Metamorphoses
Ovid
Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.
- Chiron, the Centaur, taught his pupil; proud
- that he was honoured by that God-like charge.
- Behold, his lovely daughter, who was born
- beside the margin of a rapid stream,
- came forward, with her yellow hair as gold
- adown her shoulders.—She was known by name
- Ocyroe. The hidden things that Fate
- conceals, she had the power to tell; for not
- content was she to learn her father's arts,
- but rather pondered on mysterious things.
- So, when the god of Frenzy warmed her breast,
- gazing on Aesculapius,—the child
- of Phoebus and Coronis, while her soul
- was gifted, with prophetic voice she said;
- “O thou who wilt bestow on all the world
- the blessed boon of health, increase in strength!
- To thee shall mortals often owe their lives:
- to thee is given the power to raise the dead.
- But when against the power of Deities
- thou shalt presume to dare thy mortal skill,
- the bolts of Jove will shatter thy great might,
- and health no more be thine from thence to grant.
- And from a god thou shalt return to dust,
- and once again from dust become a God;
- and thou shalt thus renew thy destiny.—
- “And thou, dear father Chiron, brought to birth
- with pledge of an immortal life, informed
- with ever-during strength, when biting flames
- of torment from the baneful serpent's blood
- are coursing in thy veins, thou shalt implore
- a welcome death; and thy immortal life
- the Gods shall suffer to the power of death.—
- and the three Destinies shall cut thy thread.”
- She would continue these prophetic words
- but tears unbidden trickled down her face;
- and, as it seemed her sighs would break her heart,
- she thus bewailed; “The Fates constrain my speech
- and I can say no more; my power has gone.
- Alas, my art, although of little force
- and doubtful worth, has brought upon my head
- the wrath of Heaven.
- “Oh wherefore did I know
- to cast the future? Now my human form
- puts on another shape, and the long grass
- affords me needed nourishment. I want
- to range the boundless plains and have become,
- in image of my father's kind, a mare:
- but gaining this, why lose my human shape?
- My father's form is one of twain combined.”
- And as she wailed the words became confused
- and scarcely understood; and soon her speech
- was only as the whinny of a mare.
- Down to the meadow's green her arms were stretched;
- her fingers joined together, and smooth hoofs
- made of five nails a single piece of horn.
- Her face and neck were lengthened, and her hair
- swept downward as a tail; the scattered locks
- that clung around her neck were made a mane,
- tossed over to the right. Her voice and shape
- were altogether changed, and since that day
- the change has given her a different name.