Metamorphoses

Ovid

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

When she had ended the sad tale, she heaved
a deep sigh, in remembrance of her tried,
beloved servant; and her daughter-in-law
Iole kindly answered in these words:
“O my dear mother, if you weep because
of her who was your servant, now transformed
into a weasel, how can you support
the true narration of my sister's fate;
which I must tell to you, although my tears
and sorrows hinder and forbid my speech?
“Most beautiful of all Oechalian maids,
was Dryope, her mother's only child,
for you must know I am the daughter of
my father's second wife. She is not now
a maid; because, through violence of him
who rules at Delphi and at Delos, she
was taken by Andraemon, who since then
has been accounted happy in his wife.
“There is a lake surrounded by sweet lawns,
encircling beauties, where the upper slope
is crowned with myrtles in fair sunny groves.
Without a thought of danger Dryope
in worship one day went to gather flowers,
(who hears, has greater cause to be indignant)
delightful garlands, for the water-nymphs,
and, in her bosom, carried her dear son,
not yet a year old, whom she fed for love.
Not far from that dream-lake, in moisture grew
a lotus, beautiful in purple bloom,
the blossoms promising its fruit was near.
“At play with her sweet infant, Dryope
plucked them as toys for him. I, too, was there,
eagerly, also, I put forth my hand,
and was just ready to secure a spray,
when I was startled by some drops of blood
down-falling from the blossoms which were plucked;
and even the trembling branches shook in dread.
“Who wills, the truth of this may learn from all
quaint people of that land, who still relate
the Story of Nymph Lotis. She, they say,
while flying from the lust of Priapus,
was transformed quickly from her human shape,
into this tree, though she has kept her name.
“But ignorant of all this, Dryope,
alarmed, decided she must now return;
so, having first adored the hallowed nymphs,
upright she stood, and would have moved away,
but both her feet were tangled in a root.
There, as she struggled in its tightening hold,
she could move nothing save her upper parts;
and growing from that root, live bark began
to gather slowly upward from the ground,
spreading around her, till it touched her loins:
in terror when she saw the clinging growth,
she would have torn her hair out by the roots,
but, when she clutched at it, her hands were filled
with lotus leaves grown up from her changed head.
“Alas, her little son, Amphissos, felt
his mother's bosom harden to his touch,
and no life-stream refreshed his eager lips.
And while I saw your cruel destiny,
O my dear sister! and could give no help,
I clung to your loved body and around
the growing trunk and branches, hoping so
to stop their evil growth; and I confess,
endeavored there to hide beneath the bark.
“And, oh! Andraemon and her father, then
appeared to me while they were sadly seeking
for Dryope: so there I had to show
the lotus as it covered her, and they
gave kisses to the warm wood, and prostrate fell
upon the ground, and clung to growing roots
of their new darling tree, transformed from her.—
Dear sister, there was nothing of yourself
remaining but your face; and I could see
your tears drop slowly on the trembling leaves
which had so marvellously grown on you;
and while your lips remained uncovered, all
the air surrounding, echoed your complaint:—
“If oaths of wretched women can have force,
I swear I have not merited this fate!
Though innocent, to suffer punishment!
And if one word of my complaint is false,
I pray I may soon wither, and my leaves
fall from me as in blight, and let the axe
devote me, wretched to the flames. But take
this infant from my branches to a nurse;
and let him often play beneath his tree,—
his mother always. Let him drink his milk
beneath my shade. When he has learned to talk
let him salute me, and in sorrow say
“In this tree-trunk my mother is concealed.”
O, let him dread the fate that lurks in ponds,
and let him often play beneath his tree,—
and let him be persuaded every shrub
contains the body of a goddess. — Ah!
Farewell my husband,—sister, — and farewell
my father! If my love remain in you
remember to protect my life from harm,
so that the pruning-knife may never clip
my branches, and protect my foliage from
the browsing sheep.
“I cannot stoop to you;
0h, if you love me, lift your lips to mine,
and let me kiss you, if but once again,
before this growing lotus covers me.
Lift up my darling infant to my lips.
How can I hope to say much more to you?
The new bark now is creeping up my neck,
and creeping downward from my covered brow!
Ah, do not close my live eyes with your hands;
there is no need of it, for growing bark
will spread and darken them before I die!’
Such were the last words her poor smothered lips
could utter; for she was so quickly changed;
and long thereafter the new branches kept
the warmth of her lost body, so transformed.”
And all the while that Iole told this,
tearful in sorrow for her sister's fate,
Alcmena weeping, tried to comfort her.
But as they wept together, suddenly
a wonderful event astonished them;
for, standing in the doorway, they beheld
the old man Iolaus, known to them,
but now transformed from age to youth, he seemed
almost a boy, with light down on his cheeks:
for Juno's daughter Hebe, had renewed
his years to please her husband, Hercules.
Just at the time when ready to make oath,
she would not grant such gifts to other men—
Themis had happily prevented her.
“For even now,” she said, “a civil strife
is almost ready to break forth in Thebes,
and Capaneus shall be invincible
to all save the strong hand of Jove himself;
and there two hostile brothers shall engage
in bloody conflict; and Amphiaraus
shall see his own ghost, deep in yawning earth.
“His own son, dutiful to him, shall be
both just and unjust in a single deed;
for he, in vengeance for his father's death,
shall slay his mother, and confounded lose
both home and reason,—persecuted both
by the grim Furies and the awful ghost
of his own murdered mother; this until
his wife, deluded, shall request of him
the fatal golden necklace, and until
the sword of Phegeus drains his kinsman's blood.
“And then at last his wife Callirhoe
shall supplicate the mighty Jupiter
to grant her infant sons the added years
of youthful manhood. Then shall Jupiter
let Hebe, guardian of ungathered days,
grant from the future to Callirhoe's sons,
the strength of manhood in their infancy.
Do not let their victorious father's death
be unavenged a long while. Jove prevailed
upon, will claim beforehand all the gifts
of Hebe, who is his known daughter-in-law,
and his step-daughter, and with one act change
Callirhoe's beardless boys to men of size.”

When Themis, prophesying future days,
had said these words, the Gods of Heaven complained
because they also could not grant the gift
of youth to many others in this way.
Aurora wept because her husband had
white hair; and Ceres then bewailed the age
of her Iasion, grey and stricken old;
and Mulciber demanded with new life
his Erichthonius might again appear;
and Venus, thinking upon future days,
said old Anchises' years must be restored.
And every god preferred some favorite,
until vexed with the clamor, Jupiter
implored, “If you can have regard for me,
consider the strange blessings you desire:
does any one of you believe he can
prevail against the settled will of Fate?
As Iolaus has returned by fate,
to those years spent by him; so by the Fates
Callirhoe's sons from infancy must grow
to manhood with no struggle on their part,
or force of their ambition. And you should
endure your fortune with contented minds:
I, also, must give all control to Fate.
“If I had power to change the course of Fate
I would not let advancing age break down
my own son Aeacus, nor bend his back
with weight of year; and Rhadamanthus should
retain an everlasting flower of youth,
together with my own son Minos, who
is now despised because of his great age,
so that his scepter has lost dignity.”
Such words of Jupiter controlled the Gods,
and none continued to complain, when they
saw Aeacus and Rhadamanthus old,
and Minos also, weary of his age.
And they remembered Minos in his prime,
had warred against great nations, till his name
if mentioned was a certain cause of fear.
But now, enfeebled by great age, he feared
Miletus, Deione's son, because
of his exultant youth and strength derived
from his great father Phoebus. And although
he well perceived Miletus' eye was fixed
upon his throne, he did not dare to drive
him from his kingdom.
But although not forced,
Miletus of his own accord did fly,
by swift ship, over to the Asian shore,
across the Aegean water, where he built
the city of his name.
Cyane, who
was known to be the daughter of the stream
Maeander, which with many a twist and turn
flows wandering there—Cyane said to be
indeed most beautiful, when known by him,
gave birth to two; a girl called Byblis, who
was lovely, and the brother Caunus—twins.
Byblis is an example that the love
of every maiden must be within law.
Seized with a passion for her brother, she
loved him, descendant of Apollo, not
as sister loves a brother; not in such
a manner as the law of man permits.
At first she thought it surely was not wrong
to kiss him passionately, while her arms
were thrown around her brother's neck, and so
deceived herself. And, as the habit grew,
her sister-love degenerated, till
richly attired, she came to see her brother,
with all endeavors to attract his eye;
and anxious to be seen most beautiful,
she envied every woman who appeared
of rival beauty. But she did not know
or understand the flame, hot in her heart,
though she was agitated when she saw
the object of her swiftly growing love.
Now she began to call him lord, and now
she hated to say brother, and she said,
“Do call me Byblis—never call me sister!”
And yet while feeling love so, when awake
she does not dwell upon impure desire;
but when dissolved in the soft arms of sleep,
she sees the very object of her love,
and blushing, dreams she is embraced by him,
till slumber has departed. For a time
she lies there silent, as her mind recalls
the loved appearance of her lovely dream,
until her wavering heart, in grief exclaims:—
“What is this vision of the silent night?
Ah wretched me! I cannot count it true.
And, if he were not my own brother, he
why is my fond heart tortured with this dream?
He is so handsome even to envious eyes,
it is not strange he has filled my fond heart;
so surely would be worthy of my love.
But it is my misfortune I am his
own sister. Let me therefore strive, awake,
to stand with honor, but let sleep return
the same dream often to me.—There can be
no fear of any witness to a shade
which phantoms my delight.—O Cupid, swift
of love-wing with your mother, and O my
beloved Venus! wonderful the joys
of my experience in the transport. All
as if reality sustaining, lifted me
up to elysian pleasure, while in truth
I lay dissolving to my very marrow:
the pleasure was so brief, and Night, headlong
sped from me, envious of my coming joys.
“If I could change my name, and join to you,
how good a daughter I would prove to your
dear father, and how good a son would you
be to my father. If the Gods agreed,
then everything would be possessed by us
in common, but this must exclude ancestors.
For I should pray, compared with mine yours might
be quite superior. But, oh my love,
some other woman by your love will be
a mother; but because, unfortunate,
my parents are the same as yours, you must
be nothing but a brother. Sorrows, then,
shall be to us in common from this hour.
What have my night-born vision signified?
What weight have dreams? Do dreams have any weight?
The Gods forbid! The Gods have sisters! Truth
declares even Saturn married Ops, his own
blood-kin, Oceanus his Tethys, Jove,
Olympian his Juno. But the Gods
are so superior in their laws, I should
not measure human custom by the rights
established in the actions of divinities.
This passion must be banished from my heart,
or, if it cannot be so, I must pray
that I may perish, and be laid out dead
upon my couch so my dear brother there
may kiss my lips. But then he must consent,
and my delight would seem to him a crime.
“Tis known the sons of Aeolus embraced
their sisters —But why should I think of these?
Why should I take example from such lives?
Must I do as they did? Far from it! let
such lawless flames be quenched, until I feel
no evil love for him, although the pure
affection of a sister may be mine,
and cherished. If it should have happened first
that my dear brother had loved me—ah then,
I might have yielded love to his desire.
Why not now? I myself must woo him, since
I could not have rejected him, if he
had first wooed me. But is it possible
for me to speak of it, with proper words
describing such a strange confession? Love
will certainly compel and give me speech.
But, if shame seal my lips, then secret flame
in a sealed letter may be safely told.”

And after all this wavering, her mind
at last was satisfied; and as she leaned
on her left elbow, partly raised from her
half-dream position, she said, “Let him see:
let me at once confess my frantic passion
without repression! O my wretched heart!
What hot flame burns me!” But while speaking so,
she took an iron pen in her right hand,
and trembling wrote the heart-words as she could,
all on a clean wax tablet which she held
in her limp left hand. She begins and stops,
and hesitates—she loves and hates her hot
confession—writes, erases, changes here
and there, condemns, approves, disheartened throws
her tablets down and takes them up again:
her mind refuses everything she does,
and moves against each action as begun:
shame, fear and bold assurance mingled showed
upon her face, as she began to write,
“Your sister” but at once decided she
could not say sister, and commenced instead,
with other words on her amended wax.
“A health to you, which she who loves you fails
to have, unless you grant the same to her.
It shames me, oh I am ashamed to tell
my name to you, and so without my name,
I would I might plead well until the hopes
of my desires were realized, and then
you might know safely, Byblis is my name.
“You might have knowledge of my wounded heart,
because my pale, drawn face and down-cast eyes
so often tearful, and my sighs without
apparent cause have shown it — and my warm
embraces, and my frequent kisses, much
too tender for a sister. All of this
has happened, while with agitated heart
and in hot passion, I have tried all ways,
(I call upon the Gods to witness it!)
that I might force myself to sanity.
And I have struggled, wretched nights and days,
to overcome the cruelties of love,
too dreadful for a frail girl to endure,
for they most surely are all Cupid's art.
“I have been overborne and must confess
my passion, while with timid prayers I plead;
for only you can save me. You alone
may now destroy the one who loves you best:
so you must choose what will be the result.
The one who prays is not your enemy;
but one most closely joined to you, yet asks
to knit the tie more firmly. Let old men
be governed by propriety, and talk
of what is right and wrong, and hold to all
the nice distinctions of strict laws. But Love,
has no fixed law for those whose age is ours,
is heedless and compliant. And we have
not yet discovered what is right or wrong,
and all we should do is to imitate
the known example of the Gods. We have
no father's harsh rule, and we have no care
for reputation, and no fear that keeps
us from each other. But there may be cause
for fear, and we may hide our stolen love,
because a sister is at liberty
to talk with her dear brother—quite apart:
we may embrace and kiss each other, though
in public. What is wanting? Pity her
whose utmost love compels her to confess;
and let it not be written on her tomb,
her death was for your sake and love denied.”
Here when she dropped the tablet from her hand,
it was so full of fond words, which were doomed
to disappointment, that the last line traced
the edge: and without thinking of delay,
she stamped the shameful letter with her seal,
and moistened it with tears (her tongue failed her
for moisture). Then, hot-blushing, she called one
of her attendants, and with timid voice
said, coaxing, “My most trusted servant, take
these tablets to my—” after long delay
she said, “my brother.” While she gave the tablets
they suddenly slipped from her hands and fell.
Although disturbed by this bad omen, she
still sent the letter, which the servant found
an opportunity to carry off.
He gave the secret love-confession. This
her brother, grandson of Maeander, read
but partly, and with sudden passion threw
the tablets from him. He could barely hold
himself from clutching on the throat of her
fear-trembling servant; as, enraged, he cried,
“Accursed pander to forbidden lust,
be gone!—before the knowledge of your death
is added to this unforeseen disgrace!”
The servant fled in terror, and told all
her brother's actions and his fierce reply
to Byblis: and when she had heard her love
had been repulsed, her startled face went pale,
and her whole body trembled in the grip
of ice-chills. Quickly as her mind regained
its usual strength, her maddening love returned,
came back with equal force, and while she choked
with her emotion, gasping she said this:
“I suffer only from my folly! why did I
so rashly tell him of my wounded heart?
And why did I so hastily commit
to tablets all I should have kept concealed?
I should have edged my way by feeling first,
obscurely hinting till I knew his mind
and disposition towards me. And so that
my first voyage might get favorable wind,
I should have tested with a close-reefed sail,
and, knowing what the wind was, safely fared.
But now with sails full spread I have been tossed
by unexpected winds. And so my ship
is on the rocks; and, overwhelmed with all
the power of Ocean, I have not the strength
to turn back and recover what is lost.
“Surely clear omens warned me not to tell
my love so soon, because the tablets fell
just when I would have put them in the hand
of my picked servant — certainly a sign
my hasty hopes were destined to fall down.
Is it not clear I should have changed the day;
and even my intention? Rather say
should not the day have been postponed at once?
The god himself gave me unerring signs,
if I had not been so deranged with love.
I should have spoken to him, face to face;
and with my own lips have confessed it all;
and then my passion had been seen by him,
and, as my face was bathed in tears, I could
have told him so much more than words engraved
on tablets; and, while I was telling him
I could have thrown my arms around his neck,
and if rejected could have seemed almost
at point of death; as I embraced his feet,
while prostrate, even might have begged for life.
I could have tried so many plans, and they
together would have won his stubborn heart.
“Perhaps my stupid servant, in mistake,
did not approach him at a proper time,
and even sought an hour his mind was full
of other things.
“All this has harmed my case;
there is no other reason; he was not
born of a tigress, and his heart is not
of flint or solid iron, or of adamant;
and no she-lion suckled him. He shall
be won to my affection; and I must
attempt again, again, nor ever cease
so long as I have breath. If it were not
too late already to undo what has
been done, 'twere wiser not begun at all.
But since I have begun, it now is best
to end it with success. How can he help
remembering what I dared, although I should
abandon my design! In such a case,
because I gave up, I must be to him
weak, fickle-minded; or perhaps he may
believe I tried to tempt him with a snare.
But come what may, he will not think of me
as overcome by some god who inflames
and rules the heart. He surely will believe
I was so actuated by my lust.
“If I do nothing more, my innocence
is gone forever. I have written him
and wooed him also, in a way so rash
and unmistakable, that if I should
do nothing more than this, I should be held
completely guilty in my brother's sight—
but I have hope, and nothing worse to fear.”

Then back and forth she argues; and so great
is her uncertainty, she blames herself
for what she did, and is determined just
as surely to succeed.
She tries all arts,
but is repeatedly repulsed by him,
until unable to control her ways,
her brother in despair, fled from the shame
of her designs: and in another land
he founded a new city.
Then, they say,
the wretched daughter of Miletus lost
control of reason. She wrenched from her breast
her garments, and quite frantic, beat her arms,
and publicly proclaims unhallowed love.
Grown desperate, she left her hated home,
her native land, and followed the loved steps
of her departed brother. Just as those
crazed by your thyrsus, son of Semele!
The Bacchanals of Ismarus, aroused,
howl at your orgies, so her shrieks were heard
by the shocked women of Bubassus, where
the frenzied Byblis howled across the fields,
and so through Caria and through Lycia,
over the mountain Cragus and beyond
the town, Lymira, and the flowing stream
called Xanthus, and the ridge where dwelt
Chimaera, serpent-tailed and monstrous beast,
fire breathing from its lion head and neck.
She hurried through the forest of that ridge—
and there at last worn out with your pursuit,
O Byblis, you fell prostrate, with your hair
spread over the hard ground, and your wan face
buried in fallen leaves. Although the young,
still tender-hearted nymphs of Leleges,
advised her fondly how to cure her love,
and offered comfort to her heedless heart,
and even lifted her in their soft arms;
without an answer Byblis fell from them,
and clutched the green herbs with her fingers, while
her tears continued to fall on the grass.
They say the weeping Naiads gave to her
a vein of tears which always flows there from
her sorrows—nothing better could be done.
Immediately, as drops of pitch drip forth
from the gashed pine, or sticky bitumen
distils out from the rich and heavy earth,
or as the frozen water at the approach
of a soft-breathing wind melts in the sun;
so Byblis, sad descendant of the Sun,
dissolving in her own tears, was there changed
into a fountain; which to this late day,
in all those valleys has no name but hers,
and issues underneath a dark oak-tree.