Metamorphoses

Ovid

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

  1. Propitious deities accord her prayers:
  2. the mingled bodies of the pair unite
  3. and fashion in a single human form.
  4. So one might see two branches underneath
  5. a single rind uniting grow as one:
  6. so, these two bodies in a firm embrace
  7. no more are twain, but with a two-fold form
  8. nor man nor woman may be called—Though both
  9. in seeming they are neither one of twain.
  10. When that Hermaphroditus felt the change,
  11. so wrought upon him by the languid fount,
  12. considered that he entered it a man,
  13. and now his limbs relaxing in the stream
  14. he is not wholly male, but only half,—
  15. he lifted up his hands and thus implored,
  16. albeit with no manly voice; “Hear me
  17. O father! hear me mother! grant to me
  18. this boon; to me whose name is yours, your son;
  19. whoso shall enter in this fount a man
  20. must leave its waters only half a man.”
  21. Moved by the words of their bi-natured son
  22. both parents yield assent: they taint the fount
  23. with essences of dual-working powers.
  24. Now though the daughters of King Minyas
  25. have made an end of telling tales, they make
  26. no end of labour; for they so despise
  27. the deity, and desecrate his feast.
  28. While busily engaged, with sudden beat
  29. they hear resounding tambourines; and pipes
  30. and crooked horns and tinkling brass renew,
  31. unseen, the note; saffron and myrrh dissolve
  32. in dulcet odours; and, beyond belief,
  33. the woven webs, dependent on the loom,
  34. take tints of green, put forth new ivy leaves,
  35. or change to grape-vines verdant. There the thread
  36. is twisted into tendrils, there the warp
  37. is fashioned into many-moving leaves—
  38. the purple lends its splendour to the grape.
  39. And now the day is past; it is the hour
  40. when night ambiguous merges into day,
  41. which dubious owns nor light nor dun obscure;
  42. and suddenly the house begins to shake,
  43. and torches oil-dipped seem to flare around,
  44. and fires a-glow to shine in every room,
  45. and phantoms, feigned of savage beasts, to howl.—
  46. Full of affright amid the smoking halls
  47. the sisters vainly hide, and wheresoever
  48. they deem security from flaming fires,
  49. fearfully flit. And while they seek to hide,
  50. a membrane stretches over every limb,
  51. and light wings open from their slender arms.
  52. In the weird darkness they are unaware
  53. what measure wrought to change their wonted shape.
  54. No plumous vans avail to lift their flight,
  55. yet fair they balance on membraneous wing.
  56. Whenever they would speak a tiny voice,
  57. diminutive, apportioned to their size,
  58. in squeaking note complains. Adread the light,
  59. their haunts avoid by day the leafy woods,
  60. for sombre attics, where secure they rest
  61. till forth the dun obscure their wings may stretch
  62. at hour of Vesper;—this accords their name.