Metamorphoses

Ovid

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

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.

And Theseus, meantime, having done great deeds,
was wending towards Tritonian Athen's towers,
but Achelous, swollen with great rains,
opposed his journey and delayed his steps.
“O famous son of Athens, come to me,
beneath my roof, and leave my rapid floods;
for they are wont to bear enormous beams,
and hurl up heavy stones to bar the way,—
mighty with roaring, down the steep ravines.
And I have seen the sheep-folds on my banks
swept down the flood, together with the sheep;
and in the current neither strength availed
the ox for safety, nor swift speed the horse.
When rushed the melting snows from mountain peaks
how many bodies of unwary men
this flood has overwhelmed in whirling waves!
Rest safely then, until my river runs
within its usual bounds—till it contains
its flowing waters in its proper banks.”
and gladly answered Theseus, “I will make
good use of both your dwelling and advice.”
And waiting not he entered a rude hut,
of porous pumice and of rough stone built.
The floor was damp and soft with springy moss,
and rows of shells and murex arched the roof.
And now Hyperion having measured quite
two thirds of daylight, Theseus and his friends
reclined upon the couches.—On his right
Ixion's son was placed, and on his left
the gray-haired hero Lelex; and others
deemed worthy by the Acarnanian-god
who was so joyful in his noble guests.
Without delay the barefoot nimble Nymphs
attending to the banquet, rich food brought;
and after all were satisfied with meat
and dainties delicate, the careful Nymphs
removed all traces of the feast, and served
delicious wine in bowls embossed with gems.
And after they had eaten, Theseus arose,
and as he pointed with his finger, said,
“Declare to me what name that island bears,
or is it one or more than one I see?”
To which the ready River-God replied:
“It is not one we see but five are there,
deceptive in the distance. And that you
may wonder less at what Diana did,
those islands were five Naiads.—Long ago,
ten bullocks for a sacrifice they slew;
and when the joyous festival was given,
ignoring me they bade all other Gods.
Indignant at the slight, I swelled with rage
as great as ever when my banks are full,—
and so redoubled both in rage and flood,
I ravished woods from woods, and fields from fields,
and hurled into the sea the very soil,
together with the Nymphs, who then at last
remembered their neglect. And soon my waves,
united with the ocean streams, cut through
the solid soil, and fashioned from the one,
five islands you may see amid the waves,
which men since then, have called Echinades.
“But yet beyond you can observe how one
most beautiful of all is far withdrawn;
and this which most delights me, mariners
have Perimela named. She was so fair
that I deprived her of a precious wealth.
And when Hippodamas, her father, knew,
enraged he pushed her, heavy then with child,
forth from a rock into the cruel sea,
where she must perish,—but I rescued her;
and as I bore her on my swimming tide,
I called on Neptune, ruler of the deep,
‘O Trident-wielder, you who are preferred
next to the god most mighty! who by lot
obtained the empire of the flowing deep,
to which all sacred rivers flow and end;
come here, O Neptune, and with gracious will
grant my desire;—I injured her I save;—
but if Hippodamas, her father, when
he knew my love, had been both kind and just,
if he had not been so unnatural,
he would have pitied and forgiven her.
Ah, Neptune, I beseech you, grant your power
may find a place of safety for this Nymph,
abandoned to the deep waves by her sire.
Or if that cannot be, let her whom I
embrace to show my love, let her become
a place of safety.’ Instantly to me
the King of Ocean moved his mighty head,
and all the deep waves quivered in response.
“The Nymph, afraid, still struggled in the deep,
and as she swam I touched her throbbing breast;
and as I felt her bosom, trembling still,
I thought her soft flesh was becoming hard;
for even then, new earth enclosed her form;
and as I prayed to Neptune, earth encased
her floating limbs;—and on her changing form
the heavy soil of that fair island grew.”