Metamorphoses

Ovid

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

Abhorring riches he inhabited
the woods and fields, and followed Pan who dwells
always in mountain-caves: but still obtuse
remained, from which his foolish mind again,
by an absurd decision, harmed his life.
He followed Pan up to the lofty mount
Tmolus, which from its great height looks far
across the sea. Steep and erect it stands
between great Sardis and the small Hypaepa.
While Pan was boasting there to mountain nymphs
of his great skill in music, and while he
was warbling a gay tune upon the reeds,
cemented with soft wax, in his conceit
he dared to boast to them how he despised
Apollo's music when compared with his—.
At last to prove it, he agreed to stand
against Apollo in a contest which
it was agreed should be decided by
Tmolus as their umpire.
This old god
sat down on his own mountain, and first eased
his ears of many mountain growing trees,
oak leaves were wreathed upon his azure hair
and acorns from his hollow temples hung.
First to the Shepherd-god Tmolus spoke:
“My judgment shall be yours with no delay.
Pan made some rustic sounds on his rough reeds,
delighting Midas with his uncouth notes;
for Midas chanced to be there when he played.
When Pan had ceased, divine Tmolus turned
to Phoebus, and the forest likewise turned
just as he moved. Apollo's golden locks
were richly wreathed with fresh Parnassian laurel;
his robe of Tyrian purple swept the ground;
his left hand held his lyre, adorned with gems
and Indian ivory. His right hand held
the plectrum—as an artist he stood there
before Tmolus, while his skilful thumb
touching the strings made charming melody.
Delighted with Apollo's artful touch,
Tmolus ordered Pan to hold his reeds
excelled by beauty of Apollo's lyre.
That judgment of the sacred mountain god
pleased all those present, all but Midas, who
blaming Tmolus called the award unjust.
The Delian god forbids his stupid ears
to hold their native human shape;
and, drawing them out to a hideous length,
he fills them with gray hairs, and makes them both
unsteady, wagging at the lower part:
still human, only this one part condemned,
Midas had ears of a slow-moving ass.
Midas, careful to hide his long ears, wore
a purple turban over both, which hid
his foul disgrace from laughter. But one day
a servant, who was chosen to cut his hair
with steel, when it was long, saw his disgrace.
He did not dare reveal what he had seen,
but eager, to disclose the secret, dug
a shallow hole, and in a low voice told
what kind of ears were on his master's head.
All this he whispered in the hollow earth
he dug, and then he buried all he said
by throwing back the loose earth in the hole
so everything was silent when he left.
A grove thick set with quivering reeds
began to grow there, and when it matured,
about twelve months after that servant left,
the grove betrayed its planter. For, moved by
a gentle South Wind, it repeated all
the words which he had whispered, and disclosed
from earth the secret of his master's ears.

His vengence now complete, Latona's son
borne through the liquid air, departed from
Tmolus, and then rested on the land
of Laomedon, this side the narrow sea
dividing Phrygia from the land of Thrace.
The promontory of Sigaeum right
and on the left Rhoetaeum loftily arose;
and at that place an ancient altar had
been dedicated to great Jove, the god
Panomphaean. And near that place he saw
laomedon, beginning then to build
the walls of famous Troy. He was convinced
the task exceeded all the power of man,
requiring great resource. Together with
the trident-bearing father of the deep,
he assumed a mortal form: and those two gods
agreed to labor for a sum of gold
and built the mighty wall. But that false king
refused all payment, adding perjury
to his false bargaining. Neptune, enraged,
said, “You shall not escape your punishment.”
And he drove all his waters high upon
the shores of Troy—built there through perfidy.
The sad land seemed a sea: the hard-earned wealth
of all its farmers was destroyed
and overwhelmed by furious waves.
This awful punishment was not enough.
The daughter of the king was soon required
as food for a sea-monster—. Hesione
was chained to rugged rocks. But Hercules
delivered from all harm the royal maid
and justly he demanded of the king,
her father, payment of the promised steeds;
but that perfidious king refused to keep
his promise. Hercules enraged, because
all payment was denied to him for his
great service, captured the twice-perjured walls
of conquered Troy. And as a fair reward,
he gave to Telamon, who fought for him,
Hesione, loved daughter of that king.
For Peleus had a goddess as his bride
and he was prouder of his father-in-law
than of his grandsire. Since not he alone
was grandson of great Jove, but he alone
was honored with a goddess for a wife.

To Thetis, aged Proteus once had said,
“Oh goddess of the waves, you shall conceive,
and you shall be the mother of a youth
who by heroic actions will surpass
the deeds of his own father, and your son
shall be superior to his father's power.”
So Jupiter, although the flame of love
for Thetis burned his breast, would not embrace
the lovely daughter of the sea, and urged
his grandson Peleus, son of Aeacus,
to wed the green haired maid without delay.
There is a curved bay of Haemonia,
where like an arch, two bending arms
project out in the waves, as if to form
a harbor; but the water is not deep—
although enough to hide a shoal of sand.
It has a firm shore which will not retain
a foot's impression, nor delay the step—
no seaweeds grow in that vicinity.
There is a grove of myrtle near that place
thick-hung with berries, blended of twin shades.
A cave within the middle of that grove
is found, and whether it was formed by art
or nature is not known, although it seems
a work of art. There Thetis often went,
quite naked, seated on her dolphin, which
was harnessed. Peleus seized her there when she
was fast asleep: and after he had tried
to win her by entreaties, while she long
continued to resist him, he resolved
to conquer her by violence, and seized
her neck with both arms. She resorted then
to all her usual art, and often changed:
her shape as it was known, so that he failed
in his attempt. At first she was a bird,
but while she seemed a bird he held her fast;
and then she changed herself to a large tree,
and Peleus clung with ardor to the tree;
her third disguise was as a spotted tigress,
which frightened him so that he lost his hold.
Then, as he poured wine on the heaving sea,
he prayed unto the sea green gods and gave
them sacrifice of sheep entrails, and smoke
of frankincense. He ceased not, till at last
the prophet of Carpathia, as he rose
up from a deep wave, said, “Hark unto me,
O son of Aeacus! and you shall have
the bride your heart desires: when she at rest
lies sleeping in the cool wave, you must bind
her while she is unwary, with strong cords
and complicated bonds, And never let
her arts deceive you when she imitates
a hundred varied forms, but hold her fast,
whatever she may seem, until she shall
at length assume the shape she had at first.”
So Proteus cautioned him, and hid his face
beneath the waves as his last words were said.
Now Titan was descending and the pole
of his bright chariot as it downward bent
illuminated the Hesperian main;
and at that time the lovely Nereid,
Thetis, departing from her ocean wave,
entered the cavern for desired repose.
Peleus was waiting there. Immediately,
just as he seized upon the virgin's limbs,
she changed her shape and perservered
until convinced she could not overcome
his hold—for her two arms were forced apart—
she groaned and said, “You could not overcome
me in this way, but some divinity
has given you the power.” Then she appeared
as Thetis: and, when Peleus saw her now
deprived of all deceptions, he embraced
her and was father of the great Achilles.