Metamorphoses

Ovid

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

Since it was now the time of festival,
when all the Thracian matrons celebrate
the rites of Bacchus—every third year thus—
night then was in their secret; and at night
the slopes of Rhodope resounded loud
with clashing of shrill cymbals. So, at night
the frantic queen of Tereus left her home
and, clothed according to the well known rites
of Bacchus, hurried to the wilderness.
Her head was covered with the green vine leaves;
and from her left side native deer skin hung;
and on her shoulder rested a light spear.—
so fashioned, the revengeful Procne rushed
through the dark woods, attended by a host
of screaming followers, and wild with rage,
pretended it was Bacchus urged her forth.
At last she reached the lonely building, where
her sister, Philomela, was immured;
and as she howled and shouted “Ee-woh-ee-e!”,
She forced the massive doors; and having seized
her sister, instantly concealed her face
in ivy leaves, arrayed her in the trappings
of Bacchanalian rites. When this was done,
they rushed from there, demented, to the house
where as the Queen of Tereus, Procne dwelt.
When Philomela knew she had arrived
at that accursed house, her countenance,
though pale with grief, took on a ghastlier hue:
and, wretched in her misery and fright,
she shuddered in convulsions.—Procne took
the symbols, Bacchanalian, from her then,
and as she held her in a strict embrace
unveiled her downcast head. But she refused
to lift her eyes, and fixing her sad gaze
on vacant space, she raised her hand, instead;
as if in oath she called upon the Gods
to witness truly she had done no wrong,
but suffered a disgrace of violence.—
Lo, Procne, wild with a consuming rage,
cut short her sister's terror in these words,
“This is no time for weeping! awful deeds
demand a great revenge—take up the sword,
and any weapon fiercer than its edge!
My breast is hardened to the worst of crime
make haste with me! together let us put
this palace to the torch!
“Come, let us maim,
the beastly Tereus with revenging iron,
cut out his tongue, and quench his cruel eyes,
and hurl and burn him writhing in the flames!
Or, shall we pierce him with a grisly blade,
and let his black soul issue from deep wounds
a thousand.—Slaughter him with every death
imagined in the misery of hate!”
While Procne still was raving out such words,
Itys, her son, was hastening to his mother;
and when she saw him, her revengeful eyes
conceiving a dark punishment, she said,
“Aha! here comes the image of his father!”
She gave no other warning, but prepared
to execute a horrible revenge.
But when the tender child came up to her,
and called her “mother”, put his little arms
around her neck, and when he smiled and kissed
her often, gracious in his cunning ways,—
again the instinct of true motherhood
pulsed in her veins, and moved to pity, she
began to weep in spite of her resolve.
Feeling the tender impulse of her love
unnerving her, she turned her eyes from him
and looked upon her sister, and from her
glanced at her darling boy again. And so,
while she was looking at them both, by turns,
she said, “Why does the little one prevail
with pretty words, while Philomela stands
in silence always, with her tongue torn out?
She cannot call her sister, whom he calls
his mother! Oh, you daughter of Pandion,
consider what a wretch your husband is!
The wife of such a monster must be flint;
compassion in her heart is but a crime.”
No more she hesitated, but as swift
as the fierce tigress of the Ganges leaps,
seizes the suckling offspring of the hind,
and drags it through the forest to its lair;
so, Procne seized and dragged the frightened boy
to a most lonely section of the house;
and there she put him to the cruel sword,
while he, aware of his sad fate, stretched forth
his little hands, and cried, “Ah, mother,—ah!—”
And clung to her—clung to her, while she struck—
her fixed eyes, maddened, glaring horribly—
struck wildly, lopping off his tender limbs.
But Philomela cut through his tender throat.
Then they together, mangled his remains,
still quivering with the remnant of his life,
and boiled a part of him in steaming pots,
that bubbled over with the dead child's blood,
and roasted other parts on hissing spits.
And, after all was ready, Procne bade
her husband, Tereus, to the loathsome feast,
and with a false pretense of sacred rites,
according to the custom of her land,
by which, but one man may partake of it,
she sent the servants from the banquet hall.—
Tereus, majestic on his ancient throne
high in imagined state, devoured his son,
and gorged himself with flesh of his own flesh—
and in his rage of gluttony called out
for Itys to attend and share the feast!
Curst with a joy she could conceal no more,
and eager to gloat over his distress,
Procne cried out,
“Inside yourself, you have
the thing that you are asking for!” — Amazed,
he looked around and called his son again:—
that instant, Philomela sprang forth—her hair
disordered, and all stained with blood of murder,
unable then to speak, she hurled the head
of Itys in his father's fear-struck face,
and more than ever longed for fitting words.
The Thracian Tereus overturned the table,
and howling, called up from the Stygian pit,
the viperous sisters. Tearing at his breast,
in miserable efforts to disgorge
the half-digested gobbets of his son,
he called himself his own child's sepulchre,
and wept the hot tears of a frenzied man.
Then with his sword he rushed at the two sisters.
Fleeing from him, they seemed to rise on wings,
and it was true, for they had changed to birds.
Then Philomela, flitting to the woods,
found refuge in the leaves: but Procne flew
straight to the sheltering gables of a roof—
and always, if you look, you can observe
the brand of murder on the swallow's breast—
red feathers from that day. And Tereus, swift
in his great agitation, and his will
to wreak a fierce revenge, himself is turned
into a crested bird. His long, sharp beak
is given him instead of a long sword,
and so, because his beak is long and sharp,
he rightly bears the name of Hoopoe.

Before the number of his years was told,
Pandion with the shades of Tartarus,
because of this, has wandered in sad dooms.
Erectheus, next in line, with mighty sway
and justice, ruled all Athens on the throne
left vacant by the good Pandion's death.
Four daughters and four sons were granted him;
and of his daughters, two were beautiful,
and one of these was wed to Cephalus,
grandson of Aeolus. — But mighty Boreas
desired the hand of Orithyia, fair
and lovable.—King Tereus and the Thracians
were then such obstacles to Boreas
the god was long kept from his dear beloved.
Although the great king (who compels the cold
north-wind) had sought with prayers to win her hand,
and urged his love in gentleness, not force.
When quite aware his wishes were disdained,
he roughly said, with customary rage
and violence: “Away with sentimental talk!
My prayers and kind intentions are despised,
but I should blame nobody but myself;
then why should I, despising my great strength,
debase myself to weakness and soft prayers?—
might is my right, and violence my strength!—
by force I drive the force of gloomy clouds.
“Tremendous actions are the wine of life!—
monarch of Violence, rolling on clouds,
I toss wide waters, and I fell huge trees—
knotted old oaks—and whirled upon ice-wings,
I scatter the light snow, and pelt the Earth
with sleet and hail! I rush through boundless voids.
My thunders rumble in the hollow clouds—
and crash upon my brothers—fire to fire!
“Possessed of daemon-rage, I penetrate,
sheer to the utmost caverns of old Earth;
and straining, up from those unfathomed deeps,
scatter the terror-stricken shades of hell;
and hurl death-dealing earthquakes through the world!
“Such are the fateful powers I should use,
and never trust entreaties to prevail,
or win my bride—Force is the law of life!”
And now impetuous Boreas, having howled
resounding words, unrolled his rustling wings—
that fan the earth and ruffle the wide sea—
and, swiftly wrapping untrod mountain peaks
in whirling mantles of far-woven dust,
thence downward hovered to the darkened world;
and, canopied in artificial night
of swarthy overshadowing wings, caught up
the trembling Orithyia to his breast:
nor did he hesitate in airy course
until his huge wings fanned the chilling winds
around Ciconian Walls.
There, she was pledged
the wife of that cold, northern king of storms;
and unto him she gave those hero twins,
endowed with wings of their immortal sire,
and graceful in their mother's form and face.
Their bird-like wings were not fledged at their birth
and those twin boys, Zetes and Calais,
at first were void of feathers and soft down.
But when their golden hair and beards were grown,
wings like an eagle's came;—and feather-down
grew golden on their cheeks: and when from youth
they entered manhood, quick they were to join
the Argonauts, who for the Golden Fleece,
sought in that first ship, ventured on the sea.

Over the storm-tossed waves, the Argonauts
had sailed in Argo, their long ship to where
King Phineus, needy in his old age, reigned—
deprived of sight and feeble. When the sons
of Boreas had landed on the shore,
and seen the Harpies snatching from the king
his nourishment, befouling it with beaks
obscene, they drove those human-vultures thence.
And having suffered hardships and great toils,
after the day they rescued the sad king
from the vile Harpies, those twin valiant youths,
Zetes and Calais came with their chief,
the mighty Jason, where the Phasis flows.
From the green margin of that river, all
the crew of Argonauts, by Jason led,
went to the king Aeetes and required
the Golden Fleece, that he received from Phryxus.
When they had bargained with him, full of wiles
he offered to restore the Golden Fleece
only to those who might to him return,
victorious from hard labors of great risk.
Medea, the king's daughter, near his throne,
saw Jason, leader of the Argonauts,
as he was pressing to secure a prize—
and loved at sight with a consuming flame.
Although she struggled to suppress her love,
unable to restrain herself, she said,
“In vain I've striven to subdue my heart:
some god it must be, which I cannot tell,
is working to destroy my hapless life;
or else it is the burning flame of love
that in me rages. If it is not love,
why do the mandates of my father seem
too harsh? They surely are too harsh. Why do
I fear that he may perish whom I have
seen only once? What is the secret cause
that I am agitated by such fears?—
It is no other than the god of Love.
“Thrust from your virgin breast such burning flames
and overcome their hot unhappiness—
if I could do so, I should be myself:
but some deluding power is holding me
helpless against my will. Desire persuades
me one way, but my reason still persuades
another way. I see a better course
and I approve, but follow its defeat. —
“O royal maiden, why are you consumed
with love for this strange man, and why are you
so willing to be carried by the nuptial ties
so far from your own country, where, indeed,
are many brave men worthy of your love?
“Whether for life or death his numbered hours
are in the mercy of the living Gods,
and that he may not suffer risk of death,
too well foreseen, now let my prayers prevail—
righteously uttered of a generous heart
without the stress of love. What wicked thing
has Jason done? His handsome person, youth,
and noble ways, would move a heart of stone.
“Have I a heart of flint, or was I born
a tigress to deny him timely aid?—
Unless I interpose, he will be slain
by the hot breath of brazen-footed bulls,
or will be slaughtered by the warriors, sprung
miraculous from earth, or will be given
to satisfy the ravenous appetite
of a huge dragon.
“Let my gloating eyes
be satiate with his dying agonies!
Let me incite the fury of these bulls!
Stir to their blood-lust mad-born sons of Earth!
Rouse up the never-sleeping dragon's rage!—
“Avert it Gods!—
“But why should I cry out
upon the Gods to save him from such wrong,
when, by my actions and my power, myself
may shield him from all evils?
“Such a course
would wreck the kingdom of my father—and by me
the wily stranger would escape from him;
and spreading to the wind his ready sails
he would forget and leave me to my fate.—
Oh, if he should forget my sacrifice,
and so prefer those who neglected him,
let him then perish in his treachery.—
“But these are idle thoughts: his countenance,
reveals innate nobility and grace,
that should dispel all fear of treachery,
and guarantee his ever-faithful heart.
The Gods will witness our united souls,
and he shall pledge his faith. Secure of it
my fear will be removed. Be ready, then—
and make a virtue of necessity:
your Jason owes himself to you; and he
must join you in true wedlock. Then you shall
be celebrated through the land of Greece,
by throngs of women, for the man you saved.
“Shall I then sail away, and so forsake
my sister, brother, father, Gods, and land
that gave me birth? My father is indeed
a stern man, and my native land is all
too barbarous; my brother is a child,—
my sister's goodwill is good help for me;
and heaven's supreme god is within my breast.
“I shall not so be leaving valued hopes,
but will be going surely to great things.
And I should gain applause from all the world,
as having saved the threatened Argonauts,
most noble of the Greeks; and in their land,
which certainly is better than my own,
become the bride of Jason, for whose love
I should not hesitate to give the world—
and in whose love the living Gods rejoice
so greatly; for his sake they would bestow
their favors on my head, and make the stars
my habitation.
“Should I hesitate
because the wreck-strewn mountains bar the way,
and clash together in the Euxine waves;
or fear Charybdis, fatal to large ships,
that sucks the deep sea in its whirling gulf
and spouts far upward, with alternate force,
or Scylla, circled with infuriate hounds
howling in rage from deep Sicilian waves?
“Safe in the shielding arms of him I love,
on Jason's bosom leaning, I shall be
borne safely over wide and hostile seas;
and in his dear embrace forget my fears—
or if for anything I suffer dread,
it will be only for the one I love.—
“Alas, Medea, this vain argument
has only furnished plausible excuse
for criminal desires, and desecrates
the marriage rite. It is a wicked thing
to think upon. Before it is too late
forget your passion and deny this guilt.”
And after she had said these words, her eyes
were opened to the prize of modesty,
chaste virtue, and a pure affection:
and Cupid, vanquished, turned away and fled.
Then, to an ancient altar of the goddess named
Hecate, Perse's daughter took her way
in the deep shadows of a forest. She
was strong of purpose now, and all the flames
of vanquished passion had died down; but when
she saw the son of Aeson, dying flames
leaped up again. Her cheeks grew red, then all
her face went pale again; as a small spark
when hid beneath the ashes, if fed by
a breath of wind grows and regains its strength,
as it is fanned to life; so now her love
that had been smoldering, and which you would
have thought was almost dead, when she had see
again his manly youth, blazed up once more.
For on that day his graceful person seemed
as glorious as a God;—and as she gazed,
and fixed her eyes upon his countenance,
her frenzy so prevailed, she was convinced
that he was not a mortal. And her eyes
were fascinated; and she could not turn
away from him. But when he spoke to her,
and promised marriage, grasping her right hand:
she answered, as her eyes suffused with tears;
“I see what I will do, and ignorance
of truth will not be my undoing now,
but love itself. By my assistance you
shall be preserved; but when preserved fulfill
your promise.”
He swore that she could trust in him.
Then by the goddess of the triple form,
Diana, Trivia, or Luna called,
and by her sacred groves and fanes, he vowed,
and by the hallowed Sun that sees all things,
and by his own adventures, and his life,—
on these the youthful Jason took his oath.—
With this she was assured and quickly gave
to him the magic herbs: he learnt their use
and full of joy withdrew into his house.
Now when the dawn had dimmed the glittering stars,
the people hastened to the sacred field
of Mars, and on the hills expectant stood.—
Arrayed in purple, and in majesty
distinguished by his ivory sceptre, sat
the king, surrounded by a multitude.
Below them on the visioned Field of Mars,
huge brazen-footed bulls were breathing forth
from adamantine nostrils living flames,
blasting the verdant herbage in their path!
As forges glowing with hot flames resound,
or as much quick-lime, burnt in earthen kilns,
crackles and hisses as if mad with rage,
sprinkled with water, liberating heat;
so their hot throats and triple-heated sides,
resounding told of pent-up fires within.
The son of Aeson went to meet them. As
he came to meet them the fierce animals
turned on him faces terrible, and sharp
horns tipped with iron, and they pawed
the dusty earth with cloven feet, and filled
the place with fiery bellowings. The Minyans
were stark with fear; he went up to the bulls
not feeling their hot breath at all, so great
the power of his charmed drugs; and while he
was stroking their down-hanging dewlaps with
a fearless hand, he placed the yoke down on
their necks and made them draw the heavy plow,
and cut through fields that never felt the steel
before. The Colchians were amazed and silent;
but the loud shouting of the Minyans
increased their hero's courage. Taking then
the serpent's teeth out of a brazen helmet
he sowed them broadcast in the new-plowed field.
The moist earth softened these seeds that were steeped
in virulent poison and the teeth swelled up
and took new forms. And just as in its mother
an infant gradually assumes the form
of man, and is perfected through all parts
within, and does not come forth to the light
till fully formed; so, when the forms of men
had been completed in the womb of earth
made pregnant, they rose up from it,
and what is yet more wonderful, each one
clashed weapons that had been brought forth with him.
When his companions saw the warriors turn
as if with one accord, to hurl their spears,
sharp-pointed, at the head of Jason, fear
unnerved the boldest and their courage failed.
So, too, the maid whose sorcery had saved
him from much danger, when she saw the youth
encompassed by those raging enemies,
and he alone against so many—struck
with sudden panic, she turned ashen white,
her bloodless cheeks were blanched; and chilled with fear
she wilted to the ground; and lest the herbs,
so lately given him, might fail his need
she added incantations and invoked
mysterious arts. While she protected him
He seized upon a heavy stone, and hurled
it in the midst of his new enemies—
distracted by this cast, and murderous,
they turned from him, and clashing their new arms,
those earth-born brothers fought among themselves
till all were slaughtered in blood-thirsty strife.
Gladly the Greeks acclaimed him conqueror,
and pressed around him for the first embrace.
Then, too, Medea, barbarous Colchian maid,
although her modesty restrained her heart,
eagerly longed to fold him in her arms,
but careful of her good name, held aloof,—
rejoicing in deep, silent love; and she
acknowledged to the Gods her mighty gift
of incantations.
But the dragon, still
alert,—magnificent and terrible
with gorgeous crest and triple tongue, and fangs
barbed as a javelin, guards the Golden Fleece:
and Jason can obtain that quest only
if slumber may seal up the monster's eyes.—
Jason, successful, sprinkled on his crest
Lethean juices of a magic herb,
and then recited thrice the words which bring
deep slumber, potent words which would becalm
the storm-tossed ocean, and would stop the flow
of the most rapid rivers of our earth:
and slowly slumber sealed the dragon's eyes.
While that great monster slept, the hero took
the Golden Fleece; and proudly sailed away
bearing his treasure and the willing maid,
(whose aid had saved him) to his native port
Iolcus—victorious with the Argonauts.

Now when the valiant Argonauts returned
to Thessaly, their happy relatives,
fathers and mothers, praised the living Gods;
and with their hallowed gifts enhanced the flames
with precious incense; and they offered Jove
a sacred bullock, rich with gilded horns.
But Jason's father, Aeson, came not down
rejoicing to behold his son, for now
worn out with many years, he waited death.
And Jason to Medea grieving said:
“Dearest, to whom my life and love are due,
although your kindness has been great to me,
and you have granted more than I should ask,
yet one thing more I beg of you; if your
enchantments can accomplish my desire,
take from my life some years that I should live
and add them to my father's ending days.”—
And as he spoke he could not check his tears.
Medea, moved by his affection, thought
how much less she had grieved for her loved sire:
and she replied:—“A wicked thing you ask!
Can I be capable of using you
in such a manner as to take your life
and give it to another? Ask not me
a thing so dreadful! May the Gods forbid!—
I will endeavor to perform for you
a task much greater. By the powers of Night
I will most certainly return to him
the lost years of your father, but must not
deprive you of your own. — Oh grant the power,
great goddess of the triple form, that I
may fail not to accomplish this great deed!”
Three nights were wanting for the moon to join
her circling horns and form a perfect orb.
When these were passed, the rounded light shone full
and bright upon the earth.—Through the still night
alone, Medea stole forth from the house
with feet bare, and in flowing garment clothed—
her long hair unadorned and not confined.
Deep slumber has relaxed the world, and all
that's living, animals and birds and men,
and even the hedges and the breathing leaves
are still—and motionless the laden air.
Only the stars are twinkling, and to them
she looks and beckons with imploring hands.
Now thrice around she paces, and three times
besprinkles her long hair with water dipt
from crystal streams, which having done
she kneels a moment on the cold, bare ground,
and screaming three times calls upon the Night,—
“O faithful Night, regard my mysteries!
O golden-lighted Stars! O softly-moving Moon—
genial, your fire succeeds the heated day!
O Hecate! grave three-faced queen of these
charms of enchanters and enchanters, arts!
O fruitful Earth, giver of potent herbs!
O gentle Breezes and destructive Winds!
You Mountains, Rivers, Lakes and sacred Groves,
and every dreaded god of silent Night!
Attend upon me!—
“When my power commands,
the rivers turn from their accustomed ways
and roll far backward to their secret springs!
I speak—and the wild, troubled sea is calm,
and I command the waters to arise!
The clouds I scatter—and I bring the clouds;
I smooth the winds and ruffle up their rage;
I weave my spells and I recite my charms;
I pluck the fangs of serpents, and I move
the living rocks and twist the rooted oaks;
I blast the forests. Mountains at my word
tremble and quake; and from her granite tombs
the liberated ghosts arise as Earth
astonished groans! From your appointed ways,
O wonder-working Moon, I draw you down
against the magic-making sound of gongs
and brazen vessels of Temesa's ore;
I cast my spells and veil the jeweled rays
of Phoebus' wain, and quench Aurora's fires.
“At my command you tamed the flaming bulls
which long disdained to bend beneath the yoke,
until they pressed their necks against the plows;
and, subject to my will, you raised up war
till the strong company of dragon-birth
were slaughtered as they fought amongst themselves;
and, last, you lulled asleep the warden's eyes—
guards of the Golden Fleece—till then awake
and sleeping never—so, deceiving him,
you sent the treasure to the Grecian cities!
“Witness my need of super-natured herbs,
elixirs potent to renew the years of age,
giving the bloom of youth.—You shall not fail
to grant me this; for not in vain the stars
are flashing confirmation; not in vain
the flying dragons, harnessed by their necks,
from skies descending bring my chariot down.”
A chariot, sent from heaven, came to her—
and soon as she had stroked the dragons' necks,
and shaken in her hands the guiding reins—
as soon as she had mounted, she was borne
quickly above, through unresisting air.
And, sailing over Thessaly, she saw
the vale of Tempe, where the level soil
is widely covered with a crumbling chalk—
she turned her dragons towards new regions there:
and she observed the herbs by Ossa born,
the weeds on lofty Pelion, Othrys, Pindus
and vast Olympus—and from here she plucked
the needed roots, or there, the blossoms clipped
all with a moon-curved sickle made of brass—
many the wild weeds by Apidanus,
as well as blue Amphrysus' banks, she chose,
and not escaped Enipeus from her search;
Peneian stretches and Spercheian banks
all yielded what she chose:—and Boebe's shore
where sway the rushes; and she plucked up grass,
a secret grass, from fair Euboean fields
life-giving virtues in their waving blades,
as yet unknown for transformation wrought
on Glaucus.
All those fields she visited,
with ceaseless diligence in quest of charms,
nine days and nine nights sought strong herbs,
and the swift dragons with their active wings,
failed not to guide the chariot where she willed—
until they reached her home. The dragons then
had not been even touched by anything,
except the odor of surrounding herbs,
and yet they sloughed their skins, the growth of years.