Metamorphoses
Ovid
Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.
- Daphne, the daughter of a River God
- was first beloved by Phoebus, the great God
- of glorious light. 'Twas not a cause of chance
- but out of Cupid's vengeful spite that she
- was fated to torment the lord of light.
- For Phoebus, proud of Python's death, beheld
- that impish god of Love upon a time
- when he was bending his diminished bow,
- and voicing his contempt in anger said;
- “What, wanton boy, are mighty arms to thee,
- great weapons suited to the needs of war?
- The bow is only for the use of those
- large deities of heaven whose strength may deal
- wounds, mortal, to the savage beasts of prey;
- and who courageous overcome their foes.—
- it is a proper weapon to the use
- of such as slew with arrows Python, huge,
- whose pestilential carcase vast extent
- covered. Content thee with the flames thy torch
- enkindles (fires too subtle for my thought)
- and leave to me the glory that is mine.”
- to him, undaunted, Venus, son replied;
- “O Phoebus, thou canst conquer all the world
- with thy strong bow and arrows, but with this
- small arrow I shall pierce thy vaunting breast!
- And by the measure that thy might exceeds
- the broken powers of thy defeated foes,
- so is thy glory less than mine.” No more
- he said, but with his wings expanded thence
- flew lightly to Parnassus, lofty peak.
- There, from his quiver he plucked arrows twain,
- most curiously wrought of different art;
- one love exciting, one repelling love.
- The dart of love was glittering, gold and sharp,
- the other had a blunted tip of lead;
- and with that dull lead dart he shot the Nymph,
- but with the keen point of the golden dart
- he pierced the bone and marrow of the God.
- Immediately the one with love was filled,
- the other, scouting at the thought of love,
- rejoiced in the deep shadow of the woods,
- and as the virgin Phoebe (who denies
- the joys of love and loves the joys of chase)
- a maiden's fillet bound her flowing hair,—
- and her pure mind denied the love of man.
- Beloved and wooed she wandered silent paths,
- for never could her modesty endure
- the glance of man or listen to his love.
- Her grieving father spoke to her, “Alas,
- my daughter, I have wished a son in law,
- and now you owe a grandchild to the joy
- of my old age.” But Daphne only hung
- her head to hide her shame. The nuptial torch
- seemed criminal to her. She even clung,
- caressing, with her arms around his neck,
- and pled, “My dearest father let me live
- a virgin always, for remember Jove
- did grant it to Diana at her birth.”
- But though her father promised her desire,
- her loveliness prevailed against their will;
- for, Phoebus when he saw her waxed distraught,
- and filled with wonder his sick fancy raised
- delusive hopes, and his own oracles
- deceived him.—As the stubble in the field
- flares up, or as the stacked wheat is consumed
- by flames, enkindled from a spark or torch
- the chance pedestrian may neglect at dawn;
- so was the bosom of the god consumed,
- and so desire flamed in his stricken heart.
- He saw her bright hair waving on her neck;—
- “How beautiful if properly arranged! ”
- He saw her eyes like stars of sparkling fire,
- her lips for kissing sweetest, and her hands
- and fingers and her arms; her shoulders white
- as ivory;—and whatever was not seen
- more beautiful must be.
- Swift as the wind
- from his pursuing feet the virgin fled,
- and neither stopped nor heeded as he called;
- “O Nymph! O Daphne! I entreat thee stay,
- it is no enemy that follows thee—
- why, so the lamb leaps from the raging wolf,
- and from the lion runs the timid faun,
- and from the eagle flies the trembling dove,
- all hasten from their natural enemy
- but I alone pursue for my dear love.
- Alas, if thou shouldst fall and mar thy face,
- or tear upon the bramble thy soft thighs,
- or should I prove unwilling cause of pain!
- “The wilderness is rough and dangerous,
- and I beseech thee be more careful—I
- will follow slowly.—Ask of whom thou wilt,
- and thou shalt learn that I am not a churl—
- I am no mountain dweller of rude caves,
- nor clown compelled to watch the sheep and goats;
- and neither canst thou know from whom thy feet
- fly fearful, or thou wouldst not leave me thus.
- “The Delphic Land, the Pataraean Realm,
- Claros and Tenedos revere my name,
- and my immortal sire is Jupiter.
- The present, past and future are through me
- in sacred oracles revealed to man,
- and from my harp the harmonies of sound
- are borrowed by their bards to praise the Gods.
- My bow is certain, but a flaming shaft
- surpassing mine has pierced my heart—
- untouched before. The art of medicine
- is my invention, and the power of herbs;
- but though the world declare my useful works
- there is no herb to medicate my wound,
- and all the arts that save have failed their lord.,”