the Ionian Sea, past Salantyna Ritim, Cyborus, Spartan Tarentum, and the Cyrene Bay, Cromycea, and on beyond the Iopeigian fields. Then, screwing shores which faced these lands, he found the place foretold, the river's asar's mouth, and found not far away a burial mound which covered with its soil the hallowed bones of Crotone. There upon the appointed land he built up walls, and he conferred the name of Crotone, who was there entombed on his new city, which has ever since been called Crotona. By tradition it is known such strange deeds caused that city to be built by men of Greece upon the Italian coast. Here lived a man by birth the Samian. He had fled from Samos, and the ruling class of voluntary exile, for his hate against all tyranny. He had the gift of holding mental converse with the gods who lived far distant in the height of heaven. And all that nature has denied to man and human vision he reviewed with eyes of his enlightened soul. And when he had examined all things in his careful mind with watchful study he released his thoughts to knowledge of the public. He would speak to crowds of people silent and amazed while he revealed to them the origin of this vast universe, the cause of things. What is nature? What a god! Once came the snow, the cause of lightning. Was it Jupiter, or did the winds, that thundered when the cloud was rent asunder, cause the lightning flash? What shook the earth? What laws controlled the stars as they were moved? And every hidden thing. He was the first man to forbid the use of any animal's flesh as human food. He was the first to speak with luned lips, though not believed in this, exhorting them. No mortals, he would say, do not permit pollution of your bodies with such food, for there are grain and good fruits which bear down the branches by their weight, and ripen grapes upon the vines and herbs, those sweet by nature and those which will grow tender and mellow with a fire, and flowing milk is not denied, nor honey, redolent of blossoming time. The lavish earth yields rich and healthful food, affording dainties without slaughter, death, and bloodshed. Dull beasts delight to satisfy their hunger with torn flesh, and yet not all, horses and sheep and cattle live on grass, but all the savage animals, the fierce Armenian tigers and ferocious lions and bears, together with the roving wolves, delight in vines reeking with warm blood. Oh, ponder a moment such a monstrous crime, vitals in vitals gorged, one greedy body fattening with plunder of another's flesh, a living being fed on another's life. In that abundance which are earth the best of mothers will afford, have you no joy unless your savage teeth can gnaw the piteous flesh of some flayed animal to re-enact the cyclopian crime, and can you not appease the hungry void, that perverted craving of a stomach's greed unless you first destroy another life? That age of old time which is given the name Golden was so blessed in fruit of trees, and in the good herbs which the earth produced, that it never would pollute the mouth with blood. The birds then safely moved their wings in air, the timid hairs would wander in the fields with no fear, and their own credulity had not suspended fishes from the hook. All life was safe, from treacherous wiles, fearing no injury, a peaceful world. After that time some of ill advice it does not matter who it might have been, envied the ways of lions and gulped into his greedy paunch, stuffed from a carcass vile. He opened the foul paths of wickedness. It may be that in killing beasts of prey our steel was for the first time warmed with blood. And that could be defended, for I hold that predatory creatures, which attempt destruction of mankind, are put to death without evasion of the sacred laws, but though with justice they are put to death they cannot be a cause for eating them. This wickedness went further, and the sal was thought to have deserved death as the first of victims, for her with her long turned-up snout she spoiled the good hope of a harvest year. The ravenous goat, that gnawed a sprouting vine, was led for slaughter to the altar fires of Angry Bacchus. It was their own fault that surely caused the ruin of those two. But why have a sheep deserved sad destiny, harmless and useful for the good of man, with nectar and full udders? Their soft wool affords the warmest coverings for our use. Their life and not their death would help us more. Why have the oxen of the field deserved a sad end, innocent without deceit, and harmless without guile, born to endure hard labour? Without gratitude is he unworthy of the gift of harvest fields, who, after he relieved his worker from weight of the curving plow, could butcher him, could sever with an axe that toil-worn neck, by which so often, with hard work, the ground had been turned up, so many harvests reared. For some, even crimes like these are not enough. They have imputed to the gods themselves abomination. They believe a god in heaven above rejoices at the death of a laborious ox, a victim free of blemish, and most beautiful in form. Perfection brings destruction, is adorned with garlands, and with gilded horns before the altar. In his ignorance he hears one praying, and he sees the very grain he labored to produce fixed on his head between the horns, and felled, he stains with blood the knife, which just before he may have seen reflected in clear water. Instantly they snatch out entrails from his throbbing form, and seek in them intentions of the gods. Then in your lust for forbidden food you will presume to batten on this flesh, o race of mortals. Do not eat such food. Give your attention to my serious words, and when you next present the slaughtered flesh of oxen to your palates, know and feel that you gnaw your fellow-tillers of the soil. And since the god impels me to speak out, I will obey the god who urges me, and will disclose to you the heavens above, and I will even reveal the oracles of the divine will. I will sing to you of things most wonderful, which never were investigated by the intellects of ancient times, and things which have been long concealed from man. In fancy I delight to float among the stars, or take my stand on mighty atlas' shoulders, and to look afar down on men wandering here and there, afraid in life, yet dreading unknown death, and in these words exhort them, and reveal the sequence of events ordained by fate. Oh, sad humanity! Why do you fear alarms of icy death? Afraid of sticks, fearful of moving shadows and empty names, of subjects harped on by the poet's tales, the fabled perils of a fancied life. Whether the funeral pile consumes your flesh with hot flames, or old age dissolves it with the gradual wasting power, be well assured the body cannot meet with further ill, and souls are all exempt from power of death. When they have left their first corporeal home, they always find and live in newer homes. I can declare, for I remember well, that in the days of the Great Trojan War I was euphorbus, son of Panthoas, in my opposing breast was planted then the heavy spearpoint of the younger son of Atreus. Not long past I recognized the shield, once burden of my left arm, where it hung in Juno's temple at ancient Argos, the realm of Abbas. Everything must change, but nothing perishes. The moving soul may wander, coming from that spot to this, from this to that, in changed possession live in any limbs for whatever. It may pass from beast to human body, and again to those of beasts. The soul will never die in the long lapse of time. As pliant wax is molded to new forms, and does not stay as it has been, nor keep the self-same form, yet is the self-same wax. Be well assured the soul is always the same spirit, though it passes into different forms. Therefore that natural love may not be vanquished by unnatural craving of the appetite. I warn you, stop expelling kidrid souls by deeds abhorrent as cold murder. Let not blood be nourished with its kindred blood. Since I am launched into the open sea, and I have given my full sails to the wind, nothing in all the world remains unchanged. All things are in a state of flux. All shapes receive a changing nature. Time itself glides on with constant motion, ever as a flowing river. Neither river nor the fleeting hour can stop its constant course, but as each wave drives on wave, as each is pressed by that which follows, and must press on that before it, so the moments fly, and others follow, so they are renewed. The moment which removed on before is past, and that which was not, now exists in time, and everyone comes, goes, and is replaced. You see how night glides by, and then proceeds on to the dawn. Then brilliant light of day succeeds the dark night. There is not the same appearance in the heavens, when all things for weariness are resting in vast night, as when bright Lucifer rides his white steed. And only think of that most glorious change when love D'rara, Pallas' daughter, comes before the day and tints the world, almost delivered to bright foibus. Even the disc of that God, rising from beneath the earth, is of a ruddy color in the dawn, and ruddy when concealed beneath the world. When highest, it is a most brilliant white, for there the ether is quite purified, and far away avoids infection from impurities of the earth. Diana's form at night remains not equal nor the same, but is less today than it will be tomorrow if she is waxing, greater as she wanes. Yes, do you not see how the year moves through four seasons, imitating human life? In early spring it has a nursling's ways, resembling infancy, for at that time the blade is shooting and devoid of strength. Its flaccid substance swelling gives delight to every watching husbandman, alive in expectation. Then all things are rich in blossom, and the genial meadow smiles with tints of blooming flowers, but not as yet is there a sign of vigor in the leaves. The year now waxing stronger, after spring it passes into summer, and its youth becomes robust. Indeed, of all the year the summer is most vigorous and most abounds with glowing and life giving warmth. Autumn then follows, and the vim of life removed, that ripe and mellow time succeeds between youth and old age, and a few white hairs are sprinkled here and there upon its brow. Then aged winter, with his tremulous step follows, repulsive, stripped of graceful locks, or white with those he has retained so long. Our bodies also always change unceasingly. We are not what we were yesterday, or we shall be tomorrow. And there was a time when we were only seeds of men, mere hopes that lived within a mother's womb. But nature changed us with her skillful touch, determined that our bodies should not be held in such narrow room, below the entrails in our distended parent, and in time she brought us forth into the vacant air, brought into light the helpless infant lies, then on all fours lifts his body up, feeling his way, like any young wild beast. And then, by slow degrees, he stands upright, weak-kneed and trembling, steadied by support of some convenient prop. And soon, more strong and swift, he passes through the hours of youth. And when the years of middle age are passed, slides down the steep path of declining age. This undermines him, and destroys the strength of former years. And mylon, now grown old, weeps when he sees his arms, which once were firm with muscles big as those of Hercules, hang flabby at his side. And Helen weeps when in the glass she sees her wrinkled face, and wonders why two heroes fell in love and carried her away. O time devourer of all things, and envious age, together you destroy all that exists, and, slowly gnawing, bring on lingering death. Yes, even things which we call elements do not endure. Now listen well to me, and I will show the ways in which they change. The everlasting universe contains four elemental parts, and two of these are heavy, earth and water, and are born downwards by weight. The other two devoid of weight are air, and, even lighter, fire. And if these two are not constrained, they seek the higher regions. These four elements, though far apart in space, are all derived from one another. Earth dissolves as flowing water. Water, thinned still more, departs as wind and air, and the light air, still losing weight, sparkles on high as fire, but they return along their former way. The fire-assuming weight is changed to air, and then, more dense, that air is changed again to water, and that water, still more dense, compacts itself again as primal earth. Nothing retains the form that seems its own, and nature, the renewer of all things, continually changes every form into some other shape. Believe my word, in all this universe, of vast extent, not one thing ever perished. All have changed appearance. Men say a certain thing is born if it takes a different form from what it had, and yet they say that certain thing has died if it no longer keeps the self-same shape. Though distant things move near and near things far, always the sum of all things is unchanged. For my part, I cannot believe a thing remains long under the same form unchanged. Look at the change of times from gold to iron. Look at the change in places. I have seen what had been solid earth become salt waves, and I have seen dry land made from the deep, and far away from ocean seashells strewn, and on the mountaintops old anchors found. Water has made that which was once a plain into a valley, and the mountain has been leveled by the floods down to a plain. A former marshland is now parched dry sand, and places which endured severest drought are wet with standing pools. True nature has opened fresh springs, but there has set them up. Rivers aroused by ancient earthquakes have rushed out or vanished as they lost their depth. So when the lycus has been swallowed by a chasm in the earth, it rushes forth at a distance and is reborn a different stream. The aerosinus now flows down into a cave, now runs beneath the ground a darkened chorus, then rises lordly in the argolic fields. They say the mysis, wearied of his spring, and of his former banks, appears elsewhere and takes another name, the kaikus. The Amananus in Sicilian sands now smoothly rolling, and another time is quenched because its fountains springs are dry. The water of the anigros formerly was used for drinking, but it pours out now foul water which you would decline to touch because, unless all credit is denied to poets, long ago the centaurs, the strange mortals, double-limbed, bathed in the stream, wounds which club-bearing Hercules had made it with his strong bow. Yes, does not Hypanus descending fresh from the mountains of Samartia become embittered with the taste of salt? And Taissa, Pharros, and Phoenician Tyre were once surrounded by the Wavy Sea. They are not islands now. Long years ago Lucas was mainland. If we can believe what the old timers there will tell, but now the waves sweep around it. Xankel was a part of Italy, until the sea-cut off the unlaboring land was strong waves in between. Should you seek helike and burrus, those two cities of Acaya, you will find them underneath the waves where sailors point to sloping roofs and streets in the clear deep. Near Pythé and Troisen, a steep high hill, quite bare of trees, was once a level plain, but now is a hill for, dreadful even to tell, the raging power of winds, long pent in deep dark caverns, tried to find a proper vent, long struggling to attain free sky. Finding no opening from the prison caves, imperious to their force, they raised the earth exactly as pent air breathed from the mouth and placed a bladder, or the bottle hides stripped off the two horned goats. The swollen earth remained in that spot and has ever since Appearance of a high hill hardened by the flight of time. Metamorphosis by Publius Ovidius Neso Translated by Brooks Moore Book 15 Part 2 Of many strange events that I have heard and known, I will add a few. Why, does not water, given take strange forms, Your wave, O hornet Amon, will turn cold at midday, But is always mild and warm and sun-wise and at sunset? I have heard that Athomanians kindle wood if they pour water on it, when the waning moon has shrunk away into her smallest orb. The people of Ciconia have a stream which turns the drinkers' entrails into stone, which changes into marble all it raves. The Achaean Crathus and the Sibiris, which flow not far from here, will turn their hair to something like clear amber or bright gold. What is more wonderful, there are some waters which change not only bodies, but the mines. Who has no knowledge of the Salmacis and of its ill-famed waves? Who has not heard of the lakes of Ethiopia? How those who drink of them go raving mad or fall in a deep sleep? Most wonderful in heaviness. Whoever quenches thirst from the clitorian spring will hate all wine, and so will he secure great pleasure from pure water. Either that spring has a power the opposite of wine-heat, or perhaps as natives tell us, after the famed son of Amytheon by his charms and herbs, delivered from their base insanity, the stricken Thorotides, he threw the rest of his mind-healing herbs into the spring, where hatred of all wine has since remained. Unlike in nature flows another stream of the country, called Lincestius. Everyone who drinks of it, even with most temperate care, will grieve as if he had drunk unmixed wine. In Arcadia is a place called Peneos by men of old, which is mistrusted for the twofold nature of its waters. Stand in dread of them at night. If drunk at night they harm you, but in daytime they will do no harm at all. So lakes and rivers have now this, now that effect. Artigia once moved like a ship that drifts among the waves. Now it is fixed. The Argo was in dread of the simpler guardies, which moved apart with waves in rushing. Now immovable they stand, resisting the attack of winds. Etna, which burns with sulfur furnaces, will not be always concentrated fire, nor was it always fiery. If the earth is like an animal and is alive and breathes out flame at many openings, then it can change these many passages used for its breathing and, when it is moved, may close these caverns as it opens up some others. Or if rushing winds are penned in deepest caverns, and they drive great stones against the rock, and substances which have the properties of flame and fire are made by those concussions. When the winds are calmed, the caverns will of course be cool again. Or if some black bitumen catches fire or yellow sulfur burns with little smoke, then surely when the ground no longer gives such food an oily nutiment for flames, and they in time have ravined all their store, their greedy nature soon will pine with death. It will not bear such famine, but depart, and when deserted, will desert the place. To set the hyperborians of Palini can cover all their bodies with light plumes by plunging nine times in Minerva's marsh. But I cannot believe another tale. That skilian women get a like result by having poison sprinkled on their limbs. If we give any credit to the things proved by experience, we can surely know whatever bodies are decayed by time or by dissolving heat, are by such means changed into tiny animals. Come now! Burry choice bullocks killed for sacrifice, and it is well known by experience that the flower-gathering bees are so produced, miraculous from entrails putrefied. These, like the faithful animals from which they were produced, inhabit the green fields, delight in toil, and labour for reward. The warlike steed when buried in the ground is a known source of hornets. If you cut the bending claws off from the seashore crab and bury the remainder in the earth, a scorpion will come forth from the dead crab buried there, threatening with its crooked tail. The worms which cover leaves with their white threads, a thing observable by husband men, will change themselves to funeral butterflies. Mud holds the seeds that generate green frogs, at first producing tadpoles with no feet, and soon it gives them legs adapted for their swimming, and, so they may be as well adapted to good leaping, their hind legs are longer than the forelegs. The mother bear does not bring forth a cub, but a limp mass of flesh that can hardly be called alive, by licking it the mother forms the limbs, and brings it to a shape just like her own. Do not the offspring of the honeybees concealed in celtexagonal at first get life with no limbs, and assume in time both feet and wings? Unless the fact were known, could anyone suppose it possible that Juno's bird whose tail is bright with stars, the eagle armor bearer of high jove, the doves of Caesarea, and all birds emerge from the middle part of eggs, and some believe the human marrow turns into a serpent when the spine at length has putrified in the closest sepulchre. Now these I named derive their origin from other living forms. There is one bird which reproduces and renews itself. The Assyrians give this bird his name, the phoenix. He does not live either on grain or herbs, but only on small drops of frankincense and juices of amomum. When this bird completes a full five centuries of life, straight away with talons and with shining beak, he builds a nest among palm branches, where they join to form the palm tree's waving top. As soon as he has strewn in this new nest to Caesarea bark and ears of sweet spyconard, and some bruised cinnamon with yellow myrrh, he lies down on it, and refuses life among those dreamful odours. And they say that from the body of the dying bird is reproduced a little phoenix, which is destined to live just as many years. When time has given to him sufficient strength and he is able to sustain the weight, he lifts the nest up from the lofty tree, and dutifully carries from that place his cradle and the parent sepulchre. As soon as he has reached through yielding air the city of Hyperion, he will lay the burden down just before the sacred doors within the temple of Hyperion. Now these I named derive their origin from other living forms. But if we wonder at strange things like these, we ought to wonder also when we learn that a hyena has a change of sex. The female, quitting her embracing male, herself becomes a male. That animal, which feeds upon the winds and air, at once assumes with contact any colour touched. Concord India gave to the vine crowned backers, the lynxes, whose urine turns, they say, to stones hardening in air. So coral too, as soon as it has risen above the sea, turns hard. Below the waves it was a tender plant. The day will fail me. Phoebus will have bathed his panting horses in the deep sea waves, before I can include in my discourse the myriad things transforming to new shapes. In laps of time we see the nations change. Some grow in power, some wane. Troy was once great in riches and in men. So great she could for ten unequalled years afford much blood. Now she lies low, and offers to our gaze but ancient ruins and instead of wealth, ancestral tombs. Sparta was famous once, and great Mycenae was most flourishing. Ansecroft citadel and Amphion's shone in ancient power. Sparta is nothing now save barren ground. The proud Mycenae fell. What is the theories of storied Edipus except a name and of Pandion's Athens? What now remains beyond the name? Reports come to me that Dardanian Rome is rising and beside the Tiber's waves, whose springs are high in the Appennines, is laying her deep foundations. So in her growth her form is changing, and one day she will be the sole mistress of the boundless world. They say that soothsayers and that oracles, revealers of our destiny, declare this fate. And if I recollect it right, Helinas, son of Priam, prophesied unto Enius, when he was in doubt of safety and lamenting for the state of Troy, about to fall, oh son of a goddess, if you yourself will fully understand this prophecy, no surging in my mind, Troy shall not while you are preserved to life, fail utterly. Flames and the sword shall give you passage. You shall go and bear away per Gama, ruined, till a foreign soil more friendly to you than your native land shall be the lot of Troy and of yourself. Even now I know it is decreed by fate that our posterity, born far from Troy, will build a city greater than exists, or ever will exist, or ever has been seen in former times. Through a long lapse of ages, other noted men shall make it strong, but one of the race of Ulus shall make it the great mistress of the world. After the earth has thoroughly enjoyed his glorious life, ethereal abodes shall gain him, and immortal heaven shall be his destiny. Such was the prophecy of Helinas, when great Enius took away his guardian deities, and I rejoiced to see my kindred walls wise high, and realize how much the Trojans won by that resounding victory of the Greeks. But that we may not range afar with steeds forgetful of the goal, the heavens and all beneath them and the earth and everything upon it change in form. We likewise change, who are a portion of the universe, and since we are not only things of flesh but winged souls as well, we may be doomed to enter into beasts as our abode, and even to be hidden in the breasts of cattle. Therefore, should we not allow these bodies to be safe which may contain the souls of parents, brothers, or of those allied to us by kinship, or of men at least, who should be saved from every harm? Let us not gorge down a thaiestian feast. How greatly does a man disgrace himself? How impiously does he prepare himself for shedding human blood, who with the knife cuts the calf's throat and offers a death ear to its death longings? Who can kill the kid while it is sending forth heart-rending cries like those of a dear child, or who can feed upon the bird which he has given food? How little do such deeds as these fall short of actual murder? Yes, where will they lead? Let the ox plough, or let him owe his death to wait of years, and let the sheep give us defence against the cold of Boreus, and let the well-fed she-goats give to man their udders for the pressure of kind hands. Away with cruel nets and springs and snares and fraudulent contrivances, deceive not birds with bird-land twigs, do not deceive the trusting deer with dreaded feather foils, do not conceal barbed hooks with treacherous bait. If any beast is harmful, take its life, but even so let killing be enough. Taste not his flesh, but look for harmless food. They say that Numa, with a mind well taught by these and other precepts, travelled back to his own land and, being urged again, assumed the guidance of the Latin State. Blessed with a nymph as consort, blessed also with the muses for his guides, he taught the rites of sacrifice and trained in arts of peace, a race accustomed long to savage war. When ripe in years he ended reign and life, the Latin matrons, the fathers of the State, and all the people wept for Numa's death. For the nymph his widow had withdrawn from Rome, concealed within the thick groves of the Vale Aurelia, where with groans and wailings she disturbed the holy rites of Cynthia established by Orestes. Ah! How often nymphs of the grove and lake entreated her to cease and offered her consoling words. How often the son of Theseus said to her, control your sorrow. Surely your sad lot is not the only one. Consider now the like calamities by others' born, and you can bear your sorrow. To my grief, my own disaster was far worse than yours. At least it can afford you comfort now. Is it not true? Discourse has reached your ears that one Hippolytus met with his death through the credulity of his loved sire, deceived by a stepmother's wicked art. It will amaze you much, and I may fail to prove what I declare, but I am he. Long since the daughter of Pacify attempted me to defile my father's bed, and, failing, feigned that I had wished to do what she herself had wished. Perverting truth, either through fear of some discovery or else through spite at her deserved repulse, she charged me with attempting the foul crime. While I was guiltless of all wrong, my father banished me, and, while I was departing, laid on me a mortal curse. Towards Pythias and Truson I fled aghast, guiding the swift chariot near the shore of the Corinthian gulf. When all at once the sea rose up and seemed to arch itself, and lived high as a white-topped mountain height, make bellowings and open at the crest. Then through the parting waves a hornet ball emerged with head and breast into the wind, reaching white foam from his nostrils and his mouth. The hearts of my attendants quailed with fear, yet I, unfrightened, thought but of my exile. Then my fierce horses turned their necks to face the waters, and with ears erect they quaked before the monster's shape. They dashed in flight along the rock-strewn ground below the cliff. I struggled, but with our unveiling hand, to use the reins now covered with white foam, and, throwing myself back, pulled on the thongs with weight and strength. Each effort might have checked the madness of my steeds, had not a wheel striking the hub and a projecting stump, been shattered and hurled in fragments from the axle. I was thrown forward from my chariot, and with the reins entwined about my legs. My palpitating entrails could be seen dragged on, my sinews fastened on a stump. My torn legs followed, but a part remained behind me, caught by various snags. The breaking bones gave out a crackling noise. My tortured spirit soon had fled away, no part of the torn body could be known. All that was left was only one crushed wound. How can, how dare you, nymph, compare your ills to my disaster? I saw the lower world deprived of light, and I have bathed my flesh so tortured in the waves of Flegathon. Life could not have been given again to me, but through the remedies Apollo's son applied to me. After my life returned, by potent herbs and the peonion aid, despite the will of Pluto, since year then threw heavy clouds around that I might not be seen, and cause men envy by new life, and that she might be sure my life was safe, she made me seem an old man, and she changed me so that I could not be recognized. A long time she debated whether she would give me Crete or Delos for my home. Delos and Crete abandoned, she then brought me here, and at the same time ordered me to lay aside my former name, one which, when mentioned, would remind me of my steeds. She said to me, You were Hippolytus, but now instead you shall be Vurbius. And from that time I have inhabited this grove, and, as one of the lesser gods, I lived concealed and numbered in her train. The grief of others could not ease the woe of Sadegiria, and she laid herself down at a mountain's foot, dissolved in tears, till moved by pity for her faithful sorrow, Diana changed her body to a spring, her limbs into a clear continual stream. End of book 15, part 2