Metamorphoses

Ovid

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

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.—

And Nestor might
have perished then, so long before he fought
the heroes of old Troy, but ever wise,
he vaulted on his long lance from the ground
into the branches of a sheltering tree;
where in a safe position, he could look
down on his baffled foe. The raging boar
whetted his gleaming tushes on an oak.
Then with his sharpened tusks he gored the thigh
of mighty Hippasus. Observed of all,
and mounted on their horses—whiter than
the northern snow—the twins (long afterward
transformed to constellations) sallied forth,
and brandishing their lances, poised in air,
determined to destroy the bristling boar.
It thwarted their design by hiding in
a thicket intricate; where neither steed
nor lance could penetrate. But Telamon
pursued undaunted, and in haste tripped up
by tangled roots, fell headlong.—Peleus stooped
to rescue him.
While he regained his feet,
the virgin, Atalanta, took her bow
and fitting a sharp arrow to the notch,
twanged the tight cord. The feathered shaft
quivered beneath the monster's ear, the red blood
stained his hard bristles.
Flushed with her success
rejoiced the maid, but not more gladly than
the hero Meleager. He it was
who first observed the blood, and pointed out
the stain to his companions as he cried,
“Give honor to the courage of a maid!”
Unwilling to be worsted by a maid,
the rushing heroes raised a mighty cry
and as they shouted in excitement, hurled
their weapons in confusion; and so great
the multitude their actions interfered.
Behold! Ancaeus wielding his war-axe,
and rushing madly to his fate, exclaimed,
“Witness it! See the weapons of a man
excel a woman's! Ho, make way for my
achievement! Let Diana shield the brute!
Despite her utmost effort my right hand
shall slaughter him!” So mighty in his boast
he puffed himself; and, lifting with both hands
his double-edged axe, he stood erect,
on tiptoe fiercely bold. The savage boar
caught him, and ripped his tushes through his groin,
a spot where death is sure.—Ancaeus fell;
and his torn entrails and his crimson blood
stained the fair verdure of the spot with death.
Ixion's doughty son was running straight
against the monster, shaking his long lance
with nervous vigor in his strong right hand;
but Theseus, standing at a distance called:
“Beware! beware, O, dearest of my friends;
be valiant at a distance, or the fate
of rashly-bold Ancaeus may be yours!”
Even as he spoke he balanced in his hand
his brazen-pointed lance of corner wood;
with aim so true it seemed the great boar's death
was certain, but an evergreen oak branch
shielded the beast.—Then Jason hurled his dart,
which turned by chance, transfixed a luckless dog
and pinned him yelping, to the sanguine earth.—
So fared those heroes. Better fortune gave
success to Meleager; first he threw
a spear that missed and quivered in the ground;
but next he hurled a spear with certain aim.
It pierced the middle of the monster's back;
and rushing in upon the dreaded beast,
while raging it was whirling round and round,
the fearless prince provoked to greater rage
the wounded adversary. Bloody froth
dripped down his champing jaws—his purple blood
poured from a rankling wound. Without delay
the mighty Meleager plunged a spear
deep in the monster's shoulder. All his friends
raised a glad shout, and gathering round him, tried
to grasp his hand.—With wonder they beheld
the monster's bulk stretched out upon the plain;
and fearful still to touch him, they began
to stain their weapons in his spouting blood.
At length the hero Meleager pressed
his conquering foot upon the monster's head
and said, “O Atalanta, glorious maid,
of Nonacris, to you is yielded spoil,
my lawful right, and I rejoice to share
the merit of this glorious victory.”
And while he spoke, he gave to her the pelt,
covered with horrid bristles, and the head
frightful with gory tusks: and she rejoiced
in Meleager and his royal gift.
But all the others, envious, began
to murmur; and the sons of Thestius
levelled their pointed spears, and shouted out;
“Give up the prize! Let not the confidence
of your great beauty be a snare to you!
A woman should not interfering filch
the manly honors of a mighty hunt!
Aside! and let your witless lover yield!”
So threatened they and took from her the prize;
and forcibly despoiled him of his rights.
The warlike prince, indignant and enraged,—
rowed with resentment, shouted out. “What! Ho!
You spoilers of this honor that is ours,
brave deeds are different far from craven threats!”
And with his cruel sword he pierced the breast
of rash Plexippus, taken unawares,
and while his brother, Toxeus, struck with fear,
stood hesitating whether to avenge
or run to safety, Meleager plunged
the hot sword, smoking with a brother's blood,
in his breast also. And so perished they.
Ere this, Althaea, mother of the prince,
and sister of the slaughtered twain,—because
her son had killed the boar, made haste to bear
rich offerings to the temples of the Gods;
but when she saw her slaughtered brothers borne
in sad procession, she began to shriek,
and filled the city with her wild lament.
Unwilling to abide her festal robes
she dressed in sable.—When she was informed
her own son Meleager was the cause,
she banished grief and lamentations,—
thirsting for vengeance.

She remembered well,
how, when she lay in childbirth round her stood
the three attendant sisters of his fate.
There was a billet in the room, and this
they took and cast upon the wasting flames,
and as they spun and drew the fatal threads
they softly chanted, “Unto you we give,
O child new-born! only the life of this;
the period of this billet is your life.”
And having spoken so, they vanished in the smoke.
Althaea snatched the billet from the fire,
and having quenched it with drawn water, hid
it long and secretly in her own room,
where, thus preserved, it acted as a charm
to save the life of Meleager. This
the mother now brought forth, and fetched a pile
of seasoned tinder ready for the torch.
She lit the torches and the ready pile,
and as the flames leaped up, four times prepared
to cast the fatal billet in the midst;
and four times hesitated to commit
the dreadful deed,—so long the contest veered
between the feelings of a mother's breast
and the fierce vengeance of a sister's rage.
Now is the mother's visage pale with fear,
and now the sister's sanguinary rage
glows in her eyes. Her countenance contorts
with cruel threats and in bewildered ways
dissolves compassionate: And even when
the heat of anger had dried up her eyes
the conflict of her passion brought new tears.
As when the wind has seized upon a ship
and blows against a tide of equal force,
the vexed vessel feels repellent powers,
and with unsteady motion sways to both;
so did Althaea hesitate between
the conflict of her passions: when her rage
had cooled, her fury was as fast renewed:
but always the unsatisfied desire
of blood, to ease the disembodied shades
of her slain brothers, seemed to overcome
the mother-instinct; and intensity
of conduct proved the utmost test of love.
She took the billet in her arms and stood
before the leaping flames, and said, “Alas,
be this the funeral pyre of my own flesh!”
And as she held in her relentless hand
the destiny of him she loved, and stood
before the flames, in all her wretchedness
she moaned, “You sad Eumenides attend!
Relentless Gods of punishment,—turn, turn
your dreadful vision on these baneful rites!
I am avenging and committing crime!
With death must death be justified and crime
be added unto crime! Let funerals
upon succeeding funerals attend!
“Let these accumulating woes destroy
a wicked race. Shall happy Oeneus bask
in the great fame of his victorious son,
and Thestius mourn without slaughtered ones?
'Tis better they should both lament the deed!
Witness the act of my affection, shades
of my departed brothers! and accept
my funeral offering, given at a cost
beyond my strength to bear. Ah wretched me!
Distracted is my reason! Pity me,
the yearnings of a stricken mother's heart
withholding me from duty! Aye, although
his punishment be just, my hands refuse
the office of such vengeance. What, shall he
alive, victorious, flushed with his success,
inherit the broad realms of Calydon,
and you, my slaughtered brothers, unavenged,
dissolved in ashes, float upon the air,
unpalpitating phantoms? How can I
endure the thought of it? Oh let the wretch
forever perish, and with him be lost
the hopes of his sad father, in the wreck
of his distracted kingdom. Where are now
the love and feelings of a mother; how
can I forget the bitter pangs endured
while twice times five the slow moon waxed and waned?
“O had you perished in your infancy
by those first fires, and I had suffered it!
Your life was in my power! and now your death
is the result of wrongs which you have done—
take now a just reward for what you did:
return to me the life I gave and saved.
When from the flames I snatched the fatal brand.
Return that gift or take my wretched life,
that I may hasten to my brothers' tomb.
“What dreadful deed can satisfy the law,
when I for love against my love am forced?
For even as my brothers' wounds appear
in visions dreadful to denounce my son,
the love so nurtured in a mother's breast
breaks down the resolution! Wretched me!
Such vengeance for my brothers overcomes
first at your birth I gave it, and again
the yearning of a mother for her son!
Let not my love denounce my vengeance!
My soul may follow with its love the shade
of him I sacrifice, and following him
my shade and his and yours unite below.”
She spoke and as she turned her face away,
she threw the fatal billet on the fire,
and as the flames devoured it, a strange groan
was heard to issue from the burning wood
but Meleager at a distance knows
of naught to wreck his hour of victory,
until he feels the flame of burning wood
scorching with secret fire his forfeit life.
Yet with a mighty will, disdaining pain
he grieves his bloodless and ignoble death.
He calls Ancaeus happy for the wounds
that caused his death. With sighs and groans he called
his aged father's name, and then the names
of brothers, sisters, and his wife—and last,
they say he called upon his mother's name.
His torment always with the fire increased,
until, as little of the wood remained,—
his pain diminished with the heat's decrease;
and as the flames extinguished, so his life
slowly ascended in the rising air.
And all the mighty realm of Calydon
was filled with lamentations —young and old
the common people and the nobles mourned;
and all the wailing women tore their hair
his father threw his body on the ground,
and as he covered his white hair and face
with ashy dust, bewailed his aged days.
Althaea, maddened in her mother's grief,
has punished herself with a ruthless hand;
she pierced her heart with iron. —Oh! if some God
had given a resounding harp, a voice
an hundred-fold more mighty, and a soul
enlarged with genius, I could never tell
the grief of his unhappy sisters.—They,
regardless of all shame, beat on their breasts;
before the body was consumed with fire,
embraced it, and again embracing it,
rained kisses on their loved one and the bier.
And when the flames had burnt his shrinking form
they strained his gathered ashes to their breasts,
and prostrate on the tomb kissed his dear name,
cut only in the stone,—and bathed it with their tears
Latona's daughter, glutted with the woes
inflicted on Parthaon's house, now gave
two of the weeping sisters wide-spread wings,
but Gorge and the spouse of Hercules
not so were changed. Latona stretched long wings
upon their arms, transformed their mouths to beaks,
and sent them winging through the lucent air.