Metamorphoses

Ovid

Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.

and since that time, the linen wearing throng
of Egypt have adored her as a God;
for they believe the seed of Jove prevailed;
and when her time was due she bore to him
a son called Epaphus; who also dwells
in temples with his mother in that land.
Now Phaethon, whose father was the Sun,
was equal to his rival, Epaphus,
in mind and years; and he was glad to boast
of wonders, nor would yield to Epaphus
for pride of Phoebus, his reputed sire.
Unable to endure it, Io's son
thus mocked him; “Poor, demented fellow, what
will you not credit if your mother speaks,
you are so puffed up with the fond conceit
of your imagined sire, the Lord of Day.”
shame crimsoned in his cheeks, but Phaethon
withholding rage, reported all the taunts
of Epaphus to Clymene his mother:
“'Twill grieve you, mother, I, the bold and free,
was silent; and it shames me to report
this dark reproach remains unchallenged. Oh,
if I am born of race divine, give proof
of that illustrious descent and claim
my right to Heaven.” Around his mother's neck
he drew his arms, and by the head of Merops,
and by his own, and by the nuptial torch
of his beloved sisters, he implored
for some true token of his origin.
Or moved by Phaethon's importuned words,
or by the grievous charge, who might declare?
She raised her arms to Heaven, and gazing full
upon the broad sun said; “I swear to you
by yonder orb, so radiant and bright,
which both beholds and hears us while we speak,
that you are his begotten son.—You are
the child of that great light which sways the world:
and if I have not spoken what is true,
let not mine eyes behold his countenance,
and let this fatal moment be the last
that I shall look upon the light of day!
Nor will it weary you, my son, to reach
your father's dwelling; for the very place
where he appears at dawn is near our land.
Go, if it please you, and the very truth
learn from your father.” Instantly sprang forth
exultant Phaethon. Overjoyed with words
so welcome, he imagined he could leap
and touch the skies. And so he passed his land
of Ethiopia, and the Indies, hot
beneath the tawny sun, and there he turned
his footsteps to his father's Land of Dawn.

Glowing with gold, flaming with carbuncles
on stately columns raised, refulgent shone
the palace of the Sun, with polished dome
of ivory gleaming, and with portals twain
of burnished silver. And the workmanship
exceeded all the wealth of gems and gold;
for there had Mulciber engraved the seas
encircling middle earth; the round of earth,
and heaven impending over the land.
And there
amid the waves were azure deities:
melodious Triton and elusive Proteus; there
Aegeaan pressing with his arms the backs.
Of monstrous whales; and Doris in the sea
and all her daughters; some amid the waves
and others sitting on the bank to dry
their sea-green hair, and others borne about
by fishes. Each was made to show a fair
resemblance to her sisters—yet not one
appearance was assigned to all—they seemed
as near alike as sisters should in truth.
And men and cities, woods and savage beasts,
and streams and nymphs, and sylvan deities
were carved upon the land; and over these
an image of the glittering sky was fixed;—
six signs were on the right, six on the left.
Here when audacious Phaethon arrived
by steep ascending paths, without delay
he entered in the shining palace-gates
of his reputed parent, making haste
to stand in his paternal presence. There,
unable to endure the dazzling light,
he waited at a distance.
Phoebus sat,
arrayed in royal purple, on a throne
that glittered with the purest emeralds.—
there to the left and right, Day, Month and Year,
time and the Hours, at equal distance stood;
and vernal Spring stood crowned with wreathed flowers;
and naked Summer stood with sheaves of wheat;
and Autumn stood besmeared with trodden grapes;
and icy Winter rough with hoary hair.
And from the midst, with orbs that view the world,
Phoebus beheld the trembling youth, fear-struck,
in mute amazement, and he said; “Declare
the reason of thy journey. What wilt thou
in this my palace, Phaethon my child
beloved?”
And to him replied the youth;
“O universal light of all the world,
my father Phoebus, if thy name be mine,
if Clymene has not concealed her sin
beneath some pretext, give to me, my sire,
a token to declare thy fatherhood
which may establish my assured descent,
and leave no dark suspicions in our minds.”—
then Phoebus from his shining brows cast down
his circling rays; called Phaethon to him,
and as he held him to his breast replied;
“O child most worthy of thy sire, the truth
was told thee by thy mother; wherefore doubts
to dissipate, consider thy desire,
and ask of me that I may freely give:
yea, let the Nether Lake, beyond our view,
(which is the oath of Gods inviolate)
be witness to my word.”
When this was said
the happy youth at once began to plead
command and guidance of his father's steeds,
wing-footed, and his chariot for a day.
But Phoebus much repented that he sware,
and thrice and four times shook his radiant head;
“Ah, would I might refuse my plighted word;
and oh, that it were lawful to deny
the promised boon.—For I confess, O son,
this only I should keep from thee—and yet
'Tis lawful to dissuade. It is unsafe
to satisfy thy will. It is a great
request, O Phaethon, which neither suits
thy utmost strength nor tender years; for thou
art mortal, and thou hast aspired to things
immortal. Ignorance has made thy thought
transcend the province of the Gods. I vaunt
no vain exploits; but only I can stand
securely on the flame-fraught axle-tree:
even the Ruler of Olympian Gods,
who hurls fierce lightnings with his great right hand,
may never dare to drive this chariot,
and what art thou to equal mighty Jove?
“The opening path is steep and difficult,
for scarcely can the steeds, refreshed at dawn,
climb up the steeps: and when is reached the height,
extreme of midmost Heaven, and sea and earth
are viewed below, my trembling breast is filled
with fearful apprehensions: and requires
the last precipitous descent a sure
command. Then, also, Tethys, who receives
me in her subject waves, is wont to fear
lest I should fall disastrous. And around
the hastening sky revolves in constant whirl,
drawing the lofty stars with rapid twist.
“I struggle on. The force that overcomes
the heavenly bodies overwhelms me not,
and I am borne against that rapid globe.
Suppose the chariot thine: what canst thou do?
Canst thou drive straight against the twisted pole
and not be carried from the lofty path
by the swift car? Art thou deceived to think
there may be groves and cities of the Gods,
and costly temples wondrously endowed?
“The journey is beset with dreadful snares
and shapes of savage animals. If thou
shouldst hold upon thy way without mistake
yet must thy journey be through Taurus' horns,
and through the Bow Haemonian, and the jaws
of the fierce Lion, and the cruel arms
of Scorpion, bent throughout a vast expanse,—
and Cancer's curving arms reversely bent.
“It is no easy task for thee to rule
the mettled four-foot steeds, enflamed in fires
that kindle in their breasts, forth issuing
in breathings from their mouths and nostrils hot;—
I scarce restrain them, as their struggling necks
pull on the harness, when their heated fires
are thus aroused.
“And, O my son, lest I
may be the author of a baneful gift,
beware, and as the time permits recall
thy rash request. Forsooth thou hast besought
undoubted signs of thy descent from me?
My fears for thee are certain signs that thou
art of my race—by my paternal fears
'Tis manifest I am thy father. Lo!
Behold my countenance! and oh, that thou
couldst even pierce my bosom with thine eyes,
and so discover my paternal cares!
“Look round thee on the treasured world's delights
and ask the greatest blessing of the sky,
or sea or land, and thou shalt suffer no
repulse: but only this I must deplore,
which rightly named would be a penalty
and not an honour.—Thou hast made request
of punishment and not a gift indeed.
O witless boy! why dost thou hold my neck
with thy caressing arms? For, doubt it not,
as I have sworn it by the Stygian Waves,
whatever thou shalt wish, it shall be given—
but thou shouldst wish more wisely.”

So were all
his admonitions said, availing naught;
for Phaethon resisted his advice,
and urged again his claim, and eagerly burned
to use the chariot. Wherefore, Phoebus long
delaying and reluctant, took the youth
to view the spacious chariot, gift of Vulcan.—
gold was the axle and the beam was gold,
the great Wheel had a golden tire and spokes
of silver; chrysolites and diamonds
reflected from the spangled yoke the light
of Phoebus.
While aspiring Phaethon admired
the glittering chariot and its workmanship,
the vigilant Aurora opened forth
her purple portals from the ruddy east,
disclosing halls replete with roses. All
the stars took flight, while Lucifer, the last
to quit his vigil, gathered that great host
and disappeared from his celestial watch.
And when his father, Phoebus, saw the earth
and the wide universe in glowing tints
arrayed, as waned the Moon's diminished horns,
far-distant, then he bade the nimble Hours
to yoke the steeds.—At once the Deities
accomplished his commands, and led the steeds,
ambrosia-fed and snorting flames, from out
their spacious stalls; and fixed their sounding bits.
Then with a hallowed drug the father touched
the stripling's face, to make him proof against
the rapid flame, and wrought around his hair
the sun-rays. But, foreboding grief, he said,
while many a sigh heaved from his anxious breast;
“If thou canst only heed thy father's voice—
be sparing of the whip and use with nerve
the reins; for of their own accord the steeds
will hasten. Difficult are they to check
in full career. Thou must not drive the car
directly through five circles, for the track
takes a wide curve, obliquely, and is bound
by the extreme edge of three zones.—It avoids
the Southern Pole, and it avoids the Bear
that roams around the north. The way is plain;
the traces of the Wheel are manifest.
“Observe with care that both the earth and sky
have their appropriate heat—Drive not too low,
nor urge the chariot through the highest plane;
for if thy course attain too great a height
thou wilt consume the mansions of the sky,
and if too low the land will scorch with heat.
“Take thou the middle plane, where all is safe;
nor let the Wheel turn over to the right
and bear thee to the twisted Snake! nor let
it take thee to the Altar on the left—
so close to earth—but steer the middle course.—
to Fortune I commit thy fate, whose care
for thee so reckless of thyself I pray.
“While I am speaking humid night has touched
the margin of Hesperian shores. 'Tis not
for us to idle; we are called away;—
when bright Aurora shines the darkness flies.
Take up the reins! But if thy stubborn breast
be capable of change use not our car,
but heed my counsel while the time permits,
and while thy feet are on a solid base,
but not, according to thy foolish wish,
pressing the axle. Rather let me light
the world beneath thy safe and wondering gaze.”
But Phaethon with youthful vigor leaped,
and in the light-made chariot lightly stood:
and he rejoiced, and with the reins in hand
thanked his reluctant parent.
Instantly
Eous, Aethon, Pyrois and Phlegon,
the winged horses of the Sun, gave vent
to flame-like neighs that filled the shaking air;
they pawed the barriers with their shining hoofs.
Then Tethys, witless of her grandson's fate
let back the barriers,—and the universe
was theirs to traverse. Taking the well-known road,
and moving through the air with winged feet,
they pierced resisting clouds, and spreading wide
their pinions soared upon the eastern wind,
far-wafted from that realm. But Phaethon,
so easy of their yoke, lost all control,
and the great car was tossed,—as tapered ships
when lightened of their ballast toss and heave
unsteady in the surging seas: the car
leaped lightly in the air, and in the heights
was tossed unsteady as an empty shell.
Soon as the steeds perceived it, with a rush
impetuous, they left the beaten track;
regardless of all order and control;
and Phaethon filled with fear, knew not to guide
with trusted reins, nor where the way might be—
nor, if he knew, could he control their flight.
Warmed in the sunshine, never felt before,
the gelid Triones attempted vain
to bathe in seas forbid: the Serpent cold
and torpid by the frozen Pole, too cold
for contest, warmed, and rage assumed from heat
bootes, troubled by the heat, took flight,
impeded by his wain.
And as from skies
of utmost height unhappy Phaethon
beheld the earth receding from his view,
a pallor spread his cheeks with sudden fear;
his knees began to quake; and through the flare
of vast effulgence darkness closed his eyes.
Now vainy he regrets he ever touched
his father's steeds, and he is stunned with grief
that so entreating he prevailed to know
his true descent. He rather would be called
the son of Merops. As a ship is tossed
by raging Boreas, when the conquered helm
has been abandoned, and the pilot leaves
the vessel to his vows and to the Gods;
so, helpless, he is borne along the sky.
What can he? Much of heaven remains behind;
a longer distance is in front of him—
each way is measured in his anxious mind.—
at first his gaze is fixed upon the west,
which fate has destined he shall never reach,
and then his eyes turn backward to the east.—
so, stupefied and dazed he neither dares
to loose the bits, nor tighten on the reins,
and he is ignorant of the horses' names.