Metamorphoses
Ovid
Ovid. Metamorphoses. More, Brookes, translator. Boston: Cornhill Publishing Co., 1922.
- But Pentheus answered him: “A parlous tale,
- and we have listened to the dreary end,
- hoping our anger might consume its rage;—
- away with him! hence drag him, hurl him out,
- with dreadful torture, into Stygian night.”
- Quickly they seized and dragged Acoetes forth,
- and cast him in a dungeon triple-strong.
- And while they fixed the instruments of death,
- kindled the fires, and wrought the cruel irons,
- the legend says, though no one aided him,
- the chains were loosened and slipped off his arms;
- the doors flew open of their own accord.
- But Pentheus, long-persisting in his rage,
- not caring to command his men to go,
- himself went forth to Mount Cithaeron, where
- resound with singing and with shrilly note
- the votaries of Bacchus at their rites.
- As when with sounding brass the trumpeter
- alarms of war, the mettled charger neighs
- and scents the battle; so the clamored skies
- resounding with the dreadful outcries fret
- the wrath of Pentheus and his rage enflame.
- About the middle of the mount (with groves
- around its margin) was a treeless plain,
- where nothing might conceal. Here as he stood
- to view the sacred rites with impious eyes,
- his mother saw him first. She was so wrought
- with frenzy that she failed to know her son,
- and cast her thyrsus that it wounded him;
- and shouted, “Hi! come hither, Ho!
- Come hither my two sisters! a great boar
- hath strayed into our fields; come! see me strike
- and wound him!”
- As he fled from them in fright
- the raging multitude rushed after him;
- and, as they gathered round; in cowardice
- he cried for mercy and condemned himself,
- confessing he had sinned against a God.
- And as they wounded him he called his aunt;
- “Autonoe have mercy! Let the shade
- of sad Actaeon move thee to relent!”
- No pity moved her when she heard that name;
- in a wild frenzy she forgot her son.
- While Pentheus was imploring her, she tore
- his right arm out; her sister Ino wrenched
- the other from his trunk. He could not stretch
- his arms out to his mother, but he cried,
- “Behold me, mother!” When Agave saw,
- his bleeding limbs, torn, scattered on the ground,
- she howled, and tossed her head, and shook her hair
- that streamed upon the breeze; and when his head
- was wrenched out from his mangled corpse,
- she clutched it with her blood-smeared fingers, while
- she shouted, “Ho! companions! victory!
- The victory is ours!” So when the wind
- strips from a lofty tree its leaves, which touched
- by autumn's cold are loosely held, they fall
- not quicker than the wretch's bleeding limbs
- were torn asunder by their cursed hands.
- Now, frightened by this terrible event,
- the women of Ismenus celebrate
- the new Bacchantian rites; and they revere
- the sacred altars, heaped with frankincense.