Metamorphoses

Ovid

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

Nor food nor rest can draw him thence—outstretched
upon the overshadowed green, his eyes
fixed on the mirrored image never may know
their longings satisfied, and by their sight
he is himself undone. Raising himself
a moment, he extends his arms around,
and, beckoning to the murmuring forest; “Oh,
ye aisled wood was ever man in love
more fatally than I? Your silent paths
have sheltered many a one whose love was told,
and ye have heard their voices. Ages vast
have rolled away since your forgotten birth,
but who is he through all those weary years
that ever pined away as I? Alas,
this fatal image wins my love, as I
behold it. But I cannot press my arms
around the form I see, the form that gives
me joy. What strange mistake has intervened
betwixt us and our love? It grieves me more
that neither lands nor seas nor mountains, no,
nor walls with closed gates deny our loves,
but only a little water keeps us far
asunder. Surely he desires my love
and my embraces, for as oft I strive
to kiss him, bending to the limpid stream
my lips, so often does he hold his face
fondly to me, and vainly struggles up.
It seems that I could touch him. 'Tis a strange
delusion that is keeping us apart.
“Whoever thou art, Come up! Deceive me not!
Oh, whither when I fain pursue art thou?
Ah, surely I am young and fair, the Nymphs
have loved me; and when I behold thy smiles
I cannot tell thee what sweet hopes arise.
When I extend my loving arms to thee
thine also are extended me — thy smiles
return my own. When I was weeping, I
have seen thy tears, and every sign I make
thou cost return; and often thy sweet lips
have seemed to move, that, peradventure words,
which I have never heard, thou hast returned.
“No more my shade deceives me, I perceive
'Tis I in thee—I love myself—the flame
arises in my breast and burns my heart—
what shall I do? Shall I at once implore?
Or should I linger till my love is sought?
What is it I implore? The thing that I
desire is mine—abundance makes me poor.
Oh, I am tortured by a strange desire
unknown to me before, for I would fain
put off this mortal form; which only means
I wish the object of my love away.
Grief saps my strength, the sands of life are run,
and in my early youth am I cut off;
but death is not my bane—it ends my woe.—
I would not death for this that is my love,
as two united in a single soul
would die as one.”
He spoke; and crazed with love,
returned to view the same face in the pool;
and as he grieved his tears disturbed the stream,
and ripples on the surface, glassy clear,
defaced his mirrored form. And thus the youth,
when he beheld that lovely shadow go;
“Ah whither cost thou fly? Oh, I entreat
thee leave me not. Alas, thou cruel boy
thus to forsake thy lover. Stay with me
that I may see thy lovely form, for though
I may not touch thee I shall feed my eyes
and soothe my wretched pains.” And while he spoke
he rent his garment from the upper edge,
and beating on his naked breast, all white
as marble, every stroke produced a tint
as lovely as the apple streaked with red,
or as the glowing grape when purple bloom
touches the ripening clusters.
When as glass
again the rippling waters smoothed, and when
such beauty in the stream the youth observed,
no more could he endure. As in the flame
the yellow wax, or as the hoar-frost melts
in early morning 'neath the genial sun;
so did he pine away, by love consumed,
and slowly wasted by a hidden flame.
No vermeil bloom now mingled in the white
of his complexion fair; no strength has he,
no vigor, nor the comeliness that wrought
for love so long: alas, that handsome form
by Echo fondly loved may please no more.
But when she saw him in his hapless plight,
though angry at his scorn, she only grieved.
As often as the love-lore boy complained,
“Alas!” “Alas!” her echoing voice returned;
and as he struck his hands against his arms,
she ever answered with her echoing sounds.
And as he gazed upon the mirrored pool
he said at last, “Ah, youth beloved in vain!”
“In vain, in vain!” the spot returned his words;
and when he breathed a sad “farewell!” “Farewell!”
sighed Echo too. He laid his wearied head,
and rested on the verdant grass; and those
bright eyes, which had so loved to gaze, entranced,
on their own master's beauty, sad Night closed.
And now although among the nether shades
his sad sprite roams, he ever loves to gaze
on his reflection in the Stygian wave.
His Naiad sisters mourned, and having clipped
their shining tresses laid them on his corpse:
and all the Dryads mourned: and Echo made
lament anew. And these would have upraised
his funeral pyre, and waved the flaming torch,
and made his bier; but as they turned their eyes
where he had been, alas he was not there!
And in his body's place a sweet flower grew,
golden and white, the white around the gold.

Narcissus' fate, when known throughout the land
and cities of Achaia, added fame
deserved, to blind Tiresias,—mighty seer.
Yet Pentheus, bold despiser of the Gods,
son of Echion, scoffed at all his praise,
and, sole of man deriding the great seer,
upbraided him his hapless loss of sight.
And shaking his white temples, hoar with age.
Tiresias of Pentheus prophesied,
“Oh glad the day to thee, if, light denied,
thine eyes, most fortunate, should not behold
the Bacchanalian rites! The day will come,
and soon the light will dawn, when Bacchus, born
of Semele, shall make his advent known—
all hail the new god Bacchus! Either thou
must build a temple to this Deity,
or shalt be torn asunder; thy remains,
throughout the forest scattered, will pollute
the wood with sanguinary streams; and thy
life-blood bespatter with corrupting blots
thy frenzied mother and her sisters twain.
And all shall come to pass, as I have told,
because thou wilt not honour the New God.
And thou shalt wail and marvel at the sight
of blind Tiresias, though veiled in night.”
And as he spoke, lo, Pentheus drove the seer:
but all his words, prophetic, were fulfilled,
and confirmation followed in his steps.—
Bacchus at once appears, and all the fields
resound with shouts of everybody there.—
men, brides and matrons, and a howling rout—
nobles and commons and the most refined—
a motley multitude—resistless borne
to join those rites of Bacchus, there begun.
Then Pentheus cries; “What madness, O ye brave
descendants of the Dragon! Sons of Mars!
What frenzy has confounded you? Can sounds
of clanging brass prevail; and pipes and horns,
and magical delusions, drunkenness,
and yelling women, and obscene displays,
and hollow drums, overcome you, whom the sword,
nor troops of war, nor trumpet could affright?
“How shall I wonder at these ancient men,
who, crossing boundless seas from distant Tyre,
hither transferred their exiled Household Gods,
and founded a new Tyre; but now are shorn,
and even as captives would be led away
without appeal to Mars? And, O young men,
of active prime whose vigor equals mine!
Cast down your ivy scepters; take up arms;
put on your helmets; strip your brows of leaves;
be mindful of the mighty stock you are,
and let your souls be animated with
the spirit of that dauntless dragon, which,
unaided, slew so many, and at last
died to defend his fountain and his lake.—
so ye may conquer in the hope of fame.
“He gave the brave to death, but with your arms
ye shall expel the worthless, and enhance
the glory of your land. If Fate decree
the fall of Thebes, Oh, let the engines
of war and men pull down its walls, and let
the clash of steel and roaring flames resound.
Thus, blameless in great misery, our woes
would be the theme of lamentations, known
to story; and our tears would shame us not.
“But now an unarmed boy will conquer Thebes:
a lad whom neither weapons, wars nor steeds
delight; whose ringlets reek with myrrh; adorned
with chaplets, purple and embroidered robes
of interwoven gold. Make way for me!
And I will soon compel him to confess
his father is assumed and all his rites
are frauds.
“If in days gone Acrisius
so held this vain god in deserved contempt,
and shut the Argive gates against his face,
why, therefore, should not Pentheus close the gates
of Thebes, with equal courage—Hence! Away!
Fetch the vile leader of these rioters
in chains! Let not my mandate be delayed.”
Him to restrain his grandsire, Cadmus, strove;
and Athamas, and many of his trusted friends
united in vain efforts to rebuke
his reckless rage; but greater violence
was gained from every admonition.—
his rage increased the more it was restrained,
and injury resulted from his friends.
So have I seen a stream in open course,
run gently on its way with pleasant noise,
but whensoever logs and rocks detained,
it foamed, with violence increased, against
obstruction.
Presently returning came
his servants stained with blood, to whom he said,
“What have ye done with Bacchus?” And to him
they made reply; “Not Bacchus have we seen,
but we have taken his attendant lad,
the chosen servant of his sacred rites.”
And they delivered to the noble king,
a youth whose hands were lashed behind his back.
Then Pentheus, terrible in anger, turned
his awful gaze upon the lad, and though
he scarce deferred his doom, addressed him thus;
“Doomed to destruction, thou art soon to give
example to my people by thy death:
tell me thy name; what are thy parents called;
where is thy land; and wherefore art thou found
attendant on these Bacchanalian rites.”

But fearless he replied; “They call my name
Acoetes; and Maeonia is the land
from whence I came. My parents were so poor,
my father left me neither fruitful fields,
tilled by the lusty ox, nor fleecy sheep,
nor lowing kine; for, he himself was poor,
and with his hook and line was wont to catch
the leaping fishes, landed by his rod.
His skill was all his wealth. And when to me
he gave his trade, he said, ‘You are the heir
of my employment, therefore unto you
all that is mine I give,’ and, at his death,
he left me nothing but the running waves. —
they are the sum of my inheritance.
“And, afterwhile, that I might not be bound
forever to my father's rocky shores,
I learned to steer the keel with dextrous hand;
and marked with watchful gaze the guiding stars;
the watery Constellation of the Goat,
Olenian, and the Bear, the Hyades,
the Pleiades, the houses of the winds,
and every harbour suitable for ships.
“So chanced it, as I made for Delos, first
I veered close to the shores of Chios: there
I steered, by plying on the starboard oar,
and nimbly leaping gained the sea-wet strand.
“Now when the night was past and lovely dawn
appeared, I,rose from slumber, and I bade
my men to fetch fresh water, and I showed
the pathway to the stream. Then did I climb
a promontory's height, to learn from there
the promise of the winds; which having done,
I called the men and sought once more my ship.
Opheltes, first of my companions, cried,
‘Behold we come!’ And, thinking he had caught
a worthy prize in that unfruitful land,
he led a boy, of virgin-beauty formed,
across the shore.
“Heavy with wine and sleep
the lad appeared to stagger on his way,—
with difficulty moving. When I saw
the manner of his dress, his countenance
and grace, I knew it was not mortal man,
and being well assured, I said to them;
‘What Deity abideth in that form
I cannot say; but 'tis a god in truth.—
O whosoever thou art, vouchsafe to us
propitious waters; ease our toils, and grant
to these thy grace.’
“At this, the one of all
my mariners who was the quickest hand,
who ever was the nimblest on the yards,
and first to slip the ropes, Dictys exclaimed;
‘Pray not for us!’ and all approved his words.
The golden haired, the guardian of the prow,
Melanthus, Libys and Alcimedon
approved it; and Epopeus who should urge
the flagging spirits, and with rhythmic chants
give time and measure to the beating oars,
and all the others praised their leader's words,—
so blind is greed of gain.—Then I rejoined,
‘Mine is the greatest share in this good ship,
which I will not permit to be destroyed,
nor injured by this sacred freight:’ and I
opposed them as they came.
“Then Lycabas,
the most audacious of that impious crew,
began to rage. He was a criminal,
who, for a dreadful murder, had been sent
in exile from a Tuscan city's gates.
Whilst I opposed he gripped me by the throat,
and shook me as would cast me in the deep,
had I not firmly held a rope, half stunned:
and all that wicked crew approved the deed.
“Then Bacchus (be assured it was the God)
as though the noise disturbed his lethargy
from wine, and reason had regained its power,
at last bespake the men, ‘What deeds are these?
What noise assails my ears? What means decoyed
my wandering footsteps? Whither do ye lead?’
‘Fear not,’ the steersman said, ‘but tell us fair
the haven of your hope, and you shall land
whereso your heart desires.’ ‘To Naxos steer,’
Quoth Bacchus, ‘for it is indeed my home,
and there the mariner finds welcome cheer.’
Him to deceive, they pledged themselves, and swore
by Gods of seas and skies to do his will:
and they commanded me to steer that way.
“The Isle of Naxos was upon our right;
and when they saw the sails were set that way,
they all began to shout at once, ‘What, ho!
Thou madman! what insanity is this,
Acoetes? Make our passage to the left.’
And all the while they made their meaning known
by artful signs or whispers in my ears.
“I was amazed and answered, ‘Take the helm.’
And I refused to execute their will,
atrocious, and at once resigned command.
Then all began to murmur, and the crew
reviled me. Up Aethalion jumped and said,
‘As if our only safety is in you!’
With this he swaggered up and took command;
and leaving Naxos steered for other shores.
“Then Bacchus, mocking them,—as if but then
he had discovered their deceitful ways,—
looked on the ocean from the rounded stern,
and seemed to sob as he addressed the men;
‘Ah mariners, what alien shores are these?
'Tis not the land you promised nor the port
my heart desires. For what have I deserved
this cruel wrong? What honour can accrue
if strong men mock a boy; a lonely youth
if many should deceive?’ And as he spoke,
I, also, wept to see their wickedness.
“The impious gang made merry at our tears,
and lashed the billows with their quickening oars.
By Bacchus do I swear to you (and naught
celestial is more potent) all the things
I tell you are as true as they surpass
the limit of belief. The ship stood still
as if a dry dock held it in the sea.—
“The wondering sailors laboured at the oars,
and they unfurled the sails, in hopes to gain
some headway, with redoubled energies;
but twisting ivy tangled in the oars,
and interlacing held them by its weight.
And Bacchus in the midst of all stood crowned
with chaplets of grape-leaves, and shook a lance
covered with twisted fronds of leafy vines.
Around him crouched the visionary forms
of tigers, lynxes, and the mottled shapes
of panthers.
“Then the mariners leaped out,
possessed by fear or madness. Medon first
began to turn a swarthy hue, and fins
grew outward from his flattened trunk,
and with a curving spine his body bent.—
then Lycabas to him, ‘What prodigy
is this that I behold?’ Even as he spoke,
his jaws were broadened and his nose was bent;
his hardened skin was covered with bright scales.
And Libys, as he tried to pull the oars,
could see his own hands shrivel into fins;
another of the crew began to grasp
the twisted ropes, but even as he strove
to lift his arms they fastened to his sides;—
with bending body and a crooked back
he plunged into the waves, and as he swam
displayed a tail, as crescent as the moon.
“Now here, now there, they flounce about the ship;
they spray her decks with brine; they rise and sink;
they rise again, and dive beneath the waves;
they seem in sportive dance upon the main;
out from their nostrils they spout sprays of brine;
they toss their supple sides. And I alone,
of twenty mariners that manned that ship,
remained. A cold chill seized my limbs,—
I was so frightened; but the gracious God
now spake me fair, ‘Fear not and steer for Naxos.’
And when we landed there I ministered
on smoking altars Bacchanalian rites.”