Book VI

Trial of skill betwixt Pallas and Arachne. Transformation ofArachne to a spider. Pride of Niobe. Her children slain by Apolloand Diana. Her change to marble. The Lycian peasants changed tofrogs. Fate of Marsyas. Pelops. Story of Tereus, Procne, andPhilomela. Their change to birds. Boreas and Orithyia. Birth ofZethes and Calais.

Minerva pleas'd attention to the muse,While thus she spoke afforded; prais'd the song,And prais'd the just resentment of the maids.Then to herself;--"the vengeance others take,"Merely to praise were mean. I too should claim"Like praise, for like revenge; nor longer bear"My power contemn'd, by who unpunish'd live."And on Arachne, fair Maeoenian maid,She turns her vengeful mind; whose skill she heardRivall'd her own in labors of the loom.No fame her natal town, no fame her sireOn her bestow'd; her skill conferr'd renown.Idmon of Colophon, her humble sireSoak'd in the Phocian dye the spongy wool.Her mother, late deceas'd, from lowest stock,Had sprung; and wedded with an equal mate.Yet had she gain'd through all the Lydian townsFor skill a mighty fame. Though born so low,Though small Hypaepe was her sole abode,Oft would the nymphs the vine-clad Tmolus leaveTo view her wonderous work. Oft would the nymphsIn admiration quit Pactolus' waves.Nor pleasure only gave the finish'd robe,When view'd; but while she work'd she gave delight;Such comely grace in every turn appear'd.Whether she rounded into balls the wool;Or with her fingers mollify'd the fleece;And comb'd it floating light in cloudy waves;Or her smooth spindle twirl'd with agile thumb;Or with her needle painted: plain was seenHer skill from Pallas learnt. This to concedeUnwilling, she ev'n such a tutor scorn'dExclaiming:--"come let her the contest try;"If vanquish'd, let her fix my well-earn'd fate."

Pallas, an ancient matron's form conceals;Grey hairs thin strew her temples, and a staffSupports her tottering limbs; while thus she speaks:--"Old age though little priz'd, much good attends;"Experience always grows with lengthen'd years:"Spurn not my admonition. Great thy fame,"Midst mortals, for the wonders of the loom."Great may it be, but to immortals yield:"Bold nymph retract, and pardon for thy words,"With suppliant voice require; Pallas will grant."Sternly the damsel views her; quits the threadsUnfinish'd; scarce her hand from force restrains:And rage in all her features flushing fierce,Thus to the goddess, well-disguis'd, she speaks:--"Weak dotard, spent with too great gift of years,"Curst with too long existence, hence, begone!"Such admonition to thy daughters give,"If daughters hast thou; or thy sons have wives:"Enough for me my inbred wisdom serves."Hope not, that ought thy vain advice has sway'd"My purpose; still my challenge holds the same."Why comes your goddess not? why shuns she still"The trying contest?" Then the goddess,--"Lo!"She comes,"--and flung her aged form aside,Minerva's form displaying. Every nymph,And every dame Mygdonian, lowly bentIn veneration. While Arachne soleStood stedfast, unalarm'd; but yet she blush'd.A sudden flush her angry face deep ting'd,But sudden faded pale. A ruddy glowThus teints the early sky, when first the mornArises; quickly from the solar rayPaling to brightness. On her purpos'd boastStill stubborn bent, she obstinately courtsHer sure destruction, for the empty hopeOf conquest in the strife so madly urg'd.No more Jove's maid refuses, gives no moreHer empty admonitions, nor delaysThe contest: each her station straight assumes,Tighten each web; each slender thread prepare.Firm to the beam the cloth is fix'd; the reedThe warp divides, with pointed shuttle, swiftGliding between; which quick their fingers throw,Quick extricate, and with the toothy combFirm press'd between the warp, the threads unite.Both hasten now; their garments round them girt,Their skilful hands they ply: their toil forgotIn anxious wish for conquest. There appear'd,The wool of Tyrian dye, and softening teintsLost imperceptible. So seems the archColoring a spacious portion of the sky;Struck by the rays of Phoebus, when the showersRecede, a thousand varying tinges shine;The soft transition mocks the straining eye,So like the shades which join, though far distinctTheir distant teints. In slender threads they twistThe pliant gold, and in the web display,Each as she works, an ancient story fair.Minerva paints the rock of Mars so fam'dIn Cecrops' city, and the well-known strifeTo name the town. Twice six celestials sateOn their high thrones, great Jupiter aroundIn gravity majestic; every godBore his celestial features. Jove appear'dIn royal dignity. The Ocean powerStanding she pictur'd, with his trident hugeSmiting the rugged rock; from the cleft stoneLeap'd forth a steed; and thence the town to nameThe privilege he claim'd. Herself she paintsShielded, and arm'd with keenly-pointed spear.Helm'd was her head; her breast the AEgis bore.Struck by her spear, the earth a hoary treeShe shews producing, loaded thick with fruit.The wondering gods the gift admire; the prizeTo her awarded, ends the glorious work.

More, that the daring rival of her art,Should learn experimental, what rewardHer mad attempt might hope, four parts she adds;And every part a test of power presents:Bright the small figures in her colors shine.This angle Thracian Rhodope contains,With Haemus; both their mortal bodies now,To frozen mountains chang'd; whose lofty prideAssum'd the titles of celestial powers.Another corner held the wretched fateFelt by Pygmaea's matron; Juno badeHer vanquish'd rival soar aloft a crane;And on her people wage continual war.Antigone, she paints;--audacious sheWith Jove's imperial consort durst contend;By Jove's imperial queen she flits a bird:Nor aids her Ilium ought; nor aids her sire,Laoemedon;--upborne on snowy wings,A stork she rises; loud with chattering billShe noises. In the sole remaining part,Was childless Cynaras, in close embrace,Grasping the temple's steps, his daughters once;And as he lies extended on the stone,In marble seems to weep. Around the pieceShe spreads the peaceful olive: all completeHer work is ended with her favorite tree.

Arachne paints Europa, by a bullDeceiv'd; the god a real bull appears;And real seem the waves. She, backward turn'd,Views the receding shore, and seems to shriekLoud to her lost companions; seems to dreadThe dashing waves, and timid shrinks her feet.She draws Asteria, by the god o'er-power'd,Cloth'd in an eagle. Leda, fair she laysBeneath his wings, when he a swan appears.She adds how Jove beneath a Satyr's shapeConceal'd, the beauteous child of Nycteus fill'd,With a twin-offspring. In Amphytrion's formAlcmena, thou wert press'd. A golden showerDanae deceiv'd. A flame AEgina caught.A shepherd's shape Mnemosyne beguil'd.And fair Deoeis trusts a speckled snake.Thee, Neptune, too she painted, for the maidAEolian, to a threatening bull transform'd.Thou, as Enipeus, didst the Aloid twinsBeget. Beneath the semblance of a ram,Theophane was cheated. Ceres mild,Of grain inventress, with her yellow locks,In shape a courser felt thy ardent love.Medusa, mother of the flying steed,Nymph of the snaky tresses, in a birdConceal'd, you forc'd. Melantho in a fish.To these the damsel, all well-suiting formsDispens'd, and all well-suiting scenes attend.And there Apollo in a herdsman's guiseWanders. And now he soars a plumy hawk:Now stalks a lordly lion. As a swainMacarean Isse, felt his amorous guile,Erigone to Bacchus' flame was dup'dBeneath a well-seem'd grape. Saturn produc'dThe Centaur doubly-shap'd, in form a steed.Her web's extremes a slender border girt,Where flowery wreathes, and twining ivy blend.

Not Pallas,--not even envy's rankling soulCould blame the work. The bright immortal griev'dTo view her rival's merit, angry toreThe picture glowing with celestial crimes.A boxen shuttle, grasping in her hand,Thrice on the forehead of th' Idmonian maidShe struck. No more Arachne, hapless bore,But twisted round her neck with desperate prideA cord. The deed Minerva pitying sawAnd check'd her rash suspension.--"Impious wretch!"Still live," she cry'd, "but still suspended hang;"Curs'd to futurity, for all thy race,"Thy sons and grandsons, to the latest day"Alike shall feel the sentence." Speaking thus,The juice of Hecat's baleful plant she throws:Instant besprinkled by the noxious drops,Her tresses fall; her nose and ears are lost;Her body shrinks; her head is lessen'd more;Her slender fingers root within her sides,Serving as legs; her belly forms the rest;From whence her thread she still derives and spins:Her art pursuing in the spider's shape.

All Lydia rung; the wonderous rumor spreadThrough every Phrygian town; the tale employ'dThe tongues of all mankind. The nymph was known,Ere yet Amphion's nuptial bed she press'd,To Niobe. She, when a virgin dweltIn Lydian Sipylus. She still unmov'd,Arachne's neighboring fate not heeded, stillProudly refus'd before the gods to bend;And spoke in haughty boasting. Much her prideBy favoring gifts was swol'n. Not the fine skillAmphion practis'd; not the lofty birthEach claim'd; not all their mighty kingdom's power,So rais'd her soul (of all though justly proud)As her bright offspring. Justly were she call'dMost blest of mothers; but her bliss too greatSeem'd to herself, and caus'd a dread reverse.

Now Manto, sprung from old Tiresias, skill'dIn future fate, impell'd by power divine,In every street with wild prophetic tongueExclaim'd;--"Ye Theban matrons, haste in crowds,"Your incense offer, and your pious prayers,"To great Latona, and the heavenly twins,"Latona's offspring; all your temples bound"With laurel garlands. This the goddess bids;"Through me commands it." All of Thebes obey,And gird their foreheads with the order'd leaves;The incense burn, and with the sacred flamesTheir pious prayers ascend. Lo! 'midst a crowdOf nymphs attendant, far conspicuous seen;Comes Niobe, in gorgeous Phrygian robe,Inwrought with gold, attir'd. Beauteous her form,Beauteous, as rage permitted. Angry shookHer graceful head; and angry shook the locksThat o'er each shoulder wav'd. Proudly she tower'd.Her haughty eyes, round from her lofty standWide darting, cry'd;--"What madness this to place"Reported gods above the gods you see!"Why to Latona's altars bend ye low,"Nor incense burn before my power divine?"My sire, was Tantalus: of mortals sole,"Celestial feasts he shar'd. A Pleiaed nymph"Me bore. My grandsire is the mighty king,"Whose shoulders all the load of heaven sustain."Jove is my father's parent: him I boast"As sire-in-law too. All the Phrygian towns"Bend to my sway. The hall of Cadmus owns"Me sovereign mistress. Thebes' high towering walls,"Rais'd by my consort's lute; and all the crowd"Who dwell inclos'd, his rule and mine obey."Where'er within my palace turn mine eyes,"Treasures immense I view. Brightness divine"I boast: to all seven blooming daughters add,"And seven fair sons; through whom I soon expect,"If Hymen favors, seven more sons to see,"And seven more daughters. Need ye further seek"Whence I have cause for boasting. Dare ye still"Latona, from Titanian Caeus sprung,--"The unknown Caeus,--she to whom all earth"In bearing pangs the smallest space deny'd:--"This wretch to my divinity prefer?"Not heaven your goddess would receive; not earth;"Not ocean: exil'd from the world, she weep'd,"Till Delos sorrowing,--wanderer like herself,"Exclaim'd;--thou dreary wanderest o'er the earth,"I, o'er the main;--and sympathizing thus,"A resting spot afforded. There become"Of two the mother, only--can she vie"With one whose womb, has sevenfold hers surpass'd?"Blest am I. Who can slightly e'er arraign"To happiness my claim? Blest will I still"Continue. Who my bliss can ever doubt?"Abundance guards its surety. Far beyond"The power of fortune is my lot uprais'd:"Snatch them in numbers from me, crowds more great"Must still remain. My happy state contemns"Even now, the threats of danger. Grant the power"Of fate this nation of my womb to thin,--"Of part depriv'd, impossible I shrink"To poor Latona's two. How scant remov'd"From mothers childless! Quit your rites;--quick haste"And tear those garlands from your flowing hair."

Aside the garlands thrown, and incomplete,The rites relinquish'd, what the Thebans couldThey gave: their whispering prayers the matron dameAddress'd. With ire the angry goddess flam'd,And thus on Cynthus' lofty top bespokeHer double offspring:--"O, my children! see,"Your parent, proud your parent to be call'd,--"To no celestial yielding, save the queen"Of Jove supreme. Lo! doubted is my claim"To rites divine; and from the altars, burnt"To me from endless ages, driven, I go;"Save by my children succour'd. Nor this grief"Alone me irks, for Niobe me mocks!--"Her daring crime increasing, proud she sets"Her offspring far 'bove you. Me too she spurns,--"To her in number yielding; childless calls"My bed, and proves the impious stock which gave"Her tongue first utterance." More Latona feltPrepar'd to utter; more beseechings blandFor her young offspring, when Apollo, cry'd:"Enough, desist to plain;--delay is long"Till vengeance." Dian' join'd him in his ire.Swift gliding down the sky, and veil'd in clouds,On Cadmus' roof they lighted. Wide was spread,A level plain, by constant hoofs well beat,The city's walls adjoining; crowding wheels,And coursers' feet the rolling dust upturn'd.Here of Amphion's offspring daily someMount their fleet steeds; their trappings gaily pressOf Tyrian dye: heavy with gold, the rensThey guide. 'Mid these Ismenos, primal bornOf Niobe, as round the circling course,His well-train'd steed he sped, and strenuous curb'dHis foaming mouth,--loudly "Ah, me!" exclaim'd,As through his bosom deep the dart was driv'n:Dropp'd from his dying hands the slacken'd reins;Slowly, and sidelong from his courser's backHe tumbled. Sipylus, gave uncheck'd scopeTo his, when through the empty air he heard,The rattling quiver sound: thus speeding cloudsBeheld, the guider of the ruling helm,A threatening tempest fearing, looses wideHis every sail to catch the lightest breeze.Loose flow'd his reins. Th' inevitable dartThe flowing reins quick follow'd. Quivering shook,Fixt in his upper neck, the naked steel,Far through his throat protruding. Prone he fellO'er his high courser's head; his smoking gore,The ground defiling. Hapless Phoedimas,And Tantalus, his grandsire's name who bore,Their 'custom'd sport laborious ended, stroveWith youthful vigor in the wrestling toil.Now breast to breast they strain'd with nervous grasp,When the swift arrow from the bended horn,Both bodies pierc'd, as close both bodies join'd;At once they groan'd; at once their limbs they threw,With agonies convuls'd, prone on the earth;At once their rolling eyes the light forsook;At once their souls were yielded forth to air.Alphenor saw, and smote his grieving breast;Flew to their pallid limbs, and as he rais'd,Their bodies, in the pious office fell:For Phoebus drove his fate-wing'd arrow deepThrough what his heart inclos'd. Sudden withdrawn,On the barb'd head the mangled lungs were stuck;And high in air his soul gush'd forth in blood.But beardless Damasichthon, by a woundNot single fell, as those; struck where the legTo form begins, and where the nervous hamA yielding joint supplies. The deadly dartTo draw essaying, in his throat, full driven,Up to the feather'd head, another came:The sanguine flood expell'd it, gushing high,Cutting the distant air. With outstretcht armsIlioneus, the last, besought in vain;Exclaiming,--"spare me, spare me, all ye gods!"Witless that all not join'd to cause his woe.The god was touch'd with pity, touch'd too late,--Already shot th' irrevocable dart:Yet light the blow was given, and mild the woundThat pierc'd his heart, and sent his soul aloft.

The rumor'd ill; the mourning people's groans;The servant's tears, soon made the mother know,The sudden ruin: wondering first she stands,To see so great heaven's power, then angry flamesIndignant, that such power they dare to use.The sire Amphion, in his bosom plung'dHis sword, and ended life at once, and woe.Heavens! how remov'd this Niobe, from herWho drove so lately from Latona's fane,The pious crowds; who march'd in lofty state,Through every street of Thebes, an envy'd sight!Now to be wept by even her bitterest foes.Prostrate upon their gelid limbs she lies;Now this, now that, her trembling kisses press;Her livid arms high-stretching unto heaven,Exclaims,--"Enjoy Latona, cruel dame,"My sorrows; feed on all my wretched woes;"Glut with my load of grief thy savage soul;"Feast thy fell heart with seven funereal scenes;"Triumph, victorious foe! conqueror, exult!"Victorious! said I?--How? To wretched me,"Still more are left, than joyful thou canst boast:"Superior I 'midst all this loss remain."

She spoke;--the twanging bowstring sounded loud!Terrific noise,--save Niobe, to all:She stood audacious, callous in her crime.In mourning vesture clad, with tresses loose,Around the funeral couches of the slain,The weeping sisters stood. One strives to pluckThe deep-stuck arrow from her bowels,--falls,And fainting dies; her brother's clay-cold corse,Prest with her lips. Another's soothing wordsHer hapless parent strive to cheer,--struck dumb,She bends beneath an unseen wound; her wordsReach not her parent, till her life is fled.This, vainly flying, falls: that drops in deathUpon her sister's body. One to hideAttempts: another pale and trembling dies.Six now lie breathless, each by vary'd wounds;One sole remaining, whom the mother shields,Wrapt in her vest; her body o'er her flung,Exclaiming,--"leave me this, my youngest,--last,"Least of my mighty numbers,--one alone!"But while she prays, the damsel pray'd for dies.

Of all depriv'd, the solitary dame,Amid the lifeless bodies of her sons,Her daughters, and her spouse, by sorrows steel'd,Sits harden'd: no light gale her tresses moves;No blood her redden'd cheeks contain; her eyesMotionless glare upon her mournful face;Life quits the statue: even her tongue congeals,Within her stony palate; vital floodsCease in her veins to flow; her neck to bowResists; her arms to move in graceful guise;Her feet to step; and even to stone are turn'dHer inmost bowels. Still to weep she seems.Wrapt in a furious whirlwind, distant farHer natal soil receives her. There fixt highOn a hill's utmost summit, still she melts;Still does the rigid marble flow in tears.

Now every Theban, male and female, all,Dread the fierce anger of the powers of heaven;And with redoubled fervor lowly bend,And own the twin-producing goddess' power.Then, as oft seen, they ancient tales recount,Reminded by events of recent date.Thus one relates.--"Long since some clowns, who till'd"The fertile fields of Lycia, felt the ire"Of this high goddess, whom they durst despise."Obscure the fact itself, for low the race"Who suffer'd; yet most wonderous was the deed."Myself have seen the marsh; the lake have seen"Fam'd for the prodigy. My aged sire,"To toil unable on the lengthen'd road,"Me thither sent; an herd of choicest beeves"Thence to conduct; to my unpractis'd steps"A guiding native of the land he gave."While we the pastures travers'd, lo! we found"An ancient altar, 'midst a spacious lake"Erected; black with sacrificing dust;"With waving reeds surrounded. Here my guide"Halted, and softly whisper'd,--bless me, power!"And I, like softly whispering,--bless me!--cry'd."Then ask'd, if nymph, or fawn, or native god"The altar own'd?--when thus my guide reply'd."No mountain god, O, youth! this altar claims,"But her whom once imperial Juno's rage,"Stern interdicted from firm earth's extent:"Whom scarce the wandering Delos would receive,"Ardent beseeching, when the buoyant isle"Light floated. There at length, Latona, laid"Betwixt a palm, and bright Minerva's tree,"Spite of their fierce opposing step-dame's power,"Her twins produc'd. Even hence, in child-bed driven,"She fled from Juno; in her bosom bore,"'Tis said, the twin-celestials. Now the sun"With fervid rays, had scorch'd the arid meads,"When faint with lengthen'd toil, the goddess gain'd"The edge of Lycia's monster-breeding clime;"Parch'd and exhausted, from the solar heat,"And infants milking her exhausted breast."By chance a lake, far distant she espy'd,"Deep in a vale's recess, of waters pure."There clowns the bulrush gather'd; there they pluck'd"The shrubby osier, and the marsh-fond grass."Approach'd the goddess; on her knees low bent,"The earth she press'd, and forward lean'd to drink"The cooling liquid. This the rustic mob"Forbade. When she to those who thus oppos'd,--"Water withhold? Water whose use is free?"Nature to all unsparing gives to take,"Of light, of air, and of the flowing stream."I claim but public gifts: yet suppliant beg"Those public gifts to share. Not here I come,"My weary'd arms and limbs within the waves"To lave: my thirst alone I wish to slake."Even now my speaking lips their moisture want;"Scarce my parch'd throat, a passage to my words"Can yield. As nectar were the limpid draught."Life with the water give me; for to me,"Water is life; with water life I seek."Let these too move you, who their tender hands"Stretch to your bosoms,--for by chance the babes"Their little hands held forth. The goddess' words,"Thus bland-beseeching, who could e'er withstand?"Yet these persisted;--obstinate refus'd"To grant her wish, and with opprobrious speech"And threats revil'd her, should she there remain."Nor rested thus,--the lake with hands and feet"Muddy they trouble; with malicious leaps"They agitate the pool, and upward stir"From the deep bottom clouds of slimy ooze."Anger her thirst diverted. Rage deny'd"More supplication from th' indignant dame."Their threatening words, no more the goddess brook'd;"But raising high to heaven her hands, she cry'd,--"Be this your home for ever!--Gracious heard,"Her prayer was granted. Now they joy to plunge,"Beneath the waters; now they deep immerge"Their bodies in the hollow fen; now raise"Their heads, and skim the surface of the pool,"Often they rest upon the margin's brink,"And oft light-springing, in the cool lake plunge."Now still their rude contentious tongues they use,"Still squabbling, lost to shame beneath the waves:"Beneath the waves they still abusings strive"To utter. Hoarsely still their voice is heard,"Through their wide-bloated throats. Their railing words,"Their jaws more wide dilate. Depriv'd of neck,"Their head and back in junction seem to meet;"Green shine their backs; their bellies, hugely swol'n"Are white; and frogs they plunge within the pool."

Thus as the man, the fate destructive toldOf Lycia's clowns, to mind another call'dThe satyr's fate, who vanquish'd in the strifeOf skill, on Pallas' pipe, Latona's sonSeverely punish'd.--"Wherefore thus,"--he cries,"Rent from myself? O, penitent I bow."The pipe," he shrieks, "should not such rage provoke."Exclaiming thus, o'er his extremest limbsStript was his skin; he one continuous wound!Blood flow'd from every part; the naked nervesBare started; and the trembling veins full throbb'd,By skin uncover'd. Every beating partInward, the breast's translucent fibres plainDisplay'd to sight. Him every forest fawn;Each brother satyr; and each sylvan god;And every nymph, with fam'd Olympus wept:And every swain, the woolly flock who fed;Or on the mountain watch'd the horned herd.Wash'd by their falling tears, the fertile earthIs soak'd,--absorbs them in her inmost veins;Then form'd to water, spouts them high in air.Rapid 'twixt banks declivitous, they seekThe ocean. Marsya, is the river call'd;The clearest stream through Phrygia's land which flows.

Thus far the crowd;--and then lamenting turnTo present griefs:--Amphion's race extinct,Unanimous they wail; but hated stillRemains the mother's pride. For her aloneWeep'd Pelops;--rent his garments, bare expos'dHis breast and shoulders lay, and fair display'dThe ivory joint. This shoulder at his birthIn fleshy substance, and carnation tinge,Equall'd the right. When by his sire his limbsDisjointed lay, the gods, 'tis said, quick join'dThe sever'd members: every fragment found,Save what combin'd the neck and upper arm;The part destroy'd, with ivory they replace;And Pelops perfect from the gift became.

The neighbouring lords assemble;--every townTheir kings intreat condolence to bestow,And all to Thebes repair. First Argos sends;Sparta; Mycene; Calydon, not yetBy stern Diana hated; Corinth, fam'dFor beauteous brass; Orchomenus the fierce;Messene fertile; Patrae; Pylos, rul'dBy Neleus; Troezen, yet unus'd to ownThe sway of Pittheus; Cleona the low;And all those towns the two-sea'd isthmus holds;And all those towns the isthmus views without.Athens, incredible! was absent sole.War all her energy demanded. BorneO'er ocean, fierce barbarian troops, the wallsMopsopian threaten'd. Thracian Tereus, theseWith arms auxiliar routed; bright his nameShone from the conquest. Him in riches great,Mighty in power, and from the god-like Mars,His lineage tracing, Procne's nuptial handClose to Pandion bound. Their marriage bedNor Grace, nor Hymen, nor the nuptial queenAttended. Furies held the torches, snatch'dFrom biers funereal. Furies spread the couch:And all night long an owl, ill-omen'd bird,Perch'd on the roof that crown'd the marriage dome.Join'd with such omens, with such omens boreProcne a son to Tereus. Wide through ThraceCongratulations sound: glad thanks to heavenThe parents give, and hail the happy dayWhich gave Pandion's daughter to the king;And gave the pair a son. So ignorant stillMankind of real happiness remain!

Now through five autumns had the cheerful sunThe whirling year renew'd. When Procne, blandHer spouse besought.--"If grace within thy sight"Claim my deserts,--or suffer me to see"In her own clime my sister, or to ours"My sister bring: a quick return thou well"Our sire may'st promise. This high boon obtain'd,"My sister's presence,--to my sight thou'lt seem,"A deity in goodness."--On the mainHe bids them launch the vessel; in the portCecropian enters, urg'd by oar and sail;And treads Piraeus' shore. Soon as he gain'dHis audience; soon as hand with hand was clasp'd,His ill-presaging speech he open'd. FirstThe journey's cause narrating; fond desireOf Procne; and the promis'd quick returnOf Philomela, should the sire comply.Lo! Philomela enters, splendid robesAttire her; still more splendid shine her charms:Such they describe within the forests roveDryad, and Naiaed nymphs; such would they seemTheir shape like hers adorn'd, like hers attir'd.Instant was Tereus at the sight inflam'd;So instant would the hoary harvest burn,The torch apply'd: so burn the wither'd leaves;Or hoarded hay. Well might her charms inspireSuch love in any;--him his inbred lustMore goaded, more his country's warmth which burnsIntense; he flames from nature, and from clime.First to corrupt th' attendants he designs,And faithful nurse; and Philomel' to temptWith gifts immense,--his kingdom's mighty price.Or forceful snatch her, and the rape defend,With all the powers of war. Nought but he dares.Impell'd by love's unbridled power; his breastThe raging fire contains not. Irksome seemsDelay:--and eager to the anxious wishOf Procne, turns his converse; her desiresHis wishes aiding. Eloquent he spoke;For love inspir'd him. Often as he press'dMore close than prudent, all his earnest speech,Procne, he said, dictated. Heavens! how darkThe gloom that blinds the view of human souls.Tereus for tenderest piety esteem'd,More as for vice he labors: praise he gains,for every crime. Now Philomela begs,His prayer assisting; flings her winning armsAround Pandion's neck, and suppliant suesA sight of Procne; for her woe she begs,But deems she begs delight. Her Tereus views;--Anticipates his joys; her every kiss,Her arms around her parent's neck entwin'd,But goad his passion: fuel fresh they add;Food for his flame. And when her sire she clasps,He longs that sire to be. Parent, not moreHis impious purpose would the wretch delay!The king by both their warm beseechings won,Consents;--she joyful to her father givesGlad thanks;--and hapless, deems completely blest,Herself and sister, both most deeply curst;

Now Phoebus' toil nigh spent, his coursers' feetSweep'd down the slope of heaven. The royal feast,And golden goblets, fill'd with Bacchus' gift,The board bespread. From hence in slumbers soft,Each sought repose. All but the Thracian king,Though far remov'd, still burning; all her face,Her hands and gesture he recals, and paintsAt pleasure all her beauties yet unseen:Feeding his flame, and sleep repelling far.

'Twas morn;--Pandion, pressing warm the handOf Tereus, as they parted, while the tearsGush'd sudden, thus bespeaks his friendly care."Dear son, to thee I give her, pious claims"Compel me: suppliant let me thee adjure"By faith, by kindred, and by all the gods,"Thy care paternal, shall protect the maid;"And the soft solace of my anxious years,"Speedy restore, for each delay is long."Quick, Philomela, quick my child, rejoin"Thy sire, if filial duty sways thee. Much"Thy sister's absence pains me."--Speaking thusHe press'd with kisses soft, the maiden's lips,And dripping tears with each behest let fall.Their hands he asks as pledge of faith, and joinsTheir hands in his presented; tender begsHis salutations to his daughter dear;And his young grandson. Scarce the last adieu,Chok'd with deep sighs, he breathes: his boding mindForeseeing future woes.

Now Philomel'Safely on board the painted vessel plac'd,The land far left, as with their laboring oarsThe surges move;--exulting Tereus, cry'd,"Victorious,--lo! my utmost wishes borneSafe with me."--Scarce his burning soul defersHis hop'd-for joys. His eyes are never turn'dFrom the lov'd face. Thus Jove's protected birdRapacious bears, with his sharp talons pierc'd,An hare defenceless to his lofty nest:No flight remains, the spoiler calmly viewsHis prey. Now ended is their voyage, nowWeary'd they quit their ship, and joyful touchTheir native beach; and now the Thracian kingPandion's daughter to a lofty stallConducts; by ancient trees the spot well screen'd.There he inclos'd the pale, the trembling maid,Of all things fearful, as with tears she press'dHer sister's face to see: his purpose direDisclosing,--force the helpless maid o'ercame,Loudly exclaiming to her sire; and loudHer sister's help invoking, equal vain:But chief she begs celestial powers to aid.Trembling she lies; so seems a shuddering lambWounded, and from the hoary wolf's fierce jawsJust 'scap'd, not sure his safety yet he deems:So seems a dove, her plumes in blood deep-drench'd,With fear still shivering; still the hungry clawsDreading, that lately pierc'd her. Soon restor'dHer mental powers, while scatter'd hung the locksRent in her anguish, high her arms she rais'd,Livid with blows, as those that mourn the dead;Exclaiming,--"O, barbarian! wretch supreme!"In cruelty and vice; whom not the charge"Parental, seal'd with pious tears could move;"A sister's charge entrusted: not her state,"Virgin defenceless; not the sacred vows,"Conjugal plighted. In confusion all"Commixt, by thee, adulteress here I lie,"Against my sister. Thou a double spouse,"To both. This scourge is sure to me not due."Why, villain, not my hated life destroy?"Perfect in deeds atrocious; would my breath"Before the horrid act supprest had been:"Then had I guiltless sought the shades. But still"If powers celestial view this act; if sway"On earth they hold; if all not sinks with me,"Thy fate hence-forward from me dread; myself"Shall unabash'd, thy acts proclaim. If power"Is granted, when in public walks I roam:"If here in woods imprison'd, all the woods"Shall with my plaints resound; the conscious rocks"I'll move. May heaven me hear! and if in heaven"A god abides, me hear!"--Rous'd by her words,The fierce king's anger burns; no less his fearThan anger moves him: strongly spurr'd by each,His weapon from the pendent sheath he drew:Dragg'd by the hair, her limbs he forc'd to yieldTo fetters; twisting rough her arms behind.Glad Philomel' to him her throat presents,Death from the glittering sword expecting. Grasp'dIn pincers, fierce her tongue he tore away;Griev'd, and indignant, as her father's nameShe strove to utter: trembling still appear'dThe bloody root; trembling the tongue itselfMurmur'd as on the gore-stain'd earth it lay:As leaps the serpent's sever'd tail, the tongue,Quivering in death, still to her feet advanc'd.This deed of horror done, 'tis said that oft(Incredible the fact) repeated forceUpon her mangled form the wretch employ'd.

Now dares he, all those acts atrocious done,Return to Procne. Eager as he comes,For Philomel' she asks. False tears and groansHe gives: the hapless nymph he feigns deceas'd:His tears convince. Now from her shoulders torn,Her robes with gold bright-glittering, sable vestsHer limbs enfolded. High an empty tombShe rais'd, and pious obsequies perform'dTo manes pretended: for her sister's fateShe mourn'd, whose fate such mourning ill deserv'd.

Through twice six signs had Phoebus journey'd on,The year completing. What, alas! remainsFor Philomela? Guards prevent her flight.Of stone erected, high the massive wallsCircle her round. Her lips so mute, refuseThe deed to blazon. Keen the sense of griefSharpens the soul:--in misery the mindIngenious sparkles. Skillful she extendsThe Thracian web, and on the snow-white threads,In purple letters, weaves the dreadful tale.Complete, a servant with expressive signs,The present to the queen she bids to bear.To Procne was it borne, witless the slaveOf what he carry'd. Savage Tereus' spouseThe web unfolded; read the mournful taleHer hapless sister told, and wonderous! sateIn silence; grief her rising words repress'd:Indignant, chok'd, her throat refus'd to breathe,The angry accents to her plaining tongue.To weep she waits not, in turmoil confus'd,Justice and flagrance undistinguished lie;Her mind sole bent for vengeance on her spouse.

Now was the time Sithonia's matrons wont,The rites triennial of the jovial godTo tend. Those rites to conscious shade aloneConfided. Rhodope, the brazen soundShrill tinkling, hears by night;--by night the queenThe palace quits, attir'd as Bacchus' ritesDemand; and weapon'd with the Bacchant arms.A vine her forehead girds; the nimble deerClothes with his skin her sides; her shoulder bearsA slender spear. Thus maddening, Procne seeksThe woods in ire terrific, crowded roundBy all her followers: rack'd by inward pangs,The furious rant of Bacchus veils her woes.The lonely stable seen at length, she howlsAloud,--"Evoe, ho!"--and bursts the door;Drags thence her sister;--her thence dragg'd, invests IIn Bacchanalian robes; her face inshroudsIn ivy foliage; and astonish'd leadsThe trembling damsel o'er the palace steps.The horrid dome when Philomela saw,Perforce she enter'd; through her frame she shook;The blood her face deserted. Procne soughtA spot retir'd, and from her features flungThe sacred trappings, and her sister's face,Sorrowing and blushing, to the light unveil'd;Then ran to clasp her. She the sight not bore;Her eyes she rais'd not; her dejected browsBent to the ground; thus by her sister seen,Encroacher on her bed. Her hands still spoke,When oaths she wish'd to utter, and to callTh' attesting gods, her foul disgrace by forceTo prove accomplish'd. Furious, Procne burns,Nor curbs her ire; her sister's streaming tearsReproving checks, and cries;--"no period now"For tears, we ask the sword! But if than sword"Vengeance more keen thou hop'st for, sister dear,"Behold me for most horrid deeds prepar'd."Shall I with flaming torches blaze on high"His hall imperial, and the villain king"Heave in the conflagration? Shall I rend"As thine his tongue? or from his sockets tear,"His eye-balls? or what other member maim?"Or this, or instant send his guilty soul"Thro' thousand wounds to judgment? What thou speak'st"Be mighty. I for mightiest acts prepare."To fix I hesitate." As Procne speaks,Lo! infant Itys to his mother runs;His sight her mind determines; cruel turnHer eyes, exclaiming;--"See, how like his sire's"Appear his features!"--More she spoke not, fixtWas straight her dread resolve: now fiercer burn'dWithin her smother'd rage;--yet when the boyApproach'd, and round her neck his infant armsThrew, and his kisses printed on her lips,With bland caresses mingled, even the soulOf Procne melted. Mollify'd her rage,Tears hard constrain'd flow'd from unwilling eyes.Soon as the mother's feelings softening seemTo melt in extreme fondness; Procne quitsThe sight, and to her sister's face revertsAgain her visage; then on each in turnFull bent her view, she cries;--"Must one me melt"With blandish'd soothings? Must the other mute,"With tongue dismember'd stand? Must he exclaim"O, mother!--she, O, sister! never more?"To what a spouse, Pandion's daughter, see"Art thou, degenerate wife, conjoin'd! Thy sin"A spouse like Tereus to have us'd too well."More she delays not, infant Itys drags,Swift as the Indian tiger sweeps the fawnThrough shady forests. Then the lofty dome,For rooms remote well search'd, in one arrives,Where she the infant pierces; 'twixt the breastAnd side the weapon enters, while his hands,Suppliant, his fate foreseeing, he extends,And,--"mother! O, my mother!"--loudly cries.Nor mov'd her countenance fell;--the single woundWas deadly. Philomela, with her steelThe throat divided, and the quivering limbsDissever'd, whilst of animation stillSome glimmering sparks remain'd. Of these, they partIn brazen cauldrons boil: part on the spitCrackling they turn: with gore the secret roomsOffensive float. Her unsuspecting spouseProcne to feast invites; delusive feignsHer country's customs,--where 'twas given, but oneThe husband should be nigh; all menial slavesFar distant. On his ancestorial seatHigh-lifted, Tereus sate, and feasted there:And in his bowels deep he there entomb'dBowels his own. So blind are human souls,--"Call Itys to the feast,"--he cries. No moreCould Procne veil her savage joy;--full bentThe slaughter to announce, she loud proclaim'd"Thou seek'st who with thee rests!"--Around he looks.Wondering where rests he. Philomela rush'd,Her tresses sprinkled with the ireful blood,As griev'd he, Itys calling loud, and flung,With savage fury Itys' gory headFull in his father's face; nor ever mourn'dLost speech so much; her well-earn'd joy to show,More griev'd lost power. With outcry loud the kingO'er-turn'd the table; from the Stygian vale,Invok'd the viper'd sisters: hard he stroveTo tear his bosom, and from thence disgorgeThe dire repast, the half-digested massOf Itys' limbs. Now weeping, wild he mourns,Himself his offspring's tomb. Now fierce pursuesPandion's daughters with his unsheath'd sword.From him escaping, on light wings upborneTh' Athenians seem'd; light wings their limbs upbore!One sheltering in the woods: protecting roofsThe other seeking; still the murderous deed,Mark'd on her breast remains; still on her plumesThe teint of blood is seen. Rapid in rageAnd hope of vengeance, Tereus too is chang'd,And flits a bird; a plumy crest he bears,High on his head: the lengthen'd sword he bore,A beak enormous grows. A lapwing nowWith fierce-arm'd face he flies.

Untimely soughtPandion, when the mournful tale he heard,The Stygian shades, ere yet the lengthen'd dateOf years commanded. Next th' Athenian realmErechtheus rul'd, the sceptre dubious heldBy right or forceful arms. Proud could he boastFour sons;--and daughters four to him were given.Beauteous the maids; in beauty equal two:Of these AEoelian Cephalus was bless'dWith thee as spouse, O, Procris!--Tereus long,Boreas withstanding, with the power of Thrace,Long Orithyia, by the god belov'd,Was lov'd in vain; while soft beseechings moreAnd prayers, the power to strenuous force preferr'd.But now those soothings bland so vainly try'd,Fierce swol'n with rage, his most accustom'd feel(Too much that passion knows this wind) he cries;--"Well I deserve it, all my proper arms"Relinquish'd: savage fierceness, strength, stern rage,"And threatening force. With humble softening prayers"Fool have I su'd; in each attempt have fail'd."More apt to me is force! by force I drive"The lowering clouds before me: Ocean's waves"Forceful I turn; forceful the knotted oak"Root from its deep foundation; hard the frost"I bind; and beat the sounding earth with hail:"I when in open sky, for there our field"Lies in display, my blustering brethren meet,"Oppose such might, that midmost sky resounds"Echoing our forceful conflict; flashing flames"From the cleft bodies of the hollow clouds,"Elicited: I too, earth's secret womb"Fierce entering, in her deepest caverns strain"My strength, 'till trembling wide through all her frame,"The ghosts below are troubled. These the aid"My nuptial wish should seek; no longer pray"Erechtheus for my sire;--my sire by force,"The monarch shall be made."--So spoke the god,Or thus, or more in fury, as he shookHis plumes, whose motion sweep'd through earth's extent,And made the wide main tremble. Lofty hillsHis dusty mantle covers; as the plainsRapid he brushes; shrouded deep in mist,In his dark wings the furious lover claspsHis Orithyia, trembling, pale with fear:Flying his flames were fann'd, and fiercer blaz'd.Nor check'd the ravisher his lofty flight,Till seen the town of Cicones, whose wallsReceiv'd him. There th' Athenian nymph becameThe freezing monarch's bride: a mother there,A double birth she brought, whose shoulders bearThe father's pinions; all their semblance elseTheir mother's. Not at first, 'tis said, appear'dThe feathers: Calais and Zethes, boysWere yet unplum'd; when yet with ruddy hair,Their beards appear'd not. From each shoulder shotThe feathers bird-like, at the self-same time,Their manly cheeks were thick with yellow down.Now when their youth matur'd to man appear'd,Through seas unplough'd before, they sought the fleeceSplendid with glittering wool; with all the trainOf Minyae, in the first-built vessel borne.