Metamorphoses

Ovid

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

King Minos, when he reached the land of Crete
and left his ships, remembered he had made
a vow to Jupiter, and offered up
a hundred bulls.—The splendid spoils of war
adorned his palace.—
Now the infamous
reproach of Crete had grown, till it exposed
the double-natured shame. So, Minos, moved
to cover his disgrace, resolved to hide
the monster in a prison, and he built
with intricate design, by Daedalus
contrived, an architect of wonderful
ability, and famous. This he planned
of mazey wanderings that deceived the eyes,
and labyrinthic passages involved.
so sports the clear Maeander, in the fields
of Phrygia winding doubtful; back and forth
it meets itself, until the wandering stream
fatigued, impedes its wearied waters' flow;
from source to sea, from sea to source involved.
So Daedalus contrived innumerous paths,
and windings vague, so intricate that he,
the architect, hardly could retrace his steps.
In this the Minotaur was long concealed,
and there devoured Athenian victims sent
three seasons, nine years each, till Theseus, son
of Aegeus, slew him and retraced his way,
finding the path by Ariadne's thread.
Without delay the victor fled from Crete,
together with the loving maid, and sailed
for Dia Isle of Naxos, where he left
the maid forlorn, abandoned. Her, in time,
lamenting and deserted, Bacchus found
and for his love immortalized her name.
He set in the dark heavens the bright crown
that rested on her brows. Through the soft air
it whirled, while all the sparkling jewels changed
to flashing fires, assuming in the sky
between the Serpent-holder and the Kneeler
the well-known shape of Ariadne's Crown.

But Daedalus abhorred the Isle of Crete—
and his long exile on that sea-girt shore,
increased the love of his own native place.
“Though Minos blocks escape by sea and land.”
He said, “The unconfined skies remain
though Minos may be lord of all the world
his sceptre is not regnant of the air,
and by that untried way is our escape.”
This said, he turned his mind to arts unknown
and nature unrevealed. He fashioned quills
and feathers in due order — deftly formed
from small to large, as any rustic pipe
prom straws unequal slants. He bound with thread
the middle feathers, and the lower fixed
with pliant wax; till so, in gentle curves
arranged, he bent them to the shape of birds.
While he was working, his son Icarus,
with smiling countenance and unaware
of danger to himself, perchance would chase
the feathers, ruffled by the shifting breeze,
or soften with his thumb the yellow wax,
and by his playfulness retard the work
his anxious father planned.
But when at last
the father finished it, he poised himself,
and lightly floating in the winnowed air
waved his great feathered wings with bird-like ease.
And, likewise he had fashioned for his son
such wings; before they ventured in the air
he said, “My son, I caution you to keep
the middle way, for if your pinions dip
too low the waters may impede your flight;
and if they soar too high the sun may scorch them.
Fly midway. Gaze not at the boundless sky,
far Ursa Major and Bootes next.
Nor on Orion with his flashing brand,
but follow my safe guidance.”
As he spoke
he fitted on his son the plumed wings
with trembling hands, while down his withered cheeks
the tears were falling. Then he gave his son
a last kiss, and upon his gliding wings
assumed a careful lead solicitous.
As when the bird leads forth her tender young,
from high-swung nest to try the yielding air;
so he prevailed on willing Icarus;
encouraged and instructed him in a]l
the fatal art; and as he waved his wings
looked backward on his son.
Beneath their flight,
the fisherman while casting his long rod,
or the tired shepherd leaning on his crook,
or the rough plowman as he raised his eyes,
astonished might observe them on the wing,
and worship them as Gods.
Upon the left
they passed by Samos, Juno's sacred isle;
Delos and Paros too, were left behind;
and on the right Lebinthus and Calymne,
fruitful in honey. Proud of his success,
the foolish Icarus forsook his guide,
and, bold in vanity, began to soar,
rising upon his wings to touch the skies;
but as he neared the scorching sun, its heat
softened the fragrant wax that held his plumes;
and heat increasing melted the soft wax—
he waved his naked arms instead of wings,
with no more feathers to sustain his flight.
And as he called upon his father's name
his voice was smothered in the dark blue sea,
now called Icarian from the dead boy's name.
The unlucky father, not a father, called,
“Where are you, Icarus?” and “Where are you?
In what place shall I seek you, Icarus?”
He called again; and then he saw the wings
of his dear Icarus, floating on the waves;
and he began to rail and curse his art.
He found the body on an island shore,
now called Icaria, and at once prepared
to bury the unfortunate remains;
but while he labored a pert partridge near,
observed him from the covert of an oak,
and whistled his unnatural delight.
Know you the cause? 'Twas then a single bird,
the first one of its kind. 'Twas never seen
before the sister of Daedalus had brought
him Perdix, her dear son, to be his pupil.
And as the years went by the gifted youth
began to rival his instructor's art.
He took the jagged backbone of a fish,
and with it as a model made a saw,
with sharp teeth fashioned from a strip of iron.
And he was first to make two arms of iron,
smooth hinged upon the center, so that one
would make a pivot while the other, turned,
described a circle. Wherefore Daedalus
enraged and envious, sought to slay the youth
and cast him headlong from Minerva's fane,—
then spread the rumor of an accident.
But Pallas, goddess of ingenious men,
saving the pupil changed him to a bird,
and in the middle of the air he flew
on feathered wings; and so his active mind—
and vigor of his genius were absorbed
into his wings and feet; although the name
of Perdix was retained.
The Partridge hides
in shaded places by the leafy trees
its nested eggs among the bush's twigs;
nor does it seek to rise in lofty flight,
for it is mindful of its former fall.

Wearied with travel Daedalus arrived
at Sicily,—where Cocalus was king;
and when the wandering Daedalus implored
the monarch's kind protection from his foe,
he gathered a great army for his guest,
and gained renown from an applauding world.
Now after Theseus had destroyed in Crete
the dreadful monster, Athens then had ceased
to pay her mournful tribute; and with wreaths
her people decked the temples of the Gods;
and they invoked Minerva, Jupiter,
and many other Gods whom they adored,
with sacrifice and precious offerings,
and jars of Frankincense.
Quick-flying Fame
had spread reports of Theseus through the land;
and all the peoples of Achaia, from that day,
when danger threatened would entreat his aid.
So it befell, the land of Calydon,
through Meleager and her native hero,
implored the valiant Theseus to destroy
a raging boar, the ravage of her realm.
Diana in her wrath had sent the boar
to wreak her vengeance; and they say the cause
was this:—The nation had a fruitful year,
for which the good king Oeneus had decreed
that all should offer the first fruits of corn
to Ceres—and to Bacchus wine of grapes—
and oil of olives to the golden haired
Minerva. Thus, the Gods were all adored,
beginning with the lowest to the highest,
except alone Diana, and of all the Gods
her altars only were neglected. No
frankincense unto her was given! Neglect
enrages even Deities.
“Am I
to suffer this indignity?” she cried,
“Though I am thus dishonored, I will not
be unrevenged!” And so the boar was sent
to ravage the fair land of Calydon.
And this avenging boar was quite as large
as bulls now feeding on the green Epirus,
and larger than the bulls of Sicily.
A dreadful boar.—His burning, bloodshot eyes
seemed coals of living fire, and his rough neck
was knotted with stiff muscles, and thick-set
with bristles like sharp spikes. A seething froth
dripped on his shoulders, and his tusks
were like the spoils of Ind. Discordant roars
reverberated from his hideous jaws;
and lightning—belched forth from his horrid throat—
scorched the green fields. He trampled the green corn
and doomed the farmer to lament his crops,
in vain the threshing-floor has been prepared,
in vain the barns await the promised yield.
Long branches of the vine and heavy grapes
are scattered in confusion, and the fruits
and branches of the olive tree, whose leaves
should never wither, are cast on the ground.
His spleen was vented on the simple flocks,
which neither dogs nor shepherd could protect;
and the brave bulls could not defend their herds.
The people fled in all directions from the fields,
for safety to the cities. Terror reigned.
There seemed no remedy to save the land,
till Meleager chose a band of youths,
united for the glory of great deeds.
What heroes shall immortal song proclaim?
Castor and Pollux, twins of Tyndarus;
one famous for his skill in horsemanship,
the other for his boxing. Jason, too, was there,
the glorious builder of the world's first ship,
and Theseus with his friend Perithous,
and Toxeus and Plexippus, fated sons
of Thestius, and the son of Aphareus,
Lynkeus with his fleet-foot brother Idas
and Caeneus, first a woman then a man
the brave Leucippus and the argonaut
Acastus, swift of dart; and warlike Dryas,
Hippothous and Phoenix, not then blind,
the son of King Amyntor, and the twain
who sprung from Actor, Phyleus thither brought
from Elis; Telamon was one of them
and even Peleus, father of the great
Achilles; and the son of Pheres joined,
and Iolas, the swift Eurytion,
Echion fleet of foot, Narycian Lelex—
and Panopeus, and Hyleus and Hippasus,
and Nestor (youthful then), and the four sons
Hippocoon from eld Amyclae sent,
the father-in-law of queen Penelope,
Ancaeus of Arcadia, and the wise
soothsayer Mopsus, and the prophet, son
of Oeclus, victim of a traitor-wife.—
And Atalanta, virgin of the groves,
of Mount Lycaeus, glory of her sex;
a polished buckle fastened her attire;
her lustrous hair was fashioned in a knot;
her weapons rattled in an ivory case,
swung from her white left shoulder, and she held
a bow in her left hand. Her face appeared
as maidenly for boy, or boyish for girl.
When Meleager saw her, he at once
longed for her beauty, though some god forbade.
The fires of love flamed in him; and he said,
“Happy the husband who shall win this girl!”
Neither the time nor his own modesty
permitted him to say another word.
But now the dreadful contest with the boar
engaged this hero's energy and thought.
A wood, umbrageous, not impaired with age,
slopes from a plain and shadows the wide fields,
and there this band of valiant heroes went—
eager to slay the dreaded enemy,
some spread the nets and some let loose the dogs,
some traced the wide spoor of the monster's hoofs.
There is a deep gorge where the rivulets
that gather from the rain, discharge themselves;
and there the bending willow, the smooth sedge,
the marsh-rush, ozier and tall tangled reed
in wild profusion cover up the marsh.
Aroused from this retreat the startled boar,
as quick as lightning from the clashing clouds
crashed all the trees that cumbered his mad way.—
The young men raised a shout, leveled their spears,
and brandished their keen weapons; but the boar
rushed onward through the yelping dogs,
and scattered them with deadly sidelong stroke.
Echion was the first to hurl his spear,
but slanting in its course it only glanced
a nearby maple tree, and next the spear
of long-remembered Jason cut the air;
so swiftly hurled it seemed it might transfix
the boar's back, but with over-force it sped
beyond the monster. Poising first his dart,
the son of Ampyx, as he cast it, he
implored Apollo, “Grant my prayer if I
have truly worshiped you, harken to me
as always I adore you! Let my spear
unerring strike its aim.” Apollo heard,
and guided the swift spear, but as it sped
Diana struck the iron head from the shaft,
and the blunt wood fell harmless from his hide.
Then was the monster's savage anger roused;
as the bright lightning's flash his red eyes flamed;
his breath was hot as fire. As when a stone
is aimed at walls or strong towers, which protect
encompassed armies,—launched by the taut rope
it strikes with dreaded impact; so the boar
with fatal onset rushed among this band
of noble lads, and stretched upon the ground
Eupalamon and Pelagon whose guard
was on the right; and their companions bore
their bodies from the field.
Another youth,
the brave son of Hippocoon received
a deadly wound—while turning to escape,
the sinew of his thigh was cut and failed
to bear his tottering steps.—