Metamorphoses

Ovid

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

Under the scepter of Ascanius
the Latin state, transferred, was Alban too.
Silvius ruled after him. Latinus then,
wearing the crown, brought back an older name.
Illustrious Alba followed after him,
Epytus next in time, and Capys next,
then Capetus. And reigning after them
King Tiberinus 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. Then Acrota, not so rash,
succeeded to his brother, and he left
his scepter to the valiant Aventinus,
hill-buried on the very mountain which
he ruled upon and which received his name.
And Proca ruled then—on the Palatine.
Under this king, Pomona lived, and none
of all the Latin hamadryads 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 loved to hold
a sharp curved pruning-knife with which she would
at one time crop too 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's violence,
she had her orchard closed within a wall;
and both forbade and fled the approach of males.
What did not satyrs do to gain her love,
a youthful crew expert at every dance?
And also Pans their brows wreathed 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—
truly he seemed a reaper to the life!
Often he came, his temples wreathed with hay,
as if he had been tossing new mown 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 joyed 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. Entering so
the cultivated garden, he admired
the fruit and said, “But you are so much lovelier!”
And, while he praised her, gave some kisses too,
such as no real beldame 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 unwedded 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 Alba's mountain-tops.
“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
Vertumnus 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 wooers, 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. Besides
all—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 Idalian,
who hate all cruel hearts, and also dread
the fierce revenge of her of Rhamnus-Land.
And that you may stand more in awe of them,
(old age has given me opportunities
of knowing many things) I will relate
some happenings known in Cyprus, by which you
may be persuaded and relent with ease.

“Iphis, born of a humble family,
had seen the famed Anaxarete, who
was of the race of ancient Teucer.—He
had seen her and felt fire inflame 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 loved 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 the door-posts; and he often laid
his tender side nightlong on the hard threshold,
sadly reproaching the obdurate bolt.
“Deafer than the deep sea that rises high
when the rainy Constellation of the Kids
is setting; harder than the iron which
the fire of Noricum refines; more hard
than rock which 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.
“Iphis, unable to endure such pain prolonged,
spoke these, his final words, before her door:
‘Anaxarete, you have conquered me,
and you shall have no more annoyances
to bear from me. Be joyful and prepare
your triumph, and invoke god Paean, crown
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 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 gods 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 often had
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 a dangling noose, he said,—
“Are these the garlands that delight your heart?
You cruel and unnatural woman?”—Then,
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 bier,
on to a pyre laid in the central square.
By chance, Anaxarete'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—
hardhearted, 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. Scarcely had
she looked at Iphis, laid out on the bier,
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 always had
existed, petrified in her cold breast,
and took possession of her heart and limbs.
“This is not fiction, and that you may know,
Salamis keeps that statue safe today,
formed of the virgin and has also built
a temple called, ‘Venus the watchful Goddess.’
Warned by her fate, O sweet nymph, lay aside
prolonged disdain, and cheerfully unite
yourself to one who loves you. Then may frost
of springtime never nip your fruit in bud,
nor 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.