Dionysiaca — Nonnus
===================
ΔΙΟΝΥΣΙΑΚΑ
Translation/edition: Claude AI
Language: English
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## Book I


### First it has the son of Cronus, the light-bearing ravisher of a maiden, and the starry vault battered by the hands of Typhon.

[1.1] Tell, goddess, of the son of Cronus' messenger of blazing radiance,
the birth-pang breath of the thunderbolt, with its bridal spark,
and the lightning that served Semele's bridal chamber; tell also the birth
of twice-born Bacchus, whom, still moist, he lifted from the fire,
[1.5] Zeus lifting the half-finished infant from a mother delivered without a midwife,
and with careful hands cutting open the flesh of his thigh,
he brought him to birth from a male womb, both father and lady mother,
well acquainted with another birth, since from his generative head,
bearing an unbelievable seedless swelling in his pregnant brow,
[1.10] he shot forth Athena flashing in her armor.
Bring me the fennel-stalk; clash the cymbals, Muses,
and place in my hand the thyrsus of Dionysus whom I sing.
But from beside neighboring Pharos, touching the dance,
set many-turning Proteus before me, so that he may appear
[1.15] wearing a manifold form, since I am sounding a manifold hymn.
For if he should crawl forward as a serpent, curling in his coils,
I shall sing the divine contest, how with an ivy-wreathed thyrsus
he slaughtered the dreadful tribes of serpent-haired Giants.
But if as a lion he should bristle, shaking the hair upon his neck,
[1.20] I shall cry Euoi for Bacchus upon the grim arm of Rhea,
stealthily sucking the breast of the lion-nursing goddess.
And if, lifted high in a tempestuous leap of his feet,
he springs as a leopard, changing into that richly patterned form,
I shall hymn the son of Zeus, how he destroyed the race of Indians
[1.25] riding in leopard-drawn cars against their elephants.
If he should make his body like the form of a boar, I shall sing Thyone's son,
longing for Aura, the boar-slaying bride,
the Cybele-born mother of the late-born third Bacchus.
If he should become imitative water, I shall sing Dionysus
[1.30] plunging into the bosom of the sea before armed Lycurgus.
If he should wave as a plant and spread a counterfeit whispering,
I shall remember Icarius, and how beside the inspired wine-vat
the grape-cluster was crushed beneath the competing tread of feet.
Bring me the fennel-stalk, Mimallons, and the raw
[1.35] many-spotted fawnskin, instead of my accustomed tunic,
bind it tightly over my breast, filled with the fragrance of Maronian
nectar; but with sea-dwelling Eidothea and Homer
let the heavy sealskin be kept for Menelaus.
Give me Bacchic drums and aegises, but the sweet-toned
[1.40] double-voiced pipe give to another, lest I provoke
my Phoebus; for he rejects the breathing echo of reeds,
ever since, after defeating Marsyas' god-challenging pipe,
he hung his skin from a tree, swelling out in the breezes,
having stripped bare every limb of the skinless shepherd.
[1.45] But, goddess, begin with Cadmus, the wandering seeker.
Once on the Sidonian shore high-horned Zeus became a bull
and with a counterfeit throat imitated a desirous bellow;
he had the sweet gadfly of love; and as he shifted the woman,
little Eros, circling his hands around her belly in a double bond,
[1.50] lightened her weight; and close by, the bull that would travel the water,
spreading his curved back beneath the mounting maiden,
crouched sideways and stretched out his lowered back,
and lifted Europa; as the bull rushed onward,
his swimming hoof scored the silent water of the passable sea
[1.55] with gentle-stepping tracks; and above the sea the maiden,
trembling with fear, voyaged upon the bull's back,
unshaken and unwetted; seeing her, you might quickly have said
she was Thetis, or Galatea, or the wife of the Earth-shaker,
or Aphrodite seated upon Triton's ridged back.
[1.60] And the dark-haired god marveled at the voyage of the shambling-footed bull,
while Triton, hearing the deceptive bellow of Zeus,
bellowed back to the son of Cronus a responsive melody upon his conch,
singing a wedding hymn; and the woman borne aloft
Nereus, mingling wonder with fear, pointed out to Doris,
[1.65] when he saw the strange horned voyager; and with only her extremities dipped,
the maiden, her bull serving as a ship, sailed as the driver of the ox,
and, trembling at the lofty leap of her watery journey,
she held his horn as a steering-oar, while Desire became the sailor.
And deceitful Boreas, stirred by the breeze of marriage,
[1.70] swelled out the whole of her robe, himself ill-starred in love, and toward both
he whistled, secretly envying them, across the maiden's unripe breast.
And just as one of the Nereids, rising above the sea,
seated upon a dolphin, cuts through the outspread calm,
while, as she is carried, her dripping hand moves to and fro
[1.75] in imitation of one swimming, though the creature bears her unwetted by the brine,
the watery traveler, half-visible, carries her through the water,
arching his back, while, creeping through the sea,
the two-forked tip of the fish's tail traces its watery path;
so Zeus raised his back; and as the bull stretched forward,
[1.80] Eros the herdsman lashed his enslaved neck with the embroidered girdle,
and, raising his bow upon his shoulder like a shepherd's staff,
with Aphrodite's crook he shepherded Hera's bridegroom,
leading him toward Poseidon's watery pasture; and in maidenly shame
motherless Pallas flushed crimson upon her cheek
[1.85] as she watched a woman serving as charioteer of the son of Cronus.
And as Zeus rushed along his watery course,
the sea did not extinguish his desire, because the pregnant waters,
from the furrow of Heaven, had once labored to give birth to sea-dwelling Aphrodite;
and the maiden, directing the foaming bull's journey,
[1.90] was at once his cargo and his sailor. But when he saw
this counterfeit, swift-kneed, living ship of the sea,
a wandering Achaean sailor cried aloud these words:
"My eyes, what marvel is this? How is it that, cutting the waves with his feet,
a pasture-roaming bull swims through the water of the barren sea?
[1.95] Is the son of Cronus making the earth navigable? Is through the sea
a watery track being carved for a wave-drenched wagon?
I gaze across the waves at this counterfeit voyage. Is it perhaps Selene,
who, having an unyoked bull, travels the sea instead of the upper air?
Or is it deep-dwelling Thetis who drives a watery course?
[1.100] Yet a sea-bull does not possess a form resembling a land-dwelling bull...
for it has a fishlike body - but instead of a naked maiden,
some strange-looking Nereid drives through the waters an unbridled,
foot-going traveler, an unfamiliar bull, while her robe trails behind her.
If this is grain-crowned Demeter, and with the water-traveling
[1.105] foot of a bull she cleaves the blue back of the sea,
then you too, Poseidon, leave the wave within the deep
and pass over the thirsty back of the earth as a land-going plowman,
cutting Demeter's furrow with your sea-going ship,
making upon the earth a navigable course for terrestrial winds.
[1.110] Bull, you have wandered away as an exile! Nereus is no
cattle-herd, Proteus no plowman, Glaucus no gardener;
there is no marsh, no meadow among the waves, but upon the
barren sea sailors traverse the unplowed, ship-receiving water,
cutting it with a steering-oar and not cleaving it with iron.
[1.115] The attendants of the Earth-shaker do not sow furrows;
rather, seaweed is the plant of the sea and water is its seed,
the sailor is its farmer, the voyage its furrows, and the ship its plow.
But why are you carrying some maiden away? Can it really be that
bulls themselves, maddened with love, carry women off?
[1.120] Or has deceitful Poseidon abducted a maiden,
assuming the horned, bull-shaped form of a river?
Has he woven another deception after the bed of Tyro,
as he did before, when as a watery lover
he falsely murmured like Enipeus with counterfeit streams?"
[1.125] Such were the words the astonished Greek sailor spoke as he passed.
But the maiden divined the bull-marriage awaiting her,
and, tearing at her locks, broke into a mournful cry:
"Deaf water, speechless shores, tell the bull,
if bulls can hear: 'Pitiless creature, spare the maiden!'
[1.130] Tell me, shores - tell my child-loving father
that Europa has abandoned her homeland, seated upon a certain bull,
who is her abductor and her sailor and, as I think, her future husband.
Circling winds, carry these locks of hair to my mother.
Yes, Boreas, I beg you: as you carried off the Attic maiden,
[1.135] receive me upon your wings and bear me through the air - but restrain yourself, my voice,
lest after the bull I find Boreas too maddened with love."
So speaking, the maiden was ferried upon the bull's back;
and Cadmus meanwhile, wandering from land to land,
followed the uncertain tracks of the bride-bearing bull.
[1.140] He came even to the murderous cavern of the Arimi, when wandering mountains
were battering the unbreakable gates of Olympus,
when the winged gods, high above the winterless Nile,
imitated the untraceable journey of birds,
rowing their strange course through the air upon the wind,
[1.145] and the seven-zoned heaven was being scourged. For the son of Cronus, Zeus,
had gone to the bed of Plouto, so that he might beget
Tantalus, the reckless thief of the heavenly cups,
and had placed the weapons of the upper air concealed within the recess of a rock
and hidden the lightning; but beneath the roof the thunderbolts
[1.150] belched smoke, and the white cliff was blackened.
And by the hidden spark of the fire-pointed missile,
the springs grew hot, while through the ravine-streams
the Mygdonian gorge, foaming, roared with steam.
Then, stretching out his hands at the bidding of his mother Earth,
[1.155] Cilician Typhon stole the snowy weapons of Zeus -
the weapons of fire; and spreading wide his row of deep-roaring throats,
he raised every kind of battle-cry in the mingled voices of beasts.
Serpents grown together with him rushed about the faces
of leopards and licked the shaggy manes of lions;
[1.160] with the coils of their tails they girdled the horns of bulls,
and from the jaws of long-tongued creatures
they mingled darting venom with the foam of boars.
Having placed the weapons of the son of Cronus beneath a cavernous rock,
he stretched the spoils of his towering hands toward the upper air.
[1.165] With his many-handed host around the highest summit of Olympus,
with one hand he squeezed Cynosura, while with another he pressed
and pulled backward the ridge of the Parrhasian Bear leaning toward the axis;
with another he seized Boötes and drove him back,
while with another he dragged Phosphorus; in vain beneath the circling turning-post
[1.170] the morning crack of the heavenly whip whistled.
He dragged away the Dawn; and with Taurus held back,
the horse-driving Season, untimely and unfinished, ceased her course.
And among the shadowy locks of his serpent-haired heads
light was mingled with darkness, while by day
[1.175] Selene shone beside the Sun as they rose together.
Nor did the Giant cease. Turning back upon his course,
from Boreas toward Notus, leaving one pole, he stood at the other;
and, grasping the Charioteer with his long hand,
he lashed the back of hail-bearing Capricorn,
[1.180] and, dragging the twin Fishes down from the upper air toward the sea,
he battered the Ram, the central star of Olympus,
high beside the neighboring, fiery circle of spring,
where the balanced day hangs equally poised against the night.
Typhon was suspended aloft upon his trailing feet,
[1.185] close to the clouds; and spreading the multitudinous host of his arms,
he covered the silvery brilliance of the cloudless upper air,
brandishing his crooked army of serpents. One of them,
standing upright, ran across the rim of the axial circle,
and leapt upon the spine of the heavenly Dragon,
[1.190] hissing war beside the daughter of Cepheus; another,
winding his equal-poised circle with starry hands,
bound captive Andromeda in a second bond,
lying obliquely beneath his coils; another horned serpent
curled around the pointed horn of the bull of like form,
[1.195] raging in coils above the bull's forehead
against the opposing Hyades, image of the horned Moon,
with jaws spread open; and the venom-shooting bands
of other intertwined dragons girdled Boötes.
Another bold serpent sprang forward when he saw another Serpent of Olympus,
[1.200] dancing around the serpent-bearing arm of Ophiuchus.
And, intertwining another crown about Ariadne's Crown,
he arched his neck and writhed with the trailing coil of his belly.
Shaking the girdle of Zephyrus and the wing of opposing Eurus,
many-armed Typhon wheeled about,
[1.205] toward either turning-post, dragging Hesperus after Phosphorus,
and toward Atlas' ridge. And in the swelling bosom of the sea,
often seizing Poseidon's chariot,
he dragged it from the depths onto the land; and by its sea-drenched mane,
again he hauled a stalled horse from beside its underwater manger,
[1.210] and hurled the wandering colt toward the heavenly rim,
casting it like a spear against Olympus; and beneath the yokes of the Sun's
speeding chariot, his circling horses neighed.
Often, too, seizing a bull that had ceased the bellowing of the pasture,
he brandished the lowing beast in his threatening arm
[1.215] and hurled it as a likeness of equal form against Selene,
bringing her course to a halt; and, jerking backward upon the reins,
he made the goddess's white bull-harnesses whistle,
pouring forth the deadly hiss of his venom-shooting viper.
Yet Titan-born Mene did not yield to the armed attacker;
[1.220] fighting against the Giant's similarly horned heads,
she gashed them with the light-bearing circles of her bull-like horn.
And Selene's gleaming cattle bellowed,
astonished at the gaping jaws of Typhon's chin.
Then the fearless Seasons armed the starry battle-lines.
[1.225] And the ranks of heaven, as Helicon's guiding circle wheeled,
flashed toward battle; with fiery brilliance there rushed
through the raging upper air the shifting host - those allotted to Boreas,
those to the western back of Lips, those who possessed the bounds of Eurus,
and those of the southern reaches; and amid their rival tumult,
[1.230] the unshaken chorus of the fixed stars wandered from its place,
and met the wandering stars coming from the opposite direction; with a roar
the upright axis, fixed through the middle, thundered in heaven's empty space.
And when Orion, the dog-slayer, saw the tribes of beasts,
he drew his sword; as the bearer armed himself,
[1.235] the bright back of his Tanagraean blade glittered.
And, flashing radiance from his fire-heated throat,
the thirsty Dog foamed at his starry jaws,
sending forth a scorching bark, and instead of his accustomed hare,
he bared the steaming breath of his teeth against Typhon's beasts.
[1.240] And the vault of heaven crashed; answering in turn,
from as many throats as there are zones encircling heaven,
the seven-mouthed echo of the Pleiades raised a sevenfold battle-cry,
and the wandering stars thundered back with an equal measure of noise.
And when shining Ophiuchus saw the Giant's terrible serpent-shaped form,
[1.245] from his evil-averting hands
he shook loose the dark backs of his fire-nourished serpents,
hurling the spotted, crooked missile; around its fiery path
tempests whistled, while obliquely there were shot
serpent-arrows raging through the air.
[1.250] And bold Sagittarius, running beside fish-tailed Capricorn -
Sagittarius shot his arrow; and within the circle of the Wagon,
the Dragon, visible midway and divided between the twin Bears,
writhed the light-bearing coil of his heavenly spine.
And neighboring Erigone, the driver who travels beside the Wagon -
[1.255] Boötes brandished his shepherd's staff with gleaming arm;
and beside the knee of the Phantom and the neighboring Swan,
the starry lyre prophesied the victory of Zeus.
Then Typhon seized and shook the peaks of Corycus,
and, constricting the inhabited stream of the Cilician river,
[1.260] he crushed Tarsus and Cydnus together in a single embrace.
And shooting the ranks of the brine with rocky missiles,
he displaced the sea onto the cliffs, lashing the ocean after the upper air.
As the Giant advanced, along the track of his sea-drenched foot,
his waist appeared laid bare through the water, untouched by the sea,
[1.265] while the heavy-roaring water boomed around the middle of his thigh.
His swimming serpents, from their sea-thundering throats
hissing the war-cry of Ares, marched against the sea,
spitting venom; and in the fish-filled ocean,
as Typhon stood within the swelling channel,
[1.270] his feet were fixed in the depths, while his belly mingled with the air,
pressed among the clouds; and from the Giant's head
hearing the dreadful roaring of high-maned lions,
the sea-lion hid itself within a muddy hollow.
And the whole host of sea-monsters was cramped within the ocean,
[1.275] for the Earth-born Giant filled the entire sea, greater than the earth,
with flanks untouched by the waves; and the seals bellowed,
while dolphins hid themselves in the deep sea.
And weaving an intertwined trail with crooked coils,
the many-witted octopus fastened itself to its accustomed rock,
[1.280] and its form became a ravine-like image of the rock's limbs.
No creature remained without fear; even the
passion-maddened moray, pursuing its desire for a serpent's bed,
shuddered at the god-defying breath of the sea-going dragons.
The sea towered upward and came into contact with Olympus
[1.285] through its sky-high waters; and in the airborne stream
a dry-winged bird bathed in the neighboring sea.
And Typhon, displaying an imitation of the deep-sea trident,
with an earth-shaking blow of his immeasurable hand
cut an island, a detached portion of sea-bordered land,
[1.290] and hurled the whole thing, spinning it backward like a ball.
As the Giant fought, mountain summits neighboring the stars,
casting their shadows over the Sun, were armed against Olympus,
the projectile-bearing arms of a sky-high mountain.
And after the boundary of the deep, after Earth's fertile seat,
[1.295] the counterfeit Zeus armed his hand with the fire-pointed thunderbolt.
Raising the weapons of the son of Cronus
in his two hundred invincible hands, monstrous Typhon struggled
beneath their weight - though the son of Cronus lifted them with a single hand.
Upon the dry arms of the cloudless Giant,
[1.300] the thunder sent forth a muted strain of soundless echo -
rumbling only faintly; and scarcely for him, amid the drought of the air,
did a thirsty dew fall from the snow that shed no drops.
The lightning grew dim, and, resembling blazing smoke,
its gleam gave only a slender fire with downcast radiance.
[1.305] And recognizing the hands of their unaccustomed bearer,
the thunderbolts, though possessing a masculine blaze, grew womanish,
repeatedly slipping from those immeasurable hands
in self-propelled leaps; the fiery bolts went wandering,
longing for the familiar hand of their heavenly bearer.
[1.310] Just as when some horseman encounters a steed that spits out the bit,
and, an inexperienced stranger, repeatedly lashes the disobedient colt
and struggles in vain, while the bold horse, with understanding spirit,
recognizes the strange hand of an unfamiliar charioteer,
and, goaded, rears upward, rising erect,
[1.315] planting firmly the unshaken hoof of its hind foot,
while lifting its projecting fore-knees and pawing the air,
and tossing its crest, while over both shoulders
its abundant mane swings loosely beside its neck -
so Typhon exhausted himself, lifting from hand to hand
[1.320] the fugitive brilliance of the wandering thunderbolt.
While wandering Cadmus was roaming among the Arimi,
meanwhile, upon the Dictaean shore, the water-traveling bull
set down from his back his maiden, still untouched by the sea.
And Hera, seeing the son of Cronus shaken by desire,
[1.325] mad with jealousy, joined her voice to laughing anger:
"Phoebus, stand beside your father, lest some plowman
seize Zeus and drag him beneath an earth-shaking plow-beam!
Indeed, I wish someone would seize and drag him, so that I might cry this to Zeus:
'Endure the double goads - those of farmers and those of Loves!'
[1.330] As Nomios, lord of the pasture, glorious archer, shepherd your own father,
lest Selene, driver of cattle, yoke the son of Cronus,
and, hastening to see the bed of her shepherd Endymion,
stripe Zeus' back beneath her unsparing whip.
Lord Zeus, horn-bearing Io, when she was a heifer, missed her chance,
[1.335] because she never saw you as such a husband as this, so that she might bear
some bull of matching form to a similarly horned mate.
Beware Hermes, the cattle-thief, practicing his accustomed craft,
lest he seize you as a bull and steal his own father,
and once again give a lyre to your son Phoebus
[1.340] as the price paid by one thief for what another thief has stolen! But what can I do?
If only Argus, his whole body gleaming with sleepless eyes,
were still alive, so that, dragging you into some inaccessible pasture,
Hera's herdsman might strike Zeus' flanks with his cattle-goad!"
So she spoke. But the son of Cronus abandoned his bull-shaped form
[1.345] and, resembling a young man, encircled the unwed maiden.
He touched her limbs, and from the maiden's breast
first loosened the encircling girdle; then, as though unwilling,
he pressed the swelling rim of her unyielding breast,
and kissed the edge of her lips; and silently unfastening
[1.350] the sacred knot that guarded her unwedded maidenhood -
he plucked the unripe fruit of the Cyprian Loves.
And her belly swelled, burgeoning with twin offspring;
and Zeus, her husband, left his pregnant bride, destined for a most holy labor,
to Asterion, her deeply wealthy consort.
[1.355] And rising beside the ankle of the Charioteer,
the starry Bull, bridegroom of Olympus, glittered,
keeping his dew-loving back for the springtime Phaethon,
rising crosswise in a crouching posture; and, half-immersed,
stretching his projecting right foot toward Orion,
[1.360] he appears; but, moving more swiftly toward the western rim,
he passes the Charioteer who rises alongside him on the same course.
Thus the Bull was established in heaven. But Typhon
was not destined much longer to possess the weapons of Zeus; for with bow-bearing
Eros, Zeus the son of Cronus left the revolving vault of heaven,
[1.365] and in the mountains encountered Cadmus, the wandering seeker,
as he strayed; and together they devised a many-sided plan,
weaving for Typhon the threads of Fate that cannot be escaped.
And goat-herding Pan, traveling with all-ruling Zeus,
gave him cattle and sheep and ranks of well-horned goats.
[1.370] Zeus wove a hut from reeds and, binding it with twisting fastenings,
fixed it upon the ground; then, disguising him in an unrecognizable form,
he fastened shepherd's clothing upon Cadmus' body,
and with counterfeit garments cloaked him as a false herdsman.
And carrying a deceitful shepherd's pipe, he gave it to clever Cadmus,
[1.375] to serve as the pilot steering Typhon toward destruction.
Then Zeus summoned the counterfeit herdsman and the winged charioteer
of generation, and joined them together in a single plan:
"Dear Cadmus, play your pipe, and heaven shall become calm;
delay, and Olympus will be scourged - for Typhon
[1.380] is armed with my own celestial weapons.
Only my aegis remains to me. But what can
my aegis accomplish when contending against Typhon's thunderbolt?
I fear that old Cronus may laugh; and I dread
the proud neck of my adversary, arrogant Iapetus.
[1.385] Still more I fear tale-producing Hellas, lest some Achaean
call Typhon 'Rain-giver' and 'High-ruler,'
or 'Most High,' defiling my own name. Become a herdsman
for a single dawn, and with your mind-bewitching,
clear-toned shepherd's instrument save the shepherd of the cosmos.
[1.390] Let me not hear the sound of Typhon the Cloud-gatherer,
nor the thunder of another counterfeit Zeus; instead I shall stop him
from fighting with lightning flashes and wielding the thunderbolt as a spear.
If indeed you possess the blood of Zeus and descend from Inachian Io,
with the evil-averting melody of your crafty shepherd's pipe
[1.395] enchant Typhon's mind. And I shall give you rewards worthy of your labor -
two gifts: for I shall make you the savior
of the harmony of the cosmos and the husband of Harmonia.
And you, first-sown source of marriage that brings generation to fulfillment,
Eros, draw your bow, and the cosmos shall wander no longer.
[1.400] If all things came from you, loving shepherd of life -
stretch one more arrow, so that you may save the whole universe;
blaze forth against Typhon in your fiery form, and may the fire-bearing
thunderbolts, through you, return again into my hand.
All-subduer, strike that one man with your fire, and let him, enchanted,
[1.405] be captured by your arrow - the man whom even the son of Cronus has not defeated;
and let him feel for Cadmus' mind-bewitching song an irresistible frenzy
as great as the desire I felt for the marriage-bed of Europa."
So speaking, Zeus sped away, wholly resembling a horned bull,
from which the mountain received the name Taurus. Then Cadmus, sharply sounding
[1.410] the deceptive echo of his concordant reeds,
leaned his back beneath a neighboring oak of the woodland pasture;
and wearing the rustic clothing of a genuine herdsman,
he sent his guile-weaving song into Typhon's ears,
releasing a delicate breath from his swollen cheek.
[1.415] Then the music-loving Giant, advancing on the trailing coils of his serpentine feet,
sprang up when he heard the deceitful melody; and within the cavern,
leaving the blazing weapons of Zeus beside his mother Earth,
he went searching for the nearby song of the delightful pipe,
following the melody; but when Cadmus saw him near the thicket,
[1.420] trembling, he hid beneath a cleft in the rock.
But high-headed Typhon noticed him trying to escape,
and the monster summoned him with a wordless gesture;
nor did he recognize the clear-voiced deception. To the counterfeit
shepherd he stretched out one right hand, unaware
[1.425] of the net of destruction; and from the middle of his blood-red faces,
laughing with a human face, he broke into this boastful speech:
"Goatherd, why do you tremble before me? Why cover your eyes with your hand?
It would be glorious for me to pursue a mortal man after pursuing the son of Cronus!
It would be glorious for me to raise a shepherd's pipe together with the lightning!
[1.430] What fellowship is there between reeds and a smoking thunderbolt?
Keep your own instrument for yourself, since Typhon has received another,
a self-sounding instrument of Olympus! But sitting there,
Zeus, with hands that make no thunder and are deprived of their accustomed sound,
cloudless Zeus has need of your shepherd's instrument.
[1.435] Let him possess the clatter of your few reeds; for I do not
weave together worthless reeds, joining reed to reed in ordered rows,
but, joining rolling clouds to clouds,
I send forth a yoked crash with the thunderous noises of heaven.
Yet, if you wish, I shall establish a friendly contest. You,
[1.440] play your reedy melody, while I shall sound my thunderous one.
You swell your projecting cheek, bursting with breath,
and blow through your mouths; but for me, when they are lashed
by the blowing breath of Boreas, my thunderbolts roar.
Herdsman, you shall receive payment for your music; for when,
[1.445] as sceptre-bearer in place of Zeus, I guide the throne of heaven,
I shall carry you too from earth into the upper air to follow me,
together with your very pipe and, if you wish, your flock as well.
Nor shall you be separated from your herd; for your goats
I shall establish above the back of Capricorn, their counterpart,
[1.450] or near the Charioteer, who in Olympus
stretches the light-bearing Olenian Goat upon his gleaming arm.
And beside the broad neck of the rain-producing Bull
I shall establish your cattle as stars rising over Olympus,
or beside the dewy turning-point where, from life-warming throats,
[1.455] Selene's cattle send their windy bellowing.
Nor will there be any need for your little hut; instead of the woodland,
let your flock flash among the heavenly Kids.
And I shall fashion the image of another manger, so that it too,
shining in corresponding form, may stand beside the neighboring Manger of the Asses.
[1.460] You too shall become a star beside the herdsman, where Boötes
appears; and you too, stretching out a starry shepherd's staff,
shall become driver of the Lycaonian Bear-Wagon.
Sharing the dwelling of heavenly Typhon, fortunate shepherd,
sing today upon the earth, and tomorrow within Olympus.
[1.465] And as rewards worthy of your song, beside the star-bright circle
I shall establish your Olympian form, and your sweet-toned
shepherd's pipe I shall join beside the heavenly Lyre.
If you wish, I shall give you the virgin Athena in marriage;
but if the grey-eyed goddess does not please you, receive Leto,
[1.470] or a Grace, or Cytherea, or Artemis, or marriage with Hebe.
Only do not seek the bed of my Hera.
And if you have a horse-driving brother skilled in the chariot,
let him receive the Sun's fiery four-horse car.
And if, as a goatherd, you desire to brandish the aegis of Zeus,
[1.475] I shall give you this gift as well. But I shall journey to Olympus,
caring nothing for the unarmed son of Cronus; for what could
worthless Athena, being a woman, accomplish against me with her weapons?
Come, herdsman, strike up the song of Typhon's victory,
hymning me as the legitimate new sceptre-bearer of Olympus,
[1.480] carrying the sceptre of Zeus and wearing his lightning-flashing robe."
So he spoke, and Adrasteia recorded that mighty boast.
But when Cadmus recognized that the Earth-born son had willingly entered
the hunting-net, carried along by the thread of Fate,
struck by the sweet goad of the delightful reeds,
[1.485] crafty Cadmus, without smiling, uttered his cunning reply:
"You were astonished when you heard only the feeble sound of my pipe;
tell me, what would you do if I should sing of your throne,
sounding a victory hymn upon a seven-stringed lyre?
For once, competing even with heavenly plectrums,
[1.490] I surpassed Phoebus with my lyre; but the son of Cronus
reduced my sweet-sounding strings to ashes with his thunderbolt,
granting favor to his defeated son. But if ever I find
strong sinews again and stretch a melody beneath my plectrum,
I shall enchant every tree, every mountain, and the minds of beasts.
[1.495] And Ocean, the self-circling crown yoked to the earth of equal age,
though rushing swiftly in his backward-turning course, I shall restrain,
stopping his circling water from traveling around the same turning-point;
and I shall halt the host of fixed stars and the wandering stars racing opposite them,
and Phaethon too, and Selene the driver of cattle.
[1.500] But when you have struck the gods and Zeus with your fiery missile,
spare only the glorious archer, so that around the banquet table,
while Typhon feasts, Phoebus and I may compete
to see which of us can best celebrate mighty Typhon in song.
Do not kill the Pierian maidens of the dance either, so that they too,
[1.505] while Phoebus - or your shepherd here - leads the revel,
may weave their feminine song in harmony with our masculine music."
He spoke; and Typhon nodded beneath his flashing brows,
and shook his locks; and from his belching hair
the hills were sprinkled with serpentine venom.
[1.510] Swiftly he hurried into his cavern; and from there, lifting
the sinews of Zeus, he gave them as a guest-gift to deceitful Cadmus -
the sinews that once had fallen to earth in Typhon's battle.
And the deceptive shepherd praised the immortal gift;
he handled them, and, as though they were suitable strings
[1.515] destined for his lyre, hid them within a hollow rock,
keeping them safe for Zeus the Giant-slayer. Then, sparingly,
sending a delicate breath through his closed lips,
and secretly diminishing the volume of sound from the compressed reeds,
he played an even sweeter melody; and stretching out his many ears,
[1.520] Typhon listened to the harmony and understood nothing.
And for the enchanted Giant the counterfeit shepherd played alongside him,
piping upon his shepherd's pipe as though singing the flight of the immortals,
while in truth his melody celebrated the approaching victory of Zeus,
singing Typhon's doom to Typhon himself as he sat nearby.
[1.525] And he aroused an even greater frenzy. And just as a delicate young man,
maddened with love beneath the sweet goad, is enchanted by a maiden of his own age,
and now gazes upon the silvery circles of her lovely face,
now upon the wandering cluster of her deeply rooted hair,
now upon her rose-colored hand; and at another moment watches
[1.530] the rosy curve of her breast constrained beneath its girdle,
gazing at her neck as it is uncovered; and around her beauty
his unsatisfied gaze wanders this way and that in enchantment,
nor does he ever wish to leave the maiden - so Typhon
surrendered his whole mind to Cadmus, utterly enchanted by his melodies.

## Book II


### The second holds the star-roaming war of Typhon, and the lightning, and the contest of Zeus, and the revel of Olympus.

[2.1] So he stayed there at the foot of the pasture-woodland,
drawing his shifting lips across the tip of the pipe,
Cadmus, son of Agenor, the counterfeit goatherd; but unforeseen,
Zeus the son of Cronus, untraceable, creeping noiselessly beneath the cave,
[2.5] armed his hands a second time with the fire that knew them,
and a cloud sheltered Cadmus beside the unseen rock,
lest, learning the deceitful trick and the stealthy thief of his thunderbolt,
Typhon, wise too late, should slay
the fickle herdsman; but he, beneath the sweet goad, wished all the more
[2.10] to hear the mind-bewitching rhythm of the song.
And just as some sailor, hearing the thievish hymn of a Siren,
is drawn untimely to a self-chosen doom,
enchanted by the melody, and no longer scoring the wave,
whitens the grey-green water no more with his waveless oars,
[2.15] but, fallen into the nets of clear-voiced Fate,
delights, forgetting his rudder, abandoning the star
of the seven-pathed Pleiad and the rim of the circling Bear —
so he, shaken by the breath of the cunning song,
received the pipe's sweet arrow as escort to his destruction.
[2.20] But when he was veiled in the shadowy girdle of clouds,
the breathing reed of the sweet-sounding herdsman fell silent
and broke off the harmony. Then high-soaring Typhon,
seized with the frenzy of war, ran down into the recess of the cave,
and with wandering madness sought the wind-roaming thunder
[2.25] and the untraceable lightning, and with searching foot
hunted the blazing flash of the stolen thunderbolt,
and found the cave empty. Learning too late
the guile-devising purpose of the son of Cronus and the shifting wiles of Cadmus,
he leapt against Olympus, hurling crags for spears.
[2.30] And, dragging the crooked track of his foot on serpentine soles,
he spat venom from his missile-hurling throat;
and as the high-crested Giant rained springs
from his viperish hair, the ravines swelled in flood;
and as he rushed, the Cilician foundation of the unbending ground
[2.35] quivered, its seat sunk deep into the earth,
beneath his serpent feet; and in the loud-crashing tumult,
as the crested hollow of Taurus was battered,
the neighboring Pamphylian banks danced in terror,
and the caverns of the earth boomed, the headlands trembled,
[2.40] the deep places shook, and the shores slid away
as the sand was loosened by the earth-shaking tread of his feet.
No pasture, no beast was then unharmed; for raw-devouring
bears were butchered by the bear-jaws
of Typhon's face, and the tawny limbs of shaggy-breasted lions
[2.45] were gulped down by the lion heads
with gaping mouths of like form, and in his viperish throat
the cold backs of earth-bred serpents were torn apart;
the birds of the air he devoured with a neighboring throat,
as they flew through the pathless upper air, and one that came near,
[2.50] an eagle, he ate the more gladly, since it is called the bird of Zeus;
he ate the plowing ox, and had no pity as he looked upon
the blood-stained neck scored by the yoke-strap.
He turned rivers to dust, drinking their water as an after-dinner draught,
and drove off the hosts of Naiads from their haunts;
[2.55] and a Nymph of the deep, walking the passable stream with dry-shod leap,
stood unsandaled, her limbs unwetted,
a Naiad of the watery ways; and as the maiden struggled,
trembling, along the thirsty floor of her haunts,
her knees, fixed fast, were bound in a muddy fetter.
[2.60] And seeing the many-shaped face of the raging Giant,
a fearful old shepherd flung away his pipe
and fled far off; and beholding the wide-scattered nation of arms,
the goatherd cast his unsteady flute to the winds.
The toiling plowman did not cover the seed in the soil,
[2.65] sprinkling the fresh-furrowed earth with the grain he threw behind him,
nor, while Typhon's hand swung its guiding stroke,
did he cleave with earth-shaking iron the furrow being cut,
but he let his oxen go; and beneath the Giant's missile
the flanks of the riven cornfield were laid bare.
[2.70] And he loosed the liquid vein; as the chasm opened,
the channel below bubbled up with spring-fed streams,
pouring forth the water hidden in the bosom of the roofless ground;
and crags were hurled; falling from the sky
into the torrent-streams, they buried themselves in the sea,
[2.75] turning the waters to dry land; and from the earth-born missiles
the self-fixed feet of new-born islands took root.
Trees were heaved up, roots and all, from the soil,
and unripe fruit fell to the ground; the fresh-blooming
garden was wiped away, the rosy meadow reduced to dust;
[2.80] and Zephyrus was shaken by the cypresses rolling
with withered leaves; and in grief-loving strains
Phoebus sang a dirge for the hyacinths torn apart,
weaving a mournful hymn, and far more than for the Amyclaean clusters
he groaned over the neighboring laurel as it was cut down;
[2.85] and Pan in sorrow raised up his fallen pine;
and, remembering Moria, the Attic bride who bears the city,
Grey-eyed Athena moaned over the olive being felled;
and the Paphian wept for the anemone laid in the dust,
and, ceaselessly lamenting the fragrant hair of the flower-cups,
[2.90] she tore a delicate curl from the rose-bed lying in the dust;
and Deo mourned the half-grown corn destroyed,
no longer leading the harvest-revel; and the Hadryad
Nymphs, of one age with them, wailed for the trees bereft of shade.
And as a well-branched cluster was split apart,
[2.95] a Hamadryad of the same age sprang, unveiled, from the laurel,
and another maiden, fleeing from the pine with feet that could tread the ground,
appeared near and spoke to her neighbor, the Nymph newly come:
"Hamadryad of the laurel who fled the marriage-bed, let there be one path
for us both, lest you see Phoebus, lest I perceive Pan.
[2.100] Woodcutters, pass these trees by; do not cut the plants
of the wretched Daphne, sorrow-stricken; spare them, carpenter,
do not finish a merchant-ship by cutting pinewood timbers,
lest it touch the surges of Aphrodite of the sea.
Yes, woodman, grant me a final favor: instead of the branches,
[2.105] cut me with your axes, and through my breast
drive the chaste bronze of unwedded Athena,
so that I may die before marriage and go a virgin to Hades,
still ignorant of Eros, just like Pitys, and just like Daphne."
So speaking, she made herself a counterfeit girdle of leaves,
[2.110] and with a green belt covered the curve of her breast
in shame, and clamped thigh fast to thigh;
and the other, gazing at her, broke into downcast speech:
"I have the fear that belongs to my kind, the fear of maidenhood, since I too,
born of Daphne, am pursued, just like Daphne.
[2.115] Where shall I flee? Shall I creep under the crags? But the hills
hurled at Olympus have been turned to ash by the thunderbolts,
and I tremble at your Pan, ill in love, who will torment me
as he did Pitys, as he did Syrinx; and I too, pursued,
shall become another mountain-running Echo, a second voice.
[2.120] No longer do I go among these branches; I shall dwell
half-seen among the mountains, after my tree, where even
Artemis, lover of maidens, hunts; but the son of Cronus
won the bed of Callisto by changing his form into Artemis.
I shall go to the swell of the sea; what is marriage to me? But in the deep
[2.125] the Earth-shaker, mad for women, pursued Asterie.
If only I had light wings; along the high-soaring path
I would travel a course in company with the winds of the air;
but perhaps the running of wings is vain, since Typhon
touches the clouds with his sky-high hands.
[2.130] And if he forces me into a lawless marriage, I shall change my shape,
I shall mingle with the birds, and, flying, a nightingale,
heralding the rose and the flowery dew,
I shall be the swallow, beloved of Zephyrus in spring,
the chattering bird singing her tune beneath the eaves,
[2.135] skipping about her nest in winged dance.
Procne, who suffered bitterly, do you in your mourning song
weep for your son, and I shall lament my marriage-bed.
Lord Zeus, do not make me a swallow, lest Tereus too,
winged and enraged, pursue me, just like Typhon.
[2.140] Air, mountains, sea — no entry; within the earth
I hide myself; but from the Giant's viperish feet
venom-shooting hydras of the lair burrow beneath the ground.
Let me be a native stream of running water, as Comaetho
mingled her fresh-flowing streams with her father Cydnus;
[2.145] but I do not wish that, for it is against the tale, that I should join
my maiden-loving water to the outpourings of a maiden ill in love.
Where shall I flee? Shall I couple with Typhon? But then I shall bring forth
a strange-natured, many-shaped son resembling his father.
Let me be another tree, and pass from oak to oak,
[2.150] bearing the name of a chaste maiden; but instead of Daphne,
let me not hear myself called a shoot named for lawless Myrrha.
Yes, I beg you, beside the stream of mourning Eridanus
let me too be one of the Heliades; and thickly shall I send
amber from my eyelids, and with grief-loving branches
[2.155] I shall spread my leaves, entwined with the neighboring poplar,
moaning for my maidenhood with tears of precious wealth;
for it is not Phaethon I lament. Be gracious, laurel:
I am ashamed to be another plant after the earlier plant of the wood.
I shall be, like Niobe, a stone myself, so that even me,
[2.160] a stone moaning, the wayfarers may pity;
but why should I take the shape of the slanderous-tongued? Be gracious, Leto;
away with the god-fighting name of the Nymph who bore such dreadful children."
So she spoke. And Phaethon, leaving the whirling vault,
turned his chariot toward the west; and leaping up from the earth
[2.165] into the air, stretched high like a cone, silent Night
wrapped heaven about in a starry cloak,
adorning the upper air; and beside the cloudless Nile
the immortals wandered, while beside beetling Taurus
Zeus the son of Cronus awaited the light of battle-rousing Dawn.
[2.170] It was night; and the ranks of guards stood about Olympus,
about its seven zones, and as though high on towers
there was a shouting through the night, and the varied cry of the stars
was carried abroad on every side, and the crashing echo of the axle
the turning-post of Selene received from the starting-line of Cronus;
[2.175] and with cloud upon cloud, in successive veils set crown-wise,
the Seasons, guardians of the upper air, fenced heaven about,
the attendants of Phaethon; and the stars barred the gates
that no thief may plunder, with the bolt of Atlas,
lest an ambush enter the vault while the blessed ones were away;
[2.180] and instead of the shrill of pipes and the accustomed flute,
the winds whistled a melody with their nocturnal wings.
And, traveling in company with the heavenly Dragon and the Arcadian Bear,
watching from on high for Typhon's night assault,
old Boötes kept guard with sleepless eyes;
[2.185] the Dawnstar watched the east, the star Hesperus
the west, and Cepheus, leaving the southern gates to the guider of arrows,
ran the round of the rainy gates of Boreas.
And there were fires on every side, since the blazing flames of the stars
and the nightly lamps of unsleeping Selene
[2.190] glittered like torches, and with stormy whirl
darting thickly from the upper air across the summit of Olympus,
the shooting stars inscribed the air with fire,
favorable omens for the son of Cronus; and with tumbling leap,
flashing thickly through the clouds as they were scored,
[2.195] the lightning skipped, and with alternating rushes
the unstable gleam hid itself and shone again, running back and forth;
and, twisting the locks of its plaited fire in clusters,
a comet roughened its radiance with a shaggy glow,
and stranger beams shone bright, and like long
[2.200] rafters they were stretched from the air with far-reaching fire,
fighting beside Zeus with their spears; and shining beneath the rays
of Phaethon on the opposite side, the curved circles of Iris
bent, running together with the rain, weaving a many-colored trail,
mixing green with darkening, and white with rose.
[2.205] And to Zeus in his solitude Victory came as a comforter,
tracing the highest paths of the air with her sandal,
wearing the form of Leto, and, arming her father,
cried out in resounding tones a many-turning speech:
"Lord Zeus, stand as champion of your own children, and let me not see
[2.210] Athena, untaught in marriage, coupled with Typhon;
do not make the motherless one a mother; but fighting,
lift the lightning, the light-bearing spear of Olympus,
and gather the clouds a second time, rainy Zeus;
for already the foundations of the steadfast cosmos are shaken
[2.215] by Typhon's hands, and with the four yoke-fellow elements
unbound, Deo has refused her harvest;
Hebe has left her cup, Ares has flung away his spear,
Hermes has laid down his rod, Apollo has cast off his lyre,
and winged he has flown, abandoning his winged arrows,
[2.220] wearing the form of a swan, and the cosmos has become unsown
while Aphrodite, the goddess who brings marriage to fulfillment, wanders,
and the cables of indissoluble harmony are loosed; for the bride-adorning,
all-subduing, unsubdued, bold Eros has flown in fear,
leaving his generative bow; and abandoning his accustomed Lemnos,
[2.225] your fiery Hephaestus, dragging his disobedient knees —
ah, how slow — keeps an unsteady course. Ah, great wonder:
I pity even your Hera, angry as she is with me.
Shall your father come back again to the chorus of the stars?
Never let that be; even if I am called a Titaness,
[2.230] I do not wish to see the Titans ruling Olympus,
but you and your children. Do you, with the conquering thunderbolt,
fight in the front for chaste Artemis; am I really guarding
a maiden without bride-price for a husband forced upon her?
Shall the steward of childbirth see a childbirth? Shall she stretch out
[2.235] her hands to me? And what gracious Eileithyia shall I call
for the shooter of arrows, when Eileithyia herself is in labor?"
As she spoke, Sleep, folding his shadowy wing,
lulled all breathing nature to rest; but the son of Cronus
alone was sleepless then; and Typhon, stretching out,
[2.240] propped his sluggish back upon the burdened couch of the ground,
filling his mother Earth; and as her bosom opened,
the beds of his lair were hollowed out with a gaping chasm
for his viperish heads as they sank into the earth.
And when the sun appeared, from his throats of common speech
[2.245] many-armed Typhon roared out for battle,
calling great Zeus; and his grim voice reached
to where the root-fixed floor of the back-flowing Ocean
embraces the rim of the cosmos, cut fourfold,
girdling the whole earth crown-wise with its circling band;
[2.250] and as the Giant spoke, answering the ranks of his voice,
the echo crashed in every kind, and not one voice in concert;
as he armed himself with the many-shaped form of his nature,
there sounded the howl of wolves, the roar of lions,
the panting of boars, the bellowing of bulls, the hissing of serpents,
[2.255] the bold gaping of leopards, the jaw of bears arming for fight,
the madness of dogs; and from the middle, in his mortal-seeming shape,
the Giant belched out a threatening cry against Zeus:
"Hands of mine, batter the house of Zeus; shake the foundation
of the cosmos together with the blessed ones, and smash the divine bolt
[2.260] of self-turning Olympus, and when the pillar of the upper air
is dragged down upon the earth, let shaken Atlas flee,
and let him cast off the star-roaming rim of Olympus,
fearing the spiral course no longer — for I shall not allow
the son of Earth, bowed with crushed shoulders,
[2.265] to heave up the back-whirling necessity of the upper air —
but let him leave the endless burden to other gods
and fight against the blessed ones, and let him break open the rocks,
shooting with rough missiles at the vault of stars
which he once carried; and let the weak Seasons,
[2.270] scourged with hills, flee terrified from heaven,
the handmaids of Helios. And you, seizing them in your embrace,
mingle earth with air, water with fire, sea with Olympus.
And I shall bring the four winds to the necessity of slavery:
I lash Boreas, I harry Notus, I flog Eurus,
[2.275] and I would strike Zephyrus, and mingle night with day
with a single hand; and let my kinsman Ocean,
bringing his water uplifted against Olympus,
carried on high above the five parallel circles,
deluge the stars, and let the thirsty Bear wander in water,
[2.280] the plow-beam of the Wagon plunged beneath.
My bulls, shaking the equinoctial rim of the circles,
bellow at the upper air, and with your scored horns
break the horns of the blazing Bull of like form;
and let the cattle of Selene change their watery paths,
[2.285] fearing the heavy-thundering bellow of my heads;
and, opening wide the vast gape of her grim jaws,
let the bear of Typhon goad to frenzy the Bear of Olympus;
and let my lion, matching himself against the heavenly Lion,
drive him unwilling from the path of the Zodiac;
[2.290] and let the Serpent of the Wagon shudder at my dragons,
armed as he is with a few lightning-flashes. But the raging
waves of the sea, the ridges of the earth, the glens of islands
are swords for me, and the hills are shields,
and crags are unbreakable breastplates, rocks are spears,
[2.295] and rivers are the quenchers of the feeblest thunderbolt.
The bonds of Iapetus I keep for Poseidon,
and around the peak of Caucasus let another, better, well-winged
eagle draw blood, tearing the ever-regrowing liver
of fiery Hephaestus, since for the sake of fire he suffers
[2.300] as Prometheus, his self-growing liver forever scored;
and, taking a course opposite to the sons of Iphimedeia,
I shall hide the son of Maia, wound about with fetters no one can escape,
locked in a bronze jar, so that someone may say:
'Hermes, who loosed the bonds of Ares, was hidden away a prisoner.'
[2.305] And let Artemis, unloosing the untouched seal of her maidenhood,
be the forced wife of Orion,
and let Leto spread her ancient robes for Tityus,
dragged into a violated marriage; and binding man-slaying Ares,
stripped of his shattered shields,
[2.310] I shall carry off the lord of battle as spoil, and, in place of the killer,
make him mild, and Pallas, coupled with late-wedded Ephialtes,
I shall give as a captive bride, so that I may see
Ares serving as a hireling and Athena in labor.
And let the son of Cronus, lifting upon his weary shoulders
[2.315] the back-whirling heaven of Atlas, lighten it
standing upright, and let him hear the wedding-hymn of my marriage,
hiding his jealousy, when I become bridegroom of Hera.
I have no need of torches; the lightning's flash
is of itself the torch of my bridal chamber, and instead of pine,
[2.320] let Phaethon himself, kindling fire from his own flame,
stretch out for bridegroom Typhon his slavish gleam,
and let the stars, flashing wedding-sparks over Olympus,
blaze as the lamps of my Loves,
the stars my evening lanterns; and together with Aphrodite of the bridal chamber
[2.325] let Selene, bedfellow of Endymion, my handmaid,
spread my couch; and if there is need of bathing,
I shall bathe in the waters of starry Eridanus;
but, circling Seasons, after the bed of Zeus, build for Typhon
the bridal chamber of Eros; and you yourselves from Ocean,
[2.330] Leto, Athena, the Paphian, the Grace, Artemis, Hebe,
carry kindred water for Typhon the bride-adorner;
and with wedding plectrums beside the feast of my table,
let Apollo the lackey sing of Typhon instead of Zeus.
I carry no desire for a foreign floor; for it is my own
[2.335] brother, the star-backed heaven, that I shall drive as charioteer,
having heaven, my mother's house, I the son of Earth.
And dragging raw-eating Cronus a second time into the light,
my kinsman and fellow-combatant, from the pit beneath the earth,
I shall loose his violent bonds, and I shall bring the Titans
[2.340] back home to the upper air, and I shall bring the earth-born Cyclopes
to heaven to share my roof, and I shall forge other
weapons of fire; for I have need of many thunderbolts,
since I fight with two hundred hands, and not with two,
wholly unlike the son of Cronus; and I shall hammer out
[2.345] other lightnings, counterparts, stronger, later-born,
with a greater, many-gleaming blaze, and higher up
I shall build another, wider, loftier, eighth heaven,
adorned with brighter stars; for this vault, seen so close,
is not able to cover the whole of Typhon.
[2.350] And after the female children and the male-born brood
of the son of Cronus, father of many, I shall plant another far-scattered
stock of new blessed ones, many-necked; I shall not leave
the chorus of the stars useless, without marriage, but I shall join
female to male, so that the winged maiden,
[2.355] bedded with Boötes, may bring forth slave-children."
He spoke in menace; and the son of Cronus laughed as he listened.
And the battle roared upon them both; and Strife was
the escort of tumult for Typhon, while Victory led Zeus
into the fray. It was no contest for a herd of cattle, nor about a flock,
[2.360] nor was the quarrel over the beauty of a bride,
nor the turmoil about some lesser city; but for the upper air itself
the strife stood, and upon the knees of Victory lay
the scepter of Zeus and his throne as the prizes of the fighting.
Zeus, striking a thunderous crash from the scourged clouds,
[2.365] trumpeted the bellowing of the upper air as the melody of Enyo,
and fastening the clouds in spirals about his breast
held them as shelter from the Giant's missiles; nor was Typhon
silent; his heads of bulls, sending forth their bellowing,
crashed as self-sounding trumpets against Olympus,
[2.370] and his mingled serpents hissed, the flutes of Ares.
And Typhon armored the ranks of his sky-high limbs,
fencing great crag with crag, until thickly
the unbroken cliffs were towered up in rows,
and he set rock torn from its roots upon rock, one after another;
[2.375] it was the image of an army arming; for, standing close,
rift propped rift, ridge propped ridge, neck propped neck,
and, high in the clouds, bend thrust against many-folded bend;
and the rocky hills were helmets for Typhon,
his heads hidden beneath a steep-crested headland.
[2.380] As the Giant fought, in his many-necked shape
there was one body, but battle-lines without end: some of arms,
some the sharp-whetted spear-points of lion jaws,
others of viperish locks that mounted the stars.
And trees were brandished from Typhon's hands,
[2.385] shaken against the son of Cronus, and other shoots of the earth,
fair-leaved, which with a heavy stroke
Zeus unwillingly turned to dust with one spark of the thunderbolt;
many an elm was hurled together with its age-mate the pine,
and the huge plane-tree, and poplars were shot like javelins
[2.390] against Zeus; and many a flank of the earth was broken open.
And the whole four-sided rim of the cosmos was battered,
and the four winds, fighting beside the son of Cronus with their spears,
towered up a dark dust of the air,
arching the waves; and as the sea was scourged,
[2.395] Sicily was shaken, the banks of Pelorus roared
and the sinews of Aetna, and the rocks of Lilybaeum bellowed,
prophets of things to come, and the headland
of Pachynus thundered beside the western stream; and near the Bear
about the Thracian glen the Nymph of Athos shrieked,
[2.400] and on the Pierian ridge the Macedonian forest cried out;
and the foundations of the east were shaken, and the fragrant,
tree-haired courts of Assyrian Lebanon rang.
And many missiles were hurled from Typhon's hands
to match the spear-cast of the unwearied thunderbolt of Zeus;
[2.405] and some, darting beside the chariot of Selene,
traced unmarked tracks of the unsteady bulls,
while others, whirled through the air with sharp whistling,
the winds fanned aside with opposing breaths;
and many, straying from the untouchable thunderbolt of Zeus,
[2.410] the delighted hand of Poseidon received,
sparing the earth-cleaving point of his trident;
and old Nereus, carrying the sea-drenched missiles beside the strait of Cronus,
set them up as an offering to Zeus.
And arming the two grim sons of Enyalius,
[2.415] grandfather Zeus had Terror and Panic as his attendants,
shield-bearers of the upper air who came together, and beside the lightning
he set Terror, and he fixed Panic beside the thunderbolt,
bringing panic to Typhon; and Victory lifted the shield,
holding it out before Zeus, and Enyo shouted back,
[2.420] and Ares crashed. And rushing with tempests,
aegis-bearing Zeus was carried on high from the air,
seated in the winged four-horse chariot of Time;
and the horses of the son of Cronus, yoked together, were the winds.
And now he armed himself with lightnings, now with the thunderbolt,
[2.425] and at one time he assailed with thunders, at another, pouring forth
the stone-hard backs of hail from congealing showers,
with rainy missiles; and thick columns of water,
sharp-pointed, broke upon the Giant's heads,
and Typhon's hands, as if by a knife,
[2.430] were cut by the hail-laden missile from the air;
and a hand was flung in the dust, and did not let go of its hill,
but, struck by the cut of the snow-thrown hail,
fought on even as it fell, and darting across the earth
in self-rolling leaps the maddened hand throbbed,
[2.435] as though wishing still to strike the circle of Olympus.
And the champion of the heavenly ones, shaking the fiery missile on high,
shepherding the right wing of the war from the left,
fought, appearing aloft; and to the water-bearing ravines
the many-armed Giant rushed, and joining finger to finger
[2.440] one after another, clamped them, interlaced, in a self-made bond,
hollowing his capacious palms, in which lifting
from the midst of the wintry rivers their mountain-running water,
sending streams divided among his deep-hollowed hands,
he flung it against the lightning; and in the torrent-stream
[2.445] the flame of the upper air, when struck, flashed through the water
with a fiercer spark, and the thirsty water boiled,
smoking, and the wet substance was dried by the glowing mass;
for the bold Giant longed to quench the fire of the upper air,
fool that he was; nor did he understand that the fire-bright thunderbolts
[2.450] and the lightnings are born from the rain-bearing clouds.
And again, seizing the straight-cut caverns of the glens,
he longed to strike the breast of Zeus, unwoundable by iron,
and a peak was stretched out against Zeus; but with the edge of his lip
Zeus blew a little, and though it was a lofty precipice,
[2.455] his slight breath turned the circling rock aside.
And, battering an island ridge with his whirling hand,
Typhon, spinning many times, was lifted high for battle,
and hurled it down at the unbreakable face of Zeus;
but he, bending his head aside, avoided the marble spear-point
[2.460] coming straight at him, and Typhon met the lightning
as it changed to a hot spiral course, and straightway the rock,
white-capped at its tip, was blackened by the witness of smoke.
And he sent forth a third; and as it rushed on, the son of Cronus,
with the middle steering-point of his spread palm,
[2.465] struck it with his boundless hand as though it were a bounding ball,
and sent it back to Typhon; and, turned about in a great
whirl of the air on its homeward course,
the hill of its own accord shot its own shooter.
A fourth he hurled, higher still; but touching
[2.470] the topmost tassels of the aegis, the rock was split in two.
Another he sent forth; but the tempestuous rock,
half-burnt, flashed when it was shot by the thunderbolt.
The peaks did not tear open the wet cloud, but the hills,
struck by the watery clouds, were broken in pieces.
[2.475] And the war was shared, evenly balanced, by both,
by Zeus and by Typhon; and with the loud-roaring missile
the thunderbolts, the dancers of the upper air, raged in Bacchic frenzy.
And the son of Cronus fought, fully armed; in the tumult
he had thunder for shield, cloud served him as breastplate,
[2.480] and he brandished the lightning for spear, and thunderbolts sped from Zeus
were sent from the air, fire-pointed arrows;
for already the dry vapor of the earth, wandering
from the hollow of the ground, had run up on high, borne on the air,
and, shut within a cloud, with its blazing throat
[2.485] it choked, heating the pregnant cloud; and amid the smoke
of the fire-nourished clouds rubbed together with a crash,
the flame, pressed within the inmost recess, was carried about, hard to escape,
seeking a middle path, since to walk on high
is not lawful for the radiance; for the moist air, washed
[2.490] with the rainy drop, holds back the lightning as it leaps up,
having thickened the wet cloud above; but as the dry part
opened from below, the fire ran through with a leap.
As a stone, bringing to birth a fiery travail upon a stone,
shoots forth a much-pressed, self-begotten stony fire,
[2.495] when the female, fire-born, is beaten against the male rock,
so the heavenly flame is kindled in the pressed
soot and clouds; and from the earthly smoke,
since it is born thin, the winds are brought to birth.
And another vapor, migrating from the waters of the earth,
[2.500] the sun, milking it face to face with his fiery rays,
drew up, dripping, in the scorching trail of the upper air;
and it, thickening, was in travail with a veil of clouds,
and, shaking its thickest body with a thinner vapor,
dissolving the soft cloud back again into a pouring of rain,
[2.505] it went back to its earlier watery, native substance.
Such is the fiery nature of the clouds, with which the thunderbolts too,
of like form, are in travail together with the lightnings.
And Zeus the father fought; sending against his adversary,
he hurled his accustomed fire, the spear-caster against lions,
[2.510] striking the varied-voiced rank of measureless throats
with the heavenly hurricane; and from the missile hurled by Zeus
one flash burned the boundless hands, one flash reduced
the countless shoulders to dust and the shifting tribes of serpents,
and the spear-points of the upper air tore apart his endless heads,
[2.515] and a spiral comet reduced Typhon's locks to dust,
hurling its shaggy-haired fire with an opposing spark,
and the heads blazed, and as the hair caught fire
silence set its seal upon the hissing curls
with the heavenly spark, and as the serpents withered,
[2.520] the venom-shooting drops of their jaws were dried.
And as the Giant fought, his eyes were turned to ash
by the sooty smoke, and on his snow-beaten faces
the cheeks were whitened with drops of snow.
And he had the four-yoked necessity of the four winds;
[2.525] for if he turned his unsteady eyes toward the east,
he received the fiery battle of neighboring Eurus;
if he looked toward the ill-winded slope of the Arcadian Bear,
he was struck by the unwarming frost of the wintry hurricane;
fleeing the cold blast of snow-beating Boreas,
[2.530] he was shaken by a missile both wet and smoking;
and looking toward the west, face to face with grim Dawn,
he shuddered at the tempestuous war of the evening,
hearing the sound of the whip of Zephyrus in spring;
and Notus, about the southern ridge of Capricorn,
[2.535] lashed the rims of the air, a hot wind,
bringing scorching heat to Typhon with the fire-bright vapor of burning.
If again rainy Zeus poured down a streaming shower,
Typhon bathed his whole skin in the toil-releasing drops,
cooling his hot limbs, exhausted by the thunderbolt.
[2.540] And as her son was scourged with the rocky missiles of hail-snow,
his nourishing mother was lashed;
and seeing upon the Giant's skin the witnesses of Fate,
the stone-fixed missiles and the watery point,
she besought the Titan Sun with downcast voice,
[2.545] begging for one light, hottest of all, so that with a warmer
fire he might loose the stone-hardened water of Zeus,
pouring upon snow-beaten Typhon a kindred gleam;
and she melted together with him as he was scourged; and seeing
the fire-crowned nation of his sky-high arms burning,
[2.550] she prayed for a wintry, stormy breeze to come
for a single dawn, so that with cold winds
it might quench the thirsty necessity of Typhon.
But the son of Cronus tipped the scales of the evenly matched battle.
And casting off with her hand her veil of trees,
[2.555] mother Earth grieved, watching the smoke
of Typhon's heads; and as the faces withered,
the knees of the earth-born were loosed; and, foretelling victory,
the trumpet of Zeus bellowed with thunderous crashes;
and he fell, drunk with the flaming missile of heaven,
[2.560] bearing a wound of war made without iron, Typhon
stretched on high, and casting his back upon mother Earth
he lay, spreading his serpent limbs in the dust,
spewing fire. And the son of Cronus laughed and taunted him,
pouring forth such words from a jesting throat:
[2.565] "A fine helper old Cronus found, Typhon;
Earth was hard put to bring forth a son, the great offspring of Iapetus;
sweet is the avenger of the Titans; and as I see,
the thunderbolts of the son of Cronus have quickly become powerless.
How long do you delay to dwell in the untrodden upper air,
[2.570] you lying scepter-bearer? The throne of Olympus awaits you;
receive the scepter of Zeus and his robes, god-fighting Typhon;
bring Astraeus up to heaven; and if you wish,
let Eurynome return to the upper air, and Ophion,
and Cronus, traveling in company with them both; and as you go
[2.575] with you to the many-patterned rim of the high-pathed stars,
let crafty Prometheus, escaped from his bonds, accompany you,
keeping the bold bird of heaven, the unsparing feaster
on his ever-youthful liver, as guide for the journey.
What more did you want, beyond the tumult, than to see
[2.580] Zeus and the Earth-shaker as attendants of your throne?
Zeus powerless, no longer scepter-bearer of Olympus,
stripped of thunder and clouds, and instead of the lightning,
instead of the most holy fire and the accustomed thunderbolt,
lifting a torch beside Typhon's bridal chamber,
[2.585] the chamber-servant of your captive wife Hera,
jealous of your bed, with a resentful eye;
and the Earth-shaker, his yoke-fellow, unyoked from the sea,
after the deep serving at your table,
bearing your cup in his thirsty hand instead of the trident.
[2.590] You have Ares as lackey, Apollo is your servant;
send the son of Maia as messenger to the Titans
to announce your power and your heavenly radiance;
and leave workman Hephaestus in his accustomed Lemnos,
so that he may fashion for your newly yoked bride
[2.595] a many-colored, fair-hued necklace for her neck, in gleaming array,
or the bright glitter of ground-treading sandals,
in which your consort delights, or make
another golden-shining Olympian throne, so that your golden-throned Hera
may laugh, possessing a mightier seat;
[2.600] and, keeping the earth-born Cyclopes as dwellers in Olympus,
fashion a new spark of a more warlike thunderbolt.
But Eros, who charmed your mind by guile with the hope of victory,
bind him in gold together with golden Aphrodite;
clamp in bronze Ares, the pilot of iron.
[2.605] The lightnings flee and do not abide the battle;
how did you fail to escape the unwarlike fire of a little lightning-flash?
Or why, hearing with your measureless ears,
did you fear the small rainy echo of thunder?
Who made you so feeble? Where are your spears?
[2.610] Where are the heads of your dogs? Where those gaping jaws of lions
and the earthy bellowing of your deep-voiced throats?
Where is the long-shadowed venom of your serpent hair?
No longer do you hiss with your circling snaky mane?
Where are the bellowings of your ox-mouths? Where the missile-casting arms
[2.615] of your hands, a sky-high headland?
No longer do you lash the spiral rims of the stars?
No longer do the jutting tusks of your boars whiten
a chin drenched with the foam-haired spray?
Where, I ask, are the dreadful grinning jaws of the raging bear?
[2.620] Yield to the heavenly ones, earth-bred creature; for with one hand
I have conquered the rank of your two hundred hands.
But let three-headed Sicily, clasping him about with her deep-cliffed hills,
receive the whole of Typhon,
his hundred heads pitiably crowned with dust.
[2.625] Nevertheless, though you had an overweening mind, though you leapt
against Olympus itself with fruitless hopes,
I shall build you, all-ill-fated one, an empty tomb, and last of all
beside your empty grave, reckless one, I shall carve this:
'This is the tomb of earth-born Typhon, whom once, as he scourged
[2.630] the upper air with rocks, the fire of the upper air burned up.'"
So he spoke, mocking the breathing corpse, the son of Earth.
And pouring forth a victory-echo for all-ruling Zeus,
Cilician Taurus bellowed with a stony trumpet,
and spiraling Cydnus danced with watery feet,
[2.635] crying Euoi for the victory of Zeus with a liquid roar,
pouring forth from midway his inhabited stream to Tarsus of like age.
But Earth, tearing open her rocky tunic,
grieved, laid low, and in place of the knife of mourning
she shore off her tree-hair, cut down by the winds,
[2.640] lopping the curls from her wooded head
as in the leaf-shedding month, and she tore her cheeks,
the ravines, and through the well-watered hollows
the river-tears of weeping Earth flowed loud-sounding.
And from Typhon's limbs the eddies of the tempest
[2.645] lash the waves, and rushing on to overwhelm
the merchant ships, they ride down the calm that no wave touched,
strangers not to the surges alone; but on the land
often the stormy dust, darting about,
deluged the upright, ripening fruit of the orchard.
[2.650] And the steward of the cosmos, Nature of matter reborn,
fixed fast the gaping hollow of the shattered earth,
and sealed again with the bond of indissoluble harmony
the island ridges severed from their haunts.
And there was no longer turmoil among the stars; for the sun
[2.655] set the maned Lion, who had swerved from the path
of the Zodiac, beside the Maiden of the corn-ears;
and Selene, reining back once more, fixed in place
the Crab, skipping upon the face of the heavenly Lion,
on his course opposite to unwarming Capricorn.
[2.660] But Zeus the son of Cronus was not forgetful of Cadmus
the minstrel; calling him, he uttered such a speech,
scattering the shadowy cloud of the airy darkness:
"Cadmus, with your pipe you have crowned the gates of Olympus;
I too honor your marriage with the heavenly Lyre;
[2.665] I shall make you son-in-law both to Ares and to Cytherea,
and have the gods as feasters at your earthly banquet.
I shall come to your house; what dearer thing will you know
than the king of the blessed ones touching your table?
And if you wish to escape the changeful waves of fortune,
[2.670] ferrying the course of a life in calm,
always beware of provoking Dircaean Ares,
Ares angered apart from his ambush; and by night,
stretching your eye toward the heavenly Dragon opposite,
take the fragrant serpent-stone and sacrifice upon the altar,
[2.675] calling upon Olympian Ophiuchus, burning in the fire
the many-pointed horn of an Illyrian stag,
so that you may escape whatever bitter things are ordained for your lot,
which the whirling spindle of Fate's necessity has spun,
if the threads of the Fates can be persuaded. But of your father
[2.680] Agenor, angry as he is, let the memory go, and about your unsettled
brothers do not be afraid; for, scattered apart,
they all still live, since Cepheus has settled the southern land,
the ruler of the Cephenes of Ethiopia,
and Thasos has come to Thasos, and about the ill-snowed ridge
[2.685] of high-crested Taurus Cilix is king over the Cilicians,
and Phineus has come, driven forth, to the Thracian floor;
him, glorying in deep-wealthy mines,
I bring as son-in-law to Oreithyia and Thracian Boreas,
the oracular bridegroom of garland-loving Cleopatra.
[2.690] And you, by the thread of Fate equal in weight to your brothers',
be king of the Cadmeians and leave your name to the citizens;
renounce the back-turning circles of your wandering path,
and refuse the unsettled track of the bull; for your sister,
by the Cyprian's yoking ordinance, Asterion has wedded,
[2.695] the Dictaean lord of Corybantic Ida.
And these things I myself shall prophesy, but the rest I shall leave
to Phoebus; and you, Cadmus, treading the axle of the earth's navel,
go to the speaking vales of Delphic Pytho."
So speaking, Zeus the son of Cronus sent away the wandering
[2.700] son of Agenor; and swiftly to the rim of the stars of the upper air
he turned his golden chariot, and Victory, mounting,
drove her father's horses with a heavenly whip.
And the god came to the vault a second time; and as he came
the high-necked Seasons opened the heavenly gates
[2.705] and crowned the upper air; and in their returning shape,
with Zeus victorious the gods returned to Olympus,
and exchanged the winged counterfeit of their faces.
And in soft tunic, without iron, Athena came to heaven,
having Ares as her Revel, and Victory was her Song;
[2.710] and Themis displayed the weapons of the dead Giant to witless Earth,
the mother of the Giants, as a terror for things to come,
hanging them high-fixed beside the gateway of Olympus.

## Book III


### In the third, seek the much-wandering ship of Cadmus, and the halls of Electra, and the hospitality of her table.

[3.1] The contest was ended when winter had passed; and showing the tip
of the light-bearing back of his blade on a cloudless baldric,
Orion rose, and no longer in the circling lake
were the frosty tracks of the sunken Bull bathed;
[3.5] no longer beside the slope of the rain-bearing, thirsty Bear
was the marble water walked with unwetted footsteps;
no longer did the Massagete, lashing his migrant house,
crossing the stream in the wheeled track of his wooden wagon,
score the watery furrows of the frozen Ister;
[3.10] for already the pregnant Season, forerunner of Zephyrus,
made the dewy breezes drunk with the splitting of flower-cups,
and the shrill swallow, sharer of men's hearths, herald of spring,
the chattering bird, twittering, stole away the sleep of dawn,
newly appeared, and the flower, naked from its fragrant covering,
[3.15] laughed, bathed in the life-giving dews
of spring. And beside the saffron-colored haunts of the Cilicians,
leaving the horned headland of high-crested Taurus,
Cadmus went early, when Dawn split the darkness.
And the sailing was seasonable; and as Cadmus hastened,
[3.20] the moorings of the ships were heaved up from the land;
and the high-headed mast, striking the upper air,
was fixed upright, and, gently lashing the sea,
a light wind hummed with the breaths of morning,
having an escorting murmur, and with squalls arching
[3.25] the swells this way and that, it broke off the dolphin's watery dance,
the tumbler of the silent calm.
And the plaited ropes whistled with a sharp hiss,
and as the wind hurried on the forestays groaned, and the straight-running
sail was bellied, forced by the pregnant breeze;
[3.30] the unstable swell was split, falling back, and the water foamed,
swollen, and as the ship hurried through the sea
the echo of the booming wave cried out about the keel;
and the tips of the rudder, as the brine was parted in its wake,
inscribed the arched, white-crested backs of the sea.
[3.35] And after the stormless turning-post of the tenth circling Dawn,
Cadmus, carried by the waveless breezes of Zeus,
cutting the Trojan passage of Helle who dwells in the waters,
was dragged by the bellowing strait from the snatching wind
to Samos, lying opposite the battle-rousing Scamander,
[3.40] neighbor of Sithonia, where still a maiden for Cadmus
Harmonia was being kept; and the prophetic breezes escorted the ship
to the Thracian shore of divine Rhea.
And seeing the flame of the unsleeping pine-torch of Samos,
the sailors, near the land, furled their sails rejoicing;
[3.45] and ferrying the ship close to the waveless anchorage,
they scored the windless water with the tips of their oars,
and put in beneath the shelter of the harbor; and the pierced,
rocky claw of the unbending shore received the cables of the ships,
and through the deepening bosom of the wet sand
[3.50] the crook-toothed bridles of the merchant ship were clamped fast
as Phaethon sank; and upon the beach the sailors
spread their unspread couches on the sand
after the evening meal; and to the heavy-laden eyes
of the men wandering Sleep brought his noiseless footstep.
[3.55] But when, beside the wing of purple, blazing Eurus,
beneath the rift of Teucrian Ida scored at its summit,
Dawn, watcher of harbors, appeared, spitting out the morning,
shining upon the black swell of the sea opposite,
then Cypris, in order to yoke Harmonia to a husband,
[3.60] stretched out the unnavigable back of the silent calm.
Already the bird of morning had cried, cutting the air,
and the well-helmeted ranks of the Corybants who dwell in the wilderness
beat out the Cnossian shield-brandishing leap of their dance
with measured steps; and as the loud-crashing ox-hide
[3.65] was struck in spirals by the rival iron,
the double-noted flute made melody, and, urging on the dancers,
crashed out a concordant tune with a bounding stroke.
And the oaks whispered, and the rocks bellowed,
and the raving woods were shaken with an intelligent shudder,
[3.70] and the Dryads cried out; and the circling bears rushed thick
into the dance with opposing leaps,
and lions with a roar from their rival throats
imitated the ritual cry of the mystic Cabeiri,
a cry with a sane madness; and for the goddess who loves her hounds,
[3.75] Hecate, as she was celebrated, the revel-flutes roared,
the unyoked flutes which the horn-carving art of Cronus invented.
And at the clashing din of the crash-loving Corybants
Cadmus woke early, and, entwined together, they too,
hearing the unsilent ox-hide of dawn,
[3.80] the Sidonian sailors, from their beds of fine shingle,
left the sea-beaten backs of their couch upon the shore.
And tracking the city, Cadmus the wayfarer wandered,
leaving the ship to his companions, hurrying away; and as he went
toward the house of Harmonia, Persuasion, the chamber-servant, met him,
[3.85] wearing the form of a mortal, and in the burden-bearing fold of her bosom,
like a toiling woman, having drawn a draught from the spring,
she lifted a silver, well-rounded pitcher in her arm,
messenger of things to come, since by accustomed rite
they sprinkle the bridegroom before marriage with life-giving baths.
[3.90] And she was near the city, where in hollow troughs
women trample with much-leaping feet
the dirty row of tangled robes heaped one upon another,
with rival feet. And from the tips of his soles
up to his head veiled in a dark cloud,
[3.95] Persuasion led Cadmus through the unmarked city,
seeker of the hall of the guest-receiving king,
escort of his path at the nod of the Paphian; and there a bird,
perched beneath the soft, grey-eyed shelter of an olive,
a crow, opening wide her oracular, greedy mouth,
[3.100] rebuked the young man, because toward Harmonia his bride
he was going, a sluggish wayfarer, with sparing bridal foot,
and shaking her wings she cried out a mocking speech:
"Cadmus is a fool, or he is a stranger to the Loves;
swift Eros knows no slow bridegroom; be gracious, Persuasion,
[3.105] your Cadmus delays while Aphrodite hurries.
Hot Eros calls you; why, bridegroom, do you travel sluggishly?
Sweet is he who was neighbor to lovely Adonis,
sweet is he who dwells in a homeland with fields adjoining the daughters of Byblos.
I have erred: you never saw the stream of Adonis, you never beheld
[3.110] the land of Byblos, where the house of the Graces is, where dances
Assyrian Cytherea, and not Athena who flees the marriage-bed.
You have as escort Persuasion, the nurse of the Loves,
who delights in weddings, not Artemis; cease from your labors,
enjoy Harmonia and leave Europa to the bull;
[3.115] hasten, and Electra will receive you, from whose hands
take aboard, yes indeed, the bridal freight of the Loves,
entrusting the merchandise of love to Aphrodite,
and receive the daughter of Cypris, kept for your bridal chamber,
another Cypris; and you will praise the crow,
[3.120] and call me the bridal bird, the prophet of the Loves.
I have erred; but Cypris breathed upon me; for from the Paphian
I prophesy your marriage, even if I am the bird of Athena."
So speaking, she sealed her chattering mouth with witnessing silence.
But when, as he walked the public circles of the road,
[3.125] the all-receiving court of the king appeared to him from afar,
raised high upon columns, then, stretching out to Cadmus
her finger, the intelligent witness of an answering voice,
Persuasion showed him the house with her silent herald,
many-colored and gleaming; and the goddess plunged into the upper air,
[3.130] changed in appearance, darting through it on winged sandal.
And Cadmus surveyed the house with wandering eye,
the skilled work of Hephaestus, which once for the bride Electra
the laboring craftsman of Lemnos made with Myrinaean art,
bearing many cunning devices. Of the newly founded hall
[3.135] the threshold was bronze, well-wrought; and on either side of the door
the posts of the richly carved gateways stretched long,
and the crest was rounded with a bossed head
in the middle of the roof; and the backs of the stone-paved wall
were fixed firm, set in white gypsum,
[3.140] from the threshold to the inmost recess. And near the court an orchard,
abundant, was weighed down with the dewy fruit of its plants,
four acres before the house; and spreading its male leaves
the palm pledged its desire to the female palm;
and the pear of splendid fruit, grown together with a pear of like age,
[3.145] whispered at dawn, and, twining with its clusters,
lashed the neighboring bush of the rich olive;
beside the laurel that refuses the winds of spring
the myrtle leaves were shaken, and the fragrant breeze
fanned at dawn the hair of the fair-leaved cypress;
[3.150] and from the sweet-bearing fig and the juicy pomegranate
the reddening fruit blossomed beside the wine-dark fruit
that grew near it, and apple flowered beside neighboring apple;
and many tree-borne letters were embroidered
on the wise Phoebean leaves of the tear-loving hyacinths;
[3.155] and as Zephyrus breathed through the plant-nourishing garden,
Apollo, unsated in his longings, stretched a restless eye,
and, seeing the young man's plant shaken by the breezes,
trembled, remembering the discus, lest even among the leaves
the jealous wind should once again grudge the boy,
[3.160] if truly Apollo once, seeing him gasping in the dust,
wept with eyes that never weep,
and the flowery pattern gave shape to the tears of Phoebus,
inscribing on the hyacinth a self-bidden cry of woe.
Such was the well-shaded orchard; and near it a spring
[3.165] with two mouths, whence the dwellers had their drink, whence the gardener
channeled from a trench the crooked water, split many ways,
to one plant after another; and a stream, as though from Phoebus,
hummed softly at the foot of the laurel as it made its music.
And many a well-made golden youth stood, propping
[3.170] his foot on a stone, stretching out before the feasters
the after-dinner radiance of the evening torch;
and many ranks of counterfeit hounds, in the artful silence
of their matching limbs, with the wrought gapings
of a grinning throat, stood intelligent near the doors
[3.175] on this side and that, and, neighbor to a silver dog,
a golden dog barked along with swelling throat,
fawning on a familiar man; and as Cadmus passed by
it sent forth the stranger-greeting Echo of a mimic bark,
and wagged the image of a wrought, affectionate tail.
[3.180] While Cadmus still, rolling the eyes of his well-turned face,
was measuring the garden of the lords,
and the carvings and the whole beauty of the painted hall,
gazing at the bright glitter of the stone quarried from the mines,
meanwhile, leaving the assembly and the quarrels of the people,
[3.185] radiant, seated upon the back of a high-crested horse,
Emathion, who held Thracian Samos, the seat of Ares,
came to the royal house of his mother Electra,
he who then ruled alone, holding his brother's
reins of sovereignty, since, leaving his ancestral soil,
[3.190] Dardanus had settled the floor of the land opposite,
marking out well-towered Dardania, the city named for him,
tracing the dust of Ida with the furrow of the plow;
and drinking the stream of Heptaporus and the streams of Rhesus,
he left his brother the inheritance to hold, and the scepter of the Cabeiri.
[3.195] Dardanus, brother of Emathion, whom the bed of Zeus
had sown, whom Justice as nurse tended, when, taking
the scepter of Zeus and the robes of Time and the rod of Olympus,
the Seasons ran to the house of queen Electra,
foretelling the indissoluble sovereignty of the Ausonians;
[3.200] and they nursed the infant, and by the unswerving oracle of Zeus
the boy, springing up in the flower of ever-renewed youth,
left the house of Electra, when the pouring of the third rain,
towered up in waves, deluged the foundations of the cosmos.
For at the first roaring snowstorm Ogygus made trial of it,
[3.205] cutting the upper air through the sky-high water,
when the whole earth lay hidden, flooded over, and the peaks of the rock
of Thessaly were covered, and on high the Pythian summit,
the rock near the clouds, was awash with the snowy stream.
The second rain was when the ill-snowed water hid the rim
[3.210] of the circling earth beneath a raging flood,
when Deucalion alone, traveling with Pyrrha his age-mate,
while mortals perished, cutting in a hollow chest
the back-whirling flood of the unfathomable snowstorm,
was ferried, a spiraling sailor, through the watery air.
[3.215] And the third rain of Zeus was when it deluged the seat of the earth
and hid the crags, and the unwetted backs
of the Sithonian hill, even of Athos itself, were covered;
then, cleaving the flood of the high-pathed snowstorm,
Dardanus set foot upon neighboring ancient Ida.
[3.220] His brother Emathion, then ruler of the snowy land
of Sithonia, leaving the heavy-roaring assembly,
marveled at the man's form, since the youth born in him
blended manliness and beauty in a yoked shape;
he marveled at such a form; for of manifest lords
[3.225] the eyes are self-appointed, voiceless heralds.
And taking him, he entertained him, and together with laboring Electra
he adorned the varied dishes of a rich table,
fawning on the stranger with friendly, blameless speech,
setting much before him. But he, bending his neck bowed to the ground,
[3.230] drew his unenchanted eyes away from the handmaids,
and scarcely feasted; and as the guest-loving lady
sat opposite, with a face that kept its secret,
he stretched a modest, chaste hand to the table.
And as they feasted, one after another in close succession
[3.235] the breathing reed of Corybantic Ida crashed;
and from the many-holed passage, with a leaping of hands,
the dancing fingers beat out a concordant tune
of the bellowing flute, pressing out the song;
and, clashing a concordant echo with rolling shakes,
[3.240] the booming cymbals crashed together with double bronze
to the united reeds; and beneath the plectrum even
the upright string of the seven-toned lyre quivered.
But when after the meal he had his fill of the Bistonian flute,
approaching the throne of the queen who asked him, eager to learn,
[3.245] Cadmus, letting go the sting of his sea-wandering care,
told his radiant lineage, and belched forth a row of ever-flowing words
like a fountain from his opened throat:
"Dear lady, why do you ask me so much about the blood of my lineage?
I liken the generation of short-lived mortals to leaves;
[3.250] some leaves the raving winds have poured down upon the earth
when the season of autumn stands in, others at the time
of spring the tree-clad woods tend in bloom;
so the brief-lived generation of mortals: one is subdued
by destruction, having ridden the course of life, another still flourishes,
[3.255] only to yield to another; since, creeping back to be recaptured,
time flows from grey to new, taking shape again.
But I shall tell my far-famed lineage, blessed with children:
there is a city, glorious Argos, the horse-loving foundation of Hera,
at the navel of the island of Tantalus' son; there a man sowed
[3.260] a daughter of fair maidenhood with female-bearing seed,
Inachus, a citizen of famed name in the Inachian land,
a temple-warden, and the dreadful rites of the city-holding goddess
he pondered deep, god-speaking, with mystic art,
the elder-born; and Zeus, champion of gods, leader of the stars,
[3.265] he refused to have as son-in-law, keeping his reverence for Hera,
when the heifer of bull's nature, her face transformed,
Io was driven into the country herd as a pasture-mate,
and Hera set over the heifer a sleepless herdsman,
many-spotted Argus, adorned with unerring eyes,
[3.270] spy upon the ox-horned wedlock of Zeus,
of Zeus unseen, and the maiden went to pasture
trembling at the eyes of the many-orbed herdsman;
and Io, her body scored by the limb-devouring gadfly,
inscribed the swell of the Ionian sea with wandering hoof;
[3.275] she came even to Egypt, my stream — which the citizens
have named the Nile, a name that bears its meaning, because upon the earth
from year to year, borne as a watery husband,
it wraps her in new silt with its muddy flood —
she came to Egypt, where, after her bovine shape,
[3.280] changing the likeness of her divine horn,
she became the fruit-bearing goddess; and when the fruit is kindled
of Egyptian Demeter, my horn-drawing Io,
the vapor spirals along in company with the fragrant winds.
There she bore Epaphus to Zeus, because the divine husband
[3.285] had touched the unblemished bosom of the Inachian heifer
with love-maddened hands; and from the god-begotten father,
from Epaphus, came Libya; and traveling to the bridal chamber of Libya
Poseidon came as a migrant as far as Memphis,
tracking the maiden daughter of Epaphus, and then the girl,
[3.290] receiving the dweller of the deep as a land-going traveler,
bore Belus, the Libyan Zeus, the plowman of my lineage.
And the new oracle of Zeus Asbystes, answering
the Chaonian dove, the thirsty sands cry aloud,
prophetic; and in fifth place, equal in number,
[3.295] father Belus sowed a further generation of children,
Phineus and Phoenix who left his city, together with whom, flourishing,
a citizen of alternating cities, wandering Agenor,
of unsettled life, my father, held his course
to Thebes after Memphis, to Assyria after Thebes,
[3.300] and wise Aegyptus, dweller in the Egyptian land,
father of dreadful offspring, father of many, who with male-born seed
sowed the short-lived flocks of so many sons,
and Danaus who left his homeland, who armed the female race
against the male stock, stretching out the bridal sword, when the bridal chambers
[3.305] were reddened with blood as the weddings were butchered,
and with hidden swords upon the iron-bearing beds
a female Enyo put the naked male Ares to sleep;
but the deed of the evil bridal did not please Hypermnestra;
rather, thrusting aside the ordinances of her father, cruel to a son-in-law,
[3.310] she entrusted her father's word to the tempest of the air,
and kept her hand pure and bloodless of iron;
and the marriage of the two was holy. And our sister,
just in her bloom, a bold wandering bull carried off,
if truly it was a bull; but I do not know how to believe
[3.315] that oxen desire the wedlock of women.
And Agenor sent me in company with my brothers
tracking our sister and the savage ravisher of the bride,
the bull, counterfeit sailor of the waveless sea,
for whose sake I come here, wandering without rest."
[3.320] Such things Cadmus told within the hall of fine pipes,
pouring speech from his eloquent throat,
telling of the child-driving sting of his father's threat
and the lying bull-traveler of the Tyrian surges,
the untraceable ravisher of the Sidonian bride whose fate was unknown.
[3.325] And Electra, hearing, cried out a comforting speech:
"Stranger, your sister and your homeland and your father
give over to the whirl of Lethe and to forgetful silence;
for so the life of mortals is carried on, having one toil
after another, because all whom a mortal belly has borne
[3.330] have been enslaved to the necessity of Fate's spindle;
I am witness, even if I am a queen, if ever I too
was one of those Pleiades, whose mother once
brought forth female birth-pangs within her womb,
seven times calling Eileithyia to her childbed
[3.335] to lighten the sting of alternating birth —
I am witness; for I dwell in a house far from my fathers,
having neither Sterope, nor Maia my companion, nor Celaeno
my sister near me as a sharer of my hearth; nor in the bosom
of my sister Taygete did I take up Lacedaemon, the rejoicing boy,
[3.340] in the twofold embrace of a child-tending arm;
nor do I see the house of Alcyone near, nor hear
the heart-delighting tale of Merope herself as she speaks.
And besides this I lament still more: for, just in his bloom,
my son who left his homeland, when he had the down of his first beard,
[3.345] Dardanus, migrated to the bosom of the Idaean land,
and gave to Phrygian Simois the first-fruits of his hair,
drinking the alien water of the Thymbraean river;
and beside the boundary of Libya my father still labors
with crushed shoulders, old Atlas bowed down,
[3.350] lifting the seven-zoned hollow of the upper air.
Nevertheless, having suffered so much, I feed a comforting hope
on the promises of Zeus, that together with my other sisters
I shall go from the Atlantean earth to the vault of the stars,
having heaven for my home, and I shall be the seventh star.
[3.355] Do you too soothe your cares; unforeseen,
rolling upon you the whirl of life-wandering fortune,
the dreadful thread of immovable Fate has set its seal;
endure to bear, exile, the unbending bond of necessity,
feeding a higher hope, forerunner of things to come,
[3.360] if first-sown Io rooted your stock,
if from Libya you received the Poseidonian blood of your lineage;
stay among strangers, like Dardanus, dwelling in a house,
inhabiting a foreign city, as your father Agenor did,
as did Danaus, your father's brother; since another man too,
[3.365] house-carrying, having the inspired stock of Io,
a heavenly shoot fallen from Zeus, Byzas by name,
drinking the seven-mouthed water of self-born Nile,
settled the neighboring land, where beside the Bosporus shore
the water is drawn that the Inachian heifer crossed,
[3.370] setting a light for all the neighbors, when he bent aslant
the neck of that unbending, maddened bull."
She spoke, lulling the cares of Agenor's son.
And Zeus the father sent forth the long-winged son of Maia
to the house of Electra as a swift messenger, so that to Cadmus
[3.375] she might give Harmonia for the harmony of wedlock,
the maiden migrant from heaven, whom in secret love
with Aphrodite Ares the marriage-thief had sown;
and the mother, ashamed of the infant, self-announcer of a hidden bed,
did not rear her, but from her heavenly bosom
[3.380] brought the girl, nestled in her arm, at the breast,
to the nursing house of Electra, whose fresh childbirth the Seasons,
midwives of the childbed, had brought forth, whose thick breasts,
still swelling, gushed forth their white moisture;
and receiving the bastard daughter by an equal ordinance,
[3.385] she joined her at a single breast with Emathion, her age-mate,
the newly born girl, and with a love-sharing purpose
she lifted the twofold brood in her nursing arm.
And as some wild lioness within the thicket, mother of twins,
shaggy, with the dews of her milk,
[3.390] fits her twin breasts to both her cubs
and gives a teat shared between her twin children,
and, licking their skin and their still hairless necks,
with equal care rears the brood of one age —
so then with child-tending, loving breast she nursed them,
[3.395] tending the double pair of newborn children;
often the infant son, companion to the girl of his own age,
turning this way and that at the moisture of her rich breast,
she embraced in the loving hollow of her outspread hand;
and on her knees she seated the male child together with the female girl,
[3.400] spreading her thigh wide open beside the neighboring thigh,
widening the fold of her deepening tunic;
and, crooning to her children a melody that charms to sleep,
she lulled them both to slumber with a nurse's art,
spreading her arm beneath them, yoked to the children's necks,
[3.405] and she made her own knee their bed, and on their twofold
faces she waved the edge of her cloak, darting it to and fro,
cooling the children, and a manufactured breeze quenched
the onset of the heat, pouring an answering breath.
While Cadmus was seated near the prudent queen,
[3.410] meanwhile, escaping the gatekeeper on his thievish foot,
unforeseen, untraceable, Hermes went into the house
in the likeness of a youth; and about his rosy face
the trailing sweep of his uncovered hair hung loose,
abundant, and, crowning the tips of his freshly haired cheek,
[3.415] a thin circle of growing down was reddening,
newly sprung, running round on either side; and like a herald
he lifted his accustomed rod; and with unseen face,
adorned with clouds from head to the tips of his feet,
he came upon the finished dinner of the rich table;
[3.420] nor did Emathion see him close by, nor even
Harmonia herself and Cadmus, sharer of the hearth, nor the chorus
of servant-men; but to god-fearing Electra alone appeared
Hermes of the varied speech; and taking her into the recess of the house,
unforeseen, he conversed with her and spoke with a human voice:
[3.425] "My mother's sister, bedfellow of Zeus, hail, most blessed
of all women hereafter, since the son of Cronus
keeps the sovereignty of the cosmos for your children,
and your stock shall govern all the cities of the earth,
the bride-gifts of your love, and together with my mother Maia
[3.430] may you flash among the seven-pathed stars in Olympus,
running with Helios, rising together with Selene.
I am Hermes, child-loving lady, kinsman of your race,
the long-winged messenger of the immortals, and from heaven
your consort, the high-ruling god of strangers, has sent me
[3.435] concerning your god-fearing guest; but do you too
obey your son of Cronus, and send your daughter Harmonia
to go without bride-price as companion to Cadmus, her age-mate,
and do a favor to Zeus and the blessed ones; for the stranger
saved the immortals, all of them, in their affliction, by his singing;
[3.440] this man came to the aid of your husband in his toil,
this man spread a day of freedom over Olympus.
Let not your daughter charm you with her mother-loving lament;
but give her in wedlock to Cadmus, averter of evil,
obeying the son of Cronus and Ares and Cytherea."

## Book IV


### Tracking the fourth, you will see, over the sea, Harmonia sailing in company with Cadmus, her age-mate.

[4.1] So speaking, Hermes of the fair rod went to Olympus,
darting on light wings, and as his sandals stretched out,
his foot rowed the air, running with the winds.
And not a Thracian woman, the pilot of the Cabeiri,
[4.5] but one holding Zeus in reverence, to the unwed daughter of Ares
whirling her upright fingers in an intelligent beat,
called Harmonia with the artful pattern of a voice;
and she, stretching the answering gleam of her eyelids,
saw the unsmiling circle of Electra's eye,
[4.10] and the deep, newly rushing mass of unspoken grief
her silent cheeks, as heralds, foretold.
The maiden leapt up and followed her mother
into the high-built house; and the mother, unfolding
the many-sealed bolt of the seven-chambered room,
[4.15] crossed the stone threshold; and with a purpose of tender love
the knees of the frightened bride trembled unsteadily;
and she lifted the rosy-armed hand of her daughter,
grasping it with her snowy hand; and you would quickly have said
you saw white-armed Hera holding Hebe by the hand.
[4.20] But when, treading the floor in purple sandals,
she had entered the innermost circles of the gleaming hall,
the daughter of Atlas seated the grieving maiden
on a well-made throne; and in turn she herself,
sitting in a row upon a silver-shining seat,
[4.25] declared the message of the son of Cronus to the disobedient girl,
and taught her everything that in mortal-seeming shape,
changed in appearance like a youth, the Olympian herald had said.
But the maiden, hearing of a much-wandering wedlock
and an unsettled husband, a migrant beneath her roof,
[4.30] refused to have a stranger, and all that from Zeus the father
cattle-driving Hermes, host of Cadmus, had said;
and she wished rather for a husband of her own city, so that she might escape
the house-carrying yoke of a wedlock without gifts;
and clasping in her palm the downcast hand of her nurse,
[4.35] dripping with tears, she broke into a speech of many reproaches:
"My mother, what has befallen you, that you have disowned your daughter?
Do you thus join your daughter to a newly arrived man?
What gift will the sailor ever put into my hands?
Will he give me the stern-cables of his ship as bride-gifts?
[4.40] I did not know, child-loving lady, that you were keeping your daughter,
a maiden who leaves her homeland, for a wandering wedlock.
Other suitors, better men, are mine, citizens;
what need was there to have without bride-price some naked husband,
a foreigner wandering about, fleeing his father?
[4.45] But, you will say, he came to the aid of your son of Cronus, your husband;
how did he not receive an Olympian prize from Zeus, if indeed
he fought in the front for Olympus, as you say, and why did Hera, bedfellow of Zeus,
not join the maiden Hebe to the helper of Zeus?
Your husband, high-ruling Zeus, has no need of Cadmus;
[4.50] may the son of Cronus be gracious; divine Hermes lied
about Zeus the father; and I do not know how to believe
that he left furious Ares, the pilot of tumult,
and called a mortal man as fellow-combatant in his contest,
he who rules the cosmos and the upper air. Ah, great wonder,
[4.55] so many Titans he locked in the pit,
and he had need of Cadmus, in order to destroy one alone.
You know the twin, kindred bed of my fathers;
Zeus my forefather had the bed of his sister Hera,
keeping the ordinance of the bridal chamber within the family; and both
[4.60] Ares and Cytherea, mounters of a single bed,
the parents of Harmonia, were born of one father,
tending a couch of common blood — ah, the necessity of it:
sisters have a brother, and I a husband who left his homeland."
As she spoke, her mother, distressed, washed away
[4.65] the rain of her mourning eye; and in division of purpose
she pitied Harmonia, and yet shrank from the threat of Zeus.
But, binding her body tight with the mind-bewitching cestus,
the cunning girdle, guile-devising Aphrodite,
and putting on her skin the love-robes of Persuasion,
[4.70] entered the fragrant maiden-chamber of Harmonia;
and, changing the pattern of her heavenly face,
she made her body like that of Peisinoe, a neighboring girl,
as though she longed for Cadmus, and as if with some hidden sickness
sending a faint radiance from her pale face,
[4.75] she drove away the handmaids; and sitting beside her alone,
as though ashamed, she uttered a guileful speech:
"Happy one, what a fine wanderer you have in your house,
what a suitor you have, most blessed one; what a husband
you shall see, full of desire, whom no other maiden has won;
[4.80] truly he carries blood from an Assyrian homeland,
where the stream of graceful Adonis is; for full of desire
is this youth, from Lebanon, where Cytherea dances.
I have erred: perhaps no earthly belly bore Cadmus,
but he has the race of Zeus, and has lied about his stock.
[4.85] I know whence this Olympian youth comes; if ever Titanian Atlas
sowed Electra, sister to Maia,
then Harmonia's husband has come as her cousin, wingless Hermes,
nor is he sung in vain as Cadmilus; for his heavenly
form alone he has changed, and still he is called Cadmus.
[4.90] But if he is some other god wearing a mortal-seeming shape,
perhaps Emathion has entertained Phoebus in his hall.
Maiden of whom all speak, you are more blessed than your mother
in desire, in an Olympian wedlock; ah, great wonder:
in secret wise Zeus wedded Electra,
[4.95] openly Apollo himself woos Harmonia;
happy she whom the far-shooter has desired; if only Apollo
would hasten to have the wedlock of Peisinoe herself;
I shall never refuse Phoebus, as Daphne did,
I shall not imitate Harmonia's mind; rather, leaving
[4.100] my inheritance and my house and the parents I love,
I shall go with Apollo as his companion to wedlock.
I remember once such a form; for following my father
into the oracular house,
I saw the Pythian image, and when I saw your wanderer,
[4.105] I thought I was gazing here again upon the statue of Phoebus.
But you will say that Phoebus has a gold-gleaming headband;
Cadmus is golden through his whole body; and if you wish,
take all my slaves, without number, and in exchange for him
I shall put into your hands all my gold and silver,
[4.110] and give you royal robes of the Tyrian sea
and, if you wish, my father's house; if it is lawful to say,
take my father and my mother, take all
my handmaids, and give me only this one man as husband.
Maiden, why do you tremble? You shall cross the sea in spring
[4.115] sailing the narrow water, and with lovely Cadmus
I would cross the boundless Ocean in winter.
Do not tremble at the heavy-roaring swell of the sea, because
Aphrodite, daughter of the sea, will keep safe at sea the freight of Eros.
Maiden, you have Cadmus; do not seek the throne of Olympus.
[4.120] I desire neither the glittering Erythraean stone of the Indians,
nor the all-golden plant of the Hesperides, nor does the amber
of the Heliades delight me as much as one mist of night,
in which this wanderer would embrace Peisinoe.
And if you trace your descent from Ares, from Aphrodite,
[4.125] your mother, steward of weddings, has found you a worthy wedding.
Never have I gazed upon so great a flower; for of its own accord
nature has given Cadmus the gift of springtime;
I saw a rose-fingered palm, I saw an eye
dripping sweet honey; and on his love-breeding face
[4.130] the cheeks redden like roses, and, gleaming at the tips,
two-colored, the traces of his snowy feet glitter,
purpling in the middle, and his arms are like a lily.
I shall pass over his locks, so as not to provoke Phoebus
by reproaching the color of the hyacinth of Therapne.
[4.135] If ever, rolling the heart-delighting circle of his glance,
he made his eyes quiver, the whole Moon shone
with glittering light, and if ever, shaking his curls,
he bared his neck, the star Phosphorus appeared.
Of his lips I shall be silent; but his mouth, the ferry of the Loves,
[4.140] Persuasion, dwelling there, pours forth a honey-sweet voice,
and the Graces pervade his whole body; and the tips of his hands
I am ashamed to judge, lest I put white milk to shame.
Receive me, wretched, as a sharer of your hearth; and touching
the young man's right hand and handling his tunic,
[4.145] I might find comforting remedies for my hidden sickness;
let me see his bare neck, and as he sits let me press
his finger as though against my will, and through my bosom
let me die when only, loosening his unsparing hand,
he squeezes the free curve of both my breasts,
[4.150] fixing his closed lips upon my lips,
delighting me with the lightest kisses; and still embracing
the young man I shall cross even to Acheron
of my own accord, and beside much-wept Lethe I shall tell
my sweet doom even to the dead, so that I may rouse
[4.155] pity together with envy in unenchanted Persephone;
and I shall teach those kisses breathing of the Graces
to the women unhappy in love, as many as the lovely fire has killed,
and I shall make the corpses jealous, if beside Lethe
women still envy the Paphian after death.
[4.160] I shall follow, if you wish, as a companion too, and I do not fear
the wandering I have never learned. Pitiless one, become Cadmus'
wedded wife; let me be the chamber-servant,
a handmaid to both, to Harmonia and to her husband.
But again I fear you, even if you long to hide it,
[4.165] lest ever, because of the bed, I rouse in you anger and jealousy,
because, though she is a goddess and leader of the upper air, Hera
grudges the mortal bastard wives of Zeus;
she was angry with Europa and she afflicted unsettled Io;
nor did she let goddesses go; and when the mother was angry,
[4.170] Ares drove off pregnant Leto in her birth-pangs.
If jealousy does not hold you, so that I may find a remedy for my longings,
for a single dawn grant me this husband,
yes, I beg you, and for one course of night; but if you grudge it,
tear me apart with your own hand, so that I may find some rest
[4.175] from so great a fire, never soothed, that night and day
I tend in my inmost heart, feeding upon my mind."
She spoke, and drove Harmonia, who fled the bed, with her cestus
to the voyage, having goaded the girl to obedience with desire.
And she, turning her mind about with a twofold purpose,
[4.180] longed to have the stranger and yet wished to dwell in her homeland,
and spoke some such words, her mind lashed by the sting:
"Alas, who has changed my heart? Farewell, homeland;
rejoice, Emathion and all my house; caves of the Cabeiri,
rejoice, and Corybantic peaks; no longer do I see
[4.185] the nocturnal revel-torch of my mother's Hecate.
Farewell, maidenhood; I am wedded to sweet Cadmus;
Artemis, do not be angry; I shall cross the swell of the grey-green sea.
But you will say the sea is pitiless; I care nothing
for the raging surge; let my mother's water receive
[4.190] Harmonia and Cadmus, perishing together.
I follow the young man, proclaiming the marriages of goddesses;
if my husband carries me sailing toward the east,
I shall tell Dawn of the desire of Orion,
and I shall recall the bridal chamber of Cephalus; and if ever I come
[4.195] to the misty west, Selene of Latmus, having suffered the same
for Endymion, will herself comfort me."
Such things the girl cried with mind-wandering cares,
uncontrollable, her mind torn by the lovely sting;
and with the plaintive drops of her drenched face
[4.200] she kissed Electra's hand and eyes and the tips of her feet
and her head and breast, and the face of Emathion
with shame-faced lips, brother though he was,
and she embraced all the handmaids; and lamenting,
she kissed the wrought circles of the richly carved doors,
[4.205] breathless things, and her couch and the walls of her maiden-chamber;
and taking up the dust of her father's house the girl pressed it to her.
And then, holding her by the hand, beneath the witnessing escort of the gods,
Electra brought Harmonia, without bride-price, as she was owed, to Cadmus,
having wiped the streaming rain from her face.
[4.210] And taking the daughter of Cypris, the traveler of the morning
left the house with an old handmaid, the queen's gift,
having a servant as escort through the city as far as the sea.
And seeing the maiden by the shore, high above the sea,
following the stranger, seething with fiery necessity,
[4.215] Mene, reproaching Cypris, cried out in mockery:
"Cypris, do you arm yourself even against your own children, and has the sting
of the Loves not spared even the fruit of your own birth-pangs?
Her whom you bore you did not pity, pitiless one? And what other
girl will you pity, when you drag your own race into desire?
[4.220] Wander you too, dear one; child of the Paphian, tell your mother:
Phaethon mocks you, and Selene shames me.
Harmonia, ill in love, leaving your homeland, leave to Mene
her bridegroom Endymion, and tend the wanderer Cadmus,
endure to bear an equal toil, and in your love-breeding care
[4.225] remember, you too in your suffering, desire-stricken Selene."
As she spoke, Cadmus, urging his companions over the shore,
loosed the homeward cables of the straight-running ship
and bellied his sail with the stormless breeze of spring;
and fastening the two ropes to a peg,
[4.230] he escorted through the swell the timber-built chariot of the sea,
balancing on either side the sheets of the ship, and like a Phoenician,
knowing the ancestral, accustomed art of seamanship,
he stayed beside the rudder; and on the stern he seated
Harmonia herself, the untouched girl, his fellow-voyager,
[4.235] seeing strangers aboard the ship, whom the sailors then
received as paying passengers. And quietly a man sailing with them,
looking at the two, mingled his voice with wonder:
"This sailor is Eros himself; for it is no cause for blame
that Aphrodite of the sea should bear a sailor as her son;
[4.240] but little Eros has arrow and bow and lifts a torch,
adorned with wings; and I see
a Sidonian ship. Perhaps guileful, thievish Ares
sits in the stern, carrying into Lebanon
Aphrodite sailing westward from Thrace.
[4.245] Be gracious, mother of Eros, and with waveless calm
send me a favoring wind upon the stormless sea, your mother."
Such secret words the man sailing with them spoke,
stretching a sidelong, answering glance toward Harmonia.
And Cadmus completed his voyage to Hellas, having in his heart
[4.250] the sting of the Phoebean oracle, and the inspired word of Zeus,
ever urging him, ran through his unerring ears.
There, stretching out newer gifts to the Panhellenes,
he eclipsed the life-bringing art of Danaus, beginner of evils,
water-bearing Danaus; for what more did he find for the Achaeans,
[4.255] if once, with bronze earth-digging mattocks,
hollowing the flowing cavity of the chasm in the ground,
he ended the thirst of Argos, and to the dust-covered citizens
gave a wet foothold for their feet, water as a guest-gift,
a small stream from the flanks of the deep? But he, bringing
[4.260] to all Hellas gifts endowed with voice and mind,
fashioned instruments of the tongue that speak in concert, and, mixing
in rows the vowels with the consonants of a harmony grown together,
he rounded out the written pattern of a silence that is never silent,
having learned the ancestral rites of the divine art,
[4.265] a migrant of Egyptian wisdom, when Agenor,
dweller in Memphis, founded hundred-gated Thebes;
and, milking the unspeakable milk of the most holy books,
scoring the slanting scratches of a hand that travels backward,
he wrote crooked circles; and, revealing the Euian rites
[4.270] of Egyptian Dionysus, the wanderer Osiris,
he was taught the initiations of the nocturnal mystic art,
and cried out the magic hymn in a secret, raving voice,
with a thin ululation; and the carved devices
graven on the deepening wall of the stone-hewn temple
[4.275] he learned as a boy; and with much-considering purpose
measuring the fiery rim of the numberless stars
and learning the course of Helios and the measure of the land,
bending the interlaced fingers of his well-whirling hand,
he understood the restless circles of returning Selene,
[4.280] how with three spirals she changes her turning shape,
new-shining, at the half-month, glittering with her whole face,
and how, joining with and flowing away from the male fire
of her father the sun, she is born with a motherless gleam,
stealing from her father a self-begotten, ever-regrowing fire.
[4.285] Such was he; and swiftly, treading the cities of Achaea,
he left seafaring behind; and bringing together with Harmonia
the swarm of his sea-wandering companions, now travelers on land,
with horse-chariots and burden-bearing wagons,
he marched to the prophetic shrine; there, reaching
[4.290] Delphi, the navel-axle of never-silent Pytho,
he asked for prophecy, and the intelligent Pythian axle,
self-sounding all around, gave oracle in a hollow voice:
"Cadmus, in vain, wanderer, you wind your much-wandering track;
you seek a bull that no bovine belly bore,
[4.295] you seek a bull that no mortal knows how to overtake;
renounce Assyria, and as leader of your journey
tend an earthly cow; do not seek the bull of Olympus;
the bridegroom of Europa no herdsman knows how to drive;
he pursues no pasture, no meadow, obeys no goad,
[4.300] is commanded by no whip; he knows how to lift
the soft yoke-straps of Cypris and not the yoke-band of plows,
he stretches his neck to Eros alone and not to Demeter.
But letting go the longing for your Tyrian father,
stay among foreigners, and of your Egyptian Thebes,
[4.305] your homeland, found a city named alike, where, falling,
the divine cow will lay to rest her heavy-kneed foot."
So speaking, he lulled the raving voice of the tripods,
and the crags of Parnassus were shaken as they heard
the neighboring Phoebean echo, and in its oracular stream
[4.310] the inspired water of intelligent Castalia bubbled.
The god spoke; and Cadmus withdrew and beside the temple
saw a cow, and went along with her as she walked; and following
the slow-obedient hoof of the unwandering cow, the men,
his eager servants, made their journey
[4.315] sparing and equal in measure; whence then Cadmus, traveling,
saw the conspicuous holy place where the Pythian,
perceiving the nine-circled coil of the mountain serpent's spine,
had put to sleep the death-bearing venom of the Cirrhaean viper.
And leaving the peaks of Parnassus, the migrant man
[4.320] marched to the bordering soil of Daulis, whence I hear
the chattering garment of silent Philomela, ill-spindled,
whom Tereus defiled, when Hera of the yoke fled
the danceless yoke of the mountain-haunting wedlock,
and the girl moaned upon the unspread couch
[4.325] of a bridal chamber by the roadside, and as the tongueless girl
lamented the Thracian, forced Aphrodite,
with mimic tears voiceless Echo groaned,
mourning the maiden Philomela who fled the bed,
when, mingled with the crimson trail of blood,
[4.330] the blood of her maidenhood gushed together with that of her fresh-cut tongue;
and he saw the city of Tityus, where the bold son of Earth,
striding through the fair-leaved groves of Panopeus,
pulled back the chaste robes of Leto as he forced her;
and he set the track of his foot on the hollow of Tanagra,
[4.335] and from Coronea, passing over the soil of Haliartus
and the city of the Thespians and deep-glened Plataea,
he came near the Aonian plain, traveling through Boeotia,
where once Orion, ill-loving son of Earth,
the Scorpion, helper of the loveless archer-goddess,
[4.340] laid low, great as he was, as he was still lifting
the lowest hem of the tunic of the unwedded goddess —
the slow creeper, an earthly monster, which, reaching
the soles of its adversary, scored them with its hail-cold sting.
And he set foot on the land of Chaeronea, where, cutting
[4.345] the silvery dust, the hoof of the cow was whitened,
and, following the many-bending circles of her rocky course,
she shook off the white defilement of her dusty feet.
And the oracular hoof of the cow sank down to lie on the ground,
forerunner of the city to come. But when for Cadmus
[4.350] the Pythian oracle of the underground echo was fulfilled,
setting the sacred cow beside a fragrant altar,
he sought a flow of spring-water, in order to cleanse
his prophecy-serving hands, and pour over the sacrifice
pure water; for not yet in the vine-planted orchards
[4.355] did the soft fruit of the growing harvest appear.
And he set his feet beside serpent-feeding Dirce;
and he stood astonished, where, appearing aslant in snaky bond,
the shifting-backed serpent of Ares girdled the spring,
and terrified the host, all the many that followed Cadmus;
[4.360] one it bit beneath the breast with its grey-gleaming jaws,
another it reached and scored with its blood-red tooth,
and tearing the life-saving liver of another as he fought
it made him a corpse; and his crumbling hair flowed down his neck
of its own accord, slipping from his sodden head;
[4.365] and swift, wrapping about, creeping up his shins,
the serpent girdled Cadmus in a threatening bond,
and, raising its body with the mounting stroke of its limbs,
it leapt at the round boss of his bull's-hide shield;
and the man, his feet girdled in crooked coils,
[4.370] labored, heavy-bound in the trailing viperish chain,
bearing a frightful burden, and the bearer, weighed down,
standing upright, it dragged down, pulling him to the ground,
and loosed its bitter mouth, and as the cruel creature gaped,
the murderous gateway of its raw-devouring throat widened,
[4.375] and it bent its head aslant, and as the head was shaken
the neck, stretched high, arched in the middle and writhed;
another it terrified, leaping over the rim of a human
temple, and across the chin of another it ran
uncontrollable, and striking the eye with its venom-shooting dew
[4.380] it dimmed the marble gleam of the closed eye;
the foot of another it seized, and held it, scored by its jaw,
with its bite, and belched the green foam of its teeth
onto the body of the youth, and with livid, iron-like
pallor the body was chilled by the green venom;
[4.385] as another panted beneath the blows of its jaws,
the unsteady membranes of his head swelled
with the poisonous bite, and as the brain poured out
the ichor ran rushing down from his dripping nostril.
But when Cadmus grew weary, then Athena came near,
[4.390] shaking the aegis, forerunner of the victory to come,
tressed with the viperish Gorgon head,
and to him in his dismay the host-rousing goddess cried:
"Cadmus, fellow-combatant in the tumult of Giant-slaying Zeus,
do you fear at the sight of one serpent alone? In the tumult,
[4.395] trusting in you, the son of Cronus laid Typhon low,
tressed with so many serpent heads.
Cease trembling at the hiss of the beast's teeth;
Pallas urges you on, and beside murderous Dirce
bronze Ares will not rescue his creeping guardian.
[4.400] But, taking the frightful teeth of the slain
beast, sowing the earth with the viperish fruit,
reap the snaky crop of the Giants' battle,
and bring the battle-lines of the earth-born together in a single destruction,
leaving five alive; and for Thebes to come
[4.405] let the fair-fruited generation of the Sown Men spring up."
So speaking, Athena heartened astonished Cadmus,
and inscribed the deep air with windy sole,
entering the house of Zeus. And he, beside a firm clod,
stood lifting a rocky missile, the marble, well-rounded
[4.410] boundary-stone of a broad-floored field, and with the straight-flying
stone he crushed the tip of the serpent's head;
and drawing his sharpened knife from beside his thigh
he cut the beast's neck; and the severed head
remained apart from the body, and, rolling in the dust,
[4.415] the restless tail wound its accustomed circle, unwinding again,
and the serpent lay stretched a corpse on the ground. And over the corpse
furious Ares, heavy in wrath, cried out; and as he raged,
Cadmus, with his limbs changing into a spiraling shape,
was destined, transformed, beside the feet of the Illyrian land,
[4.420] to have the strange likeness of a serpent's face.
But those things were fated for a later time. Meanwhile, in the middle
of his bronze helmet he gathered the fruit of destruction,
the grim harvest of the beast's jaws; and dragging
the humped plow of native Pallas from the meadow to the field,
[4.425] and plowing the war-breeding furrow of the grey-green earth,
he sowed a many-rowed swath of venom-shooting teeth.
And the self-delivered crop of Giants grew up,
of whom one ran up high-headed, stretching the tips
of his well-corseleted breast, another with head leaping forth
[4.430] held his dreadful shoulder above the opening earth;
another stooped upward as far as the navel, and one upon the ground
rose half-finished, lifting his earth-bred weapon;
another, stretching his jutting crest that peered above,
showed no breast as yet, and still creeping up from his mother's
[4.435] flanks little by little he fought against fearless Cadmus,
armed with self-grown weapons; ah, great wonder,
Eileithyia armed one whom no mother had delivered;
and one hurled a kindred spear, handling it
half-seen, while another, light, dragging his whole body into the light,
[4.440] left the unfinished tips of his feet fixed in the earth.
Cadmus did not forget the command of Athena,
but reaped the straw of the regrowing Giants;
one he struck above the breast with his windy lance,
another he smote down the collarbone beside his broad neck
[4.445] and split the bones of his shaggy throat;
another he struck with a hurled stone and scored him,
visible as far as the belly; and as the blood of the dread Giants
poured out like a river, Ares slipped in the gore,
reddening his limbs, and as she stood by in the tumult
[4.450] the tunic of Victory was reddened with purple drops.
Another as he fought he struck with his sword beside the hip
and cut through the back of the ox-hide grown to him, along with the loins.
And there was slaughter unspeakable; as the Giants were butchered
a deadly pipe of bloody dew gushed up
[4.455] from those smitten with the sword. And he, by the intelligent counsel of Pallas,
poised a stone above the heads of the earth-born;
and they, drunk with a blood-red longing for Enyo,
raged in Bacchic frenzy for Ares, and with kindred iron
were buried in the dust, destroyers of one another.
[4.460] Each strove against another; and with reddening gore
the spotted back of the ox-hide was blackened as it was drenched
when an earth-born was slain; and by the brother-slaying point
of the underground knife the fruit of the field was butchered.

## Book V


### Look still at the fifth and you will see Actaeon, whom no doe bore, the wandering fawn torn by hounds.

[5.1] But when, reaping the snaky crop of war,
Cadmus had mowed the straw of the tooth-grown Giants,
pouring gore to Ares as the first-fruits of battle,
having cleansed his limbs beside serpent-feeding Dirce,
[5.5] he sacrificed the Delphic cow upon god-built altars,
a fair offering to Pallas. And as he began the sacrifice
the twin horns on this side and that were sprinkled about
with the barley-groats; and drawing the naked sword beside his neighboring thigh,
the blade hanging from an Assyrian baldric,
[5.10] he cut the topmost hair of the long-snouted heifer
with the hilted sword; and Theoclymenus, grasping
the horn of the calf, pulled back its neck,
and Thyestes crushed the sinews of the neck
with a double-edged ox-axe, and with the bloody trail of the cow
[5.15] the stone altar of Oncaean Athena was reddened,
and as the horned bovine forehead was battered
the calf fell headlong; and as it was butchered with iron
they cut through the ribs and carved them with the knife,
and stripped off the rough covering of ox-hide,
[5.20] spread out full length; and rolling his bright cloak on the ground,
the king himself labored, and cutting the raw flesh
of the well-grown thighs he wrapped it in a double layer of fat,
carving it little by little, and stretching upon the embers
the long entrails, pierced with iron spits,
[5.25] he drew them off, roasting them in a gentle fire; and, fixed at the middle,
bringing them in rows pierced through with sharp-pointed bronze,
he set them upon the flower-decked, low-set table,
the carver, lifting the seething spits one after another.
And the fragrant vapor of Assyrian frankincense
[5.30] spiraled wandering through the air. And when the sacrifice was completed
there was a feast, and Cadmus, taking it, distributed to each,
holding out an equal-weighted portion of the divided food.
And the ranks of the feasters at the well-rounded table
laid aside their desire for the banquet with satisfied heart.
[5.35] Nor was there an end of toils for serpent-slaying Cadmus,
but after the creeping thing, after the wild tribes of Giants,
he fought with the champions of the Ectenes and the Aonian people,
mowing a barbarian crop of Ares, and he assailed
the neighboring Temmices; and when he called for warriors,
[5.40] a varied swarm of allies from the neighborhood came.
And upon the twin armies Strife joined with Enyo,
in travail with battle; and as they came together in the tumult
the bow was bent in a circle, the spear was brandished, the helmet shaken,
and the missile whistled, and upon the bossed circle
[5.45] the ox-hide shield crashed when struck by a millstone.
And the blood of the slain flowed; many a man upon the pasturing earth
half-dead, head foremost, was rolled in the dust.
And the host of adversaries bowed down as suppliants to Cadmus;
the contest was ended. And after the murderous whirl of tumult
[5.50] Cadmus fixed the foundations of untowered Thebes.
Many furrows on this side and that were cut
as the hollows were divided, and the seats of the many-branching
roads were scored by the jagged-toothed iron of the oxen;
and many streets, apportioned in the fourfold arrangement
[5.55] of the opposing winds, were measured out among the grass.
And the Aonian city was embroidered with the stony beauty
of Tyrian art; and one after another labored,
the workman, cutting with earth-cleaving point the stone of varied color
beneath the Boeotian slope, the stone which beside the thicket
[5.60] of oak-clad Teumessus the hills brought forth,
which Helicon sprouted and which Cithaeron bore in travail.
And he completed temples of the gods and houses of men,
rounding them with rules; and upon unbreakable foundations,
marking out the city with a circuit of seven gates,
[5.65] he imitated the seven-zoned heaven by his art,
leaving the wall to come for the inhabitants to Amphion,
kept in reserve for his tower-building lyre. And to the heavenly
wanderers, equal in number, he dedicated seven gates
of matching form; first, fixing it toward the western slope,
[5.70] he assigned the Oncaean gate to grey-eyed Mene,
named from the bellowing of the cow, because she too,
Selene of bull's nature, horned, driver of cattle,
having a triple form, is Tritonian Athena;
the second he gave to gleaming Hermes, neighbor of Mene,
[5.75] a gateway as his prize; and marking out the fourth
as Electra, named for Phaethon, because when he appears
the gleam of dawn glitters with the same color as electrum,
he dedicated to the fiery sun the middle gate
facing Dawn, since he is the middle of the planets;
[5.80] the fifth he gave to Ares, he granted the third to Aphrodite,
on either side of both, so that Phaethon might be in the middle,
parting furious Ares from his neighbor Aphrodite;
the sixth he made an image of Zeus in a more shining arrangement,
high-visible; and the last, seventh, star of Cronus took the last.
[5.85] Such a seat he made; and having founded the holy city
he called it by the same name as the city of Egyptian Thebes,
having fashioned a varied earthly pattern, equal to Olympus.
And the daughters of the Aonians struck up in dances
the wedding-hymn of Harmonia; and in the fair-chambered hall
[5.90] the dancers voiced the name of the Thracian bride.
And the Paphian adorned the new-built bridal chamber for Cadmus,
singing the god-summoned wedding of her own daughter,
the lovely mother; and the father, in joy for his daughter,
danced naked without shields, gentle Ares,
[5.95] leaning his ironless right hand upon Aphrodite,
and with the wedding trumpet he made his spirit melodious
in answer to the pipe, and from his iron-bearing head
he shook off the accustomed crests of his war-loving mane,
girdling his locks with bloodless clusters,
[5.100] weaving a revel for Eros; and dancing with the immortals
Ismenian Apollo came to the wedding of Harmonia,
striking a love-song on his seven-toned lyre;
and the nine Muses struck up a life-saving melody,
and Polymnia, midwife of the dance, made her palms quiver,
[5.105] and traced the mimic image of a voiceless speech,
uttering with her palms a wise pattern in intelligent silence,
rolling her eyes; and on much-turning sandal,
doing favor to Zeus, Victory stood as chamber-servant,
crying Euoi for Cadmus, champion of Zeus, and about the bridal bed
[5.110] with maiden lips she wove a wedding-song,
and wound the track of her foot, and in the well-circling dance,
shamefaced, she shook her wings beside the wings of the Loves.
And from the wide-scattered torches of a light of one radiance
rose the glow of a lying evening Dawn.
[5.115] And with shrill mouths beside the leap-loving bridal bed
an all-night revel of unsleeping dance went on
for the singers; for hastening to the sleepless wedding
he left his accustomed rod, since it was the steward of sleep.
And Thebes was an Olympian chorus; and one could see
[5.120] Cadmus and Zeus together touching a single table.
And bringing to the bridal chamber the bride-adorning hour,
the Dragon rose, companion of the Arctic Wagon,
messenger of things to come, that, pasture-mate with his age-mate bride,
from a mortal shape he was to have a serpent's form,
[5.125] the bridegroom of Harmonia. And of the blessed ones one after another
gave a prize to Cadmus as he hastened to the bridal chamber:
Zeus gave all things in perfection; and honoring his sister
Hera, of whom all speak, since she was mother to Ares,
the dark-haired horse-god gave gifts of the sea;
[5.130] Hermes gave a scepter, Ares a spear, Apollo a bow,
and a crown luxuriant with stones in an array of varied colors
Hephaestus set upon Harmonia's head,
hanging a golden headband upon her temples;
and golden-throned Hera gave a throne of fair stone;
[5.135] glorifying Ares, much-devising Aphrodite
fitted to the reddening neck of the girl a white golden necklace
having the many-wrought gleam of stones,
the skilled work of Hephaestus, which he had made for the Cyprus-born,
that it might be a gift at the first sight of archer Eros;
[5.140] for the heavy-kneed husband ever hoped that Cytherea
would bear a limping son, an image of his father's feet;
but he thought in vain, and perceiving a son sound of foot,
shining with wings, like the son of Maia,
he made a many-colored necklace, which on its star-gleaming back
[5.145] was like a serpent with a spiraling body; for just as
the two-mouthed amphisbaena herself winds in a middle coil,
spitting venom from either head,
writhing about with the unequal-yoked stroke of her limbs,
and creeping head to head joins them together,
[5.150] skipping about her curved back in a slanting course —
so that many-colored necklace, stretching its bent back,
was curved, having a twin neck arched,
abundant in scales, reaching as far as the navel,
a plaited two-headed serpent; and beneath the whirl of art
[5.155] the golden circle of its trailing spine writhed,
and its head, spiraling with a many-whirling stroke,
belched a counterfeit hiss from its throat.
And on either side of the mouths, where end and beginning are,
there was a golden eagle, as though cutting the broad air,
[5.160] upright between the twin viperish heads,
high-visible in the four-yoked mask of four wings;
on one wing yellow jasper ran, on another it held
the all-white stone of Selene, which, as the fair-horned goddess
wanes, diminishes, and grows when Mene,
[5.165] newly shining, gleaming forth the moist light of her horn,
milks the self-begotten fire of her father the sun;
another wing a pearl
gleamed grey-green, the swell of the Erythraean sea
shining; and in the middle of another, in blazing array,
[5.170] a thin-shining Indian agate spat forth a moist radiance.
And as the heads were joined to one another on either side
the two gapings of the serpent's heads widened,
enclosing the eagle with both jaws,
interlocked on this side and that; and through the well-lit face
[5.175] the lychnis-stones shot in the eyes a native gleam
sending a sharp radiance, like a blazing lamp
when it is lit; and, luxuriant with the many-formed shape of stones,
there was a sea, and a green stone of grey-green emerald,
receiving a yoke-fellow crystal like foam,
[5.180] held the white-crested image of the darkening brine;
in it all cunning devices were wrought, in it all
the sea-nourished flocks of the deep glittered gold-shining,
as though skipping about; and many a wet traveler,
a dolphin, danced half-seen, grazing the sea —
[5.185] and writhed its counterfeit, self-moving tail —
and a chorus of birds of varied colors, of whose flying wings
you might quickly have said you heard the windy beat,
when Cytherea gave the necklace as a prize to the girl,
golden, of fair stones, hanging at the bride's neck.
[5.190] And yoked by the cestus, the steersman of bridal longings,
Harmonia brought forth in her womb a brood of many children
born little by little; and in alternating childbirth
she released the pregnant burden of daughter-bearing labor,
having completed four times nine circles of Selene.
[5.195] First Autonoe leapt up from the fertile womb
of her mother, unfolding the nine-month childbirth
with first-born pangs; and in a birth of the same blood
fair-natured Ino grew, the wife of Athamas,
a mother twice delivered; and third arose Agave,
[5.200] who once, wedded in a Giant's marriage,
bore a son like his tooth-grown husband;
and, an image of the Graces in her desire-stricken face,
Semele, kept for Zeus, sprouted fourth
of the daughters, and to her alone, though she was the youngest,
[5.205] nature gave the elder's rights of unconquered beauty.
And a late-fulfilled male, yoke-fellow to the female stock,
Harmonia bore, a new son, to rejoicing Cadmus,
Polydorus, the morning star of the Aonian homeland,
younger than rosy Semele, whom beside Thebes
[5.210] lawless king Pentheus, having taken the scepter, deprived of it.
And these things old Time was to fulfill thus, late.
And Cadmus locked his chosen daughters to husbands
in the four-yoked bridal chamber of alternating marriage,
and fitted one bed after another; for, bearing gifts,
[5.215] first Aristaeus, Nomios, and by name Agreus,
the blood of wise Phoebus and of skilled-handed Cyrene,
wedded Autonoe by the ordinance of the yoked plowing;
nor did Agenor's son refuse to have as son-in-law one skilled
in the much-nourishing art, the life-saving son of Phoebus,
[5.220] but to him who had lulled with the life-sustaining breezes
of the winds fallen from Zeus the deadly star of fire-eyed Maera,
he locked his child to the husband of surpassing mind.
And the marriage was rich in blessings, since as a prize to the unwed girl
he gave cattle, he granted goats, he bestowed a mountain-reared flock;
[5.225] and many a furrow, weighed down by the necessity of the burden-bearer,
lightened the load of the amphora of olive-oil,
the bride-gifts of the wedding, and he brought much of the cunning
travail of the wise bee, of its many-celled childbed.
That man first, running the mountains with the leap of his feet,
[5.230] found the toil of the deer-driving hunt that loves the crags,
how with intelligent nostril beside the feet of the pasture-woodland
the hound divines the scent of the unmarked beast,
stretching upright its ears toward the slanting-pathed course,
and he learned the many-plaited nets of the guileful art
[5.235] and the upright pattern of the stakes, and the early track of beasts
scored over the sand on the untrodden ground,
and teaching the hunter-man to wear boots on his feet
as he darted uncontrollable into the hound-driving course of the hunt,
and to carry his robes only as far as the shining knee,
[5.240] lest ever the onrush of the hurrying hunter's foot
be reined back by a tunic let down.
That man devised the row of many-celled hives,
and set in place the works of the wandering bee of the wilderness,
which within the meadow passes from flower to flower
[5.245] to the fair-fruited plant, and, flying upon the clusters,
milks the tip of the dew with the tips of her lips;
and binding his limbs tight in the linen loops
of a many-plaited tunic from his nails to his hair
he guarded against the dreadful stings of the bee as she armed herself,
[5.250] and with the guileful, choking, artful smoke of fire
he soothed her as she did harm, and, shaking beneath the wind
the torch that threatens the swarm-loving bee,
he lifted the double bronze, and in the childbed beneath the roof,
as the unsilent tumult harried them with humming,
[5.255] striking a twin din with much-rattling hand,
and cutting off first the many-angled covering of wax,
he drained the varied gifts of the honey-dripping birth.
He first found the dew of fine-dripping oil,
when, cutting the fruit with the heavy millstone-like rock,
[5.260] he pressed the rich offspring of the moisture-bearing olive.
And beneath the many-treed slope of the shady, well-pastured wood,
leading them to marsh, to meadow, he taught the herdsmen
to pasture from the shining of the sun until evening.
And the untraceable, disobedient row of sheep wandering
[5.265] on straying hoof, following a slow path in the rear,
he brought together into a single road toward the flowery pasture,
taking a goat as leader of the emulous journey.
And he devised the pastoral mountain song of Pan.
And he lulled the star of Maera, blazing with fire,
[5.270] and, kindling the fragrant altar of Zeus Icmaeus,
he poured over the bull's blood a sweet libation,
the varied gifts on the altar of the roaming bee,
filling delicate cups with the mixed drink of honey-mead;
and Zeus the father heard, and honoring the son of his son
[5.275] sent the counter-blowing breeze of the evil-averting winds,
holding back the smoky fever of Sirius.
Even now, heralds of the sacrifice of Aristaeus,
the Etesian breezes from Zeus cool the earth,
when the wine-harvest with its varied clusters is growing.
[5.280] Him Eros escorted to the Aonian wedding,
the Cean son of Phoebus; and with the sacrifice of slaughtered oxen
the whole city was garlanded, and the straight-cut streets
were busy with dancing, and beside the gateway of the bridal chamber
the citizens moved their rolling-footed wedding-dance,
[5.285] and the women struck up a song of lovely voice,
and the Aonian flutes clashed in company with the bridal pipe.
Thence from the bed of Aristaeus and Autonoe
Actaeon arose; and with crag-loving purpose,
bearing the blood of Agreus, he took as his pattern the ancestral hunt,
[5.290] a mountain-running servant of Artemis — and it was no cause for blame
that ill-fated Actaeon should learn the cares of the chase,
born the grandson of lion-slaying Cyrene —;
never did a mountain bear escape him, nor did the deadly
eye of the lioness herself in childbed terrify him;
[5.295] often, watching the leopard leaping high in flight,
he laid it low; and always from high above the thicket
Pan the sheep-herder watched him with astonished eyes
as he outran the course of the swift deer.
But the running of his feet did not help him, nor did the quiver
[5.300] suffice, nor the straight aim of his arrows, nor the guile of the hunt;
but Fate destroyed him, a wandering fawn torn by hounds,
still breathing of the tumult after the Indian strife,
when, seated high upon a long-trunked oak,
he saw the whole body of the archer-goddess bathing,
[5.305] and, an unsated gazer upon the goddess not to be gazed upon,
he measured the chaste body of the unwedded maiden
from near at hand; and him, watching with secret eye
the form of the naked queen, with sidelong eye
a Naiad Nymph, unveiled, saw from afar,
[5.310] and, terrified, she shrieked, and announced to her queen
the savage boldness of the love-maddened man; and half-visible
Artemis, snatching up with her garment her circling headband,
covered her chaste breasts with her maiden girdle,
and, plunging with her wet limbs into the streams,
[5.315] the maiden in shame little by little hid her whole body.
Actaeon, heavy-fated, at once your human form
left you, and the hoof of four feet was cloven,
and long cheeks were stretched out at the jaws,
the shins were thinned, and two curved horns on the forehead
[5.320] grew, the long clusters of far-branching antler,
and with spotted limbs the bastard shape was embroidered,
and he had a shaggy body; but to the storm-swift fawn
the mind alone remained still steadfast; and with the swift-passing
leap of his hoof he ran through the inhospitable mountain,
[5.325] a hunter trembling at hunters. And, changed in nature,
the hounds no longer knew their former master; for at the unswerving
nods of the grieving, heavy-hearted archer-goddess,
maddened with the stinging breath of roaming madness,
they scored the yoked swath of their fawn-slaying teeth,
[5.330] and, misled by the lying appearance of a deer,
they feasted on the spotted counterfeit body in witless madness.
And the goddess devised something else: that the hounds with slow jaws
should tear little by little the still-breathing Actaeon,
endowed with an intelligent spirit, so that she might rend his heart the more
[5.335] with sharper pains; and with a mortal's purpose,
moaning his own doom, he roared with a plaintive voice:
"Blessed Teiresias, for you saw without destruction
the naked form of Athena, who refused but was merciful;
you did not die, you did not get a deer's body, nor upon your
[5.340] forehead were jutting antlers hung;
you live, having lost the light of your eyelids; but the sparkle
of your eyes Athena transferred to your mind;
the archer-goddess is angrier by far than the Tritogeneia.
Would that she had given me a like pain, would that she too
[5.345] had assailed my eyes as Athena did,
would that she had changed my mind, as she changed my body; for a strange-natured
beast's shape holds me, and I keep growing a man's character.
When do beasts ever groan over their own destruction?
Witless, they live and do not know of their end.
[5.350] I alone keep a prudent mind; and as I perish
I pour intelligent tears from a beast's brows.
Be more savage now, hounds; never so much
did you rush upon lions with raging leap.
Cry woe for Actaeon, dear hills,
[5.355] yes, I beg you, and beasts likewise; tell Autonoe,
Cithaeron, what you saw, and to my father Aristaeus
proclaim my end with rocky tears,
and the maddened, unsparing hounds. Alas for necessity:
with my own hands I myself reared my murderers.
[5.360] Would that a mountain-running lion had subdued me, would that a shifting-backed
leopard, dragging me, had torn me open, would that raging bears
with bitter, unsparing claws fixed on either side
had butchered my fawn-seeming self with their grey-gleaming jaws,
and that hounds of my own household had not subdued me; no longer my shape,
[5.365] no longer do they know my voice, its echo changed."
Half-dead he said these things, and with a beast's mourning voice
he besought the ravening hound that did not hear his prayers;
he sent forth intelligent words, but instead of a human
voice the murmur of an unmarked echo sounded.
[5.370] And already self-fulfilling mountain Rumor was flying,
crying to Autonoe the hound-torn necessity of her son,
not how he had put on the shaggy shape of a deer,
but only that he was dead. And with the purpose of tender love
the mother, unshod, unveiled, was lashed by grief;
[5.375] and she tore her locks, and rent her whole tunic,
and with mourning nails she scored her cheeks,
reddening them with blood, and over her bare breast
she reddened the life-bringing curve of her child-nourishing breasts,
remembering the birth; and with the ever-flowing tears
[5.380] of her grief-loving face the lady bathed her robes.
And the hounds of Actaeon, coming from the crag,
confirmed the tale of ill tidings; for with silent tears
they prophesied the young man's end.
And seeing them mourning the mother groaned far more;
[5.385] and old Cadmus shore off his grey locks,
and Harmonia shrieked; and of the grief-loving women
the mingled, heavy-thundering echo roared through the whole house.
And Autonoe, going in company with her husband Aristaeus,
went seeking the much-scattered remains of the corpse;
[5.390] she saw and did not know her own son, she beheld the shape
of a dappled deer and did not see a man's face,
and often she passed by the bones of the unrecognized fawn
lying on the ground and did not know them; for of her perished
son she expected to see a mortal-seeming shape.
[5.395] I do not blame ill-fated Autonoe; for she looked upon
the strange-natured remains of her son, and of the unrecognizable face
she perceived the jaws and did not see the circle of the eye,
and she touched the antlers and did not know her son's temple;
she found thin feet and did not recognize the soles,
[5.400] she saw thin feet and did not see the circles of sandals.
I do not blame ill-fated Autonoe; for of the departed
she did not see mortal eyes, she did not see the likeness
of a human shape, and she did not perceive a chin
scored with the purple flower of first down.
[5.405] And with roaming feet passing over the ridge of the wood
she trod the hard-to-tread backs of the rough hill,
tunic loosened, unshod; and from her mountain-wandering toils
she came home returning; and with unaccomplished purpose,
grieving, she scarcely slept beside her husband, father of a dreadful child.
[5.410] And both of them held converse with shadowy dreams,
having snatched with their eyes the nightingale-wing of Sleep.
And the soul of the young man stood beside his downcast father,
having the spotted, shadowy body of a deer, and from his eyelids
he poured intelligent tears, and spoke with a human voice:
[5.415] "Father, you sleep, and you do not know my necessity;
wake and recognize my counterfeit, unknown face,
wake and embrace the antler of your dear deer,
and kiss the intelligent beast which the belly of Autonoe bore.
You look upon me myself, whom you reared; for you both
[5.420] see Actaeon and hear Actaeon.
If you long to touch your son's palm and fingers,
look at his forefeet, and you will perceive his hand;
if you long for his head, gaze upon the head of a deer;
if for mortal temples, look at the long antlers;
[5.425] if for the feet of Actaeon, see the hind hoof;
if you saw hair on his limbs, those have become my tunic.
Recognize your son, father, whom Apollo did not save;
groan for your son, father, whom Cithaeron did not protect.
Hide your strange-natured child in the downcast dust;
[5.430] do not leave your perished fawn without funeral rites;
let not the counterfeit and unbelievable face mislead you.
Would, father, that you had kept me unaccustomed to hunting;
I would not have had desire for the archer-goddess of the wilderness,
I would not have seen an Olympian body. Would that I had had
[5.435] love for a mortal girl; but leaving earth-born women
to others, and short-lived weddings,
I desired an immortal; and when the goddess was angered
I became the dinner of my own hounds, father; the hills are
witnesses; if you do not believe the crags, ask the Naiad
[5.440] Nymphs; my oaks know; and ask my beasts
of like form, and the herdsmen whom I called.
But, father, grant me a final favor, and in your child-loving
grief do not kill my witless murderers,
pity the blameless child-slayers; for by my
[5.445] beast's appearance they were led astray against their will.
What hound ever spares a deer? Or what man
is angry with fawn-killing hounds? Ah, how much the wretches
run round and round the circling hills on this side and that,
and track the corpse which they killed; and from their eyelids
[5.450] they pour intelligent tears, and with the tips of their feet
they embrace the nets in a kind of affectionate bond,
like men in grief, and over my couch
they weep with mourning howls.
Yes, I beg you, do not kill the mourners; for they gazed
[5.455] upon the shaggy hide of my face,
and they were not persuaded by my prayers, and did not check their teeth
when they heard the bellowings of my altered voice,
and with plaintive mouths they questioned my crag:
'Today someone has snatched Actaeon; tell, rocks,
[5.460] where he pursues the deer-driving course; tell, Nymphs.'
Such things the hounds uttered; and the hill answered:
'What mountain-roaming doe holds the deer-driving hunt?
I have not heard of a deer that shoots deer; but strange-natured
Actaeon has been transformed and become an intelligent fawn,
[5.465] who once slew beasts; and by the man-slaying archer-goddess
he himself, bearing the blood of Agreus, is hunted.'
Such things the crags cried to the grieving hounds.
And often Artemis said to my seeking murderer:
'Cease, heavy-toiling hound, winding your much-wandering track;
[5.470] you seek Actaeon, whom you carry within your belly,
you seek Actaeon, whom you killed; if you wish,
you will see only bones, the remains still of your own fodder.'
But, father, I shall cry my doom to you in order.
There was a bush of long leaves, one of wild olive, one of olive;
[5.475] wretched me; for leaving the shoot named for Phylia,
I ran up the chaste trunk of the olive on the neighboring path,
watching the naked skin of Artemis, who may not be gazed upon.
I was infatuated; for, growing a twofold reckless insolence,
I came to the plant of Pallas, to see the body of the archer-goddess
[5.480] with daring eyelids, whence the heavy-wrathful threat
of both Artemis and Athena assailed Actaeon.
For just then, sweating in the fire-bright vapor of the heat,
Artemis, after the course of the well-toiled accustomed hunt,
was bathing in pure waters, and as she bathed
[5.485] her answering radiance dazzled my eyes,
shooting snowy rays into the streams;
you would have said that beside the back-flowing stream of Ocean
bountiful Mene shone through the water in the evening.
And the Naiads shrieked together; Loxo cried,
[5.490] having Upis in concert with her, and in the calm stream
she checked her sister Hecaerge as she swam.
And a darkness, roaming the air, covered my eyes;
and from the plant I slipped head foremost into the dust,
and suddenly got a dappled body, and instead of a human
[5.495] shape shaggy hair covered my unrecognizable body,
and the hunting hounds all alike scored their teeth.
I shall be silent about all this; why should I tell a second grief?
Let me not approach you again with groans even as you sleep.
Often you passed by that tree, where lies
[5.500] the remains of Actaeon, and over the ground, scattered,
often you passed by the bones of the dappled fawn,
pitiable, of the much-devoured limbs, divided upon the earth,
far apart from one another. And I shall cry to you another
faithful token of my death; for you will see the quiver
[5.505] and my arrow near the tree that began the evil,
unless even the winged arrows have been transformed,
unless Artemis, angry again, has changed my bow
into a plant of the wood, and altered my quiver.
Blessed was Otus, because he was no wandering fawn;
[5.510] no hounds killed hound-driving Orion; would that the scorpion
had killed Actaeon himself too with its sharp sting.
Wretched me; for an empty rumor deceived my mind;
hearing that Phoebus, brother of the archer-goddess,
lay beside Cyrene, and sowed my father,
[5.515] I thought to draw Artemis into a marriage within the family.
And again hearing that bright Dawn snatched
Orion as her bridegroom, and Selene Endymion,
and that Deo embraced mortal Iasion as her husband,
I thought that such was the mind of the archer-goddess.
[5.520] But, father, give funeral rites to my counterfeit horn-drawing shape,
and do not leave it to become the plaything of other hounds.
And if you hide my remains in the hollow earth,
grant me this gift as well: fix my bow and arrows
beside my tomb, which is the prize of the dead.
[5.525] But leave the arrow and the bow, father, since in missiles
the archer-goddess delights, and stretches the curved bow.
And beseech some much-turning painter of living things, that he may draw
my spotted counterfeit form from neck to the tips of the feet;
only of my face let him make the pattern of a mortal,
[5.530] so that all may know my lying shape.
But do not, father, write my doom; for a wayfarer cannot
weep at once for both my form and my fate."
So spoke the intelligent doe of the dream, and unforeseen
it departed on wings; and the husband of Autonoe
[5.535] leapt up, casting off the wing of oracular Sleep.
And rousing from the bed his wife, much dismayed,
he declared the beastly, horn-drawing appearance of their son,
and told the words, all that the intelligent fawn had said.
And the lament grew greater; and the bride of Aristaeus
[5.540] went seeking a second time, and, grieving,
she traversed the thick haunts of the long-trunked thicket;
and treading the hard-to-tread circles of the rocky paths
she scarcely found that murderous plant, she found also
the quiver and the bow beside the lonely tree.
[5.545] And the bones on this side and that in the loose dust,
the fallen remains, the mother scarcely gathered together,
and with loving palm she embraced the sweet antler,
and kissed the shaggy lips of the fawn of dreadful fate.
And shrilly wailing the mother buried the corpse,
[5.550] and inscribed for him beside the tomb everything that to his father
the nightly dream-voice of Actaeon had said.
While grief roared in the hall of Aristaeus,
meanwhile fair-breasted Agave bore to Echion
the bold, god-fighting son of the earth-born; and as the fresh-spoken
[5.555] grief stood in, Pentheus came to be, bearing a name from it.
And after the bed of Nephele, after the earlier wedding,
the maiden Ino reveled into the chambers of Athamas;
and she bore Learchus, who suffered dreadfully, and Melicertes,
she who was to be a migrant of the sea, as the child-tending nurse,
[5.560] life-bringing, of Bromius; for to both
she gave a single breast in common, to Palaemon and to Dionysus.
And Semele was kept for a more shining wedding;
for already high-ruling Zeus longed to rear a new Dionysus,
a bull-natured image of the ancient-born Dionysus,
[5.565] having desire for Zagreus of dreadful fate,
whom Persephoneia bore to the serpent bed of Zeus,
she the consort of the black-cloaked king of the underworld,
when Zeus, many-coiled, wearing a lying shape,
a gentle serpent circling in a lovely coil,
[5.570] plundered the maidenhood of unwedded Persephone
as she lay hidden, when all who dwell in Olympus
were bewitched by a single girl, and about the maiden ripe for marriage
held a Cyprian strife for a wedlock none could plunder,
bearing gifts; not yet going to the bed of Persuasion,
[5.575] Hermes stretched out his rod as a prize for the bridal chamber,
and Apollo offered as bride-gifts his fair-hymned lyre,
and Ares gave a spear and a breastplate as wedding-gifts,
bringing a shield as bridal present, and the Lemnian
stretched out a many-colored, many-hued necklace, newly finished
[5.580] and still breathing of the sweet-sounding furnace, the god lame in both legs;
for already, unwilling, he had disowned his former bride,
watching Aphrodite in Bacchic frenzy for Ares;
he showed even to the blessed ones the marriage-thieving ravisher of his bed,
on the message of Phaethon, in a kind of spider's-web bond
[5.585] binding naked Ares tight to naked Aphrodite.
But Zeus the father was bewitched far more by Persephoneia;
and as Zeus gazed at the fair-maidenly bloom of her nature
his eye became the leading escort of the Loves,
unsated with Persephone; and beneath his heart forever
[5.590] the tempests of unsleeping care whistled;
and little by little he was kindled by the Paphian with a greater blaze
from a small spark; and by the fair-bosomed goddess
the eyes of love-maddened Zeus were enslaved.
And once the girl, holding a translucent bronze, delighted
[5.595] in the judge of her reflected beauty, and with the self-moving
silent herald she confirmed the pattern of her shape,
judging her lying body in the shadowy mirror,
and laughed at the mimic image; and Persephone,
gazing at the self-drawn statue of her face,
[5.600] beheld the counterfeit form of a lying Persephoneia;
and once, in the fire-bright vapor of the thirsty heat,
fleeing the midday track of the parched Season,
the girl rested from the loom-toiling labors of the shuttle,
and, wiping away the wet sweat from her face,
[5.605] she loosed the chaste band bound tight about her breast,
and moistening her skin in toil-releasing baths
she was carried in the cooling stream of the spring,
leaving the threads pierced on the loom of Pallas.
Nor did she escape the all-seeing eye of Zeus; and uncovered
[5.610] as she bathed, he beheld the whole form of Persephoneia;
not so much in desire did he rage for the Cyprus-born,
longing for whom, unattainable, he sowed his seed in the earth,
shooting the hot, self-moving foam of the Loves,
whence within horned Cyprus, that fosters birth,
[5.615] the two-colored race of the well-horned Centaurs bloomed.
And the ruler of the cosmos and charioteer of heaven,
great as he was, bent his neck to desire; neither thunderbolts
nor lightning helped him when Aphrodite armed herself;
he left the house of Hera, he renounced the bed of Dione,
[5.620] he cast away love for Deo, he fled Themis, he abandoned Leto,
and was bewitched into wedlock with Persephoneia alone.

## Book VI


### Seek the divine sixth, where, honoring Zagreus, rainy Zeus deluged all the seats of the earth.

[6.1] Nor did the father alone then have desire; but they too,
having one equal arrow, all who dwell in Olympus,
offered bride-gifts for the wedlock of Deo's divine daughter.
Then, changing the radiance of her rosy face,
[6.5] Deo was lashed in her mind, surging with pains;
and she unclasped the fertile veil from her head,
loosing the curls of her hair let down upon her neck,
shuddering for her child; and as the goddess was weighed down
her cheeks were moistened with self-flowing tears,
[6.10] because so many suitors, with one flaming missile,
goaded into strife over an emulous wedlock,
common Eros drove into frenzy, rivals of the Loves;
she trembled at them all, but most of all the bountiful mother
feared to have lame Hephaestus as her child's husband.
[6.15] And she went with fair-footed sole to the house of Astraeus,
the oracular god; and the unplaited curl of her hair,
streaming behind her, was shaken by the unsteady breezes.
Seeing her, the Dawnstar announced her; and hearing,
old Astraeus rose; he had been scoring with lines,
[6.20] sprinkling dark dust across the back of a table,
and, tracing in spirals beneath the crook-toothed iron,
he inscribed a four-sided base in the blazing ash,
and made another figure with an equal-angled triangle.
But he let these things be and came near the doors
[6.25] to meet Demeter; and as they passed through the hall
Hesperus led the way, and seated Deo on a throne
beside his father's seat; and with a purpose of like affection,
mixing from the nectarous bowl, the Winds,
the sons of Astraeus, pledged the goddess
[6.30] with toil-releasing cups; but Deo refused to drink,
drunk with care for Persephone; for parents of a single child
tremble forever for their late-born children;
yet at length sweet-spoken Astraeus, having mind-charming Persuasion,
prevailed upon Deo while she still refused.
[6.35] There the old man prepared a great dinner, so that at table
he might scatter the heart-gnawing cares of Demeter.
And the four Winds, fastening baldrics about their flanks,
were girdled as servants of their father;
stretching out cups beside the nectarous bowl
[6.40] Eurus poured the wine, and in a jug Notus held
the after-dinner water, and Boreas, bringing it, set upon the table
ambrosia, and Zephyrus, pressing out the murmur of a flute,
the female Wind, made melody on the reeds of spring;
and the Dawnstar plaited garlands, binding flowers
[6.45] luxuriant with dew-sprinkled morning clusters;
and lifting the accustomed torch of the nightly lamp
Hesperus whirled on the dancing sole of his feet,
tossing his curving step, since he was the escort of the Loves,
and delighted in the leap of the dance-woven wedding.
[6.50] But when after the meal the goddess had her fill of the dance,
shaking off the heavy sting of mind-robbing care,
she asked for prophecy, and with her left hand
she touched the knees of the affectionate old man, and, entreating,
with her right she touched his thick-haired beard;
[6.55] and she told him of the many suitors of her daughter,
seeking comforting oracles; for prophecies
steal away pains with hopes of things to come.
Nor did old Astraeus refuse; and reckoning the newly born
natal measures of the only-begotten girl,
[6.60] and the time that does not stumble, and the course of the unerring
first-born Hour, bending the turning fingers of his hands
about the returning circle of the migrant number,
he measured from palm to palm with a twofold beat;
and at his call a servant, lifting the well-rounded
[6.65] turning sphere, the pattern of the upper air, the image of the cosmos,
Asterion set it beside him, taking it from the lid of a chest.
There the old man labored, and, turning the tip of the axle,
stretched his gaze about the circle of the Zodiac,
looking this way and that at the fixed stars and the wanderers;
[6.70] and he whirled the vault about; and with much-whirling rush
the counterfeit upper air, circling with wrought stars,
bent to an unsteady course at an endless turning-post,
pierced by the axle through its middle; and the god found,
looking at the sphere crown-wise, that with full face
[6.75] Selene was running across the curved backs of the conjunction,
and Phaethon held an equal share, opposite Mene,
carried in the underground center, and a misty
cone, borne aloft, creeping up sharp from the earth,
covered the whole of Selene opposite Phaethon;
[6.80] and hearing of the rivals in bridal love
he sought Ares the more, and above the western house
he perceived the thief of weddings with the evening star
of the Cyprus-born; and he found the lot named for parents
beneath the starry ear of corn of the Maiden; and around it
[6.85] ran the light-bearing star of rain-bearing Cronides.
But when he had understood everything, having counted the rim of the stars,
he hid away the ever-whirling sphere in a hollow chest,
the sphere with the many-patterned back; and to the goddess who asked
he belched forth a threefold oracle in prophetic voice:
[6.90] "Child-loving Demeter, beneath the shadowy cone,
when the ray of unlit Selene is stolen,
guard against a ravishing bridegroom for Persephoneia,
a hidden plunderer of your daughter whom none may plunder,
if the threads of the Fates can be persuaded; unforeseen
[6.95] you will see before marriage a bastard, secret husband,
beast-mingled, guileful, since beside the western center
I see marriage-thieving Ares walking with the Paphian,
and I watch the Dragon rising beside them both.
I call you most blessed; for in the four-yoked cosmos
[6.100] you shall be splendid in fruit, since you shall give fruit
to the barren earth; for above the lot of the parents of the girl
the maiden Astraea stretches her hand full of corn-ears."
So speaking, he lulled the oracle beneath his prophetic mouth.
But when sickle-bearing Demeter heard of the hope of fruits
[6.105] to come and of the self-bidden husband,
the unwarranted ravisher of her late-born, untamed daughter,
she groaned, smiling; and along the high-pathed road,
hastening to her house, she went with downcast foot,
and, balancing the well-turning yoke beside the viperish manger
[6.110] on the twin crest of the beasts,
she clamped the unyoked creeping things in the yoke-strap;
and binding their jaws tight with the crook-toothed bit,
yellow-haired Deo led through the grim chariot
her child veiled in the dark-fillet band of a cloud,
[6.115] and with the beast-driving whip she made the counter-rushing crash
whistle down of Boreas roaring against the wagon,
as they rushed horse-like on the course of the airy breeze,
folding the light wings of the unsteady serpents
about the horn of Libyan Ocean flowing back again.
[6.120] And hearing the helmet-glancing melody of the Dictaean echo,
she passed by the Cretan chorus skipping about the back
of the heavy-crashing ox-hide with tumbling iron.
And surveying a certain stone house, the goddess
entered the Pelorian rock of three-crested Sicily
[6.125] beside the Adriatic shores, where the unsteady pouring of the brine,
drawn toward the west, is bent round like a sickle,
escorting the crooked water toward Lips from the north;
and where the stream often bathed the girl Cyane,
pouring the water of first sight with a spring-fed whirl,
[6.130] she saw a neighboring hollow standing level with a hall,
crowned with a covering of stone roof,
which nature had coped with a torrent-gate,
having a stone loom that was the care of the neighboring Nymphs.
And the goddess, creeping through the dark hall,
[6.135] hid her many-sealed child in the rock of the lair;
and loosing the serpents from the well-winged chariot,
the one beside the crag of the right-hand door,
the other beside the left-hand, stone-pointed bolt of the gate,
she set as guardian of Persephoneia, who may not be gazed upon;
[6.140] and there Calligeneia, her nurse blessed in children,
she left with the baskets, and all that for the female stock
the wool-working sweat of skilled-handed Pallas apportions;
and she cut the air with her feet, and entrusted the curved chariot
to the rock Nymphs who dwell in the wilderness to keep.
[6.145] And about the jagged-toothed jaw of iron the girl labored,
carding the fleeces about the wool-dressing comb,
and wound them on the distaff; and with much-whirling rushes
the spiral spindle, twirling with bounding stroke,
danced, circling in the trail of the threads being spun;
[6.150] and with roaming feet, back and forth from end to end,
she made the first-fixed warp, the beginning of the robe,
and wound it about the loom; and the girl wove with the shuttle,
drawing out the bobbin past the thread, and over the robe
she sang shrill of Athena, her kinswoman who perfects the loom.
[6.155] Maiden Persephoneia, you did not find how to escape marriage,
but you were wedded in a serpent's wedlock,
when Zeus, many-coiled, his face transformed,
a bridegroom, a serpent circling in a lovely coil,
passed through into the recess of the dark maiden-chamber,
[6.160] shaking his shaggy jaws; and, carried past, he lulled the eye
of the serpents of like form standing at the door,
and with bridal jaws he licked the body of the girl,
gentle. And from the heavenly serpent wedlock
the belly of Persephone swelled with a fertile birth,
[6.165] bearing Zagreus, the horned infant, who alone
mounted the heavenly seat of Zeus, and with his little hand
made the lightning quiver, and in the infant palms
of the newborn bearer the thunderbolts were lightened.
Nor did he hold the throne of Zeus for a time; but, their thievish
[6.170] circles of face smeared with cunning gypsum,
by the wrath of the loveless goddess, heavy-wrathful Hera,
the Titans did him harm with a Tartarean knife
as he gazed at his counterfeit form in a reflecting mirror.
There, as his limbs were divided by the Titan iron,
[6.175] Dionysus, having the end of life as a beginning to be won again,
was shaped anew, changing his far-scattered form,
now as guileful Cronides, young, shaking the aegis,
now as an old man heavy-kneed, like Cronus sending rain;
at one time he was an infant of varied shape, at another like a youth
[6.180] goaded to frenzy, and the new flower of down
traced the circles of his face, darkening at the edges;
and now, a mimic lion sending forth a frightful wrath,
he raged with a dreadful roar from a grinning throat,
raising his neck shadowed with thick mane,
[6.185] and, as the shaggy-haired tail whirled about above his back,
pricking his body with a self-moving whip;
then, leaving the likeness of a lion's face,
he neighed with a whinny like a high-crested horse,
unyoked, shifting the proud tooth of the bit,
[6.190] and, rubbing his jaw, whitened it with grey foam;
at another time, pouring a whistling hiss from his beard,
a horned serpent abundant in scales writhed,
having his tongue thrust out from a gaping throat,
and he leapt upon the grim head of a Titan,
[6.195] binding a viperish necklace entwined about his neck;
and, leaving the ever-whirling body of a creeping thing,
he was a tiger, spotting his shifting body; at another time like
a bull in nature, and sending a counterfeit bellowing from his mouths
he battered the Titans with his whetted horn.
[6.200] and fought in the front for his life, until with jealous throat
Hera roared a harsh bellowing through the air,
the heavy-wrathful stepmother, and in answer to the goddess's voice
the gates of Olympus rang with a heavenly clangor,
and the bold bull sank to his knees; and with alternating knife
[6.205] the murderers carved up bull-natured Dionysus.
But Zeus the father, when the earlier Dionysus was butchered,
knowing the shadowy pattern of the guileful mirror,
driving the mother of the Titans with avenging fire,
locked the murderers of well-horned Zagreus
[6.210] within the Tartarean gate; and from the burning trees
the hot curls of the burdened earth withered.
He set the east ablaze, and with smoking missile
the eastern soil of Bactria burned, and beside the neighboring
Assyrian waves the Caspian water was kindled,
[6.215] and the Indian ridges; and as the Erythraean gulf
swelled with fire the Arabian Nereus grew hot.
And the west on the opposite path fiery Zeus laid low
with his thunderbolt, loving his child; and beneath the sole of Zephyrus
the half-burnt western brine spat forth a moist radiance,
[6.220] and the Arctic ridges; and the northern back of the sea,
itself blazing alike as it froze, bubbled;
and beneath the snowy slope of southern Capricorn
the bend of the south seethed with a hotter spark.
And pouring river-tears from his wet eyelids
[6.225] Ocean entreated, shedding suppliant water;
and Zeus soothed his wrath, and seeing the earth withering
beneath the thunderbolt he pitied her, and wished to wash away with water
the ashen defilement and the fiery wound of the land.
And then rainy Zeus flooded the whole earth,
[6.230] thickening the whole vault with clouds, and the heavenly
trumpet of Zeus bellowed with thunderous crashes,
when all the stars, each in its own house,
kept their appointed course, since in his four-yoked chariot
the sun blazed upon the back of the Lion,
[6.235] riding his own house; and running with her chariot
over the eight-footed Crab circled threefold Selene,
and beneath the dewy floor beside the equinoctial circle
Cypris, having moved from the horn of the Ram,
held her house of spring, the stormless Bull of Olympus,
[6.240] and Ares, neighbor of the Sun, held the Scorpion,
forerunner of the Plow-beam, girdled by the blazing Bull,
watching aslant Aphrodite on the opposite path,
and the twelve-month traveler, completing the year,
Zeus ran over the starry Fishes, rising at nightfall,
[6.245] having the spiraling Moon on his right in trine,
and Cronus passed through the rainy back of Capricorn
drenched in a frosty light, and beside the bright
Maiden Hermes was raised aloft on wings,
because the judge held Justice as his house. And the watery
[6.250] bolts of the seven-pathed upper air were opened
as Zeus rained down; and the ravines of the loud-roaring gulf
bellowed with fuller springs,
and the watery daughters severed from Ocean,
the lakes, were lifted up, and into the air the nether water
[6.255] the spear-hurling springs of Ocean gushed forth,
and the peaks dripped, and with a mountain-poured stream
the thirsty hills murmured like rivers;
and the sea was raised on high, and upon the mountain above the thicket
the Nereids became Oreads. Ah, greatly wretched,
[6.260] with inexperienced hands swam the maiden Echo,
exchanging for her ancient fear another fear about her girdle,
lest ever, having escaped Pan, she be coupled with Poseidon.
And sea-faring lions within an unaccustomed rock
danced in the cave of land lions
[6.265] with dripping limbs; and in a torrent-bosom
a wandering boar met a dolphin of the sea;
and in the common surges of the mountain-poured snowstorm
beasts sailed with fish; and the coiling
octopus, roaming the mountains, leapt upon a hare.
[6.270] And the wet Tritons beneath the feet of the wood of lairs,
darting their green double tail upon the loins,
hid themselves in the mountain-haunting halls of Pan,
entrusting to the airy winds as fellow-sailor
their accustomed spotted conch; and on a well-watered hill
[6.275] Nereus, a migrant, met crag-loving Pan,
who had left behind his pipe, dripping, to sail away,
and the rock-dweller, exchanging mountain for sea,
held the dripping cave, the house of Echo beneath the roof.
And then men, swelling in the watery destruction,
[6.280] were entombed in the waters, and many a corpse, one after another,
floated carried in the wavy trail;
and from the roaring snowstorm, with gaping throat,
drinking greedily from the crag the mountain-running water,
the lion fell, the boar fell. And in a yoked stream
[6.285] lakes together with rivers, the flood of Zeus, the waters of the sea
were mingled with one another, and in one the four breezes
of the mingled winds lashed the undivided water.
And seeing the whole earth wet beneath a greater stroke,
shaken by the threatening rain of Zeus alone,
[6.290] the sea-dwelling Earth-shaker cast away his point
in distress, having no land to heave up with his trident.
And the ranks of the Nereids sailed over the unwetted earth,
and a wet traveler held Thetis upon his green loins,
broad-bearded Triton, and on a fishy back
[6.295] roaming Agave drove a pilot-fish through the air,
and, bearing his crest circling with a watery trail,
lifting Doris, a migrant dolphin ran.
And a whale of the deep, skipping about the hills,
wandered, seeking the caves of the lioness who lies on the ground.
[6.300] And then, seeing Galatea swimming in the waves
beneath a neighboring rock, dripping Pan cried out:
"Where are you carried, Galatea, through the mountain instead of the sea?
Are you perhaps seeking the lovely song of the Cyclops?
By the Paphian I beg you, and by your Polyphemus,
[6.305] do not hide, knowing my heavy longing, if beside the rocks
you have seen my mountain-running Echo swimming.
Does she hold a wet course equal to yours? Does she too,
seated upon a dolphin of Aphrodite of the sea,
like unveiled Thetis, my Echo, sail?
[6.310] I fear lest the hard-facing waves of the sea have troubled her;
I fear lest the great flood has hidden her; thus the wretched one,
unsteady, walks the waves in the seas after the mountains;
she who once was of the rocks will appear as Echo of the waters.
But leave your slow Polyphemus; if you wish,
[6.315] I myself, lifting you on my shoulders, will save you;
the roaring flood does not deluge me; if I wish,
with goat's footsteps I shall go to the vault of the stars."
To him as he spoke Galatea cried back in such a voice:
"Dear Pan, lift up your Echo, who cannot swim, through the swell;
[6.320] do not ask me in vain why I walk here today;
rainy Zeus has found me another, higher voyage.
And leave the song of the Cyclops, sweet though it is.
No longer do I seek the Sicilian sea; for I have terror
of so great a snowstorm, and I care nothing for Polyphemus."
[6.325] She spoke, and passed by the haunts of Pan who travels the waters.
And as the irresistible snowstorm surged thick,
every city, every people was a flood; no bend
was unwetted, no ridge was bare, not the peak of Ossa,
not then the summit of Pelion; and beneath the three-crested hill
[6.330] the Tyrrhenian sea roared; and as the sea was lashed
the Adriatic rocks dashed against the Sicilian waters
with rainy surges. And in the airy path
the sparklings of Phaethon were made womanish by the streams;
and in the seventh zone, above the rim of the low-lying floor,
[6.335] Selene, having cooled her radiance with the sky-high waves,
checked the bathed neck of her dripping bulls;
and rainwater mingled with the starry battle-line
made the rim of the Milky Way whiter with foam.
And pouring his seven-mouthed water in a fertile surge,
[6.340] wandering Nile met Alpheius, unhappy in love,
of whom the one wished to creep through the fruitful furrow,
delighting the thirsty bride with moist kisses,
while the other, having swerved from the former road of his accustomed hunt,
was carried along in grief; and seeing lovely Pyramus
[6.345] creeping along with him he uttered such a speech:
"Nile, what shall I do, when Arethusa is hidden?
Pyramus, why do you hasten? To whom have you left your accustomed Thisbe?
Blessed is Euphrates, because he has never got the sting of the Loves.
I have jealousy and fear mingled; for perhaps watery
[6.350] Cronides lies beside lovely Arethusa;
I fear lest with his outpourings he has wedded your Thisbe.
Pyramus, comfort of Alpheius, us both
the rain of Zeus has not troubled so much as the arrow of the foam-born.
Follow me as I love;
[6.355] I shall seek the tracks, and you, Pyramus, search for Thisbe.
But you will say that the earth is shaken, that heaven
is in trouble, that the sea is forced, that even the upper air
itself, unnavigable, surges with a foaming flood;
I care nothing for the maddened snowstorm. Ah, great wonder:
[6.360] the rain of Zeus has cleansed the whole burning earth and the flame of the sea
and the rivers, but from Alpheius alone
it has not quenched the paltry fire of the Paphian that touches him.
Nevertheless, if so great a flood harries me, if I labor with fire,
a small remedy for my pain is this, that even
[6.365] delicate Adonis himself wanders, grieving Aphrodite."
Not yet had his speech ended, when fear overpowered his voice.
And then Deucalion, crossing the water raised on high,
was an untraceable sailor, having a voyage roaming the air,
and the self-guided vessel without foot, without share in a harbor,
[6.370] inscribed the ill-snowed water of the self-traveling chest.
And now the cosmos would have become no cosmos, and now
all-nourishing Aeon would have dissolved the unsown harmony of men;
but at the most holy nods of Zeus the dark-haired god,
digging the navel-summit of the Thessalian crag,
[6.375] split it with his earth-cleaving trident, and through the middle
of the broken headland the marble water withdrew;
and thrusting aside the high-pathed pouring of the snowstorm
the earth appeared back again; and as the streams were driven
into the caverns of the deep, the cliffs were laid bare.
[6.380] And pouring his much-thirsting radiance on the wet brow of the earth
the sun dried it; and as the floods thickened
with hotter rays the silt was made dry land again
as before. And built with greater mortal art
cities were fixed upon stone foundations,
[6.385] and halls were built, and the streets of newly founded cities
were fortified for newly born mortals.
And nature laughed again; and with the wings of birds
flying together in the storms the air was rowed once more.

## Book VII


### The seventh sings the grey-haired supplication of Aeon, and Semele, and the love of Zeus, and the stolen bed.

[7.1] Already, with the ever-regrowing fruit of ever-flowing life,
mixing male fertile seed into the female furrow,
Eros, the plowman of love, had plowed the unsown cosmos;
and nature was rooted, the nurse of generation,
[7.5] and mingling fire with earth and water entwined with air
she shaped the human race in a four-yoked bond.
But a changeful distress held the life of mortals,
beginning with toil and never ceasing from care.
And to all-ruling Zeus the race of much-suffering men,
[7.10] without share of gladness, Aeon, their foster-brother, displayed;
for not yet, having loosed the childbed threads of birth,
had the father shot forth Bacchus from his pregnant thigh,
the respite from human care; not then did libation
wine-dipped make the paths of the air drunk with fragrant smoke,
[7.15] and the daughters of the year, the joyless Seasons,
plaited garlands for the gods with meadow grass;
for there was need of wine; and of a dance without Bacchus
the grace was half-finished and profitless; for it charmed
only the eyes of those gathered, when with whirling rushes
[7.20] the many-circling dancer spun in a tempest of feet,
having nods for speech, a palm for a mouth, fingers for a voice.
But, spreading his white hair upon the knees of Zeus,
Aeon of the many-changing shape, holding the key of generation,
stretching out the loosened trail of his beard in supplication,
[7.25] made his prayers; and as his head was dragged down to the floor
his arching neck pressed the spine stretched full length;
and, his foot sinking down, stretching out his endless hand,
the old shepherd of ever-flowing life spoke:
"Lord Zeus, do you too look upon the pains of the downcast cosmos.
[7.30] Do you not see that Enyo has goaded the whole earth to frenzy,
mowing in season the ear of swift-perishing youth?
Not yet have those remains passed away, since you deluged
all the nations of men, and the flood of the airy rain,
surging in the air, bubbled up to neighboring Mene.
[7.35] Farewell to the life of swift-fated mortals, at whose doom
I refuse the heavenly helm; no longer shall I steer
the cable of the cosmos; let some other, better one of the blessed ones
receive the rudder of returning life;
let another hold the course of my years; for pitying the dread-suffering
[7.40] race of much-enduring men I have grown weary.
Old age is not enough, which withers youth
and makes a man slow, with head nodding downward,
when, bowed, with trembling, halting steps,
heavy-kneed, he leans upon the accustomed staff that tends old age;
[7.45] doom is not enough, which has often hidden in Lethe
a bridegroom fresh from the dance in company with his bride of equal age,
loosing the life-bringing cables of the indissoluble yoke.
I know that marriage is lovely, where sings shrill,
in concert with the pipe of Pan, the flute of Athena;
[7.50] nevertheless, what profit is it, when beside the yoked bridal chamber
the upright echo of the seven-toned lyre is struck?
Harps do not loose cares; but even Eros himself,
danceless, has shaken off the bridal pine-torch,
watching weddings that lack delight.
[7.55] But let there be rooted a life-saving remedy that makes forgetful
of the distress of much-toiling mortals; for that heavenly
veil of the jar Pandora ought never to have opened
for men, a sweet evil. But Prometheus himself too
is guilty of human misery,
[7.60] he who cares for toiling mortals; for instead of the fire
that began the evil, sweet nectar, which delights the heart of the blessed ones,
he ought rather to have stolen and given as a gift to men,
so that with your drink he might scatter the cares of the cosmos.
But, leaving the cares of loud-roaring life,
[7.65] look upon your downcast rites; does the wind-borne wandering vapor
of libation-less sacrifices really charm you?"
As the old man so spoke, for a time in intelligent silence
wise Zeus turned about his endless counsel;
and he loosed the reins of his mind; and with successive counsels
[7.70] the purposes of his generative brain were whirled.
And Cronides cried to Aeon in god-speaking voice,
revealing oracles higher than those of the oracular axle:
"O father, self-sown shepherd of the ever-flowing years,
be not angry; for mortal nature, untimely, never ceases
[7.75] filling and waning, an image of the moon.
Leave nectar to the blessed ones, and to men as a bulwark against distress
I shall give sweet wine, self-poured, like nectar;
another drink fitted for mortals; and the first-born
cosmos grieves still, until I bring forth one child.
[7.80] I the begetter give birth, and I shall endure in my male thigh
the birth-pangs of women, so that I may save the birth.
Yesterday, at the nod of my Deo of the broad threshing-floor,
the earth, scored by the iron that woos the corn-ears,
brought forth the dry fruit of the sheaf-bearing field.
[7.85] And already my son of splendid gifts shall fix in the earth
the moist, fragrant fruit of the pain-healing harvest,
grief-free Dionysus, rearing the grape-cluster free of grief,
a rival to Demeter; and you will praise me, watching
the vine reddening with wine-bearing dews,
[7.90] the herald of gladness, and the field-dwellers beside the wine-vat
pressing the harvest with heavy-laden feet,
and the Euoi-loving battle-line of Bassarids from high on their shoulders
darting their unplaited, raging hair into the air;
and, having made their hearts Bacchic with alternating cups,
[7.95] all shall cry Euoi at the sweet-sounding table
for Dionysus, defender of the human race;
him, after his contest upon the earth, running with the stars,
after the strife of the earth-born, together with the battle of the Indians,
the shifting upper air shall receive, flashing alongside Zeus.
[7.100] And the god of the vines, having wound about his locks
as a garland a creeping thing lying upon wine-dark ivy,
shall have a serpent headband as the sign of his new divinity;
and, equal in honor with the blessed ones, he shall be named for men
Dionysus of the vine, as Hermes is of the golden rod,
[7.105] as Ares is bronze, as Apollo is the far-shooter."
So the father spoke; and the Fates assented; and about his word
the fair-footed Seasons, heralds of things to come, sneezed the omen.
And having so spoken they parted, the one going
to the house of Harmonia, the other to the many-colored house of Hera.
[7.110] And wise self-taught Eros, shepherding the age,
battering the gloomy gates of first-born Chaos,
brought the god-driven quiver, in which alone
for the fickle desire of earthly weddings
the fire-nourished arrows were kept for Zeus,
[7.115] twelve, and a golden line in measure for each
he wrote in the middle of the back of the desire-striking quiver:
the first leads Cronion to the bed of ox-eyed Io;
the second woos Europa for the ravishing bull;
the third leads the ruler of Olympus to the wedlock of Plouto;
[7.120] the fourth calls the golden husband to Danae;
the fifth prepares for Semele a flaming wedlock;
the sixth escorts the eagle, champion of the upper air, to Aegina;
the seventh joins Antiope to a guileful Satyr;
the eighth leads an intelligent swan to naked-skinned Leda;
[7.125] the ninth brings a horse's bed to Perrhaebian Dia;
by the tenth the three-mooned husband of Alcmene is bewitched;
the eleventh pursues the nuptials of Laodameia;
the twelfth draws the thrice-coiled husband to Olympias.
But when Eros had seen them all, handling them in order,
[7.130] the other fire-pointed arrows he let be,
but the fifth he lifted in his hand and fitted to the blazing string,
casting ivy upon the point of the winged arrow,
so that it might be a fitting garland for the god of the vine,
dipping the whole missile in the moisture of the nectarous bowl,
[7.135] so that Bacchus might rear a nectarous harvest.
While Eros was lifted with a bound to the house of Zeus,
meanwhile Semele too, running with the rosy dawn,
stretched the sound of her silver whip through the city
driving her mules, and the thin, upright trail of the well-greaved
[7.140] wagon inscribed the surface of the dust;
for having plucked from her eyes the Lethaean wing of Sleep
she escorted her wandering spirit with the answering dream
that embroidered oracles, and among the newly born clusters
she hoped to see a fair-leaved plant within the garden,
[7.145] green, weighed down with swelling, unripe fruit,
snowed upon by the plant-nourishing dews of Cronion;
and suddenly a heavenly flame, falling through the upper air,
laid the whole tree low, but did not touch its fruit;
but a long-winged wandering bird, snatching it,
[7.150] half-finished, lacking the childbed that perfects birth,
held it out to Cronion; and the father, taking it, received it
in his sweet bosom, and sewed it into his thigh; and instead of fruit
a bull-natured man, shaped in horned pattern,
self-perfected, sprouted above the groin of his father;
[7.155] and Semele was the plant, and the girl, shuddering,
leapt from her bed and dismayed her father,
telling of the light-bearing vapor of the fair-leaved dreams.
And king Cadmus was shaken, hearing of Semele's fire-burnt plant;
and calling the god-speaking son of Chariclo
[7.160] early he declared the smoky dreams of his child.
And then, having received the inspired oracle of Teiresias,
the father sent his child to the accustomed temple of Athena
to sacrifice to Zeus, the hurler of the thunderbolt,
a bull, an image of the same-horned nature of Lyaeus,
[7.165] and a goat, the grape-cutting enemy of the harvest to come.
Thence she went before the city, so that she might kindle an altar to Zeus,
the ruler of the lightning; and standing by the sacrifices
she wetted her bosom with blood, and the girl was sprinkled with gore;
and unsparing trails of blood drenched her locks,
[7.170] and her tunics were purpled with the drops of the ox;
and steering her course beside the deep-rushed grass
she passed to the ancestral water of neighboring Asopus,
the maiden of shifting robe, in order to cleanse in the streams
her robes spotted, drenched with much-dripping gore.
[7.175] And, in the eastern floor of evil-averting Dionysus,
the tribute
she shook off into the flood, into the winds, the terror of the dreams.
Not without a god did she go to the streams, but the prophetic
Seasons led her to the outpourings of that river.
[7.180] And seeing Semele bathing beside the streams of Asopus
the roaming Erinys laughed in the air,
remembering Cronion, that with a common doom
she was to strike them both with the flaming thunderbolt.
There she brightened her body, and naked with her handmaids
[7.185] the girl ran through the water, rowing with her hands;
and with skilled art she lifted her unwetted head
stretched high above the swell, water-dipped as far
as her hair, and, spreading her breast upon the stream,
with alternating feet she thrust the water behind her.
[7.190] Nor did she escape the all-seeing eye of Zeus; and about the girl
high-visible he whirled the endless circle of his gaze.
And drawing in the air his bow, the helper of life,
Eros stood face to face with his watching father,
an archer untraceable; and upon the flower-tressed missile
[7.195] the string flashed, and as the back-bent bow
was drawn, the wise Euian arrow whistled an echo.
And Zeus the father, great as he was, was the target; and to paltry
Eros he bent his neck; and like the trail of a star
the arrow of the Loves, shaken with a bridal hiss,
[7.200] came into the heart of Zeus, swerving with an intelligent stroke,
inscribing with its topmost notches the fold of his thigh,
forerunner of the birth to come. Then Cronion,
bearing an unsteady eye, the channel of bridal necessity,
was lashed by the cestus of longing into love for the maiden;
[7.205] and seeing Semele he leapt up, lest near the bank
he had seen Europa a second time; and in his heart
he labored again, bearing a Phoenician longing; for the pattern
of the same splendor she had, and forever about her face
sparkled the kindred gleam of her father's sister.
[7.210] And Zeus the father changed his guileful shape,
and for love of Semele he flew before his time as an eagle
high above Asopus, the river father of daughters,
as a prophet of the well-winged wedlock of Aegina,
bearing the sharp-eyed mimicry of a bird's gaze;
[7.215] and he left the upper air and near the neighboring bank
measured the naked body of the fair-tressed girl;
for he did not long to see from afar, but he wished to watch
from close at hand the whole all-white body of the bride,
because, sending everywhere so great and such an endless,
[7.220] all-encompassing eye, gazer upon the whole cosmos,
he did not think it enough to see one unwed girl.
And by her rosy limbs the black water was reddened,
and the lovely river-stream became a meadow
flashing with the Graces; and watching through the water
[7.225] an unveiled Naiad belched forth a voice in wonder:
"Did Cronus, after the earlier Cypris, with marriage-robbing sickle
cut the members of his father, until once more the intelligent foam,
bringing shaped water to a self-perfected birth,
brought forth a younger Aphrodite of the sea?
[7.230] Did a river, after the sea, in emulous childbirths,
winding the childbed trail of a self-begotten wave,
bear another Cypris, and not yield to the sea?
Has one of the Muses entered my ancestral water
from neighboring Helicon, and left to some spring
[7.235] the honey-dripping horse-water of the Pegasid fount
or the stream of Olmeius? I watch within the river
a silver-footed maiden stretched in the streams;
I am persuaded that, wishing to go to the Latmian bed,
to the couch of Endymion, the unsleeping herdsman,
[7.240] Selene is bathing in the Aonian outpourings;
but if she brightened her body for the sake of her sweet herdsman,
what need of Asopus after the stream of Ocean?
And if she wears a heavenly, snowy shape,
what token of the moon does she have? For the yoke-bands
[7.245] of unbridled mules and a silver-circled wagon
stand by the shore, and Selene, driver of cattle,
does not know how to yoke mules beneath the strap.
But if some heavenly goddess has come — for I see
the grey-green sparklings of the maiden's calm eyelids —,
[7.250] then perhaps, after the ancient quarrel with Teiresias,
grey-eyed Athena has bathed again, having cast off her skin.
The rosy-armed girl has a godlike shape;
but if an earthly belly of splendid burden bore her,
she was worthy of the heavenly bed of Cronion."
[7.255] Such things the submerged voice spoke in the surges;
and Zeus, shaken by the fire-pointed sting of longing,
gazed at the rosy-skinned fingers of the swimming girl;
and he whirled the wandering circle of his unsteady gaze,
now watching the spark of her rosy face,
[7.260] now the radiance of her ox-orbed eyelids, at another time her hair
straying in the winds, and as her locks were drawn aside
he surveyed the free, uncovered neck of the girl;
and he looked more at her breasts, and against Cronides the naked
breasts were armed, spear-hurlers of the Loves;
[7.265] and he watched all her skin; but only the rites of her bosom
that may not be gazed upon he passed by with shame-faced eyes.
And the mind of heavenly Zeus, creeping as a migrant,
swam together with swimming Semele; and, bewitched,
receiving the sweet-maddening spark in his accustomed heart,
[7.270] the father yielded to his child; and with the feeblest missile
little Eros set on fire the hurler of the thunderbolt;
neither the pouring of snow, nor the lightning helped
its flaming bearer, and so great a heavenly flame
was itself conquered by the small fire of the unwarlike
[7.275] Paphian; and little Eros with his shaggy-haired hide,
the cestus, strove against the aegis, and to the love-breeding quiver
the heavy-thundering crash of the thunderous echo was enslaved.
And he was shaken by the mind-charming sting of longing for Semele,
holding wonder; for love is neighbor to friendly wonder.
[7.280] And scarcely did guile-weaving high-ruling Zeus come to the vault,
tending the inspired shape of his face recovered again.
And wishing to mount the nightly bed of Semele
he stretched his eye toward the west, for when sweet Hesperus should come;
and he blamed the long afternoon hour of Phaethon,
[7.285] and with loving lips cried out a love-sick voice:
"Tell me, lingering Night, when does envious Dawn set?
But do you lift the torch, forerunner of the Loves of Zeus,
foretelling the lamp of night-roaming Lyaeus;
jealous Phaethon forces me; does he too himself
[7.290] desire Semele and grudge me in my longing?
Helios, you harry me even if you have learned the sting of the Loves;
why with sparing whip do you lash a slow horse?
I know another, swifter setting; if I wish,
I shall veil both you and Dawn with my clouds,
[7.295] and while you are hidden a Night by day shall appear
as bridal-adorner of Zeus in his haste, so that it may shine
with stars at midday, and the accustomed escort of the Loves,
Hesperus, I shall make rise and not set.
But dragging your forerunner the Dawnstar toward the west
[7.300] do a favor to yourself and to me in my longing, and all night
enjoy your Clymene, and let me come swiftly to Semele.
Yoke your chariot for me, light-bearing Selene, you too,
sending a plant-nourishing glitter, since this marriage
foretells the birth of plant-increasing Dionysus,
[7.305] and rising over the lovely halls of Semele
shine for me in my longing together with the star of the Cyprus-born,
and lengthen the sweet darkness, chamber-servant of Zeus."
Such things the father spoke, which longing knows how to command.
But when for him in his haste, stretching an earth-born leap,
[7.310] the tapering, all-encompassing cone of mist ran up,
bringing the wet darkness, counter-shadow of setting Dawn,
then airy Zeus passed from the starry house
to the wedlock of Semele, and on untraceable sandal
leaping his first bound he measured with his sole the whole
[7.315] path of the air; and with the second he reached Thebes
like a wing or a thought; and as he rushed through the hall
the bolts of the gateway opened of their own accord.
And he embraced Semele in the loving bond of his palm,
now over the bed bellowing an ox-like echo,
[7.320] having a horned face upon human limbs,
an image of like nature to ox-horned Dionysus,
now he put on the thick-haired shape of a lion,
at another time he was a leopard, as one begetting a bold son,
the driver of leopards and charioteer of lions;
[7.325] at another time, his hair girdled beneath the coils of serpents,
the bridegroom was bound tight with a bond of vine,
whirling the wine-dark spiraling ivy of his mane,
the plaited ornament of Bacchus; and a certain crooked serpent, creeping,
licked the rosy-skinned neck of the frightened bride
[7.330] with gentle lips, and going down her breast
girdled the rounded rim of her firm breasts,
hissing a wedding-hymn, pouring forth the sweet honey
of the well-hived bee, not the deadly venom of a viper.
And Zeus lingered over the marriage, and as beside a neighboring wine-vat
[7.335] he crashed the Euian cry, begetting a Euoi-loving son;
and he fixed love-maddened mouth to mouth, and, bubbling up
lovely nectar, the husband made Semele drunk,
so that she might bear a child, scepter-bearer of the nectarous harvest,
the messenger of things to come, lifting the care-forgetting cluster,
[7.340] leaning his heavy arm upon a torch-bearing fennel-stalk;
at another time he lifted a thyrsus much-entwined with wine-dark ivy,
wearing the skin of a deer; and in the left arm of the woman-mad bearer
the many-patterned fawnskin was shaken.
And the whole earth laughed, and with self-grown leaves
[7.345] a vine-orchard ran round the bed of Semele,
and the walls sprouted the flowers of a dewy meadow
about the begetting of Bromius, and upon the cloudless bed
Zeus within the chamber crashed with thunderous din,
foretelling the drums of night-celebrated Dionysus.
[7.350] And after the bed he embraced Semele with loving speech,
comforting his bride with hopes of things to come:
"I am, woman, Cronides, your bridegroom; lift up your proud neck,
joined to a heavenly husband,
but seek no measures greater than a mortal birth.
[7.355] The marriage of Danae does not rival yours; but even
your father's sister's wedlock of the bovine Loves
you have eclipsed; for Europa, glorying in the bed of Zeus,
came to Crete, but Semele comes to Olympus.
What more would you wish, beyond the upper air and the vault of the stars?
[7.360] And some day someone will say that Cronides gave honor
to Minos below and to Dionysus in heaven.
But after the mortal son of Autonoe and the offspring of Ino,
the one fallen to his own hounds, the other destined to die
by the winged missile of a child-slaying father,
[7.365] and after the short-lived son of raging Agave,
bring forth an imperishable son, and I shall call you immortal;
blessed, because for gods and men you shall bring forth a joy,
having conceived a son who makes forgetful of mortal distress."

## Book VIII


### The eighth, of shifting tale, holds the savage envy of Hera, and the fiery marriage of Semele, and Zeus the slayer.

[8.1] So speaking, the god went to Olympus; but in his high-roofed
hall he kept his mind wandering near the bride,
having the sting of Thebes more than of the upper air; for the house
of Semele was a lovely heaven for Cronides, and about the bridal chamber
[8.5] the fair-footed Seasons of Zeus were handmaids of Cadmus.
And by the bridal drop of the wedlock fallen from Zeus
the belly of Semele swelled, pressed by its burden;
and in witness of the birth of garland-loving Dionysus
she delighted her heart with a wreath, and on her flower-tressed head
[8.10] she plaited the self-coiling ivy of the raving hair,
like a prophetess of the Bassarids, and to brides to come
near their childbed she gave the late name of ivy.
And bearing the heavy burden of the god-begotten birth,
if ever some old shepherd made melody on his pipe,
[8.15] hearing the song of neighboring, field-loving Echo,
in a single tunic she passed out of the chamber with a raving rush;
if the mountain-roaming din of the double flute was heard,
leaping unshod from the high-roofed hall
she marched self-bidden to the ridge of the lonely wood;
[8.20] if a cymbal clashed, she whirled with the beat of her feet,
skipping a curving step with slanting sandal;
and if she heard a long-horned bull bellowing,
she bellowed from her throat an answering mimicry of the ox;
often beneath a shepherd's ridge with raving voice
[8.25] she sang a song in company with Pan and Echo was in concert,
and answering the pastoral din of the horned flute
she bent her step into the dance; and the unborn, intelligent child
skipped along with his mother in leaps within her womb,
a flute-mad mimicry, and a self-taught song
[8.30] the half-finished infant sounded, pouring an echo beneath her bosom.
So he grew in the burden of a male-bearing belly,
the messenger of gladness, an intelligent infant; and about the boy
the Seasons, handmaids of Cronion, garlanded heaven.
And Envy, watching the bed of high-ruling Zeus
[8.35] and the birth-pang of Semele's god-begotten labor,
received jealousy of Bacchus even while he was within the belly,
self-suffering, loveless, struck by his own venom.
And with cunning mind he devised a crooked plan,
wearing the lying shape of Ares his counterpart
[8.40] in mimic armor, and as though with a trail of blood
he inscribed the back of his ox-hide shield with a drug-colored flower
in manufactured drops, and as if from slain men
dipping his cheating fingers in matching red ochre
he reddened his hands with counterfeit, reddening gore;
[8.45] and he belched from his throat the din of nine thousand,
pouring from dreadful mouths a man-breaking voice;
and with mind-stealing whispers he dismayed Athena,
and goaded envious Hera still more into wrath;
both he provoked; and with such words he chided them:
[8.50] "Seek yourself another new bridegroom in the upper air, Hera,
another, since Semele has snatched yours, for the sake of whose bed,
exchanging the bridal soil of seven-gated Thebes,
he refuses the seven-zoned heaven; and instead of you
he delights to hold in his arms an earthly pregnant bride.
[8.55] Where has my mother's jealousy gone? Has even the wrath
of Hera herself turned womanish before Semele's wedlock?
Where are the stings of your unsparing gadfly? No longer in the sea
is the sea-terrified heifer driven? No longer does the herdsman
Argus with sleepless, wide-scattered eyes
[8.60] guard the newer beds of marriage-thieving Cronides?
But what is this Olympian house to me? Going to the earth
I shall leave my father's upper air, and dwelling in my own
Thrace I shall not look upon the pains of my grieving mother,
nor Zeus the marriage-thief; and if ever he comes
[8.65] to my land, desiring a Bistonian girl,
he shall know what Ares is when he is angry; for having
my death-bringing spear, destroyer of the Titans,
I shall drive woman-mad Cronion out of Thrace;
and taking as my excuse that he drags a maiden to his bed,
[8.70] I shall be self-bidden avenger of my own bed,
because, consorting with earth-born weddings,
he has filled the many-patterned upper air with his loves.
May heaven be gracious, a house of mortals; do I walk the axle?
Callisto whirls through Olympus, where shines
[8.75] the circle that bears the name of the high-crested Arcadian Bear.
I hate the course of the seven-pathed Pleiad; for in Olympus
Electra harries me, flashing together with Selene.
Now why are you at rest? The son of Leto still in the womb,
Apollo, you afflicted, and do you not trouble Dionysus?
[8.80] Hephaestus, midwife of Tritogeneia at her birth,
self-bearing Zeus shall deliver the son of a bastard wife,
laboring with another, higher birth in his male thigh,
and there is no more need of your ox-axe. Yield, Athena,
cease to proclaim the childbed rim of the head of Zeus,
[8.85] because Dionysus puts to shame the wise birth-pang
of the head that perfects generation, because from an earthly stock
he shall be self-delivered, Olympian, just as Athena,
hiding the boast of motherless Pallas. But I myself too
am ashamed far more, whenever some mortal says:
[8.90] 'Zeus gave strife to Ares and gladness to Dionysus.'
But, leaving the vault of Cronides to his bastard children,
I shall go as a migrant from heaven; and let water-fixed
Ister receive its scepter-bearer in his wandering,
before I see here Ganymede, cup-bearer of Zeus,
[8.95] the fair-haired herdsman, after Pergamum a citizen of Olympus,
handing the untouched cup of heavenly Hebe,
before I see Semele and Bacchus as dwellers in Olympus,
and the star-roaming crown of earthly Ariadne
running with Helios, companion of the dawn.
[8.100] There I shall stay, lest I see the Sea-Monster, or the sickle of Perseus,
or the pattern of Andromeda, or the eye of the Gorgon Medusa,
whom Cronides may hereafter set in Olympus."
He spoke, and confounded the mind of self-born Athena,
and increased still more the wrath of heavy-jealous Hera.
[8.105] And Envy rushed sharply away, and tossing his crooked knees
went by slanting paths through the air; and to human
eyes and hearts he sped like smoke,
arming his Telchinian mind for guile, for evil.
Nor did heavy-wrathful Hera, bedfellow of Zeus, cease;
[8.110] but darting with tempestuous sandal
across the many-patterned heaven adorned with well-lit stars
she ran through countless cities on roaming sole,
seeking cunning Deceit, if somewhere she might find her.
But when high above the Dictaean Corybantic rock
[8.115] she beheld the childbed water of neighboring Amnisus,
there the fickle mountain goddess met her;
for she always stayed beside the lying tomb of Zeus,
delighting in the Cretans, since they were deceivers.
And about her flanks flowed a Cydonian girdle,
[8.120] in which lie all the cunning charms of mortals:
in it much-devising thievery, in it whispered
cajolery, in it deceits of many kinds, and in it also
the deceitful oath itself, running with the winds of the air.
And guileful Deceit with guileful speech Hera soothed,
[8.125] the goddess of shifting counsel, defending herself against her husband:
"Hail, goddess guile-devising, guile-wandering; not even
wily Hermes himself surpasses you in mind-stealing whispers;
give me too the all-shifting girdle, which once Rhea
bound about her flanks, until she beguiled her husband.
[8.130] I do not bring Cronion a rocky shape,
nor do I cheat my husband with a guileful stone,
but an earthly woman forces me, for the sake of whose bed
furious Ares, heavy in wrath, refuses to dwell in the upper air.
What profit, if I was born an immortal goddess? For a paltry
[8.135] mortal woman has my husband, whom the goddess Leto did not snatch;
rainy Zeus did not lie a second time beside Danae,
but after the seal of the iron-bearing hall
the bride sailed the sea, blaming her golden marriage,
and got as bride-gift of Eros the water of the sea; and in the sea
[8.140] the chest swam, fellow-sailor with the unsteady winds.
Nor after Crete did the bull of Olympus sail again,
he did not see Europa after the bed; and, water-dipped,
goaded by the gadfly, horn-bearing Io swam.
Nor did a goddess have a free marriage, but she too,
[8.145] having a burden in her belly, ran much-turning, Leto,
looking restlessly at the feet of the much-wandering islands
and the never-resting flood of the inhospitable sea,
and scarcely saw the free shoot of the olive of her childbed.
Leto toiled so much, and her husband did not help her;
[8.150] and for the bed of a single swift-fated mortal bride
he has renounced the couch of his heavenly sister Hera.
I fear lest Cronides, my husband and brother, hearing,
drive me out of the upper air for the sake of a woman's bed,
lest he make Semele queen of his Olympus.
[8.155] And if you do favor to Zeus Cronion rather than to Hera,
and do not give me your all-charming girdle,
so that my wandering son may come again to Olympus,
I shall go to the farthest floor of Ocean,
leaving the upper air for the sake of mortal weddings,
[8.160] to share the hearth of first-born Tethys; thence I shall come
to the house of Harmonia, and stay near Ophion.
But do you, glorifying the all-mother bride of Zeus,
grant me to have the helping girdle, so that I may charm
furious Ares, who has fled, to dwell in the upper air a second time."
[8.165] As she spoke, the goddess answered with obedient speech:
"Mother of Enyalius, first-throned bride of Zeus,
I shall give my girdle, and if you command anything more
I obey, because you rule among the gods with Cronion.
Receive this strap; and binding it tight about your bosom
[8.170] you may bring Ares to heaven; and if you wish,
charm the mind of Cronides and, if need be, of Ocean
in his anger; and leaving the wedlock of earthly Loves
high-ruling Zeus shall come self-bidden to heaven,
his heart bent round by my guileful cestus;
[8.175] this puts to shame the mind-charming cestus of my Paphian."
So speaking, the guile-devising goddess fled with the wind,
striding through the air on flying sandal.
And leaving the shield-brandishing cave of the Dictaean cliff
and the childbed cavern of the goddess who perfects birth,
[8.180] deceitful Hera came to the chamber of Semele,
puffing with jealousy; and she was shaped in body, like
a honey-tongued old woman, to a child-loving, child-tending
nurse, whom Agenor himself had brought up,
and given her an inheritance, and bestowed her as wife upon a man
[8.185] as a father would; and she in turn, paying the favor of her upbringing,
had nursed Cadmus, still an infant, at her breast
and embraced the babe Europa in her loving arm.
Having a body like hers, Hera passed into the house,
angry with Semele and Cypris and Dionysus
[8.190] who had not yet seen the light, and beside the newly wed bridal chamber
she turned her gaze toward the wall opposite,
averting her eye, lest she see the bed of Zeus.
Peisianassa seated her high upon a chair,
the handmaid of Semele, a shoot of Tyrian stock,
[8.195] and Thelxinoe fitted coverlets to the gleaming chair.
There the guile-weaving goddess sat close by; and she found the girl
weighed down with the birth-pang of a ripening labor;
and the birth, not yet touching the Moon that perfects generation,
her pale cheek proclaimed, from her unmarked belly,
[8.200] and the pallor of her limbs, wine-dark before; and as she sat,
the guileful body of lying Hera trembled with an answering
shudder, and she bent downward toward the ground, nodding,
an old woman with arched neck and crushed shoulders.
And scarcely did she find a pretext; and she groaned over her words,
[8.205] having wiped a well-made tear from her face,
and told a guileful tale in a mind-charming voice:
"Tell me, queen, whence are your cheeks pale?
Where is that beauty of yours? Who, grudging your looks,
has dulled the purple sparks of your face?
[8.210] And who has changed your roses into swift-fading anemones?
And why do you waste away, downcast? Have you too
heard those shameful things which the citizens cry aloud?
Away with the ruinous mouth of women who begin evils.
But tell me, do not hide the plunderer of your girdle:
[8.215] which of the gods defiled you? Who snatched your maidenhood?
If Ares in secret has wedded my girl
and lain beside Semele, sparing not Aphrodite,
let him come to your bed handling his bridal spear;
your mother knows her own steadfast father.
[8.220] But if swift-sandaled Hermes reveled to you as bridegroom
and for Semele's beauty disowned his own Persuasion,
let him give his rod, self-announcer of your bed,
or let him adorn you with his golden sandals,
bringing a gift worthy of your couch, so that you too
[8.225] may be gold-sandaled, just as Hera, bedfellow of Zeus.
But if from heaven fair Apollo came to you as husband
and for love of Semele has forgotten Daphne,
apart from hidden guile let him dance to you through the air,
delicate, riding a chariot of never-silent swans,
[8.230] bringing his lyre as bride-gift of your love,
a faithful token of his bridal chamber; for looking on it
Cadmus will recognize the heavenly lyre of Phoebus,
which he saw, varied in voice, beside the dinner of his own table
singing the earthly wedding of Harmonia.
[8.235] But if the dark-haired god, mad for women, forced you,
and preferred you to wise Melanippe of whom song tells,
let him revel openly, and beside the gateway of Cadmus
let him fix the point of his bridal trident,
sharing an equal prize beside viper-tressed Dirce,
[8.240] as among the Argives beside lion-feeding Lerna
he set a sign of his marriage with Amymone, where still
a place of the Lernaean bride bears the name of the trident.
But why do I call you bedfellow of the Earth-shaker?
What tokens of Poseidon's bed do you have?
[8.245] Poured out with watery hands he embraced Tyro,
the mimic Enipeus bubbling in a guileful stream.
But if also, as you say, your bridegroom is Cronion,
let him come to your bed with his lovely thunderbolt,
armed with bridal lightning, so that someone may say:
[8.250] 'The thunderbolts are bride-adorners of Hera and of Semele.'
Jealous though she is, the wife of Zeus will not trouble you;
for your mother's Ares would not allow it.
Blessed is Europa more than Semele, whom on his shoulders
horned Zeus lifted; and the hoof of the desire-stricken bull
[8.255] ran unwetted through the surface of the water,
and so great a god was the boat of Eros. Ah, great wonder,
a maiden drove the charioteer of the upper air.
I count Danae blessed more than Semele, through whose bosom
golden rainy Zeus flowed down from the roof
[8.260] in a wealthy drop of woman-mad snow;
the most blessed bride did not ask for golden gifts;
for she had as bride-gift of Eros her whole husband. But let there be
silence between us, lest your father Cadmus hear."
So speaking, she left the house and the bride still grieving,
[8.265] having jealousy of Hera's inimitable wedlock,
blaming Cronion; and on her returning path
she came within the upper air, and beside the heavenly seat
seeing the weapons of Zeus lying apart from their bearer,
as though they could hear, she soothed them with friendly speech:
[8.270] "Thunder, has my cloud-gathering Zeus abandoned you too?
Who has snatched you again and stripped you of your bearer?
Thunder, you have been plundered — Typhon is not to blame —
comforter of Hera, having suffered in common with her; for the bride-adorning
rainy Zeus disowns us both.
[8.275] The earth is no longer sprinkled with snows, and as the moist-poured
rain fails, the drought of the field grazes upon
the furrow, having a useless crop; and by the field-dwellers
instead of the black-clouded, Zeus is called the cloudless.
Lightnings, break forth a fiery voice against Cronion,
[8.280] against woman-mad Zeus, my friends, speak out, thunderbolts.
But, avengers of the heavy-jealous griefs of Hera,
go to Semele as bride-adorners, and as bride-gifts of her girdle
let her, entreating, receive her flaming murderers."
Such things Hera cried to the voiceless weapons of Zeus
[8.285] in grief, and the goddess surged with envious wrath.
And Semele, heavy-bound in her newly grieving heart,
longing for the lightning, the fire-bright escort of the Loves,
with reproaching lips entreated her husband,
wishing for the pattern of Hera's fire-crowned bed:
[8.290] "By the streaming-wealthy wedlock of Danae I beg you,
grant me a favor, horned husband of Europa; for I am ashamed
to call you Semele's husband, whom I saw as in a dream.
Acrisius is more blessed than Cadmus; but I too
would have wished, had I seen a golden marriage, rainy Zeus,
[8.295] if the mother of Perseus had not snatched this prize of yours;
I would have wished that you had carried me in the waters, a traveling bull,
on your shoulders, so that he too might wander,
my brother Polydorus, seeking the ravisher of a wandering bride,
as Cadmus did, my Cronion, my bearer.
[8.300] But what is the pattern of a bovine marriage or of a snowfall to me?
I do not wish an equal prize, which an earthly bride got.
Leave the bull to Europa, allow Danae the pouring of rain;
only the envy of Hera's marriage holds me. If you honor me,
adorn my bridal chamber with your heavenly fire,
[8.305] darting the lovely radiance of the clouds, and show the lightning
as bride-gift of my love to disobedient Agave;
let Autonoe shudder beside my neighboring chamber
hearing the thunderous song of the bride-adorning Loves,
the self-proclaimed symbol of your unheralded bed.
[8.310] And grant that I may embrace the dear flame and delight my heart
touching the lightning and handling the thunderbolts.
Give me the yoking flame of your bridal chamber; every bride
has a torch as escort of the wedding that perfects marriage.
Am I not worthy of your bridal thunderbolts,
[8.315] bearing the blood of Ares and of your own Aphrodite?
Wretched me; the marriage of Semele has a swift-perishing fire
and earthly lamps, but grasping the thunderbolt
and touching the lightning your Hera is wedded.
Bridegroom who delights in the thunderbolt, you in a many-lit chamber,
[8.320] having your inspired form, come to the couch of Hera,
shining upon your bride with bridal lightnings,
fiery Zeus, but to Semele you come as a serpent or a bull;
she hears the heavy-thundering Olympian sound of the Loves,
but Semele, in the shadowy pattern of a shape,
[8.325] hears the bastard bellowing of a lying bull;
noiseless, cloudless Zeus comes down to my bed,
and the cloud-gatherer couples with high-necked Hera.
And my father, fleeing the shameful things of his ill-wedded daughter,
your Cadmus, within the house shuns the path of men,
[8.330] ashamed to appear to the dwellers, because the citizens
all mock at your secret wedlock,
blaming Semele, because she has a stolen husband.
A fine bride-gift you have given me, the reproaches of women;
and the chorus of handmaids blames me, and beyond the others
[8.335] I fear the greedy mouth of my never-silent nurse.
Remember who, weaving a guile-minded doom for Typhon,
gave you back the spark of the stolen thunderbolt;
show my father what he gave; for aged
Cadmus demands of me a token of your bed.
[8.340] Not yet have I seen the true face of Cronion,
nor the light-bearing ray of your eyelids, nor perceived
the sparklings of your face and your flashing beard;
not yet have I seen your Olympian form, but I watch
a leopard or a lion, and I have not seen a god as husband.
[8.345] As a mortal I look upon you, though I am about to bear a god.
I have heard of another flaming marriage; for Helios
with bridal fire embraced the bride Clymene."
She spoke, asking for her own doom; for equal with Hera
the short-lived bride hoped to behold at her marriage
[8.350] the gentle spark of a calm thunderbolt.
And Zeus the father, hearing, reproached the envious Fates,
and pitied Semele, untimely; and concerning Bacchus
he knew the cunning wrath of implacable Hera.
And he commanded Hermes to snatch from the flaming thunderbolt
[8.355] the new son of fire-struck Thyone.
And the father spoke some words to the high-necked girl:
"O woman, truly the envious mind of Hera has beguiled you with guiles;
do you really think, woman, that thunderbolts are gentle?
Endure to wait another time, while you still lift your burden,
[8.360] endure to wait another time, until you bring forth my son;
do not before the birth demand of me the fiery murderers;
not wielding the lightning did I plunder the maidenhood of Danae,
nor the clangor of thunder, and it was not thunderbolts that wedded
the wedlock of your Tyrian bride Europa,
[8.365] the Inachian heifer did not see the radiance; but you alone,
a mortal, demand of me what the goddess Leto did not ask."
Such words he told, and did not long to strive
with the threads of the Fates; and through the bosom of the upper air
flashing he was carried, and the supplication of his bride
[8.370] unwilling her husband fulfilled, Zeus who rouses the lightning,
and danced toward Semele, stretching with downcast hand
the bridal sparks of the marriage-robbing thunderbolt;
and the chamber shone with lightnings, and with the vapor of fire
Ismenus blazed, and all Thebes sparkled.
[8.375] And Semele, seeing her flaming murderers,
lifted her proud neck and spoke with high-minded voice:
"I need no shrill-sounding harp, there is no need of a flute;
the thunders are for me the pipes of the Loves of Zeus,
this Olympian din is my flute, and the radiance
[8.380] of the heavenly lightning is the torch of my bridal chamber; for paltry
torches I care nothing; the thunderbolts are my torches.
I am the wife of Cronion, Agave is Echion's,
let them call Autonoe the wife of Aristaeus;
Ino has Nephele, Semele got Hera as fellow-wife.
[8.385] I was not the wife of Athamas, nor did I bear
swift-fated Actaeon, hound-torn, pasture-mate of the wood.
I need no lesser lyre; for the heavenly
starry Lyre sings the wedding of Semele."
She spoke exulting, and wished to handle with her hands
[8.390] the destroying lightning, and, sparing not for Fate,
with daring palm she touched the murderous thunderbolts;
and the marriage of Semele was death-bearing, and by a single ordinance
the Erinys made the bridal chamber both pyre and tomb;
and with childbed rays the bridal breath of the thunderbolt,
[8.395] as Zeus spared not, turned the whole bride to ash;
and the lightning was midwife, and the thunderbolts Eileithyia;
and as he leapt through the burning bosom of his mother
the heavenly flame, sparing him, delivered Bacchus,
as the wedlock withered in the mother-slaying spark;
[8.400] and the infant, born out of due month in an unharmed birth,
the thunderbolts washed with sparing breaths;
and Semele, having beheld her fiery end,
perished delighting in her childbed doom; and one could see
Desire, Eileithyia, the Erinyes in a single bridal chamber.
[8.405] And the half-finished infant, its limbs bathed in heavenly fire,
Hermes brought for his father to bring to birth.
And Zeus, turning aside the mind of heavy-jealous Hera,
soothed the savage mass of her threat, unloosed again,
and brought up flaming Semele, a migrant to the vault of the stars,
[8.410] to have heaven as her home, the mother of Bacchus,
sharing the hearth of the dwellers in the upper air, as the kin of Hera,
as the offspring of Harmonia from Ares, from Aphrodite;
and having bathed her new body in the pure blazing fire
she got an imperishable Olympian life; and instead of Cadmus
[8.415] and the earthly floor and Autonoe and Agave
she found Artemis sharing her throne and consorted with Athena
and received the vault as bride-gift, touching a single table
with Zeus and Hermes and Ares and Cytherea.

## Book IX


### Look at the ninth and you will see the son of Maia and the daughters of Lamus and Mystis and the running of Ino.

[9.1] And Zeus the father, receiving Dionysus, the steersman of Semele's
flaming womb, half-finished, leaping through the childbed thunderbolt,
sewed him into his male thigh,
and awaited the gleam of the Moon that perfects birth;
[9.5] and the palm of Cronides, pilot of the childbed,
was itself the midwife of the much-stitched labor,
loosing the birth-pain threads of the child-bearing thigh.
And as Zeus labored the rim of his thigh turned womanish,
and a child born out of due month was brought forth by a motherless ordinance,
[9.10] passing from a female belly into a male belly.
Him, as he peeped up from the god-begotten birth,
the childbed Seasons crowned with a wreath of ivy,
heralds of things to come, and on his flower-tressed head
beneath the crooked coils of well-horned serpents
[9.15] they girdled bull-natured Dionysus the horned.
And him, about the childbed hill within Dracanus,
Hermes son of Maia took in the hollow of his arm
and flew from the air; and to Lyaeus at his birth
he gave his father's name for the birth,
[9.20] calling him Dionysus, because, lifting the burden on his foot,
Cronides went limping with his heavy-laden thigh,
because in the Syracusan tongue a lame man is called nysos;
and they named the newly born god Eiraphiotes,
because his father sewed him into his fair-laboring thigh.
[9.25] And him, darting from the unwashed childbed,
his kinsman Hermes lifted in his arm, a tearless boy,
and the infant, an image of the well-horned nature of Selene,
he gave to the daughters of Lamus, the river Nymphs,
to tend the grape-tressed child of Zeus; and they, taking
[9.30] Bacchus, embraced him, and into the child's mouth each
gushed the milky moisture of her unpressed breasts.
And the child, stretching his eye toward heaven on the opposite path,
lay on his back sleepless, and with alternating rushes
kicking the air delighted in the twofold beat,
[9.35] and surveyed the unaccustomed vault, and in wonder
laughed, gazing at his father's rim of stars.
And beholding the infant of Zeus the bride was lashed;
and the daughters of Lamus, by the wrath of heavy-wrathful Hera,
were driven to frenzy by the whip of divine malice;
[9.40] in the house they assailed the servant-women, and at the crossroads
they carved the wayfaring man with a stranger-slaying knife;
dreadful they shrieked, and with whirling rush
they rolled the eyes of their disordered faces;
everywhere, this way and that, with mind-wandering purposes
[9.45] they ran with the rolling leap of unsteady feet;
and the raving breezes drove their locks in Bacchic frenzy into the air,
straying; and about the breast of each girl the saffron
tunic was whitened with a foam-tressed drop.
And now, in the mind-changing wave of roaming madness,
[9.50] they would have carved up Bacchus, still an infant, with the knife,
if Hermes, stealing Bacchus away on the thievish sole
of an unmarked foot, had not snatched him again, winged,
and, holding the infant just rescued in his life-sustaining bosom,
brought him to the childbed house of newly delivered Ino.
[9.55] She was lifting the boy, still an infant, who had leapt forth
from her childbed, Melicertes at her arm,
with child-tending palms; and her breasts were swelling,
gushing the dew of pressed milk.
And with loving lips the god soothed the lady,
[9.60] pouring a divine word from his oracular throat:
"Receive, woman, a new son, and lay in your bosom
the child of your sister Semele, whom beside the bridal chamber
the radiance of the lightning did not wholly reduce to dust, nor did
the mother-slaying sparks of the thunderbolt themselves harm him.
[9.65] And let the infant be kept in a shadowy house,
and let neither the daytime eye of Phaethon nor the nightly
eye of Selene behold him within the hollow hall,
nor, as he plays, even though she is called ox-eyed,
let jealous heavy-wrathful Hera see him, veiled.
[9.70] Receive the son of your sister; and to you Cronion
shall give rewards for his nursing worthy of your toils.
Blessed among all the daughters of Cadmus have you become;
for already Semele has been subdued by the flaming missile,
and Autonoe the earth will hide together with her dead son,
[9.75] and Cithaeron shall raise a single tomb for them both,
and mountain-roaming Agave shall behold the doom
of Pentheus perishing, touching the counterfeit dust,
become a child-slayer who leaves her city; but you alone
shall be exultant, dweller of so great a sea,
[9.80] exchanging your house for that of Poseidon, and in the sea
like Thetis, like Galatea, you shall be called Ino of the waters;
Cithaeron shall not hide you in an earthly hollow,
but you become one of the Nereids; and instead of Cadmus
with better hope you shall call Nereus your father,
[9.85] living with your child, with immortal Melicertes,
Leucothea, holding the key of the poured-out calm,
ruling over fair sailing after Aeolus; and in fair weather
the trade-loving sailor at sea shall sail trusting in you,
having set up a single altar to the Earth-shaker and to Melicertes,
[9.90] sacrificing to both; and of the chariot of the sea
the dark-haired god shall receive Palaemon as charioteer."
So speaking, Hermes ran untraceable to heaven,
whirling in the air the windy soles of his sandals.
And Ino did not disobey, but with a purpose of tender love
[9.95] she embraced motherless Bacchus in her child-tending arm,
and spreading in her arm the double pair of children
she held out a double breast to Palaemon and to Dionysus;
and she gave the infant into the keeping of her handmaid, the lady Mystis,
fair-haired Sidonian Mystis, whom while still a girl
[9.100] father Cadmus had brought up as chamber-servant of Ino;
she then, taking Bacchus from the god-nourishing breasts,
locked him unforeseen in a gloomy pit;
and a self-proclaiming gleam, announcing the childbed
of Zeus, flashed, shining from his face;
[9.105] and the gloomy walls of the hall were whitened,
and the light of Dionysus, who may not be gazed upon, hid the darkness.
And Ino sat all night beside Bromius as he played;
and often Melicertes, leaping up unsteadily,
drew with answering lips the neighboring teat,
[9.110] creeping alongside Dionysus as he babbled Euoi.
And Mystis nursed the god after the breast of her queen,
sitting beside Lyaeus with sleepless eyes;
and the prudent handmaid, with an art that bears the name of Mystis,
being taught the rites of night-celebrated Dionysus
[9.115] and preparing the sleepless initiation for Lyaeus,
first shook the rattle, and clashed for Bacchus
the cymbals, whirling them, resounding with double bronze,
first, having kindled the night-danced flame of the pine-torch,
crashed the Euian cry for unsleeping Dionysus,
[9.120] first, having plucked the curving flower with its cluster,
girdled her unplaited hair with a bond of vine,
and she herself plaited the thyrsus yoked with wine-dark ivy,
and on the topmost cluster she clamped the iron
hidden by leaves, so that it might not tear Bacchus;
[9.125] and she devised the fastening of bronze bowls upon
naked breasts, and skins of fawns upon the loins;
and, teaching the mystic chest pregnant with the most holy rite
as playthings to Dionysus as he played,
she first fastened about her skin the viperish strap,
[9.130] entwined, and a coiling serpent about her double girdle,
circling its knots, was bent in a snaky bond.
And him, beneath the seal of the many-locked hall,
all-seeing Hera saw with her unerring eyes,
kept in the recess of the unspoken mystic house;
[9.135] and she swore by the nether water of Styx, avenging late,
to deluge the house of Ino with every kind of malice.
And now she would have destroyed the offspring of Zeus; but Hermes,
snatching him, carried him to the ridge of the Cybelian wood;
and swift-sandaled Hera ran after on fair-footed sole,
[9.140] unsteady from on high; but he outstripped the running of Hera,
and put on the endless shape of first-born Phanes,
and Hera, revering the first-sown god, gave way,
cowering before the lying rays of his face,
nor did she perceive the guile-weaving image of the counterfeit shape;
[9.145] and passing over the mountain floor with lighter feet,
bringing in his entwining hands the horn-bearing son,
he gave him to lion-feeding Rhea, the mother of Zeus his father,
and spoke some words to the goddess of noblest travail:
"Receive, goddess, the new son of your Zeus, who after his contest
[9.150] in the war of the Indians will come after the earth to the vault of the stars,
a great favor to angry Hera; for it was not fitting
that Ino should have as nursling him whom Cronides bore;
let the mother of Zeus be the nurse of Dionysus,
being mother of Zeus and nurse of his grandson."
[9.155] So speaking, swift-kneed Hermes went to heaven,
circling his wind-swift wing with the nimble breezes;
and exchanging the surpassing form of self-born Phanes
he put on again his own ancient shape,
leaving ever-growing Bacchus to the child-tending mother.
[9.160] And the goddess tended him, and while he was still a boy
she set him as mounter of a chariot of raw-devouring lions;
and the nimble Corybants within the god-receiving court
girdled Dionysus with a child-tending dance,
and clashed their swords, and with alternating rushes
[9.165] struck their shields with tumbling iron,
stealing away the boyhood of growing Dionysus;
and the child, hearing the nursing echo of the shields,
grew with the fatherly care of the Corybants.
And the youth of nine years, holding the beast-slaying hunt,
[9.170] with swifter feet outstripped the running of the hare,
and with infant hand pursuing the deer-driving valor
he lifted a dappled fawn, hanging it on his neck,
and holding a bold shifting-backed tiger stretched upon his shoulder
he lifted it up on high outside any bond;
[9.175] holding cubs in his hands he showed them to his mother Rhea,
having snatched the young children from the many-milked breasts,
and dragging dreadful lions still living
he stretched them out as gifts to his mother, that she might yoke them to her wagon,
pressing both the feet of the yoked pair in his two palms.
[9.180] And in wonder, with rejoicing laughter, Rhea looked upon
the manliness and the contests of newborn Dionysus;
and seeing Iobacchus the driver of grim lions
father Cronion laughed with delighted eyes.
And Euius cloaked his skin with shaggy tunics,
[9.185] having his boyhood bloom just finished,
wearing on his shoulders a dappled covering of deer,
having a mimic shifting pattern of the stars of the upper air;
and driving lynxes beneath the floor of Phrygia into the folds
he yoked his wagon with spotted leopards,
[9.190] as though honoring the likeness of his father's floors;
and often, riding the chariot of immortal Rhea,
holding in his little soft-skinned hand the circles of the bit,
he reined back the swift chariot of the hurrying lions;
and, growing in his heart the boldness of high-ruling Zeus,
[9.195] he stretched his right hand to the mouth of a raging bear,
casting his fearless fingers into the dreadful jaws,
his boyish fingers; and the gentle beast stood still,
entrusting her mouth as a slave to infant Lyaeus,
and kissed the fingers of Bacchus with sharp-toothed kisses.
[9.200] So he grew beside crag-loving Rhea,
still a boy fresh in bloom, mountain-reared. And about the rocks
the Pans circled the dance-beating son of Thyone,
skipping about the cliffs on shaggy-shinned feet,
crying Euoi for Bacchus; and as they whirled in the dance
[9.205] the goat's hoof rattled with the leap of their feet.
And Semele in Olympus, still breathing of the thunderbolt,
lifted her proud neck and spoke with high-minded voice:
"Hera, you have been plundered; the offspring of Semele is better;
Zeus brought forth my son and became mother in my place,
[9.210] the father sowed and bore what he sowed, and with a self-bearing
counterfeit belly bore the child, and changed his nature by necessity.
Bacchus is mightier than Enyalius; for your Ares
he only sowed and did not beget in his thigh.
Thebes has hidden the fame of Ortygia; for heavenly
[9.215] Leto, pursued, bore Apollo in secret;
Leto bore Phoebus, and Cronion did not labor;
Maia bore Hermes, and the husband did not give birth;
but openly the father bore my son. Ah, great wonder,
behold Dionysus in the arms of her who bore you,
[9.220] lying in a child-tending arm; and the steward
of the ever-flowing cosmos, the first-sown beginning of the gods,
the all-mother, has become the nurse of Bromius; for to infant
Bacchus she held out the breast which high-ruling Zeus once drew.
Which Cronides labored, which Rhea nursed Ares,
[9.225] your child? But Cybele, who is called your mother,
bore Zeus and reared Bacchus in a single bosom;
she lifted both, the son and the father.
Nor would fatherless Hephaestus rival the offspring of Semele,
unsown by a father, whom self-begetting Hera bore
[9.230] limping on the unequal sole of his thin feet,
stealing away the unfinished childbed of his mother.
Not wholly like Semele was Maia, whose son Hermes,
guileful in appearance, armed like Ares,
deceived Hera, until he drew the milk of her breasts.
[9.235] Yield to me; for Semele alone got a husband
who both sowed and labored with the same offspring.
Most blessed is Semele for the sake of her son; for our
Dionysus shall come without guile to the chorus of the stars,
dwelling in his father's upper air, because of so great
[9.240] a goddess he received the milk of the god-nourishing breast;
he shall come self-bidden to heaven, and has no need
of Hera's milk, having milked a better breast."
She spoke exulting even in the upper air; and the angry
wife of Zeus dismayed migrant Ino,
[9.245] unforeseen, falling heavily upon the hall of Athamas,
enraged at Dionysus while he was still a boy.
Fleeing from her chamber ill-wedded Ino ran through,
unshod, skipping over the rough hills,
rushing after the track of unheralded Dionysus;
[9.250] and roaming, the lady went through mountain after mountain,
until she entered torrent-cleft Delphic Pytho;
and scarcely did she bend her step beside the serpent-feeding thicket,
quivering uncontrollably; and down her bare breast
tearing her tunic, the herald of mourning,
[9.255] she was carried along in dreadful madness; and hearing the outlandish
wail of the mind-wandering lady the shepherd trembled.
Often upon the divine seat entwined with the tripod
she fitted a thrice-coiled serpent in spirals with her squalid hair,
and binding it tight about her slender head
[9.260] she girdled her long hair in a serpent bond;
and she pursued the maiden envoys. Not then was there libation,
nor public sacrifice, nor beside the temple
did a Delphian man dance; and with the limb-devouring tendrils
of long-plaited ivy the women were lashed.
[9.265] And the hunter, seeing mountain-running Ino, shrank away,
leaving the linen guile of the stakes; and the goatherd
drove his goats beneath the fold of the high-crested rock of lairs,
and driving his sweating oxen beneath the yoke-band
the old plowman shuddered at the leaps of Ino.
[9.270] And binding tight the strange-voiced echo of her earthly cry
the oracular Pythian girl ran through the mountain,
having shaken on her head the accustomed laurel of Panopeus;
and entering the peaks of the deep-glened cliff
she dwelt in the Delphic cave in fear of raging Ino.
[9.275] But rushing through the haunts of the many-winding wood
she did not escape all-seeing Apollo; near the thicket
in pity he came swiftly, and changing his shape into a mortal
he came near the lady, and the topmost body of Ino
with sparing palms he entwined with wise laurel,
[9.280] and brought sweet sleep upon her; and with ambrosia
he anointed all the skin of sleepy mourning Ino,
moistening her maddened limbs with a toil-releasing drop.
And she stayed there for a time within the Parnassian wood
into the fourth year, and beside the oracular rock
[9.285] she set up dances of Bacchus while he was still an infant
by the prophecies of Phoebus; and with sleepless pine-torches
the Corycian Bacchants passed to the fragrant rites,
and with most holy palms gathered drugs
that ward off madness and healed the woman.
[9.290] At the call of Athamas his attendants were wanderers
seeking everywhere; and the servant-women too,
mountain-wandering, marched in much-turning journeys
seeking the roaming track of the queen whose fate was unknown,
wandering beyond reach; and of the grief-loving women
[9.295] the hateful nail scored the reddening cheek,
and they armed willing fingers against their rosy breasts;
and sending much noise with wailings through the city
the house shrieked, crammed with mourning distress;
and more still did Mystis of shifting counsel receive the necessity,
[9.300] and had a double pain, for wretched Ino still wandering,
the much-enduring, and for Dionysus snatched away.
But king Athamas did not lament his plaintive bride,
but leaving forgotten the longing for unheralded Ino,
after the bed of his earlier bride Nephele, mother of twins,
[9.305] he passed to the soft couch of deep-girdled Themisto,
and leading the daughter of Hypseus into a third wedlock
he cast off love for Ino; and like a nurse playing daintily,
sending him aloft in the air with a high-pathed whirl,
he lifted Melicertes babbling, comforting him;
[9.310] and to him weeping he held out a male breast in place
of the milk-bearing teat, and checked his longing for his mother.
And from the bed of Athamas Themisto reared
sons well-corseleted, defenders against Enyo,
Schoeneus and Leucon, a new stock of brave men,
[9.315] with first-born pangs; and after both the mother
bore twin births of a common, single childbed,
Porphyreon, and reared at her rich breast
Ptous, the boyish shoot of evil-averting youth,
both late-born and of one age, whom once their mother
[9.320] Themisto crushed as if they were the children of a stepmother,
thinking them the twofold race of Ino blessed in fair children.

## Book X


### And in the tenth, the madness of Athamas and the running of Ino, how she fled into the swell of the sea with newborn Melicertes.

[10.1] So she became a murderous, child-slaying mother
in her madness; but the father of the children, beneath a witnessing vengeance,
because he kept Themisto, the destroyer of his offspring, as sharer of his hearth,
Athamas, goaded by the maddening whip of Pan,
[10.5] came into the middle of the flock, and lashing them as though servants
pursued the innocent flocks of woolly sheep;
and one he lifted, as though she were his yoke-mate bride,
together with the twin infants at her fresh-milked breasts,
taking a goat; and he clamped her shaggy feet in a twofold
[10.10] bond; and loosing the circling girdle beside her loins
he lashed the body of the lying Ino as she was bound,
not perceiving the counterfeit shape. And always within his hearing
the din of the whip of Pan, son of Cronus, boomed;
often, unsteady, he leapt up from his seat
[10.15] receiving in his fearful ears the breath of serpents.
Thickly he stretched his bow, and drew an arrow on the circling string
against an empty target, striking the unwounded air.
And seeing the snaky likeness of the Tartarean goddess
he quivered, fearing the many-colored phantoms of her shape,
[10.20] spitting snowy foam, the witness of madness,
rolling his drunken, threatening eyes.
And as he watched with much-wandering rushes
his eyes reddened; and through his temple the thin
membranes of his unsteady head were whirled.
[10.25] And the third portion of his soul was lost; for the unerring
purposes of his witless brain were turned aside,
and with tottering spirals the eyes of the goaded man
were driven to frenzy; and his hair strayed,
shaken about the back of his unshorn head.
[10.30] And his mouth stammered, and loosing his lips to the air
he sent forth the strange-voiced echo of meaningless words.
And the breezes of the Eumenides snatched away the mortal
cares of life, and his tongue was weighed down with raving voice;
and gazing in spirals beneath the whirl of the face
[10.35] at the strange-natured counterfeit form of Megaera, who may not be gazed upon,
gadfly-mad Athamas was shaken with a mind-changing throb;
and from the grim hand of the mind-robbing goddess
he longed to snatch the viperish whip;
and baring his knife against the temple of the Erinys
[10.40] he wished to cut the snaky curls of Tisiphone.
And with empty whispers he conversed with the neighboring wall,
gazing at the shadowy, thievish image of the shape
of Artemis, and seeing the light phantom with his eyes
he came to a desire for the hunt through the answering phantoms.
[10.45] And late, after the fourth year, Ino of the varied tears
came home returning; and the lady, watching
both her goaded husband and Themisto with her male children,
received a double pain. And her husband did not know her,
beholding his bedfellow Ino recovered after so long;
[10.50] but, swift-kneed, having a longing for the deer-driving hunt,
he darted to the peaks on tempestuous sandal,
seeing his son as a horn-bearing beast; and holding
his straight-stretched bow he leapt untraceable upon Learchus,
thinking him a high-antlered stag in lying shape,
[10.55] like a beast in his limbs; but he, fleeing,
flew in terror, tossing his swifter knees.
And drawing with raging hands the wind-swift arrow
the father fettered his young son with the child-slaying missile;
and he crushed with his knife the unrecognized head
[10.60] turned to a fawn's by the phantom; and touching the tip
of the bloody chin of the unmarked face he laughed,
handling it as though a beast, and ran with a leap of madness,
while his son, unburied Learchus, was still gasping,
seeking the mother, and rolling his whirling eyes.
[10.65] Nor did any of the attendants come near; and roaming
he passed through the seven-chambered room on swift sole
calling his son, whom he had killed. And in the hall
beholding infant Melicertes newly brought in,
setting a fire-breathing cauldron on the hearth,
[10.70] he put his son in the middle; and as the fire was kindled
the bloody cauldron bubbled with watery vapor.
Crying "Papa" his child shrieked, nor did any
of the attendants help him; but the storm-swift mother,
snatching him half-burnt, scorched with fire, from the cauldron,
[10.75] wind-footed Ino ran with roaming leaps;
and cutting the dust of the White plain
she was called Leucothea, bearing the name; and from the hall
Athamas in dreadful madness, tossing his windy knees,
pursued in vain swifter mountain-running Ino.
[10.80] But when her much-dismayed husband came near her,
with unsteady track on tottering foot, then indeed the wretched woman,
setting her drenched foot beside the neighboring sea,
roared with plaintive voice to her mourning-loving child,
reproaching Cronion and the messenger son of Maia:
[10.85] "Fine rewards, lord of the bright thunderbolt, you have given me for nursing Bacchus;
look at the half-burnt child, of one age with Lyaeus;
if you wish, lay low with your unsparing thunderbolt
both mother and young son, whom I nourished in one bosom
as foster-brother of your god-begotten Dionysus.
[10.90] Child, Necessity is a great god; to whom do you flee?
What mountain receives you in flight near the sea?
What Cithaeron will hide you in a dark hollow?
What mortal pities you, whom your father does not pity?
Either the sword or the sea shall receive you; if it must be,
[10.95] better to be subdued in the seas than by the knife.
I know whence this woe has rolled upon your mother,
I know whence; for Nephele sends the Erinyes against me,
so that I may die in the sea, where the maiden Helle fell.
I have heard that, carried from the air to the land of the Colchians,
[10.100] the aloft charioteer of the ravishing ram,
Phrixus, still lives as a migrant; would that he too
might travel the aloft path of the golden-fleeced ram,
my son Melicertes, escaping, leaving his homeland;
and would that, after Phoebus, pitying your Ino,
[10.105] Poseidon, host of Glaucus, might save you.
I fear lest after the doom of unburied Learchus
I see you too perished, a corpse unburied, unwept,
gasping beneath your father's bloody knife.
Hasten to flee maddened Athamas, and do not perceive
[10.110] a child-slaying father, destroyer of your mother.
Receive me too, sea, after the earth; receive, Nereus,
with hospitable hand after Perseus, Melicertes also;
receive after the chest of Danae Ino as fellow-sailor.
I too have suffered things worthy of impiety, because Cronion
[10.115] has made even my own race unsown,
unsown as I made the life-bringing furrow of the earth;
being a stepmother I chose to mow down
the bastard stock of Athamas, and Hera is angry with me,
being stepmother of newly nursed Dionysus."
[10.120] So speaking, on trembling feet she leapt into the sea,
swiftly tumbling with her son; and Leucothea
the dark-haired god received with outspread palms
as sharer of the hearth with the gods who travel the waters; thence she helps
wandering sailors, and Ino became a sea-Nereid,
[10.125] the pilot of noiseless calm.
Her king Cronides showed to the mother of Lyaeus,
that for Bromius' sake she had become a goddess; and she, rejoicing,
cried to her sea-faring sister in mocking voice:
"Ino, you have the sea, Semele got the circle of Olympus;
[10.130] yield to me; for Cronides, the plowman of my stock,
I got as immortal husband, bearing the birth-pang of my childbed
in my place, but you were wedded to an earthly husband,
Athamas, the destroyer of your stock.
Your child got the sea, my offspring shall dwell in the upper air,
[10.135] shall come to the higher house of Zeus; for I do not liken
heavenly Dionysus to submerged Melicertes."
Such things the heavenly bride Semele bellowed,
mocking the life of her sister Ino who dwells in the sea.
Meanwhile Dionysus too, beneath the Lydian slope of the land,
[10.140] whirling the Euian instruments of Cybelian Rhea,
bloomed, having such stature as he wished; and fleeing
the midday whip of high-pathed Helios
he brightened his body in the quietly bubbling bath
of the Maeonian river, and doing favor to Lyaeus
[10.145] Pactolus murmured, pouring gold-sown water
with purple sands, and in the wealthy depth of deep-rich
mines the fish rolled, gilded;
and the Satyrs at play, tossing their feet in the air,
poured themselves into the river head foremost, tumbling,
[10.150] of whom one, self-borne, swam rowing with his hands,
and prone in the surges and swells, planting his track,
with back-stretched feet cleft the flowing water;
and one plunged into the depth of the submerged haunts
seeking below the varied-colored prey of fish,
[10.155] stretching a blind hand upon the swimming fish,
and left the depth again, and held out to Bacchus fish
reddening with the silt of the treasure-holding river;
and joining his feet fitted together, entwined,
stooping, wandering Silenus, striving against a Satyr,
[10.160] self-rolling, head first, leapt into the stream
from on high into the deep gulf, and his hair touched the silt,
and he planted his two feet in the glistening mud,
mining the fine-pebbled wealth of the river;
and one in the outpourings, showing his back to the air,
[10.165] left his shoulder unwetted through the water, dipping his hips,
near the deep, unshaken; and another, stretching his bare ears,
wetted his shaggy thighs in the marble stream,
and his self-coiling native tail lashed the flood.
And the god, raising his head and spreading his breast,
[10.170] rowing with his hands, scored the golden calm;
and the waveless banks spat forth a self-perfected rose,
and the lily sprouted, and the Seasons garlanded the shores
as Bacchus bathed, and in the flashing stream
the unplaited curls of his dark hair reddened.
[10.175] And once, hunting beneath the shadowy wood of lairs,
he was bewitched by the rosy-faced shape of a youth of his own age.
For already beneath the Phrygian ridge the boy at play,
Ampelus, had grown, a newly nursed shoot of the Loves;
nor yet had the delicate down of a reddening chin
[10.180] scored the downless circles of his snowy cheek,
the golden flower of youth; and the coiling clusters
of his back-streaming hair ran upon his silvery shoulders
unplaited, and fluttering together with the shrill breeze
were lifted by its breath; and as his hair was drawn aside
[10.185] his neck rose bared in the middle, showing at the tip,
and shot forth radiance, free of shadow, just as shines
Selene, seen in the middle, cleaving a wet cloud;
and from his rosy mouth flowed a honey-breathing voice;
from his limbs the whole spring appeared; and as he went
[10.190] from his silvery foot a meadow of roses reddened;
and if in the well-lit circle of his ox-orbed eyes
he made his eyeballs quiver, the whole Moon shone.
Him Dionysus had as playmate, daintily sporting,
and asked, pouring forth a wondering voice at his beauty
[10.195] as a mortal, and guile-weaving hid his immortal shape:
"What father begot you? What heavenly belly bore you?
Which of the Graces brought you forth? Did fair Apollo sow you?
Tell me, friend, do not hide your race; if you come
another wingless Eros without arrows, apart from a quiver,
[10.200] which of the blessed ones begot you, lying beside Aphrodite?
For I too tremble to name Cypris your mother,
lest I call Hephaestus or Ares your father.
But if you are he whom they call Hermes, come from the upper air,
show me your light wings and the breathing soles of your sandals.
[10.205] How do you keep hair unshorn hanging at your neck?
Have you yourself come to me without lyre, without bow,
Phoebus of unshorn hair, shaking your loosened curls?
If Cronides begot me, and you from an earthly stock
carry the short-lived blood of the ox-horned Satyrs,
[10.210] reign equal with me, a mortal with a god; for your heavenly
form will not disgrace the Olympian blood of Lyaeus.
But why do I call you of a short-lived stock?
I know your blood, even if you long to hide it;
Selene bore you to Helios, lying beside him,
[10.215] wholly like graceful Narcissus; for you have
a form like the upper air, an image of horned Selene."
Such words he told; and the youth exulted at the speech,
glorying that he surpassed the beauty of youth of his own age
with a more shining form. And within the mountain thicket
[10.220] if the boy wove a song, Bacchus delighted to hear;
if the youth stayed away, he had unsmiling cheeks;
if a Satyr beside the meal of the leap-loving table
beat the drums with his hands, striking a resounding echo,
and the youth was away, pursuing the deer-shooting hunt,
[10.225] with the boy not present he refused the double-beat echo;
if ever beside the flowery stream of Pactolus
he lingered and waited, so that at dinner there might be
sweeter water, himself bringing it for his king,
while the boy stayed apart Bacchus was lashed with distress.
[10.230] If he lifted the bold flute, the instrument of Libyan Echo,
sending a thin breath from his swollen cheek,
Bacchus thought he was hearing the Mygdonian piper,
whom divine Hyagnis begot, who strove to his hurt against Phoebus,
pressing the pierced, double-voiced flute of Athena;
[10.235] and if with the youth he touched a single table,
while the boy spoke he had ears full of delight,
and when the youth ceased he had downcast cheeks;
and if, carried by the sting of a deep-leaping longing,
Ampelus whirled with the dancing beat of his feet,
[10.240] and entwined his hand with a playing Satyr as he danced,
slanting, exchanging sole for migrant sole,
Bacchus, watching, was shaken with envious care.
If ever he consorted with the Sileni, if with some boy
of his own age, a hunter, he ran together in the course of the hunt,
[10.245] jealous Dionysus held him back, lest some servant of the Loves,
struck by an equally mind-charming arrow,
should lead astray the purpose of the light-minded boy,
and steal away the lovely youth from Lyaeus,
as a boy fresh in bloom delighting an age-mate of the same years.
[10.250] But when he lifted the thyrsus against a raging bear
or hurled with the sturdy fennel-stalk at a lioness,
he stretched his eye toward the west, looking aslant into the air,
lest the death-bearing breeze of Zephyrus blow again,
as before the bitter wind killed a youth,
[10.255] overturning the spear-hurling discus against Hyacinthus;
he feared lest Cronides, the wing-loving bird of the Loves,
unforeseen, untraceable, should appear above Tmolus
carrying the boy into the air with sparing talons,
like the Trojan boy, the server of his cups;
[10.260] he trembled too at the ill-loving pilot of the sea,
lest after Tantalus' son, mounter of golden chariots,
leading his winged wagon into an air-roaming course,
the Earth-shaker, mad with love, should snatch Ampelus.
And he had sweet dreams on dream-breeding beds,
[10.265] and whispered loving tales to the lying youth,
seeing the shadowy phantoms of a mimic shape.
And if the lovely face had anything ill-formed,
this was lovely to desire-stricken Dionysus,
dearer than the youth's whole skin; and if at the tip
[10.270] the upright tail hung loose, joined through his loins,
even that was to Bacchus more honeyed than sweet honey;
and the filthy locks of his uncared-for head
themselves delighted still more the eye of the love-maddened one.
By day he rejoiced in his companion; but he grieved always
[10.275] as night came on, when, no longer hearing the boy,
he received the accustomed voice with bewitched ears,
sleeping in the caves of Rhea of the mighty child.
And one of the Satyrs, seeing him, was bewitched by his divine shape,
and, stealing away a hidden loving voice, said:
[10.280] "Steward of the human heart, loving Persuasion,
may this lovely youth be gracious to me alone;
and having him as playmate, like Bacchus, I do not long
to dwell as a migrant in the upper air, I would not wish to be a god,
nor Phaethon who lights mortals, I feel no desire
[10.285] for nectar, and I lack no ambrosia; I care nothing
if Ampelus loves me and Cronion hates me."
So he, tending the venom of the Loves beneath his heart,
cried out a hidden word in a jealous voice,
having a love-charm mingled with wonder. But he too,
[10.290] Euius, struck by the sweet sting of the youth,
cried smiling to Cronides, his father ill in love:
"Nod me one favor as I love, O Phrygian Zeus;
when I was an infant my nurse Rhea told me
that you gave the lightning to Zagreus, the earlier Dionysus
[10.295] while he was still babbling, your fiery point,
and the clangor of thunder and the pouring of airy rain,
and he became a second rainy Zeus while still an infant;
but I refuse the heavenly fire of your hurricane,
I want no cloud, no crash of thunder; and if you wish,
[10.300] give the spark of the thunderbolt to fiery Hephaestus,
let Ares have the covering of your clouds as breastplate,
grant Hermes the pouring of rain fallen from Zeus,
and let Apollo too lift the lightning of his father;
a lesser will is mine, friend, for leap-loving Dionysus;
[10.305] it is fine for me to lift the small lightning of Semele,
the mother-slaying sparks of the thunderbolt are joyless.
I dwell in Maeonia; for what has the upper air to do with Dionysus?
The beauty of my Satyr is dearer than Olympus.
Tell me, father, do not hide it; let your youth be your oath:
[10.310] when as an eagle you lifted the boy beneath the feet of Teucrian Ida
to heaven with sparing, ravishing talon,
did the herdsman get so great a beauty, whom you joined
to the heavenly table while he still breathed of the ox-stalls?
Father Zeus, be gracious, long-winged one; do not tell me
[10.315] of the Trojan wine-pourer, the server of your cups,
because, bearing the sparkle of a more shining face,
lovely Ampelus puts to shame the form of Ganymede;
the Tmolian is better than the Idaean. And there are many
lovely ranks of other youths, all of whom together,
[10.320] if you wish, love, leaving one boy to Lyaeus."
Such words he told, shaken by the sting of longing;
not so within the shaggy Magnesian wood
did Apollo the herdsman shepherd the cattle of Admetus,
struck by the sweet sting of a love-breeding boy,
[10.325] as Bacchus at play delighted his heart in the youth.
And both took their pleasure together within the thicket,
now hurling into the air the wandering thyrsus,
now beside a shadowless flat rock, at another time on the crags
they went hunting the mountain-reared children of lions;
[10.330] and once, alone high on a lonely bank,
playing in the sands of the river of fine shingle,
they held a contest of playful wrestling;
for them there was no tripod as prize, nor for victory
was a flowery cauldron set beside, nor pasturing horses,
[10.335] but the double-voiced flute of the shrill-sounding Loves.
And the strife was lovely for both; and in the middle
stood greedy Eros, winged Hermes of the games,
having plaited a garland of longing, narcissus with hyacinth.
Both came into the middle, athletes of the Loves,
[10.340] and winding their palms crown-wise across the back,
clamping the bond of both their arms upon the loins,
they locked their sides in the yoked trail of the forearm,
and lifted each other's bodies high above the earth
with alternating hands; and Bacchus touched Olympus
[10.345] in the honey-sweet wrestling, and had a twofold
lovely delight, being lifted and lifting;
and winding his palm about the wrist of Bromius' palm,
pressing an unequally yoked knot with joined hands,
he shut the fitted fingers together in a twofold bond,
[10.350] clamping the right hand of willing Dionysus.
Then, winding his hands about the loins of the youth,
Bacchus, pressing his body with love-maddened palms,
lifted Ampelus, but he, catching Bromius,
struck the hollow of his knee; and Euius, laughing sweetly,
[10.355] struck by the soft-skinned sole of the youth of his own age,
slipped self-rolling on his back into the dust;
and as Bacchus lay willingly on the ground, on top
the boy sat upon his bare belly; but he, rejoicing,
stretched out and poured this way and that, lay back on the earth
[10.360] lifting the sweet weight on his belly; and planting straight
the ground-rubbing tip of his foot upon the sand
he raised his back in a turn, and showed a sparing
manliness, and with a rival throb
of a hand that refused he shook off the burden of the Loves;
[10.365] and slanting his sides, and bringing his elbow near the dust,
the much-knowing youth leapt upon his adversary's back
aslant upon his sides, and fastening above the flanks
the tips of his foot in the hollow of the knee, planting his track beside the ankle,
he girdled the middle of the belly in a twofold bond,
[10.370] pressing the sides, winding his sole beneath the knee
spread upright; and as both rolled in the dust
the sweat flowed, forerunner of weariness.
And late, though unconquered, being conquered,
having the mimicry of his father Zeus the athlete,
[10.375] Dionysus was conquered willingly, because Zeus himself,
the great, self-rolling, wrestling beside Alpheius,
sank down, bending his willing knees to Heracles.
Such a playful contest was completed; and the delighted hand
of the youth lifted the double-voiced flute as prize.
[10.380] And the sweating youth brightened his limbs in the stream
and washed off the moist dust; and as he bathed
from his sweating skin flowed a lovely gleam.
Nor, having completed the limb-strong victory of wrestling,
did Bacchus, pasture-mate of the youth, cease from play,
[10.385] but set a windy contest of foot-speed.
And bringing nimble suitors of the contest to love
for the first he set as gifts the instruments of Cybelian Rhea,
bronze-backed cymbals and dappled skins of fawns;
and the second prizes of victory were the companion of Pan,
[10.390] the sweet-voiced pipe and a sounding ox-hide
heavy with bronze; and for the third Dionysus at play set
the reddening sand of the ever-ready river.
And Bromius, marking off the divided ground for the course,
measured the two ends of the stretched path,
[10.395] setting upright on the ground a sign of the course ten palms high,
planting a long timber as the goal of the running; and on the opposite side
he fixed the pattern of the starting-line on the shore, lifting a thyrsus;
and he urged the Satyrs to contend for victory.
And at the sharp call of leap-loving Lyaeus
[10.400] Leneus rushed first, wind-footed, and beside him
stood high-stepping Cissus and lovely Ampelus;
and trusting in the swift sole of the straight-running foot
they stood chosen in a row; and from the ground
lifting his track aloft as the surface was scored
[10.405] Cissus was borne along with the stormy beat of his feet;
warming the back of the hurrying one with his breath
Leneus ran after him, running with the breezes of the air,
near behind the one ahead, and with the tracks of his back-running
sole struck his tracks, touching the loose dust;
[10.410] and so much of a gap was left dividing the two
as the rod of the loom-toiling girl, seen in the middle,
gets of space beside her breast, neighboring her firm bosom.
And third was Ampelus, behind; and looking on
jealous Dionysus melted, watching aslant
[10.415] the two athletes of the games running ahead,
lest they should conquer and Ampelus come last;
but the god helped, and breathing valor into him
made the boy swifter than the well-wheeling storm;
and as the two prize-winners hurried foremost in the contest,
[10.420] tossing his knees on the wet shore,
Cissus slipped, falling in the sandy mud,
and the tottering onrush of Leneus' knee was dragged,
reining back the course of his feet; and both
prize-winners were left behind, and Ampelus snatched the victory.
[10.425] And the old Sileni cried aloud a Euian echo
astonished at the victory of the youth; and the soft-haired
youth received the first prizes, Leneus received the second
with jealousy, and knew the envious guile of Lyaeus
and his longing; and with shame-faced eye Cissus looked upon
[10.430] his age-mates, bringing the last prizes in a downcast hand.

## Book XI


### Watch the eleventh and you will see lovely Ampelus carried by a man-slaying, ravishing bull.

[11.1] The contest was ended; and the lovely youth, glorying
in his playful victory, skipped as playmate beside Bacchus of his own age,
exchanging his wandering sole in a rolling-footed circle,
leaning his all-white right hand upon Dionysus;
[11.5] and seeing him, proud in his double victory,
skipping about with his feet, Iobacchus soothed him with friendly speech:
"Hasten again, dear boy, after the victory of foot-speed
and after the contest on land to have a third, another contest,
and swim untraceable against swimming Bacchus of your own age.
[11.10] Ampelus, having conquered me wrestling beside the sands,
be also in the outpourings lighter than Dionysus,
and leaving the Satyrs still playing with their leaps
hasten alone again to a third, another contest;
may you conquer on land and in the waters, and after the victory
[11.15] I would crown your lovely locks with twin clusters,
double, of unconquered Lyaeus twice conquered.
This lovely stream befits you, befits alone
the beauty of your limbs, so that there may be a double Ampelus
cutting the gold-gleaming currents with a golden palm;
[11.20] and as you strain for victory with naked limbs
all the Pactolian water will adorn your beauty.
Give the river an Olympian prize equal, since Phaethon too
himself sends his rosy rays to Ocean;
give Pactolus your radiance too, so that Ampelus may appear
[11.25] rising like the Dawnstar; for both alike
this stream flashes with reddening metal
as you with your limbs; and in its deep-rich stream
let it receive a youth having a form of the same color,
mixing beauty with beauty, so that I may cry to the Satyrs:
[11.30] 'How has rose come to rose? Whence is one gleam mingled
both in reddening skin and in flashing stream?'
Would that here too, boy, were the stream of Eridanus,
where the streaming-wealthy tears of the Heliades are, so that I might bathe
your limbs both in gold and in amber.
[11.35] But since I dwell very far from the Western river,
I shall go to nearby Alybe, where neighboring
Geudis whitens with the trail of its treasure-holding waters,
so that, bathed from the river Pactolus,
Ampelus, I may brighten you also in silver streams.
[11.40] Let fair-flowing Hermus be the care of other Satyrs;
for it does not carry its stream from gold; but you alone
are a golden boy, may you have golden water too."
So speaking, he was carried through the water; and from the ground
Ampelus rose and followed Lyaeus;
[11.45] and sweet was the course for both from end to end
as they swam spiraling through the wealthy river.
And the god, holding a watery contest of speed,
ran unsteady in the waters, casting his bare breast
upon the streams, and kicking his feet and rowing with his hands
[11.50] he inscribed the unshaken backs of the rich calm,
now keeping his course level with the boy of his own age,
now darting ahead carefully, as far as to let
Ampelus stay near the path in company with neighboring Bacchus;
at another time circling his palms, as though laboring in the wave,
[11.55] swift-kneed, he willingly gave the victory to the water-traveler.
And after the stream of the river he passed into the haunts of the thicket,
Ampelus, holding his neck proud with the river-victory.
And he girdled his locks with a viperish cluster
having a dreadful mimicry of serpent-tressed Lyaeus;
[11.60] often, seeing the shifting-backed tunic of Bromius,
fastening a cunning counterfeit garment on his limbs,
he clamped his light foot in a purple buskin,
having a spotted robe on his skin; and in the mountain-haunting chariot
watching Iobacchus the driver of leopards
[11.65] he displayed proud playthings of the crag-loving beasts;
now mounting the crest of a mountain bear
he reined back the grim mane of the hurrying beast,
now he lashed the shaggy neck of a lion,
at another time, riding high on dappled backs,
[11.70] unshaken he delighted in driving an unbridled tiger.
And seeing him, Dionysus, having a gentle threat,
spoke comforting him with friendly prophetic speech,
pouring from reproaching lips a pitying voice:
"Where are you carried, dear boy? Why does the wood please you so much?
[11.75] Stay with me and hunt together with hunting Dionysus;
feast together with Lyaeus when he touches the feast,
reveling, when I rouse the revel for the Satyrs.
The leopard does not harry me, nor the jaw of the wild bear,
do not tremble at the greedy mouth of the mountain-ranging lioness;
[11.80] only fear the horns of the pitiless bull."
He spoke, pitying bold Ampelus; and the youth
heard the words with his ears, but his mind within was at play.
Then a great sign appeared to tender-loving Dionysus
announcing that Ampelus was short-lived; for from the crag,
[11.85] carrying a certain fresh-blooming fawn upon its back,
a horned serpent rose, abundant in scales,
and carrying it above an altar, on top of the foundations,
it laid it low with its dreadful horn, crushed,
head first, self-rolling, and as the mountain-ranging fawn
[11.90] shrieked a sharp strain its wandering spirit flew away;
and self-announcing the libation to come, with a trail of blood
the stone altar was reddened with bloody dews,
bearing the pattern of wine being poured. And looking upon
the creeping thing, horn-bearing ravisher of the fawn,
[11.95] Euius, learning of the horned destroyer of the witless youth,
mixed laughter with grief, and had an unsteady purpose,
twofold, and in his heart was divided, groaning for the youth
as neighbor of doom, laughing for the sake of sweet wine.
Nevertheless he went as companion with the lovely boy
[11.100] to the mountain, to the flat rock, and to the course of the accustomed hunt.
And seeing him Bacchus still delighted; for eyes
never breed satiety of loves for those who gaze.
Often too, as Bromius sat beside the table,
the youth piped, exchanging an unaccustomed Muse,
[11.105] and confounded the whole melody of the reeds; and as though the boy
made fine music, even if he broke the tone of the song,
Bacchus, leaping over the floor with windy beat,
clapped along with his hands, much-rattling, and while the youth
was still singing, pressing his lip about his mouth,
[11.110] he embraced him in a loving bond on the pretext of harmony;
he swore even by Cronides that so great a rhythm hymn-tending Pan
never sang, nor shrill-voiced Apollo.
And death-bearing Ate, seeing the bold youth
strayed from Lyaeus as he hunted in the mountains,
[11.115] like a graceful youth, a boy of his own age,
soothed Ampelus with such deceiving speech,
doing favor to the stepmother of Phrygian Dionysus:
"Your friend, fearless boy, is called Dionysus in vain;
what prize of companionship have you got? You do not carry
[11.120] the divine chariot of Lyaeus, you do not drive a leopard.
Maron got the chariot of your Bromius, stretching his hand
with beast-governing whip and fair-stoned bit;
what gift is this you have from Lyaeus of the fair thyrsus?
The Pans have the harp and the murmur of sweet-sounding flutes,
[11.125] and to the Satyrs your steward Dionysus gave
the circle of the loud-crashing ox-hide, and the mountain
Bassarids themselves sit upon the backs of lions.
What gifts worthy of your love do you bring,
loved in vain by Bacchus the driver of leopards?
[11.130] Often, seated high upon the chariot of Phoebus,
Atymnius drove high-visible, cutting the air;
you have heard of Abaris himself, whom into an air-roaming course
Phoebus escorted on a flying, wandering arrow;
and Ganymede too drove an eagle in the upper air,
[11.135] a counterfeit winged Zeus, the father of your Lyaeus;
never has Bacchus lifted Ampelus, a bird of the Loves,
raising your body with his unscratching talons.
The Trojan wine-pourer is better, who has the court of Zeus
as his house. But you, boy, still carrying a longing for a chariot,
[11.140] refuse to drive a colt into an unsteady course,
because, shaken by the swift-whirling trail of its feet,
the stormy horse shakes off its charioteer;
raging horses dashed Glaucus to the ground,
and though he shared the Poseidonian blood of a common race,
[11.145] head first from the air, the offspring of the Earth-shaker,
swift-flying Pegasus shook off Bellerophon.
Come here with me to the herd, where are shrill-sounding herdsmen
and lovely cattle, and seated upon a bull
I shall make you a high-visible cattle-driving charioteer;
[11.150] for your lord will praise you far more, watching,
bull-natured Dionysus, seated on the loins of a bull.
This course is free of fear, since even, being female,
the maiden Europa mounted the back of an ox,
holding the horn in her hands and needing no bit."
[11.155] So speaking she persuaded him, and the goddess plunged into the air.
And from the crag ran down a certain wandering bull
unforeseen, and its tongue, the witness of its thirst,
it thrust forth from its throat through open lips,
and drank; and it stood about the boy, as beside a present herdsman,
[11.160] wholly like one that knew him; nor did it hold
its slanting horn from its forehead; and as the irresistible bull
belched forth its drink thickly from its capacious throat,
the streaming moisture of its dew drenched the youth,
as a prophet of things to come, that with an earthly trail oxen,
[11.165] laboring about one endless circling turning-post,
would water with waters the harvest of the vine.
And the bold boy stood over the bovine forehead
handling the curving horn with fearless hand;
and whetted by the sweet sting for the wood-ranging ox
[11.170] he wished to drive the unyoked, mountain-running bull.
And plucking leaves beside the deep-rushed grass
he plaited a counterfeit whip of green withies
with sharper shoots, and with a much-twisted cluster,
bending crooked circles, he made the pattern of a bit;
[11.175] and with dewy leaves he adorned the body of the bull,
and bound reddening roses all around its back,
and hung lilies and narcissus upon its forehead,
suspending a purpling anemone at its neck;
and he gilded the twin horns on either side
[11.180] drawing yellow-skinned mud with his cupped hands
from the neighboring river. And spreading a dappled hide
over its back he mounted the spine of the bull;
and stretching the counterfeit whip against the bovine sides,
as though it were a fair-maned colt, he lashed his bearer.
[11.185] And the bold one shouted a word to bull-faced Mene:
"Yield to me, horned Selene, driver of cattle;
for I have become both horned and a driver of the bull."
Such a boasting word he cried to circling Mene.
And through the air the eye of envious Selene watched
[11.190] Ampelus carried by the man-slaying, ravishing bull,
and sent against it a cattle-driving gadfly; and it, its body
scored by the bitter roaming sting, unsteadily
ran down about the hard-to-tread ridge like a horse.
And the youth, seeing the unyoked bull, with raging sting
[11.195] dashing its track upon the high-crested hills,
in terror before his doom entreated with mourning voice:
"Stand still today, bull, and tomorrow you shall travel swift;
do not kill me high on the lonely rock,
so that Bacchus may not hear of my unspoken doom.
[11.200] Do not be angry, bull, because I gilded your horn;
do not envy, because Bacchus keeps my love.
But if you kill me and care nothing for Dionysus,
and no pity for your mourning charioteer holds you,
because I am young, because I am also the friend of Lyaeus,
[11.205] carry me to the Satyrs and subdue me there, bull,
so that after my doom I may get the much-wept dust;
yes, I beg you, dear bull; and I shall have comfort,
when tearless Dionysus groans for my doom.
If you deceive your horn-bearing charioteer
[11.210] who has a form like your bull-faced shape,
become endowed with voice and tell my doom to Lyaeus:
'Bull, unfriendly to your Demeter and to Dionysus,
as Bromius grieves, bountiful Deo grieves with him.'"
Such words the rosy youth spoke, neighbor of Hades,
[11.215] ill-fated; and darting with the twin hooves of its feet
over the hard-to-tread topmost peaks of the mountain the raging ox
shook the youth head first from its back;
and he fell self-rolling; and as he fell upon the knuckle
his neck, aslant, was split with a faint crack;
[11.220] and whirling him back again over the ground
with the whetted point of its horn it laid him low.
And the corpse was headless; and of the unburied corpse
the white body was reddened with reddening gore.
And one of the Satyrs, seeing lovely Ampelus
[11.225] in the dust high above the earth, came to Bacchus with ill tidings.
And the god, hearing, ran swift like the breezes;
not so great a course did Heracles accomplish, when the Nymphs
hid delicate Hylas in envious streams,
a bridegroom kept for a wet, ravishing girl,
[11.230] as then Bacchus rushed, mountain-running; and lying in the dust
he groaned for the boy, gazing at him as though alive.
And he cloaked the breathless one, fastening from his shoulder
the fawnskin upon his cold breast,
and, though he was a corpse, bound his feet in buskins;
[11.235] and he sprinkled roses and lilies over his skin, and about his hair,
as of one short-lived, fallen by a sharp sting,
he hung the flower of swift-perishing anemone;
and gave a thyrsus to his palm, and covered him with his own
purple robe; and as a gift from his unshorn head
[11.240] he cut a single lock and laid it upon the witnessing corpse
as a last gift; and taking ambrosia from his mother Rhea
he poured it over the wounds, whence the youth, changing his form,
transferred the fragrant ambrosia to his harvest.
And as the graceful corpse lay stretched over the ground
[11.245] no pallor spread over the rosy body; and of the swift-fated one
the graceful locks of the love-breeding head
fluttered upon his face with sparing breezes;
and he was lovely even in the dust. And about the corpse
the Sileni groaned, and the Bacchants lamented.
[11.250] Nor did beauty leave him, though he was dead; and like a Satyr
the corpse lay, wholly like one laughing, as though forever
pouring a honey-sweet voice from voiceless lips.
And looking at the corpse grief-free Dionysus uttered
a plaintive voice, having an unsmiling face:
[11.255] "Let the envious thread of the Fates fall; are even
bulls jealous over youths, just like the winds?
What Zephyrus, after Phoebus, has assailed Dionysus too?
Blessed was Phoebus Atymnius; for he got this name
from a youth; and of the Therapnaean youth himself
[11.260] he lifts a flower named for him as a remedy,
having inscribed a cry of woe on the petals of the hyacinth;
what garland have I too for my locks, or what
speaking flowers do I brandish, comforters of the grief for a boy?
But as avenger of your death, dragging to slaughter
[11.265] I shall bring to your tomb, untimely one, the wandering bull.
I would not kill your murderer with an ox-axe,
so that it may get an equal doom, its forehead battered
like bulls that are slaughtered, but I would tear open the whole
bitter belly of the bull with the point of my horn,
[11.270] because with its long-horned point it laid you low.
Blessed is the Earth-shaker, since he loved a Phrygian boy,
a neighbor of the homeland of my boy, and carrying him
brought him up to the golden house of Zeus as a citizen of Olympus,
and to him, when he hastened to the horsemanship of Aphrodite,
[11.275] gave the unwetted chariot, bride-adorner of Hippodameia.
I alone have my youth untimely; for lovely
Ampelus did not see a life-saving marriage, nor beside a bridal chamber
did this youth yoke my bridal wagon,
but dying he left grief to grief-free Dionysus.
[11.280] Not yet, dear boy, has Persuasion left your mouth,
but even in your death she dwells on your breathless lips;
and though you are a corpse your cheeks still shine,
your eyes laugh even still, and still snowy
are the palms of your two hands,
[11.285] and the shrill breezes shake your lovely locks;
the death-bringing hour has not quenched the roses of your limbs,
but all these are still kept for you. Alas for the Loves,
what need was there for you to drive a pitiless bull?
If a longing for storm-footed horses dismayed you,
[11.290] why did you not tell me, so that from neighboring Ida
I might bring a chariot here, and from the ancient stock
bring to you the Trojan race of heavenly horses,
plundering the homeland of Ganymede, whom Ida reared
having a body like yours, whom from man-slaying bulls
[11.295] high-flying Zeus lifted with sparing talons;
if truly you longed to slay beasts in the mountains,
why did you not tell me that there was need of a chariot?
You might have driven the harmless circle of my wagon,
and receiving the untouched reins of my Rhea
[11.300] you might unshaken have lashed the chariot of gentle serpents.
No longer with the Satyrs do you sing the wine-song,
no longer do you command the rattle-loving Bassarids,
no longer do you hunt together with hunting Dionysus.
Alas, that Hades is not mild, nor for a corpse
[11.305] does he receive the splendid gifts of deep-rich metal,
so that I might make dead Ampelus alive again;
alas, that Hades is never persuaded; but if he were willing,
I would grant all the glittering wealth of Eridanus,
plundering the river trees, and I would bring the marble,
[11.310] flashing Erythraean stone of the Indians
and all the silver of wealthy Alybe, and in exchange for the corpse
of my boy I would give all golden Pactolus."
So speaking he groaned for the sweet corpse; and looking upon him
lying in the dust he cried again in mourning voice:
[11.315] "Father Zeus, if you love me, and if you know the toil of loves,
make Ampelus endowed with voice again for a single hour,
so that he may speak one last and only word:
'Why do you groan, Dionysus, for one whom you do not rouse with groans?
My ears are here, and I do not hear you crying,
[11.320] my eyes are here, and I do not see you groaning;
grief-free Dionysus, do not pour tears for me,
but leave your grief, since beside the murderous spring
the Naiads groan and Narcissus does not hear,
Phaethon does not know the plaintive distress of the Heliades.'
[11.325] Alas, that my father did not beget me mortal, so that I might be
pasture-mate of the youth even in Hades, and not leave in Lethe
lovely Ampelus, fallen, alone.
In desire for a youth Apollo is more blessed,
having the beloved name of his boy; would that I too
[11.330] might be Ampeloeis, just as Apollo is Hyacinthius.
How long do you sleep, and no longer, boy, do you dance?
Why today do you no longer go to the outpourings of the river
holding the well-watered pitcher? And in the mountain-haunting thicket
the hour of your accustomed dance has come again.
[11.335] If you are angry, dear boy, with desire-stricken Dionysus,
speak to the Sileni, so that I may hear your word.
If a lion subdued you, I shall destroy them all together,
all that the crag of Tmolus bears, nor shall I ever spare
the lions of our Rhea, but I shall subdue them,
[11.340] if your murderers were born with grim jaws;
if a leopard laid low your body, flower of the Loves,
no longer shall I drive the dappled body of leopards;
there are other beasts, and Artemis, ruler of the whole hunt,
drives a horn-drawn chariot of stags;
[11.345] wearing the fawnskin robe I shall ride a chariot of fawns;
if shameless boars slew you, seizing them all in one
I would kill them, and not leave one boar alone
still living, remaining for the archer-goddess;
and if a reckless bull slew you, with sharp thyrsus
[11.350] I would wipe out the whole race of bulls, roots and all."
So he groaned. But Eros stood near him
bearing the horn-drawing form of shaggy Silenus,
holding a thyrsus, and having fastened a spotted skin on his skin
he propped his body on the age-tending staff of a fennel-stalk;
[11.355] and to mourning Bromius he cried a comforting voice:
"Loose the sparks of your loves upon another love,
changing your turning sting toward a new youth,
forgetting the dead; for always for an older
love a new love is the remedy; for to destroy
[11.360] a love time knows, even if it has learned to cover all things.
And if you wish a pain-slaying bulwark for your distress,
tend a better boy; longing knows how to wither longing.
The Laconian youth harried Zephyrus too; but when he was dead,
seeing the young Cyparissus, the lovely Wind
[11.365] found a consolation for Amyclaean Hyacinthus.
If you wish, ask the gardener; for seeing a flower
lying on the ground in the dust the plowman
plants another, newer, as remedy for the one perished.
Listen, that I may tell a tale of mortals born long ago:
[11.370] there was once a delicate boy, surpassing youth of his age,
beside the stream of many-branching river Maeander,
tall with slender form, sharp of foot, his hair
straight, beardless; and on both cheeks
a native Grace was skipping upon his face
[11.375] with shame-faced eyes, and from his eyelids forever
flowed a far-shooting gleam of beauty shooting arrows;
and he had a body wholly like milk, and about the white
a rose purpled at the tip with a two-colored fire.
Him his dear father called Calamus, who through the earth
[11.380] surging below, drawing his crooked stream into the light,
creeping unseen, a slanting traveler beneath the ground,
leaping up sharply thrusts above the neck of the earth,
Maeander of the inmost recess, bringing water hidden in the bosom.
Such was lovely swift Calamus. And the rosy-armed youth
[11.385] delighted in lovely Carpus, of his own age,
who got so great a beauty as no mortal man has got;
for if this youth had been among the men of former times,
he would have become the bridegroom of fair-tressed Dawn,
having a better form, alone putting to shame with his rosy skin
[11.390] the splendor of Cephalus and the face of Orion;
nor would Deo have embraced with fruitful palm
Iasion as bridegroom, nor Selene Endymion;
but perhaps that youth, for the sake of his better form,
as a single husband would have wedded the beds of both goddesses,
[11.395] tending the many-harvested bed of yellow-haired Deo,
and having jealous Mene as common bedfellow.
Such was the lovely friend of Calamus, flower of the Loves,
having beauty; and both, of one age, took their pleasure
high on the bank of the neighboring many-winding river.
[11.400] For them there was a spiral double course, and for both
there was strife; Calamus ran like the breezes,
and having an elm as starting-line and an olive as turning-post
he ran through the shores of the river from end to end
and swift-kneed Calamus willingly fell to the earth,
[11.405] and left the willing victory to graceful Carpus.
And as the boy bathed the youth bathed with him in play,
and again they had another like contest in the waters,
and slow in the outpourings he swam, letting Carpus
go ahead, so that, cutting the swells behind with his hands,
[11.410] he might come second beside the feet of swimming Carpus,
watching the free back of the youth running before him.
And there was a course from the wet starting-line; both strove,
who should conquer whom, so as to come back returning,
passing the twin turning-post of either bank
[11.415] to the land opposite with rowing palms;
and he had the outpouring as road; and always coming near him
the youth, sparing the rush of his hurrying palm,
watched the rosy-skinned fingers of the swimmers' hands;
and Calamus, ahead on the path, reined back his rush,
[11.420] and yielded to the youth; and the stormy youth ran
rowing with his hands, stretching his neck above the swell;
and now Carpus would have set foot on the field from the surges,
and after the land-victory entered into the river-victory,
but the Wind on the opposite path battered him,
[11.425] and pitiless killed the sweet boy; for into the open
throat of the youth countless water was dragged.
And Calamus, escaping the storms of the envious wind,
entered the neighboring shores apart from the youth;
and perceiving his friend neither present nor hearing,
[11.430] groaning lovely, he roared with plaintive voice:
'Naiads, speak, what Wind has snatched Carpus?
Yes, I beg you, grant me a last favor, come to another
spring, and flee the death-bearing water
of my father, and do not drink the stream that murdered Carpus.
[11.435] My father did not kill the youth; but grudging
Calamus too, after Phoebus, the Wind destroyed Carpus,
and perhaps desiring him struck him with a jealous storm,
bringing after the discus a counter-blowing breeze against the youth.
Not yet has my star leapt up bathed in the outpourings,
[11.440] not yet has my Dawnstar shone; but with Carpus
sunk in the streams, why should I still see the light?
Naiads, speak, who has quenched the light of the Loves?
And for Calamus ill in love, brother though he is,
cut off a single small cluster of hair as he dies,
[11.445] and shear all your locks for perished Carpus.
Do you still delay, boy? Why does the water please you so much?
Have you found a better friend in the waters, staying beside whom
you have cast the longings of wretched Calamus to the winds?
If one of the Naiads, a Nymph ill in love, has snatched you,
[11.450] tell me, and I arm myself against them all; but if the wedding-hymn
of the bridal Loves of my sister delights you,
tell me, and in the outpourings I shall kindle your bridal chamber.
Carpus, do you swim past me, forgetful of the accustomed bank?
I am weary calling you, and you do not hear me crying.
[11.455] If Notus, if bold Eurus blew, let him himself wander
pitiless, danceless, reckless enemy of the Loves;
if Boreas subdued you, I go to Oreithyia.
But if the wave covered you and did not respect your form,
and my father took you in the unsparing trail of the wave,
[11.460] let him receive his own child too in his man-slaying waters,
and hide Calamus near perished Carpus.
But falling head first, where wandering Carpus died,
I shall quench my hot love drinking the water of Acheron.'
He spoke, gushing a flood from his eyelids; and for the corpse
[11.465] he cut his dark locks with downcast iron,
which he nourished, which he tended, and held out his mourning hair
to his father Maeander, and spoke a last word:
'Receive after my locks my body too; for I cannot
for a single dawn see the light apart from Carpus;
[11.470] for Carpus and Calamus there is one life, and both got
a like sting of Eros upon the earth; let one watery
doom be for both in the outpourings too.
Build, Naiads, high on the river bank
one undivided empty tomb for both, and about the tomb
[11.475] let a verse be carved in mourning letters:
"I am the grave of Carpus and Calamus, whom before, both
longing for one another, the pitiless water killed."'
He spoke, and self-rolling slipped into the stream
drinking the child-slaying water of his father who refused.
[11.480] And Calamus gave to the reeds a form named for him,
of like nature, and Carpus grew as the fruit of the field."
Such things, comforting, furious Eros soothed with friendly speech,
lightening the sweet sting for Dionysus.
And far more he was lashed in his heart with plaintive distress
[11.485] for the untimely doom of the youth. — And of unsteady
Lycabas, the storm-footed father, the daughters,
the rosy-faced Seasons, went to the house of Helios;
of whom one, about her face shadowed with snow,
sending a thin radiance of black-clouded gleam,
[11.490] fitted her cold feet in a hail-covered sandal,
and binding tight her locks upon her wet head
clamped a rain-bearing veil upon her brow,
and had a green garland on her head, and with a snowy
white band covered her frosty breast;
[11.495] and another spat forth, breathing, the mortal-delighting breeze
of the swallow winds, and of her Zephyrus-loving head
girdled her hair of spring with a dewy bond,
laughing with flowers, and darting from her robe
the long-shadowed scent of the rose opening at dawn
[11.500] she wove a double revel for Adonis and Cytherea;
another, the harvest Season, marched together with her sisters,
and an ear of corn bristling with clusters at its tips
she lifted in her right hand, and the jaw of the sharp-cutting sickle,
messenger of the reaping, and the girl's body was bound tight
[11.505] in white linen, and as she whirled in the dance
the secrets of her thighs appeared through the thin garment,
and with the wet sweat of her flushed face
her cheeks were moistened by hotter Phaethon;
and another, leader of the well-plowed dance,
[11.510] bound an olive branch upon her hairless temple,
drenched with the waters of the seven-pathed river Nile,
and, having the sparse withering hair of her temple,
had a parched body, since, being of autumn,
she had shorn her tree-hair with the leaf-shedding winds;
[11.515] for not yet with the plaited clusters of golden tendrils
did grape-clusters of the vine flow upon the neck of the bride,
nor did the moisture of the purple Maronian dew,
wine-drunk beside the wine-loving vat, make her drunk,
nor did the wandering ivy run up, whirling back again;
[11.520] but then came the fated time, for whose sake
the Seasons themselves ran in company to the house of Helios.

## Book XII


### Delight your heart in the twelfth, where the young flower of the Loves, Ampelus, gave up his form to the harvest of the vine.

[12.1] So they, beside the brows of western Ocean,
sailed to the halls of the generative sun.
And as they went the star Hesperus met them
leaping from the hall; and rushing through she too,
[12.5] newly appearing, rose, Selene, driver of cattle.
And they, before the eyes of the life-bringing Charioteer,
bent their fruitful step. He, having just finished his course,
returned from the air; and beside the four-yoked chariot
of the fire-eyed driver gleaming Phosphorus
[12.10] laid down the hot yoke-straps and the starry whip,
having cleansed beside the outpourings of neighboring Ocean
the body of the fire-nourished horses, dripping with sweat;
and the colts, shaking the wet manes of their necks,
stamped with marble hooves at the blazing manger.
[12.15] And the daughters of Time, flying about the flaming throne,
the twelve circling Seasons
welcomed the four,
handmaids of Helios, companions of the blazing chariot,
mystic servants of the Year in turn; for to the ancient
[12.20] guide of the whole cosmos they had bent their slave necks.
And the grape-tressed Season shouted a word to him
holding, as witness of her supplication, the sickle of autumn:
"Helios, giver of grain, nourisher of plants, lord of fruits,
when will the orchards rear the wine-bearing cluster?
[12.25] And to which of the blessed ones does Aeon pledge this prize?
Yes, I beg you, do not hide it, since of all my sisters
I alone am without a prize; for no harvest,
no corn-ear, no meadow, and no rain of Zeus do I rear."
She spoke; and the sun heartened the nurse of the harvest
[12.30] to come, and beside the wall opposite,
raising his finger, he showed the circling girl
the unequally yoked tablets of Harmonia, in which lie
in one place all the oracles which, fated for the cosmos,
the prophetic hand of first-born Phanes inscribed,
[12.35] and embroidered with the stylus the fitting house for each.
And Hyperion, steward of fire, spoke some words:
"On the third tablet, whence the wine-harvest shall be,
you shall know, where the Lion and the Maiden are; and on the fourth,
who is scepter-bearer of the grape, where, drawing sweet nectar,
[12.40] Ganymede lifts the cup with painted hand."
As the god so spoke, the vine-loving girl ran,
rolling her eyes, and beside the oracular wall
she saw the first tablet, of one age with the endless cosmos,
bearing in one place all that scepter-bearing Ophion
[12.45] accomplished, all that old Cronus completed, when, cutting
the male plowshare of his father, he plowed the childbed water,
sowing the unsown backs of the daughter-bearing sea,
he who once received a stone son in his gaping throat,
feasting on the counterfeit body of a lying Zeus;
[12.50] and the stone brought forth the stock of children within the recess,
hurling the burden of his pregnant throat.
But when the fire-shining victory of Zeus in his fighting
and the hail-storming war of the snowstorm of Cronus
the storm-footed Season, handmaid of Phaethon, had seen,
[12.55] she looked at the neighboring tablet in turn; and that one held
how a pine labored with a mortal birth, or whence suddenly,
unfolding a fertile childbed of the tree,
a fir belched forth a son unsown, self-perfected,
and whence rainy Zeus deluged all cities
[12.60] bringing water raised on high with sky-high seas,
how Notus from Boreas, and Eurus from Lips, lashing
the wandering chest of Deucalion, neighbor of Mene,
lifted it into an air-roaming voyage without share of harbor.
And when she ran with fair-footed sole to the third tablet,
[12.65] the mystic servant of the Year, the girl stood fixed, twisting,
gazing at the fated, many-turning oracles of the cosmos,
reddening letters, scored with wise red ochre,
all that the shifting-storied first-born mind inscribed,
foretelling such things, and she read on the panels:
[12.70] "Argus, herdsman of Hera, shall change to the form of a bird,
having the bright pattern of his grim eyelids;
Harpalyce, after the bed of a sin-living wedlock,
having carved up her son for a father who married his daughter,
shall row an airy winged course,
[12.75] a stormy bird; and loom-toiling Philomela
shall be the shifting-necked swallow twittering beneath the eaves,
crying the testimony of her tongueless silence,
having written speaking devices on a wise tunic;
and Niobe beside the feet of Sipylus, an intelligent rock,
[12.80] with stony tears lamenting her row of children
shall stand a pitiable statue. And there shall be there a neighbor,
Pyrrhus, a Phrygian stone mad with love, still having
the lawless sting for Rhea of an unwedded wedlock,
and Thisbe wet water, and Pyramus, both of one age,
[12.85] longing for one another; and of the fair-garlanded girl
Milax desiring, Crocus shall be a flower of the Loves;
and after the bridal turning-post of the storm-footed Hymenaeans
and after the apples of the Paphian, into a lion's form
Artemis shall goad Atalanta, transformed."
[12.90] And all these in one place the restless Season passed by,
until she reached the place where fiery Hyperion
had declared the tokens of prophecy to the windy girl,
where the light-bearing Lion was wrought, where also she herself,
the starry Maiden, was embroidered in counterfeit shape
[12.95] holding a wine-dark cluster, the summer-born flower of the harvest;
there the daughter of Time lulled her feet, and read these things:
"Cissus, high-flying, lovely youth, creeping into a plant
shall be the spiral ivy among shoots; and from the youth
Calamus the upright reed, arched by the breezes,
[12.100] shall appear as a thin shoot of the plant-nourishing field,
the prop of the vines; and changing his form into a plant
Ampelus gives his name to the fruit of the vine."
But when the harvest girl had seen these oracles,
she sought that place where beside the neighboring wall
[12.105] the image of Ganymede had been scored in wrought pattern
dripping nectarous moisture from a golden cup,
where was the four-yoked oracle of scored words;
there the cluster-loving goddess reveled, and the lady found
these oracles kept for ivy-bearing Lyaeus:
[12.110] "To Phoebus Zeus nodded to have the prophetic laurel,
and reddening roses to the rosy-skinned Cyprus-born,
the grey-green olive branch to grey-eyed Athena,
and corn-ears to Demeter, and vines to Dionysus."
Such things the Euoi-loving girl saw in the writings;
[12.115] and delighted she darted off, and taking her sisters
she passed to the stream of eastern Ocean
running with the horsemanship of Phaethon. — But for Lyaeus
there was no remedy for his fallen companion, nor any memory
of the dance; and shaken in his mind by the loving sting
[12.120] he sang bitter dirges, and in uncaring silence
he left the bronze backs of the unbeaten ox-hide;
nor did the harp delight him. And as tender-loving Dionysus
with unsmiling face lamented pitiably,
the stream of reedy Lydian Hermus was held back
[12.125] as it rolled swiftly with the windy throb of its outpouring,
nor did it long to flow; and in its deep-rich stream
saffron Pactolus reined back its mourning water
having the mimicry of a downcast man; and over the corpse
Sangarius checked the back-rushing trail of its spring-haunts,
[12.130] pouring its Phrygian stream; and the breathless image
of Tantalus' daughter of dreadful children, drenched with groans,
poured double tears, as Dionysus lamented;
and the pine, wailing, companion of the fir of its own age,
whispered faintly; and the laurel itself, though it was the tree
[12.135] of unshorn-haired Phoebus, shook off its hair
to the mourning winds; and the rich, uncut olive
poured its leaves on the ground, though it was the plant of Athena.
As tearless Dionysus so groaned with longing,
the dreadful threads of Fate were turned, loosed again;
[12.140] and consoling the lament of grieving Dionysus
Atropos of the steadfast word belched forth an inspired oracle:
"Your youth lives, Dionysus, and shall not cross
the bitter water of Acheron; your lament has found how to destroy
the unbending threads of unturning Fate, recovered again;
[12.145] Ampelus is not dead, though he died; for into a lovely
drink, into sweet nectar I shall change your boy;
him, with the bounding beat of a well-wheeling palm,
the double-voiced flute striking a dinner harmony
shall hymn, having the Phrygian rhythm or the Dorian song;
[12.150] or a rhythmic man shall sing him on the stage
pouring the Ismenian echo of the Aonian reed
or for the dwellers of Marathon; and the Muses shall cry Euoi
for lovely Ampelus together with Lyaeus of the vine.
And leaving the crooked snaky headband of your hair
[12.155] you shall wind clustered garlands about your locks,
bringing jealousy to Phoebus, because he stretches in his hand the mourning
tree-borne dirges of the tear-loving hyacinths,
while you pursue a drink, the respite of the mortal race,
the earthly pattern of heavenly nectar, and your youth
[12.160] shall put to shame the flowery boast of the Amyclaean boy;
and if his city lifts warlike bronze,
the homeland of your youth too rears the light-bearing
wet rain of a river dew reddening,
all luxuriant with gold, and not rejoicing in iron;
[12.165] if it glories in the stream of a roaring river,
Pactolian water is better than Eurotas.
Ampelus, you have given grief to grief-free Dionysus,
so that as your honey-dripping wine grows
you may give delight to the whole four-yoked cosmos
[12.170] and libation to the blessed ones and gladness to Dionysus;
Bacchus the lord has wept, so that he may loose the tears of mortals."
So speaking, the goddess went as companion with her sisters.
And a great wonder appeared to plaintive Bacchus as witness;
for leaping up, the lovely corpse, creeping like a serpent,
[12.175] Ampelus, self-perfected, changed his shape,
and became a sweet flower; and as the corpse was transformed
the belly was a very long bush, the tips of the hands
sprouted as branches, the feet were rooted,
the curls were clusters, and the fawnskin itself was shaped
[12.180] into the many-patterned flower of the growing harvest,
and the long-shadowed neck was a cluster of the vine,
and of like nature to the elbow stretched the curving shoot
swelling with grapes, and as the head was transformed
the curved clusters imitated the pattern of a bent horn.
[12.185] There were endless rows of plants; and self-perfected
the vine-orchard, winding its green shoots,
girdled the neighboring trees with the new wine-dark fruit.
And there was a new wonder, since then the boy at play,
winding his slanting foot into a high-leaved plant,
[12.190] Cissus, high-flying, made his form into a tree,
and became the crooked shoot named for him, and the newly grown
orchard of vines he girdled with a crooked bond.
And with loving leaves he covered his shaded temple,
and made his locks drunk from the wine-loving leaves,
[12.195] glorying Dionysus; and of the plant-growing boy
he plucked the fruit of the just-ripening harvest.
And the god, self-taught, without foot, outside a vat,
squeezing the cluster with the heavy wrist of his palm,
pressing with entwining hands the birth-pang of drunkenness
[12.200] showed the newly flowing mass of the purple harvest,
and found the sweet drink; and of wine-pouring Dionysus
the white fingers of his hands reddened as they were drenched.
And he had for cup the curving horn of an ox; and with the tips
of his lips Bacchus tasted the sweet-drinking dew,
[12.205] tasted the fruit also, and, delighting his heart in both,
he belched forth a speech from an exulting throat:
"Ambrosia and the nectar of my Zeus you bring forth, Ampelus;
Apollo, bearing two beloved shoots, did not eat
the fruit of the laurel and did not drink from the hyacinth;
[12.210] the corn-ear does not labor with a sweet drink; be gracious, Deo;
I shall give mortals food as well, and not a drink alone.
Ampelus, your doom too is lovely; truly even
the threads of Fate herself turned womanish toward you and your beauty,
toward you Hades too was pitying, toward you even
[12.215] Persephone changed her harsh purpose,
and took you, a corpse, alive for her brother Dionysus.
You did not die as Atymnius died; the water of Styx,
the flame of Tisiphone, the eye of Megaera you did not see;
you live still, boy, even though you died; nor did the water
[12.220] of Lethe hide you, no common tomb holds you; but even
the earth herself was ashamed to cover your form;
rather my father made you a plant, honoring his son,
and lord Cronion changed your body into sweet nectar.
Nature did not, as on the painted Therapnaean clusters,
[12.225] score a cry of woe upon your tearless petals;
but you keep your own color even among the shoots, boy;
your death has proclaimed the radiance of your limbs;
not yet has your reddening form abandoned you.
But as avenger of your death I shall never cease
[12.230] pouring your wine as libation over the man-slaying
destroyer when he is sacrificed. And you fasten blame upon the Hamadryads
with your lovely petals; and from your fragrant clusters
the moisture of your Loves breathes about me.
When shall I mix the fruit of the apple in a mixing-bowl?
[12.235] When shall I drip the fig into a nectarous cup?
Fig and apple alike have their grace only as far as the teeth.
No other plant can rival your grape-clusters;
neither rose, nor fair-hued narcissus, nor anemone,
nor lily, nor hyacinth is equal to the shoot of Bacchus,
[12.240] because with the new drops of the much-trodden harvest
your drink shall receive all flowers; there shall be one drink
mingled with all, and it shall come to a single scent
mixed with flowers of every kind; for your flower
shall adorn the whole grass of the meadow in spring.
[12.245] Yield to me, glorious archer, because with mourning
bond you girdled your griefless locks with much-lamented leaves;
dirges are scored on your petals; but if in the garden
the glorious archer bears a garland, I draw sweet wine,
and put about me a lovely crown, and sweet-drinking
[12.250] within my heart I lift Ampelus himself entire.
Yield to the lord of grapes, you of the glancing helmet; for the bloody one
pours gore as libation to Ares, and the vine-god to Dionysus
the reddening dew of the cluster turned to wine.
Deo, you are plundered, after Pallas; for olives
[12.255] do not breed gladness, and the corn-ear does not bewitch a man,
the pear has honey-sweet fruit, the myrtle rears
fragrant flowers, and they do not with mind-charming fruit
hurl human cares to the winds;
I was born far better than you; for when our
[12.260] wine is not present the dinners of the table are joyless,
when wine is not present the dances are unbewitching.
If you can, grey-eyed one, drink the fruit of your olive;
my splendid-gifted harvest has conquered your plant,
because with your <...> your <...> †
[12.265] athlete men are joyless, and the man of dreadful suffering,
having lost wife or daughter in a common doom,
or holding grief for dead children or mother or father,
when he tastes sweet wine
shall shake off the hateful mass of his growing distress.
[12.270] Ampelus, even after your doom you gladden the heart of Bacchus;
in all my limbs I shall mix your draught."
And all the trees around, with head nodding downward,
bend an arching neck like one entreating,
and the old palm bowed down its high-stretched leaves;
[12.275] and about the apple-tree you stretch your feet, and about the fig
you lean, spreading out your hands, and your harvest
they lift as handmaids lift their mistress,
when with the spiral throb of your stretching leaves
you rise above the shoulder of your attendants; and the soft
[12.280] varied leaves of the wide-scattered clusters growing near,
as though you slumbered, flutter upon your face,
the winds cooling you with sparing breezes,
as a servant shakes the accustomed slender fan,
bringing a manufactured cool breeze for his king.
[12.285] And if you endure the midday threat of Phaethon,
the Etesian breeze comes as forerunner of your grape
lulling the thirsty star of fiery Maera,
when the course of the summer-born Season warms you,
heating with the vapor of Sirius the ripening dew.
[12.290] He spoke exulting, and cast away his former cares,
having the fragrant harvest as the remedy for the youth.
And these things are sung about the vine-cluster,
how it got its name from the youth. But among the poets
there is another, older tale, how once to the earth
[12.295] from heaven the fruit-bearing Olympian ichor flowed
and bore the drink of the Bacchic grape, and on the crags
the fruit of the harvest grew self-sprung, untended;
and not yet was the tame vine so named, but in the thickets
the wild vine, flourishing among much-bending celery,
[12.300] a fair-vined wood of wine-bearing plants sprouted,
gushing forth a wet mass crammed with dew;
and there was a great orchard, where, creeping up in rows,
the wandering cluster shook, reddening upon cluster;
of which one, half-finished, increasing its birth-pangs,
[12.305] purpling in changing hues, appeared with varied-colored fruit,
and another, white-crested, ripened, of one color with foam,
and many another thrust its yoke-fellow neighbor, neighbor against neighbor,
yellow in nature, while another seemed in form like pitch,
its whole bloom darkening, and from the wine-bearing leaves
[12.310] it made drunk the whole splendid-fruited olive grown beside it;
and over another's unripe fruit, freshly scored,
ran the black, self-rushing breath of the silvery cluster,
bringing a swelling harvest in its clustered mass;
and the spiral of the harvest garlanded the pine on the opposite path,
[12.315] shading the well-covered shoot with gathered thickets,
and delighted the heart of Pan; and bringing near its branches
shaken by Boreas, beside the cluster of the vine
the blood-dipped pine shook its fragrant hair.
And about it a serpent, coiled with crooked spine,
[12.320] milked the delicious nectar of the fine-dripping harvest,
and having milked the Bacchic drink with its grim jaws,
dripping into its throat the draught of the cluster turned to wine,
the serpent reddened its beard with a purple drop.
And the mountain-roaming god marveled, watching the serpent,
[12.325] its throat defiled with a wine-dark drop;
and winding its turning trail with spotted scales
it entered a neighboring deep-bosomed hole in the rock,
the shifting serpent, having seen the Euian. And looking upon
the cluster pregnant with reddening dew, Bacchus
[12.330] understood the older oracles of prophetic Rhea.
And he dug the crags, and with the whetted point
of earth-digging iron he hollowed a recess of the rock;
and smoothing the brows of the deepening hollows
he made the trench into the pattern of a fine-grape vat,
[12.335] mowing the fresh-blooming clusters with his sharp thyrsus,
fashioning the pattern of the later-born crook-clawed sickle.
And the chorus of Satyrs went with him; of whom one
was bent, gathering the vintage, another in a hollow vessel
received the clusters as they were cut, another, tearing the tangled leaves,
[12.340] shook off the green refuse from the wine-loving fruit;
another, without thyrsus and without well-whetted iron,
stretching his ironless right hand upon the branches,
broke off the tips of the coiling cluster's bunch,
crouching hunched, stretching his eye toward the vine;
[12.345] and in the hollow cavity he spread the poured-out harvest,
heaping the middle backs of the ravine with grapes,
and set the coiling clusters one upon another in the hollow
stretched out this way and that, and, as though heaps of a threshing-floor,
filling the whole hollow he gathered them in the cavernous rock,
[12.350] and trod the grape with the bounding beat of his feet.
And the Satyrs, shaking their raving hair into the air,
learning a mimicry of like nature from Dionysus,
binding spotted skins of fawns tight at the shoulder,
shrieked the Bacchic melody of a common-tongued echo,
[12.355] pressing the harvest with much-leaping feet,
singing the Euian cry; and as the wine gushed
from the grape-rich hollow the ravines were purpled;
and the harvest, pressed by alternating feet,
gushed up the white foam of a reddening dew.
[12.360] And they drew with the horns of oxen instead of cups,
which had not yet appeared, whence afterward, from that time,
this divine name belonged to mingled wine.
And one, gushing up the moisture of mind-charming Bacchus,
bent the curving track of his feet with a spiraling throb,
[12.365] exchanging his right sole for the left as it migrated,
and drenched his shaggy beard with the moisture of Bacchus;
another leapt up, shaken by the sting of drunkenness,
hearing the dreadful bellowing of the beaten ox-hide;
and one, drinking the irresistible flood of pain-healing wine,
[12.370] purpled his dark beard with the rosy draught;
another, stretching his tottering gaze upward to a tree,
spied a half-seen, unveiled Nymph nearby,
and now he would have crept up into the high-leaved plant
of the mountain wood with the crook-clawed sole of his slipping foot,
[12.375] had not Dionysus restrained him; and about the springs
another, with the mind-changing throb of thought-rousing drunkenness,
pursued a watery, unrobed Naiad girl,
and now he would have embraced her as she swam with shaggy arm,
had she not forestalled him and hidden in the deep stream.
[12.380] And to wine-drinking Dionysus alone Rhea gave
the amethyst, the defender against raging necessity.
And many of the well-horned Satyrs with playful sole
reveled, goaded into the dance; of whom one,
having a new hot sting beneath his heart, escort of the Loves,
[12.385] embraced a Bacchant about the middle with shaggy arm;
and another, shaken by the sting of mind-wandering drunkenness,
touched the chaste girdle of an unwed maiden,
dragging back toward Cypris the garments of the disobedient lady,
and with hand thrown behind touched her rosy thighs;
[12.390] and one reined back an unwilling initiate girl
as she kindled the night-danced torch for Dionysus;
and another, casting sparing fingers about her breast,
pressed the swelling rim of her firm bosom.
And after the revel of his sweet harvest Dionysus
[12.395] entered exulting the caves of the Cybelian goddess,
stretching out the clustered shoots with flower-loving hand,
and taught Maeonia his sleepless festival.

## Book XIII


### In the thirteenth I shall tell of the countless army and the champion heroes gathering for Dionysus.

[13.1] And Zeus the father sent to the divine courts of Rhea
Iris to announce to battle-rousing Dionysus
that he should drive out of Asia the arrogant race of Indians,
untaught in justice, with his avenging thyrsus,
[13.5] mowing down the horned, sea-fighting son of a river,
king Deriades, and should teach all nations
the night-danced rites and the wine-dark fruit of the harvest.
She, with the windy rush of her rowing wings,
entering the roaring recess of the lion-tended cave,
[13.10] planted a noiseless step, and in speechless silence
binding her slave mouth tight, near the mountain queen
she stood bowed, and as her head was drawn down
she pressed the feet of Rhea with suppliant lips.
And her the Corybants, at the unsmiling nod of Rhea,
[13.15] pleased beside the mixing-bowl of the divine table;
and in wonder, drinking the pouring of the newborn wine,
she delighted, driven to frenzy; and heavy-headed the goddess
bellowed the counsel of Zeus to the son of Zeus who was present:
"Valiant Dionysus, your father bids you
[13.20] wipe out the race of Indians, untaught in piety;
but, lifting the warlike thyrsus in your palms,
do deeds worthy of the upper air, since the immortal court of Zeus
will not receive you apart from toils, nor will the Seasons
open the gates of Olympus to you before you have contended;
[13.25] Hermes came to heaven with difficulty, when with his rod
he slew the herdsman Argus, flashing with eyes
from his feet to his hair, and loosed Ares from bonds;
and Apollo subdued Delphyne and dwelt in the upper air;
nor did your father, champion of the blessed ones, high-ruling Zeus,
[13.30] go up to heaven apart from toils, the leader of the stars,
before he first bound the threateners of Olympus,
hiding the Titans in the Tartarean hollow.
And you too, after Apollo, after Hermes, having toiled,
have as the wage of your labors to dwell in your father's upper air."
[13.35] So speaking, the goddess went to Olympus; and at once all-mother
Rhea sent forth the host-gathering messenger
Pyrrhichus, the dancer of the crash-loving ox-hide,
to announce the war of Lyaeus as he armed.
And gathering a many-shaped army for Dionysus
[13.40] Pyrrhichus ran through the seats of the ever-flowing cosmos;
and bringing all the offspring of Europe and the nations
of the land of Asia he returned to the country of the soft-living Lydians.
But the heroic stock of the wide-scattered champions
and of the shaggy Satyrs, blood of the Centaur race,
[13.45] and the battle-line of the Sileni of the shaggy-shinned old man
and the rank of the Bassarids, tell me, Corybantic Muses;
for I could not sing so many tribes with ten tongues,
nor with ten mouths pouring a bronze-voiced echo,
all that spear-wielding Bacchus gathered; but singing shrill
[13.50] of the leaders I shall call Homer to help me,
the whole harbor of fair speech, since wandering sailors
call the dark-haired god the helper of their wandering.
First, at the call of Dionysus of the fair thyrsus,
Actaeon came swiftly, honoring his kindred blood,
[13.55] leaving the seven-mouthed soil of his Aonian homeland;
and the battle-lines of the Boeotians flowed in, who dwelt in the land
of well-towered Thebes and Onchestus, the haunt of the Earth-shaker,
Peteon, and Ocalea, and Erythrae,
clustered Arne, glorying in Dionysus,
[13.60] and those who dwelt in Mideia, and the little towns of song,
Eilesion and Scolus and sea-based Thisbe,
the dove-haunted harbor of Aphrodite of the sea,
and the floor of Schoenus and fair-tressed Eleon
and Copae, splendid soil, where I hear there is still
[13.65] a far-famed lake, named for it, the nurse of eels,
and shaggy Medeon, and those who got well-pastured Hyle,
the long-shinned nurse of Tychius the leather-cutter,
and the plain of Euryalus, guarded by an earthly oracle,
named for the later-born chariot of Amphiaraus,
[13.70] and the city of the Thespians and deep-glened Plataea
and watery Haliartus, divided in the middle
by the streams of the mountain-poured river of Helicon,
and those who held farthest Anthedon, neighbor of the sea,
the little town of the ever-living fisherman,
[13.75] water-living Glaucus, and those who held stormy Ascra,
the laurel-bearing homeland of the never-silent shepherd,
and the holy city of Graia and of broad-spaced Mycalessus,
named after the mimicry of the throat of Euryale,
and the Nisaean land and the city named for Coronus.
[13.80] For these as they went toward the eastern slope of the earth
Actaeon was champion, and for the victory of the youth
his grandfather, the laurel prophet Apollo, sneezed the omen.
And another throng of Boeotians was led
by fair-haired Hymenaeus with unscored chin,
[13.85] fresh in bloom, beloved of Bromius; and as the boy went
a grey-haired child-tending champion, Phoenix by name,
followed, wholly like Laocoon, who before, having boarded Argo,
the ship of Jason, into the land of the Colchians
sailed as companion with Meleager as he armed.
[13.90] Such, still a boy, having the youth of a child,
soft-haired Hymenaeus entered the war of the Indians,
whirling on either cheek the hair of his own age;
and shield-bearers of the same age accompanied him,
those who held the city of Aspledon, and Orchomenus
[13.95] of Minyas, whom the Grace never leaves, the dance-beaten grove of the Loves,
and those who inhabited Hyria, the god-receiving soil of the field,
which keeps the name of the hospitable Hyrieus,
where the boundless Giant, from a bed that knew no marriage,
Orion of three fathers, leapt up from his mother Earth,
[13.100] when, increased by the threefold seed of the gods,
a pouring of urine was shaped into a self-perfected birth,
having wedded the furrow of the ox-hide that perfects generation,
and the flank of Earth brought forth an unsown son of the ground,
and those who held the stranger-receiving soil of the gathered Achaeans,
[13.105] rocky Aulis, the foundation of the archer-goddess,
where the heavy-wrathful goddess beside the mountain-haunting altar
received the sacrifice of a lying Iphigeneia,
and a mountain-roaming doe was burnt in the blameless fire,
the counterfeit form of the true Iphigeneia, snatched away,
[13.110] whom guile-weaving Odysseus had brought as the bride-to-be
of Achilles before the battle, whence Aulis is called
the bride-adorner of unwedded Iphigeneia,
and an escorting wind whistled for the ships of the Argives,
noiselessly lashing the surface of the ship-holding calm,
[13.115] bringing a recovered breeze for the fawn-slaying king,
and the girl, coming late, borne aloft to the land of the Tauri,
was taught the dreadful ordinances of inhospitable cauldrons,
butchering a man, and beside the man-slaying altar
she took alive her sea-dismayed brother Orestes.
[13.120] So great a host of countless Boeotian men came
to the Indian war, accompanying Hymenaeus.
With them marched, from beside the wise Delphic rock,
the neighboring Phocians of the same age, who held
the seat of Cyparissus and the land of Hyampolis, which I hear
[13.125] is named for the soil of the Aonian sow, which about her beauty
lifted a proud neck and strove with Tritogeneia;
and those who got Pytho and the cliff-ringed orchard,
Crisa of song, and Daulis and Panopeus,
having Bacchus as neighbor, since laurel Apollo
[13.130] shared his own inheritance with his brother Dionysus,
two-headed Parnassus; and for the gathering peoples
the oracular, god-speaking Pythian rock cried out,
and the tripod self-sounding, and the chattering swell
of the never-silent spring of Castalia bubbled with a wise stream.
[13.135] And the battle-lines of the Euboeans were marshaled by the shield-bearing
Corybants, tenders of growing Dionysus,
who, holding the Phrygian gulf beside mountain-haunting Rhea,
circled Bacchus with their ox-hides while he was still an infant,
whom once, veiled in a purple wine-dark robe,
[13.140] they found among the crags, a horned babe, where Ino
had entrusted him to child-tending Mystis, mother of Corymbus;
they then all came from the island of song,
Prymneus and rolling-footed Mimas and mountain-running Acmon
and Damneus and shield-brandishing Ocythous, with whom marching
[13.145] came helmet-glancing Melisseus, running with the Idaean;
whom once, armed with the witless sting of impiety,
Socus their father robbed of their sea-girdled homeland
after their mother Combe, who bore seven; and they, fleeing,
came to the soil of Cnossus, and again were wanderers
[13.150] to Phrygia from Crete, from Phrygia to Athens,
foreign dwellers sharing a hearth, until Cecrops
crushed Socus with the avenging bronze of Justice,
and leaving the land of sea-washed Marathon
they bent a homeward step to the holy soil of the Abantes,
[13.155] the earthly race of the earlier Curetes, whose song is of flutes,
whose life is the din of sweet-sounding swords, whose care
is the circling of feet in some rhythm and the shielded dance.
With them marched the warlike sons of the Abantes,
who got beetling Eretria, who got both
[13.160] Styra and Cerinthus, and the seats of Carystus of song
and the rocky plain of Dium, and those who held the headland,
the wavy headland of never-silent Geraestus,
and Styx and the seat of Cotylaeum and the seat of Siris
and the ridge of Marmarion and the plain of ancient Aegae;
[13.165] with them came a people traveling together, whose homeland
was Chalcis, mother-city of the back-haired Ellopians.
Seven leaders armed the host, but all had one
spirit for battle; and at a blazing altar they propitiated
the stars that dwell in the path of the Zodiac,
[13.170] entrusting the war to wanderers equal in number.
And the sons of Cecrops were armed by Erechtheus, unsated of battles —
bearing the golden blood of Erechtheus blessed in children,
whom once within the fold of the torch-bearing maiden-chamber
a maiden self-delivered reared at a male breast,
[13.175] the child-tending, grey-eyed, unplowed one, and in shame
she embraced the boy in her maiden, unaccustomed arm,
the son of Hephaestus, when the ill-wedded god lame in both legs
sowed his seed in the field with a strange kind of love,
hurling the hot, self-rushing foam of the Loves;
[13.180] such came Erechtheus, champion of the Athenian army,
having Siphnus as fellow-contender, a leader of the same city —,
those who got the fertile plain of Oenoe, and those who held
the honeyed haunts of the peaks of neighboring Hymettus
and the deep-treed precinct of olive-tressed Marathon,
[13.185] and those who held the city of Celeus, and those who got the harbor of Athena,
seaside Brauron, the empty tomb of Iphigeneia,
and the plain of Thoricus and of Aphidna of fair childbirth,
and those who held the Eleusinian land of Deo blessed in children,
mystic servants of the basket and of the fruitful goddess,
[13.190] born from the blood of Triptolemus, who once, driving
the viperish chariot of Deo through the air,
lashed the spotted backs of the corn-bearing serpents;
and old Acharneus, brandishing iron armor this way and that,
held it out in abundance to the sons as they armed;
[13.195] and the ranks of Attica came as newcomers, and with the spear,
with the swords of the battle-rousing dwellers hurrying
into the fray, well-helmeted Athens raged in Bacchic frenzy,
and as they rushed to war the harbor of Phalerum resounded;
and many a golden cicada, announcing their earlier
[13.200] earth-born stock, was bound tight in their well-plaited hair.
Aeacus too left his fatherland, whom a counterfeit bird
begot, coupling with the ravished bride, daughter of Asopus,
the eagle, the winged husband of Aegina, high-flying Zeus;
and from that marriage Aeacus was declared; and beyond all others
[13.205] he longed to help his kinsman Dionysus;
and he marshaled the battle-lines of the Myrmidons with knowing art,
who before were ants creeping upon the field,
busy with their many-scattered feet, until, changing
their earth-born form from their paltry skin,
[13.210] high-ruling Zeus remolded them into another, better body,
and an armed host sprouted; for suddenly
the strange-natured, voiceless, unsown swarm of the field,
the ant, shaped its body into a speaking mortal;
their champion Aeacus led them, and on his well-wrought shield
[13.215] he had inscribed the counterfeit Zeus, the wise bird, the sign of his race,
lifting a woman with sparing talons,
and a river was near, burnt with fire, and close by a girl
pitiably downcast, and though it was a breathless image
she stretched a sidelong eye, as though groaning for her father
[13.220] heavy-kneed Asopus, and she seemed to cry this out:
"A fine bride-gift you have given me, having subdued my father."
And of the many-tongued dwellers of Crete the leader was
Asterius, having a bright-eyed body, and as much
as he was lovely, so much was he valiant, whom once a bride,
[13.225] having loosed for Minos the knot of her chaste maidenhood,
Androgeneia of Phaestus bore in a Cydonian bed;
he then, leading a hundred-citied people to wine-dark Bacchus,
came honoring the kindred blood of the race
of his father; for Minos was the cousin of Semele,
[13.230] both of the common stock of Cadmus; and the wide-scattered warriors
all flowed together to one eager leader,
some fighters from Cnossus, others from Lyctus
joining the armies of Miletus; and with them many
citizens of high-crested Gortyn armed themselves
[13.235] and the dwellers of Rhytium and of fruitful Lycastus
and the land of Zeus Nodaeus and the foundations of Boebe
and the plain of Cisamus, and the fair cities of Cytaeum.
Such a champion came from Crete; and as he went
the star of Ares, of the same name, shone for Asterius,
[13.240] pouring a prophetic gleam with hotter rays,
first messenger of the victory to come; but in the battle,
having conquered, he got a counterfeit longing for an unaccustomed land,
pitiless; for he was not destined to see after the war of the Indians
his ancestral, helmet-glancing cave of the Idaean cliff,
[13.245] but he chose a life away from his city, and instead of Dicte
the man of Cnossus was a migrant citizen in Scythia,
and leaving grey-haired Minos and Androgeneia
he came, wise, to the barbarian nations of the stranger-slaying Colchians,
and called them Asterians and gave the Colchians a Cretan
[13.250] name, to whom nature gave strange ordinances, and leaving
the ancestral Cretan stream of Amnisus that had tended him
he drank with shamed lips the alien water of Phasis.
Aristaeus alone came slowly, last of all
who dwelt in the land bordering the land of Hellas,
[13.255] who for the sweet honey of his many-celled hives
lifted a proud neck, and strove with wine-pouring Dionysus
in the fruitless hope of a honey-sweet victory;
and all the dwellers of Olympus judged between them;
but the son of Phoebus, offering to the immortals the fresh-flowing
[13.260] streams of his hives, missed the honey-sweet victory,
because the gods, receiving the thick stream of the shoot-loving bee,
had a sharp surfeit of the joyless dew;
and the blessed ones were sated at the third cup, nor did they taste
of a fourth mixed, returning cup,
[13.265] though they were very thirsty; but as Bacchus drew for them,
delighting their minds with the fine-dripping rain of his dew,
they drank the whole day long the unceasing pouring of wine;
and drunk with the sweet wine each after another marveled,
longing with delighted heart for cup after cup,
[13.270] having an unsated gladness of mind-charming wine;
but Zeus marveled at the works of the honey-dripping bee,
the cunning travail of the hive-loving birth,
the gift of Aristaeus, and to wine-pouring Dionysus
he granted to bear the first prize of a toil-releasing victory.
[13.275] Thence Aristaeus came slowly to the battle of the Indians,
late, having lulled his earlier anger at the ravisher of his youth,
leaving the Cyllenian haunt, the seat of Hermes;
for not yet had he settled on the earlier island of Merops,
not yet had he stopped the fiery vapor of the thirsty season
[13.280] bringing the life-giving breeze of evil-averting Zeus,
nor had he, iron-clad, watching the gleam of the star,
holding back Sirius from his smoky fever,
soothed it by night, which, still shooting hot thirsty fire
through the upper air with blazing throat,
[13.285] the winds cool with their slender breaths;
but he still dwelt in the plain of Parrhasia. And as he came
the acorn-eating, wandering Arcadian people armed themselves,
those who held Lasion and the fair groves of Lycaeus
and rocky Stymphalus, and the little town of song,
[13.290] Rhipe and Stratie and Mantinea and Enispe
and well-treed Parrhasia, where is the untrodden ground
of the goddess, still the childbed of first-born Rhea,
and the plain of Pheneus and the father of the dance,
Orchomenus rich in sheep, the foundation of the Apidanians,
[13.295] and those who held Arcadia, the city of Arcas, whom once his mother
Callisto bore to Zeus, and his father, fixing him in the vault
of the stars, called him hail-bringing Boötes;
so great a host did Aristaeus arm with Arcadian spear,
dragging pasturing hounds into the battle against fighting men,
[13.300] he whom once Cyrene, another deer-driving Artemis,
the lion-slaying lady, bore by the love of Phoebus,
when fair Apollo brought her, a migrant, to sandy Libya
in a bride-adorning, ravishing chariot.
And leaving his prophetic laurel, his father Apollo himself
[13.305] armed him with his own palms as he hurried;
and he gave his son a bow, and fitted to his hand a cunning
ox-hide shield, and fastened the hollow quiver
let down across his back with a raw-hide baldric.
And to him from Sicily came far-shooting Achates,
[13.310] and shield-bearers of the same age accompanied him,
a great host of Cillyrians and Elymi, and those who dwelt about
the seat of the Palici, and those who beside the lake of Catana
dwelt in a city neighboring the Sirens, whom to Achelous
rosy Terpsichore bore from an ox-horned bed,
[13.315] joined to a stormy husband;
and those who held Camarina, where with roaring stream
unsteady Hipparis belches its crooked water,
and the holy city of Hybla, and those who dwelt near Aetna,
where craters of fire from the kindled rock
[13.320] gush up the hot radiance of Typhon's bed,
and those who shared out houses beside beetling Pelorus,
and the island plain of sea-roaring Pachynus,
and Sicilian Arethusa, where wandering Alpheius
creeps as a migrant, luxuriant with a Pisan garland,
[13.325] ferrying the passable swell, and through the surface of the sea
draws his higher, unwetted water, a slave of Eros,
having his hot fire kindled through the cold water.
After them came Faunus, leaving the fire-sealed
Pelorian floor of the cliff of three-crested Sicily,
[13.330] whom Circe bore, joined with the Cronion of the deep,
the sister of Aeetes, rich in drugs, who beside a thicket
dwelt in the deep-shaded circles of a rocky hall.
And the Libyans marched by the western slope of the land,
dwelling in the cloud-neighboring cities of wandering Cadmus;
[13.335] for there, carried by the breezes of opposing winds,
Cadmus dwelt for a time, having the Sithonian lady
as fellow-sailor, Harmonia still a maiden, for whose beauty
war-breeding rumor armed the neighboring adversaries,
whom the Libyan host called Charis instead — for a softer
[13.340] Bistonian earthly grace, another, had sprung up,
from whom also comes the Hill of the Graces in Libya —, for whose beauty,
shaken by the witless sting of a ravishing battle,
dreadful barbarian Ares armed himself, mad with love,
the wilderness-dwelling Moorish people; but brandishing
[13.345] with woman-mad hands the spear of Libyan Athena
her husband fought as champion of Harmonia,
and put to flight the whole race of the western Ethiopians
with Zeus in armor, with Ares and Cytherea;
there too, as they tell, beside the Tritonian lake
[13.350] wandering Cadmus lay beside rosy-faced Harmonia,
and the Hesperid nymphs wove a song, from whose garden
Cypris together with the Loves adorned the fair-wedded bed,
hanging the golden harvest in the bridal chamber,
a bride-gift worthy of the bride's love, from whose leaves
[13.355] Harmonia and Cadmus beside the treasure-rich bridal bed
girdled their locks with wealthy clusters
instead of the bridal rose; and the bride was the softer,
bearing golden gifts, the prize of golden Aphrodite;
and rousing a festal melody of the starry lyre
[13.360] her mother's father, bowed Libyan Atlas, whirled heaven
like a ball with his bounding sole,
and sang a song of harmony with neighboring voice;
and as memorials of the yoking love of his bride
Cadmus gave footholds to the Libyan land,
[13.365] building a hundred cities, and gave to each
hard-to-tread walls raised high with stone towers.
Keeping his memory, warriors marched out
as champions of Enyo for Bromius as he fought,
dwelling in the foundations neighboring the Moon at its birth
[13.370] and the midday haunts of Zeus Asbystes,
the horned prophet, where often once Ammon,
having the thrice-coiled likeness of a ram's horn,
Western Zeus, gave oracles with prophetic lips;
and those who dwelt by the stream of Chremetes and those who beside the water
[13.375] of Cinyps dwelt on the sandy floor of the parched land,
Auschisae and Bacales together, whom beyond others,
delighting in Ares, the Zephyrian bend nourished.
So great was the hundred-citied people; and of the coming
multitude the leader was Crataegonus, whom once a girl
[13.380] Anchiroe bore beside the flat rock of her father Chremetes
to light-minded Psyllus in a short-lived bed,
holding in her arms a god-fighting bridegroom, whose fruits
once the hot wind Notus burned with thirsty breath;
but he, arming the helmet-glancing war of ships,
[13.385] gathered a sea-fighting swarm, so that by an avenging ordinance
he might raise Enyo against the winds of the air,
eager to kill flaming Notus; and near the island
of Aeolus the shield-brandishing fleet came, but against the madness
of the man the winds armed themselves, spear-hurlers
[13.390] in a stormy tumult, lashing the ship,
shaking a gathered, conspiring breeze as their helper,
and entombed both the army and Psyllus in the sea.
And shield-bearers of Thracian Samos flowed together,
whom their lord sent forth, of the thick-haired beard,
[13.395] heavy-kneed Emathion, having snowy hair,
men like the Titans in their limbs, who held both
seaside Myrmex and flowery Saoce,
and the land of Teumerion and the groves of the fair-meadowed field
of Phesias, shaded with a wooded thicket,
[13.400] and most holy Zerynthus, the foundation of the unsleeping Corybants,
of the maiden called daughter of Perses, where
the cliffs are haunted by the revel of mystic torches,
and those who dwelt about Brontion beneath the many-pointed
base of the land, and those which beside the neighboring sea
[13.405] I hear are called the Paths of Poseidon of the deep.
So many ranks came of one age, and they confirmed
their kindred descent from first-born Electra;
for there Ares, Zeus, Cytherea gave Harmonia,
stock of the upper air, blood of the sea, to Cadmus, the helper
[13.410] of the gods, as wedded wife without bride-price.
For them as they armed with Dionysus of the fair thyrsus
the seventh star of Electra rose through the upper air,
a favorable sign of battle, and about the victory
the answering echo of the cry of the Pleiades sounded,
[13.415] doing favor to Dionysus who bore the blood of their sister,
and gave the army a like courage; and of those who came
the leader was Ogyrus, a second Ares in war,
high-headed Ogyrus, having the likeness of the Giants;
his whole body was unbending, and from his head
[13.420] and the sinew of his neck upon his back-haired shoulders
locks like spine-bearing hedgehogs
flowed down as far as his loins; and he had a neck
long, huge, like the neck of a rock,
having his father's barbarian character; nor did any other
[13.425] better than he come to the eastern battle of the Indians
apart from Dionysus; and he swore an oath by Victory
to destroy all the Indian land alone with his spear.
And the bold son of Ares, leaving his Pimpleia,
Oeagrus, a citizen of the Bistonian land, reveled forth,
[13.430] leaving Orpheus on the knees of Calliope,
an infant still tended at the newly flowing breast.
And the Cyprian battle-lines were marshaled by proud Litrus
and fair-haired Lapethus; and many armed themselves,
those who got Spheceia, the sea-beaten rim of the island,
[13.435] Cyprus, the god-receiving island of the well-winged Loves,
named for self-born Cypris, of which Cyprus once
Nereus, tracing round its headlands with the point of his deep-sea trident,
rounded out a shape like a dolphin —
for when the fertile dew of Urania, streaming with male
[13.440] gore, shaped the childbed foam
and brought the Paphian to birth, toward the land of horned Cyprus
a dolphin ran over the swell with an intelligent heart,
lifting Aphrodite seated upon its crest —,
and those who held the plain of Hylates and the foundations of Sestus
[13.445] and Tamasus and Tembrus and the little town of Erythrae
and the deep-treed precinct of mountain-haunting Panacrum;
and from Soli a great host armed itself, and from Lapethus,
which afterward they called by the name of the leader,
who then gathered the people, and in the fair-thyrsus tumult
[13.450] died and was buried and left his name to the citizens;
and those who held the city of Cinyras, a rock still named
for first-born Cinyras, and the plain of the seat of Urania,
named for the hollow of the upper air, because it reared
citizens flashing like the pattern of the heavenly stars,
[13.455] and those who held Crapaseia, the sea-crowned soil of the land,
and Paphos, the garland-bearing harbor of the soft-haired Loves,
the foothold of Aphrodite rising from the waters,
where is the bridal water of the sea-born Paphian,
lovely Setrachus, where often, taking a garment,
[13.460] Cypris cloaked the bathed son of Myrrha,
and the city of first-born Perseus, where once Teucer,
leaving Salamis and the anger of Telamon,
built the walls of a younger Salamis of song.
And the soft throng of the Lydians flowed in, who held both
[13.465] fine-pebbled Cimpsus and beetling Itone,
and those who held broad Torebion, and those who held the nurses
of wealth, Sardis of fair childbirth, of one age with the dawn,
and the grape-tressed Bacchic land, where for his mother
Dionysus of the vine, holding a cup full of wine,
[13.470] first mixed it for Rhea, and named the city Cerassae,
and the peaks of Oanus, and those who got the stream of Hermus
and watery Metallum, where, spitting out the Pactolian silt,
the yellow wealth of the dew glitters;
and a great host of Stataloe was armed, where Typhon,
[13.475] gushing up the hot breath of the fire-heated thunderbolt,
burned the neighboring country, and with the stormy smoke
of burning Typhon the cliffs were turned to ash,
as his heads withered with the limb-devouring spark;
but leaving the fragrant temple of Lydian Zeus
[13.480] a priest without iron fought with goading speech,
with speech for a spear, and not with cutting iron,
restraining with his tongue the obedient son of the earth,
having a furious mouth for spear, a word for sword, a voice for shield,
pouring this word from a god-invoking throat:
[13.485] "Stand, wretch"; and the flaming Giant, by the mystic art
of unbreakable speech, was fixed in a wise bond,
fearing a man armed with an intelligent lance,
held in an ironless fetter by avenging speech;
nor did the dread many-armed Giant so tremble at the hurler
[13.490] of the thunderbolt as at the man-breaking initiate
shooting a chattering missile with his tongue, and he gave way, laboring,
pierced with speaking wounds by the sharp word;
and having a wound of fire, pierced with a hot spear,
Typhon labored under another, hotter, intelligent fire,
[13.495] and rooted his standing, unshaken viperish sole
by necessity, fixed to his mother Earth,
wounded in an unscored body by a bloodless spear-point.
But those things the age brought among men of former days.
And these, beating the ground shrilly with well-rhythmed sole,
[13.500] Stabius and Stamnus armed for the fray of the Indians;
and watching the dancing host skipping about
you would say such a word, that the champion leads
into a dance, not into battle, bringing an armed man;
for as they came, striking up a dance,
[13.505] the battle-rousing Mygdonian lyre roared toward the fray,
sending, instead of a dance, the host-rousing echo of war;
and the trumpets of war were the pipes of the Loves,
and the twin yoked Berecyntian flutes cried out,
and the ox-hides bellowed with bronze crashes,
[13.510] a din struck on both sides from heavy-thundering hands.
And the Phrygians marched beside the rank of the battle-rousing Lydians,
those who got Budeia, and the little town of song,
tree-tressed Temeneia, the well-shaded grove of the field,
those who dwelt in Dresie and Obrimus, which mingles
[13.515] its own water with the crooked streams of Maeander,
and the plain named for Doias, and those who dwelt in Celaenae
of the golden roofs and the images of the Gorgon;
with them marched also those who got to dwell in the cities
neighboring Sangarius, and the foundations of the Helespian land.
[13.520] Their champion led them, leaving snaky Dirce,
Priasus, a migrant citizen of the Aonian land;
for when rainy Zeus deluged the plain of Phrygia,
pouring high-running water with rainy seas,
and the oaks were hidden, and in the thorn-bearing glens
[13.525] the thirsty hills surged like rivers,
then, leaving his dripping house covered with rain
and the air-roaming flood, the hurler-down of halls,
Priasus migrated to the bosom of the Aonian land,
fleeing the death-bearing rainy water of Zeus;
[13.530] and always among foreign men shedding tears
he remembered Sangarius and sought his accustomed spring,
drinking the alien water of the Aonian river;
and late did highest Zeus soothe the ill-snowed swell
and the watery necessity, and from the peaks of Sipylus
[13.535] he drove back the water of flooded Phrygia;
and the Earth-shaker with his trident transferred the whole flood
into the deep caverns of the unfathomed sea,
and the cliffs were laid bare of the roaring snowstorm;
and then, leaving the soil of Boeotia in return,
[13.540] Priasus, wise too late, entered his own homeland,
and returning embraced his heavy-kneed father
in the harmless trail of his arm, whom for the sake of his pious deeds
great Zeus had taken alive from the rainy destruction,
whom they call Brombius; and from the Phrygian gulf
[13.545] exultant warriors circled about Priasus.
And Miletus, fresh in bloom, coming apart from his father
Asterius, came as companion to Bacchus,
having his brother Caunus as fellow-contender, who then,
leading the people of the Carians, still a boy, entered the war of the Indians;
[13.550] for not yet did he weave a guile-weaving song of unhappy love
having the sting of his sister who knew nothing, nor did he sing
of Hera herself, the sister joined with Zeus
in an answering love of an emulous bed,
about the Latmian ox-stall of the unsleeping herdsman,
[13.555] blessing beneath love, beside the neighboring rock,
the bridegroom Endymion, the care of desire-stricken Selene;
but still Byblis was a lover of maidenhood, and still Caunus
was learning the hunt, ignorant of kindred loves;
nor yet, when her soft-haired brother had fled,
[13.560] had the girl, rained upon with tears, transformed her body,
and gushed forth the watery stream of a mourning spring.
And with him bold warriors pressed on,
those who dwelt in Mycale, and those who got the crooked water
of the returning river that sinks into the earth,
[13.565] of crooked Maeander, creeping through his haunts.
So many ranks came; and at the emulous march
of the gathering peoples the Cybelian courts rang,
and the streets of the Mygdonian city were thronged.

## Book XIV


### Turn your mind to the fourteenth: there Rhea arms the whole divine host for the Indian war.

[14.1] And swift-sandaled Rhea, beside the mountain-haunting manger,
having bound tight the shaggy necks of her lions,
lifted her wind-swift ankle to run with the breezes,
rowing the hollows of the air with her sandal;
[14.5] and gathering the divine battle-lines for Lyaeus
she passed through the seats of the cosmos like a wing or a thought,
to the south, to the north, to the west, to the slope of Dawn;
and to the oaks and the rivers she joined a single call,
summoning the Naiads and the Hadryad ranks of the wood.
[14.10] And the divine offspring, hearing the Cybelian cry,
gathered from every side. And from on high to the land of the Lydians,
bringing an unerring step, Rhea came down from the air;
and returning she lifted the nightly mystic pine-torch,
warming the Mygdonian air a second time with her fire.
[14.15] But after the mortal heroic stock of champions
teach me the divine army also, Phoebean breezes.
First, from the fire-pointed cliff of Lemnos,
the stormy rumor beside the mystic pine-torch of Samos
armed two Cabeiri, sons of Hephaestus,
[14.20] bearing their mother's kindred name, whom before
Thracian Cabeiro bore to the heavenly smith,
Alcon and Eurymedon, masters of the forge.
And grim warriors gathered from Crete,
the Idaean Dactyls, dwellers of the rocky cliff,
[14.25] Earth-born Corybants of one age, whose race once
sprang up self-perfected from the earth for Rhea;
they girdled the newly born infant Zeus, beside the birth-aiding rock,
with shield-bearing dances,
striking up a mountain-crashing, deceiving revel,
[14.30] driving the air to frenzy; and as the bronze was beaten
the cloud-neighboring echo roared in the ears of Cronus,
stealing away the boyhood of Cronion with ox-hides;
and as champion of the dance-weaving Corybants there led
Pyrrhichus and shield-brandishing Idaeus, with whom marching
[14.35] Cyrbas of Cnossus, named alike, armed the shifting tribes.
And the envious Telchines came as newcomers to the war of the Indians,
gathered from the deep hollow of the sea;
and shaking a huge spear-point with long arm
came Lycus, and Scelmis followed Damnameneus,
[14.40] steering the ancestral Poseidonian chariot of the sea,
sea-wandering migrants after the land of Tlepolemus,
raving water-dwelling spirits, whom once
Thrinax with Macareus and splendid Auges,
the sons of Helios, drove unwilling, cutting them off
[14.45] from their ancestral land; and pursued, drawing with heavy-jealous
hands the water of Styx from their nurse,
they made the orchard of fruitful Rhodes unsown,
sprinkling the fields with Tartarean waters.
After them came the gentle twofold race of the Centaurs;
[14.50] with Pholus, who had the form of a horse, went Chiron,
strange-natured, untamed, having an unbridled beard.
And the battle-lines of the Cyclopes flowed in; in battle
hills were hurled by their uncorseleted hands
as rocky spears, and cliffs were their shields,
[14.55] and a crested, ravine-cut peak was their helmet,
and Sicilian sparks were their flaming arrows;
and darting the radiance of their accustomed forge
the warriors armed themselves with fire-bearing palms,
Brontes and Steropes and Euryalus and Elatreus
[14.60] and Arges and Trachius and exultant Halimedes.
But so great and such a one was left out of the war alone,
cloud-neighboring Polyphemus, offspring of the Earth-shaker,
because another Eros, dearer than war, who travels the waters
held him back to stay there; for looking upon
[14.65] Galatea half-seen he made din to the neighboring sea,
pouring a maiden-loving echo with his bridal pipe.
And the dwellers of the crags, from their self-roofed halls,
bearing the name of Pan, their wilderness-dwelling father,
the Pans of one age armed themselves, on whose human
[14.70] form was mingled the face of a shaggy goat;
and having the counterfeit form of a well-horned head
there were twelve horn-drawing Pans, and they are born
of one first-born Pan, the mountain-haunting father.
One they named Celaeneus for the witness of his form,
[14.75] another Argennus, named for his nature; and to Aegicorus
they gave a fitting name, since beside the pastoral flock
he had his fill of pressing the milk of goats' teats;
another divine Pan was called Eugeneius,
having an abundant meadow of a beard in his locks;
[14.80] and Daphoeneus armed himself with pastoral Omestes;
and Phobos accompanied shaggy-shinned Philamnus;
Glaucus came as companion to Xanthus; for with his answering
limbs Glaucus was of the same color as the sea,
grey-gleaming, and Xanthus, having yellow-colored hair,
[14.85] received such a name, a horned citizen of the cliff;
and bold Argus came, bearing snowy hair.
And with them were two Pans of the same age, whom Hermes begot
joining in chosen love with twin Nymphs;
one, seeking the bed of mountain Sosa,
[14.90] he sowed, the prophetic one, god-speaking, full of the oracle,
Agreus, wrapped in the beast-slaying care of the hunt;
the other, Nomius, dear to the pasturing of sheep, when he passed
to the couch of the country Nymph Penelope,
devoted to the shepherd's pipe. With them Phorbas,
[14.95] raw-eating, unsated, kept a common journey.
And old Silenus, propping his palm upon a fennel-stalk,
armed himself, the twofold-natured, horn-bearing son of the field,
bringing three revel-loving sons; for into the fray
Astraeus armed himself, Maron went, Leneus followed,
[14.100] lightening the hands of their mountain-wandering father
with age-tending clubs; and the sluggish body
of the strengthless old men was lifted on a vine-staff,
whose years were very many, from whom sprang the hot
twofold race of the much-wedding Satyrs.
[14.105] And the horned Satyrs were marshaled by the leaders
Poemenius and Thiasus and Hypsiceros and Orestes,
and Phlegraeus accompanied horned Napaeus;
Gemon came, bold Lycon armed himself; and to the deep-drinking,
laughing Petraeus followed play-loving Phereus,
[14.110] and mountain-roaming Lamis kept a common journey
with Lenobius, and Scirtus reveled running with Oestrus,
and with Pherespondus went Lycus, the sounding herald,
and Pronomus adorned in wits, whom Hermes begot
yoking a mighty woman in secret wedlock,
[14.115] her whom once Dorus begot, a shoot of the race of Zeus,
root of the stock of Hellen, and from first-born Dorus
the Achaean blood of the Dorian race sprang;
to these Eiraphiotes entrusted the prize and the staff
of their father, the heavenly herald who increases the mind.
[14.120] Always drunk with wine-loving cups
is the whole bold-hearted race of the Satyrs, but in the tumult
only threateners, always fleeing Enyo,
lions apart from battle, but hares in wars,
knowing dancers, more skilled than others
[14.125] at drawing delicious wine from the wine-holding bowl;
few of them are fighters, whom bold Ares
taught every kind of care of the fighting,
and to marshal a battle-line; and as Lyaeus armed,
some hid their bodies in untanned ox-hides,
[14.130] others strengthened themselves with the shaggy skins of lions,
others put on the grim coverings of leopards,
others armed themselves with long-branched clusters,
and others girdled about their breasts the dappled tunic
of long-horned deer, a match for the stars;
[14.135] and on their temples, on either side of the brow,
sharp-stretched points of horn lengthened,
and sparse hair grew on the jagged head,
showing at the tip above their slanting eyes, and both ears
the winged breezes fanned as they went,
[14.140] stretched straight, flapping against their shaggy jaws
at full length, and a horse's tail, stretched down the back,
upright, coiled about, flowed from the loins.
And another stock of strange nature came, the Centaurs,
the shaggy race of the well-horned Pheres, to whom Hera gave
[14.145] another man-shaped, horn-bearing body; for once
they were children of the water-born Naiads in mortal-seeming shape,
whom they call the Hyades, the river stock of Lamus,
and they nursed the fair-born offspring of Zeus,
Bacchus still breathing of the much-stitched birth,
[14.150] child-tending guardians of Dionysus who may not be gazed upon,
having no strange form; and in the dark hall
often they embraced the boy in a bent arm,
as he babbled of the upper air, the ancestral seat of Zeus,
still a child, a wise infant. And now
[14.155] he was wholly like a newborn kid, hidden
within the fold, and he thickened his body with long hair,
changed in appearance, and pouring the bleating of guileful teeth
he imitated a counterfeit hoof with goat's footsteps;
and now, wearing a lying female shape,
[14.160] he appeared a mimic girl in saffron robes,
fresh in bloom, and leading astray the mind of envious Hera
he belched a female cry with answering lips,
and clamped a fragrant veil upon his locks,
wearing much-wrought women's robes; and about the middle
[14.165] of his breast he cast a band, and the upright rim of a breast
with a maiden's girdle, and, as though a knot of maidenhood,
he fitted a purple circling band to his loins.
And the guile was profitless, since Hera learned it from on high,
whirling everywhere the all-seeing eye of her face,
[14.170] watching the ever-changing shape of Lyaeus;
and she was enraged at the guardians of Bromius; and receiving
from Thessalian Achlys the guileful flowers of an herb
she poured sleep upon the heads of the bewitched guardians,
dripping poisonous charms from their hair;
[14.175] and smearing a soft magic ointment upon their faces
she changed the earlier human form of their look;
for them a long-eared shape of nature appeared,
and an upright horse's tail rose through the loins
lashing the hips of its shaggy-breasted bearer,
[14.180] and an ox-horn sprouted at the temple,
and the eyes widened in the long-horned brow,
and crooked locks grew upon their heads,
and white-toothed jaws lengthened in their chins,
and strange, self-perfected, from the loins to the tips of the feet
[14.185] abundant hair flowed down their shaggy necks.
And leaders marshaled them all, twelve in number,
Spargeus and dance-beating Gleneus, and, strange in nature,
grape-tressed Ceteus came running with Eurybius,
and Petraeus accompanied Riphonus, and the deep-drinking
[14.190] Aesacus and Orthaon marched together, with whom
Amphithemis and Faunus made a single journey,
and Nomeion came as companion to well-horned Phanes.
And another twofold race of Centaurs armed itself,
the Cyprian, from the time when Cypris ran like the breezes,
[14.195] fleeing the footstep of her desiring father,
lest she see her own father as a lawless husband,
and Zeus the father gave way, leaving untouched by marriage
the swifter, untraceable, refusing Aphrodite;
and instead of the bed of Cypris he sowed in the field
[14.200] pouring the loving rain of child-begetting plowshares;
and the earth, receiving the bridal dew of Cronion,
shot forth a strange-natured, horned generation.
With them as they armed the Bacchants ran together in one,
some from a Maeonian cleft, others darting
[14.205] from the hill above the sky-high peaks of Sipylus.
And trailing-robed mountain Nymphs with male spirit
raged along with the fair-thyrsus warriors,
they who at the much-whirling turning-post of returning years
lived on for a long span, some dwelling on the cliffs
[14.210] as sheep-tending neighbors of the shepherds, others leaving
the wooded groves and the ridge of the wild forest,
the Meliae grown together with an oak of their own age; all these then
hurried together into the fray, some taking
bronze-backed drums, the instruments of Cybelian Rhea,
[14.215] others with their locks roofed in coiling ivy,
others girdled with viperish clusters;
and they lifted a whetted thyrsus in their hands, whom then the Lydian
maenads accompanied, fearless, into the war of the Indians;
and of them the revel-loving Bassarids, better in knowing art,
[14.220] hurried on, the nurses of Dionysus,
Aegle and Callichore and Eupetale and Ione
and laughing Calyce and Bryusa, companion of the Seasons,
and Silene and Rhode and Ocynoe and Ereutho
and Acrete and Methe, and there followed, companion of Harpe,
[14.225] rosy Oenanthe and silver-footed Lycaste,
Stesichore and Prothoe; and, laughter-loving, the old
wine-heavy Trygie armed herself last of all.
Each led his own chosen host for Bacchus,
and over them all Eiraphiotes led, roaring with fire,
[14.230] flashing, conspicuous; and dancing into the fray
he lifted no shield, no furious spear, no sword at his shoulder,
he set no helmet on his unshorn hair,
no bronze covering for his unbreakable head, but he clamped
the unplaited hair of his head in a serpent bond,
[14.235] circling a grim garland on his temples; and instead of a wrought,
cunning greave up to the top of the knee
he set his silvery feet in purple buskins,
fastening a shaggy fawnskin upon his breast,
having a dappled breastplate, a pattern scored with stars;
[14.240] in his left hand he had a horn crammed with sweet wine,
golden, well-made, and from the wine-pouring horn
an upright trail of the drinker's dew flowed down;
and in his right hand he lifted the goading thyrsus,
wrapped in wine-dark ivy, and at the topmost cluster
[14.245] the bronze-heavy point was shaded by the leaves;
and he fitted a golden circling band about his loins.
But when Dionysus within the Corybantic court
had put on the golden, well-made array of Enyo,
leaving the fair-weather haunts of dance-delighting Rhea
[14.250] he passed Maeonia; and with the mountain-ranging Bacchants
warriors rushed along with the clustered god;
some, steersmen of the well-wheeling wagon,
carried the young shoots of the new planting of Bacchus;
and many ranks of mules went, and on their backs
[14.255] they lifted jars of the nectar of the vine;
and on the enduring backs of slow asses they set
crimson rugs and dappled skins of fawns;
and other wine-drinkers, along with golden cups,
brought silver mixing-bowls, the weapons of the table;
[14.260] and the Corybants bustled beside the grey-gleaming manger,
binding the necks of leopards with a yoking strap,
and made lions fast in ivy-bound harness,
clamping their lips with a threatening bit.
And a Centaur, having a shaggy, bristling beard,
[14.265] self-bidden stretched his willing neck to the yoke,
<...> †
a half-finished man mingled with a horse, he whinnied,
eager to lift Dionysus on his shoulders.
And the god, seated on the rim of his fair-branched chariot,
[14.270] beside the stream of Sangarius, about the Phrygian gulf of the land,
passed by the mourning rock of stony Niobe;
and the stone, seeing in tears the Indian throng
striving against Lyaeus, cried out again with mortal voice:
"Do not prepare a god-fighting battle, witless Indians,
[14.275] against the son of Zeus, lest Bacchus make you too,
who threaten war, into stone, as Apollo did,
weeping, a pattern like my rocky shape,
lest beside the stream of the river named for him you see
Indian Orontes, the son-in-law of Deriades, fallen.
[14.280] Rhea in anger is stronger than the archer-goddess;
flee Bacchus, the brother of Phoebus; for I am ashamed
to pour tears for strangers when Indians are slain."
So the stone cried out, and silence sealed it again.
And the vine god, after the floor of the Phrygian cliff,
[14.285] set foot in Ascania. And all the gathered citizens,
to whom Iobacchus held out his harvest,
received the rites and welcomed the dances,
bending their necks to unconquered Dionysus,
wishing for the calm of a bloodless peace;
[14.290] such was the horned army of the Bacchoi, with whom the Bacchants
armed themselves for the fray. And for sleepless Lyaeus
all night the heaven thundered, weaving a starry,
fire-wheeling trail, since then with witnessing fire
Rhea prophesied the end of the Indian-slaying victory.
[14.295] And at dawn the god went to battle, driving out the insolence
of the dark men, so that he might unyoke the slave neck
of the Lydians and the dweller of Phrygia and the citizen of Ascania
from the harness of a frightful tyranny.
Then Bacchus sent to them two heralds of Enyo
[14.300] to declare the message, either to flee or to fight;
and as they went goat-herding Pan marched with them,
bearing a luxuriant beard that shadowed his whole breast.
But swift-sandaled Hera, in the likeness of an Indian body,
bade woolly-haired Melaneus not to lift the wine-dark thyrsus,
[14.305] and Astraeis, the spear-wielding leader of men,
nor to honor the shout of the wine-loving Satyrs,
but to raise a truceless war against Dionysus;
and she spoke some words, exhorting the champion of the Indians:
"Sweet is he who fears the soft rank of women.
[14.310] Astraeis, make war; arm yourself too, Celaeneus,
having bronze to cut down clustered Dionysus;
a thyrsus is no match for a spear. But, Celaeneus,
beware maddened Deriades, lest he subdue you
for shrinking from a paltry, ironless woman."
[14.315] So speaking she persuaded them, and the goddess plunged into the air,
the stepmother angry at battle-steadfast Dionysus.
And the heralds of Bromius came away; and Astraeis,
appearing near, overbearing, with loveless threat,
raged, pursuing the ox-horned Satyrs and Pan,
[14.320] dishonoring the heralds of gentle Dionysus.
And they bent a fleeing step with the fearful sole
of a homeward foot toward battle-rousing Dionysus.
And Bacchus armed his host against the opposing ranks of the Indians.
Nor did the womanish war escape gloomy Celaeneus,
[14.325] but leaping untraceable he armed the whole host of the Indians;
and bold Astraeis, swelling his battle-steadfast sting,
took his stand about the roaring stream of the Astacid lake,
awaiting the coming of Dionysus of the vine.
But when the leaders had marshaled every rank of both,
[14.330] the unequally yoked peoples of the two armies,
with a scream the dark Indians went to the fray,
like Thracian cranes, when, fleeing
the wintry lash and the pouring of the airy rain,
they swoop in flocks upon the heads of the Pygmies
[14.335] about the streams of Tethys, and with sharp beak
destroy the feeble blood of a paltry race,
flying like clouds above the horn of Ocean;
and from the other side the warriors raged into battle,
unbending servants of battle-rousing Dionysus;
[14.340] and the battle-lines of the Bassarids flowed in; and as they gathered
one girdled her head with a viperish bond,
another bound her hair tight with fragrant ivy,
another armed her palm with the bronze-bearing thyrsus,
gadfly-mad, while another let fall down her neck
[14.345] the loosened curls of her long hair, free of bonds,
a Maenalian girl unveiled, and upon both her shoulders
the wind fanned her unplaited locks;
another shook rattles fitted with twin bronze,
tossing her coiling tresses upon her head;
[14.350] another, gripped by a leap of madness, in her palms
beating with her hands the heavy-roaring back of an ox-hide,
crashed out an upright echo answering the noise of battle;
and thyrsi were spears, and covered with leaves
the bronze-forged point of the vine shaft lay hidden;
[14.355] another, longing for blood-red tumult,
yoked bonds of raw-devouring serpents upon her neck;
another put on a dappled covering of leopards
upon her breast, another over her skin like a tunic
the spotted hides of crag-loving fawns,
[14.360] binding tight the dappled covering of a deer;
another, holding the cub of a shaggy-breasted lioness,
nursed it at a counterfeit human milky breast;
and one bound a thrice-coiled serpent in her harmless bosom
as an inner girdle, gaping beside her neighboring thigh,
[14.365] hissing gently, the sleepless watcher of the maidenhood
of the wine-loving girl as she slept;
another, bearing her soles bare of sandals over the mountains,
treading brambles and sharp-haired thorns with her feet,
planted a standing step on a whetted wild-pear;
[14.370] and one, darting upon a long-shanked camel,
cut through its curving neck with her reaping thyrsus,
and stumbling with blind feet along the path
it was carried half-seen, and with much-bending course
the headless body of the roaming camel hurried on,
[14.375] and, striking the deepening ground with tottering hoof,
it slipped self-rolling on its back in the dust;
and another, leading her track to the cattle-rearing ridge of the wood,
seized the hide of a bull raging uncontrollably,
and with grim nails from its scored neck
[14.380] stripped the unpierced covering of the bull;
and another drew out all its entrails; and one could see
an unveiled, unsandaled maiden high upon a rock
skipping about the rough headland of the cliff;
nor did she shudder at the hard-to-tread peak, nor did the sharp-set
[14.385] claw of the hill score the unsandaled foot of the girl.
And in great number here and there beside the mouth of the Astacid lake
the Indian race was cut down by Curetic iron.
And the warriors circled the battle-lines of the foe
with answering weapons, and imitated the rhythm
[14.390] of the shield-bearing dance with the spiral beat of their feet;
and lifting a crested peak with shaggy palm,
cutting off the topmost heads of a mountain, Leneus armed himself,
sending a jagged point against the adversaries;
and a Bacchant shrieked around, and a Bassarid hurled
[14.395] a vine point, and many male heads of the dark-skinned
race were cut down by a female thyrsus.
And Eupetale armed herself, cleaving a bold man
with her murderous cluster, and with grape-loving leaf
she sent the goading ivy as the crusher of iron;
[14.400] and Stesichore of the fair clusters skipped in the tumult,
and drove off the race of the foe with a man-breaking whirl,
whirling the heavy-roaring cymbals of twin bronze.
And there was much battle on both sides; the pipe roared,
the battle-rousing pipe, and the flute of Enyo crashed,
[14.405] and the Bassarids shrieked; and as the tumult rose
the black air, bellowing with thunderous crashes,
prophesied from Zeus the coming victory for Bromius.
And a great swarm fell; and the whole thirsty field
was reddened with wet gore, and the mouth of the Astacid lake
[14.410] murmured blood-dipped, mingled with the slaughter of Indians.
But the god pitied his adversaries with playful heart
and poured the prize of drunkenness into the streams, and from the currents
he changed the snowy nature of the water to yellow,
and the river murmured, dragging honey-flowing currents,
[14.415] and made its outpourings drunk; and as the currents were changed
fragrant breezes of the newly poured drunkenness breathed;
the banks reddened; and a proud Indian, drinking,
broke out with such a much-wondering voice from his lips:
"A strange and unbelievable drink I have seen; this is not
[14.420] the silvery milk of goats, and not black like water,
nor is it such as I have seen in the many-celled hives,
the humming <...> †
but it has a fair-breathing scent that delights the mind.
A man thirsty in the much-heating vapor of the burning,
[14.425] drawing a little poured water in his palms,
at once shakes off the tempest of his parching thirst;
and honey the more breeds a swift surfeit; ah, great wonder,
having drunk this I wish to drink again; for both
this stream is sweet and it breeds no surfeit for men.
[14.430] Hebe, lift your pitcher and come here, taking
the Trojan wine-pourer, the servant of the most holy cups,
so that, drawing from the honey-dripping river,
Ganymede may fill the whole mixing-bowls of Zeus.
Come, friends, taste the honey-dripping river.
[14.435] Here I gaze upon the pattern of the upper air; for self-poured
that which they call the drink of Zeus, the nectar of Olympus,
the Naiads gush up in earthly streams."

## Book XV


### In the fifteenth I sing of mighty Nicaea, the beast-slaying, rosy-armed threatener of the Loves.

[15.1] As he spoke, the blazing Indians flowed in like clouds
about the honey-breathing stream of the river; of whom one,
stepping close, planting both feet in the silt,
stood half-seen, wetting his navel in the water,
[15.5] bent, stretching his stooping back into the river,
and drew the honey-dripping water with cupped hands;
another beside the outpourings, gripped by blazing thirst,
dipping his jutting beard into the purple wave,
spreading his breast from above on the river bank,
[15.10] drew up the moisture of Bacchus with opened mouth;
another lay prone, bringing his mouth near the neighboring spring,
and, propping his wet hands upon the sandy floor,
received the thirsty water with thirsty lips;
others drew the drunkenness with an earthen cup,
[15.15] lifting the base of a broken jar;
and a great swarm drank from the reddening stream,
pouring the mass of the river dew into a wooden bowl,
having the rustic cup of shepherds. And as the adversaries
belched wine from their capacious throats,
[15.20] the cliffs were doubled before their gazing eyes,
and to their eyelids they seemed to see a twin-yoked river.
And the outpouring of the wine-loving river murmured,
gushing up a yellow flood of drunkenness; and the fragrant banks
belched the currents of the sweet-drinking vine.
[15.25] The wine-stream made the foes drunk. Then a certain Indian man,
shaken by the sting of mind-robbing drunkenness,
darted at a herd, and beside a fair-leaved thicket
dragged off a threatening bull, hauling it bound,
seizing with bold palms the scored tips
[15.30] of its two horns, as though by the twin horn
he were dragging bull-natured Dionysus beneath a slave's yoke;
another, holding the frightful jaw of an iron sickle,
cut through the throat of a mountain-ranging goat,
slaughtered with the whetted reaping-hook, as though he were cutting
[15.35] the neck of well-horned Pan with crook-clawed bronze;
another crushed the horn-drawing stock of cattle,
as though mowing down the bull-faced shape of the Satyrs,
and one pursued the race of long-horned deer,
seeing the much-wrought form of their dappled look,
[15.40] as though destroying a rank of Bassarids; for by the cunning
fawnskins of like pattern his eyes were led astray;
and staining his whole breastplate with murderous drops
the dark Indian reddened with the gore of his spear.
And one, shouting, armed himself against a neighboring tree,
[15.45] lashing on either side, and, watching the coiling hair
of the plants shaken by the winds of spring,
he crushed the shoots of the soft-haired clusters,
splitting the leaves of a shaggy oak, as though with a knife
cutting through the lock of unshorn Dionysus,
[15.50] fighting with leaves and not striving with Satyrs,
having a profitless delight in a shadowy victory.
And another chorus of the adversaries raged; and instead of a spear
one, taking a heavy-thundering drum by its shoulder-strap,
lifted it, and with the ox-hide struck on both sides
[15.55] crashed out a double bronze-beaten melody of echo;
another, shaken by the cry of the many-holed flute,
raved unsteadily with the spiraling beat of his feet;
and one, setting the pipe to inexperienced lips,
made melody of the double-voiced harmony of the Mygdonian flute;
[15.60] and another, leaping beside the neighboring root of an aged plant,
drew up the grey-green branch of a fine-dripping olive
drenched with dewy rain, as though he were squeezing
with a wine-dark drop the tip of a Maronian beard.
Others with swords, with spears, with helmets,
[15.65] raving uncontrollably, their wits robbed by wine,
imitated the rites of the shield-bearing Corybants,
whirling their steps about an armed dance;
and in spiral, alternating rushes of the palm
shields were struck with tumbling iron;
[15.70] another, watching the rites of the revel-loving Muse,
skipped along with the Satyrs in a mimic dance;
and one, hearing the roar of the beaten ox-hide,
received a gentle temper, and with crash-loving purpose
flung his chilling quiver to the winds,
[15.75] possessed by madness; and another, a woman-mad champion of the Indians,
seizing a high-necked Bacchant by her unplaited lock,
dragging the untamed maiden into a reckless marriage,
pinned her to the ground, and stretching her in the dust
with love-maddened hands he broke the seal of her girdle,
[15.80] carried away by a vain hope; for suddenly
an upright serpent crept from within her bosom, close at her loins,
and darted at the neck of the foe, and about his throat
wove a circling band with the coils of its tail;
and the dark-skinned man, fleeing with terrified feet,
[15.85] shook off the hot sting of an unwedded love,
wearing a necklace of the snaky spine at his neck.
While the wine-drunk Indians ran among the mountains,
meanwhile sweet Sleep, folding his soft wing,
fell upon the tottering eyes of the unbending Indians,
[15.90] and lulled them, their minds goaded with measureless wine,
doing favor to Dionysus, the father of Pasithea;
of whom one slept on his back with face nodding upward,
stretching a wine-tottering breath from his sleeping nostril,
another laid his heavy head upon a stone,
[15.95] lying sluggish on the fine-shingled river bank,
and whispered with the mind-wandering dreams of daytime,
casting his fingers, stiffly fixed, about his temples;
another lay stretched prone, and had both
hands let down equally along his two thighs;
[15.100] and one propped his head upon the wrist of his palm
gushing up wine; another, joining his curved limbs
like a serpent coiled about, lay sleeping aslant.
And a chorus of the adversaries, carried to the ridge of the wood:
one slept beneath an oak, another beneath an elm bush,
[15.105] another, falling upon his side, leaned against a beech,
casting his left hand upon his beetling brow;
and a great swarm slept, a chattering corpse, sending into the air
the unbridled murmur of a strange, unmarked echo,
heavy with wine; and another, as his head shook,
[15.110] entrusted his broad back to the trunk of an aged laurel;
and as he slumbered heavily on the deep-strewn bed
of a top-tressed palm or a fair-bearing olive,
a coiling shoot, fanned by the winds, whistled over him;
and one was stretched upon the ground in the loose dust,
[15.115] washing the tips of his feet in the river's outpourings;
another raved with the beat of drunkenness he had never known,
and entrusted his heavy head to a neighboring pine;
and the sinews of another's brow trembled as he panted.
And seeing the foes slumbering, with laughing face
[15.120] lord Bacchus spoke, pouring forth a commanding voice:
"Indian-slaying servants of unconquered Dionysus,
binding fast without battle the massed sons of the Indians,
take them all alive in a bloodless fighting;
and let the Indian, having bent a slave's knee to mighty
[15.125] Dionysus, serve my revel-loving Rhea,
shaking the wine-dark thyrsus, and, having flung to the storms
his silver greave, let him bind his feet in buskins,
and garland his head with my ivy bond,
baring his locks of the high-crested helmet,
[15.130] and, leaving the shout of wars and the din of spears,
let him sing the Euian cry for cluster-bearing Dionysus."
As he spoke his servants busied themselves; of whom one,
winding a snaky bond about the neck of the foes,
dragged a man fettered in a serpent chain,
[15.135] another, taking the loosened trail of a shaggy beard,
hauled a man up by his thick-haired chin;
and one, stretching his palms to a crook-haired temple,
dragged a spear-won man by the hair, unbound;
another, fastening interlocked palms about his back,
[15.140] girdled the foe with a coiling bond of withies
at the neck; and Maron whirled with trembling throb
lifting an Indian, a weight on his aged shoulder;
another, taking a spearman overcome with sleep,
dragging his neck entwined in a clustered bond,
[15.145] set him upon the rim of a chariot of spotted leopards;
about another as he lay the Euoi-loving wandering swarm
clamped his back-stretched hands in an unloosable bond,
and set him on the crest of stiff-footed elephants;
and many a one, taking the strap of a well-rounded ox-hide,
[15.150] held an Indian fettered by the shoulder-thong.
And one, lifting the crook of a shepherd,
a Bassarid, foaming with the mind-stealing wave of madness,
dragged with bold palm by his much-curling hair
an Indian searcher of the deep-rich sea
[15.155] into a slave's yoke. And as Lyaeus hurried on,
iron Erechtheus held a well-corseleted foe
on unbending shoulders; and a mountain Bacchant drove
the dark-skinned beast of a wine-tottering bearer,
lashing the hips of spear-won elephants;
[15.160] and Hymenaeus lifted up a golden ox-hide shield,
having plundered a man of the golden shield, and rejoicing
Bacchus gazed upon the boy with love-maddened eyes
as he flashed in the armor of his sleeping bearer;
and the youth shot a rich radiance in the armor,
[15.165] as Diomedes, having taken the arms of Lycian Glaucus,
sparkled among the warriors, flashing with rich shields.
And the army of the Bacchoi took other foes as spoil,
holding sweet sleep as companion of the sweet wine.
Then there was a certain maiden of the curved bow, pasture-mate
[15.170] of the lonely wood, who flourished among the Astacid Nymphs,
fair-natured Nicaea, another hare-shooting Artemis,
a stranger to love, untried by Cytherea,
shooting beasts and tracking them on the hills;
nor was she hidden in the fragrant recess of a maiden-chamber.
[15.175] And for her among the crags, beside the lonely floor,
her bow was her distaff, and always within the thicket
her long threads were winged arrows,
and the upright wood of the hunting-stakes was the loom of a mountain Athena;
and she kept company with the pure archer-goddess as fellow-contender,
[15.180] and among the crags she wove the net of her accustomed hunt,
dearer than any well-worked thread; never with the bow
did she touch a feeble fawn of dappled form,
she did not pursue gazelles, and did not touch the hare,
but, yoking with a blood-red bridle,
[15.185] she lashed the grey-green backs of shaggy-breasted lions,
and often she lifted a spear against a raging bear;
and she blamed the far-shooting archer-goddess, because, leaving
the race of spotted leopards and the tribes of lions,
she yoked her wagon to paltry deer.
[15.190] Nor did she care for perfume, and instead of honey-mixed cups
she preferred the watery drink of a torrent spring,
pouring out cold water; and in a self-roofed hollow
the hard-to-tread house of the girl was the lonely cliffs;
and often after the course of her well-toiled accustomed hunt
[15.195] she sat near leopards, and beneath a single hollow rock
she stayed through the midday beside a lioness in childbed;
and the gentle beast, beneath calm brows,
licked the girl's body with unscratching jaws,
and in mimicry of a whimpering dog with timid throat
[15.200] the greedy mouth of the raw-bearing lioness whined softly
with sparing lip, and, thinking her Artemis,
with his shaggy neck the lion bowed to the lady,
his suppliant head drawn down to the ground.
And there flourished in the thickets a mountain-reared herdsman,
[15.205] straight, huge, surpassing the youth of his own age;
his name was Hymnus, who in the midst of the wild wood
pastured his lovely cattle beside the neighboring girl;
and shaking the shepherd's crook in his lovely hands
he came into a deep love and no longer delighted in his flock,
[15.210] like rosy Anchises, whose white rank of mountain-ranging
bulls Cypris once pastured,
lifting the cattle-driving cestus; and about the thicket
the herdsman, seeing the snowy girl as she hunted,
cared nothing for his herd of oxen; and roaming
[15.215] the cow grazed self-bidden into the marsh, deserted,
strayed from its old shepherd unhappy in love,
and the heifer was carried skipping about the hills
seeking its herdsman; and the young cowherd wandered
gazing at the rosy circles of the maiden's face.
[15.220] And guileful Eros goaded the longing herdsman,
shaken with a fiercer sting; for among the crags,
as the maiden rushed on the untraceable course of her hunt,
a light breeze bellied her whole robe into the air;
and the beauty of her skin bloomed; her thighs whitened
[15.225] and her ankles reddened, and like a lily, like an anemone,
a rosy meadow of snowy limbs appeared;
and the desire-haunted youth, with unsated gaze,
watched the free curve of her uncovered thighs
<...> †
[15.230] the wind whirled the cluster of her back-streaming hair,
lifting it on either side, and as her locks were raised
her white-shining neck flashed, bared in the middle.
And the mountain-roaming youth often accompanied the girl,
now touching her hunting-stakes or handling her bow,
[15.235] now, as the desire-striking arrow was drawn,
watching the rosy-skinned fingers of the lovely girl;
if ever as she shot she curved the horn with the string,
and her palm was bared, the youth secretly with sidelong eye
gazed at the white arrow-shooting arm of the girl,
[15.240] turning back his eye, the channel of the Loves,
to see whether white-armed Hera was as white as Nicaea;
and he stretched his gaze toward the western floor,
to see whether the maiden or Selene was the more silvery.
And the youth, tending the wound of the Loves beneath his heart,
[15.245] both near her and far from her thought of the girl,
how she drew her arrow to the mark against a mountain bear,
how she clamped her palm about a lion's neck
curving both her arms in a witnessing bond,
how again, sweating, she bathed in the flood of a spring
[15.250] half-seen, and ever more he remembered her robe,
when, shaking it and lifting it as far as her navel,
the wind laid bare and shot forth the flower of her skin;
keeping the memory of that, he entreated the sweet gusts
to draw up her deep-folded tunic again.
[15.255] And the unsteady youth, beside his well-horned flock,
seeing the high-necked girl hunting nearby,
belched out such a word in a jealous voice:
"Would I were an arrow or a net or a quiver,
would I were a beast-slaying arrow, that she might lift me
[15.260] with bare hands; and still more would I be the ox-gut string
of the back-bent bow, that she might bring me near her snowy
breast, outside her chaste girdle,
yes, heifer, yes, calf, outside her chaste girdle.
Maiden, you lift a blessed arrow; and your arrows
[15.265] are more blessed than Hymnus the shepherd,
because they touch your love-breeding palms.
I envy your sweet voiceless hunting-stakes;
nor does longing for the stakes alone possess me; I have
jealousy even of the bow itself and of the breathless quiver.
[15.270] Would that at midday beside a desire-striking spring
she might cool her limbs, and I might see the high-necked girl,
yes, heifer, yes, calf, without her envious tunic.
Have you never yet pitied so great a necessity, Cytherea?
I know no Thrinacia and no horn-drawing flock,
[15.275] I do not pasture the cattle of Helios on these mountains,
my father did not announce the secret bed of Ares.
Maiden, do not drive me off, even if I lead cattle to pasture;
herdsmen have mounted heavenly beds;
rosy Tithonus was a bridegroom, whom for his beauty
[15.280] light-bearing Dawn snatched, halting her chariot;
and the wine-pourer of Zeus was a herdsman, whom for his beauty
high-flying Zeus lifted with sparing talons.
Come here, pasture the cattle, and I shall call you a younger
Selene with another Endymion at his herding;
[15.285] cast away the arrow and touch the crook, so that someone may say:
'Cytherea pastures the cattle of Hymnus the shepherd.'"
So he spoke and entreated, and clasped her dear knees
with woman-mad hands, and followed her, and trembled
to tell her the sting of Eros, and blamed his own silence.
[15.290] And once, having the boldness that serves the bridal Loves,
he lifted the hunting gear of Nicaea as it lay,
and raised her furious spear, and, beneath a greater sting of longing,
while the girl was angry he lifted her sweet quiver,
and kissed the deaf nets and the breathless arrows,
[15.295] pressing the murderous shaft with delighted lips,
and brought it to his breast, squeezing it with unsparing hand;
and he spoke some words in a voiceless voice:
"By the Paphian, speak again, oaks, as in the time of Pyrrha,
as in the time of Deucalion; convict the raging girl.
[15.300] And you, dear laurel, break forth a tree-borne cry;
would that fair Nicaea had lived before, and Apollo
would have pursued the softer girl, and Daphne would not have become a plant."
So he spoke; and with his pipe, near the chaste girl,
the witness of his pain, he made melody of a bridal song.
[15.305] And the maiden spoke, mocking the herdsman:
"Sweet is your Pan, who pipes the melody of the Paphian;
often he sang of love and was not the bridegroom of Echo.
Ah, how much Daphnis the cowherd sang; and at his song
the maiden hid herself the more in untrodden cliffs
[15.310] fleeing the tune of the herdsman's cry. Ah, how much
Daphne heard Phoebus singing and was not charmed in heart."
So speaking she showed her furious spear to the witless cowherd.
But he, struck by the raging sweet sting,
not perceiving that she was so loveless an Amazon,
[15.315] cried out a love-sick voice, the escort of his own death:
"Yes, I beg you, send your dear spear, and with your snowy
palm kill me, and I rejoice; I do not fear your lance,
I do not fear your sword, bed-fleeing girl, because it would grant
a swiftest end, so that at last I may escape the bitter,
[15.320] steadfast wound of Eros, the fire that feeds beneath my heart.
Let me die, since the doom is lovely; and if with an arrow,
bow-bearing after Cypris, you too will shoot me,
by the Paphian, do not send it at my neck, but fix
your arrow in my heart, where the arrow of the Loves is.
[15.325] Rather send your spear at my neck, do not strike my heart;
I need no second wound. But if it please you,
I shall endure another shaft, so that the earth may cover me
both holding a wound of fire and pierced with iron.
Kill me, unhappy in love; do not spare your bowstring.
[15.330] You make the iron womanish whenever you touch your arrows;
I stand self-bidden as your mark, watching with delighted eye
your fingers gleaming about the notches,
drawing back at full stretch your honey-sweet string
as it comes near your rosy right breast.
[15.335] I die, a willing corpse of Eros, by a sweet doom;
I care nothing for death and do not fear the cloud of arrows,
watching your bare snowy hand
touching the bow and the lovely arrow.
Send all the shafts of your quiver against me,
[15.340] send the murderous shafts against me; for other,
sharper, fire-pointed arrows harry me.
And if you kill me with your mind-charming bow,
maiden, do not burn my body with the accustomed fire;
I need no second pyre; but do you, girl,
[15.345] only pour sweet dust over me when I am dead
with your own hand, a last small favor, so that someone may say:
'How the maiden pitied him whom she killed.' And when I am dead
let not my flute, not my harp, lie about my grave,
do not cast my shepherd's crook there, the witness of my craft;
[15.350] but fix your arrow high above my tomb when I am slain,
still bathed in the gore of my unhappy love.
And grant me one other last favor: above my tomb
let there be flowers of desire-stricken Narcissus
or the lovely crocus or Milax, the flower of the Loves,
[15.355] and plant the short-lived anemone of spring
announcing to all my brief-lived youth.
And if a pitiless sea or the hills did not bear you,
shed a little tear for me, only so much as to wet
the rosy tips of your lovely cheek with its dews,
[15.360] and with your hand carve this verse in mourning red:
'Here lies Hymnus the cowherd, whom the maiden Nicaea,
without share of the bed, killed and buried when he was dead.'"
As he spoke Nicaea was enraged; and raging
she bared the deadly lid of her venom-shooting quiver
[15.365] and drew out a straight-running arrow, and at full stretch
curved the bent horn of the back-bent bow,
and sent the windy shaft into the throat of the herdsman
as he was speaking, and the uncontrollable wandering arrow
sealed with its bond the middle of the speech he was still pouring out.
[15.370] But the corpse was not unwept then; and blaming
man-slaying Nicaea, a mountain Nymph grieved,
mourning the corpse of Hymnus; and in her well-watered hall
the water-borne Rhyndacid girl, unsandaled, groaned;
and the Naiads wept; and above Sipylus the neighboring
[15.375] rock of Niobe groaned more with self-flowing tears.
And a youngest girl, still ignorant of the bridal Loves,
who had not yet shared the couch of Bucolion,
the Naiad Abarbarea, blamed the lady again and again;
and about the peak of Dindymon, near the thicket,
[15.380] the Astacid nymphs of one age blamed the ways of the Cybelian lady,
and cried a dirge; and not so much at the blazing doom
did the Heliades weep for Phaethon when he died.
And Eros, watching the untamed heart of the murderous girl,
cast away his bow, and swore an oath by the cowherd
[15.385] to yoke the unwilling maiden to Dionysus.
And with tearless eyes upon her lion-drawn chariot
Rhea of Dindymon groaned for the fallen youth,
the mother of Zeus, the queen; and at the doom of perished Hymnus
the maiden Echo, who hates marriage, lamented.
[15.390] And the oaks cried out: "What so great wrong did the cowherd do you?
May Cytherea never be gracious to you, nor Artemis."
And Adrasteia saw, she saw the murderous girl,
Adrasteia saw the corpse gasping beneath the iron,
and showed the freshly slain corpse to the Cyprus-born,
[15.395] and blamed Eros himself. And beside the fair-leaved thicket
the tears of a bull were shed in pity for Hymnus,
and a heifer wept, and a grieving cow groaned
for the gasping herdsman, and seemed to cry this out:
"The fair cowherd has perished, and a fair girl killed him.
[15.400] The maiden killed one who longed for her, and instead of love-charms
she gave doom as his wage, and in the blood of the desire-stricken
herdsman she dipped her bronze and quenched the torch of the Loves —
the fair cowherd has perished, and a fair girl killed him —
and she grieved the Nymphs; she did not hear the mountain rock,
[15.405] she did not listen to the elm and did not respect the pine
as it entreated: 'Do not send the arrow, do not kill the herdsman.'"
And the wolf groaned for Hymnus, the shameless bears groaned,
and the lion with grim eyelids lamented the cowherd:
"The fair cowherd has perished, and a fair girl killed him.
[15.410] Seek another crag, cattle, search out, bulls,
a strange mountain; for my sweet cowherd has perished in longing,
cut down by a woman's palm. To what thicket
do I lead my track? Farewell, pastures, farewell, couches of the ground.
The fair cowherd has perished, and a fair girl killed him.
[15.415] Farewell to me, peaks and mountains, farewell, springs,
farewell, Naiads, and my oaks." And both
Pan of the pastures and Phoebus cried out: "Let the flute wander.
Where is Nemesis? Where is Cypris? Eros, do not touch your quiver;
pipe, make music no longer; the clear-voiced cowherd has perished."
[15.420] And Phoebus showed the blameless gore of the wretched herdsman
of the Loves to his sister, and Artemis herself groaned
for the dead love of Hymnus, though she was ignorant of the Loves.

## Book XVI


### In the sixteenth I sing of Nicaea wedded, the sleeping bedfellow of unsleeping Dionysus.

[16.1] Nor was the murder of the plaintive herdsman unavenged,
but, taking his bow and drawing a lovely arrow,
furious Eros, unseen, armed himself against Dionysus
as he sat by the lip of the fine-shingled river.
[16.5] And swift Nicaea, after the course of her accustomed hunt,
sweating uncontrollably from her crag-loving toils,
brightened her naked body in mountain-poured baths.
Nor did far-shooting Eros delay; setting on the string
the notched tip of a winged arrow,
[16.10] he curved his bow, and in the heart of love-maddened
Lyaeus he fixed the whole shaft. And seeing in the streams
the naked-skinned girl swimming, Dionysus
was shaken in his sweet-maddened mind by the fiery missile.
And he went this way and that, wherever the hare-shooting girl was,
[16.15] now watching the coiling curls of her hair
shaken by the circling breezes as she sped into her course,
now, as her locks were drawn aside, watching her gleaming
neck laid bare, sending the radiance of Selene;
and he neglected the Satyrs and no longer delighted in the Bacchants;
[16.20] and gazing toward Olympus he spoke with a love-breeding voice:
"I shall go where the dewy course is, where the quiver is,
where the arrow and the lovely bow are, where too
the very couches of the unwed maiden breathe of perfume;
I shall touch her hunting-stakes and spread her nets with my hands;
[16.25] I too shall hunt and shall kill the accustomed fawn.
And if, like a heavy-hearted Amazon, she reproaches me,
belching out the womanish mass of a honey-sweet threat,
I shall bring my hand to the knees of the angry girl,
touching her lovely skin as a suppliant, not lifting
[16.30] a branch of olive, since it is the tree of Athena,
the unwed, unenchanted maiden, but instead of a bitter,
glistening branch, for my honey-sweet bride
lifting as a suppliant's token a cluster bearing the wine-dark fruit
of the honey-dripping harvest. And if the maiden
[16.35] of the curved bow is angry, let her not fix her spear in my flesh,
let her not draw a murderous arrow again, but in shame
let her strike my body with the very tip of her sweet bow;
I care nothing for a mind-charming blow. And if she wishes,
let her seize my hair with her lovely palms,
[16.40] dragging the willing curls of my hair as she grips them.
I shall never restrain the maiden, but, as though in anger,
I shall press her right hand as she grips me, with unsparing hand
taking her reddening fingers in a crook-clawed bond,
a comfort for the toil of Cypris; for the maiden
[16.45] has plundered all Olympian beauty. Be gracious, Cerne;
a new rosy-fingered Dawn has sprung up in Astacia,
another light-bearer has grown; for a younger
Selene is Nicaea, having a steadfast form.
In my longing I would wish to change my much-wrought shape;
[16.50] if the ancestral reverence of shame did not restrain me,
I too, a water-traveling bull through the Tyrian water,
would swim, lifting my Nicaea unwetted over the seas,
like the bridegroom of Europa, and as though unwilling
I would shake my back, so that, as the girl was startled,
[16.55] her all-white right hand might grip my horn.
I would wish, if I became a winged husband, to dance
lifting a woman unshaken upon my back,
as Cronides lifted Aegina, so that after the bed I might make
the eagle another bird, a bridal star of the Loves.
[16.60] But I would not, striking the father of my wife with the thunderbolt,
give my bride the reckless doom of her father as bride-gift,
lest I grieve sweet Nicaea by his death.
Would that I were a counterfeit bird, fair-winged, since
our maiden herself loves winged arrows.
[16.65] Rather, longing for the watery pattern of the loves of Danae,
I would wish that I were a golden rain as her husband,
myself the wedding gifts, myself the husband, so that I might dance
pouring the loving rain of a wealthy dew;
for it befitted my Nicaea, the fair-faced girl,
[16.70] having a golden form, to have a golden husband."
Such a word he cried, love-maddened, in a raving voice.
And once, walking within a fragrant meadow,
he watched all the flowers blooming of the same color as the girl,
and spoke some words to the misty winds:
[16.75] "Just now at last, Nicaea, I have seen your form here;
have you not changed your beauty into flowers? For gazing
at the fair-natured rose-bed I recognized your cheeks;
but your rose blooms steadfast; for you tend
a native, unceasing, reddening anemone;
[16.80] casting my eye upon the lily I saw your snowy arms,
and beholding the hyacinth I saw your dark-colored hair.
Receive me as companion in your hunting; and if you wish,
I myself will bear the sweet burden of the stakes, I myself will lift
the hunting-boots and the bow and the lovely arrows,
[16.85] I myself; I need no Satyrs; did not Apollo himself
beside the thicket lift the nets of Cyrene?
What blame is it if I too handle the net? I do not weary
when I myself lift my Nicaea upon my shoulders.
Nor am I better than my father; for in the surges
[16.90] the sea-traveling bull lifted Europa unwetted.
Rosy maiden, why does the wood please you so much?
Spare your lovely limbs, and let not the unspread couches
on the rocks wear away your back.
I shall be, if you wish, your chamber-servant; and in the hall
[16.95] I myself will spread your bedding, on which I shall lay
the much-wrought skins of leopards, and with them cast
the dreadful thick-haired backs of a lion's covering,
baring my own limbs; and you shall sleep a sweet sleep
covered in the dappled fawnskins of Dionysus;
[16.100] and I shall cast above you the fitting cover of a Mygdonian deer,
having stripped the Satyrs. And if you have need of hounds,
I shall give you all the dogs of my Pan together in one,
and I shall bring other hounds from Sparta, which my Carneian
Apollo rears for the loves of youths,
[16.105] and I shall summon the hunting hounds of Aristaeus;
and I shall bring nets with stakes and fitting gifts,
the hunting-boots of Nomius and of Agreus, who knew before
both the fair-meadowed pasture and the course of the well-toiled hunt.
And if you fear the flame of the summer-born thirsty season,
[16.110] I shall plant shoots of the vine above your bed,
and the fragrant breezes of drunkenness shall breathe about you
as you lie amid a much-clustered covering.
Roaming maiden, pity your cheeks of a desire-striking face
as they are struck by Phaethon,
[16.115] lest the radiance of Helios wither the ray of your limbs,
lest the winds spoil your perfumed locks;
sleep among the roses and in the petals of the hyacinth,
having propped your head upon your neighbor Dionysus,
so that you may kindle a single revel for four immortals,
[16.120] for Phoebus and Zephyrus and Cypris and Dionysus.
And I would give the dark-skinned race of the Indians as captives
to be the chamber-servants of your bridal chamber; but why have I named
a dark stock as the bride-adorners of your bed?
When does white Dawn mingle with black-cloaked Night?
[16.125] Astacid girl, you are a younger Artemis; but I myself
will bring you sixty dancing handmaids,
so that I may make a countless chorus your attendants,
equal in number to the handmaids of the mountain archer-goddess,
like the daughters of Ocean, so that Artemis may not rival you
[16.130] in hunting, though she is mistress of the hunt.
I grant you the Graces of most holy Orchomenus
as handmaids, transferring my children from Aphrodite.
But charm your unenchanted heart with longing, and let my bed
receive you after the toil of hunting, so that you may appear
[16.135] Artemis among the crags and Aphrodite in the chamber.
What blame is it that you should hunt with hunting Lyaeus?
And if you have got the sting of battle, like a glorious-bowed Amazon
you shall come to the Indian war, so that you may be
persuasion apart from battle, and, when there is strife, Athena.
[16.140] Receive also, if you wish, the deer-shooting thyrsi of Lyaeus,
and become a fawn-slayer; and by your own hands
and by your own labors adorn my wagon,
yoking a leopard or lions with the bit."
So speaking he pursued the mountain girl nearby,
[16.145] crying such a word: "Stay, maiden, and have Bacchus as husband."
But she in anger uttered a mighty voice,
the maiden, darting a greedy mouth against Lyaeus:
"Go and say these things to some tender-loving lady.
If you can drag the grey-eyed one or Artemis into marriage,
[16.150] then you have mighty Nicaea as an obedient bride too;
for I am the companion of them both. But if the unforeseen
wedlock of Athena who knows no childbirth flees you,
then you will not charm the mind of the disobedient archer-goddess either.
Do not seek the bed of Nicaea; and let me not see you
[16.155] touching my bow and handling my quiver.
Let me not subdue you too, after the cowherd Hymnus who perished.
I shall wound Dionysus the unwoundable; and if you bear
limbs unscored by iron and unyielding to the shaft,
I shall imitate the high-crested sons of Iphimedeia,
[16.160] and I shall fetter you in bonds of iron that none can escape,
wholly like your brother, and within
a bronze jar I shall keep you too, after Ares,
until, having filled up twelve circles of Selene,
you cast your sting for me to the winds of the air.
[16.165] Do not touch my quiver with woman-mad hands;
I have a bow, you a thyrsus; on the Astacid cliff
I send my arrow here against boars or lions
as the fellow-contender of Artemis, but above the rock of Lebanon
do you too pursue fawns, hunting together with Aphrodite.
[16.170] I do not accept your bed, even if you bring the blood of Zeus;
and if I longed to have a god as husband, I would not have had
Dionysus as a soft-haired, ironless, feeble husband of womanish form,
but there would be kept for my bridal chamber
as bridegroom either the glorious-bowed lord or bronze Ares,
[16.175] the one having a bow, the other a sword as bride-gift of the Loves;
but since I will accept none of the blessed ones, no sting
holds me to call your Cronion even my father-in-law.
Seek another, a young obedient bride, Bacchus.
Why do you hurry? Your course is untraceable, as once
[16.180] the son of Leto pursued Daphne and as Hephaestus pursued Athena;
why do you hurry? This course is fruitless; for among the crags
hunting-boots are far better than buskins."
So speaking she left Bacchus. And always beneath the pasturing thicket
he sought the mountain-wandering maiden; and as he hurried
[16.185] a hound accompanied him, running beside him with prudent heart,
which once to crag-loving Dionysus as he hunted
high-horned Pan, the rearer of hounds, gave as a gift to keep.
And gazing at it as though it had understanding and speech,
his pasture-mate, traveling the same path, partner of his toils,
[16.190] love-maddened Bacchus addressed it with friendly speech:
"Why, roaming hound, are you the companion of Lyaeus,
worthy of Pan who forever longs? Why do you alone
track with Dionysus as he tracks the maiden?
Has your steward made you pitying of loves?
[16.195] Seek still our maiden, and among the rocks
do not leave Bacchus wandering alone in the mountains.
You alone pity me, and like a mortal to the ridge of the wood
you go after the crested haunts of the wandering girl.
Labor for your king; and I shall give you a favor in return
[16.200] for your toils; after Sirius, the star of Maera,
I shall bring you within the upper air and make you starry
near the former Dog, so that you too may ripen the grape,
shooting your radiance as the Eileithyia of the cluster.
What blame is it that a third Dog should rise? You too shine
[16.205] as companion of the starry Hare when it hurries.
If it is lawful, pitying me, blame the chaste girl,
casting a sidelong eye toward the Cybelian ridge of the wood,
because a woman still flees me, a god, as I seek her;
and blame them both, Adonis and Cytherea,
[16.210] and pursue the roaming girl <...> †
lest she make my bride still more a fleer of the bed;
and do not leave your Pan, ill in love, near the girl,
lest he take her and yoke her in a forced wedlock.
If you see the maiden, come swiftly, announcing to Dionysus
[16.215] with witnessing silence or with intelligent barking;
be the messenger of my longing; let some other hound wander
pursuing boars or lions from the crag.
Dear Pan, I call you most blessed, because even
your hounds have become searchers for the Loves.
[16.220] Fortune of many shapes, playing with the human race,
be gracious, all-subduer; after the mortal stock perhaps
you rule the hounds too, since this ill-fated wanderer
serves after Pan the longing Lyaeus as well;
blame the maiden, dear oaks; speak, rocks;
[16.225] even hounds pity, and the Amazon did not pity.
There are intelligent ones even among hounds, to whom Cronion
gave a human mind and did not grant a mortal voice."
He spoke beside a plant; and through the fair-leaved cluster,
hearing the voice of woman-mad Dionysus,
[16.230] an ancient Meliad cried out a mocking voice:
"Others, Dionysus, hunt here with hounds for the archer-goddess,
but you hunt with Aphrodite;
sweet is he who fears a soft-skinned unwed girl;
bold Bacchus has become a suppliant, a servant of the Loves;
[16.235] with Indian-slaying palms he entreated a feeble girl.
Your father did not know how, with mind-charming speech of longing,
to lead an obedient girl to marriage, to wedlock;
he did not entreat Semele until he got his love.
He did not persuade Danae until he plundered her maidenhood;
[16.240] you know the wife of Ixion joined with Zeus
and the bridal whinnying and the horse-wedlock;
you have learned the playful ordinance of the Loves of Antiope
and the laughing Satyr, the counterfeit mimic husband."
So she spoke, mocking the timid mind of Bacchus.
[16.245] And she went within the oak of her own age. And among the hills
Dionysus in distress followed the raving girl
with love-maddened feet, and the swift-sandaled Amazon,
restless, passed to the hard-to-tread topmost peaks of the rock,
stealing away her track from searching Lyaeus.
[16.250] And as her skin was lashed by the flaming fire of Phaethon
the parched lips of the thirsty girl were dried;
and, not knowing the guile of woman-mad Dionysus,
she saw the yellow water of the wine-loving river,
and drank the sweet stream from which the blazing Indians drank;
[16.255] and the girl, her wits whirled, raved with drunkenness,
and shook her head as it wandered with a double throb,
and thought she saw a twin capacious lake,
rolling her eyes; and as her head grew heavy
she saw the doubled backs of the beast-feeding hill;
[16.260] and slipping in the dust with trembling feet
she was dragged self-rolling into the wing of neighboring Sleep;
and the lady, heavy-kneed, was charmed with a bridal slumber.
And Eros, seeing her sleeping, showed her to Bacchus,
in pity for Hymnus; and Nemesis laughed as she watched.
[16.265] And guileful Dionysus with noiseless buskins
crept silently to the marriage with the artful beat of his feet.
And he came near the girl; and quietly drawing the tip
he loosed the bond that guarded her unplundered girdle
with sparing palm, lest sleep leave the maiden.
[16.270] And Earth, unfolding a fragrant childbed,
labored with a planting, doing favor to Dionysus,
and the plaited pole, lifting a great covering of vine,
was weighed down with clustered fruit;
and the bed was shaded with leaves; for a self-grown
[16.275] tendril of the vine girdled the fair-vined couch;
and many a wandering cluster with wine-dark fruit, aloft
this way and that, was shaken by the winds of Cypris,
and covered them both; and with its celery-bearing cluster
the lovely yoke-fellow shoot of the vine made drunk
[16.280] the plaited ivy that mounted the growing harvest.
And it was a guileful marriage, having the pattern of a dream bed
with sleep as fellow-contender; and the maiden was robbed
of her maidenhood as she slumbered, and she saw as escort of the Loves
sleep, the servant of a wine-tottering wedlock.
[16.285] And a breeze, restless, with the high-pathed leaping of the raving wood,
self-proclaiming, wove a hymn of the Loves,
and the maiden Echo with shamefaced lips answered
the wind-roaming melody of a mountain-haunting wedlock,
the Panian who speaks last; and dancing over the ground
[16.290] a flute crashed out, singing shrill "Hymen, Hymenaeus";
"this is a lovely marriage," the mountain pine cried.
And the wind-roaming soul of the herdsman, leaping up,
troubled the sleeping maiden with nightly dreams:
"There are Erinyes even for one who longs, fair-wedded girl;
[16.295] if you fled Hymnus as bridegroom, you have been wedded to Dionysus;
you give crooked judgments, maiden bride of the chamber;
for you kill one who longs, and do not pursue one who weds.
Maiden, you gave a brazen sleep to Hymnus who loved you;
maiden, a sweet sleep has destroyed your maidenhood.
[16.300] Laughing, you saw the pitiable blood of the fallen herdsman;
groaning, you have seen the more pitiable blood of your maidenhood."
So speaking, like shadowy smoke there sped away
the weeping soul of the desire-stricken herdsman,
and untraceable it entered the all-receiving Tartarean court,
[16.305] having jealousy of Bacchus and his wine-tottering wedlock.
And striking a bridal sound on his shrill reeds,
hiding his jealousy beneath his heart, hymn-tending Pan
spoke a reproaching melody at another's wedlock.
And one of the love-maddened Satyrs beside the neighboring thicket,
[16.310] an unsated gazer at a wedlock not to be gazed upon,
spoke a Bacchic speech, seeing the fair-maiden bed:
"Horned Pan, do you still alone hold your course toward Aphrodite?
When will you too be the bridegroom of Echo as you pursue her?
When will you too accomplish such a helping guile
[16.315] as an ally of your own unwedded wedlock?
Dear Pan, become you too a planter instead of a herdsman,
and renounce the shepherd's crook, and beside the rock
leave the cattle and the sheep; what will herdsmen do for you?
Wake up, and plant the bride-adorning wine of the Loves too."
[16.320] Not yet had his speech ended, and goat-herding Pan cried out:
"Would that my father had taught me the guile of marriage-perfecting wine;
would that I ruled the mind-tottering grape, as Bacchus does;
and I would have accomplished the much-wandering sting of my loves,
seeing Echo, hard to win as a maiden, drunk and asleep.
[16.325] Let this pasture be gracious, since beside a neighboring spring
I water these sheep, while with a wine-loving stream
Dionysus drags unenchanted maidens into marriage.
He has found in his own plant the remedy of Eros; away with the milk
of goats, away with the milk of our sheep; for it cannot
[16.330] bring sleep upon desire or drag a maiden into marriage.
I alone, Cytherea, am hard pressed; alas for the Loves;
the pipe of Pan fled an unwedded wedlock
and cries Euoi for the newly completed marriage of Dionysus
with self-moving strains; and still more with accustomed song
[16.335] Echo in concert answered the Syrinx as it spoke."
"Dionysus, mortal-charming shepherd of bridal drunkenness,
you alone are blessed, because when your bride refused
you found wine as the bride-adorning ally of the Loves."
Such a word he told, Pan in his grief, ill in love,
[16.340] having jealousy and love <...> †
And, having accomplished his love and the longing of a bed by the wayside,
Dionysus was lifted away on an unspeakable sandal.
And the lady, waking, reproached the river spring,
<...> with sleep †
[16.345] drenched with a rain of tears; and in grief
she heard the remnants still of the Naiads' bridal song,
and she saw the couch, the herald of the bed of desire-stricken
Lyaeus, shaded with the leaves of the vine,
covered with the bridal fawnskins of Dionysus,
[16.350] the self-announcer of a secret bed; and she saw
her maiden girdle itself full of the bridal dew.
And she scored her rosy cheeks, and striking both
her thighs she roared with a plaintive voice:
"Alas for my maidenhood, which the Euian water snatched;
[16.355] alas for my maidenhood, which the sleep of the Loves snatched;
alas for my maidenhood, which wandering Bacchus snatched.
Away with the guileful drink of the water-nymphs, away with the bed.
Hamadryad nymphs, whom shall I blame? For sleep, Eros,
guile, wine have plundered my maidenhood.
[16.360] Artemis too has renounced maidens; but why did
Echo herself, who flees the bed, not tell me the whole matter?
Why into my ear, so that Bacchus should not hear,
did Pitys not whisper and Daphne not speak:
'Maiden, beware of drinking the deceitful water'?"
[16.365] She spoke, and gushed forth a much-weeping rain from her eyes.
And now she longed to press a sword against her neck,
now she wished to fall self-rolling from the mountain,
slipping head first into a last dust;
and she longed to destroy the drink of the bridal spring,
[16.370] but the earlier pouring had changed the moisture of Bacchus
and murmured as white water, no longer the stream of Lyaeus.
And she entreated Cronion and Artemis, to make
the haunts of the Naiads dust in a thirsty waste.
And often she stretched her eye through the mountain, if anywhere she might find
[16.375] the unsteady track of Dionysus who may not be gazed upon,
so that a woman might strike a god with her arrows, so that she might subdue
the clustered god; and still more she wished to destroy
that whole bridal vine with flaming fire.
And often, catching sight of the tracks of Bacchus through the mountain,
[16.380] she shot at the airy gusts, taking aim;
and often she lifted her spear, and stood facing the mark,
so that she might strike the body of unwoundable Dionysus;
but she sent it in vain and did not reach Lyaeus.
And she was enraged at the river and swore never
[16.385] to drink the deceitful water of the spring with thirsty lips;
she swore to keep a sleepless eye through the nights,
she swore never to sleep another sweet sleep in the mountains.
And she blamed her guardian hounds, because they too
did not then arm themselves against woman-mad Lyaeus.
[16.390] And she sought the aloft bulwark of a strangling death,
her neck squeezed, entwined in a throttling bond,
shunning the mocking reproach of the youth of her own age.
And unwilling she left her ancient beast-nourishing wood,
ashamed to appear to the archer-goddess after the bed.
[16.395] And filled with the drop of the most holy seed of Lyaeus
she bore a burden in her belly; and when the childbirth was completed
the life-warming Seasons brought a female offspring to birth,
and confirmed the nine-circled course of Selene;
and from the marriage of Bromius a god-sent girl bloomed,
[16.400] whom he named Telete, who ever rejoices in festivals,
a night-dancing girl, following Dionysus,
delighting in rattles and in the ox-hide beaten on both sides.
And beside the wine-loving lake the god built
a fair-stoned city, Nicaea, which he named after the lady
[16.405] of Astacia and after his Indian-slaying victory.

## Book XVII


### In the seventeenth I sing the first spoils of war and the stream of the honey-dripping river turned to wine.

[17.1] Nor, having taken alive the unshaken race of Indians
unwounded, fettered by the sleep of wine-loving drunkenness,
did Dionysus entrust the war to the winds of forgetfulness;
but again he lifted the Phrygian thyrsus; for he hurried
[17.5] to the battle of high-crested Deriades who called him,
leaving unremembered the guileful, wine-heavy love
of the Amazonian girl and the sleeping wedlock.
And the god led the way, bearing on his gleaming face
the heavenly ray, the herald of the race of Zeus;
[17.10] and about the Lydian chariot of Giant-slaying Dionysus
were ranks of thyrsus-bearers, and he was girdled by warriors,
seen in the middle on either side, and flashed back at Olympus;
and he hid them all with his beauty; seeing him you would quickly have said
he was the fiery sun amid the wide-scattered stars.
[17.15] And the lord armed the ironless war of his host,
no sword, no death-bearing ash-spear, but instead of bronze
having unbreakable ivy as his lance; and whirling it
in the cities of Asia, and fixing it in the soil of Asia,
he drove the wild chariot of the Cybelian goddess
[17.20] lashing the migrant car with a flower-tressed whip,
a baldric of vines, shaded with ivy of its own age,
and made the eastern land drunk with the Maronian harvest.
And with Bromius the whole army of the Bacchoi flowed as fellow-contenders,
having courage for the sake of the earlier battle, when
[17.25] sweet-mad, ironless, seizing with both his yoked arms
an intelligent, voiceless corpse, lifting an armed Indian,
heavy-kneed Silenus withdrew, a sluggish traveler;
when, reveling with the double rhythm of her feet,
an unveiled Bacchic Mimallon rattled about
[17.30] an Indian still slumbering, and binding his neck tight
hunted her spoil, the self-offered prey of battle.
And he passed from city to city, and came to the rich plain
of neighboring Alybe, where the neighboring
Geudis, rolling its Zeus-fallen swell with wealthy streams,
[17.35] whitens with the trail of its treasure-holding waters,
scraping the hollow of a silver floor.
There, as he passed by the deep-rich rock,
a countryman received in his lonely hut
Bacchus the wayfarer on foot, of one age with the ox-horned Satyrs,
[17.40] Brongus, a mountain-running dweller of unbuilt haunts,
inhabiting a houseless house beneath the unscored
base of earth-born foundations; and as guest-host
the shepherd soothed the giver of gladness with a milky drink,
mixing the snow-white dew of a milked goat,
[17.45] with paltry foods and rustic cups,
and loosed one from the fold of his woolly sheep,
so that he might carve it as a sacrifice for Dionysus;
but the god restrained him; and the old man obeyed the unswerving
nods of Bacchus, and leaving the sheep untouched
[17.50] he set some shepherd's meal before willing Lyaeus,
making a dinner without dinner from an uncarved table,
such as they tell of about Molorchus of Cleonae,
those things which he prepared for Heracles as he hastened
to the lion-slaying contests; and Brongus heaped upon the table
[17.55] in abundance the flower of the autumn olive that swims in brine,
having the manner of a tender-loving herdsman,
lifting in plaited baskets the newly curdled cheese,
moist, round; and the god laughed as he watched
the plain dinners of the country folk, and turning a gracious eye
[17.60] upon the hospitable herdsman he touched the little table,
devouring unsated; and always he remembered
that small banquet of the bloodless table
beside the supper of his mother, mountain-haunting Cybele.
And he marveled at the rocky gateways of the circling court,
[17.65] how labor-working nature had carved the house, how without art
the cliffs had been rounded out with answering rules.
But when lord Bacchus had his fill of the shepherd's fare,
then indeed, shaken by the divine breath of Bacchus,
the countryman Brongus piped the accustomed song of Pan,
[17.70] pressing the double-voiced flute of Athena,
hymning Dionysus; and the god delighted his heart in the song,
and mixed in a bowl the newly flowing moisture of the vat:
<...> †
"Receive, old man, this gift, the respite from every care;
[17.75] you have no need of milk, having the fragrant dew,
the earthly pattern of heavenly nectar, such as Ganymede
draws to gladden great Zeus upon Olympus.
Leave the longing for your former milk; for the snowy
moistures of freshly delivered goats' pressed teats
[17.80] do not delight men and do not loose cares."
So speaking he gave as guest-gift of the shepherd's table
the fair-clustered harvest, the mother of toil-releasing drunkenness;
and the lord taught him the flower-loving work of the orchard,
to curve the shoots in a well-nourishing trench of plants,
[17.85] and, cutting the tips of the flourishing old cluster,
to rear new shoots of the wine-bearing grape.
And leaving the herdsman and the ridge of the wild wood
he hastened to another mountain war of the Indians;
and hurrying his mountain-running step in company with the Satyrs
[17.90] he joined again his attendants, the raving Bacchants.
And thirsting for slaughter and for fair-thyrsus tumult,
holding the heavy-thundering trumpet of the Tyrrhenian sea,
he bellowed on his conch a melody, escort of Enyalius,
gathering the host; and he made the mighty warriors drunk,
[17.95] drawing the men to battle with hotter thoughts,
the destroyers of the Bacchus-less Indian race.
These lord Dionysus marshaled for the war of the Indians;
but Astraeis, coming untraceable, announced to Orontes
that the race of the Indians was enslaved, and cried in mourning voice:
[17.100] "Son-in-law of spear-bold, battle-steadfast Deriades,
hear, and hearing be not angry; and I shall teach you
the drug-victory of uncorseleted Dionysus.
There was battle between Indians and Satyrs; the slanting rank
of the Bassarids roared, and my people armed against Lyaeus
[17.105] flashing with shields, and watching my spear-bearing
warriors the much-knowing Lydian man shuddered;
and there stood the champion of the unwarlike Satyrs, bearing
no spear of battle in his hand, having no naked sword, nor drawing
upon the string a wind-swift arrow straight at the mark;
[17.110] but he had the horn of an ox, and in the hollow horn
he lifted a liquid drug, and into the outpourings
of the silver river he poured the whole guileful dew,
reddening the sweet stream with its moisture; and out of the tumult,
thirsting in the heat, all the blazing Indians who drank
[17.115] struck up a dance, holding an intelligent madness;
and a deadly sleep assailed them, and unbending
they raved uncontrollably and lay down upon their ox-hides;
and others reclined on unspread couches of the ground
entrusting their sluggish bodies to unsleeping sleep,
[17.120] spoil for the feeble Bacchants and for Dionysus.
And without war and without well-whetted iron
women took them as plunder into a slave's yoke
with their heavy limbs, and over the shoulders of their foes
the warriors were lifted like living corpses,
[17.125] some still gushing the thievish moisture of Bacchus,
enslaved by necessity to the unwarlike Satyrs,
maddened by the drugged stream. And out of the tumult
I alone was left, still ignorant of the murderous dew,
having escaped the deceitful water with unwetted lips.
[17.130] But beware the drink, spear-wielder, lest after the cunning,
ironless victory of bloodless Lyaeus
another guile take alive in war the remnant of the Indians."
As he spoke, heavy-wrathful Orontes was enraged the more,
and came swiftly back to the fray; for the contest
[17.135] was half-finished, and the foundations of another battle were being laid.
While mountain-running Ares armed the Indian throng,
meanwhile the Bassarids high above many-winding Taurus
hurried to the fray, and with them marched the Bacchoi,
weapon-bearers, and the unarmored Pheres; some, breaking
[17.140] the foundations of their haunts, lifted them, others a high-stretched
headland of a hill; and as the tumult began
they assailed the adversaries; and many-cleft ravines
were hurled in spirals at Indian heads.
And skipping upon the cliff with slender feet
[17.145] the Pans armed themselves, raving, of whom one,
seizing a neck forced down in a well-handled bond,
tore open a hostile man with his goat's hooves,
scoring his middle flank together with his sturdy breastplate;
and another, with the well-curved points of his long-branched horns,
[17.150] snatching up a wandering Indian upright, pierced through,
lifted him impaled in the middle, and into the paths of the air
shot him high-flying with his two horns,
head first, self-rolling; and another, shaking in his palm
the reed-cutting sickle of sheaf-bearing Deo,
[17.155] as though it were the corn of battle, the handfuls of the fighting,
mowed the offspring of the foes with crook-clawed bronze,
making a revel for Ares, first-fruits also for Dionysus,
cutting hostile heads; and he held out to witnessing Bacchus
his curved sword defiled with human dew.
[17.160] Pouring a bloody libation over Dionysus
he made even the Fates drunk, pouring a warlike drink;
and goat-herding Pan, gripping another as he stood,
winding a bond about his neck with interlocked hands,
dashed the well-corseleted foe away with his horn,
[17.165] his flank cleft by the two-cutting point;
another, cutting down a man who rushed at him with his crook,
crushed the tips of his beetling brow in the middle.
And bold Orontes heartened the Indian army,
pouring a threatening speech with proud voice:
[17.170] "Come, friends, let us raise a war against the Satyrs;
do not tremble at the battle of war-fleeing Dionysus;
and let none of you drink the yellow-colored water,
nor the guileful, maddening drugs of the sweet spring,
slaughtered by the hand of Lyaeus, of the dread-fated Indians;
[17.175] lest after so many heads sleep destroy us too.
Come, let us fight again with confidence; when would unwarlike
Bacchus openly stand against my war?
If he can, let the fugitive champion await me, so that he may learn
what champions Deriades arms for battle.
[17.180] Let him fight with leaves, and I with blazing iron.
What will the Lydian do to me, who hold a bronze spear,
hurling a wooden missile of clusters? But I shall drag off
this warrior bound in heavy bonds, feeble,
woman-mad Dionysus, as the servant of Deriades;
[17.185] this fellow with the soft, womanish skin — leave all
the Indians, so many as they are, and fight alone with Orontes only.
Sweet is he who whirls the loosened curls of his hair,
sweet is the lovely champion of the Bassarids; but women too
shoot with beauty and not with arrows.
[17.190] I shall join your attendants to woman-mad Indians,
dragged to the beds of a spear-won wedlock."
So speaking hot Orontes ran upon the champions,
mowing the twofold harvest of Ares; nor did any dare
to await the opposing rush of so great a champion,
[17.195] not bold fiery Eurymedon, not his brother Alcon;
for Astraeus fled, the champion of the Satyrs, nor did any
of the Sileni stay. And with stormy sole
the much-dreaded son-in-law of Deriades raged
against the Centaurs, lifting a windy stone,
[17.200] and struck Hylaeus; and of the shaggy-breasted herdsman
he crushed the top of the brow, hurling a millstone-like rock,
and dashed away his covering with a ravine-torn missile,
a lying imitation fashioned of accustomed gypsum,
a counterfeit of a helmet, the guard of a true face;
[17.205] and it fell to the ground in many splinters, like blazing
ash, and became a silvery dust; and he, laboring
beneath the rocky spear, embraced the ground with his arm.
And striking the shaggy forehead of another Centaur
through his well-horned head with a double-edged ox-axe
[17.210] he crushed away the curving bovine horn;
and he fell heavily to the ground, and skipping on his head
he rolled half-dead, and beat the dust with his ears;
and straightening his body he raved with a last footstep,
having the shambling, mirthless dance of destruction;
[17.215] and the monster crashed out a din, like a bull sending
a harsh bellowing from a grinning throat,
struck on the head. And loveless Erembeus, hurling at Helice,
drove bronze into her breast, and a dark hand scored
the silvery rim of her breast with reddening blood;
[17.220] and as she lay in the dust the spear-hurling winds
joined another distress to it, drawing back her robe;
and lovely gore gushed from her skin; and in shame
with her right hand she gathered her fleeing tunic,
guarding the bare rites of her snowy thigh.
[17.225] And the god, beholding the shifting victory of the foes
and the Satyrs cowering, crashed out into the tumult,
like a host of nine thousand from heavy-thundering throats
pouring an answering echo with massed mouths.
And swift-kneed Orontes fought alone against Bromius,
[17.230] though he was mortal, and challenged a god with mortal voice.
Both came together into the fray, of whom one
had a spear, the other a whetted thyrsus. And overbearing Orontes,
striking the top of the unwoundable head of Bacchus,
battered the whetted horn of Bromius in vain;
[17.235] for lord Dionysus did not have on his unharmed head
the bull-natured pattern of a Selenean brow
to be cut by the crushing iron of an ox-axe,
as horned Achelous is sung, whose horn Heracles once
cut off and took as bride-adorner; but Lyaeus
[17.240] had the heavenly imitation of ox-eyed Selene,
having the unbreakable growth of a divine horn,
unshaken by adversaries; and the bold Indian, heavy-thundering,
like an airy hurricane, hurled a second time
against Bacchus, and his point was bent back
[17.245] when it touched the fawnskin, like a pattern of lead. And in answer
Bacchus, sending his wine-dark thyrsus at the broad shoulder of Orontes,
willingly missed; and mocking the ivy spear
of Lyaeus, god-fighting Orontes said:
"You there, who arm a womanish throng against my armies,
[17.250] if you can, make war with your womanish thyrsus,
if you can, fight in the front; and if you delight the mind of mortals,
all-subduer, charm one unenchanted Orontes alone.
Stand and fight, and you will know what a valiant champion
my old Indian Hydaspes rears.
[17.255] I was not born of Phrygia, whence the women are male,
having mowed the unsown corn of an unwedded youth;
I am no ironless servant of feeble Lyaeus.
Drugs will not save your champions; and I shall plunder
your raving attendants, and out of the tumult
[17.260] I shall bring the Sileni as servants to my king,
and destroy all your cowering Satyrs with my spear."
So the champion of the army spoke, shouting; and hearing him
lord Bacchus was enraged, and with his vine cluster
struck him on the breast, sparingly; and struck by the paltry
[17.265] clustered flower the breastplate was split;
nor did the Bacchic point touch the skin it covered,
nor scratch the surface of his body; but as the iron tunic
was broken, heavy-thundering Orontes withdrew, naked;
and he stretched his gaze toward the eastern floor
[17.270] opposite Phaethon and spoke a last word:
"Helios, cutting the upper air with your flaming chariot,
sending your light over the neighboring Caucasian furrow,
halt your car for me, and tell Deriades
of the enslaved race of the Indians and of self-slain Orontes
[17.275] and of the few man-breaking thyrsi; tell too of the very
drug-victory of battle-untried Dionysus,
and of the wine-drunk stream of the mind-tottering river;
and tell how women split apart with slender leaves
the unwearied army of iron-bearing Indians.
[17.280] And if you still remember the bed of your Clymene,
save Deriades, the shoot of your own race,
who bears the blood of Astris, called your daughter.
I did not yield to womanish-minded Bromius; I call as witnesses
Helios and the boundless earth and the god of the Indians,
[17.285] the holy water. But farewell, and be gracious in the tumult
of the fighting Indians, and bury Orontes when he has perished."
So speaking he drew his sword, and fixing it in the middle of his belly
the heavy-fated man leapt upon the self-slaying iron;
and he rolled into the river and gave his name to the Orontes.
[17.290] And watching him, still breathing and gasping,
lord Bacchus spoke, pouring a mocking echo:
"Lie there, a corpse in foreign waters; and may your father
Hydaspes hide your Deriades when he dies.
I shall destroy you both, father-in-law and son-in-law,
[17.295] shaking Euian thyrsi and a vine point
instead of a murderous spear and a well-whetted knife.
But, killing yourself with blood-red iron,
you did not drink the delicate streams of the honey-dripping river;
and the river has covered you, and you have missed the sweet wine.
[17.300] If you wish, drink the whole stream alone; but you have no need
of the river's streams, having drunk the deadly water
of Acheron; and with a man-slaying flood and a bitter stream
having your belly swelling, pregnant with Fate,
taste of Cocytus, and, if you wish, drink Lethe,
[17.305] so that you may forget Ares and bloody iron."
He spoke, mocking the drenched corpse. And swollen,
the corpse of Orontes was dragged by the unsteady waves;
and the river banks belched forth the breathless corpse
swimming through the stream with cold limbs.
[17.310] Him the Nymphs buried and groaned a dirge,
the Hamadryad nymphs, beside the trunk of a golden laurel
about the currents of the river, and wrote high on the tree:
"Here lies the champion of an army who dishonored Bacchus,
Indian Orontes, cut down by his own self-slaying hand."
[17.315] Nor was that the end of the joyless battle; for the contest
was half-finished and the strife unaccomplished; and high-visible
the Indian Ares shouted; and in a returning tumult
the raving Bacchic Enyo, belching the Lydian mass
of a maddened threat, reveled into another fray,
[17.320] hurling murderous clusters at the foe,
raving for Ares; and the foes of shoot-loving Lyaeus
were killed by wooden iron,
having a bloody wound; and as the iron was cut apart
by the clustered spear of an uncorseleted Bacchant,
[17.325] the bronze-tunicked Indians marveled at the sharp ivy
and at their bared, freshly wounded breasts; for the bearers
of no breastplate were more easily shot.
And of others there was other unspeakable slaughter, beneath whose gore
the tunics of the fighters, split by leaves, were reddened,
[17.330] where Taurus is; and the unbending Bacchants circled
crown-wise the ranks of the yoked Indians.
And the bold flute sang a melody of slaughter; and in the tumult
the Bacchoi, the servants of battle-untried Dionysus,
though struck with axes and double-edged knives,
[17.335] were all unharmed, like a tower; while the soft-haired
foes were killed by slender leaves;
and in a row the thick shafts of the Indians were fixed
in the long-branched trees, and the pine was pierced by a far-flying
spear, the fir was struck, the laurel was shot at,
[17.340] though it was the tree of Phoebus, and among its shamefaced leaves
it hid the cloud of long-winged arrows that were sent,
lest Apollo see it shot at with missiles.
And with bare palm, without shields, apart from iron,
a Bacchant shook her rattles, and a shield-bearer fell;
[17.345] and drums crashed out, and warriors danced;
and cymbals rattled, and an Indian man bowed his neck
to Lyaeus as a suppliant. And on the little skin of fawns
the unbreakable points of javelins were bent aside;
and the bronze-heavy, unbending helmet was cut by foliage.
[17.350] And a champion of the war-maddened Satyrs, hurling at a man,
threw Euian leaves, and the bronze tunic of the freshly wounded
bearer was split by the vine ivy.
And seeing the scales of battle with a shifting rush
prophesying the victory of Indian-slaying Lyaeus,
[17.355] Astraeis withdrew untraceable, escaping his doom,
cowering before the long-leaved lance of Dionysus.
Meanwhile Aristaeus, sprinkling life-giving drugs,
healed every wound of the Bassarids with Phoebean art.
On the blows of one he cast the Centaurian herb;
[17.360] of another, weighed down, he cleansed the murderous dew,
squeezing out the blood; and he healed a plaintive Bacchant
by crushing many kinds of plants upon the girl's wounds,
whether of foot or palm or breast or flank.
And when another champion was struck by a murderous arrow
[17.365] he drew out the swift point, and pressing the wound with his hand
he made the bloody dew shoot out little by little;
to another he brought his hand, and scoring the edges of the wound
he cut with a knife the parts rotted by the poisonous venom,
laying his sparing fingers with the very tip of his palm;
[17.370] and he mixed with the green flower of the life-sustaining earth
the cunning travail of the evil-averting bee,
sprinkling with his hand the pain-killing moisture of Bacchus;
and others who were wounded he healed with Phoebean voice,
murmuring a dread, many-named hymn of song,
[17.375] knowing the rites of his father's life-sustaining art.
So he healed the shifting wound. And of the fighters
the barbarian-voiced womanish war now ceased.
And the Bassarids took many warriors alive
from the battle; and many foes, leaving the mountains of Taurus,
[17.380] returned to the region of the Indian land,
to the house of Deriades with fruitless hopes,
the broad drivers of measureless-lived elephants.
And drawing the Satyrs after the strife into a wine-dance
Pan of the pastures cried out, pouring a victory-echo.
[17.385] And woolly-headed Blemys, champion of the Erythraean Indians,
lifted the bloodless branch of supplication,
bending a slave's knee to Indian-slaying Dionysus.
And the god, seeing the man bent to the ground,
took him by the hand and raised him, and with his many-tongued people
[17.390] he escorted the dark men away, holding back one
who hated the rule and the ways of Deriades,
to the floor of Arabia, where beside the neighboring sea
he dwelt on rich ground and gave his name to the citizens;
and Blemys came swiftly to the mouth of the seven-pathed Nile,
[17.395] to be a scepter-bearer of the Ethiopians of like color;
and the ever-summer base of Meroe received him,
the leader who gave his name beforehand to the later-born Blemyes.

## Book XVIII


### In the eighteenth Staphylus and Botrys arrive, calling the mountain-running son of Thyone to a feast.

[18.1] Already winged, many-mouthed Rumor was flying,
running beneath every rank of Assyrian cities,
proclaiming the name of cluster-bearing Dionysus,
and the bold Indian war and the splendid-clustered harvest.
[18.5] And Staphylus, hearing of the ironless army of Satyrs
and the vine rites and the Euian sacraments of Lyaeus,
longed to see Bacchus; and urging on his son Botrys,
the lord of the Assyrians, high on a wind-swift chariot,
met clustered Dionysus as he passed by.
[18.10] And seeing him coming, and the silver-wheeled wagon
and the harness of leopards and the bright reins of lions,
unshorn Botrys reined back his father's chariot;
and scepter-bearing Staphylus leapt down from his car
gazing at the standing track of the leopards of Dionysus;
[18.15] and propping the print of his crouching foot on the ground,
stretching out an olive branch with god-fearing hand,
the lord soothed Dionysus with friendly speech:
"By Zeus of suppliants, your father, Dionysus,
by god-born Semele, do not pass by my child.
[18.20] I have heard how Lycaon received your father,
him together with the blessed ones, and, carving up his son
Nyctimus with his hand, set him before your unknowing father,
and touched a single table with Zeus the all-ruler,
beside the floor of Arcadia; and above the peaks of Sipylus
[18.25] Tantalus, as they tell, entertained your father,
and carving up his own son set him before the gods as food;
and shaping in ivory the broad shoulder of Pelops,
so much as Deo had feasted on, with a counterfeit cunning adornment,
Cronion brought the carved-up son to life again,
[18.30] joining once more the limbs that had been divided from one another.
But why have I named to you, Dionysus, child-slaying Lycaon
the host of the blessed ones, and air-roaming Tantalus,
the guileful thief of the nectarous cups,
declaring a man the enemy of ambrosia and nectar?
[18.35] Macello entertained both Zeus and Apollo,
and when the Earth-shaker uprooted all the Phlegyans in the sea,
breaking the whole island apart with his trident,
he spared them both and did not overturn them with his trident.
And you too, bearing the likeness of your hospitable father,
[18.40] enter my halls for a single dawn;
do a favor to us both, to Botrys and to his father."
So speaking he persuaded him; and he mounted his own chariot,
blessing his own house, as Dionysus followed;
and bold Botrys lifted the horse-whip,
[18.45] and, traveling the deserted, bull-haunted floor in spirals,
drove his father's chariot, and led the way for Lyaeus
toward the Assyrian land; and Maron, the charioteer of Bromius,
receiving in the neck-harness the golden reins
of the Mygdonian car, unsated of the whip,
[18.50] sending the unsparing whistle of the beast-driving lash,
drove the stormy wagon of leopards;
and the Satyrs, running ahead, struck up a dance,
skipping about the mountain-running chariot of Lyaeus;
and many a flower-loving Bacchant ran this way and that
[18.55] holding the hard-to-tread path with passable foot, and measured
the narrow, ladder-like fold of the rock with swift sole,
and rattled with her palm and with well-rhythmed sandals,
stealing away the labor of the steep-cliffed road,
gadfly-mad; and the Pans high on the accustomed rock
[18.60] danced with well-greaved feet in the dust,
passing over the headland of an untrodden cliff.
But when the royal court appeared to the travelers,
seen from afar, gleaming with a varied adornment of stones,
then fair-haired Botrys, leaving his father's car,
[18.65] went swift-sandaled into the house, a wayfarer going ahead,
preparing all things at once, and with tender-loving purpose
he made ready the varied dinners of a rich table.
While Botrys was still preparing the feast for Lyaeus,
meanwhile the lord of varied gifts showed Bacchus
[18.70] the artful beauties of the stone-paved hall,
from which flowed a marble, much-wrought radiance,
of one color with the sun and with the answering moon;
and the walls were whitened with silver metals,
and there was the lychnis, named for the lamp,
[18.75] flashing sparks upon the faces of mortals; and the house,
adorned with reddening blazing stone, had also
the wine-dark amethyst propped against the hyacinth;
and the pale agate spat forth a smoky gleam,
and the ophite sparkled with the spotted patterns of its scales;
[18.80] and the Assyrian emerald belched a green radiance.
And spread about the halls with a phalanx of columns
the golden backs of a wooden covering reddened
in the rich roofs; and with many-splintered metals
the bright floor was embroidered with fine-pebbled art;
[18.85] and the vast gateway, in some well-carved timber,
had the delicate pattern of newly sawn ivory.
Such things the old scepter-bearer showed to witnessing Bacchus;
and he scarcely bent his step within the god-receiving court
holding Dionysus by the hand; and he, with slow-obedient sole,
[18.90] stretched his wandering gaze in spirals;
and the god marveled at the starry, gleaming adornment,
seeing the gold-wrought court of the host-king.
And the lord goaded his attendants and urged his servants
to carve a herd of well-fed bulls and flocks of sheep
[18.95] for the Satyrs of ox-horned Dionysus.
And as Staphylus hurried there was swift-working command
to servants in turn; and many attendants of the banquet
bustled about; and bulls were carved
and the sleek ranks of pasturing sheep. And there was dancing;
[18.100] and fragrant breezes breathed through the lyre-filled house,
and made the streets of the sweet-smelling city steam;
and abundant moistures of wine made the whole house drunk.
And cymbals clashed, and beside the sweet-sounding table
Panian pipes hummed, interwoven flutes
[18.105] roared, and the circle of the heavy-thundering ox-hide
crashed through the hall with blows on both sides,
and there was the noise of rattles after the meal. And in the middle
Maron, heavy with wine, bearing the unsteady rush of a trembling foot,
went this way and that, shaken by the sting,
[18.110] whirling his back-rushing step upright from the floor,
propping his hands upon the shoulders of two Satyrs,
seen in the middle; and he was lifted by the beat of another's
foot, having a yellow skin, in the middle, sending
purple rays from his whole gleaming face,
[18.115] a counterfeit likeness of the horns of Selene,
in his left hand lifting a newly flayed wineskin
pregnant with its accustomed wine, entwined by a neck-strap,
and in his right a cup; and the Bacchants circled
the old man as he skipped with the shifting sole of his feet,
[18.120] like one about to fall as his head shook,
but never falling. And wine-tottering themselves
the handmaids and the servants raved in the dance,
having tasted for the first time the unaccustomed sweet wine.
And the Bacchic vine dew made drunk Methe,
[18.125] the noble-childbearing wife of king Staphylus;
and she, heavy-headed, asked the Bacchants to drink again,
skipping about the wine-holding bowl of Lyaeus;
and she shook her head as it wandered with a double throb,
leaning her hair upon her shoulder with a shifting rush,
[18.130] unsteady, turning back this way and that; and on the ground,
as she was often about to fall with slipping sandals,
a Bacchant took the raving Methe in her hands and set her upright.
And Staphylus was drunk; and with a wine-loving cup
his cheeks reddened from the cluster turned to wine;
[18.135] and the boy with new-grown beard, together with his father Staphylus,
bound his unplaited locks with unaccustomed ivy,
girdling them crown-wise; and exchanging step for step
Botrys danced in spirals with emulous feet,
whirling his right sole as it migrated from the left;
[18.140] and Staphylus skipped with the dancing beat of his feet,
leading a curved step circled in a running trail,
propping his forearm on the neck of Botrys the dancer;
and he praised the drink of dance-weaving Dionysus,
unsteady, shaking his loosened curls this way and that
[18.145] as they darted upon his shoulder; and Methe herself danced,
leaning her forearm on both her son and her husband,
in the middle between Staphylus and Botrys; and one could see
a thrice-coiled delight of interwoven dancing.
And Pithos, an old man raw in years, shaking his grey hair to the winds,
[18.150] crammed to the teeth with the sweet-drinking flood,
danced heavy with wine, whirling a wine-tottering step;
and with the sweet drops belched from his throat
he whitened his yellow, foaming beard.
And they drank for a whole day; and as the cups were drained
[18.155] a shadowy darkness covered the whole western land,
blackening at its tips, and the two-colored air darkened,
lighting up the shifting stars with a slender radiance,
as Phaethon sank beneath the shadowy cone,
still having a little remnant of Dawn behind him;
[18.160] and silent Night cloaked the gloom with her skin,
scoring heaven with a starry tunic.
And they, after the mixing-bowl of drunkenness, after the dinners of the table,
Botrys together with his father and wine-pouring Dionysus,
set apart in rows upon well-strewn beds,
[18.165] took the gift of sleep and consorted with dreams.
But when with rosy sparklings the messenger of Dawn,
the shining dawn-light, scored the shadow-leaving mist,
then fair-haired Bacchus sprang up at morning from his bed,
shaken by hope of victory; for through the night
[18.170] he had been cutting down the Indian race with his ivy thyrsus,
pursuing the deceitful image of a sleeping battle.
And hearing the din of the Satyrs and the thud of javelins
he shook off the tumult of the dream fighting,
scattering his warlike sleep; and he had in his heart
[18.175] a dread fear of the prophetic, threatening dream;
for he had seen the phantom of a mimic battle with Lycurgus,
the forerunner of things to come, because a bold lion,
hard to fight, within a thicket, from a crag, with raving throat,
terrified into flight Bacchus as he still skipped and touched no iron,
[18.180] and drove him as far as the sea,
hidden in the waters, fleeing the threat of the beast;
and he saw another terror, that a bold lion pursued
the thyrsus-bearing women with gaping throat,
bloodying them with its claws, and as the women were scored
[18.185] the sacraments rolled from the initiate hand into the dust,
and cymbals lay on the ground; and a Bacchant, turning about,
clamped bonds upon the lion's jaws,
binding a vine cord tight about its head,
and wove a throttling bond about the lion's neck;
[18.190] and a female throng ran upon the beast, one after another,
and scored its grim feet and paws with thorns;
and scarcely, when it was girdled about with a coiling cluster,
did Artemis take it alive; and from the bosom of the upper air
a fiery lightning, darting down upon its face,
[18.195] made the beast turn back, a blind wayfarer.
Such a dream Dionysus beheld; and rising upright
from his bed he put on over his breast the bronze,
starry tunic stained with the slaughter of Indians,
and girdled his hair with a crooked serpent bond,
[18.200] and clamped his feet in a reddening buskin,
and lifted the thyrsus in his hand, the flower-loving spear of Enyo;
and he called a Satyr as attendant. And hearing the divine,
answering echo of Bacchic mouths,
lord Botrys awoke, and put on his tunic;
[18.205] and when Methe heard the voice of sleeping Pithos,
she scarcely lifted her head, and as her head grew heavy
she slept again, reluctant; and still at dawn the lady
stayed, plucking a sweeter sleep from her eyes,
and late she left her bed with slow-obedient sole.
[18.210] And cluster-loving Staphylus accompanied Lyaeus
as he hastened to the road, holding out guest-gifts,
a golden jar with silver cups,
in which he had always drunk before the milk of milked goats;
and he gave varied robes, which beside the water of the Tigris
[18.215] the Persian Arachne had wrought with delicate thread.
And the lord of many gifts spoke a word to Bromius:
"Fight for me, Dionysus, and do deeds worthy of your father;
show that you bear the race of Cronides; for while still fresh in bloom,
still a boy, your father dashed the earth-born Titans
[18.220] from Olympus; hasten you too in the tumult
to wipe out the overbearing earth-born race of the Indians.
I remember a tale which to our father
Assyrian Belus once told, the city-holder of my land,
my father's father, and I myself shall tell it to you:
[18.225] watery Cronus, lifting the jaw of the marriage-robbing sickle,
when he rushed upon his mother's couches,
cut the male corn of his father's unwedded plowing.
And broad-bearded Cronus fanned up war,
the forerunner of the Titans, and fought against your father,
[18.230] hurling frosty spears against Cronion,
shooting a cold, wet missile; and sharp-stretched
hail-arrows were sent from the air.
And fire-bearing Zeus armed himself more than Helios,
loosing the petrified water with a hotter spark.
[18.235] So, lashing raw-devouring lions into the Indian fray,
do not tremble at elephants, since your high-ruling Zeus
crushed high-headed Campe with the thunderbolt,
whose whole body was crooked and many-shaped; for a strange-natured,
slanting, self-coiling war was fanned up
[18.240] by a thousand creeping things from her viperish feet
belching long-shadowed venom; and about her neck
bloomed fifty varied heads of beasts;
and some roared with lions' heads
in the pattern of the grim face of an unmarked Sphinx,
[18.245] and others gushed the foam of boars' teeth,
and with a massed phalanx of many-whelped heads
there was an equally perfect imitation of the face of Scylla;
and in the middle of her body a twofold lady appeared
tressed with venom-shooting serpent clusters;
[18.250] and from her breast to the topmost fold of her thighs
her counterfeit shape was roughened with the scales of sea-monsters,
stretched on high; and the claws of her wide-scattered hands
were bent aslant into the pattern of a crook-clawed sickle;
and from her topmost sinew, through her monstrous back,
[18.255] a self-coiling scorpion, hanging aloft by the tail of her neck,
crept, whetted with a sharp, hail-cold sting.
Such was the coiling, varied-shaped Campe as she was lifted,
and whirling earth and air and the deep of the brine
she flew with the unequally yoked beat of her dark wings,
[18.260] darting tempests and arming hurricanes,
a black-winged Tartarean lady; and from her eyelids
a roaming flame belched far-traveling sparks.
But your father, airy Zeus, killed so great a beast,
and conquered the viperish war of Cronus.
[18.265] Become you too wholly like your father, so that I may call you too,
after Cronides, the destroyer of the earth-born,
having mowed the hostile corn of the ground-born Indians.
This war befits you as a match; for your father
dashed down the first-born Indus, the shield-bearer of the Cronian
[18.270] tumult, a son of the field adorned with sky-high limbs,
whence the Indians got their race;
your father fought Indus, and you fight Deriades.
Become for me wholly like Ares too, since he also
dashed down so great a god-fighting son of Echidna,
[18.275] spitting the dread venom of misshapen Echidna,
who got a double yoked shape, within the thicket
of his mother shaking the coiling circle of his spine;
him Cronus kept, immense, hurling down the thunderbolt,
hissing at Ares with the snaky sole of his feet,
[18.280] when, lifting his palms above the rim of his breast,
he made war on your Zeus, and in the airy path
set rows of clouds upon his high-crested head,
and often, snatching birds that strayed into his crooked hair,
feasted on them with capacious throat;
[18.285] him, as he played the champion, your brother Ares killed.
I do not call you lesser than Ares; for you might rival
all the children of Zeus, since with your murderous thyrsus
you are as great a champion as Ares fighting with the spear,
and you accomplish contests, like Phoebus; and another
[18.290] beast-slaying son of Zeus I have entertained in my hall;
for yesterday well-winged Perseus came to my house
leaving the neighboring bright Cydnus of Corycus,
as you did, friend, and said that with swift sole he had marked out
a newly founded city named for himself among the Cilician men;
[18.295] but he lifted up the topmost head of the Gorgon Medusa
who may not be gazed upon, while you lift the wine-dark fruit,
the messenger of gladness, the forgetter of mortal distress;
Perseus slew a sea-monster beside the Erythraean sea,
and you have dashed down the race of the Erythraean Indians.
[18.300] Kill Deriades, as you killed Indian Orontes,
worse than a sea-monster; Perseus saved grieving
Andromeda, but do you with a greater victory save
a starry maiden bitterly forced beneath the nods
of unjust Indians, so that I may kindle a single revel
[18.305] for Gorgon-slaying Perseus and Indian-slaying Dionysus."
So speaking the delicate lord went back returning
to his own hall, the host of Bromius; and hearing
the king as he spoke, thyrsus-mad Dionysus delighted
in the goading speech, and raved for the tumult,
[18.310] hearing his father's battle with bewitched ears;
and he reproached Cronides, and wished for a greater victory
still to come, a third, after the twofold war of the Indians,
having jealousy of Cronides. And calling Pherespondus,
offspring of the heavenly herald, like the breezes,
[18.315] the wise son of Iphthime, he addressed him with friendly speech:
"Child of Hermes, herald beloved of me,
go and announce this to proud Deriades:
'Lord, either receive the gifts of Lyaeus apart from battle,
or make war on Bromius and you shall be the equal of Orontes.'"
[18.320] He spoke; and the herald, swift-sandaled, going from land to land,
accomplished his path toward the eastern floor,
holding his father's staff; and Bacchus upon his golden car,
lifting the cluster, the mind-delighting fruit of the harvest,
going from city to city with much-bending feet,
[18.325] filled the whole Assyrian land with his harvest,
holding out to the country folk the grape-tressed flower of the orchard.
While beside the wing of the blazing eastern Eurus
he measured the Syrian soil with his roaming wine-dark car,
meanwhile doom assailed Staphylus too; and in the hall
[18.330] the servants tore their tunics upon their breasts,
and the handmaids shrieked; and their breasts reddened
as they were struck with their palms; and the circles of the faces
of the much-lamenting women were scored with mourning nails.
And late, returning upon his cluster-rich car,
[18.335] Dionysus came back and entered the court of Botrys,
keeping the memory of the tender-loving table of Staphylus;
and when he saw Pithos with downcast face,
he divined the doom of his Staphylus by a wise silence,
self-taught; and calling Methe he asked her with speech:
[18.340] "Tell me, woman, what has befallen you, that you have changed your form?
I see you squalid, and I left you flashing;
who has quenched your unspeakable beauty? No longer do you send
the native purple fire from your wine-dark cheeks.
And you, old man, do not hide it: whence do you pour these tears?
[18.345] Who cut your luxuriant beard, broad-bearded one?
Who has shamed your grey hair? Who has split your tunic?
And you, offspring of wine-loving Methe your mother,
child of my Staphylus, whence have you got a hairless head?
What envy has spoiled your coiling hair?
[18.350] No longer do your unplaited locks, poured over your silvery
shoulders, send forth the breath of Tyrian perfume;
no longer do your cheeks shoot a rosy sparkle
from your head in Bacchic frenzy.
How do you wear these robes, filthy with loose dust?
[18.355] Where have the royal robes of the Tyrian sea gone from me?
I no longer know you, your face is so withered.
Where has scepter-bearing Staphylus gone up, that I may see him?
Tell me, who has snatched away your father in a single hour?
I know your sorrow, even if you long to hide it;
[18.360] I have no need of your voice; for self-taught
your eyes announce your silent grief;
I know your sorrow, even if you long to hide it;
your tears prophesy your pains, and your squalid
tunics cry aloud the doom of my Staphylus.
[18.365] And envy has snatched away my hope; for I thought
after the Indian war, together with king Staphylus,
to lift in my hands the chamber-serving evening fire
at the completed wedlock of Botrys my fellow-fighter."

## Book XIX


### In the nineteenth Bacchus, about the tomb of Staphylus, raises a delightful contest over a fragrant mixing-bowl.

[19.1] As he spoke, the boy, having a heavy sting in his newly grieving heart,
sealed his lips with speechless silence,
overcome by self-flowing tears; and at length his mother
Methe spoke a pitiable word, rejoicing in Lyaeus:
[19.5] "The sleepless watcher of your dance,
your Staphylus, Dionysus, a brazen sleep has lulled to rest;
your Staphylus, Dionysus, the breezes of Charon have snatched away.
A double heavy grief has assailed me; for clustered
Bacchus left me, and my husband fell into sickness;
[19.10] and I tended a common distress for both,
for Staphylus dying and for Lyaeus not present.
But of your much-dripping harvest, dear Bacchus,
give me a cup of yours filled full, so that by drinking
I may lull my heavy grief with your grief-free wine.
[19.15] My hope, Euoi-loving Dionysus, is only to see the harvest,
only to see the mixing-bowl, and I shed tears no more."
He pitied her as she spoke, and mixing in a cup
he gave the care-releasing moisture of evil-averting wine
to the young boy and to the downcast mother; and both drank
[19.20] the honey-flowing mass of the harvest in a mind-delighting drop;
and Methe soothed her groaning and Botrys his distress;
and the woman spoke some word to mind-charming Bacchus:
"You have come to me, dear Bacchus, dear light; no longer does distress,
no longer does grief hold me, now that Dionysus has appeared;
[19.25] you have come to me, dear Bacchus, dear light; for with your
drink of healing wine I have soothed my tears.
I groan neither for husband nor for the doom of a father, but even
from Botrys himself, if you wish, I shall part; for I have
Bacchus as both father and son and husband.
[19.30] I follow, if you will have me, and I come to your house;
let me be the companion of the Bassarids; and if you wish,
I shall lift your thyrsi and the lovely harvest,
and set the vat-flute to my lips.
Do not leave me a widow, lest I swell a double pain
[19.35] both for Staphylus perished and for Dionysus gone.
You have Botrys as your servant; let him be taught the dances
and the rites and the sacraments and, if you wish, the war of the Indians;
and let me see him laughing beside the wine-loving vat
pressing with his feet the birth-pangs of your harvest.
[19.40] And remember aged Pithos, do not leave him
untaught of your rite or without share of the sweet wine."
So she spoke, and lord Bacchus heartened Methe
with a laughing face and said such things to the wine-loving lady:
"O woman, splendid in gifts after golden Aphrodite,
[19.45] giver of gladness, mortal-delighting mother of the Loves,
feast together with Lyaeus as he touches the banquet;
be the garland-bearer for Dionysus, as Aphrodite is,
girdled with flowers and well-nourished clusters;
the wreaths of your locks shall make Victory jealous.
[19.50] I shall make you my wine-pourer after golden-throned Hebe;
you shall be, rising together with clustered Lyaeus,
the companion servant of the Bacchic cups,
and they shall call you Methe, the mortal-delighting satiety of wine;
I shall call the care-forgetting fruit of my harvest Botrys,
[19.55] and I shall call the cluster-bearing grape Staphyle after Staphylus,
the travail of the vines and the dew of the vine.
Nor shall I be able to feast apart from Methe,
nor shall I ever raise a revel apart from Methe."
So speaking, beside the tomb of wine-tottering Staphylus
[19.60] grief-free Dionysus set a grief-free contest;
and dragging forth a fair-bearded goat and a male bull
he set them as double prizes, and summoned the contenders
of Pierian song to strive in fine lyre-playing;
he set the double prizes, and urging on the athletes
[19.65] he soothed with speech those skilled in the sweet-sounding lyre:
"Here we raise an Attic revel; for to the prize-bearing
man who conquers I shall grant the sleek-skinned bull,
and to the man defeated I shall hand over the shaggy goat."
As Bromius spoke, a lyre-striking man sprang up,
[19.70] Oeagrus, a citizen of the unwarmed Bistonian land,
holding the plectrum hanging beside his harp; and after him
Erechtheus rose, a dweller of hymn-tending Attica.
And both came into the middle as athletes of the contest,
drivers of harps; and they girdled their hair
[19.75] with laurel leaves, and belted up their robes.
And as they began they whirled their fingers with the accustomed beat,
pressing in turn the row of the stretched string,
binding the tips tight, so that it might not be too high,
lest ever, slackened, it make a male song womanish.
[19.80] And Erechtheus, dweller of Cecropia, who first obtained the lot,
whirled his lyre with cunning rhythm,
singing an ancestral hymn: how in most holy Athens
Celeus too entertained Deo, the all-mother of life,
with his son Triptolemus and ancient Metaneira,
[19.85] and she granted them fruit, when, snowing the furrow of the earth,
Triptolemus found sowing upon his corn-bearing chariot,
and how, when Celeus perished, beside his newly built tomb
Deo of the first-fruits groaned with tearless eyes,
but, comforting them again with mind-charming speech,
[19.90] quenched the heavy grief of Triptolemus and Metaneira;
so too the scepter-bearer of the Assyrians entertained
Dionysus in his hall; and the lord, in return for the table,
granted him Euian gifts and the vine harvest,
and when Staphylus perished, the wine-loving king,
[19.95] stopped his son Botrys from lamentation-loving care,
and lulled the distress of his plaintive wife Methe.
Such things the wise lyre-striker played; and at the rhythm
all alike were charmed; and with fair-thyrsus Lyaeus
they marveled at the fitting, lovely-voiced Attic song.
[19.100] Second, lord Oeagrus, weaving a shifting hymn,
as the father of Orpheus, sharing his hearth with an accustomed Muse,
struck up a two-line harmony in Phoebean song,
brief in words, clear in speech, after some Amyclaean ordinance:
"Apollo brought fair-haired Hyacinthus back to life,
[19.105] and Dionysus shall make Staphylus live forever."
Not yet had the revel ended, and the peoples cried out
with auspicious words from throats of one tongue,
and the Satyrs crashed out in a mass; and from his seat
Bacchus leapt up, restless, shaking his right hand
[19.110] up and down, and Botrys ran forward, honoring
with a Euian voice the well-rhythmed harmony of the singer;
and the lord crowned the head of Oeagrus with ivy,
and the father of Orpheus, striking the ground with his sole,
gladly received the unyoked bull as the wage of his song;
[19.115] and about him his comrades skipped in rows.
And the citizen of Athena, swelling with pain and jealousy,
drew off the broad-bearded goat with shamefaced palms.
And fair-haired Iobacchus, bringing them with unsparing hand,
set worthy prizes for a dance-weaving victory,
[19.120] an aged mixing-bowl pregnant with fragrant wine,
golden, holding unspeakable measures, gushing up for the thirsty
earth a four-year-old moisture of Lyaeus,
the wise Olympian work of Hephaestus, which once Cypris
granted to her clustered brother Dionysus;
[19.125] and he set in the middle of the contest a lesser mixing-bowl,
of silver, gleaming, well-rounded, which once to Bacchus
the lord of Alybe, dwelling in his house, gave as a guest-gift,
beside the rich floor, where, of the earthly metal,
the black was whitened with silver elbows;
[19.130] about the topmost rim of it, upon the bossed center,
was coiling ivy, and around it was wrought with golden adornment;
this he brought and set, still breathing in its deepening hollow
of the vat, a younger mass of the harvest,
new wine, the drink of an unwedded drunkenness; for it is no cause for blame
[19.135] that the man defeated should drink an unintoxicating dew.
But when Bacchus had fixed the prizes in the middle of the contest,
he summoned those skilled in dancing with a witnessing voice:
"Whoever shall contend, wheeling with knowing sole,
and conquer in the judgment of the running foot, let him take
[19.140] both the golden mixing-bowl and the flood of sweet-drinking wine;
but whoever falls, shaken by the trail of a tottering foot,
and dances the worse, let him receive the lesser gifts too;
for I am not alike to all; and to the prize-bearing
man who conquers in the delicate dance-beating contest
[19.145] I shall grant no gleaming tripod and no swift horse,
no spear and no breastplate stained with the slaughter of Indians,
nor shall I rouse javelin-throwers to a straight-running discus;
no race of foot-speed is stretched out, no point of a far-carrying
spear; but for Staphylus, the king who has perished,
[19.150] a man who loved leaping, I honor play-loving feet;
nor do I hold out gifts for limb-strong wrestling,
there is no horse-race, these are not the contests of Elis,
not the son-in-law-slaying course of Oenomaus; for my
turning-post is the dance, my starting-lines the skipping of soles,
[19.155] a running hand and a coiling leap, and the nod of a face
as it moves restlessly, and a speaking silence
whirling the fingers and the gaze of a dancer."
At such a word from him horned Silenus rose,
and thrice-old Maron leapt up with heavy sole,
[19.160] gazing at the great golden flashing mixing-bowl,
not because being golden it was the better, but because alone
it held the oldest, fine-dripping mass of dew
up to the very rim; and love of the sweet wine
made him young, and the Bacchic scent overpowered his grey hair;
[19.165] and he whirled his feet, making trial of his strength,
lest heavy old age had stopped his limbs, forgetful of the dance.
And the old man soothed the soul of Staphylus with his voice,
pouring a sober word from his shaggy throat:
"I am Maron, fellow-contender of grief-free Lyaeus;
[19.170] I do not know how to weep; what have tears to do with Dionysus?
The circles of my feet are my funeral gifts beside your tomb;
receive me smiling; Maron knows no cares,
Maron knows no wailing, no mass of mourning distress;
he is the lovely servant of grief-free Dionysus.
[19.175] Be gracious to your Maron, even if you have drunk the waters of Lethe,
grant me the favor of drinking the flood of aged wine,
and let Silenus drink the new mass of the new harvest.
And for Staphylus after his doom, as for one living, I shall dance,
since I prefer the dance to a savory table;
[19.180] for you, Staphylus, I dance as for one living and not breathless,
striking up a revel over your tomb; and I am of Bacchus,
no servant of Phoebus, and I have not learned to sing dirges,
such as lord Apollo sang shrill among the Cretans
weeping for lovely Atymnius; and of the Heliades
[19.185] I have been a stranger, I am no kin of Eridanus,
no bastard of Phaethon the charioteer who perished;
I am no dweller of Sparta, I lift no mourning flower,
shaking the delicate petals of the weeping-loving hyacinths.
Today, whether you sit beside Minos and judge justly,
[19.190] or whether you hold the flowery court of Rhadamanthys,
walking delicately in the groves of the Elysian meadow,
hear your Maron; and instead of cups I belch forth
an intelligent libation to you with unlibating lips;
be gracious to your Maron, and give me a wine-dark victory,
[19.195] a victory of which all shall speak; and I above your tomb
shall pour the fair first-fruits of my golden cups,
beginning from the mixing-bowl after the prizes of my victory."
So speaking Maron danced with coiling sole,
exchanging his right sole as it migrated from the left,
[19.200] scoring a varied-worded silence with voiceless hand;
and he whirled his wandering eyes, the image of speech,
weaving an intelligent rhythm with artful nod;
and he shook his head and wished to shake his curls,
had he not had the bare brow of a hairless head.
[19.205] Nor, as an old man bearing Titanian blood,
did he write the Titanian race in a speaking pattern,
not Cronus nor older Phanes, nor the birth
of Helios the Titan, of one age with the cosmos his age-mate;
but leaving all these and the pouring of ancient matter
[19.210] he embroidered with wise silence the wine-pourer of Cronides
stretching a cup to Zeus and gladdening the chorus of the other
immortals with cups ever following one upon another,
or pouring the most holy dew from the mixing-bowl;
and his harmony was the sweet drink; and he danced also
[19.215] the maiden Hebe herself as she drew the nectar;
and looking toward the Satyrs he wrote the form of Ganymede
with speechless hands, and whenever he beheld the Bacchants,
he showed golden-sandaled Hebe with prudent silence.
Such things Maron scored, shaking his much-turning fingers,
[19.220] and he reined back the wise rush of his well-rhythmed foot,
having completed the much-bending measures of a restless dance.
And he stood trembling, watching with sidelong eye
which would conquer which, which would come to his own house
carrying the greater mixing-bowl full of drunkenness.
[19.225] And Silenus danced; and his silent hand scored
the artful tokens of a much-turning craft.
And such then was the pattern in his palms: how once a great
strife fell between the son of Cyrene and Dionysus
about drink, and the blessed ones came together; not then was boxing,
[19.230] not running, not then the discus the prize; but for the son of Phoebus
and for Dionysus cups lay as the instruments of their care,
and twin mixing-bowls, the one holding the flood of aged wine,
the other bearing the new gifts of the shoot-loving bee;
and Cronides sat as judge, and for the prize-bearers
[19.235] a delicate contest was stretched out for a honey-dripping victory;
cups lay as the instruments; and, like gold-winged Hermes,
lovely Eros himself stood in the middle as steward of the games,
holding in one hand both ivy and a branch of olive,
the ivy flower for Bacchus, and holding out to Aristaeus
[19.240] the olive branch like the wreaths of Pisa,
the holy adornment of Pallas. And in a honey-mixed cup
Aristaeus first, mixing the travail of the bee,
held out the wise drink to the immortals, gladdening
one after another, and gave a cup to each in rows;
[19.245] and for them as they began the fine-dripping dew
brought a sharpest surfeit, and as the cups were drained
they refused the third, and did not touch a fourth,
and blamed the swift surfeit of honey; but delicate-tunicked
Dionysus, drawing from the sweet-drinking mixing-bowl,
[19.250] lifted two cups and held them out with a double motion,
the first to Cronides, and gave the second to Hera,
the third cup to his father's brother, the Earth-shaker;
and in order he mixed for all the gods at once and for Zeus
his father as they delighted, and to one alone who was downcast,
[19.255] smiling, he stretched out a cup, to jealous Phoebus;
and their minds were charmed by the wide-scattered cups,
and having drunk they grew ever the more thirsty,
and asked again for another, and there was no surfeit of the cups.
And the immortals shouted, and entrusted to Bacchus
[19.260] the first prize of victory for the sweet-drinking vine;
and drunken untraceable Eros, the steward of the contest,
crowned the hair of Lyaeus with clustered ivy.
Weaving this with wise palm, horned Silenus
stayed his right hand, and with much-leaping sandal
[19.265] was lifted from the ground and sent his gaze into the air,
now joining his yoked soles to one another,
now, unyoking them, he leapt with shifting art,
at another time, much-coiling, dancing above the floor,
upright on his heels he shook with a coiling throb;
[19.270] and unbending he propped himself on his right sole
holding the topmost toe of the other foot, or bending his knee
with massed palms, or the stretched fold of his thighs,
heavy-kneed Silenus, holding the upright rush of his foot;
and he lifted his left foot upon his side and shoulder,
[19.275] raising it in spirals, and with a back-stretched craft
he hung his curved sole aloft, winding it about his neck;
and in the dappled whirl of a returning dance
he bent backward, self-coiling, with circling art,
showing his belly spread and arched to the air,
[19.280] passing the same endless turning-post crown-wise;
and his head was carried hanging, as though always
touching the ground and not touching the dust;
and Silenus, tearing the ground with shaggy foot,
raved restlessly this way and that with the beat of his feet.
[19.285] And then his knees gave way, and as his head shook
he slipped self-rolling on his back upon the field;
and he was shaped into a river; and his body gushed water
with self-flowing streams; and as his brow was changed
his horns swelled into an arching outpouring,
[19.290] and a surge was crested, stirred high on his head,
and his belly was hollowed into a fishy depth with sand;
and as Silenus was poured out his hair was changed
into self-perfected rushes; and above the river the neighboring
sharp-stretched reed, shaken by the breezes, piped,
[19.295] self-grown. And Maron won the sweet victory,
holding in his arms the mixing-bowl crammed with sweet wine;
and taking the silver mixing-bowl, the prize of dissolved
Silenus, he flung it into the streams, as though a libation,
and made the outpourings of the dance-weaving river drunk,
[19.300] whence the place is named for the mixing-bowl, and the Euian water
of sweet-drinking Silenus is heard murmuring.
And Maron spoke some word to the river spring:
"Maron does not force you, Silenus; but into you I shall fling
reddening wine and shall call you the wine-receiver.
[19.305] Receive your own wine, unsated of drunkenness, receive the silver
mixing-bowl of Bacchus, and you shall be silver-eddying.
Shambling Silenus, you dance even in your outpourings,
you keep the whirl of your feet even in the surges,
still you revel in a watery form; but be gracious
[19.310] to the Bacchants and the Satyrs and the wine-giving harvests,
and guard the Sileni, the shoot of your own race;
and do a favor to deep-drinking Maron, and let me not see you
stealing away jealousy of my victory even among the rivers.
Rather with your waters increase the wine of the Maronian harvest;
[19.315] be of one mind with Dionysus even among the rivers.
Fool, who taught you to strive with your betters?
Another Silenus again, exchanging an overbearing flute,
lifted a proud neck and came into strife with Phoebus;
but he, stripping him of his shaggy skin, binding him to a shoot,
[19.320] made him a breathing wineskin, and often high on the tree
the wind within bellied out a mimic pattern,
as though the never-silent herdsman were singing again;
and pitying him Delphic Apollo shaped him,
and made a river of the same name; still the winding water
[19.325] of that shaggy Silenus is spoken of,
and it belches a wind-roaming din, as though always
the Phrygian flute were making melody with answering reeds.
And you too have changed your body, having kindled strife with a better,
wholly like the former Silenus. But do you
[19.330] seek no longer an unsandaled, accustomed Bacchant lady,
a mountain Bacchant of loosened hair; for the boundless race
of loose-haired Naiads gladdens you.
Seek no longer the snaky bonds of Lyaeus,
pursuing eels, the crooked travail of streams,
[19.335] and instead of serpents fish fitted with spotted scales
creep along in your streams.
And if you have been parted from clustered Dionysus,
the more I count you blessed; for you too increase the cluster;
what more would you have wished, having Zeus as the nourisher
[19.340] of your currents after Bacchus, the father of the whole race?
Instead of your Satyrs you have the ranks of rivers; and instead of the vat
you dance above the back of roaring Ocean.
You have a like form even in the waters; and it is no cause for blame
that Silenus, tressed with ox-horned brows,
[19.345] should have the horned bovine shape of a river."
Maron spoke; and all marveled, seeing the winding water
of Silenus the deep-poured tumbler,
the like-natured imitation of a much-bending river.

## Book XX


### The twentieth follows the ox-axe of murderous Lycurgus, when Dionysus is driven into the fishy deep.

[20.1] The contest was dissolved; and the Satyrs with fair-thyrsus Dionysus
lodged in the rich halls of Botrys.
And as they feasted the wine Seasons reveled in upon them;
and there was the noise of drums after the meal, and shrill
[20.5] the abundant pipe sang, and the wine-pourers labored
drawing with cups at the unceasing dinner;
and the feasters asked the attendants to draw still more
wine, fawning upon them; and a Bacchant leapt up
whirling cymbals, and the unplaited, unveiled curl
[20.10] of the leap-loving girl was shaken by the breezes.
And the vine god, calling the wife of Staphylus,
wiped away her squalor and adorned her with a wine-dark robe;
and cleansing broad-bearded Pithos, filthy all over,
he cloaked him afresh in a white tunic,
[20.15] casting away the mourning garments stained with loose ash;
and Botrys no longer groaned, wetting his cheeks
with self-flowing tears, but obeying Dionysus
he opened the fragrant chests; and as they were opened
a sparkle blazed from the many-eyed robes;
[20.20] from there taking the bright royal garments of his father Staphylus
he put on the cloaks stained with purple shellfish,
and feasted together with Lyaeus as he touched the banquet.
And as they delighted the star Hesperus ran up,
drawing back the light of dance-delighting dawn.
[20.25] And the ranks of the feasters in turn within the court
took the gift of sleep upon deep-strewn beds.
And Pithos went up beside Maron into a single bed,
gushing the fragrant drink of the nectarous vat,
and they made each other drunk, sending an equal breath
[20.30] all night long. And Eupetale, the nurse of Lyaeus,
kindling a torch, prepared for both Botrys and Dionysus
a double sea-purple bed;
and in a neighboring chamber, apart from the Satyrs, apart from Lyaeus,
the handmaids spread a golden couch for the queen.
[20.35] And a dream came to Bacchus, Strife the nurse of war,
seated upon a mimic chariot of lions,
having the form of Rhea, the rattle-loving goddess;
and Fear drove the yokes of the dream-car,
a counterfeit Attis shaped with answering limbs,
[20.40] and, having a shrill cry, soft-skinned in male form,
he mimicked the charioteer of Cybele with a female voice;
and standing beside the head of sleeping Bacchus
roaming Strife was indignant, and spoke with battle-rousing voice:
"You sleep, god-born Dionysus; and Deriades
[20.45] calls you to battle, and here you raise a revel;
and your stepmother Hera, watching your war-fleeing Enyo,
mocks you, while you drag your army into a dance.
I am ashamed to appear before Cronion, I stand in awe of Hera,
I stand in awe of the immortals, because you have not toiled worthily of Rhea;
[20.50] and I flee through heaven from Ares, the destroyer of the Titans,
the shield-bearer of his father, holding a proud neck,
lifting a shield drenched with accustomed gore;
and still more I dread your sister, the self-perfected,
motherless child of the generative head of a noble-bearing father,
[20.55] helmet-glancing Pallas, because she too,
womanish Athena, blames the male Bacchus for his idleness;
the thyrsus has yielded to the aegis, since proud Pallas once,
lifting the aegis, crowned the gates of Olympus,
scattering the stormy war of the Titans,
[20.60] and honored the wise travail of her father's head;
and you shame the generative fold of the thigh of Zeus.
Behold, how both Hermes and Apollo laugh,
the one lifting a twin shaft still stained with the gore
of the high-crested children of Iphimedeia,
[20.65] the other holding the rod that destroyed the many-eyed
herdsman who perished; and I flee my own upper air
shunning the reproach of war-fleeing Dionysus.
And the maiden archer-goddess, watching the thyrsi of Lyaeus
at rest, blames crag-loving Dionysus the dancer,
[20.70] she the steerer of a chariot of paltry deer,
the destroyer of dappled hares;
mountain-roaming, near mountain Rhea, she blames
the driver of leopards and the charioteer of lions.
I refuse the house of Zeus my child; for in Olympus
[20.75] I stand in awe of Leto, proud and still exulting,
who stretches an arrow for me as the defender of her bed,
the slayer of earth-born, desire-stricken Tityus.
And I am lashed with double pains, because I see
Semele grieving and the star of proud Maia.
[20.80] You are not like the children of Zeus; you have not killed with an arrow
threatening Otus and high-footed Ephialtes,
you have not slain Tityus with your winged shaft,
nor bold Orion ill in love, nor the champion of Hera,
Argus, the ox-watching son of the evil-increasing field,
[20.85] the spy upon the ox-horned wedlock of Zeus;
but beside Staphylus and Botrys you weave a revel,
inglorious, ironless, singing a wine-song;
you shame the earthly race of the Satyrs, because they too,
touching the bloodless Bacchic dance,
[20.90] have entrusted all their hope of Ares to cups.
There is feasting also after war, there is dancing
after the Indian strife within the halls of Staphylus;
harps sound again after a warlike victory;
apart from toils it is not possible to dwell in the untrodden upper air;
[20.95] the road of the blessed ones is not easy; from valor
the god-sped path of Olympus draws one to the vault.
Endure you too manifold toils; for angry Hera
prophesies for you the heavenly court of Zeus."
So speaking she flew away. And the god leapt up from his bed,
[20.100] still having the dread din of the threatening dream;
and bold Botrys sprang up, and put on his tunic
shooting the rays of the Sidonian sea,
and bound his fitted soles with a golden sandal;
and, guarding his two-parted collarbone with untiring shoulders,
[20.105] he pinned the bright cloak of sea-cloaked lords,
casting his father's proud girdle about his loins,
holding a scepter. And the Satyrs yoked the blood-red wagon
of leopards for hurrying Dionysus;
and the Sileni shouted; and the thyrsus-bearing Bacchants
[20.110] bellowed; and the armies gathered for the Indian war
rushed on in rows; and the flute of Enyo roared;
and the leaders marshaled their chosen ranks.
And one, leaping upon its back with a mounting throb,
lashed the mane of a raging bear as it sped into its course;
[20.115] another, pricking the shaggy belly of a wandering wild bull,
drove it with his crook,
joining his loosened soles on both its sides;
and another mounted the spine of shaggy-breasted lions,
gripping the locks of their necks instead of a bridle.
[20.120] And leaving his father's hall together with his inheritance,
reddening Botrys, stretching out a four-yoked chariot,
drove alongside cluster-loving Dionysus,
having his servants behind; and the lady with her mother Methe,
white-tunicked, mounted the silver-wheeled wagon,
[20.125] and Phasyleia, the steerer of the yoke-harness,
whirled a golden whip at the crest of the mules;
and broad-headed Pithos, stretching out the rearmost car,
followed, serving both Botrys and Dionysus.
Nor was he unrewarded; taking him to the land of the Lydians
[20.130] lord Bacchus set him beside a vat pregnant with drunkenness,
receiving the poured mass of the fine-dripping harvest
in wine-holding vessels, whence, keeping this name,
the jar with its purple hollow stands beside the neighboring vat,
still receiving the Euian gifts of Bacchus,
[20.135] the memorial of the former Pithos; and if it had a mortal voice,
it would belch such a word to the Satyrs as it heard the revel:
"I am Pithos, named for the former one, and beside the vat
I receive the sweet stream of the vines; and I am the servant
of Assyrian Staphylus and of Botrys, and both
[20.140] I reared as infants, an old nurse; and still I lift
them both in my flanks, as though they lived again."
And these things lord Bacchus was to accomplish late, after a time.
And crossing Tyre and traveling through Byblos
and the fair-wedded water of the fragrant river Adonis
[20.145] and the crag of Lebanon and the haunts of the Cyprus-born,
he set foot in Arabia, and beneath fragrant trees
he marveled at the long-leaved ridge of the Nysian thicket
and at a steep-built city, the nurse of javelin-bearing men.
There dwelt a certain murderous man, the blood of Ares,
[20.150] having in his chilling ways the likeness of his father,
lawless, dragging blameless strangers to their doom,
dread-raving Lycurgus; and with the heads of men
slain by iron he garlanded his own gateway,
like Oenomaus and of his time, whose wretched daughter
[20.155] was once kept in her father's unwedded halls,
a widow, growing old, still ignorant of the bridal Loves,
until the son of Tantalus, scoring the horse-driven swell,
bearing the unwetted four-yoked chariot of the Earth-shaker,
held a bridal course, when with wheel-shaped circle
[20.160] shifting-witted Myrtilus accomplished a thievish victory,
having made a deceitful axle of mimic wax,
holding pity and love for lamenting Hippodameia;
and the course was profitless; and beneath the chariot of Helios
the wax-fixed pattern was warmed by the flaming torch,
[20.165] and the short-lived axle, loosened, shot forth its wheel.
Such was Lycurgus, of like ways; and burden-bearing
wandering wayfarer men he often bound at the crossroads
and dragged to his house, and carving them up he sacrificed them
to Enyalius his father; and taking the extremities of those
[20.170] cut down by the knife he covered his ill-guesting gateways.
And as when, after the war with the foes, when a javelin-bearing man
has come at last, the offerings of a new victory,
shields or helmets, are hung up in his hall,
so too beside the gateway of murderous Lycurgus
[20.175] the tips of the feet and the hands of the dead were hung aloft.
And there was slaughter; and beside the neighboring altar of Zeus of strangers
foreigners, groaning, were cut up with the knife,
like cattle and sheep, and the altars were sprinkled
as they were slaughtered, and the spotted dust reddened with gore
[20.180] about the doors of the house; and the citizens, forced,
hastened to sacrifice to Lycurgus instead of Zeus.
Nor did you escape, Dionysus, the envy of guile-stitching Hera;
but again, angry at your god-born race,
she sent Iris as an ill-tidings messenger, so that she might charm you,
[20.185] mixing a lying persuasion with mind-stealing guile;
and she gave her a god-fighting ox-axe, to carry
to the ruler of Arabia, Lycurgus son of Dryas.
Nor did the goddess delay; and with changed face
she counterfeited the bastard form of an answering Ares;
[20.190] and shaking the well-helmeted crest of her head,
casting away her cunning saffron tunics,
she covered herself with a crafty breastplate, the midwife of tumult,
a bloody breastplate, and, cunning, sending a male,
battle-rousing threat from a grim face,
[20.195] she imitated the tongue of Enyalius with running voice:
"Child, seed of unconquered Ares, do you yourself really
tremble at the soft-skinned womanish threat of the Bassarids?
These are no Amazons from the Thermodon,
these are no warlike women from the Caucasus;
[20.200] they bear no swift bows and shake no arrows;
they have no bold horse of Ares; nor upon their shoulders
do they lift a barbarian, half-finished ox-hide shield.
I am ashamed to call you to the fray, because women
threaten battle against unconquerable Lycurgus.
[20.205] Are you at rest, Lycurgus, while Dionysus arms?
This was a mortal man, untimely; he did not spring
from a heavenly stock; a tale in Greek rumor has fashioned him
to be of Zeus; but I do not know how to believe
about the childbirth of Cronion, that my father high-ruling Zeus
[20.210] bore in a male thigh a mortal, womanish son;
I am not persuaded by lying tales, that a mortal man
got the childbed of my Zeus, whence Athena sprang;
my Zeus has not learned to bring forth a feeble child;
have Ares your father as witness; you have seen Athena,
[20.215] a female child of Zeus, more warlike than Dionysus.
My child, you have your own strength, and have no need
of your father Enyalius, even if he rules over wars;
nevertheless, if you wish, I shall arm myself, and shall not leave you
alone in the wars; and a goddess, if there be need,
[20.220] the sister-wife of Zeus, Hera, shall follow you as companion
into the fray, shielding her grandson Lycurgus.
And within your god-receiving temple I shall set up
the thyrsi of the Bassarids, bastard spears; and cutting apart
the long unshaken horns of the ox-horned Centaurs
[20.225] I shall make horn-drawn bows for the bow-bearing Arabs,
as is right; and cutting off the long-shadowed, outstretched tail
of the Sileni I shall make a shaggy horse-lashing whip.
These things I bring for you after the war; and the yellow sandals
of unwarlike Bacchus and his purple womanish tunics
[20.230] and the female circling band about his loins
we shall keep for your sister-wife, the foam-born,
fitting female gifts; and the whole rank of the handmaids
of woman-mad Lyaeus I shall join to my servants
for a bride-price-less bed of forced wedlock,
[20.235] as is right for the spear-won; and the paltry
shoots of the vines, the kindly gifts of Lyaeus,
an Arabian flame shall receive with a hotter spark.
And let the mighty handmaid of dance-weaving Dionysus,
the Bassarid, have another and unaccustomed craft,
[20.240] dwelling in houses instead of the mountains, and leaving
the dappled fawnskin let her hide her body in a tunic,
grinding the grain with the wheel-shaped stone of a mill;
and casting away her garlands and what they call her harvest,
let her be taught common cares under a double ordinance,
[20.245] a slave by necessity both to Pallas and to Cytherea,
to daily baskets and to nightly wedlock,
lifting the shuttle and no longer the cymbals of Rhea.
And let the aged Sileni beside the feast of my table
sing the Euian cry, and instead of their accustomed Lyaeus
[20.250] strike up a revel for Ares and for Lycurgus."
As she spoke the golden-winged goddess Iris smiled,
rowing the lying journey of a hawk.
And Lycurgus, seeing her, divined his own victory,
recognizing the swift bird, because, shaking its blood-red wings,
[20.255] it knows how to drag feeble doves into terror;
for he had seen, he had seen a like dream, how beside a thicket
a maned lion armed itself with raving throat
and pursued the horned race of dappled deer.
Knowing such a dream he armed himself against the raving Bacchants,
[20.260] likening the Bassarids to battle-untried fawns,
and took the more courage; and the goddess, darting up,
came at the nods of Hera as a forerunner to Lyaeus,
binding the soles of her feet tight with a winged sandal,
lifting a rod, and like Hermes the messenger of Zeus
[20.265] she cried a guile-weaving voice to bronze-tunicked Bacchus:
"Brother, child of Zeus of surpassing mind, bring your rites
to hospitable Lycurgus apart from battle.
Leave the fray, do not kill friends, do not flee calm,
be gracious to the gentle; who will subdue a mild man?
[20.270] And do not raise war against your own suppliants;
do not cover your body with a starry breastplate;
do not bind your head tight with a high-crested helmet;
do not girdle your hair with a viperish cluster;
but leaving your murderous thyrsi, and lifting a horn
[20.275] full of sweet-drinking wine and your accustomed rod,
hold out Euian gifts to cluster-loving Lycurgus;
now adorn your body with your bloodless robe,
now let us weave the melody of an uncorseleted dance,
and let your army stay at rest beside the shady wood,
[20.280] lest it prepare battle against a peaceful king;
but, casting a dear garland upon your locks, go rejoicing
into the unbarred house of most ready Lycurgus,
go reveling like a bridegroom; and keep your Indian-slaying
thyrsi for disobedient Deriades.
[20.285] Lord Lycurgus does not nurse a feeble spirit;
for he is the Zeus-fallen blood of Ares, and in tumults,
bearing the kindred valor of his father Enyalius,
he would not cower before the war of your Cronion either."
So speaking she persuaded him, and with lofty sandal
[20.290] she came within the upper air. And by the guile of the goddess
Dionysus shook off his battle-rousing thyrsi
and loosed the crested helmet from his locks
and laid down his star-backed shield; and with bare hand
he lifted a vessel crammed with purple dew,
[20.295] a sharp horn and a grief-free cluster; and he garlanded
his long unplaited hair with vine ivy.
And leaving his well-armed host and his battle-rousing women
near Carmel, and the chariots of lions,
delicate-tunicked, ironless, he reveled on as a wayfarer on foot;
[20.300] and the pipe sang a melody of gladness after the meal,
and yoked pairs of flutes roared out a friendly whistling;
and a Bassarid, whirling in her hands the Euoi-loving rattles
of Lyaeus, skipped beside the gateway of Lycurgus.
And when the bold lord heard the shout of the dance,
[20.305] the melody of the Berecyntian echo of the flute as it sang
and the clang of the pipe, and of the ox-hide itself as it was beaten,
he raged, gazing at the double-sounding circles;
and beholding the vine god beside his doors,
with a sardonic laugh he cried out a mocking voice,
[20.310] pouring a truceless threat at the driver of the Bassarids:
"Do you see these offerings of our halls?
Adorn my house too, friend, either with your thyrsi
or with your feet or your hands or your bloody head.
If you give orders to horned Satyrs, horned Bacchus,
[20.315] I shall subdue you like cattle with my ox-axe.
This is my guest-gift to you, so that someone may say,
either a god or one of mortals, that the gateway of Lycurgus
has been girdled with the half-cut limbs of Dionysus.
We do not rule among Boeotians, this is not Thebes,
[20.320] this is not the house of Semele, where women bear bastard children
by lightning and are in travail with the thunderbolt.
You shake a wine-dark thyrsus, I brandish an ox-axe,
and cutting you through the middle of your bovine brow
I would break off your arching horn."
[20.325] So speaking he pursued the nurses of Dionysus,
struck with his ox-axe; and of the leap-loving women
one shook the cymbals of Rhea from her palm,
another laid down the drums from her rattle-loving hands,
another flung away the clustered harvest,
[20.330] another slipped and fell with the nectarous cups;
and many cast into the dust, self-rolling,
the sweet-singing pipe and the breathing flute of Athena.
And as when after a storm, beside a calm thicket,
a shepherd, seeing the mortal-delighting season of cloudless
[20.335] Phaethon, raises a revel, and the Nymphs dance with him;
and suddenly from a crag the circling water of a mountain-poured
river is spilled, towered up in waves;
and he, piping, shakes the harp from his hands
in fear of the bold flood of the torrent river,
[20.340] lest it hide his sheep in the swollen stream;
so he, scattering the shout of the mind-delighting dance,
drove the unveiled Bacchants to a high-headed mountain;
and routing the wandering womanish war, danceless,
bearing the whetted ox-axe, the keepsake of Hera,
[20.345] bronze-tunicked Lycurgus fought against unarmed Bacchus;
and hard-fighting Hera crashed out a thunderous din,
the heavy-thundering stepmother bearing down upon Lyaeus,
and terrified him; and as the heavy-jealous goddess
armed herself on high, the knees of Bacchus shook;
[20.350] for he thought that Cronion was shielding Lycurgus,
hearing the thunderous pattern of the airy crash;
and fleeing with terrified feet, an untraceable wayfarer,
he plunged beneath the grey-green wave of the Erythraean sea.
And Thetis of the deep embraced him in a friendly arm,
[20.355] and as he sank within her loud-roaring hall
Arabian Nereus welcomed him with hospitable hands;
and comforting him he soothed him with friendly speech:
"Tell me, Dionysus, why are your eyes downcast?
No army of ground-born Arabs, no mortal man
[20.360] pursuing you has conquered you, and you have not fled a mortal spear;
but Hera, the sister-wife of Zeus Cronides,
armed herself from heaven, fighting beside Lycurgus:
Hera and battle-steadfast Ares and the brazen upper air,
and fourth was Lycurgus, great as he is; and often
[20.365] your high-ruling father, the champion of the upper air, has yielded to Hera.
The boast shall be the greater for you, when one of the blessed ones says
that the wife and sister of great Zeus, Hera,
armed her own hands against uncorseleted Dionysus."
Such things Nereus said, comforting Bromius.
[20.370] And as Dionysus was covered by the grey-gleaming surges,
Lycurgus in distress broke out in a cry toward the waters:
"Would that my father had taught me the works of the sea after the fray,
so that I might contend even in the contest of fishermen,
having hunted Dionysus, and from the underwater gulfs
[20.375] might drag my Lydian servant a second time to land.
But since I have not learned the works of sea-traveling fishermen
and do not know the guile-stitching guile of the deep-sea hunt,
keep the deep-flowing house of Leucothea, until from the sea
I remove both you and him they call Melicertes,
[20.380] who bears kindred blood; and there is no need of iron,
no need of the unsparing earthly ox-axe, but I want
fishermen, so that, plunging into the depth of the Erythraean brine,
they may snatch Dionysus from the inmost recess of the sea;
fishermen, searchers of the haunts of Nereus,
[20.385] do not spread your nets for the finny creatures of the sea,
but draw up Dionysus with your lines; and let Leucothea
come back to land, hunted together with Lyaeus,
and let bold Palaemon follow to my house
with unwetted limbs, serving Lycurgus,
[20.390] so that, leaving the Ephyraean course of sea-reared horses,
he may yoke my chariot beside an earthly manger,
he himself together with Bacchus as attendants; let there be one house,
one house for them both, for Palaemon and for Dionysus."
So speaking he was enraged, and threatened the sea
[20.395] and grey Nereus, and wished to lash the deep.
And Zeus the father cried out to monstrous Lycurgus:
"You are witless, Lycurgus, striving in vain with the winds;
withdraw on your own feet, while your eyes still see.
You have heard how once beside a mountain-poured spring
[20.400] Teiresias alone beheld Athena naked;
he lifted no furious spear and made no war on the goddess.
Nevertheless he only saw, and lost the light of his eyes."
Such a word high-ruling Zeus spoke through the air,
watching the overbearing impiety of Lycurgus.

## Book XXI


### The twenty-first holds the wrath of the Earth-shaker and the man-breaking battle of Ambrosia and the ambush of the Indians.

[21.1] Nor did the son of Dryas forget his earlier battle;
but taking his ox-axe a second time within the thicket
he went seeking the tribes of the Bassarids. And to Ambrosia
heavenly Zeus gave strength and war-mad courage,
[21.5] and she then, raving, gripped by the swell of madness,
lifted a marble stone, hurling it at Lycurgus,
and dashed the mighty helmet from his locks.
But he, taking courage, fought back with a greater,
rough stone, and struck the breast of the ox-eyed Nymph;
[21.10] nor did he lay her low, and in anger she raised her voice:
"Ares, lord of war, father of mighty Lycurgus,
watch in shame as your son, instead of Lyaeus,
shoots at a paltry, ironless woman.
The sea overpowers my ox-axe; for in the surges
[21.15] Dionysus was hidden, and I, going without accomplishment,
shall come to my own city, and shall leave my labor unfinished."
He spoke; and taking Ambrosia by the middle with a limb-strong bond
he squeezed her in his hand; and he wished to fasten fetters on her,
as though dragging a spear-won captive to a migrant house,
[21.20] carrying off the revel-loving Nymph, the child-tender of Bromius,
pricking her slavish back with his double-edged ox-axe.
Nor did he rein her back as she stood, nor redden her
with freshly poured gore as he battered her head;
but saffron-robed Ambrosia fled the bold man
[21.25] and prayed to her mother Earth that she might escape Lycurgus.
And fruit-bearing Earth, spreading open her hollow,
received Ambrosia living in a loving bosom,
the handmaid of Bromius; and the Nymph, made invisible,
changed her form into a plant and became a vine shoot;
[21.30] and weaving a self-coiling cord about Lycurgus
she clamped his yoked neck in a throttling bond,
fighting after the thyrsus with a threatening cluster.
And mighty Rhea made the plant endowed with voice,
doing favor to Dionysus, the king of the vines;
[21.35] and Ambrosia shrieked and cried with a breathing voice:
"Not even being a plant shall I ever escape your battle;
I shall wound your body even among the shoots, and instead of a chain
of bronze I would bind you tight with unloosable leaves;
against you I arm myself even as a vine, so that someone may say:
[21.40] 'The Bassarids kill their murderers even among leaves.'
Beware of warlike plantings; for the vines
strike the adversaries, and the harvests hurl spears.
I fought you living, and perishing I shall subdue you;
so the nurses of Dionysus play the champion.
[21.45] Have you heard of the sea-dwelling remora, how in the deep
a little, feeble fish has often assailed sailors,
reining them back, and with the small gape of its throat
has checked a long merchant ship, held fast in a bond?
Receive me as a remora of the land, receive the self-fettering,
[21.50] ironless bond of leaves in a cluster-rich tumult.
Stay for me, stay there awaiting the son of Thyone,
until he returns from the gulfs of the sea."
Such things the vine Ambrosia of the long leaves said
with a clustered voice, as Lycurgus was battered;
[21.55] and the wild man, held fast in green bonds,
unshaken, pinned about in the unbreakable fetters of leaves,
shouted, threatening Dionysus;
nor had he strength to flee, and in vain by necessity he shook
his throat entwined with paltry tendrils;
[21.60] nor did his voice pass through the middle of his windpipe
as he was squeezed crown-wise; and the Bacchants circled
his neck girdled in the middle with a strangling cluster.
And spear-wielding Ares snatched away the frightful axe
of his son; for he feared the raving Bacchant of Bromius,
[21.65] lest she strike the body of Lycurgus with the murderous ox-axe;
nor did he loose the son of Dryas from the green bonds,
much though he longed to, but yielded to his father's lightning,
hearing the threatening thunderous din of Zeus.
And Polyxo, falling upon the head of the monstrous man,
[21.70] tore out his long hair, roots and all;
and casting a maddened hand upon the belly of the foe,
seizing his breastplate, she wrenched it up with a snatching throb,
and in anger broke it — warlike Muses, tell
what a wonder it was then, the tunic torn apart †
[21.75] by a woman's nails, though it was of iron —; †
and plaiting a coiling cord of long withies,
loose-haired Cleite and vine-clad Gigarto
reddened the body of Lycurgus with a fair-leaved whip,
with a bloody weal upon his scored back;
[21.80] and Phleio, dread-raving, scored his sole with broader thorns;
and Eriphe, the companion of Eiraphiotes,
gripping the middle of his shaggy chin,
longed to throw the man to the ground; and fighting,
Phasyleia, the steerer of the Bacchic dance,
[21.85] scored the flank of the foe with a sharp goad;
and Theope armed herself, the nurse of Lyaeus,
with a hide-piercing fennel-stalk; and she battered the body of Lycurgus,
and Bromie named for Bromius; and with them the Nymph
Cisseis, cluster-loving, lashed the man with ivy.
[21.90] And as Lycurgus was overpowered by a war of wood,
another, worse sorrow appeared again; for against Arabia
mountain Rhea armed the Earth-shaker of the sea,
the hurler who splits foundations with a crash;
and he dashed away the deep-bosomed bolt of the floor,
[21.95] hurling with his trident, the sea-ruling Earth-shaker,
as the hollows were lashed by the winds within,
the earth-working winds, since with a directing throb
the lair-dwelling gusts hollow out gaping chasms;
and the unshaken bosom of the Arabian field was shaken,
[21.100] and the cloud-neighboring halls were loosed by the shaking throb;
and oaks fell to the ground, and, battered by the trident,
the Arabian base of Nysa danced, coiled about;
and the elm lay on the earth, and the laurel dusted its hair,
and the fir leaned, roots and all, against a neighboring pine.
[21.105] While the Earth-shaker, a violent wind beneath the earth,
uprooted the recess of the nether haunts,
meanwhile there was another, newer evil; for the wood-dwelling
Nysian women, struck by the whip of serpent-haired Megaera,
bellowed like bulls,
[21.110] the destroyers of their own children; and rushing on,
one shot her wandering boy into the air,
and he slipped head first from the air into the dust,
another dragged off her dear babe, and did not remember her breast;
another reddened her palm with child-slaying iron,
[21.115] having carved up her son, and became a raving Agave.
And they ran upon their own children, and the newly born
sons whom they had borne they cut up with the knife;
<...> †
the Arabian shepherd raved into a rustic battle.
[21.120] Such things the herdsman surged with in a maddening guile,
carving up his own children and feasting on his sons
with child-devouring jaws; and the belly of the mind-tottering
herdsmen entombed the unreared male offspring
by the hands of the Nymphs; and with much-bending leaves
[21.125] he was pinned about and fettered, and did not bend his knee to Lyaeus,
did not stretch a hand to Zeus, the averter of necessity,
had no fear of the thunder; but threatening with his face
he raged at the Bassarids; and he perceived the lightning
rushing upon his head, and did not give way to Lyaeus.
[21.130] And he was struck this way and that, and of the wide-scattered blows
he stood awaiting so great an opposing rush,
having Ares alone as helper, alone striving
against Zeus, Poseidon, Rhea, Earth, Nereus, Bacchus.
And laboring he belched forth an unbridled cry:
[21.135] "Kindle fire, let us burn the whole plant; let these Bacchic
leaves lie in the fire, and let us fling the blazing vines
through the sea to Dionysus beneath the waves,
the token of Arabian manhood; and let even Thetis herself,
receiving the fire-burnt harvest beneath the wave,
[21.140] quench the vine ash in the sea.
Loose these phantoms and the shifting charms of bonds;
I see these as the Poseidonian charms of the Nereids;
loose me, and bring me near the surges; for against prophetic,
drug-working Proteus I arm myself; kindle the pine-torch,
[21.145] so that, going beside the sea with my avenging heart,
I may burn up Melicertes, the host of Bromius."
He spoke, threatening both Nereus and Dionysus;
and she came near Arabia; and the weary son of Enyalius,
she brought back to life out of the wooden tumult,
[21.150] holding the iron sword of Ares; and against the Bacchants
she bared the light-bearing back of the divine knife,
darting the Cybelian womanish war into terror;
and cutting apart the leaves of Ambrosia with the iron
she unclamped the clustered bonds of Lycurgus.
[21.155] And she soothed the dark-haired shaker of the earth,
her own brother, and Zeus her husband and her mother Rhea,
having saved Lycurgus, so that he might be counted
among the immortals; and the Arabs upon savory altars
propitiated the son of Dryas with sacrifices, as a god,
[21.160] pouring gore as libation to Bacchus-less Lycurgus
instead of the honey-dripping harvest of Dionysus.
And these things aged Time was to accomplish late;
but Zeus the father, lest any other proud mortal man
having the likeness of spear-bold Lycurgus
[21.165] should raise reproach against blameless Dionysus,
made dread-raving Lycurgus a blind wanderer,
a wayfarer turning back and forth in an unknown city,
seeking an escort for his necessary path,
often stumbling with his own self-guided sandals.
[21.170] And these things were among the crags. But in the Erythraean sea
the daughters of Nereus within their deep-waved court
soothed Dionysus at a sea-table;
and casting away her envy of Semele's Zeus-fallen bed,
striking up a bold hymn for vine-planting Lyaeus,
[21.175] the midwife of Dionysus, Ino of the sea, made melody;
and Melicertes, his foster-brother of the same years,
poured wine for Bromius, drawing sweet nectar from the bowl.
So he stayed there within the deep-waved court,
having the broad sea as his house, a migrant beneath the waves;
[21.180] and poured out he reclined in the weedy bosom of Thetis;
and unsated he embraced his Cadmeian nurse blessed in children,
Ino, the very sister of his mother,
and often clasped Palaemon in a friendly bond,
his foster-brother of the same years. And with noiseless sandal
[21.185] the Mimallon, no longer striking up a much-coiling dance,
since Bacchus was not present, was terrified,
seeking the tracks of sea-traveling Lyaeus;
and the toil-loving Satyr, with an unlaughing face,
labored in a strange grief, and with mountain-wandering hooves
[21.190] the wandering Pans ran gadfly-mad through the thickets,
the Pans, searchers for unheralded Dionysus;
and danceless Silenus, casting away his uncared-for cymbals,
lay downcast; and the Cronian Nymph whirled about,
Macris, the nurse of grief-free Dionysus,
[21.195] sharer of the Bacchic chariot of the well-greaved wagon.
So they were shaken and downcast; and to them in their grief
Scelmis, leaving the recess of the waveless sea,
drove his father's unwetted wagon,
announcing beforehand the return of Dionysus as he came.
[21.200] While Bacchus tended the sea-reared dinners of the table,
meanwhile, through the Caucasian mountain to the city of the Indians,
the wind-footed herald of vine-planting Bromius came,
bull-natured, having a counterfeit look in his horn-drawing shape,
an answering imitation of the horns of Selene,
[21.205] having fastened about his skin the hide of a mountain-ranging goat,
let down from one shoulder at the collarbone,
hanging along his right side to the fold of his thigh,
shaking his ears on either side of both cheeks,
like a long-eared ass, shaggy in body; and from the middle
[21.210] of his loins a kindred tail trailed, self-coiling.
And the blazing Indians flowed about him laughing,
until he came near, where upon a twin-yoked car
sat towering Deriades, the leader of men,
reining back the standing tread of sky-high elephants.
[21.215] And laughing at the Satyr he cried a mocking voice:
"What two-colored men bull-natured Dionysus sends
against Deriades, the playthings of war,
strange-natured, not men of wholly mortal-seeming shape,
having the look of beasts, since in a twofold form
[21.220] they are counterfeit bulls and men; for they have both
the shape of an ox and of a human face.
And your Bacchus is called fiery, because he rose
from the flanks of his Zeus-struck mother Thyone;
and water is far better than fire; if he wishes,
[21.225] my father, Indian Hydaspes, with a seething flood
could quench the fire-breathing breath of the thunderbolt of Zeus."
He spoke, and showing the forerunning tokens of war
he struck his dappled-backed shield with unsparing knife
on the circling boss that showed in the middle; and from the beaten
[21.230] ox-hide the bronze hummed a deadly echo.
And loosing his astonished lips to the grim king
the swift-running herald spoke the message of Bromius:
"Deriades, scepter-bearer, the god Dionysus bids
the Indians, receiving the wine of the care-forgetting harvest,
[21.235] to pour libation to the immortals, apart from wars, apart from toils;
but if they do not receive it, he arms himself, until Hydaspes
bends a slave's knee to the thyrsi of the Bassarids.
You have heard a true message; speak yourself
some word to me who ask, so that I may announce it to Dionysus."
[21.240] As he spoke the scepter-bearer belched a raving voice:
"Alas, what a word a bold human beast has spoken.
I am ashamed to subdue a herald with a warlike hand,
one who holds no furious spear and touches no ox-hide shield.
I have heard all that your champion suffered; Ganges has heard
[21.245] of the feebleness of Bromius and the manhood of Lycurgus;
I know your king, a bastard god, when fleeing
he slipped into the depth of the evil-averting sea.
And if you wish, bend your foot to the neighboring land of the Medes;
go there and proclaim the dances of Dionysus.
[21.250] Enter the Bactrian soil, where Mithras is a god,
the Assyrian Phaethon in Persia; for Deriades
has not learned the chorus of the heavenly blessed ones, and does not honor
the sun and Zeus and the chorus of bright-shining stars.
I have not learned of Cronus, nor of Cronides the slayer of his father,
[21.255] nor of crooked-counseling Cronus, the feaster on his own children,
who mowed from the upper air the plant-sowing swarm of the Loves.
I know nothing of your gifts and of the harvest you have named;
I accept no other drink after golden Hydaspes;
my wine is a spear, and my drink again is an ox-hide shield.
[21.260] No Semele bore me in a fire-struck wedlock,
having received a murderous flame in her chamber, but bronze-tunicked
Enyo, unsated of battles, reared us.
I care nothing for the blessed children of Zeus; for two alone
are gods for me, both Earth and Water.
[21.265] Go and say these things to war-fleeing Dionysus:
'Be off, flee untraceable, while I still hold back my bow,
be off, flee my spear; and arming for battle
your half-finished beasts and uncorseleted women,
make war on Deriades, and after an Indian victory
[21.270] I shall drag you too as companion to spear-won Dionysus.
Nor shall I make you my messenger; for you cannot
hold a servant's house-keeping work; but I shall leave you
beside the banquets, fanning with your long ears.'"
So speaking he sent him away with a threatening face;
[21.275] and scoring the middle hollow of a folding tablet
the swift-worded man wrote such a word on the double leaf:
"If you can, Dionysus, arm yourself against Deriades."
Hearing such things the sounding herald ran back again.
And he found the Sileni rejoicing; for coming up
[21.280] from the surges Dionysus mingled with the mountain Nymphs;
and the Satyrs skipped, and the Bacchants danced,
and with his aged feet Maron led the song,
leaning his forearm on the neck of a twin Bacchant,
seen in the middle, gushing up a fragrant flood of wine;
[21.285] and the unveiled Mimallon crashed out a melody,
singing the footstep of Dionysus returned.
And the vine god cast away his earlier cares,
and entered upon delight, since he had learned within the sea,
hearing everything from Proteus of Torone,
[21.290] of the earth-shaking throb of the inhospitable Arabian field,
and of tottering Lycurgus, a blind wanderer on his own foot;
he heard too of the death-bearing sting of pastoral necessity,
how the chorus of country folk whirled about, how in the glens
the women carved up their own birth-pangs;
[21.295] and he heard of the chorus of the airy Hyades, he heard of
Ambrosia herself rising in Olympus after the earth,
Ambrosia arming herself against unwearied Lycurgus,
and of the fair-branched battle and the vine war.
And as they delighted the herald came back,
[21.300] unharmed, much-prayed-for by exulting Dionysus,
telling the high-necked folly of Deriades,
holding the double tablet pregnant with war.
Nor was the lord careless; and with courage he called
his warriors to battle, recognizing the forerunning
[21.305] tokens of Deriades scored on the witnessing tablet.
And calling the wandering Rhadamanes, whom once Minos
drove unwilling from the soil of the Cretan land
to the floor of Arabia, he bade them, at the nod of Rhea,
to fix ship-timbers for a sea-battle with the Indians.
[21.310] And swiftly he drove his chariot toward the eastern region of the earth,
flashing in armor like Phosphorus; and about the Caucasian
rock, passing through its crested hollow,
he passed the light-bearing floor of the eastern field,
traveling the midday starting-line of the sun.
[21.315] While the voice of the fair-thyrsus battle was heard,
and the army of mountain-ranging Dionysus near at hand,
meanwhile Deriades set a close ambush of Indians,
sending his unyoked host to the land opposite,
entrusting all his guile-devising hope of battle
[21.320] to bronze-tunicked Ares; and he sailed high on ships
having rowed his people across the Indian Hydaspes.
And the war of the Indians was divided among two armies
on either floor of the javelin-bearing river;
Thureus beside the ankles of Zephyrus, and Deriades
[21.325] came near the opposite side beside the wing of blazing Eurus.
And there was a well-shaded place there, where with thick
shoots of every kind a broad-stretched ridge of wood
was girdled, and there was a hollow cave; and flying
a wandering arrow never scored those trees,
[21.330] if anyone shot; and never in the midst of the bushes
was the sun carried, rushing down with sharp throb,
scoring the interwoven leaves with inmost rays;
no air-roaming pouring from rainy Zeus entered
the thick-shaded wood, and scarcely, with a trail of water,
[21.335] did the high-visible rain of Zeus wet the tips of the leaves.
There in the long-trunked groves thievish Ares
was hidden in the green clusters of sky-high plants,
unforeseen, unshaken, and in the wooded bosom
he kept the guarded tread of noiseless sandals,
[21.340] neither combing the leafy thicket with secret foot,
nor having fear of a crouching foot, nor a chattering echo
with stammering lip, nor pallor about his face;
but he had a bold and steadfast mind, and on his couch
sleeping a measured warlike sleep upon his eyelids
[21.345] he awaited the well-rhythmed war of the coming army.

## Book XXII


### The twenty-second sings the battle of Bromius and what deeds Aeacus accomplished both on the plain and in Hydaspes.

[22.1] But when the foot-throng of Bacchus reached the ford
of the fine-shingled river, where with deep-eddying bosom
Indian Hydaspes belches navigable water like the Nile,
then indeed the womanish song of the Bassarids made melody,
[22.5] and the chorus of shaggy Satyrs roared with mystic voice,
striking up a Phrygian revel for Lyaeus of the night;
and the whole earth laughed, and the rocks bellowed,
and the Naiads shrieked, and above the river the Nymphs
girdled themselves in spirals with the silent streams
[22.10] and sang shrill the yoked rhythm of a Sicilian song,
such as the hymn-tending Sirens struck up
from honey-tongued throats; and the whole thicket whirled,
and the wise oaks uttered a melody like a flute,
and the Hadryads shouted, and on a fair-leaved cluster
[22.15] a Nymph sang half-seen, peering out above it.
And the poured spring whitened with snowy milk,
though it was of water, and in the torrent-bosom
the Naiads bathed in milky streams,
and drank white milk; and the rocky crag purpled,
[22.20] belching wine from a reddening breast,
gushing new wine from an unplanted hill
in sweet-drinking drops; and from self-pouring hollows
the delicious gifts of the honey-dripping bee were shed,
needing no hives; and from freshly delivered bushes
[22.25] the down-covered fruit of the sharp-haired thorn ran up;
and as oil poured of its own accord upon the branches
the tree of Athena bathed in unpressed moisture.
And hares embraced the dancing hounds;
and long serpents raved in the dance,
[22.30] licking the tracks of serpent-haired Dionysus,
bending their necks aside, and one after another belched
a gentle hiss from a rejoicing throat;
and the rhythm of the delighting serpent was then intelligent,
and the entwined trail of its long spine was whirled
[22.35] as it skipped about the fearless feet of Dionysus;
and skipping in spirals on the Indian cliff
tigers sported; and a great swarm of mountain-ranging
elephants leapt up within the thicket.
And then the wandering Pans ran through the rugged glens,
[22.40] through hard-to-tread mountains with slender hooves,
dread places, over which no bold bird flew, a light wayfarer
measuring them with the double beat of high-traveling wings;
and shaking the mane that hung beside his throat
a lion, their pasture-mate, danced opposite a dancing boar;
[22.45] and birds cried out an imitation of human song,
stealing away a mimic, unfinished echo,
prophesying the victory of the Indian-slaying contest,
and darting at full stretch their upright tails
hanging beside their green limbs; and in emulous dance
[22.50] the high-flying leopard ran running with a bear.
And Artemis reined back the rush of her dappled hounds,
seeing the dance-beating leap of a gentle lioness;
and in shame she unstrung her well-rounded bowstring,
lest she shoot with her shafts the beasts that delighted.
[22.55] And someone, beholding these strange wonders of Bacchus,
casting his eye through the topmost of a thick cluster,
having wrapped leaves about the gazing circle of his eye,
let himself see only so much as a man looks about
through the made eyeholes of a helmet as he peers,
[22.60] or as when a man skilled in the tragic chorus,
having a dread bellowing from long-sounding throats,
stretches his inner eye through a wrought eye,
bearing the lying semblance of a mortal face;
so he, hidden beneath the thick-shaded wood, watched
[22.65] all the wonders unforeseen with a stealing face;
and he announced it to the adversaries; and Thureus whirled in fear,
blaming Morrheus and witless Deriades.
And the Indian throng trembled, and, caring nothing for the tumult,
shook the bronze armor from their fearful hands,
[22.70] gazing at the trees shaken with a raving rush.
And now the Indian throng, taking from the neighboring bank
the grey-green branch of olive as the witness of supplication,
would have bent a slave's neck to unopposed Dionysus;
but much-devising Hera, changing her body,
[22.75] heartened the foes and beguiled the leader of the Indians,
applying a Thessalian magic hymn against Dionysus,
and the potion of Circe with god-invoking incantations,
as of a drugging river that cannot be drugged.
And she persuaded the swift-obeying adversaries; and she told each
[22.80] never to be tripped up, gripped by blazing thirst,
by drinking the beguiled water of the mind-stealing river.
And now the blazing Indians, leaping from their unseen haunt,
would have assailed the feasting armies;
but a Hamadryad Nymph, peering out above a windy cluster,
[22.85] sprang from a shaggy hollow;
and holding a thyrsus in her hand she seemed a Bacchant in form,
her hair covered with mimic woodland ivy;
and telling the guile of the foes with signifying silence
she whispered in the ears of clustered Lyaeus:
[22.90] "Vine Dionysus, plant-tending lord of fruits,
your plant shall give grace and beauty to the Hadryads;
I was not born a Bassarid, I am no companion of Lyaeus,
only in my hand I lift a lying thyrsus;
I am not from Phrygia, your homeland, I do not dwell in the land
[22.95] of the Lydians beside the flood of a wealth-flowing river;
I am a fair-leaved Hamadryad, where warlike
foes lie in ambush, and, caring nothing for my homeland,
I shall save your army from death; for I bring
faithful things to your Satyrs, Indian though I am,
[22.100] and instead of Deriades I am of one mind with Dionysus;
for I shall grant you a favor owed, because the moist
birth-pangs of the streams, because the oaks are ever increased
by the rainy drop of great father Zeus who sends rain.
Give me your leaves, and I shall plant them here,
[22.105] give me your clusters, which loose cares.
But, friend, do not hasten to cross the flood of the river,
lest the neighboring Indians bear down on you in the water;
stretch your eye toward the oaks, and beside the fair-leaved thicket
watch for the unforeseen ambush of hidden men.
[22.110] But what will the feeble ones within the thicket do to you?
The foes live while you still hold back your thyrsus.
Softly about us, lest the enemy hear nearby,
lest Hydaspes announce it to the hidden Indians."
So speaking the Hamadryad Nymph went back again,
[22.115] like a wing or a thought, and changing her form
she ran, like a bird in nature, through the lair-holding wood,
darting into an oak of her own age. But he in silence
mingled with the Bassarids, and told the speech of the Hamadryad
goddess into the ears of each of his champions,
[22.120] signaling with nods, and with intelligent silence he bade them
feast among the oaks armed in their weapons,
and told the guile of the hidden, guile-stitching Indians,
lest the warriors bear down upon them uncorseleted,
still feasting throughout the army; and they obeyed Lyaeus
[22.125] as he commanded, and were ready for battle
at the silent dinner of a javelin-bearing table.
And after a swift meal the shield-bearers flowed in
from the neighboring river to drink an after-dinner water,
at the divine nods of Dionysus of surpassing mind,
[22.130] lest drunkenness and stupor and darkness lull the army.
And the army fell this way and that on a war-loving bed
sleeping a brief sleep upon the warlike shield.
And Zeus the father, turning aside the guileful mind of the Indians,
checked the evening battle with a bellowing din,
[22.135] pouring the boundless echo of an all-night rain.
But when snowy-footed Dawn, scoring the gloom,
purpled on a dewy rock, plucking the morning,
the foes, peering out over the top of the battle-rousing
shelter of the wood, pressed forward in a mass; and Thureus led,
[22.140] the monstrous champion of the Indian war, like in his rush
to sky-high Typhon rushing down beneath the thunderbolt.
And the armies, at the guile-minded nod of prudent Bacchus,
held a lying fear, though fearless, and out of the tumult
they withdrew of their own accord, willingly, until the Indians
[22.145] poured out into the plain, leaving the haunts of the thicket.
And the Lydian man armed himself with rich armor,
bearing the gold-shining pattern of Lycian Glaucus,
proclaiming his own soil, where the bright wealth
of the reddening dew glitters on the Pactolian bank,
[22.150] and he flashed with rosy beams facing the Dawn,
shaking the yellow brow of a wealth-flowing helmet,
the conspicuous Lydian man, and from the breast of its bearer
the sparkle of a reddening tunic blazed;
and shaking a gleaming helmet upon his temple
[22.155] another champion from Alybe, playing the hero for Dionysus,
displayed his ancestral wealth, and from his bright head
the marble radiance of a silver helmet shone
shooting a gleam equal to snowy Selene.
And the unsteady god terrified all the warriors
[22.160] of the foes, holding no naked sword, brandishing no spear,
but carried in the midst of the champions like the breezes
he wheeled the right wing of the battle from the left,
hurling his long-shadowed thyrsus, the flower of the earth,
splitting the cloud of Indians with his ivy spear.
[22.165] Nor did high-headed Thureus, great as he was, drive him back,
nor the army, nor any other champion; but poured upon one another
they gave way this way and that before rushing Dionysus.
And Oeagrus dashed away the dark war,
mowing unsated the ranks of men one after another,
[22.170] cutting the helmet-glancing cornfields with his Bistonian spear.
And as when a river, pouring forth a rough strength,
restless from a crag with a torrent stream,
comes carried into the plain, and not even the orchards themselves
with unbreakable fences hold it back
[22.175] as it scrapes through the middle backs of a stone bridge;
and many a fir is rolled along, and many a high-visible pine,
falling roots and all, is dragged in the flood;
so he tended the army of the foes, destroying
one after another, a footman turning about with his Sithonian lance,
[22.180] and they circled him, and what warriors call
the mimic tortoise they towered up with their shields;
standing foot was propped on foot, and shield leaned
on shield, close-set, one after another against its neighbor,
pressed tight, and crest nodded against crest, and man
[22.185] touched man, appearing near; and as the dust was raised
by horses' hooves the warriors were whitened.
Then whom first, whom last did Oeagrus,
citizen of the Bistonian field, mow down and send to Hades,
killing one from here and another from there, accomplishing deeds
[22.190] not inferior to those of his wife, famed Calliope?
One above the breast with his swift spear, and another cutting
with his hilted sword at the neck, and another,
a dread-raving foe, he pierced beside the navel, and from the bloody
wound he drew out his spear, and as it was dragged
[22.195] he pulled the hot entrails along with the blood-red iron;
upon another as he fought he ran down drawing his blade,
and with the well-whetted sword cut off his hand, and it fell
blood-dipped and gasped upon the ground, the leaping hand;
and the hand was cut off and did not let go of the ox-hide shield,
[22.200] clamping the edge of the dusty strap;
and the wind-roaming soul of the dead man, darting up,
longed for the accustomed youth of the body it had been entwined with.
Another he crushed, striking with unsparing spear,
piercing the top of his arm with the whetted point,
[22.205] and struck his shield with his sword, and as the unbreakable ox-hide
was battered by the iron its middle-bossed back hummed.
But he, shaken by the raving sting of battle,
whirled his lance as it migrated with a circling craft
either on both sides of the ribs or at the neck or close to the shoulder;
[22.210] and shaking this way and that his back-turning point
he cut through the middle backs of the crowded fighting,
swift, seated high upon a high-crested horse.
And as when, after the shadowy season of a chilling storm,
the air appears, stripped bare of covering clouds,
[22.215] receiving the clear radiance of a springtime light;
so he, raving fearless through the thick ranks,
laid bare the middle of the battle as the Indians were split apart.
And then someone, setting his bronze about the mouth of a champion,
struck his right jaw with a frightful knife;
[22.220] and another, sending a humming into the air against the adversaries,
hurled a wandering stone at a high-pathed mark,
and the air-roaming stone crashed upon a head,
and dashed the crest from the hair of a well-helmeted man,
the neck-strap loosed beside his chin;
[22.225] and as it rolled away the head of its bearer was bared.
Not men alone then roared, but even the bronze-tunicked
horses themselves crashed out into war,
trumpeting Ares with a warlike whinnying.
And the maiden who speaks last, from mountain-haunting throats,
[22.230] answering their din with rocky mouths,
Echo neighed in mimicry a warlike melody.
And many a freshly slain corpse rolled upon the fields
spitting out a hot stream of blood; and of those perishing
some were suspended dead upon their sides,
[22.235] another, struck, writhed as his flank was scored,
another rolled over the ground in the loose dust,
another was propped up beside his navel, and one upon the earth
skipped upon the head of a gasping man,
and another, falling, cried out, struck on the throat,
[22.240] and whirled his feet about, having the dance of destruction;
another lay prone, and as though angry at his slayer
he gripped the earth, wide-gaping, with maddened tooth.
As another was struck by the long-pointed iron
his white tunic reddened with the gore of the javelin-caster;
[22.245] as another fought, from drawn bows
his blood-dipped thigh was scored by a winged arrow.
And a hostile man, setting his trumpet in vain about his lip,
sounded a melody of battle-rousing echo,
drawing his reluctant, flight-loving army into the fray.
[22.250] And the Indians, hearing the cry, flowed into the tumult.
And with courage they took hold of a returning battle,
ashamed to appear to their king without victory.
And many well-corseleted warriors circled crown-wise
in one place Aeacus as he darted forth.
[22.255] But he in the middle was hard pressed, not by a helmet,
not trusting in shields nor in a breastplate of war;
but Athena towered him wholly about, covered instead of iron
with his father's unbreakable clouds,
with which he had once quenched the drought of an unwetted field
[22.260] bringing life-sustaining water upon a thirsty land
when Zeus sent rain, and the fair-birthing furrows
of the sheaf-bearing earth were wedded to the plow;
and encircled in the midst of his foes the inspired man
crushed some with his swift spear, others with his knife,
[22.265] others with rocky stones; and the ground reddened with gore
as the Indians were killed, and by the point of the unbending man
there lay a pouring of wide-scattered corpses, of whom one
gasped half-dead, and another, beating the ground with his feet,
self-rolling on his back, kept company with a neighboring doom;
[22.270] and they were crowded on the ground, and corpse was propped on corpse
lying measured out, and from a freshly cut throat
the cold body was warmed with reddening gore;
and the slaughter was unspeakable, and as they fell one after another
the earth, darkening, drenched with a trail of blood,
[22.275] pitying her sons, spoke with a torrent voice:
"Murderous grain-giving son of Zeus — for you rule
both the fruit-bearing rain and the bloody snowfall —
with rain you have wetted the whole generative orchard
of Hellas, and you have deluged the Indian furrow with gore,
[22.280] you who before were sheaf-bearing, now death-bearing; for the country folk
your snowfall found the corn, but you have mowed the army of the Indians,
reaping men like a cornfield; and you do both,
from Zeus you bring rain, from Ares you snow with blood."
Such things life-bearing Earth said. But Cronion
[22.285] cried out from heaven, and the trumpet of Zeus with thunderous
crashes challenged Aeacus to the slaughter of the Indians.
And one among the adversaries, stretching his eye toward Aeacus,
sent a shaft, and Athena turned aside the arrow,
which grazed his thigh, scratching only so much as the surface of the skin.
[22.290] And still more, without pain, Aeacus fought, unsteady,
into the midst of the Indians, since the shaft touched his thigh
like a man's thin nail, when it scores the surface of the skin.
And a certain man withdrew untraceable, a wayfarer on foot
with swifter steps, and wished to enter the neighboring thicket,
[22.295] where he had been hidden before; and pursuing him
Erechtheus drove his wind-footed horse into the course;
but when he had come as near as the upright rush of a flying
spear stretches when a champion hurls it,
then indeed the man on foot, casting him behind his back,
[22.300] stood facing him, awaiting the horseman; and he, crouching,
propped his left foot upon the field,
slanting on his side, and lifted aloft the track
of his back-stretched sole, stretching upright
the toes of his right foot fixed in the ground,
[22.305] holding an Indian shield of seven ox-hides, the image of a tower,
holding a sharp naked sword; and holding the bronze-backed
shield before his face the proud Indian ran on,
either to die or to strike the man or to drive off the colt
with his bold blade; and with the bossed iron
[22.310] aslant, checking the jaw of the horse as it came against him,
though on foot he shook the rider above him;
and now he would have flung to the ground the citizen of motherless Athena,
but Erechtheus pierced him with his spear beside the navel's edge
and hurled the man to the ground, pierced through the middle
[22.315] with murderous sharp bronze; and with whirling rushes
he slipped head first from the air into the dust,
carrying his head as a tumbler with a dancing throb.
And leaving him gasping, turning the course of his horse,
the citizen of Athena assailed other adversaries.
[22.320] Curving his bow, and spreading upon the string
the shaft stretched upright to the very tip of the iron,
he drew the arrow to the mark; and to his noble-bearing bride
Calliope he entrusted all his hope of victory.
Nine long-pointed arrows he sent forth,
[22.325] and killed nine men; and there was an equal number
of shafts sent and of warriors destroyed;
of whom one a wandering arrow split at the top of the brow,
another it scored on the rim of his shaggy breast,
another above the flanks, another, falling upon his belly,
[22.330] was carried in the middle as his flank was scored,
another it ran through the side, and another, as he fled,
it fixed upright in the stormy sole of his feet
and clamped his foot with an earth-yoked bond.
And he drew out the windy shaft; and from his quiver,
[22.335] as one was sent after another, a rain of arrows
ran down rushing with an airy whirl.
And as when a man, driving bronze upon a bronze anvil,
sends a fire-roaring sound with unwearied hammer,
striking the neighboring mass, and many sparks
[22.340] leap up from the beaten iron,
warming the air, and with alternating rushes
one goes before, another close by, another darting up
overtakes another still leaping with a blazing throb;
so he, shooting, scattered the facing army of the Indians
[22.345] as they fought, from his unceasing bow,
killing one from here and another from there with arrows one upon another.
And as the middle phalanx shunned the cloud of shafts
the place was laid bare, the image of the horned Moon,
when, shining on both sides, gleaming a little from her horn,
[22.350] having filled the two tips with newly shining radiance,
she scores the middle of her circle with slanting rays,
with a twofold, divided soft fire; and the bare circles
of the Moon still appeared as her middle was scored.
Nor did Aeacus cease from battle, fighting beside Dionysus,
[22.355] undismayed, and he raved in the tumult,
killing this way and that; and pursuing them from the plain
he drove the wandering host into the outpourings of the river.
And massed together the warriors circled one man alone,
struck with swords, and he cared nothing for the knife,
[22.360] nor for the winged shaft; and with rushes one upon another
the swift man mowed the iron cornfields of the dark
fighting, and fought against them all, some upon the banks,
others down in the river, cutting them down with warlike hand;
and he filled the whole stream with corpses; and as they perished
[22.365] white Hydaspes reddened, murmuring with blood.
And a man, fleeing the windy rush of the champion,
slipped head first, self-rolling, into the stream,
and many a corpse freshly slain by the javelin-casting iron
was dragged, carried in the wavy trail
[22.370] with swollen limbs; and in the underwater gore
the Naiads bathed in a blood-red stream,
and the black water reddened with murderous drops.
And many in the outpourings, casting away their points,
showed supplication, unarmed, one upon the banks,
[22.375] another stretched beside the sands, another on the ground
crouching upright, bending his arching neck;
but Aeacus refused their prayers with face nodding upward,
swelling an unbending wrath against his adversaries;
and not one Lycaon alone did he kill, an unarmed spearman
[22.380] still touching him in supplication, but numberless foes
rolling on the ground with uncorseleted hands
he destroyed, defiling the stream of the river;
and Hydaspes received many a corpse of Asteropaeus.
Nor did Aeacus fight without a god; for, cutting down
[22.385] his adversaries within the river, like the father of Peleus,
he held a watery battle and a war of the waters,
as though prophesying about the flood of the river Camandrus
the half-finished fighting that was to come for Achilles;
and the battle of the grandfather divined the battle of the grandson.
[22.390] And in the outpourings an unsandaled Nymph cried out,
a Naiad unveiled, peering above the currents:
"Kinsman of the Naiads, bearing Zeus-fallen blood,
pity the holy water of a Zeus-fallen river.
Your spear has destroyed Indians enough; cease rousing tears
[22.395] for the tearless Naiad Nymphs;
your own mother too was a watery Naiad;
for I hear that your Aegina was the daughter of a river.
Remember who bore you, and defile the flood no longer.
I shall go to another undefiled stream, I go to the sea.
[22.400] And sea-dwelling Thetis receives me; but let this bloody
stream be the care of the Erinys and of Dionysus."

## Book XXIII


### In the twenty-third I sing of the Indian Hydaspes crossed, and the watery tumult and the smoky one.

[23.1] So speaking, the watery Naiad Nymph, drenched with blood,
plunged into her father's blood-red water.
But he, striking the barbarian tribes beside the shores with his sword,
turned them into the outpourings; and pursued by the iron
[23.5] the foes were killed, crowding Hydaspes in their terror.
And many a one, whirling feet and hands in the surges,
imitated swimmers, and wished to escape his doom
cutting the river streams with untried hands;
but he was covered by the flood; and one after another in the waters,
[23.10] swelling, pregnant, was entombed in a watery doom.
Nor long beside the shore of the shield-bearing river,
encircled by so great a multitude of murderous Indians,
did Aeacus still remain, since to him in his labor came
Indian-slaying Dionysus, shaking his whetted thyrsi.
[23.15] There, piercing many another host with unsparing spear,
Aeacus dashed them down; and he raged like Ares,
running beside his well-corseleted brother Dionysus.
And Dionysus kept company with a yoked, watery battle,
bringing a wet doom upon the adversaries. And if any man
[23.20] swam, cutting the swells upon a cunning shield,
he ravaged the back of the swimmers; and if any of the Indians
fought half-seen, propping his sole upon the silt,
he struck his breast or neck with the thyrsus, cutting the waves
as they sank; for he knew the bosom of the deep haunts,
[23.25] since the time when, fleeing the frightful battle of Lycurgus,
old Nereus received him in his surging house.
And many were shut in this way and that by the stream,
trembling before the mountain-running son of Zeus, of whom one,
upright, clamped his feet in the muddy silt,
[23.30] and self-fixed, unshaken, from his loins to his head
rose half-seen, the fold of his thigh hidden;
and he fought against Bromius in the water more than on the field,
brandishing twin spears with both his hands;
and one he cast, sending it high toward the shores,
[23.35] having Aeacus opposite as his mark, and shaking another
spear he hurled it at unwoundable Lyaeus.
And one was fixed fast, covered to the middle of his flank,
another found no way to flee, struck by the sharp thyrsus,
his steps fettered in a muddy bond,
[23.40] his sole held fast in the sands; and another stood
as his shin was struck; and another, wetting the top of his knee,
held a wet war through the bloody water;
another was rooted, sunk as far as his chin,
and lifted his feet, raising a bathed shoulder,
[23.45] fleeing the dread streams rushing down upon his face;
another in the outpourings was drenched in his whole body from the sole
to the middle of his breast, and another, wetting
both his shoulders, and another, reddening the tip of his hair,
received the wavy threat as it rushed upon him.
[23.50] Another sank into the depth, shaking his drenched lips
beside the man-slaying flood with a grinning throat.
And a proud Indian, beholding his own comrades,
some killed by the long spear, others by the knife,
another shot with a torrent-swift shaft,
[23.55] another cut down by the sharp, much-plaited thyrsus,
showed the dead throng to Thureus, and in grief
tore his hair, and raved with the flaming torch of anger,
clamping his closed lips with a sharp-toothed bond;
and swiftly, imitating self-slain Indian Orontes,
[23.60] bearing barbarian blood and swelling a barbarian temper,
he bared his sword, and casting away his tunic,
the unbreakable fence of Ares, the defender against shafts,
and bringing his blade, undismayed, against his own flank,
swift-fated he broke out in a last proud speech:
[23.65] "Belly, receive this dear sword; for I am ashamed
that some hostile, unwarlike hand should kill me.
I myself shall drive the willing bronze into my own flank,
lest my father blame me for falling by a womanish thyrsus,
lest he call a Satyr, or Bacchus, my slayer."
[23.70] He spoke, driving his sword into his dark belly
with bold palms, as though cutting down a stranger,
and Menoeceus died self-slain among the adversaries,
ashamed to look upon Deriades again after the battle;
and with tearless eyes he died by a willing doom,
[23.75] and appeared a brazen Ajax without the madness.
And the slaughter was unspeakable; and with a refusing stream
Hydaspes covered the slain and became their tomb.
And one within the river poured out a last voice:
"And you, father, why do you hide your own children in your outpourings?
[23.80] Often I went to a Bactrian war, but in his streams
the Median Araxes never killed a Median throng;
the Persian Euphrates did not hide a neighboring Persian;
often I had battle beside Taurus, but in the fighting
Cydnus never entombed Cilicians in his bosom;
[23.85] Tanais, bringing snowy petrified water,
does not arm himself against the neighboring Sauromatian, but arming
a torrent war against his Colchian adversaries
has often dashed them down with a frosty missile.
Eridanus was more blessed than you, because in his streams
[23.90] he hid a foreign Phaethon and not a citizen,
he did not cover a Galatian and was no tomb for a Celt,
but for his own dwellers he rolls down from wealth-flowing trees
the light-bearing amber gifts of the Heliades;
Iberian Rhine arms himself against infants, but as a judge,
[23.95] and splitting apart the secret travail of a birth
he kills a bastard offspring; but you hide the true children
of your dying dwellers, and cover no bastard blood.
How can you mingle with rivers, or even with
Ocean your begetter and Tethys your mother,
[23.100] dragging a flood-tide of slaughter with bloody drops?
Have reverence, lest you defile Poseidon with corpses.
Your stream is worse than Bromius, because Dionysus
does not rout me with his thyrsi as much as you rout me with your streams."
So speaking the heavy-fated man received his last water.
[23.105] And the sailing was well-armed; and the peoples were lifted
with swollen limbs; and as its bearer perished
a helmet, half-seen, was ferried along with floating crest,
sinking little by little; and leaping upon the streams,
stretched at full length in the surges like the stern-cables of ships,
[23.110] the ox-hide shields sailed with swimming straps,
in rows this way and that; and a man weighed down by the iron
his breastplate dragged, wet-tunicked, into the deep.
Nor did Dionysus check his warriors from battle,
until he had killed them all with his flesh-cutting thyrsus,
[23.115] leaving one alone as the herald of all the dead;
Thureus alone he left, a god-fearing witness of the victory.
And when Hera perceived the slaughter of the cut-down Indians,
she flew from heaven, and along the high-pathed road,
restless, she scored the air with windy sole.
[23.120] And she came to the East, and drove the Indian Hydaspes
to raise a bloody war against Dionysus.
But when the barbarian-voiced eastern Ares sank down,
then indeed, contriving strange charms of seafaring,
the chorus of the Bacchoi was ferried over the waveless streams.
[23.125] And the god led the way, steering through the swell
a counterfeit voyage with a landsman's chariot, and the unwetted
claw of his water-traveling leopards scored Hydaspes;
and the armies had a voyage over the waveless river,
of whom one rowed a many-bound Indian raft,
[23.130] another, steering the wet journey of a boat,
had a native skiff of linen-stitching fishermen
that he had seized; and another sailed by a counterfeit ordinance,
making a self-trunked log like a merchant ship,
binding the interwoven timbers with a cunning knot,
[23.135] without a rudder, apart from a sail, without oars,
not calling upon ship-saving Boreas — for sending
his spear straight down beneath the water into the deep hollows
the spear-wielding sailor sailed with a water-traveling Ares —,
and another, cutting the swells unwetted upon a floating shield,
[23.140] holding its strap for a cable, had a shield-brandished journey,
scoring a strange seafaring with a lying ship.
And the host of horsemen traversed the stream, and the horses' voyage
was made with their feet as they lifted their drivers on their backs;
and then, as the fair-footed horse swam its wet course
[23.145] lifting upon its loins the rider above it,
its high-visible neck rose unwetted through the water.
And the host of battle-rousing foot-soldiers, having need of a boat,
pouring a manufactured wind into swollen skins,
measured the Indian Hydaspes with inflated hide,
[23.150] and the skins sailed pregnant with the winds within.
And Parrhasian Pan ran across on goat's feet,
passing over the surface of the calm river;
and Lycus steered the course of sea-horses,
driving his father's unwetted four-horse wagon;
[23.155] and Scelmis rode across the waveless river
marching with his brother Damnameneus as he crossed.
Another, leaping upon its back, steered with his crook
a wandering bull, companion of the gusts, into the voyage,
and scored the noiseless water with bovine hooves;
[23.160] and the aged Sileni sailed the sea
rowing Hydaspes with both feet and palms.
And pouring a defending cry like a fountain,
old Hydaspes cried out to his surging brother,
pouring a threatening speech from his many-springed throat:
[23.165] "Dear brother, how long does your stream creep noiseless?
Arm your swells, bearing down upon Dionysus,
so that we may hide the foot-traveler in the waters.
It is a shame for you and for me, when the warriors of Bromius
split my swell with unwetted sandals;
[23.170] Aeolus, do you too accomplish a favor for me, and arm
your champions, the stormy winds, against my adversaries
to fight with the Satyrs, because a wet-traveling host
has made Hydaspes passable with landsman's chariots,
and the drivers hold a wet course in the waters;
[23.175] arm your winds against Lyaeus my ferryman;
and let the fleet of the Satyrs be dragged in the streams, and as the drivers
are dragged in the outpourings let my flood receive their chariot,
the charioteers covered by a raving swell.
I shall not leave this strange crossing unavenged;
[23.180] it is a shame for you and for me, when the warriors of Bromius
make a path for drivers and unwetted wayfarers;
and I shall wipe out the water-traveling lions of Dionysus.
Tell me, how was my stream passable, and whence does a water-dipped
Naiad in the outpourings hear a whinnying
[23.185] and a horse's hoof batter my fishy back?
I am ashamed to mingle with the rivers, because women
tread over us with unwetted sandals.
Never did the bold Indians scrape my stream
with their sky-high chariots, and Deriades never scored
[23.190] his father's water with his towering car,
seated on the manes of high-crested elephants."
So speaking he armed his stream; and he leapt at Bacchus
hurling his surges as spears; and a great stormy,
watery trumpet of the fighting waters bellowed;
[23.195] and the river murmured, bringing its water raised on high,
fighting with the Satyrs; and in the loud-roaring tumult
the delicate-tunicked Bassarid shook the cymbals from her hands
and whirled her feet about, and as her sole rowed
she shook off the yellow bonds of her much-stitched sandals,
[23.200] and the windy stream, carried as far as her head,
washed over the coiling hair of the swimming Bacchant;
another, weighed down, laid aside her drenched robes,
entrusting her fawnskins to the swollen streams,
and upon her breast, as the river armed itself,
[23.205] a black mass was dragged against her reddening bosom;
and a Satyr, rowing the poured water with his palms,
whirled his wet tail upright through the water;
and rowing a wine-tottering step with aged feet,
Maron, carried unsteady in the watery trail,
[23.210] left in the waves a wineskin crammed with sweet wine;
and shaken thickly, running with the twin-yoked flute,
the Panian pipe sailed through the surface of the water,
self-coiling in the waves; and with a contending throb
the hair of shaggy Silenus streamed down his neck.
[23.215] And the river roared, dragging silt in its swell,
pouring its yellow migrant water over the plain,
calling Dionysus to a watery war;
and the battle-rousing stream, having a counter-blowing breeze,
rose cloud-neighboring, showing a drenched air,
[23.220] leaping down upon Dionysus with a seething swell.
Not so did the war-mad water of Simois roar,
not such was the stream of battle-rousing Camandrus
deluging Achilles with its wavy flood,
as Hydaspes then pursued the Bacchic army.
[23.225] And Dionysus belched a raving voice at the river:
"Why do you rout the son of Zeus, Zeus-fallen one? If I wish,
my father, rainy Zeus, dries up your flood.
You sprang from the clouds of my father Cronides,
and do you pursue the offspring of Zeus the cloud-gatherer?
[23.230] Beware the shaft of my father's childbed thunderbolt,
lest he arm the birth-lightning of Bromius against you;
have reverence, lest you be called heavy-kneed, like Asopus;
calm your outpouring, while I still hold back my wrath.
Watery, you arm yourself against the fiery; and you cannot
[23.235] endure one spark of the smoky thunderbolt.
And if you think greatly of yourself because of Astris your bride,
who got the blood of the airy race of Hyperion,
my father burned with his torch the bold son of Helios,
the fiery charioteer, as he rode the heaven,
[23.240] and Hyperion, the steward of fire, groaned for his dead child,
and did not make war on my father for Phaethon's sake,
and did not lift fire against fire, though he rules over fire.
If you exalt yourself because of your Ocean,
look at Eridanus struck by the shaft of Zeus,
[23.245] your fire-burnt brother; and your watery forefather,
dread-suffering, girdled about the rim of the cosmos,
pouring earth-holding water with so many streams,
saw his son burnt, and did not make war on Olympus,
did not strive with his outpourings against the fire-pointed thunderbolt.
[23.250] But spare your waters still, lest I see you,
Hydaspes, burnt like Eridanus when he was scorched."
As he spoke, heavy-thundering Hydaspes was enraged the more,
pouring his high-running water with fiercer waves.
And now he would have hidden the whole rank of the Bacchus-less Bacchoi,
[23.255] had not Bacchus defended them; and from a neighboring thicket
taking a fire-bearing fennel-stalk facing the Dawn
he warmed it at the sun; and from the blazing cluster
a wooden fire was brought to birth by a self-begotten spark;
and he flung the flame into the outpourings; and at the threatening brand
[23.260] the banks seethed with the currents of the burning river;
and much wandering air-roaming smoke whirled about
as the lotus burned and the galingale withered;
and the fire reduced the rushes to dust; and with a much-whirling rush
the coiling breath of sooty smoke made drunk
[23.265] the airy arches, and the whole thicket blackened
as the reed-beds were lashed by fragrant winds.
And the blaze crept into the deep; and blackened fish
hid themselves in the mud; and from the underwater torch,
with a swimming spark, the drenched silt boiled,
[23.270] kindled though wet; and from the haunts of the deep a smoke,
fiery, rushed forth running with a watery vapor.
And the ranks of the water-nymphs, unveiled, with swift sole,
naked, wandered away from their wavy hall;
and one, refusing her father's flaming water,
[23.275] an unveiled Naiad, entered the unaccustomed Ganges;
and another dwelt in the loud-roaring Indian Acesines
with parched limbs; and Choaspes, neighbor of Persia,
received another wandering, mountain-roaming, unveiled
Naiad Nymph, an unsandaled maiden.
[23.280] And Ocean cried out, threatening Dionysus,
pouring a watery bellowing from his many-springed throat,
and sending a stream from his ever-flowing mouths like a fountain
he deluged the shores of the cosmos with a flood of words:
"Bedfellow of Ocean your age-mate, of one age with the cosmos,
[23.285] all-nourishing Tethys, self-sown mother of mingled waters,
ancient child-loving one, what shall we do? For smoky
rainy Zeus arms himself against me and your children;
for Asopus has as his slayer Cronion, the ravishing bastard bird,
the father, and Hydaspes has his son Bacchus.
[23.290] But bringing my water against the lightnings of Zeus
I shall cover the fiery sun with a quenching flood,
and hide the stars of the upper air; and Cronion shall behold me
deluging Selene with a murmuring flood;
and beneath the Arctic floor I shall bathe in my outpourings
[23.295] the topmost heads of the axle and the unwetted trail of the Wagon;
and the ancient sailor of my deep sea,
the heavenly Dolphin, I shall make a sailor again,
hidden in the waters; and I shall drag the star-roaming
fiery Eridanus back from heaven, a migrant returning
[23.300] to the land of the Celts, and shall make him watery,
stripping the upper air of a watery fire; and my high-pathed
starry Fishes I shall drag back again into the sea,
to swim in the waters after Olympus. Awake, Tethys,
let us cover the stars of the upper air with waters, so that I may see
[23.305] the Bull, once the sailor of a waveless sea,
carried as a wet wayfarer by fiercer waves
after the bed of Europa; and let her too be stirred,
beholding my horned, bull-faced shape,
bull-natured, horned Selene, the driver of cattle;
[23.310] I shall go high-pathed to heaven, so that I may see
a drenched Cepheus and a wet-tunicked Boötes,
as the Earth-shaker did before, when about Corinth
a bold watery Ares shouted into a starry war;
and I shall hide the fiery Goat, the nurse of Zeus, and grant
[23.315] abundant water, fitting, to the water-traveling Water-pourer.
Tethys, and you, sea, arm yourselves; for Zeus
has brought forth a bull-natured bastard son, to destroy
all alike, both rivers and blameless men; for both
the thyrsus has slain the Indians and the torch has burned Hydaspes."
[23.320] He spoke, seething with the swell of his deep-waved voice.

## Book XXIV


### The twenty-fourth holds the unspeakable lament of the Indians and the shuttle of the loom-toiling one and the distaff of Aphrodite.

[24.1] And Zeus the father turned aside the threat of his angry son,
lashing the thunderous din of massed clouds;
and he soothed the anger of boundless Ocean,
checking the flaming battle of Dionysus.
[24.5] And Hera crashed out a boundless echo through the air,
drawing back the wrath of fire-strong Dionysus.
And stretching out a wet palm to pitying Bacchus,
old Hydaspes cried to the fiery son of Zeus,
gushing a suppliant word from his throat:
[24.10] "Spare for me, Dionysus, a Zeus-fallen river,
doing a favor to fruit-bearing waters; for your
fair-clustered harvest sprang up from waters.
I was witless, fire-reared Dionysus; for the sparkle
of your torches proclaimed your heavenly birth.
[24.15] But longing for my children forced me; for bringing
faithful things to my son Deriades I whirled the threat of my surges,
rolling a helping swell for the Indians as they were slain.
I am ashamed to appear to my begetter, because I drag to the sea
streams mingled with murmuring blood
[24.20] and defile Poseidon with a murderous drop;
this, this it was that armed me to strive with Dionysus.
But by your father of strangers and of suppliants,
have respect for Hydaspes, seething hot with your fire.
The Naiads flee my stream; and about the springs
[24.25] one dwells in a wet house, another in the thickets,
companion of the Hadryads, changes to a plant after the sea,
another as a migrant holds the Indus, and another, fleeing
with dusty feet, has entered the thirsty Caucasian
rock, and another, darting off to Choaspes,
[24.30] dwells in strange streams and no longer in her father's water.
Do not destroy the reeds, the growth of my currents,
on which, as they grow, the vine shoot of the grape
is propped; for the canes, bound to one another,
lift up your well-watered harvest;
[24.35] do not burn the reeds, whence come your Mygdonian flutes,
lest your song-loving Athena ever blame you,
who once, from the grim likeness of the Gorgons' heads
as they cried out, invented the Libyan pattern of yoked flutes;
and have respect for the steerer of your mystic song,
[24.40] the concordant melody of the Panian pipe;
cease withering the flood of the river with your fennel-stalk,
because the flood of the river increases your fennel-stalks.
You have crossed no strange swell of the same name; for I brightened
in my baths another Dionysus of a different nature,
[24.45] who bore the name of the younger Bromius, when Cronion
entrusted Zagreus to my child-tending Nymphs;
and you bear the whole body of Zagreus; but do you
grant him a late-accomplished favor, since from him you come;
for you rose from the heart of the first-born, the Dionysus of song.
[24.50] And honor the child-rearing water of your Lamus;
remember Maeonia your homeland; for Hydaspes
is the brother of your graceful Pactolus.
And do you, holding out now a single favor to so many rivers,
our kinsmen, rein back your radiance;
[24.55] and do not burn the pouring of waters with fire; for from waters
the lightning sprang, the rainy fire of your Zeus.
But soothe your anger, since I fall at your knees,
spreading a gentle, suppliant stream; for in wars,
if Typhoeus had bent his bold neck and been mild,
[24.60] then, casting away the recoverable mass of his threat,
your father, high-ruling Zeus, would have checked his lightning."
As he spoke, Dionysus reined back his pine-torch.
And the Arctic wind fanned up the outpourings
with a wintry lash, bringing a rough breeze,
[24.65] cooling the flood of the fire-struck river,
honoring the sun and Bacchus and Zeus together,
and quenched the unquenchable divine fire of the surges.
While Bacchus still sailed the watery Hydaspes,
meanwhile, having the courage of Ares, Deriades
[24.70] armed the Indians for the battle named after him with a towering rush,
setting his ranks about the stream, so that his warriors
might hold back the host of the Bacchoi as they still came up.
Nor did it escape the all-seeing eye of Zeus; and swiftly
he was carried from heaven, shielding Dionysus.
[24.75] And going as helpers to their own, one after another,
all the gods who dwell in Olympus came with Zeus
with a flying leap; and for the sake of the bed of Aegina
Zeus was lifted a second time as a high-flying eagle
after the flood of Asopus, and gripping air-roaming Aeacus
[24.80] with sparing talons in a ravishing claw
he lifted and brought him to the war of Deriades
upon the Indian floor; and from the broad-pathed gulf
Apollo his father saved his son Aristaeus,
shining, carried on a chariot of evil-averting swans,
[24.85] keeping the memory of the chamber of lion-slaying Cyrene;
and long-winged Hermes, prevailing, snatched his own child,
the son of Penelope, horn-drawing, long-haired Pan;
and Urania brought Hymenaeus back from destruction,
named for her own generative son, and scored
[24.90] the airy paths, like the trail of a star,
doing favor to her clustered brother Dionysus;
and Calliope lifted Oeagrus upon her shoulders;
and Hephaestus cared for his own children the Cabeiri,
and snatched them both, like a sharp torch;
[24.95] and Actaean Pallas Athena saved Erechtheus,
the Indian-slayer, the dweller of god-founded Athens;
and all the dwellers of Olympus who cared for their dear oaks
took the Hadryad nymphs alive, and beyond the others
Apollo of the laurel, appearing, saved the laurel nymphs,
[24.100] and with him his mother, his companion, helped them,
Leto, still honoring the trees of her childbed.
And the phalanx of the Bassarids and the cluster-bearing women
were saved from the deep, loud-roaring tumult
by the daughters of Cydnus, the Zephyrus-loving river,
[24.105] who knew the floating, wet course, whom for the victory
of the Indian war the father gave as a gift to Bacchus,
Naiads skilled in battle, whom once Cilician Typhoeus
taught fighting when he warred against Cronion.
And the army followed as companions; and Euius
[24.110] outstripped them all as they hurried, upon his mountain-haunting car
scraping the stream with the trail of his unwetted axle;
and he had the Satyrs running with him, and with them the Bacchants
traveling the water, and the Pans of one age; and beyond the others
the swifter Telchines upon sea-reared horses,
[24.115] the drivers of their father's sea-founded wagon,
accompanied hurrying Dionysus into the course.
And others were behind, and rushed on in the crossing
coming up from another, unseen road,
where the god escorted them; since, shaking his wing gently,
[24.120] an eagle led the way through the mountain, Zeus in answering shape,
bearing his son aloft with sparing talons,
Aeacus carried high on an airy road.
And they danced, skipping upon the Indian cliff,
and hunted the crags, and lodged in the thickets,
[24.125] and pitching their huts in the gently shaded wood
some held the fawn-driving hunt of long-horned deer
together with their hounds; and the water-nymphs of shoot-loving
Dionysus mingled with the Hamadryad Nymphs.
And the ranks of the Bassarids beside the Erythraean thicket
[24.130] nursed the cub of a mountain-haunting lioness,
and their breasts gushed the moisture of self-poured milk;
another, pursuing a longing for a viperish cluster,
sought through the mountain the caves of venom-shooting serpents,
and showed her hunting skill; and with javelin-hurling thyrsus
[24.135] one struck a storm-footed fawn; and another, unseen,
ran down a raging bear with a raving leap;
and another gripped the spine of dark-skinned beasts
and mounted the crest of mountain-ranging elephants.
And one of the archers fitted a shaft to the circling string
[24.140] and shot at an elm; another had an olive as his mark;
and another struck a fir; and much whistling of arrows
sent at a neighboring pine hissed in the air.
For them the mountain-crashing revel roared. But in grief
Thureus came to king Deriades as an ill messenger,
[24.145] announcing the slaughter of the Indians with speechless tears,
and scarcely raised a mourning voice from his lips:
"Scepter-bearing Deriades, god-born shoot of Enyo,
we went, as you commanded, to the cliff opposite,
we found a lonely thicket near in the glens;
[24.150] there we set an ambush and waited, until thyrsus-mad
Dionysus should come; and as Bacchus came on
a flute crashed out, and as the untanned ox-hide
was beaten on both sides there was a bronze-beaten echo
and the clang of a pipe; and the whole thicket whirled
[24.155] and the oaks cried out and the hills danced;
and the Naiads shrieked. And I armed my warriors,
reluctant, trembling, dragging the disobedient into the fray.
And the god, as they call him, shaking his whetted thyrsi,
shooting at the Indian race with paltry leaves,
[24.160] killed on the plain an unspeakable host struck by the sharp
thyrsus, and in the surges he destroyed the remnant of the Indians.
But let us ask the wise Brahmans, so that you may learn
whether this one has come to us as a god or a mortal man.
Do not raise a profitless nightly war,
[24.165] do not destroy your army in a lightless fighting;
already a misty gloom is stretched out; and appearing near,
the star Hesperus glitters, drawing back the strife.
And if longing for a hard-to-face tumult pursues you,
restrain the Indian today, and tomorrow you draw them into battle."
[24.170] So speaking he persuaded disobedient Deriades,
obedient not for feebleness, but blaming
Phaethon as he sank, and not yielding to Lyaeus.
And moving the Indian phalanx from the river,
overbearing Deriades withdrew in a mourning rage,
[24.175] seated on the crests of his returning elephants.
And the Indians this way and that with their towering king
rushed in flight to the city, within the towers
hearing of the victory of war-mad Dionysus.
And already a groaning rumor flew through the city,
[24.180] announcing the kindred slaughter of the newly slain Indians.
And the lament was unspeakable; and the circles of the faces
of the lamentation-loving women were scored with mourning nails,
and their tunics were split at the middle of the breast,
baring their bosoms, and with alternating rushes
[24.185] the rim of their beaten breasts reddened,
blood-dipped, beneath their palms. And a grey old man on the threshold of age
cut his snowy lock with downcast iron,
hearing that his four sons in their prime had perished,
whom Aeacus subdued with a single frightful knife,
[24.190] slain pitiably; and of the heavy-enduring women
one groaned for her brother, another for her father;
another bride, weeping in many ways, lamented
a bridegroom fresh from the dance, like Protesilaus,
another a Laodameia; and the cluster of the hair
[24.195] of the newly yoked bride was torn, unplaited and unveiled.
And one, helpless, the wife of a fallen Indian,
having filled out the near birth-pangs of her labor
and seeing the childbed circles of the tenth Moon,
groaned with many tears over the watery destruction of her husband,
[24.200] and in anger at the river broke out in a wailing voice:
"Never shall I drink my father's bitter Hydaspes;
no longer shall I pass those streams, no longer, wretched,
shall I touch the river that has hidden your corpse,
no, by you and by your burden, which I bear within my belly,
[24.205] no, by you and by that love which time knows not how to wither.
Who will take me and carry me to where my husband fell dead,
so that I may embrace the drenched corpse, so that the wave
may hide even me together with my water-traveling husband?
Would that I had borne a son and reared him; but now, wretched,
[24.210] the swelling of my belly holds me with the birth ripening.
And if ever I bear a child and he asks for his father,
how shall I show a father to my son as he babbles?"
She spoke, lamenting to the husband who did not hear.
And another groaned for an unwedded wedlock
[24.215] as her suitor perished, whom the fair-marrying hour did not see
covered with a bridal wreath, nor in the chamber
did the sweet-singing, life-saving flute of the Loves sing.
For them in their grief there was lamentation. But about the thickets
Bacchus set a banquet for his Satyrs and his Indian-slaying
[24.220] warriors; and bulls were carved,
and heifers in rows were cut up with the knife,
struck with axes, and from the Erythraean flock
thick droves of spear-won sheep were sacrificed.
And seated in throngs at the well-rounded table
[24.225] the Sileni and Satyrs with fair-thyrsus Dionysus
touched a single food with wide-scattered hands;
and unspeakable wine was drunk in turn; and the wine-pourers
emptied boundless fragrant jars,
drawing the blameless cluster of the nectarous harvest.
[24.230] And for them as they delighted beside the mixing-bowl,
Leucus of Lesbos, self-taught, wove a song, singing shrill
how the earlier Titans armed themselves against Olympus;
and he sang the true victory of high-ruling Zeus,
how he sealed broad-bearded Cronus, crouching beneath the thunderbolt,
[24.235] in the gloomy Tartarean bosom,
armed in vain with the watery weapons of winter.
And Lapethus, the unarmed citizen of the Cyprian field,
sat beside the intelligent harper, and held out to him
a rich portion of food, and asked him to sing
[24.240] that delightful tale, the care of never-silent Athens,
how loom-toiling Cytherea strove with Athena.
And he, harping, struck up to sing of Cypris,
how once, having the sting of distaff-loving care,
she went after the loom of Athena with untried hands,
[24.245] lifting a shuttle and no longer the cestus of the Loves.
And the Paphian's thread was stretched thick, like some long,
well-twisted rope of osier, which with some craft
an old shipwright has stitched in long trails,
fencing in the gaping newly finished timbers of ships;
[24.250] and she all day and all night beside the loom
made the work of Pallas, undone again, and wore her untried
hands with an alien, unaccustomed toil;
and combing the tunic with a many-toothed comb
and hanging a dancing weight in the middle,
[24.255] she wove the robe with the shuttle, and Cypris became Athena;
and the labor was unlaughing; and as the robe was woven
the broad-stretched monstrous thread swelled; and of their own accord
the warp-threads broke as the tunic thickened;
and she had for her twofold toils as witnesses of her craft
[24.260] the sun and the lamp and necessary Selene.
The handmaids of the Paphian, the dancers of Orchomenus,
danced no dance; but with a running rush
Pasithea whirled the spindle, and Persuasion was the wool-dresser,
and Aglaia gave thread and yarn to her mistress.
[24.265] And the life of mortal marriages wandered; and old Aeon,
the charioteer of life, shaken, groaned for the useless
harmony of unwedded wedlock;
and unhonored Eros unstrung his flaming bowstring,
gazing at the unbegotten, unplowed furrow of the cosmos.
[24.270] Then there was no lovely din of harps, then no pipe,
no shrill flute sang, crying 'Hymen, Hymenaeus';
but as life dwindled and the race was lashed,
the bolts of the unloosable yoking were wrenched away.
And toil-enduring Athena saw the Paphian toil-loving,
[24.275] and had anger mingled with laughter, when she saw the long,
rough rope of Cytherea untried in labor;
and she announced it to the immortals; and with heavy-jealous purpose
she spoke, blaming both Cypris and her father:
"Your gift shifts about, heavenly Zeus;
[24.280] no longer do I hold the gift of the Fates; for your daughter
Aphrodite, become a loom-worker, has plundered my portion.
The portion of Athena was not snatched by queen Hera,
the sister and consort of my Zeus, but the steward
of bedchambers, a soft goddess, afflicts the Spoil-winner
[24.285] armed with shields from her birth. And when did your
unwarlike Cytherea fight in the front for Olympus,
or what Titans did she destroy with her womanish cestus,
that she should force me after wars? And do you yourself
tell me, archer-goddess, when from the midst of your wood
[24.290] did you see Athena shooting or hunting?
Who calls upon the grey-eyed one when women are in labor?"
As she spoke the gods who dwell in Olympus gathered,
wishing to see Aphrodite plying the loom.
And seeing the labors of battle-untried Cytherea
[24.295] in wonder they circled the goddess's bastard work;
and laughing, mocking Hermes spoke again:
"You have a loom, Cytherea; leave your cestus to Athena.
If you handle thread, if you stretch a shuttle in your hands,
then lift also the furious spear and the aegis of Tritogeneia.
[24.300] I know, Cytherea, why you weave the much-clattering loom;
your guile has not escaped me; perhaps your bridegroom Ares
demands lovely tunics of you for the wedding.
Weave a robe for Ares; but on the newly spun robe
do not embroider a shield; for what have shields to do with Aphrodite?
[24.305] Make Phaethon the light-bearing witness of your bed,
announcing the thievish plunderer of your couch;
and if you wish, embroider your ancient bonds too,
and let a shamefaced hand fashion the god your counterfeit husband;
and you too, Eros, whirling your spindle after your bow,
[24.310] make yarn for your distaff-loving mother Cytherea,
so that after 'winged' I may call you 'loom-toiling' as well,
and after the ox-gut strings may see the fiery god
drawing out the bobbin past the thread instead of shafts.
Make Ares in gold beside golden Aphrodite
[24.315] bearing a shuttle in his hand and not brandishing an ox-hide shield,
embroidering a double cloak with work-toiling Cytherea.
But, goddess Cytherea, cast the threads to the winds
from your distaff-loving hands and tend the cestus strap,
and care for wedlock a second time; for the first-born
[24.320] cosmos still wanders, while you still weave a robe."
As he spoke, all the dwellers of Olympus smiled.
And casting away the half-finished thread of the tunic,
in shame before the grey-eyed one, Cytherea, the nurse
of the human race, set foot upon her own Cyprus;
[24.325] and Eros fitted the shifting-shaped life together again with his cestus,
sowing the childbed rim of the well-plowed cosmos.
Such a lovely-voiced song Leucus wove,
hymning Aphrodite untaught of the distaff,
who raised a great quarrel against work-toiling Athena.
[24.330] But when there was surfeit of the wine-loving table,
gushing up wine they fell upon a lonely bed;
some upon a dappled fawnskin, others upon leaves
spread out, and others above the loose dust
strewed a couch of goatskins;
[24.335] and others kept company with battle-rousing dreams,
stretching their brazen bodies in a warlike sleep,
of whom one struck an Indian seated high on a horse,
another pierced an Indian at the neck, and another, cutting down,
struck a footman with his sword, and another wounded Deriades;
[24.340] and another, sending his air-roaming shaft on high,
struck sky-high elephants with a dream arrow.
And the race of leopards and the wild tribes of lions
and the hunting hounds of wilderness-dwelling Dionysus
kept a sleepless eye in alternating watch,
[24.345] waking all night within the mountain wood,
lest the war of the darkening Indians rush upon them;
and torches flashed in rows toward Olympus,
the lamps of the unsleeping Bacchic dance.

## Book XXV


### In the twenty-fifth you have the contest of Perseus and the judgment of Heracles against the manhood of Dionysus.

[25.1] Muse, make war again in a wise battle with an intelligent thyrsus;
for not yet, bending a slave's knee to Dionysus,
has the eastern Ares lulled the seven-year war;
but, astonished at the tip of a serpent's jaw,
[25.5] the nestlings of the Indian plane-tree cry out again,
the prophets of the Bacchic war. But I shall not sing
the first six years, when the Indian host was within
its towers; but having completed a pattern in imitation of Homer
I shall hymn the last year of the wars, and shall score
[25.10] a fighting equal in number to my seventh sparrow;
and I shall mix my song for seven-gated Thebes, because she too
runs about me in Bacchic frenzy, and like a bride
has bared her breast above a downcast robe,
remembering Pentheus; and urging me to sing,
[25.15] old Cithaeron stretched out his mourning hand,
in shame, lest I cry aloud of the lawless bed
or of a father-slaying husband lying beside the mother who bore him.
I hear the din of the Aonian lyre; tell me, Muses,
what Amphion again draws breathless stone into a course?
[25.20] I know whence this din is; for as Thebes is sung
the Dorian echo of the Pindaric harp has crashed out.
But let us kill again the race of the Erythraean Indians;
for the age never beheld another war like it
before the eastern war, nor after the Indian fighting
[25.25] did it see another, late-accomplished, of equal weight,
nor did so great a host come to Ilion, nor so great
a fleet of men; but striving with the new and the first-born
I shall raise up the well-toiled sweats of Dionysus,
judging the manhood of the children of Zeus, so that I may see
[25.30] who labored at such a contest, who was the equal of Bacchus.
Perseus, swift-kneed, whirling a well-winged step,
held a cloud-neighboring course in the air, a wayfarer on foot,
if truly he flew. But what more, if, shaking his ankles,
he swam with a windy sole in a strange rowing,
[25.35] because, with the robbing wrist of a cupped palm,
taking the wandering eye of the sleepless daughter of Phorcys,
guarding the noiseless leap of his high-treading sandals,
he mowed the viperish swath of one Medusa,
whose belly, still swelling, was pressed with offspring,
[25.40] in travail with Pegasus, and the sickle, a childbirth-helping
Eileithyia, reaped the pregnant neck of the Gorgon lady,
the first-fruits of a horse-bearing throat? And swift-sandaled
Perseus lifted the tokens of an unwarlike victory,
breathless, the snaky cornfields of the Gorgon's hair,
[25.45] the remains of a head drenched with a bloody drop,
half-finished, hissing thinly from freshly cut throats;
and he did not march in a male battle,
there was then no din of a land war, nor on the sea
did Ares the sailor belly out the warlike sails of ships
[25.50] with battle-rousing winds for Perseus as he fought,
nor did Libyan Nereus redden with a murderous drop,
nor did deadly water receive a self-rolling corpse;
but trembling at the hissing of the snaky hair
of raving Stheno, winged Perseus whirled about,
[25.55] and bearing the helmet of Hades and the sickle of Pallas,
and holding the wing of Hermes and Zeus as his father,
he was lifted, a fugitive, on a swifter sandal,
hearing the bellowing of Euryale and not a trumpet,
having plundered a little cave of Libya; he did not kill
[25.60] an army of men, he did not turn a city to ash with a flaming brand.
But such was not the war of Bromius; not creeping on foot
did Bacchus arm himself, a guileful champion, nor, lying in wait
for the migrant circle of the unsleeping guardian eye
of the daughter of Phorcys as she shifted the wing of Sleep,
[25.65] did he accomplish a womanish contest against uncorseleted Medusa;
but splitting apart the ranks of the foe with a twofold victory
of a land war and a water-traveling tumult
he wetted the earth with gore, and mixing the wave with blood
he reddened the Nereids with a reddening stream,
[25.70] killing barbarian tribes; and many a headless cornfield
of high-crested Indians was entombed upon mother Earth,
and many, perished in the seas by the sharp thyrsus,
were ferried over the sea as self-moving sailors,
a dead throng of Indians. And for unconquered Lyaeus
[25.75] I pass over the wavy war of the battle-rousing river
that hurled its waters as spears, when the smoky
Bacchic pine-torch burned the barbarian water
with a dripping spark, and watery Hydaspes boiled
with a hot wave, gushing up a river smoke.
[25.80] But you will say that Perseus killed a sea-reared monster;
with the Gorgon eye he turned the beast of the sea to stone.
What more, if Polydectes, having gazed on the eye
of murderous Medusa, changed the strange-natured form
of his human limbs and was shaped into self-perfected stone?
[25.85] But the mighty labor of Indian-slaying Bacchus was no single Gorgon,
no air-roaming, sea-beaten stone, nor a Polydectes;
but Bacchus, playing the champion, mowed the straw
of serpent-haired Giants with a little man-breaking thyrsus,
when, hurling warlike ivy at Porphyrion,
[25.90] he dashed down Enceladus and drove off Alcyoneus,
hurling leaves as spears; and thyrsi were shot,
the destroyers of the earth-born, the helpers of Olympus,
when the coiling people of the Field, with two hundred hands,
pressing the starry rim with their many-necked heads,
[25.95] bent the knee before a slender javelin-cluster,
an ivy spear; and not by the fiery thunderbolt
did so great a swarm fall as by the man-breaking thyrsus.
But, friends, let us judge: in the eastern field
the sun marveled, watching the Indian-slaying sweats
[25.100] of Dionysus, while over the western gulf
the Hesperian Moon saw long-winged Perseus
contending at a small labor with crook-clawed bronze;
and by as much a greater boast as Phaethon has obtained than Mene,
by so much shall I declare Bacchus better than Perseus.
[25.105] Inachus was witness of them both, when with ivy
and a murderous fennel-stalk the Mycenaean spears strove,
bronze-heavy; and fleeing the Euian-loving Ares of the Satyrs
sickle-bearing Perseus gave way to thyrsus-bearing Bromius,
and he sent his furious spear, instead of warlike Lyaeus
[25.110] hurling it at paltry, ironless Ariadne;
I do not admire Perseus for killing one woman,
still breathing of the Loves in her bridal garments.
And if he exalts himself for the sake of the golden bed of Zeus,
rainy Zeus did not bring Danae to heaven,
[25.115] honoring the maiden-loving rain of a generative dew,
the little stolen wedding; but Semele mounted Olympus
with Zeus, touching a single table with the blessed ones,
seated beside her clustered son Dionysus;
Danae got no Olympian house, but, being within
[25.120] a water-traveling chest, the bride of Zeus sailed,
blaming the deceitful rain of the yoking Loves,
which had the unsteady wealth of a short-lived snowfall.
I know of Andromeda, that she appears within Olympus,
but she labors again even in the upper air; and perhaps, wretched,
[25.125] she has often spoken such a word with an indignant voice:
'What more, if you brought me to the upper air, bridegroom Perseus?
A fine Olympian bride-gift you gave me; for the starry
Sea-Monster still routs me here too, and another, new one,
the counterpart of the former; after the earth and the terror of the brine
[25.130] I still have a bond even among the stars; your heavenly
sickle did not save me; and in vain within Olympus
the gentle eye of a starry Medusa glitters for me;
the Sea-Monster still routs me, and you stretch no light wings.
My grieving mother forces me, because wretched
[25.135] Cassiepeia herself sinks through the upper air into the sea
trembling at the Nereids, and counts blessed the course of the Bear,
unwetted by Ocean and not touching the sea;
and seeing the terror of Andromeda and the Sea-Monster of Olympus
old Cepheus laments here after the earth.'
[25.140] Such a word the heavy-bound bride often cried,
calling on Perseus, and her husband did not help her.
And if Perseus exults in the stars of Andromeda,
stretch a sidelong eye through the upper air, where
gleaming Ophiuchus shines, lifting the coiled Serpent,
[25.145] you shall behold the circling Crown of Ariadne,
running with the Sun, rising together with the Moon,
announcing the desire of garland-loving Dionysus.
I know the war of Minos, which a womanish Enyo granted him
lifting a cestus and not the strap of an ox-hide shield,
[25.150] when Cypris was helmet-glancing, when Persuasion
brandished a bronze spear and became Pallas Athena,
the companion of Minos as he fought, and in the tumults
the bride-adorning swarm of unwarlike Loves shot arrows,
and lovely city-sacking Desire, when for the Nisaean
[25.155] Megarian people the Cydonian trumpet roared,
when, seeing Terror and Panic as the fellow-contenders of the Loves,
brazen Ares withdrew with shamefaced steps,
watching Aphrodite lifting a shield
and Desire hurling a spear, and delicate-tunicked Eros
[25.160] accomplished for a well-corseleted warrior a victory of fair hair;
for Scylla sheared from her sleeping, unshorn father
the cluster of his purple hair, his age-mate,
and sacked a whole city with one cutting iron,
having mowed a lock from the city-holding head.
[25.165] Minos the city-sacker once found the end of the fighting
by his own naked beauty, and conquered not by iron,
but by longing and love; but as Lyaeus armed,
no Desire soothed the war of the javelin-bearing Indians,
no Paphian armed herself fighting beside Lyaeus,
[25.170] conquering by beauty; no single girl, gadfly-mad,
in love with Dionysus, brought him the end of the battle,
no lovely guile, no locks of Deriades,
but the strange-natured Indian of the wide-scattered wars,
having the boast of a victory ever renewed. And if you honor
[25.175] the Inachus of Heracles, I myself shall test his whole labor.
I know that, winding his forearm aslant about a lion,
he embraced its neck entwined in a well-handled bond,
bringing an ironless doom, where through the life-sustaining throat
the breathing air is ferried through the middle of the windpipe;
[25.180] I do not admire this either; once beside a fair-leaved thicket
the maiden Cyrene, playing the champion with lion-slaying hands,
accomplished a like deed, since she too
subdued a male beast with an unbending womanish grip;
and Bacchus, still a boy fresh in bloom, playing in the mountains,
[25.185] gripping a shaggy chin with one hand,
dragged a blood-red lion, and held it out to his mother Rhea,
squeezing the gaping beast by the lock of its neck;
he dragged it still living, and binding it tight with harness
he clamped the beast with a steering bit,
[25.190] yoking its slavish jaws, and, sitting high upon his car,
lashed the wild backs of the frightened lions.
And the race of leopards and the tribe of raw-devouring bears
were enslaved by the infant palms of Dionysus.
I know too of the mountain-running Arcadian boar; but for Lyaeus
[25.195] in his boyhood boars and tribes of lions were playthings.
What more did bold Heracles accomplish, if with much labor
he loosed one little snaky spring, Lerna,
cutting the self-perfected first-fruits of the lair-haunting hydra,
a many-necked planting sprouting up with serpents?
[25.200] Would that he had killed it alone, and had not, laboring, called
Iolaus as the crusher of the newly grown heads,
lifting a light-bearing brand, until the two together
dashed down the female serpent; but I do not know how to honor
two men striving against one paltry viper;
[25.205] a single labor was divided between them both; but the thyrsus-bearer
Euius alone, cutting off the snaky sons of the Field,
the champion of Zeus, assailed them all, over whose shoulders
abundant hydras flowed in turn on either side,
far greater than the Inachian hydra, and instead of Lerna
[25.210] they hissed restlessly in the upper air, neighbors of the stars.
Be gracious, Iolaus; for you burned the body of the hydra,
and Heracles alone, alone snatched the name of victory.
My champion brought back to life no little Nemea, no Lerna
from many-roaring throats,
[25.215] cutting the viperish bush of the ever-renewed hydra,
but bringing Notus and the soles of Boreas and the wing of Eurus
and Zephyrus as herald, with a four-yoked victory
he filled Ocean, earth and sea with his contests.
If a serpent brings glory to a man, if lair-haunting hydras,
[25.220] these are the childbed garlands of Bacchus, these the dread
snaky bonds of the serpent locks of Lyaeus,
from the time when he left the birth-perfecting fold of his father's thigh.
I shall be silent about the golden horn of the doe; I shall not much reproach
so great a Heracles as the slayer of one deer;
[25.225] do not recall a trembling deer; for to a fawn-slaying
raving woman the fawn-driving hunt is a small plaything.
Leave the Cnossian labor of Heracles; for I do not admire
some gadfly-mad bull which he drove off, because, shaking
so great a club, he cut off a little horn;
[25.230] often one woman has done this, often a Bacchant
has carved up an unspeakable herd of well-horned bulls,
a paltry handmaid of ox-horned Dionysus;
and often, dragging up the whetted arching horn,
if a maddened ox fought with its horns,
[25.235] she bent the bull to its knee, though it had hurled lions aside.
Leave too the heads of three-crested Geryon;
for my Dionysus with his flesh-cutting ivy
crushed Alpos, the god-fighting son of the Field,
Alpos tressed with a hundred viperish heads,
[25.240] touching the sun and dragging down the Moon,
pressing the starry dance with his locks.
The contests of Heracles, whom immortal Zeus plowed
having the three-moon child-sowing bed of Alcmene,
were a paltry mountain-reared labor; but the works of Bacchus
[25.245] were either a many-armed Giant or the champion of high-crested Indians;
no doe, no ranks of a herd of cattle, no shaggy boar,
no hound, no bull, no self-trunked gold-shining harvest,
no dung, no restless wandering bird
with a paltry, ironless winged point,
[25.250] no stranger-slaying horse's jaw, no little girdle
of Hippolyte; but the victory of Dionysus
was measureless Deriades or twenty-cubit Orontes.
All-shining son of Meles, imperishable herald of Achaea,
be gracious — your book is of one age with the dawn;
[25.255] I shall not recall the Trojan fighting; for I do not liken
Dionysus to the son of Aeacus or Deriades to Hector.
Your Muse ought to have hymned so great and such a contest
and Bacchus the hurler of spears against Giants,
and left the labors of Achilles to other hymn-tenders,
[25.260] had not Thetis snatched this prize. But breathe upon me
your god-sped breath to sing shrill; for I lack
your fair speech, since, singing so great a war,
I dim the Indian-slaying sweats of Dionysus.
But, goddess, bring me a second time into the midst of the Indians,
[25.265] holding a breathing spear and the shield of father Homer,
fighting against Morrheus and witless Deriades,
armed together with Zeus and Bromius; and in the tumults
let me hear the host-gathering sound of the Bacchic pipe
and the unceasing din of the wise trumpet of Homer,
[25.270] so that I may kill the remnant of the Indians with an intelligent spear.
So the throng of the Bacchoi sat about the well-pastured ridge
of the Indian wood, citizens of a lonely cliff,
in a respite from the war; and Ganges whirled in fear,
pitying his own children; and at the doom of the newly slain
[25.275] the whole city was shaken; and the streets crashed
with the mourning beating of lamentation-loving women.
And fear and wonder and shame whirled Deriades about;
for already he had heard everything; and still more he grieved,
watching with sidelong eye, because, changing its divine form,
[25.280] black Hydaspes murmured with a wavy wine.
There too a broad-bearded, ill-fated old man, whirling his sluggish foot,
holding a misty blindness of mist,
sprinkled the yellow dew of toil-releasing drunkenness
upon his glued eyes; and as his face drew up
[25.285] the wine-dark drops his eyes were opened;
and with delighted feet the old man danced, singing shrill
of the reddening moisture of the evil-averting river;
and drawing the stream like a cloud with his aged hands
he filled fragrant skins with the purple drunkenness,
[25.290] and kindled an altar to Zeus and to wine-pouring Dionysus,
having beheld the late radiance of an unaccustomed Phaethon.
And a youth, leaving on the shore his drunken hounds
lapping the delicious water of the reddening river,
a hunter, companion of the mountain archer-goddess,
[25.295] bent his step toward the city, announcing to disobedient
Deriades the sweet flood of the wine-tottering river.
And already a vine fragrance ran through the city
and made all the streets drunk with warm winds,
prophesying the victory of Indian-slaying Lyaeus;
[25.300] and the citizens lodged in the sky-high towers
in fear, and the guardians of the high-crested city
girdled the wall with ox-hide shields. And among the hills
Dionysus in distress often blamed Hera,
because, grudging again, she had reined back the war of the Indians,
[25.305] when the returning Moon had filled out ten circles,
having measured the thirtieth dawn of the fighting;
and the winds fanned up all his hope of victory.
And gazing at his lions beside an idle manger,
he roared like a lion and groaned within the thicket
[25.310] with tearless eyes; and to downcast Bacchus
trailing-robed, unsown Attis came through the Scythian mountain,
lashing his migrant chariot of lions,
the swift messenger of divine Rhea, who once, reddening
with bronze the generative corn of a marriage-perfecting youth,
[25.315] cast away the loving swath of unwedded plowshares,
the first-fruits of a male harvest, and sprinkling
the fold of his thigh with a child-begetting bloody drop
made his hot body womanish with the crushing iron;
he then, driving the chariot of the Cybelian goddess,
[25.320] came as a messenger to comfort Lyaeus in his distress;
and seeing him Dionysus ran up, lest he come near
bringing all-subduing Rhea to the war of the Indians.
And halting his wild chariot, stretching the reins along the rail,
and showing the unscored tips of a rosy chin,
[25.325] he spoke a word to Bacchus, pouring a shrill cry:
"Vine Dionysus, child of Zeus, grandson of Rhea,
tell me as I ask, when will you come home to the land of the Lydians,
having wiped out the woolly-headed race of the Indians?
Not yet has Rhea beheld dark-skinned captives,
[25.330] not yet after the battle has she wiped the sweat of your
Mygdonian lions at a mountain-haunting manger
beside the wealth-flowing stream of Pactolus; but you roll
the noiseless whirl of ever-flowing years of war;
not yet have you brought to the beast-tending mother of gods
[25.335] as tokens of victory the eastern tribes of Indian lions.
But from Hephaestus and from your immortal Rhea
receive this armor, which the Lemnian anvil wrought,
holding the sea together with the earth and the upper air and the chorus of stars."
Not yet had his speech ended, and proud Bacchus cried:
[25.340] "The gods are cruel, jealous; for in the wars
I could wipe out the city of the Indians in a single dawn
with my ivy spear; but the envy of my stepmother Hera
leads me astray from victory against my will.
Openly wild Ares stands as champion for Deriades
[25.345] fighting against the Satyrs; and I have often longed
to wound him with my thyrsus; but Cronion, threatening
with thunderous crashes, has reined back my rush.
But may heavenly Zeus lull today the din
of his heavy-crashing clouds, and tomorrow I shall bind Ares,
[25.350] until I cut through the well-helmeted corn of the Indians."
Lydian Attis answered Dionysus as he so spoke:
"Brandishing the unwoundable starry shield of the upper air,
dear friend, would you not fear the wrath of Ares, the envy of Hera?
Not the whole rank of the blessed ones, having all-mother Rhea,
[25.355] not an army of the curved bow — only take care, in hurling spears,
not to strike the sun or wound Selene.
Who would spoil the sword of Orion with a knife,
or shoot at Boötes with earthly shafts?
But you will speak of the horn-drawing father of Deriades;
[25.360] what could Hydaspes do to you, who bear Ocean?
Make war with courage a second time, because my Rhea
has prophesied a late-accomplished victory of the tumult;
for there shall be no end of the war before the four-yoked
Seasons fill out the sixth year of the fighting;
[25.365] for so the eye of Zeus and the threads of unturning Fate
entrusted it to the nods of Hera; and in the seventh
year to come you shall shatter the city of the Indians."
So speaking he gave the shield to Bromius; and delighting his heart
with wine-loving cups of toil-releasing wine
[25.370] he touched the banquet; and having pleased his spirit
at the table he turned back and lashed the backs of his lions,
shepherding his mountain-running chariot home to Phrygia.
And he drove beside the headlands of the Caucasian haunts,
and passed the peaks of the Assyrians and the hard-to-tread mountains of the Bactrians
[25.375] and the crags of Lebanon and the ridges of Taurus,
until he set foot on the land of Maeonia; and he entered
the self-fixed, divine court of Rhea, mother of a mighty child;
and he unclamped his raw-devouring lions from the harness,
and bound them near the manger and gave them ambrosial fodder.
[25.380] But Dionysus, thyrsus-mad, having learned the inspired oracle
of his mother, mingled with the mountain Bacchants,
leaving to the winds the mass of his downcast distress,
shaking in his hand the much-wrought shield, the weapon of Olympus,
the wise work of Hephaestus. And the peoples gathered,
[25.385] gazing at the varied Olympian wonders of the craft,
flashing wonders, which a heavenly hand had wrought
in fashioning the many-colored shield, in the middle of which
he made the earth, circling, and about the earth
he rounded the heaven, scored with the chorus of stars,
[25.390] and made the sea yoked to the earth; and in the upper air
he embroidered the sun in gold, riding upon the rail
of his flaming chariot, and of silver metal,
whitening it, he rounded the whole wheeling Selene;
and in it all the constellations, with which the coiling upper air,
[25.395] girdling itself crown-wise in a many-lit adornment,
is embroidered about its seven zones, and beside the axle-circle
the twin unwetted rhythm of the heavenly Wagon;
for both march beside the turning-post above Ocean
at each other's loins, and always by as much
[25.400] as the head of the sinking Bear is bent down below,
by so much is the neck of the other rising stretched up;
and he embroidered the Dragon in the middle of the twofold Wagon,
who, joining the divided limbs of both close by,
is bent in the coiling trail of his heavenly belly,
[25.405] reining back his shifting body, like the coiling flood
of slanting, roaring Maeander, who through the land
bends his arching water aslant and travels in spirals,
stretching a facing eye toward the head of Helice,
his body girdled with starry scales, encircled
[25.410] by the constellations of the Bears; and on the tip of his tongue
a star, spitting light, glitters stretched forward,
sending a many-toothed flame in the middle, neighbor to his lips.
Such things the wise smith wrought in the middle back
of the well-made shield; and doing favor to Lyaeus
[25.415] he made the ox-founded walls of lyre-built Thebes,
the seven-pathed gates being built in alternating rows;
and Zethus was there, laboring for his homeland,
lifting a rocky burden on his straining shoulder;
and Amphion sang shrill, striking his lyre; and at his song
[25.420] a coiling hill danced, self-rolling, into its course,
as though charmed even in the shield; and you would quickly have said,
though it was made by art, that a light throb, playing
with a skipping motion, whirled the unmoving cliff;
and watching the man devoted to his silent lyre,
[25.425] striking up a swift melody on a lying string,
you would have hastened to come near, so that, setting your ear
to the tower-building harp, you might delight your own heart,
hearing the stone-moving sound of the seven-toned song.
And the well-turned shield, where the shifting chorus of stars is,
[25.430] had a fitting device, since within the court of Zeus
the Trojan wine-pourer was embroidered with most holy art
having a well-made eagle as his winged bearer,
as in paintings, held fast by a ravishing claw;
and Zeus seemed in fear as he flew through the upper air,
[25.435] lifting the astonished boy with unscratching talons,
sparing in the rush of his gently moving wings,
lest Ganymede be hidden in the murderous surges of the sea,
slipping head first from the air;
and he trembled still more at the Fates, lest the lovely youth,
[25.440] having first given his own name to the neighboring sea,
should snatch a late prize kept for Helle;
and the boy was fashioned beside the heavenly table of the feast
of the gods, wholly like one drawing wine; and he had a mixing-bowl
crammed with the self-poured nectarous dew,
[25.445] and held out a cup to Zeus as he feasted; and Hera sat
as though angry even in the shield, having in her witnessing form
the jealousy of her soul, and to the goddess Pallas
seated beside her she showed the boy, because Ganymede,
a star-roaming herdsman, poured the sweet nectar of Olympus,
[25.450] brandishing in his hand the cups that the maiden Hebe had obtained.
And he fashioned Maeonia, since she was the nurse of Bacchus,
and Moria and the dappled serpent and the divine herb,
and the measureless serpent-slaying son of Earth, Damasen,
and Tylus, scored by a venom-shooting sharp doom,
[25.455] a short-lived dweller of Maeonia, who once, walking
beside the brows of the Mygdonian river, neighboring Hermus,
touched a serpent with his hand; and it, stretching its broad neck,
raising its head with the unsparing gape of its throat,
rushed against the man, and lashing his hips
[25.460] it whirled the stormy onset of its tail,
and joining its back crown-wise about his mortal skin,
leaping about the circles of his newly bearded chin,
scoring the edges of his cheek with a many-toothed swath,
it spat the moisture of Fate from venom-shooting jaws,
[25.465] and as it leapt upon him his middle neck was girdled
with the coils of its tail above his burdened shoulders,
wearing a snaky necklace of Hades, the neighbor of Fate.
And the corpse fell to the ground like a shoot of the earth.
And pitying the youth who had fallen by a witnessing doom,
[25.470] an unveiled Naiad groaned over the corpse beside her,
and then she sought to hold back the monstrous beast, that it might be subdued;
for it had not dashed down one wayfarer or one herdsman,
and it did not kill Tylus alone untimely, but in the thicket
where it dwelt it feasted even on beasts, and often, dragging
[25.475] a tree, roots and all, restless, beneath the sockets of its teeth,
it hid it in its moldering throat,
drawing back again the grim blast of its jaws;
and often, dragging a wayfarer who turned back
in terror at the inner panting, hauling him into its mouth,
[25.480] visible from afar, it received a whole man in its gaping throat.
And Moria watched her brother's slayer,
gazing from afar, and the lady whirled in fear,
seeing the many-rowed swath of its venom-shooting teeth,
and she saw the garland of death entwined about his throat;
[25.485] and wailing thickly beside the serpent-feeding thicket
she met sky-high Damasen, the son of Earth,
whom once his mother midwifed in a self-begotten birth,
tending the shaggy circles of his chin from his birth;
and Strife was his nurse when he was born; and spears were
[25.490] his breast, and slaughters his bath-water, and a breastplate his swaddling-clothes,
and weighed down with the broad burden of his long limbs
the spear-wielding infant, a valiant babe, neighbor to the upper air,
from his birth brandished a kindred spear, and Eileithyia
armed the newly appeared shield-bearer of her childbed.
[25.495] Beholding him beside the well-pastured slope of the wood
she bent in supplication, and the plaintive lady showed him
the measureless creeping thing, the slayer of her brother,
and Tylus, freshly scored, still gasping in the dust;
nor was the Giant careless, the monstrous champion; but gripping
[25.500] a tree he tore it up, trunk and all, from his mother the field,
and stood aslant facing the raw-devouring serpent;
and the coiling champion fought for a snaky honor,
sending the hiss of battle from the trumpet of its neck,
a serpent of fifty roods, circling in its trail;
[25.505] and it clamped his feet with a twofold squeezing bond,
and lashing the body of Damasen with its crooked coils
it opened the gates of its teeth with a raving gape,
shooting a wet shaft from its lips, shaking its eyes
raw and breathing slaughter, and against the Giant's face
[25.510] it spat springs of venom from its rainy jaws,
shooting the green, long-shadowed foam of its teeth;
and it leapt upon the head of the high-crested Giant,
darting up upright with an earth-shaking throb of its limbs.
But the dread Giant shook off the burden of the snaky spine,
[25.515] shaking limbs like crags;
and he whirled his long-leaved point in his palm,
hurling the wooden shaft upright; and about its temple
he fixed the plant, roots and all, where about its circling neck
the bond of its spine was joined at the neck's point;
[25.520] and the plant was rooted a second time; and about the ground
the serpent lay unshaken, a coiling corpse. And suddenly
the female serpent, scraping the ground with a returning trail,
the coiled bedfellow, sought her slanting mate,
like a woman longing for a dead husband; and toward the crags
[25.525] she whirled the trail of her long spine more swiftly,
hastening to a herb-bearing mountain; and about the thicket,
having plucked the flower of Zeus with her viperish jaw,
she brought the pain-killing plant with the tips of her lips,
and fitted it, the defender against a frightful destruction,
[25.530] to the parched nostril of the corpse, and gave a flowering life
to the unmoving venom-shooting dead;
and the corpse leapt up self-coiling; and one part of it
was breathless, and another marched forward, and shaking another
it was a half-finished corpse, having a self-moving tail;
[25.535] and stretching a recovered breath through its cold jaws
it hummed little by little with its accustomed throat as it opened,
pouring forth a hiss regained; and late, going
homeward, it entered its ancient lair-hole.
And Moria lifted the flower of Zeus, and about the corpse
[25.540] she fitted the life-bearing plant to a life-giving nostril.
And the grain-giving herb with its pain-healing clusters
ensouled a breathing body for the corpse restored.
And the soul came into the body a second time; and the cold body
was warmed by an inner helping torch;
[25.545] and the corpse, tending the recovered beginning of life,
moved the sole of its right foot, and straightening
the standing track of the left it was propped upon the whole sole,
having the likeness of a man who, sleeping in his bed,
shakes off the morning sleep from his opening eyes.
[25.550] And the blood boiled again; and the hands of the newly breathing
corpse were lifted; and there was harmony in his form,
walking in his feet, light in his eyes, voice in his lips.
And Cybele was scored, newly delivered, as though in her bosom
lifting a mimic, unborn childbirth
[25.555] with fashioned forearms, and to her loveless consort
guile-weaving Rhea held out a stony travail,
a chilling, heavy dinner; and the father hid
the marble son of mortal-seeming shape in his feasting throat,
banqueting on the lying body of another Zeus;
[25.560] and bearing the childbirth-helping stone within his flanks
he shot forth the crowded, many-childed race,
spitting out the burden of his pregnant throat.
Such many-turning devices of a labor-working craft
the Bacchic warlike shield of many-springed Olympus
[25.565] held, which they marveled at as they gazed, one after another,
and they circled the bearer of the wheeling shield,
praising the fiery Olympian forge.
And as they delighted Dawn measured out her setting,
drawing back the light of her fire-eyed face;
[25.570] and silent Night blackened the whole shadowy earth.
And the peoples this way and that upon ground-strewn beds
fell after the evening meal upon a mountain couch.

## Book XXVI


### The twenty-sixth got the thievish form of Athena and the great battle-rousing muster of the gathering Indians.

[26.1] And to Deriades as he slept, above his downcast bed,
furious Athena stood, bringing faithful things to Bacchus,
and wooed another victory to come for her brother;
and changing her body into the shifted likeness of Orontes
[26.5] she imitated the son-in-law of high-crested Deriades;
and as he cast away the murderous sting of Enyo
the mimic vision of a guileful dream beguiled him,
crying such a word, and at the doom of the slain
she heartened the fearful man to the battle of Dionysus:
[26.10] "You sleep, Deriades; and I blame you; for to hold
an all-night sleep is alien to city-holding kings;
the counselor has a measure of sleep. About your towers
the foes press on, and you lift no furious spear,
you do not hear the rushing din of drums, nor the melody of flutes,
[26.15] you do not hear the host-gathering sound of the murderous trumpet.
But pity your young daughter, a mourning widow,
Protonoe, lamenting her husband,
and do not leave your Orontes unavenged, scepter-bearer.
Kill my unarmed destroyers; for though your swift-fated
[26.20] son-in-law is dead, his slayers still live;
look at my breast struck by the sharp thyrsus;
alas, that warlike Lycurgus does not dwell here,
alas, that you do not rule over the overbearing Arabs;
Dionysus was no god, whom, pursuing him into the swell of the sea,
[26.25] a mortal man made a migrant beneath the waves.
I have seen Deriades fleeing a womanish war.
Be a fearless lion, since Dionysus in his fawnskin,
fleeing a brazen man, became like a fawn.
He did not slay the race of war-mad Indians,
[26.30] but your own father slew them; for in the wars,
seeing your champions fleeing, Hydaspes subdued them.
You are not like others; for you bear the heavenly blood
of the daughter of Phaethon, your blazing grandfather;
you have no mortal body; neither sword nor shaft shall subdue you
[26.35] as you bear down upon Lyaeus."
So speaking, much-devising Athena went to Olympus,
changing the look of her dream face.
And at dawn Deriades bade his heralds gather
the wide-scattered nation from the cities, from the islands;
[26.40] and many a herald went this way and that with stormy sandal
along the eastern floor, mustering a people of many cities;
and war-mad warriors gathered from every side
at the king's summons.
First the steersmen of Enyo armed themselves,
[26.45] Agraeus and Phlogius, leaders of one company,
after the freshly finished tomb of their newly perished father,
the two children of Eulaeus; and peoples marched with them,
all who dwelt in Cyra and in Baedion of the Indian river
beside the broad barbarian water of Ombelus,
[26.50] and well-towered Rhodoe, the plain of war-mad Indians,
and rocky Propanisus, and those who held the rim of the island
of the Graeae, where children have a male breast
of a milk-bearing father instead of an accustomed mother,
stealing the dew with the tips of their lips;
[26.55] and those of steep Sesindion, and those who towered up
Gazos in a linen-fenced circle with thread-plaited buildings,
an unbending prop of Ares, unbreakable, well-made
on well-spun foundations, and never did a hostile man
with bronze break the rank of those linen-cloaked towers.
[26.60] And after them bold warriors marched,
the Dardae and the armies of the Prasii, and the tribes of the gold-bearing
Salangi, whose housemate is wealth, whose custom it is always
to eat pulse as their living; and instead of grain
they grind that with the wheel-shaped circle of a mill;
[26.65] and the ranks of the crook-haired Zabii, whose intelligent
champion was Palthanor, who hated Deriades,
being of one mind with Dionysus in his pious ways;
him lord Dionysus, leading him after the Indian war,
gave to lyre-built Thebes as a foreign dweller;
[26.70] and he stayed beside Dirce, leaving his father Hydaspes,
drinking the Ismenian water of the Aonian river.
And after them Morrheus, son of Didnasus, exulting, armed
an unspeakable host, marching with his father, who then,
having a grief mingled with wretched old age, took hold of the fighting,
[26.75] brandishing a much-wrought shield with an aged hand
and shaking a chin shadowed with a grey meadow,
the self-proclaiming herald of long time,
still groaning for his short-lived son, Indian Orontes,
Didnasus of the shifting tears; and lord Morrheus followed him
[26.80] holding an upright avenging spear, so that he might subdue
the whole host of Bromius, and he wished to strive alone
with brother-slaying Bacchus, and longed to wound
the unwoundable son of Thyone, his brother's slayer.
And with them marched the many-tongued race of the Indians,
[26.85] those who held the city of Helios, fair-built Aethre,
the foundation of a cloudless floor, and those who held both
the thicket of Anthene and the reed-bed of Orycia,
and flaming Nesaia and stormless Melaenae,
and the well-turned plain of sea-garlanded Patalene;
[26.90] after them the thick ranks of the Dyssaeans, with whom
the dread tribes of the shaggy-breasted Sabeirae armed themselves,
who have shaggy hairs upon their hearts, for the sake of which
they always have courage of soul and do not cower at war.
With these marched also the Uatocoetae,
[26.95] whose custom it is to sleep upon their long ears;
Phringus came to them and Aspetus, drawing them into the fray,
and exultant Danyclus their companion, with whom, marching
as fellow-contender with Hippurus, far-shooting Morrheus went;
and, having one mind, five blood-red leaders
[26.100] marshaled the whole Uatocoetan host.
Tectaphus came to the battle, a far-shooter, who once
with hungry lips drank the streams of a guileful breast,
his daughter's, the defenders against doom that tended her father,
Tectaphus, parched, with crumbling skin, an intelligent corpse,
[26.105] when the scepter-bearer, with a loveless threat,
Deriades, squeezing him in much-plaited cords,
shut him fettered in a moldering pit,
unfed, squalid, his body gasping with hunger,
without share of the sun or of the well-rounded moon.
[26.110] And the fettered man was hidden in an earthly depth,
bringing no drink, no food, seeing no man,
but beneath a hollow rock of the ground-dug flanks
he lay in misery; and he was wasted with long hunger,
stretching the feeble panting of famished lips,
[26.115] breathing, like the breathless; and as from a corpse,
foul breezes blew from his parched skin.
And there was a host of guards watching the shut-in man,
whom then his cunning daughter beguiled with a deceiving
speech; and she cried a heavy-groaning suppliant voice,
[26.120] the newly delivered lady, shaking her guileful garments:
"Do not kill me, guardians; I carry nothing,
I have not come bringing drink or any food for my father;
tears, tears only I bring to my begetter;
my hands proclaim themselves free; if your mind,
[26.125] if your mind is distrustful, loose my blameless girdle,
fling away my veil, shake out my tunic with your hands;
I have not come bringing a life-sustaining drink. But hide
even me together with my father in the underground pit;
I am no terror, no terror, even if the scepter-bearer hears;
[26.130] who is angry at one who pities a corpse? Who is enraged
at a dread-fated man dying? Who does not pity the breathless?
I shall close my father's eyes as they sink;
hide me; what envy is there of death? And as they perish
let one tomb receive them both, father and child."
[26.135] So speaking she persuaded them. And the girl ran into the recess,
a light-bearer to her father in the gloom; and in the pit
she poured into her father's mouth the milk of her evil-averting breasts,
fearless; and hearing the god-fearing deed of Aerie
Deriades marveled; and he loosed from his bonds the father,
[26.140] like a phantom, of the girl of surpassing mind;
and a rumor was heard on every side, and the army of the Indians
praised the guile-weaving breast of the evil-averting lady.
He then was conspicuous among the Bolinges, as in the midst of the stars
the star Hesperus glitters, brightening the upper air,
[26.145] Hesperus, the messenger of the lightless darkness that follows.
And high-headed Ginglon and lofty-footed Thyraeus
and cloud-high Hippalmus, beyond the region of the farthest land,
armed the shifting tribes of the spear-bold Arachotae
and the ranks of the Dersaeans of one company, who hide
[26.150] in loose dust those slain by the iron in war
(those slain in the strife they entombed in dust).
And Habrathoos came slowly, having gathered an army
of allies with the curved bow; and he armed himself in shame
at his freshly cut hair, swelling with anger and grief
[26.155] at the ox-horned king, since in witless madness
overbearing Deriades had shorn off all his hair,
a bitter reproach to the Indians. And as a warrior by necessity
he came scarcely to the battle, and with a high-crested helmet
he covered the outraged, hairless rim of his temple,
[26.160] tending a hidden rancor in his heart; and in the tumults
by day he made war, but always through the night hours
he sent to Bacchus a faithful attendant as a messenger
announcing the purposes of Deriades; and secretly
he was armed for Deriades and openly for Dionysus.
[26.165] And he armed the wild tribes of the Xuthi and of the battle-rousing
Arienes and the offspring of the Zoari and the tribe of the Eares
and the race of the Caspeiri and Arbis, and those who held
Hysporus itself, gleaming with a shining stream,
tressed with the deep-rich metals of amber,
[26.170] and those who held sunny Arsanie, where the women
in a single dawn complete a whole tunic
with swift palms at the accustomed loom of Pallas.
And after them the Cyraeans took their place in the tumbling war,
knowing the sea-beaten rim of the islands,
[26.175] skilled in a sea-faring Ares; and they know no
water-traveling merchant ships, but with untanned ox-hide
they sail in a cunning likeness of wooden ships;
and they steer a counterfeit voyage with skins, in which the sailor
sits, crossing the sea in waveless swells,
[26.180] scoring the backs of the sea with mimic ships.
These Thyamis marshaled, and Holcasus, leader of men,
the two children of Tarbelus their javelin-bearing father.
And a great swarm came, leaving Areizanteia,
the nurse of a strange wooden honey, where, having drunk
[26.185] the grain-giving eastern watering of the airy dew,
the tressed trees bring forth a honey-flowing,
cunning travail of the wise bee, as from hives,
the green drink of self-bearing leaves; for onto the plain
Phaethon, newly appearing, when he bathes in Ocean,
[26.190] shakes off the nourishing moisture of his eastern hair,
sprinkling the plant-tending furrow of the life-bearing earth.
Such honey does Areizanteia bear, rejoicing in which,
swimming on its wings, dancing above the leaf,
an unspeakable bird flies; and a crooked serpent, creeping,
[26.195] girdling it in spirals, entwined with the sweet tree,
draws off the lily-like moisture with a ravishing throat,
licking with its lips the sweet travail of the clusters;
and the serpents, gushing up the tree-dew,
pour out sweet honey, and do not spit forth as much
[26.200] bitter wandering venom as they do the sweet stream of the bee;
and there upon the honey-dripping branches sings
the horion, a sweet bird, like an intelligent swan;
and it does not strike up in concert with the Zephyr breeze,
sending the windy whirr of hymn-bearing wings,
[26.205] but makes melody with wise lips, as some man
beating out a chamber-serving hymn on a bride-tending harp.
And often, singing shrill above a windy tree,
in concert with the horion it wove a neighboring song,
adorned with crimson wings; and you would quickly have said,
[26.210] hearing the catreus singing its eastern hymn,
that a shifting-necked nightingale was weaving a morning revel.
And the catreus prophesies the pouring of rain to come,
yellow in nature, clear-voiced; and from its eyelids a radiance
is sent, a match for the Dawn with its morning beams.
[26.215] There too was the host of battle-rousing men, whom to the fighting
fearless Pyloetes, son of Hippalmus, armed,
having his brother Billaeus as a leader of the same company.
And after them the Sibae armed themselves and the people of Hydarces,
and another host came, leaving the city of Carmina;
[26.220] of these Cyllarus led together with Astraeis, champion of the Indians,
the two children of Brongus, honored by Deriades.
And another fleet came from three hundred islands,
which stand in rows in turn, one here, another there,
neighbors to one another, where with a vast crossing
[26.225] the two-mouthed Indus, bringing its migrant, crooked water,
creeping little by little from the Indian reed-bed,
slanting over the floor beside the mouth of the eastern sea,
comes self-rolling over the Ethiopian ridge;
where, lifted by the trail of its summer-born waters,
[26.230] with self-begotten floods it grows cubit upon cubit,
and the watery husband embraces the rich earth,
delighting his thirsty bride with moist kisses,
having a many-cubit sting of sheaf-bearing wedlock,
bringing forth ever-renewed floods in alternating measure,
[26.235] the Nile in Egypt and the eastern <...> †
There, scraping the black-pebbled stream with its hoof,
swims a wandering watery river-horse,
such as dwells scoring the summer-born swell
of my Nile <...> †
[26.240] with long jaws; and it walks upon the shore
splitting the ridge of the wood with a jagged-toothed point,
and having a wet, unscored jaw that snatches fruits
it cuts the corn-bearing crops with a mimic sickle,
an ironless reaper of the sheaf-bearing birth;
[26.245] such, they say, is the strength that the Indian river bears,
like the seven-pathed Nile. And leaving
the crooked circles of the islands and the seats of the neighboring Indus
warlike men armed themselves, whose champion,
the man Rhigbasus, led them, having the likeness of the Giants.
[26.250] Nor did old Aretus, a heavy man, stay behind
when Deriades called him to the battle; but fastening
a bronze-heavy tunic over his shaggy breast
he lifted an ox-hide shield upon his aged back,
hanging the strap about his arching neck.
[26.255] And a warrior by necessity armed his army
with five sons, Lycus and his age-mate Myrsus,
Glaucus and Periphas and late-born Melaneus.
And binding his grey lock tight with a helmet
he marched to the left of the well-wheeling battle,
[26.260] leaving the right wing of the war to his children,
whose mouths nature had sealed with a bond of speechlessness,
binding tight the tongue, the channel of a wise voice;
for when, dancing beside the doorposts of the chamber,
Aretus confirmed Laobie by the ordinance of yoking marriage,
[26.265] having entered child-begetting wedlock,
there was an inspired wonder, since beside the bridal altar
the bridegroom fresh from the dance was laboring at sacrifice
to bride-tending Aphrodite, and in the well-hymned hall
a many-bearing sow, crying out the din of childbed
[26.270] from her throat, a prophet of things to come, was weighed down,
lifting a strange and unbelievable childbirth,
and was in travail with a bastard race of finny creatures, and from her flanks
shot forth a wet, fishy offspring,
having brought to birth a birth of the brine instead of an earthly birth.
[26.275] And many-mouthed Rumor flew about the fish-bearing sow,
gathering the people; and the wide-scattered citizens
gazed at the many-childed land-born brood,
a like-natured imitation of a sea-born childbirth.
And he asked a god-speaking prophet; and to him as he asked
[26.280] the prophet foretold a coming row of speechless children,
the image of a sea-born, tongueless race.
And then the prophet said to hide the forewarning oracles,
so that he might propitiate the long-winged son of Maia,
the leader of the tongue, the steerer of wise speech.
[26.285] And Laobie was in labor, and in an answering childbirth
bore a row of children equal in number to the sow's young,
like speechless fishes, whom after the victory
lord Bacchus pitied, and from their voiceless throats
he loosed the bond of the tongue, and drove off their age-old silence,
[26.290] and granted to each a late-accomplished voice.
With them marched shield-bearing warriors,
those who dwelt in Pylae and those who obtained, near Eurus,
inhabited Eucolla, the haunt of a warlike Dawn,
and most holy Goryandis, a well-sown furrow of land.
[26.295] And after them armed themselves all who obtained the rims of Oeta,
the tree-covered mother of measureless-lived elephants,
to which nature has granted to live the circles
of two hundred years at the much-bending turning-post of ever-flowing time,
or of three hundred; and one grazes after another,
[26.300] dark-skinned from the tip of the foot to the head;
having in its long jaws two projecting tusks,
in the reaping pattern of a crook-clawed sickle,
a whetted cutter, it passes through a row of trees
on long-shanked feet; and having the likeness of camels
[26.305] and an arching crest, on its capacious back
it brings a countless swarm of drivers one after another,
whirling a standing tread with the unbending trail of its knee,
and the broad-browed pattern of a viperish head,
having a little arching neck; and with eyes of like pattern
[26.310] it has taken the slender likeness of the face of swine,
high-visible, vast; and as it turns in its journey
its ears, fleshless, hanging beside its neighboring temple,
are fanned by a little gust of slender winds;
and lashing its body thickly with a directing throb
[26.315] its slender, small tail is shaken restlessly.
And often in wars, shaking its projecting jaw,
the sky-high bull-headed beast has assailed a man,
bearing a strange jagged-toothed, two-mouthed sickle,
whirling on either side of its chin its native point;
[26.320] and often it has lifted a well-corseleted shield-bearer
upright, aloft, pierced through by its ravishing throat,
and has dashed a man down with its jagged-toothed point,
and hurled the corpse self-rolling from on high
into a whirl of dust, a wanderer turned back again,
[26.325] darting in spirals the rim of its crooked chin,
jagged this way and that beside the projections of its teeth,
answering in coils to viperish spines,
stretching the scored sword of its teeth down to its feet.
These lord Dionysus, leading them after the Indian war
[26.330] beside the Caucasian floor of the Amazonian river,
terrified the well-helmeted women into flight,
seated on the crests of sky-high elephants.
But that was after the strife. And then to the battle of Lyaeus,
at the call of Deriades, came the champion Pyloetes,
[26.335] steering a straight-footed elephant into the fray,
the war-mad blood of the fair-bearing race of Marathon;
and with him to the fighting followed a neighboring people
of another speech, leaving fair-veiled Eristobareia.
And the race of the Derbices followed Deriades,
[26.340] and Ethiopians and Sacae and the shifting nations of the Bactrians,
and a great host of woolly-haired Blemyes. And the Ethiopians
pursue a strange-looking, cunning pattern of fighting;
for bearing the rim of a dead horse's temple
they lyingly hide the true circle of their faces,
[26.345] and clamp a mortal head with another countenance,
having fashioned the breathless into the breathing, and in the tumults
they rout an unknowing foe with a counterfeit head;
and the champion sends a deceitful sound from his lips,
pouring a horse's whinny with a human cry.
[26.350] These gathered at the king's summons.
And the lord of the Indians led them all to war,
whom his father Hydaspes sowed in a watery love,
having entered the wedlock of fair-bearing Astris,
the daughter of Helios. But there is a tale that his mother
[26.355] was the Naiad Ceto, the offspring of Ocean,
whom once, creeping about a seething chamber,
Hydaspes the bridegroom embraced in a watery marriage,
bearing true Titanian blood; for from the first-born
bed of Thaumas rosy-armed Electra his consort
[26.360] bore a twofold offspring, from whose couch
both a river sprang and a messenger of the heavenly ones,
stormy Iris and swift-flowing Hydaspes,
the one making ready a course of feet, the other of streams;
and both pursue an equal journey on opposite paths,
[26.365] Iris among the immortals and Hydaspes among the rivers.
So great a host then came; and the city was crowded with people;
and the well-helmeted ranks were girdled with comrades,
filling the circles of the four-pathed roads in the city;
some thick at the crossroads, others in trenches,
[26.370] others before the sky-high wall, and others on the towers
slept a sweet sleep upon javelin-bearing beds.
And Deriades entertained the ranks of the leaders in his hall,
and all upon seats set in turn
touched a single table with the host-king.
[26.375] For them there was care of evening dinners and of the wing
of nightly Sleep, and the army slept in arms, neighbor to Ares;
and sleeping they kept company with a battle-rousing dream,
having raised a mimic war against the Satyrs.

## Book XXVII


### The twenty-seventh follows the ranks in which Cronion arms the dwellers of Olympus for battle against Bromius.

[27.1] And now, shaking off the wing of toil-releasing Sleep,
war-bearing Dawn opened the gates of the east,
and left the light-bearing bed of Cephalus; and struck
by Phaethon facing him, black Ganges whitened;
[27.5] and the freshly scored cone of mist withdrew in flight,
split by the beams; and from her dewy car
the morning fruit was bathed in the dews of spring.
And there was tumult. And Phaethon, the flaming shepherd
of ever-flowing years, reined back the course of his fire-reared horses,
[27.10] hearing the helmet-glancing echo of neighboring Ares,
and challenged the army to fight with a witnessing torch,
hurling a hot rosy shaft; and about the earth
rainy Zeus poured from heaven a strange rain
of bloody moisture, the first announcer of the slaughter of Indians.
[27.15] And with the murderous drops of a warlike snowfall
the thirsty backs of the dark dust of the Indian floor
reddened; and the radiance of freshly polished iron
blazed, a match for the beams of the sun.
And overbearing Deriades armed the appearing ranks
[27.20] of the Indians for the fray, and urging on his warriors
he belched a speech from a threatening throat:
"My servants, make war, trusting in your accustomed Victory,
and make the bold horned son of Thyone, as they call him,
the servant of Deriades who has horns like his.
[27.25] Kill me the Pans too with crushing iron;
but if they are gods, and it is not lawful to cut down
the body of unwoundable Pan with cutting iron,
I shall take the mountain-ranging Pans as plunder, within the thicket
to herd the nations of the wilderness-dwelling elephants.
[27.30] There are many beasts here too, to which I shall join
the Pheres together with the Pans of mountain-ranging Dionysus;
and I shall give my daughter a swarm of chamber-servants,
attendants of the table of Morrheus as he feasts.
And let some man from Phrygia, the companion of wine-dark Bacchus,
[27.35] bathe his body in the streams of the Indian river,
and instead of Sangarius call Hydaspes his father's water;
let another man from Alybe who followed Dionysus
be a hireling here, and, leaving the streams
of his silver river, drink gold-gleaming Ganges.
[27.40] Withdraw from me, Dionysus, fleeing the spear of Deriades;
there is a boundless sea here too; but after the wave
of the Arabian sea let ours also receive you;
this broader depth belches a wild <...> †
and is sufficient to cover both the Satyrs and Bacchus
[27.45] and the rank of the Bassarids; Nereus is not gentle here,
no Indian Thetis shall receive you, nor shall she save you
in her bosom fleeing again after a hospitable wave,
in reverence for my heavy-thundering father Hydaspes.
But you will say: I bear the Olympian blood of Cronion.
[27.50] Earth brought forth the upper air, scored with the chorus of stars;
you have your race from heaven; but my Earth shall cover you;
and raw-eating Cronus, the feaster on his young children,
though born from heaven, the bosom of the field hid him.
I am the champion of a spear-bold army; I am better
[27.55] than Lycurgus, who drove you and your unwarlike Bacchants;
your Zeus-fallen race does not rout me; for I have heard
of the fire-struck wedlock of your dread-fated Semele;
do not speak of the lightning as the bride-adorner of the bed of Zeus,
do not tell of the head of Cronion or of a male thigh;
[27.60] the childbeds of Zeus in labor do not rout me;
often have I beheld my own wife in labor.
And with you, if he wishes, let your father, the self-bearing Zeus,
arm womanish Athena to help a male,
she whom they call Victory, so that, battering the headlands,
[27.65] I may bloody the head of Pallas with a flesh-cutting stone
or a bold spear, and from my well-horned bow
may shoot the thigh of threatening Dionysus,
the leader of the ox-horned Satyrs, and when he is wounded
may fasten reproach upon Zeus and Bromius and Pallas;
[27.70] and if the lame god arms himself with them both,
I have need of cunning Hephaestus, so that he may forge
much-turning armor for Deriades too.
I never tremble at a womanish champion; and if he shakes
the lightning of his father, I have my father's water.
[27.75] And the bold man whom they call the kindred blood of Lyaeus,
Aeacus, the offspring of his heavenly father Zeus,
I shall send cut down to Hades, the Zeus of the underworld;
nor shall Zeus snatch him away, flying through the air.
And I hear that many sons of Cronides have fallen;
[27.80] Dardanus was of Zeus and perished, and Minos died,
nor did the bull-faced bed of Zeus save him;
and if he gives judgment even in Hades, what envy is it to the Indians
if Aeacus judges among the dead? And if he wishes,
let him have the rule of the corpses and the scepters of the pit.
[27.85] And the earth-born Cyclopes who touch Olympus
with their long limbs — destroy them, not by fixing the point
of a spear in the middle of the belly or at the neck, but let the bronze-heavy
shaft be driven through the wheeling eye.
Do not destroy the earthly Cyclopes; for I have need
[27.90] of them too; and sitting beside an Indian forge
let Brontes make me a heavy-thundering trumpet
equal in din to thunderous crashes, so that I may be
a Zeus of the earth, and let Steropes make here a new
radiance to match the lightning; and I shall put him to the test
[27.95] fighting with the Satyrs, so that jealous Cronides may tear
his heart the more, watching Deriades crash and flash,
fearing the leader of the Indians as the hurler
of a high-born flaming thunderbolt.
What envy is it, if I arm my warlike hand with a hurricane?
[27.100] The father of my mother, the lord of the flaming stars,
Phaethon himself, all fiery, is my champion; and if I bear
the blood of my father the river, then with a watery shaft
I shall fight and raise a wet war against Dionysus,
covering the hostile heads of the Bacchoi with the streams of the river.
[27.105] And cutting the bodies of the Telchines of the deep
with crushing iron, entomb them in the neighboring sea,
the care of father Poseidon, and bring to Deriades
as sea-gifts of victory the grey-green harness of their cunning
chariot and the race of their water-traveling horses.
[27.110] And the heavy-bound dweller, the offspring of Hephaestus
the fiery, born of Athena who knew no childbirth,
burn him with a blazing torch, him they call Erechtheus;
for he bears the far-famed blood of that Erechtheus
whom once at her breast the bed-fleeing motherless maiden
[27.115] Pallas reared, hidden, guarded by a sleepless blazing lamp;
let him stay covered in an Indian blazing chest,
and in the empty fence of a gloomy maiden-chamber.
And the running servants of the well-leaping ox-hide,
skilled in the well-helmeted dance of Enyalius,
[27.120] bring me the unarmed Corybants; and let Cabeiro,
the unveiled Lemnian, weep over her two sons as they perish;
and let smoky Hephaestus, casting away his fire-tongs,
behold the destroyer of his own offspring
seated upon the car of the Cabeiri,
[27.125] Deriades the mounter of bronze-footed horses.
I kill the sons of Zeus; but I do not grudge Morrheus
to subdue Aristaeus, the hare-shooting son of Phoebus,
the driver of the paltry, war-loving bee.
Do you with sickles and double-edged knife
[27.130] kill the soft ranks of the Bassarids, and let the horned
son of the river destroy the high-horned son of Zeus,
lest any cower at the sight of a driver of a lioness
or a champion mounted on the loins of a wild bear,
or the grim mouth of yoked beasts; for who shall escape
[27.135] a leopard or a lion when elephants arm themselves?"
As the king spoke, the Indians went to the fray,
some upon the backs of iron-bearing elephants,
others marching upon storm-footed horses.
And near was a measureless host of foot-soldiers, some bearing
[27.140] points, others a shield, another the lid of a quiver;
another man lifted up a bronze-forged sickle,
a reaper of war, and another marched raising
a shield and swift bows and windy arrows.
And they set the battle beside the mouth of the neighboring Indus,
[27.145] running forward into the plain. And from the well-treed thicket
with shields and swords and unbreakable leaves
thyrsus-bearing Dionysus armed his warriors.
And facing the flaming Dawn he set the army of the Bacchoi
divided fourfold, like the four winds;
[27.150] the first beside the deep-treed ankles of the circling Bear,
where, carried in the trail of wide-scattered rivers,
the Zeus-fallen water of the Caucasian crag comes,
beside that same floor, where with a vast crossing
heavy-thundering Hydaspes brings a back-turning flood;
[27.155] and the second phalanx he fitted where, in the middle
of the land, bending crown-wise toward the western region,
the two-mouthed mountain-roaming Indus whirls its stream,
crowning Patalene girdled about with its floods;
and he marshaled the third, where beside the southern gulf
[27.160] the midday brine is drawn with a purpling wave;
and the lord set the fourth well-armed host
beneath the floor of the east, whence, wetting the reed-bed,
Ganges sets out, flowing down with fragrant waters.
And for each chosen well-greaved phalanx
[27.165] he marshaled four well-helmeted leaders,
and urging on the army he cried a host-rousing voice:
"Bassarids, come dance here too, and kill
the barbarian tribes of the foes, and mingle thyrsi with spears,
mingle them with swords too; and instead of the accustomed table
[27.170] let the battle-rousing trumpet be my harp
for my Satyrs; and let the green foliage of the harvest,
hurling itself against iron, conquer the whetted spears;
and instead of the night dancing of Dionysus
let my flute sound a changed hymn of Enyo,
[27.175] leaving the after-dinner Echo of mind-delighting Bromius.
If Hydaspes bends a slave's knee to me
and no longer arms a hostile swell against the Bacchoi,
I shall be gracious to meet, and I shall change all his splendid water
into Euian wine with the streams of the vat,
[27.180] making his currents delicious, and I shall girdle the crest
of his wild wood with leaves and make it a vineyard;
but if again with his evil-averting outpourings he helps
the Indians as they are slain and his son Deriades,
man-formed, holding the horned shape of a river,
[27.185] then bridge the flood of the overbearing river
and travel the thirsty water with unwetted steps,
and let the well-horsed hoof of a footman scrape the dust,
treading parched Hydaspes on his naked sand.
And if the much-dreaded champion of the war-mad Indians
[27.190] is the offspring of the race of airy Phaethon,
and if Phaethon should raise a fiery war against me,
honoring the horned travail of his own daughter,
then against a Phaethontian battle I shall arm once more
the brother of my Cronides, the watery sea, the quencher of fire;
[27.195] and I shall go to the Thrinacian island, where are the flocks
and cattle of the airy, fire-gleaming Charioteer,
and I shall drag the daughter of Helios, like a spear-won girl,
Lampetie unwilling, beneath a slave's yoke,
so that she may bend her knee; and let Astris wander to the mountain,
[27.200] lamenting her heavy-bound servant Deriades;
let her go, if she wishes, a migrant to the land of the Celts,
so that, having become a plant together with the Heliades,
she too may weep thickly with lamentation-loving streams.
Hasten for me, and whiten with mystic gypsum
[27.205] the circles of the dark-skinned faces of the captive Indians,
and fasten upon bold, bronze-tunicked Deriades
a fawnskin entwined with a vine cluster;
and let the Indian lord, bending a slave's knee to Bromius
after the victory, fling his breastplate to the storms,
[27.210] covering his body with a better, shaggy breastplate,
and bind his foot tight with purple buskins,
leaving his silver greaves to the winds,
and after his blood-red bows and the works of accustomed war
let him be taught the night-danced rites of Dionysus,
[27.215] whirling his barbarian locks over the wine-vat.
And bring the heads of the foes as tokens of victory
to windy Tmolus, pierced upon a witnessing thyrsus.
And I shall remove many ranks of Indians from the war,
taking them alive after the fighting, and beside the gateway of the Lydians
[27.220] I shall fix the horns of maddened Deriades."
So speaking he heartened them; and the Bacchants rushed on,
and the Sileni shouted the melody of war-loving Echo
and the Satyrs cried out from throats of one voice;
and with the sounding drum a concordant echo roared,
[27.225] a dread bellowing, and by the alternating hands
of the rattle-loving women a twice-struck echo was beaten out;
and the host-gathering pipe cried a pastoral Phrygian rhythm.
And the Satyrs made war; and they were whitened with mystic
gypsum, and a dread thing hung upon their cheeks,
[27.230] the bastard likeness of a lying, speechless face.
And going before the army, bearing down in the tumult,
a Mygdonian flame flashed, leaping through the air,
announcing the fiery childbed of Bacchus;
and from the well-horned brow of old Silenus
[27.235] a sparkle blazed; and about the unplaited hair
of a mountain-haunting Bacchant a serpent was clamped as a band;
and one, lashing a maddened tiger against the adversaries,
terrified the cars of yoked elephants;
and grey Maron armed himself with a coiling branch,
[27.240] splitting the bodies of the fighting Indians
with a shoot of the vine. — And all who dwell in Olympus,
sitting beside Zeus within the god-receiving court,
held assembly in a body upon golden seats.
And as they feasted, fair-haired Ganymede poured out
[27.245] sweet nectar for them, drawing from the mixing-bowl.
For not yet then did an Achaean Ares roar against the Trojans,
as before, so that fair-haired Hebe should mix the cups
again for the blessed ones, and the Trojan wine-pourer
should be far from the immortals, lest he hear the doom of his homeland.
[27.250] To them gathered together Zeus the counselor spoke,
and said to Apollo and Hephaestus and Athena:
"God-speaking lord of Pytho of the navel-axle,
scepter-bearer of archery, light-bearer, brother of Bacchus,
remember Parnassus and your own Dionysus;
[27.255] the vine of a day has not escaped you; you know too
the twin mystic pine-torch of both crags;
but fight in the front for your brother Lyaeus,
stretching your Olympian bow as the helper of the Bassarids;
and honor your own shared rock of Parnassus,
[27.260] where a dance-beating Bacchant cried out as she reveled,
making ready a song for you and for unsleeping Dionysus,
having kindled a yoked Delphic fire for both.
Remember your lion-slaying Cyrene, glorious archer;
do a favor to them both, to Agreus and to Dionysus;
[27.265] as Nomius, fight in the front for the race of the pastoral Satyrs.
Ward off the heavy-minded jealousy of Hera, lest ever
the stepmother of Phoebus laugh when Dionysus flees,
she who, pursuing her anger and jealousy at my loves,
arms herself forever against my children; I need not teach you
[27.270] the childbed labor of your own mother, when Leto
went much-wandering, bearing a twofold burden of children,
lashed by the child-begetting goads of birth,
when the flood of Peneius fled, when Dirce
refused your mother, when heavy-kneed Asopus himself
[27.275] held a course, whirling a step behind her,
until Delos helped her in childbirth, until an old palm
with paltry leaves midwifed Leto.
And you, fearless daughter of Zeus your father and of your mother,
Pallas, defend your brother, the adorner of your fatherland;
[27.280] save your own dwellers who follow Dionysus,
and do not behold the children of your Marathon destroyed;
and honor the city-bearing branch of the Attic olive;
and do a favor to old Icarius; for to him too
Dionysus of the dappled clusters shall give his harvest;
[27.285] remember Triptolemus and well-plowing Celeus,
do not dishonor the generative baskets of Metaneira;
for of your ally, cluster-rich Bacchus,
generative Zeus the father bore the travail in a pregnant thigh,
and he brought your womanish travail to birth from his head.
[27.290] But shaking your birth-lance, your age-mate,
and darting the aegis, the steerer of Enyo,
be a helper for me to the Satyrs, since they too
wear the shaggy tunics of a mountain-ranging goat;
and the god of country folk, the lord of the pastoral pipe,
[27.295] goat-herding Pan, has need of your aegis,
who once, striving in company with my unplundered scepters,
fought against the Titans, and was the mountain-running shepherd
of the milk-bearing nurse, the goat Amaltheia;
save him, who hereafter shall help in an Attic battle,
[27.300] the Mede-slaying savior of shaken Marathon;
shake your aegis, shielding Lyaeus,
your black-aegis brother, who shall save your fatherland,
driving out the Boeotian leader;
and a citizen of Eleutherae shall sing a life-saving song,
[27.305] crying Euoi faithfully to Apaturian, the son of Thyone,
if Athens shall strike up a mingled Phrygian rhythm
for Eleusinian Dionysus after Bacchus of the Marshes.
O shifting Olympian race; ah, great wonder;
Argive Hera stands beside a stranger, Deriades,
[27.310] and Attic Athena refuses the ranks of the sons of Cecrops,
and my Thracian Ares, bringing faithful things to his mother,
leaving my son Bacchus and the Thracian army
that follows Dionysus, saves the Indian throng.
But fighting beside Dionysus with flaming fire,
[27.315] I alone arm myself against them all, until Bacchus
shall wipe out the dark race, roots and all.
And you, maiden-loving bridegroom of birth-perfecting Earth,
are you at rest, Hephaestus, and do you care nothing for Marathon,
where is the bridal blaze of an unwedded goddess? I need not teach you
[27.320] the mystic sparks of your ever-shining lamp.
Remember the chest of the child-tending maiden-chamber,
in which was the boy of Earth, in which the maiden
reared your self-perfected seed at a male breast;
lift your childbirth-helping axe, so that you may save
[27.325] the dwellers of your Athens with your childbed ox-axe.
Are you at rest, Hephaestus, and will you not save your own children?
Lift your accustomed torch as the shield-bearer of the Cabeiri,
and stretch your eye, and watch your ancient bride
as she blames you, your child-loving Cabeiro;
[27.330] Lemnian Alcimacheia has need of your strength."
As he spoke the gods who dwell in Olympus hastened,
Athena and Apollo as common helpers,
and fiery Hephaestus accompanied Tritogeneia.
And Hera kept company running with the other immortals,
[27.335] holding Ares by the hand, and broad-flowing Hydaspes,
the fellow-contender of the foes in an emulous tumult,
with whom went Terror and Panic, with whom came also
sheaf-bearing Deo herself, the adversary of Bromius,
grudging life-begetting, cluster-loving Dionysus,
[27.340] because he had found the drink of drunkenness, putting to shame the older boast
of Zagreus, the first-born Dionysus of song.

## Book XXVIII


### Look at the twenty-eighth, where you may behold the great fiery war of the Cyclopes.

[28.1] There was an unsoftened strife; for both together,
Faunus and Aristaeus, drove into a single war,
whom Aeacus also accompanied, doing deeds worthy
of Zeus his father, stretching over his back
[28.5] a bronze, much-wrought shield, in whose circle
many cunning devices were spread, which the Lemnian anvil wrought.
And the many-turning army armed itself for the war of the Indians
as they hurried on in throngs; one, swift with his flesh-cutting ivy,
shepherding his much-wrought car into the fray,
[28.10] mounted upon leopards; another with bristling harness
yoked a mountain-running chariot of Erythraean lions
and steered the grim pair; another, much-dreaded,
hurling his spear at the dark ranks of the Indians,
unshaken, delighted to lash an unbridled bull;
[28.15] and one, leaping upon the back of a Cybelian bear,
assailed the foes, and whirling a wine-dark thyrsus
terrified the drivers of long-shanked elephants;
another, hurling at the army with flesh-cutting ivy,
had no sword, no circling shield, no blood-red
[28.20] spear of battle, but, shaking the coiling leaves of plants,
killed a bronze-tunicked man with a slender branch.
And a thunderous crash resounded like a flute;
and the Sileni cried out; and the Bacchants marched,
having cast fawnskins upon their breasts for a breastplate.
[28.25] And one of the mountain-ranging Satyrs, as though driving a colt,
sat astride the back of a lioness with parted feet.
And the Indians shouted back, and gathering the warriors
the barbarian host-gathering flute of Enyo crashed out;
garlands clashed with helmets, breastplate resounded on aegis,
[28.30] thyrsus raged against spears, and answering greaves
matched with buskins; and the ox-hide shields of the yoked
bearers were propped in rows against one another,
and foot-soldier against foot-soldier, and with high-crested head
the Pelasgian helmet pushed the Mygdonian helmet.
[28.35] And the tumult of the champions was of a strange kind; one, lifting himself,
whirled the aloft leap of a Bacchic dance,
another groaned as he fell, another rattled with his sandal,
another gasped as he was struck, another skipped for Lyaeus;
another, sending a warlike sound from his lips,
[28.40] sang the spear of Ares, and another the banquet of Dionysus;
and Enyo crashed together with the rite of Bromius,
the Euian rattles cried out, and the trumpet, the leader
of tumult, gathering the people, sounded together with the harp,
mixing gore with libation, and blending slaughter with dancing.
[28.45] There first of all, leaping light upon his foot,
Phaleneus hurled his spear against Deriades,
and struck the unbreakable iron tunic;
nor did the deadly point, though stretched out, touch his skin,
but darting past it was fixed in the ground; and raging,
[28.50] seeing a foe rushing near Deriades,
valiant Corymbasus overtook him, and as he hurried
crushed the very middle of his throat, striking with his sword,
and reaped his head; and as the head was cut off
Phaleneus fell headless, blood-dipped, upon the ground.
[28.55] And about him a many-voiced battle arose; and Dexiochus
scraped the very top of the brow of Phlogius with bronze,
striking the edge of his forehead as his helmet split in two;
but he, in terror, shifting knee a little from knee,
was hidden beneath the long ox-hide shield of his brother,
[28.60] hiding his fellow-contending brother beneath his father's shield,
as his brother Ajax received the archer Teucer
of Dardanian race into his sevenfold ox-hide shield.
And at once Corymbasus, drawing his sword from the sheath,
dashed down the neck of Dexiochus with his knife;
[28.65] and swiftly, leaping upon the gasping corpse, ran round it
gadfly-mad Clytius, the champion of the foot-soldiers; and much-dreaded,
swift, he hurled his spear at high-crested Deriades;
but Hera turned the champion's spear aside,
angry both at Clytius and at Indian-slaying Dionysus;
[28.70] yet the swift champion did not miss; for piercing
the monstrous throat of the irresistible beast
he killed the straight-footed elephant of Deriades;
and laboring in its pains the ambidextrous sky-high beast
shook the whole wagon with its dark neck;
[28.75] and darting the crooked jaw that projected from its face
it reined back the blood-dipped bonds of its yoking harness;
but the swift-working driver, bending the many-fastened yoke
with his sword, cut through the yoked trail of the neck-straps;
and Celaeneus, taking another high-visible beast, new,
[28.80] from the broad-trodden manger, yoked it.
And Clytius was bold in the hope of an unreproached victory;
and he called upon the slayer of Dexiochus with a raving voice,
pouring a deadly word from an insolent throat:
"Stand, dog, do not flee, Corymbasus, and I shall teach you
[28.85] what spear-hurling attendants Lyaeus has.
I shall take you as plunder to Phrygia, and this spear
shall ravage the cities of the Indians, and after an Indian-slaying
victory I shall make Deriades the servant of Dionysus;
and let the maiden without bride-price loose her maidenhood,
[28.90] receiving the shaggy-breasted wedlock of a Satyr,
an Indian woman defiled beside the Mygdonian Hermus."
As he spoke Corymbasus was enraged, and cut through
the throat of Clytius as he spoke of a late battle;
and his head flew aloft with a leap of Fate,
[28.95] sprinkling the dust with a bloody drop.
And leaving the dancing corpse turning back again,
Corymbasus terrified the Sileni, the foremost of the Indians,
foremost in manhood after Morrheus and the king.
And striking the spearman Sebes above the rim of his breast
[28.100] he thrust the bronze spear within his flesh, and as the bloody
shaft was drawn out he cast him into the loose dust.
And he rushed upon Oenomaus; but he, a fugitive like the breezes,
withdrew toward the army of Bromius with astonished sole;
and seeing him he pursued from behind, and in the very middle
[28.105] of his back fixed his spear; and darting with a rush
the point leapt out beside the navel of the belly opposite;
and he, pierced about with the blood-red iron,
slipped prone into the dust, freshly cut down;
and a death-bearing mist covered him over his eyelids.
[28.110] Nor did the monstrous champion cease from battle; but four
well-helmeted warriors were killed by one slayer,
Tyndarius and Thoon and Autesion and Onites.
And many a one <...> †
prone, a man not stretched on his back upon the floor;
[28.115] but though dead he was propped unshaken upon the ground,
wholly like a champion still fighting, as though brandishing a spear,
as though drawing swift bows and pulling a shaft to the mark.
And the valiant corpse, longing for war after his doom,
forced the threads of the Fates, like a light spear
[28.120] still hurling itself, pierced with shafts from wide-scattered bows
from his head to the tips of his feet,
an upright statue of Ares; and the warriors gazed
with astonished eyes at the dead spearman,
still gripping his spear and not having cast away his shield,
[28.125] a dead javelin-hurler and a breathless shield-bearer.
And one, reaching an Athenian with frightful iron,
reaped his right hand, striking the top of the arm;
and it tumbled with the dancing throb of slaughter
and fell freshly cut, entwined with its age-mate shoulder,
[28.130] spotting the yellow drenched backs of the dust.
And now, drawing the long spear from the leaping hand,
he would have held a recovered war with a far-throwing spear,
and the answering left hand would have fought, wielding the lance;
but a hostile man coming against him forestalled him,
[28.135] and struck off the left hand, roots and all, with an answering knife;
and the palm fell to the ground, and hurling itself at the slayer
the far-shooting trail of a bloody dew sprinkled him
with purple drops, and over the floor the wretched,
maddened hand leapt self-rolling in bounds,
[28.140] reddened with blood, and clamped its crooked fingers
upon the ground in a well-handled, crook-clawed middle grip,
as though gripping the strap of an ox-hide shield again.
And he spoke some word, shedding warlike tears:
"I long for still another hand, so that with three palms
[28.145] I may accomplish deeds worthy of Tritogeneia;
nevertheless even after my hands I shall pursue the hostile man;
this remnant of my manhood is still mine, so that someone may speak
the ambidextrous boast of the Athenians, that even with their
feet they play the champion when their palms are cut away."
[28.150] So speaking he ran upon the champions like the breezes,
preparing an ironless fighting against his destroyer.
And seeing him they marveled, one after another,
and the abundant warriors circled the half-finished champion;
and he alone received with unsparing knife
[28.155] the shifting blow of an answering iron;
and scarcely did he fall to the ground; and he was an image of Ares
keeping his father for a later-born dweller.
Not then was the throng of foot-travelers alone cut down,
but there was slaughter among the horsemen too; and one marched
[28.160] bringing doom to another; and driver, overtaking driver,
either cutting down with his spear the back of one fleeing before,
or striking the breast of one coming against him near at hand,
dashed him freshly slain from his horse into the dust.
And a horse, struck by an arrow above the flank,
[28.165] hurled its driver darting off into the plain,
as swift-flying Pegasus, soaring aloft, companion of the wandering
breeze, shook off Bellerophon;
another, much-dreaded, from the slippery back
falling upright through the horse's belly to the ground,
[28.170] was propped head first, hanging beside it, and casting his head
upon the ground he rolled, leaving his feet on the horse's back.
And the mighty Cyclopes circled the warriors,
the helpers of Zeus; and against the misty host
Argilipus blazed, lifting a light-bearing brand.
[28.175] And he armed himself with an earthly, fire-pointed thunderbolt,
fighting with torches; and the blazing Indians trembled,
astonished at a fire that answered the heavenly hurricane;
and he was a fiery champion; and upon the heads of the adversaries
the sparks of an earth-born thunderbolt were shot;
[28.180] and the Cyclops conquered ash-spears and unspeakable swords,
shaking hot shafts and a smoky point,
holding a brand as though it were a bow; and he burned up
unspeakable Indians, one man after another, with his shooting torch,
not one Salmoneus alone, and he put him to shame with a counterfeit thunderbolt;
[28.185] he killed not one god-fighter only; no single Evadne
groaned for one Capaneus alone as he withered.
And Steropes armed himself, whirling a mimic radiance,
bringing a gleam that answered the lightnings of the upper air,
holding a quenchable sparkle, which the Hesperian flame bore,
[28.190] the seed of Sicilian fire and of a blazing forge;
and he had a covering like a cloud, and hid the light
within and showed it again with a twofold throb,
bearing the pattern of a heavenly gleam; for the lightning
as it comes holds a fleeing radiance, recovered again.
[28.195] And Brontes made war, beating out a resounding melody,
pouring an echo answering to thunderous crashes;
and with a strange drop of a ground-born snowfall,
pouring out a manufactured, short-lived, clear-air water,
he was a counterfeit cloudless Zeus with mimic drops.
[28.200] And leaving the cunning din of a thunder of like pattern
he armed himself with Sicilian iron for the slaughter of his adversaries,
and shaking his hammer aloft above his shoulders
he battered the heads of the foes thickly with iron;
and he struck the dark ranks, turning about, as though always
[28.205] striking a hammer-wrought anvil with an Aetnaean crash.
And breaking off the headland of a long-based crag
he ran down upon Deriades with a rocky spear;
and hurling the vast stone with unsparing palm
against the dark-skinned king as he armed himself
[28.210] he struck his shaggy breast with the torrent-borne point;
and he, drunk with so great a millstone-like rock,
was weighed down in his whole breast; but Hydaspes warded off
the slaughter of his stricken son. And the bold man, laboring with his wound,
shook the furious spear from his unwearied hands,
[28.215] twenty cubits of bronze, and flung his ox-hide shield to the ground
with shamefaced palms; and stretching a feeble breath,
struck on the rim of his breast by the marble point,
he fell head first from the air from his sky-high car,
like a vast fir above the crest — and as it falls
[28.220] it runs round the unspeakable bosom of the broad field.
And the Indians, pouring about him, lifted him into his chariot,
fearing the misshapen Cyclops, lest with some rush,
taking again another high-stretched headland of a hill,
he should kill the king with a rough missile,
[28.225] having a height equal to that of high-crested Polyphemus.
And in the middle of the grim champion's brow blazed
the wheeling sparkle of his one-eyed face;
and cowering before the eye of the grim Cyclops
the dark-skinned Indians were shaken with astonished fear,
[28.230] thinking that Olympian Selene from heaven,
rising in the face of the earth-born Cyclops,
flashed at the full, shielding Lyaeus.
And Zeus the father, seeing the Cyclops' imitation of tumult,
laughed on high among the clouds, because, receiving a strange rain
[28.235] from earthly clouds through an untried bosom,
the earth was snowed upon then, while the thirsty air
had no poured dew, bearing its bare backs unwetted.
And Trachius armed himself; and marching with his brother,
shaking with sky-high palm a shield like a cliff,
[28.240] cloud-high Elatreus had a vast fir,
cutting hostile heads with a wooden spear.
Euryalus armed himself; and cutting apart in the tumult
a great host fleeing from the plain as far as the sea,
shutting in the ranks of the Indians toward the fishy gulf,
[28.245] he conquered the foes through the javelin-bearing deep,
whirling an upright twenty-cubit sword through the water;
and cutting a sea-neighboring rock with his long ox-axe
he flung it at the adversaries; and many perceived
the twofold, brine-drenched threads of an unburied Fate,
[28.250] by a wavy Ares and by a jagged missile.
And there was a shouting in the plain; and to the Bacchants as they were stirred
Prymneus came fair-weathered, like a stern-wind
saving a sailor who rides with the storms;
and he came, much-prayed-for, to the army, as calm Polydeuces
[28.255] comes to ships that are shaken,
having lulled the heavy wave of a storm-bearing sea.
With them another kinsman, playing the champion, Halimedes,
a monstrous Cyclops with sky-high limbs, raved,
and terrified the foes; and guarding his face
[28.260] he held before it the bossed back of his circling ox-hide shield.
And seeing him Phlogius, the avenger of the slain Indians,
curved his bow, and drawing a windy shaft
was about to strike him in the middle with the winged missile;
but, perceiving the facing rush of the archer as he aimed,
[28.265] the high-headed Cyclops slanted aside and avoided the cast
of the speeding arrow; and shaking a headland
he flung the rocky missile at Phlogius; but he, fleeing,
stood beside the chariot of ox-horned Deriades,
and scarcely avoided the air-roaming marble point,
[28.270] staying there; and in anger about the flight of Phlogius,
Halimedes, opening his deadly throat,
killed twelve men with the bellowing of a single voice,
pouring the man-destroying boom of a raving cry.
And the shout of the Cyclopes crashed toward Olympus
[28.275] with dreadful tongues. And the dancers of Enyo,
the Dictaean Corybants, marched into the tumult.
Damneus made war, pursuing the hostile tribes;
and with lighter feet Ocythous terrified
the warriors; and he killed many with a sharp doom,
[28.280] one subduing at close quarters with his spear, another with a shaft
from afar, and cutting down another with a frightful knife;
another still running ahead, escaped, like the breezes,
raging he overtook, shaking his wind-footed knees,
wholly like Iphiclus in running, who, hastening
[28.285] the soles of his feet, scored the surface of an untrodden calm,
and held an aloft journey above the corn-ears,
treading with his feet the unbending topmost path of the asphodel.
Such a storm-footed man was Ocythous. And in the tumults
Mimas set up a well-rhythmed, shambling war,
[28.290] and terrified the army, whirling a dance-beating sword,
having an unlaughing armed leap with knowing sole,
as when, rousing a din beneath the ears of Cronus,
Pyrrhichus, beating an Idaean shield with swords,
shouted the battle-steadfast melody of a lying Echo,
[28.295] stealing away the hidden youth of ever-growing Zeus;
having such a mimic armed leap of the dance,
bronze-tunicked Mimas whirled his windy lance;
and cutting hostile heads, the iron cornfields of the fighting,
with Indian-slaying axes and a double-edged knife
[28.300] he held out the first-fruits of the foes to witnessing Bacchus,
pouring a bloody libation to Dionysus
instead of a sacrifice of oxen and the accustomed wine.
And bright Idaeus entered the revel of Enyo,
a dancer of war, whirling a much-turning step,
[28.305] uncontrollable, shaken by the sting of Indian-slaying battle.
And Melisseus terrified the whole dark rank,
having unshaken courage; and keeping his name
he imitated the dread stings of the bee as it arms itself;
and wheeling with knowing sole on a restless foot,
[28.310] helmet-glancing Acmon went running with Ocythous;
and he fought unshaken like a hammer-wrought anvil,
lifting a Corybantic shield, in the middle of which
the infant Zeus often slept in the mountains;
and the house of Zeus was a little cave, where that
[28.315] holy goat midwifed him with a counterfeit milky breast,
gushing a strange, wise milk, when the ox-hide
roared a shield-brandished Echo with birth-concealing crashes,
struck in the middle of its back by tumbling iron;
and drawing a marble missile against the dappled Curete,
[28.320] Morrheus missed Melisseus facing him,
missed him; for it is not fitting to destroy Corybants with a millstone.
For whose sake Rhea, having fashioned a lying stone,
set it on the table of Cronus in place of Cronides.
And coming together into one the dancers of joyless Ares
[28.325] held a common, yoked war; and about the chariot
they girdled Deriades crown-wise with ox-hide shields,
beating their armor, and in a well-rhythmed tumult
they circled a tower with shield-bearing dances.
And an air-roaming sound ran up to the courts of Zeus,
[28.330] and the fair-footed Seasons feared the din of both.

## Book XXIX


### In the twenty-ninth Ares withdraws from the wars, as though hurrying to another wedlock with Cytherea.

[29.1] And when Hera perceived the ranks of the Indians being cut down,
she cast hard-fighting courage into proud Deriades.
And the dread king received a greater sting of longing
for battle; and pouring a raving voice upon his champions
[29.5] he ran round the whole dark fighting rank by rank,
drawing back the whole fleeing host into the fray,
winning one over with kindness, another with threat.
And he was the bolder; and gathered together the Indians themselves
flowed to the tumult at the king's call.
[29.10] And far-shooting Morrheus split the whole rank of the Satyrs,
now sending against the adversaries from his back-bent bow
an air-roaming cloud of arrows one upon another,
now, whirling his furious spear turned back again,
he terrified the horned race of the Sileni.
[29.15] And fair-haired Hymenaeus fought, shaking his swords,
untouchable, seated upon the back of a Thessalian horse,
cutting down the dark Indians with a rosy hand;
and he flashed with splendor; and you might see him in the midst of the Indians
as the gleaming Dawnstar running with a misshapen gloom;
[29.20] and he terrified the foes, since for his beauty's sake
Dionysus breathed inspired valor into him as he fought.
And Iobacchus, seeing him playing the champion in the tumult,
delighted, and did not wish the lightning of Cronion
as the fellow-contender of his own battle so much as the ash-spear of Hymenaeus.
[29.25] If ever he drove his colt darting into the war of the Indians,
Dionysus lashed the neck of his cunning beasts,
and brought his chariot near the horse, staying often beside the youth,
keeping the boy as Phoebus kept Atymnius; and always he stood
appearing near, and longed to be seen by the youth
[29.30] as both lovely and valiant under a single ordinance; and in the tumults
he touched the clouds as he fought beside Hymenaeus.
One thing alone stirred him, that from an earthly stock
the boy was the son of Phlegyas, and not of Cronides his father.
And he stayed by him always, as a father guarding his child,
[29.35] fearing lest some archer, letting fly an arrow,
should shoot the boy; and as the casts came on
he stretched out his right hand, shielding Hymenaeus.
And to him as he played the champion he spoke such a word:
"Send your shaft, dear boy, and Ares rages no more;
[29.40] with your beauty you struck Bacchus, the archer of Giants;
strike with your shafts witless Deriades too,
the god-fighting king of the foes, so that someone may say:
'Hymenaeus struck them both with his arrow,
the skin of Deriades and the heart of Dionysus.'"
[29.45] As Bromius so spoke, lovely far-shooting Hymenaeus
took hold of the fighting far more; and rejoicing in him
gadfly-mad Dionysus entered Enyo the more
and terrified the whole dark race, roots and all;
and one, seeing Dionysus in the unsparing tempest of battle
[29.50] as an unsated archer of Indian heads,
spoke such a word to wealth-loving Melaneus:
"Archer, where are your bows and your windy arrows?
Soft-tunicked women shoot at us.
But send your shaft against short-lived Dionysus;
[29.55] let not the Olympian name of rumor lead you astray;
never tremble at Bacchus, who from an earthly parent
got swift-fated blood, and has lied about the race of Zeus.
Come, send your shaft, and if you hit the mark,
you shall receive unspeakable gifts from our deep-wealthy king,
[29.60] if he shall see Dionysus, the proud son of Thyone,
mounting a pyre, subdued by your shaft;
and one shaft would loose the whole war. And to both,
lift your hands in water and pray to mother Earth;
and promise with unlying lips to make sacrifices
[29.65] to both after the victory; and beside the altar
let bull-natured Hydaspes have a horn-drawing bull,
and let dark Earth receive a black-skinned lamb."
So speaking he persuaded the arrow-shooting Melaneus,
a man shaken by the sting of mind-wandering possessions;
[29.70] and silently he bared the lid of his quiver,
taking a jutting shaft, and drew the accustomed string,
curving his bow with the back-bent trail of his palm,
and, propping the very tip of the iron about the bow,
he brought the blood-red ox-gut string near his neighboring breast;
[29.75] and the straight-running shaft was turned aside from Dionysus,
since Zeus restrained it, and the thigh of fair-garlanded
Hymenaeus was scored, blood-dipped, by the winged arrow.
Nor did the wandering shaft, lifted aloft, escape Dionysus,
flying with a whistle, the companion of an unsparing breeze;
[29.80] but he made womanish the cast of the darting arrow,
and blinded the murderous far-shooting of Melaneus;
and the Paphian dulled the notches of the missile,
doing favor to her brother Dionysus in his longing,
and turned the shaft so much from the skin as when a mother
[29.85] drives off a wandering fly from her child still slumbering,
gently waving the edge of her robe across his face.
And appearing near, Hymenaeus showed the savage wound
of his flesh through his reddening thigh to Bacchus beside him,
shedding a lovely tear beneath his brows, so that he might perceive
[29.90] the helping right hand of evil-averting Dionysus,
needing a life-sustaining healer; and he, holding
Hymenaeus by his white hand, set him upon his own car,
and leading him away from the many-voiced tumult
set him down, sluggish, upon the shadowy ground beside a neighboring oak,
[29.95] with heavy head; and as Apollo groaned for Hyacinthus
struck by the sharp man-slaying discus,
blaming the breath of the storm of jealous Zephyrus,
so Dionysus too tore his hair again and again,
weeping with tearless eyes over Hymenaeus.
[29.100] And seeing the barbs of the arrow standing outside the flesh
he took welcome courage; and handling the two-colored wound,
white turning red, from the bloody thigh,
he drew out the tip of the arrow with sparing palms.
And watching the tears of the lamenting youth
[29.105] he was angry at them both, at Ares and at Melaneus;
and wiping away the sweet sweat of Hymenaeus
he poured a hidden voice from reproaching lips:
"A bull killed Ampelus, Ares will destroy Hymenaeus.
Would that he had killed all the warriors I armed,
[29.110] and left this one alone unwounded; for in the wars
what grief routs me if a Cabeirus is cut down?
When would a Satyr's wound, when would it ever stir Bacchus?
Let cluster-tending Silenus fall; let the swarm of Bassarids
wander; only let me see this boy unharmed.
[29.115] Be gracious, glorious archer; if Aristaeus fell,
what grief would ever be mine for him who calls
the travail of his own bee better than the fine-dripping harvest?
It was not fated for me, perhaps, ever to escape grief for a boy,
because soon again I shall groan for this boy perished.
[29.120] What heavy envy has assailed us both? If it is lawful to say,
Hera, watching Bacchus with a jealous eye
and the young reaper of the dark-skinned race,
grudging the youth and Lyaeus in his longing,
armed furious Ares to strike Hymenaeus with a shaft,
[29.125] wearing a bastard Indian look no one knew,
so that she might grieve the mind of unhappy-loving Lyaeus.
But stretching a shaft or drawing blood-red bows
I arm myself against the lying Melaneus, so that I may exact
the vengeance owed for lovely Hymenaeus.
[29.130] If you die, Hymenaeus, leaving Enyo unaccomplished,
I withdraw from the war and lift the thyrsus no more.
I shall leave all the foes alive,
having mowed one man only, your slayer Melaneus.
Deriades did not kill you, even if he is angry at Dionysus.
[29.135] Be gracious, Cytherea; after the bold son of Myrrha
unmerciful Ares has driven off another gentle Adonis,
has driven him off and touched his rosy skin, and through his thigh
the gore of the Loves has just now gushed again upon the ground;
but doing favor to your Dionysus in his longing
[29.140] send me here your brother Phoebus, skilled in the toil-releasing
art, and he will heal the boy. Hold back, my voice;
leave Phoebus in Olympus untroubled, lest I stir him
by reminding him of the lovely wound of Hyacinthus.
Send me, if you wish, Paeon; let him come;
[29.145] he has no share of longings, he is a stranger to the Loves.
I have looked upon another pattern of wound; for in the wars
one man is reddened by the point, struck in the flank,
another has the labor of his palm from a sword, another
from a shaft in the side, another through the ear; but I was wounded
[29.150] together with Hymenaeus, having a deadly wound in my heart."
He spoke, and was shaken, glancing sidelong with slanting eye
upon the wound of graceful Hymenaeus.
And winding the Euian flower this way and that about his thigh,
handling the two-colored wound, white turning red,
[29.155] he brought the boy back to life with his healing ivy,
sprinkling evil-averting wine upon Hymenaeus.
And as when swift-working rennet, hastening to curdle milk,
stirring it, takes away the moisture of the snowy dew,
so that the goatherd may make it ready, set firm,
[29.160] having rounded it in the pattern of a basket, with a wheel-shaped base;
so he healed the blood-red wound with Phoebean art;
and the youth, sound again, held a recovered war,
having found the pain-healing hand of Dionysus.
And drawing his air-roaming far-shooting shaft to the mark
[29.165] he curved his bows again, and aiming with his missile
gave a wound in exchange to the arrow-shooting Melaneus.
And the bold boy rushed on; and following Lyaeus
he struck men continually and no longer left Bacchus.
And as when a shadowy shape of a man, creeping breathless,
[29.170] appearing near, unscored, travels running with the man,
and always follows him as he hastens, and when he stands
stands, and when he sits sits beside him, and at table
feasts with him as a fellow-traveler with mimic palms;
so the boy stayed running beside wine-dark Bacchus.
[29.175] Nor did Dionysus cease from battle; but piercing
a man through the middle he lifted him, pinned upon his thyrsus,
upright, soaring aloft, and in the airy path
raising the Indian he showed him to jealous Hera.
And accomplishing Enyo with threefold surnames
[29.180] divine Aristaeus, Agreus taught of Ares,
fought as Nomius, shaking his crook in his hands,
the far-shooting bridegroom of Autonoe; and in the tumults,
holding a bow, he imitated his own glorious-bowed father,
having the overbearing courage of the arrow-shooting mother who bore him,
[29.185] Cyrene the former daughter of Hypseus; and fearless Agreus
took a dread-raving foe alive in bonds,
hunting him like a beast; and with accustomed hand he lifted
a heavy stone, the destroyer of his adversaries, such as he had propped
to press out the poured travail of the rich olive;
[29.190] and he terrified the proud foes with his accustomed whirling,
shaking that bronze, which, brandishing in his palms,
he had used to drive off the maddened stings of the roaming bee.
And the fire-strong citizens of Thracian Samos,
the two children of Lemnian Cabeiro, raved in Bacchic frenzy;
[29.195] and their eyes shot forth kindred sparks,
reddened by the vapor of the fire of their father Hephaestus.
They had a car of adamant; and about it the colts,
striking the beaten dust with bronze hoof,
belched a harsh whinnying from their throats,
[29.200] whom their father Hephaestus wrought with inimitable art,
breathing a threatening torch from their teeth,
just as for Aeetes too, the mighty ruler of the Colchians,
he shaped a yoked pair of bronze-footed bulls,
making hot <...> †
[29.205] and in his right hand he lifted the Lemnian spear, which his father's anvil wrought,
and upon his well-grown thighs
he hung a light-bearing sword; and if any man,
lifting some little stone with the very tips of his nails,
struck the fire-running back of the whetted knife,
[29.210] self-moving sparks were shot from the iron.
Eurymedon drove, and with a fire-struck bridle
steered the fiery jaw of his iron-footed horses;
and Alcon fitted his hand to a smoky missile,
whirling the revel-torch of his father's Hecate.
[29.215] And shaking the boss of a high-crested helmet
the Dictaean Corybants marched into the tumult,
goaded into the fray; and with emulous bronze
naked swords clashed upon the beaten ox-hides
with answering leaps; and they imitated the rhythm
[29.220] of a shield-bearing dance with the coiling throb of their feet,
raving for Ares. And of the mountain-haunting herdsmen
the Indian offspring was cut down by Curetic iron;
and one man slipped head first into the dust,
hearing the bellowing of the heavy-thundering ox-hide.
[29.225] And a Bassarid, lifting the flower-loving spear of Enyo,
hurled it; and many male heads of the Bacchus-less
race were cut down by a female thyrsus.
And with shaggy palm lifting a crested peak,
Leneus armed himself, cutting off the topmost heads of a mountain,
[29.230] sending a jagged point against the adversaries.
And a Bacchant shouted around; and vine arrows
were whirled in the palms of ivy-bearing women.
There, weaving a melody both for Ares and for Dionysus,
Eupetale armed herself, and with a cluster-loving leaf
[29.235] sent the goading ivy, the crusher of iron,
destroying the Indian race with a woody cluster.
And routing the cloud of the foes with her man-breaking thyrsus,
cluster-loving Terpsichore skipped into the tumult,
whirling the heavy-roaring cymbals of twin bronze;
[29.240] not so much did Heracles drive off the Stymphalian birds with his boom,
holding the heavy-thundering bronze, as Terpsichore drove off
the army of the Indians, beating out the warlike Echo of the dance.
And heavy-kneed Trygie was left behind, apart from the throng,
last of all, and fixed her feet in fear; nor did any
[29.245] of the Sileni stay by her; they left her there alone,
terrified, needing a helper; and she stretched out her hands
to deep-drinking Maron, and Maron refused the old woman,
because she checked the dances of the unmixed-wine-loving Corybants
and of the Satyrs; and he prayed always to the gods that the useless
[29.250] old woman might be subdued beneath the spear of Deriades;
and Calyce fought, standing beside Dionysus,
gadfly-mad. And Oenone was whirled with the throb
of trembling drunkenness as she ran ahead; and weighed down in the tumult
her knees labored, and the swollen locks
[29.255] of the unmixed-wine-loving girl's head were whirled about.
And there was heavy-thundering groaning; and in an emulous tumult
Astraeis pursued Staphyle, and Celaeneus pursued Calyce.
And spear-wielding Morrheus drove off the phalanx of the Sileni,
struck with his ox-axe; and at a single shout of the driver
[29.260] Astraeus was shaken, Maron fled, Leneus sank down,
the three children of shaggy-haired Silenus, who apart from a bed,
unsown, self-delivered, ran up from his mother the field.
And Doryclus terrified lovely Lycaste <...> †
To them the god brought help, and sprinkled drugs
[29.265] upon the wounds of the freshly cut women; and Gorge,
worn by the iron of Enyalius, unveiled, he saved by the tip of her foot,
binding her foot tight with a vine bond of a shoot;
and he quenched the freshly rushing ichor of Eupetale with wine,
and soothed the poured blood of Staphyle with a song;
[29.270] and he healed the wounded palm of Myrto with myrtle,
and saved Calybe, drawing the shaft from her shoulder,
and he stopped the pain of Nysa's freshly wounded face,
sprinkling the drink of the vat upon her blood-red wound,
anointing her cheek this way and that with white gypsum;
[29.275] and with tearless eyes he groaned over Lycaste.
But when thyrsus-mad Dionysus had soothed the pains
of the Bassarids with his art, he fought in a greater battle.
And a Bassarid, gripped by the leap of wit-robbing madness,
a raving Enyo, went after the Indian Ares,
[29.280] about you, Lydian god; and from the lock of the Bacchant
a self-moving, unburning fire blazed down her neck.
And rousing the unequally yoked swarm of mighty champions
the flute crashed out the host-gathering Echo of Ares,
and with twin palms of the crash-loving Corybants
[29.285] the rims of the double-beaten ox-hide were struck,
and cymbals rattled, and, changing its song,
the sweet-singing Panian pipe made melody of battles;
and the phalanxes of the adversaries roared; and abundant
winged arrows whistled up from the air.
[29.290] The bow twanged, the stone boomed, the trumpet bellowed.
But when they came to the ford, where, carried in its trail,
Hydaspes reddened its white water with a drunken stream,
then indeed Bacchus shouted from heavy-crashing throats,
as loud as a swarm of nine thousand of Enyo roars,
[29.295] the dread din of mouths of one tongue; and unsteady,
fleeing toward the yellow stream, the Indians sank down,
others in the plain; and the army of Bacchus was divided,
killing the foes both on the floor and in Hydaspes,
gasping with parched thirst, when the dawn of the earth
[29.300] rose to its middle, and the hot wayfarer trembled
at the midday whip of blazing Helios.
And the vine god challenged the lord of the Indians,
pouring a threatening word from a raving throat:
"What fear is there? If the leader of the Indians bears the race of a river,
[29.305] I have got my blood from heaven; and overbearing Deriades
is worse than Lyaeus by as much as Hydaspes is than Zeus.
And if I wish, I stand near the clouds; and if I wish,
my straight-running shaft shall reach as far as Selene.
And if you think greatly of yourself, holding a horn-drawing shape,
[29.310] if you can, fight in the front against ox-horned Dionysus."
As he spoke the warriors bellowed with a roar;
and one strove with another, fighting beside Dionysus.
And gentle Pan fought with goat's feet,
and scoring sharply the whole flank of the archer
[29.315] he tore open the belly of Melaneus with his whetted hoof,
demanding vengeance for the wound of Hymenaeus,
so that he might lighten the fire-sealed distress
of Dionysus lamenting with tearless eyes.
And raging Iobacchus ran upon the fighting,
[29.320] and touched the clouds and grasped Olympus with his hands,
at one time lengthening his long body, a neighbor of the upper air,
and he fixed his sole in the earth and struck the air with his head.
And upon them as they fought came the star Hesperus,
loosing the foundations of the Indian-slaying fighting.
[29.325] And beside sleeping Ares, at the nod of Rhea,
there stood a guile-weaving vision of a dream, embroidering phantoms,
crying such a word in a bastard shadowy shape:
"Ares, Ares, do you sleep, unhappy in love, lying alone,
bronze-tunicked? And Hephaestus holds your Paphian a second time
[29.330] high upon his bed, your former Aphrodite,
and has driven the Grace, his jealous bride, out of his halls;
and drawing his ancient wife back to a returning wedlock
Eros himself shot refusing Aphrodite,
doing favor to his father Hephaestus. And Athena herself too,
[29.335] untaught of longings, persuaded great Zeus,
the guile-devising maiden, so that she might escape Hephaestus,
remembering the bastard beds of ground-reared Hymenaeans,
lest after the doom of the former Erechtheus she should rear
at a male breast another, younger son of the field.
[29.340] Wake, and going to the Thracian floor of the cliff
behold your Cytherea within his accustomed Lemnos,
behold how the fellow-traveling swarm of Loves has garlanded
the gateways of Paphos and the foundations of Cyprus with flowers,
and hear the daughters of Byblos singing of Aphrodite
[29.345] and the new love of a returning wedlock.
Ares, you have been robbed of your Cypris; for the slow one
has outrun swift man-slaying Ares. Sing you too
of Aphrodite joined to fiery Hephaestus.
And set foot on Sicily, and entreat me the Cyclopes
[29.350] who stand beside the furnace; for they too are skilled
in the noblest-working Hephaestus, jealous of wise works,
and they will prepare a guile for you, and will make one
younger, like your ancient bond, so that you too,
pressing them both in guileful fetters none can escape,
[29.355] may bind the thief of your marriage in your avenging bond,
clamping shambling Hephaestus tight to Aphrodite;
and all the gods of Olympus shall praise you
for having hunted in bonds the plunderer of your bed.
Wake, and become a guile-weaver yourself; wake, and care
[29.360] for your ravished bride. What are the evils of Deriades to you?
Softly, between us, lest Phaethon hear the word."
So speaking she flew away. And at once, shaking off his slumber,
gazing at the morning light of Dawn freshly scored,
hot Ares leapt up, rousing Terror and Panic
[29.365] to yoke his blood-red, swift-running chariot; and they obeyed
their father as he hurried; and with a crook-toothed bridle
much-dreaded Panic, binding tight the jaw of the horses,
clamped their slavish, fettered necks in the harness,
and bound the yoke-strap about; and Ares mounted the car;
[29.370] and Terror drove, steering his father's wagon,
carried from Lebanon to Paphos, and from Cythera
he turned the restless chariot toward the land of horned Cyprus;
often, often he looked at Lemnos, and more than the others
he watched the fire-breathing forge in jealousy,
[29.375] tracking Cypris with a running, jealous sole,
to see if he might behold her beside the furnaces of Hephaestus,
standing as before, and he feared lest the smoke
should dim the face of Aphrodite as she blackened.
And after Lemnos he ran even to heaven, so that with iron
[29.380] he might raise a bridal war among the blessed ones,
against Zeus and Phaethon and Hephaestus and Athena.

## Book XXX


### And in the thirtieth, after the nether house of necessity, Eurymedon sends Tectaphus cut down to Hades.

[30.1] So jealous, heavy-wrathful Ares ran to the seven-zoned heaven.
And dancing into the fray
bold Dionysus assailed the blazing host,
now leaping among the foremost with an earth-shaking throb,
[30.5] now in the middle of the champions; and with his javelin-hurling thyrsus
he reaped the first-fruits of the dark fighting,
and heartened the Satyrs against the Ares of Deriades,
and raged, cutting down the tribes of the hostile phalanx,
when Bacchus saw that Ares had left the war of the Indians;
[30.10] and one strove with another. And entrusting to Dionysus
the furious right wing of the cluster-bearing tumult,
Aristaeus ran the left horn of the fighting.
And Morrheus, still watching the servants of Bromius
fighting with leaves and a flowery missile,
[30.15] broke into a much-wondering voice to witless Deriades:
"Deriades, what is this wonder? My warriors fall,
struck by thyrsi and paltry leaves,
and the shieldless destroy the weapon-bearers; and the Bassarids,
unbending, struck with axes and double-edged knife,
[30.20] remain unwounded. If it is lawful to say,
do you too, scepter-bearer, leave your bronze-forged point
and lift a murderous wine-dark thyrsus, because the foes
play the champion far better with clusters than with iron.
Never have I seen such a pattern of battle; and paltry
[30.25] thyrsi, when hurled, are better than javelins.
Give me too a green shaft to whirl; for our
arrows have been conquered by an unwarlike fennel-stalk;
give me yellow sandals to wear, because even
unbreakable greaves have yielded to buskins.
[30.30] What more, if I have a bronze shield, when women
unarmored play the champion better, and in the tumults
whirl cymbals, and warriors sink down,
and the helmet has given way to garlands and the breastplate to a fawnskin?
Often, coming against unwoundable Dionysus,
[30.35] I thought to tear open his unbreakable flank,
sending well-aimed spears, and as it touched Lyaeus
the sharp-pointed, unbending bronze of the javelins was bent."
As he spoke the bold king smiled, and at his son-in-law
he stretched slanting eyes with a silence that heralded anger;
[30.40] and he shrieked out a threatening cry at him:
"Why do you tremble at unarmored Dionysus, childish Morrheus?
Sweet is he who fears the playful Enyo of Satyrs."
So speaking he heartened his son-in-law with a fearless threat.
And monstrous Morrheus armed himself against the champions of Bromius;
[30.45] and he wounded Eurymedon, scoring the middle of his groin
with his blood-red spear; and darting through the thigh
the raving point cut the rich flesh, draining its color;
and he fell to the ground with sinking knee. And bronze-tunicked
Alcon did not neglect his fallen brother,
[30.50] but came as champion to him who was hard pressed, lifting his spear
and his well-wheeling shield; and he covered the whole warrior,
towering the man's body about with his shield, and shaking
this way and that at the adversaries his back-turning point
brother defended brother; and standing over the wounded man,
[30.55] like a lion over its cubs, he roared from his throat,
pouring a Corybantic voice from a raving lip.
And watching him wheeling with knowing sole,
monstrous Morrheus, of like nature to Typhon, raved,
armed against the two brothers, so that their mother
[30.60] Cabeiro might weep for two children destroyed,
the shield-bearer of his fallen brother Cabeirus,
cut down by one iron in a single dawn.
And now he would have given them both to an equally weighted destruction,
but Eurymedon, stretching a forced breath through his lips,
[30.65] called upon his Lemnian father with a cry:
"O father, fire-breathing lord of the labor-working art,
grant me the favor owed of old, when alone
threshing Deo snatched three-crested Sicily,
the gifts for the first sight of Persephoneia hidden away,
[30.70] and checked your western blowing bellows
and your broad forge and your snatching fire-tongs;
but I terrified her, shielding my father,
the helper of your anvil; and from me
the black air is warmed by your Sicilian spark.
[30.75] Save me your son, whom savage Morrheus has wounded."
He spoke, and fiery Hephaestus, rushing from heaven,
whirled about his son a many-cleft leaping fire,
spinning a fiery missile in his palm; and about the neck
of Morrheus a self-coiling, intelligent torch was whirled,
[30.80] girdling his neck with a necklace of fire-heated necessity,
rolling about; and after the fiery crown of his throat,
leaping to the farthest sole with a mounting throb,
it wove a fire-plaited cord about the champion's foot,
shaking on the ground a steady radiance with a footman's leap;
[30.85] and his head was heated as his helmet was kindled.
And now he would have been laid low, struck by the flaming missile,
had not Hydaspes, the father of Deriades, defended him;
for he sat watching the fighting high upon a rock,
bull-natured, holding a bastard look in mortal-seeming shape;
[30.90] and he brought him back to life, pouring counter-blowing water,
cooling the hot breath of his fire-struck face,
wiping away the ashy defilement of his helmet;
and snatching Morrheus he cloaked him in a gloomy mist,
hiding his covered limbs in a purple cloud,
[30.95] lest the light-bearing lame god should kill him,
darting the deadly Lemnian fire as it caught,
lest, after the death of the former, old child-loving Hydaspes
should see yet another son-in-law of Deriades destroyed,
and weep for the doom of Morrheus together with Orontes.
[30.100] And torch-bearing Hephaestus pursued all the warriors
standing about his freshly wounded son, and lifting
his son high upon his shoulder he propped him against a neighboring oak,
apart from the tumult, and brought the fallen man back to life,
sprinkling life-bringing drugs upon his wounded groin.
[30.105] Nor was Morrheus forgetful of the earlier battle;
but he armed himself again, having fled the fiery war
and the flashing champion and the smoky point;
and overtaking Phlogius, the much-turning son of Strophius,
he killed him, the dancer of leap-loving Dionysus,
[30.110] who beside the banquets of tearless Lyaeus
used to whirl the many-turning fingers of answering hands,
and, shaking out the death of Phaethon with intelligent hand,
made the feasters shed unaccustomed tears,
weeping over the destruction of a lying Phaethon;
[30.115] and weaving a new smoky, self-rolling dance
he gave a wretched grief to griefless Dionysus.
Seeing him skipping, spear-wielding Morrheus said:
"This is a different dance from the one you wove beside the table;
stretching out a laughing dance beside the mixing-bowl,
[30.120] whence do you weave a groaning dance after battle?
And if the sting of the dancing of Dionysus holds you,
perform your rites for Hades, and you have no need of gypsum,
wearing the self-dyed, dusty circles of your face;
and if you wish, dance beside lamentation-loving Lethe,
[30.125] and let unsmiling Persephone delight in your song."
He spoke, glorying, and ran on like a tempest,
and terrified the Sileni. And with irresistible knife
shield-brandishing Tectaphus followed him, whom once Deriades
bound and hid within a hollow pit.
[30.130] Nor did he find how to flee doom a second time; for under necessity
who can ever keep hostile fate from a man,
when pitiless, all-subduing Fate commands him to die?
For guile did not find how to save Tectaphus as he died,
who then, raging, pursued the army of Lyaeus,
[30.135] cutting down the play-loving limbs of the well-horned Satyrs;
and he reaped the throat of battle-rousing Pylaeus,
and struck the brow of Onthyrius with unsparing knife,
and crushed broad-breasted Pithos with the iron.
And now he would have killed another throng of the Bacchoi one upon another,
[30.140] but swift Eurymedon saw him, and stood against him,
shaking in his hand the two-mouthed Corybantic blade;
and he crushed the top of his brow; and as the head was split in two
an upright pipe of bloody dew gushed up;
and the champion fell to the ground, and, sprinkling the dust,
[30.145] rolled half-dead, and groaned for the ancient misery
of the ground-dug chamber and the threads of a younger Fate,
and, remembering still the guileful love-charm
of his evil-averting daughter, he roared with a plaintive voice,
and as he wailed his tears ran down with the gore:
[30.150] "My mother and my nurse, guile-weaving, ill-wedded girl,
why did you not come near me, when I came near destruction?
Why now have you not helped me again, fearless girl?
Where has your life-bearing love-charm gone? Do you indeed keep
faith with your father living and not with him dying?
[30.155] If guile can bring a man back from Hades,
seek me another, better guile, seek a cunning
counsel against death, so that after the nether hollows
I may escape the gates of Hades even in wars,
if there is a homeward path from the pit none returns from."
[30.160] Such a word he scarcely spoke, and his voice obeyed no more.
And seeing her father freshly wounded from high upon the tower
the pitiable girl of varied tears, aloft, gushed out
a mourning cry; and she shamed her crooked hair with dust,
baring her breast as her tunic was torn,
[30.165] and she beat her head; and to her father past all cure,
as though he heard, she uttered so great a voice:
"My son and father, heavy-fated, of your milk-bearing girl,
today, upon your breathless lips as you lie dead,
what other life-bringing milk have I, with which, wretched,
[30.170] I may bring your soul back again into you?
What other helping breast shall I hold out again?
Would that I could beguile Aidoneus too.
One other prize is kept for you, father; for I shall not leave you
alone among the dead; and do you receive from your slain daughter
[30.175] the blood of her neck too, after the milk of her former breast.
Come, guardians of Deriades, and instead of that pit
show me another recess within the earth, where going
I may make my dead father live again;
Hades is not like the guards, that I may accomplish
[30.180] another toil-releasing guile, the helper of my father.
I longed for that murderous sword, so that, heavy in soul,
I might be subdued, slipping upon the father-slaying iron.
You there, who cut off the head of our father,
kill Aerie too after Tectaphus, so that someone may say:
[30.185] 'He laid low both father and child with a single knife.'"
She spoke, shedding tears; and the labor grew greater.
And Enyo fanned up both armies.
And Morrheus killed Dasyllius of Taenarum with his sword,
the Amyclaean citizen who never cast away his ox-hide shield
[30.190] before the foes, unshaken before his adversaries,
driving his spear against the bone of his right jaw.
And he killed mountain-running Alcimacheia, who under a single ordinance
had manhood and beauty surpassing the youth of her own age,
the daughter of Harpalion her cluster-rich father,
[30.195] who was bold and went even into the house of Hera
lifting ivy, which the Argive goddess hated
as much as she loved the accustomed reddening pomegranate;
and she lashed the well-made image with a wine-dark thyrsus,
striking the bronze body with a vine cluster,
[30.200] dishonoring the heavy-wrathful stepmother of Lyaeus.
Nor did god-fighting Lemnian Alcimacheia escape
the frightful wrath of Hera when she laid hold of her; but in a foreign
land she was buried, and after the wars she did not see
her father Harpalion a second time, nor did she see her homeland,
[30.205] Lemnos, the bridal chamber of Jason's Hypsipyle;
but among strangers she was covered in loose dust,
exchanging an avenging doom. Ah, greatly wretched,
she missed Harpalion, and was robbed of Lyaeus.
Nor was furious Morrheus sated when the god-sporting maenad
[30.210] Alcimache was cut down; but Codone too,
who dwelt in Elis, the Olympian floor of the field,
beside the stream of Alpheius the garland-loving river,
he killed, still a maiden. Be gracious, Fates;
he did not pity the locks of her withering head,
[30.215] nor the rosy beam of her dust-covered face;
nor, seeing on her breast a bosom like a wheel-shaped
apple, did he pity it, the unbending goad of her girdle,
nor did he respect the cut of her deepening thigh,
but killed so great a beauty untimely; and wounded
[30.220] she fell upon the ground; and pursuing numberless
fair-robed maenads, helmet-glancing Morrheus killed them,
and reaped Eurypyle and Sterope and Soe with his knife,
and cut down Staphyle, and wounded reddening
Gigarto, and piercing above her rosy breast
[30.225] he purpled the bosom of Melictaena with murderous iron.
And the envious Telchines marched into the tumult,
one holding a vast fir, another a whole cornel bush
roots and all, another, breaking off the top of a headland,
crushed it, and went to the war of the Indians
[30.230] shaking a javelin-hurling stone in a maddened arm.
And shifting Hera, bearing down upon Lyaeus,
gave strength and courage to proud Deriades,
and granted him, as he played the champion, a light-bearing gleam
for the terror of his adversaries; and as the bearer armed himself
[30.235] the blood-red gleam of his Indian shield flashed,
and a leaping flame blazed above the crest of his helmet.
And bold Bacchus trembled when he saw the boss
of the fire-struck ox-hide shield of Deriades flashing,
and the air-roaming radiance of his kindled helmet;
[30.240] seeing him Dionysus was astonished, and did not dare
to meet him, and, perceiving the guile of Hera as she armed herself,
withdrew from the fighting with refusing feet.
And then the Indians went boldly to the fray,
since Bromius had left the battle; and watching this
[30.245] Deriades cut down the rank of the Bacchoi one upon another,
whirling his spear on either side, turned back again.
And Iobacchus in distress went up to the ridge of the wood,
and entrusted the hope of battle to the winds to scatter,
trembling at the savage wrath of his stepmother. And Athena came
[30.250] from heaven; for high-ruling Zeus had sent her as a messenger,
so that she might draw her brother, fleeing, terrified with fear
of Hera, back into the fray with his purpose changed;
and she stood behind and gripped the yellow hair of Bacchus,
a grim goddess appearing to him alone; and from her face
[30.255] her eyes shot forth a fiery sparkle;
and breathing intelligent sparks upon Lyaeus
she spoke in anger with a reproaching, war-loving voice:
"Where do you flee, Dionysus? Why have you fear instead of tumult?
Where are your valiant thyrsi and your vine arrows?
[30.260] What word shall I cry to my Cronion about you?
What lord of the Indians have I seen destroyed in the fighting?
Deriades lives and Morrheus still makes war.
What heavenly, inborn valor were you displaying?
Did you set foot on Libya? Did you have the contest of Perseus?
[30.265] Did you see the eye of stone-faced Stheno, or the hard-fighting
bellowing throat of Euryale herself?
Did you behold the locks of viper-haired Medusa,
and did the gape of wide-scattered dragons run round you?
Semele did not bear a fighting son; but the daughter of Acrisius
[30.270] bore a worthy son to my Zeus, the Gorgon-slayer;
for winged Perseus did not shake off my sickle,
but honored Hermes the giver of his sandals.
I have as a neighboring witness the stony beast of the sea;
ask me Cepheus what the sickle of Perseus wrought;
[30.275] and ask the east and the west; for on both sides,
the Nereids tremble at the consort of Andromeda,
the Hesperides sing of the reaper of Medusa.
Fearless Aeacus was not like Bacchus;
he did not flee Deriades, he did not tremble at the war of the Indians.
[30.280] Did the Arabian champion rout you again yesterday? Ever since that
I am ashamed to see furious Ares <...> †
crying aloud the feebleness of war-fleeing Dionysus.
Your father and mine did not tremble at the fighting,
when the Titan gods armed themselves against Olympus.
[30.285] What Orsiboe have you taken as plunder, the mistress of the Indians?
Your Rhea has not seen Cheirobie won by the spear.
Be gracious, boast of Zeus; I shall not call you brother
while you flee Deriades and the race of unwarlike Indians.
But take your thyrsi and remember the battle again,
[30.290] and fight in the front for your army, and as the Bacchants arm themselves
you shall see well-corseleted Athena fighting beside them,
lifting the aegis, the unwoundable weapon of Olympus."
So speaking she breathed strength into Bromius; and he in his heart,
made bold, fought a second time, and entrusted all his hope
[30.295] of the victory to come to Tritogeneia.
There whom first, whom last did Bacchus kill,
when Athena, unsated of battles, heartened him?
He killed a hundred of the adversaries with his pitiless thyrsus,
and gave many a much-turning wound, striking with his spear
[30.300] or with the coils of plants or with a fair-shooted cluster,
or hurling a stone, a rocky missile; and those who were struck
raved in Bacchic frenzy with a ringing, divine whip.
And he wounded the left shoulder of Phringus with his sharp thyrsus;
and he, leaping, withdrew untouchable; and as he fled
[30.305] Melisseus laid him low with his whetted ox-axe.
And thyrsus-mad far-shooting Dionysus rushed upon Egretius,
whirling his Euian spear; and flying,
the Bacchic point of the spear whistled through the air,
longing to strike the man, and when Egretius fled
[30.310] it assailed the Bolinges, and terrified the battle-rousing
Arachotae into flight; and by an unmixed-wine-loving leaf
the dread tribes of the spear-bold Salangi were cut down;
and the army was terrified <...> †
and pursuing the champions of Phringus and Egretius
[30.315] Euius terrified the whole Uatocoetan host;
and valiant Iobacchus dashed Lygus away
from the bloody tumult; and he wounded guile-weaving
Meilanion with his wine-dark thyrsus as he sat in a tree,
shooting at the Bassarids with hidden shafts;
[30.320] but hard-fighting Hera took him alive unharmed,
because he had armed himself with guile and often assailed the Bacchants
with secret wars; and always a rock hid him
or a high-headed plant, stolen away beneath its leaves,
as he shot at men with unmarked shafts.
[30.325] And the Indians hurried away from the man-slaying tumult,
trembling at the manhood of unconquered Dionysus.

## Book XXXI


### And in the thirty-first Hera soothes Sleep against Cronides, and Persephone against Bacchus.

[31.1] So Bacchus, struck by the spell of the Indian tumult,
ran about the bosom of the Erythraean field,
shaking his golden locks beside his snowy cheeks.
And Hera, swelling with envious cares,
[31.5] scored the topmost air with threatening sole,
watching from there the army of the wide-scattered Indians
crushed by the man-slaying thyrsi of Lyaeus.
And another anger rose in her beside the Erythraean sea,
seeing the much-plaited remains of Andromeda's bonds
[31.10] and the stone in the sand, the grim monster of the Earth-shaker.
And in grief she turned her eye aside, lest beside the sea
she should see the bronze-forged sickle of Gorgon-slaying Perseus.
For already, whirling his swift-kneed sole in the air,
Perseus was ferried about the thirsty Libyan neck,
[31.15] swimming on wings; and taking the wandering eye
of the one-eyed, unsleeping old daughter of Phorcys
he entered the hard-to-tread cave, and reaping beside the rock
the hissing corn, the crooked first-fruits of her hair,
he cut through the travailing throat of the Gorgon,
[31.20] and reddened his sickle; and as Medusa was cut down
he bathed his blood-dipped palm in a snaky dew,
cutting off her head; and bringing forth a child with the golden sword
the twice-bearing neck brought forth the horse's offspring.
And envious anger seethed through the heart of Hera
[31.25] as she belched out jealousy at Perseus and at Dionysus.
And she wished to charm both the eyes and the mind of Cronides
into a beguiling wedlock and into the wing of sweet Sleep
drawn on after the bed, so that by some guileful art,
while Zeus still slumbered, she might bear down upon Lyaeus.
[31.30] And she went to the gloomy all-receiving court of Hades;
and she found Persephone, and cried with a guile-minded word:
"I call you most blessed, because you dwell far from the gods;
you have not seen Semele dwelling within Olympus.
I fear lest I behold Dionysus, whom a human belly bore,
[31.35] holding the lightning after Zagreus,
or lightening the thunderbolts with earthly palms;
you have been plundered, fruit-bearer; beside the corn-bearing Nile
they lead a revel for another instead of your mother Demeter
who bore the sheaf, and a bastard sheaf-bearing Deo,
[31.40] bull-natured, horned, is proclaimed — Inachian Io.
And Ares, whom I bore, whom a heavenly belly brought forth,
my son, Ephialtes bound in an inglorious earthly chain
and hid, clamped within a jar;
nor did my consort, heavenly Zeus, help him,
[31.45] but he saved the offspring of Semele from the flaming torches,
and brought Bacchus back to life from the thunderbolt while still an infant,
a half-finished bastard son; but when Zagreus was cut down
with knives he did not fight in the front for the heavenly Dionysus.
This has stirred me the more, that Cronides gave the vault
[31.50] of the stars to Semele as bride-gift, and Tartarus to Persephoneia;
heaven is kept for Apollo, Hermes dwells in heaven;
but you have this house full of gloom.
What more, if, holding the lying shape of a serpent,
he plundered the bond of your unplundered maidenhood,
[31.55] if after the bed he was to destroy your travail?
Lord Zeus has in Olympus a house full of stars,
and he gave his brother the ruler of the waters the salt water as a prize,
and gave misty darkness to your consort as a house.
But arm your Erinyes against wine-dark Bacchus,
[31.60] lest I behold a mortal as bastard scepter-bearer of Olympus.
Respect the bedfellow of Zeus who entreats you, respect Deo,
respect pure Themis who entreats you, so that the Indians
may breathe a little while Dionysus is shaken;
be my avenger in my grief, because Cronides
[31.65] gave nectar to Bacchus and the gore of Enyo to Ares.
And let not Athens hymn a new Dionysus,
nor let him obtain an honor equal to Eleusinian Dionysus,
let him not exchange the rites of the earlier Iacchus,
let him not dishonor the basket of Demeter with his harvest."
[31.70] So speaking she confounded the whole mind of Persephoneia,
her face wetted with manufactured tears,
chattering wheedling words. And goddess nodded to goddess,
and gave her Megaera as companion, so that, bearing
a blighting eye, she might accomplish the mind of jealous Hera.
[31.75] And she, darting off on stormy sandal,
was lifted three times, and on the fourth reached Ganges;
and she showed the dead Indian throng to unsmiling Megaera
and the sweat of the army and the manhood of Dionysus;
and Megaera, seeing the Indian-slaying labors of Lyaeus,
[31.80] grudged them in jealousy, even more than heavenly Hera.
And Hera rejoiced in her heart; and laughing sardonically
at the serpent-haired goddess she broke into a downcast voice:
"So do the new kings of Olympus play the champion,
so do the bastards of Zeus hurl the spear; and from Semele
[31.85] Zeus brought forth a single child, so that he might destroy
all the gentle and blameless Indians; but let unjust Zeus
and Bacchus learn how great the strength of Megaera is.
Alas, what a lawless mind high-ruling Zeus has;
he does not make war on the unjust Tyrrhenians, because, having learned
[31.90] thievish, violent ordinances, upon ill-guesting ships
they sail the Sicilian sea as snatchers of others' goods;
he did not kill the race of impious Dryopes, whose life is spears
and slaughter; but he has killed the Indians who cared for piety,
whom perhaps Themis, of whom all speak, midwifed at her breast.
[31.95] Alas, what a lawless mind he has; for a mortal man
has burned so great and such an immortal Hydaspes,
a mortal man has burned him whom heavenly Zeus begot."
So speaking she flew through the upper air; and Megaera in silence,
beneath the neighboring lair-holding floor of the Caucasian cliff,
[31.100] having exchanged the dread snaky shape of her limbs,
stayed there like an owl in form, until she should see
great Zeus slumbering; for so queen Hera had told her.
And Hera herself went, devising, to the western water
of Chremetes, where the heavy old man labors,
[31.105] Libyan Atlas bowed beneath the heavenly whirl,
and she sought Iris, the bedfellow of Zephyrus unhappy in love,
the messenger of Zeus when he hastens, so that she might make her
a wind-footed envoy from the air to shadowy Sleep.
And calling her she soothed her with a friendly word:
[31.110] "Iris, golden-winged bride of plant-increasing Zephyrus,
mother of Eros blessed in childbirth, with stormy sandal
hasten to go to the gloomy Western house of Sleep;
seek him too about sea-beaten Lemnos; and if you find him,
tell him to charm the uncharmed eyes of Cronides
[31.115] for a single dawn, so that I may help the Indians.
But change your body, and having the misshapen form
of the black-girdled goddess Night, the mother of Sleep,
become dark with a lying name, since I too
change my shape into Themis, into Cytherea, into Artemis
[31.120] with answering limbs, whenever there is need of necessity.
And promise him wedlock with Pasithea, for whose beauty's sake,
longing, he may accomplish my need; I need not teach you
that a woman-mad man will do everything in hope."
As she spoke the golden-winged goddess Iris flew away,
[31.125] surveying the air, and toward Paphos, toward the land of Cyprus
she stretched an unwandering eye, and more, high above Byblos,
she watched the fair-wedded water of Assyrian Adonis,
seeking the roaming track of wandering Sleep.
And she found him beside the slopes of bridal Orchomenus;
[31.130] for there again he stayed, whirling a mind-wandering step,
haunting the lovely gateways of Pasithea.
And, changing her body, unseen Iris turned about
and put on the unknown look of dark Night;
and the guile-weaver came near to Sleep; and like a mother
[31.135] she cried a deceiving voice with mind-stealing whispers:
"My child, how long will Cronides dishonor me?
Is it not enough that Phaethon forces me, that Dawn herself
shoots at me and the morning-born pursues me?
Zeus has planted a bastard son, so that he may put my Sleep to shame.
[31.140] One mortal shames me and my son; for all night long
kindling a light-bearing brand with a mystic spark
Bacchus dims me, and, waking, harries you.
Sleep, why are you called all-subduer? No longer do you charm
waking men, because the bastard radiance of earthly Lyaeus
[31.145] has conquered my revel; for with torches brighter than ours
he hides the flames of the stars.
One light-bearing mortal shames me, because he covers
the beam of my Selene, great though she is.
I stand in awe of the morning-born who laughs at Mist,
[31.150] because I wear a bastard nightly radiance; for by an alien,
manufactured Phaethon I, Night, shine by day.
But do you, dear boy, be angry for me under a twofold ordinance
at the mystic Satyrs and at unsleeping Dionysus;
and charm the uncharmed eye of high-ruling Zeus
[31.155] do a favor to your grieving mother, do a favor to Hera,
for a single dawn, so that she may help the Indians,
whom the Satyrs rout and Bacchus still stirs.
Sleep, why are you called all-subduer? If you wish,
turn your eye toward me, and beside seven-gated Thebes
[31.160] you shall see Cronion again waking all night long;
loose the recklessness of unjust Zeus; for Amphitryon,
an iron-tunicked migrant far from his own chamber,
makes war; while Zeus lies beside Alcmene in the inmost room,
unsated, holding a three-moon bridal darkness.
[31.165] Let me not see a fourth night with Zeus awake.
But, child, arm yourself against Cronion, lest again,
lest again he fill out another nine-circled darkness.
Remember the earlier Mnemosyne; lying beside her
he stayed nine nights, keeping an unsleeping eye,
[31.170] having the many-childed sting of sleepless wedlock.
Another all-subduing god of equal wing, like Sleep,
little Eros, conquered Cronides with a small shaft.
And pity the dark-skinned earth-born race of the Indians;
do a favor; for they are of the same color as your mother;
[31.175] save the dark, dark-winged one; and do not harry
the earth, the age-mate of my father, from whom alone
all who dwell in Olympus have sprung.
Do not tremble at Cronides, when his consort Hera is gracious;
do not tremble at Semele, whom her own bedfellow burned.
[31.180] Neither the fiery lightning can match you,
nor the heavy-thundering thunder of clashing clouds;
only shake your wings for me, and upon his unbending bed
Zeus stays unshaken as long a time, Sleep, as you command.
I have heard that you long for one of the Graces; but keeping
[31.185] the sting of the bridal chamber in your heart, beware, and do not harry
the mother of Pasithea, Hera the yoking chamber-servant.
And if you dwell beside Tethys on the Leucadian rock,
help Deriades, whom Indian Hydaspes plowed;
keep faith with your neighbor, since your resounding neighbor,
[31.190] roaring Ocean, was the forefather of Deriades.
So speaking she persuaded him. And as though hearing his mother
Sleep was stirred, and swore to charm the eyes
of sleepless Zeus even until the course of a third Dawn;
but Iris asked him only to fetter Cronion
[31.195] to sleep for a single course of the morning-born.
And Sleep stayed there, awaiting his fair-wedded hour.
And the swift goddess Iris flew back returning;
and hastening she announced a blameless word to the queen.
And she flew through the air with stormy sole
[31.200] and wove another guile, how she might come near Zeus
lifting the cestus, the mind-charming girdle of longing.
And she sought the Paphian; and above Lebanon she found
Assyrian Aphrodite alone in the wilderness,
seated; for the Graces had set out for the varied flowers
[31.205] of the gardens, the springtime dancers of Orchomenus,
one plucking Cilician saffron, another longing to bring
balsam and a planting of Indian reed,
and another the fragrant grass of roses.
And astonished, unforeseen, Aphrodite the daughter of Zeus
[31.210] leapt up from her seat, when she saw the wife of Zeus;
and seeing her grieving she cried a many-turning voice:
"Hera, consort of Zeus, why are your cheeks pale?
Why, queen, are your eyes downcast?
Has rainy Zeus again become a thievish shower?
[31.215] Has he again become a bull, a wet wayfarer in the waters?
What Europa forces you again? Or what other
Antiope, while her father Nycteus refuses,
is wedded in the shaggy bed of a lying Satyr?
Is an intelligent horse hastening anew to another wedlock,
[31.220] sending a bastard whinnying from mimic lips?
Has he wooed another Semele with a childbed torch
and whirled the lightning, the steerer of the Loves?
Does he dance to the bed of a well-horned heifer,
pouring a loving bellowing? If you wish,
[31.225] you might rouse another ox-watching spy upon Zeus,
a herdsman, Argus scored with unsleeping eyes.
Tell me as I ask, and so far as my strength goes, I will help."
To her as she spoke the goddess clung with a guileful word:
"Cypris, goddess, let us leave the floor of Olympus to mortals;
[31.230] Zeus has brought Semele up to Olympus, the mother of Bacchus,
and he will bring Dionysus too into the upper air. What house
will receive Hera? Or to what place shall I go? And I am ashamed,
lest I should see Semele a bastard queen of Olympus.
I fear lest I see the house of gloomy Iapetus,
[31.235] lest he take me and drive me out of Olympus after Cronus.
I became your mother-in-law twice over; for you were
the bride of our son Hephaestus and of Ares.
I fear lest, after the earth, putting nectar to shame in the upper air,
he plant among the blessed ones the vine, as they call it.
[31.240] Let this never be, Justice and Earth and Water.
Let him not bring shoots into the upper air, let me not, for wine's sake,
call heaven a vineyard after it has been starry,
nor drink another drink after the sweet nectar of Olympus.
I fear lest I see battle-steadfast Athena drunk,
[31.245] lest she lift her spear against Ares and Cytherea,
lest, with the tottering drop of mind-tottering Dionysus,
wine-struck stars, maddened against one another,
raise a bold Enyo in the upper air,
lest all the dwellers of Olympus, raving in Bacchic frenzy,
[31.250] should imitate the rites of the shield-bearing Corybants.
the Trojan youth, the servant of the cups of Zeus,
Is that god-hated shame not enough, that I watch
shaming heaven and Hebe the wine-pourer of Zeus,
when he draws the sweet nectar with earthly hands?
[31.255] In shame I shall go to the earth; and to them both
I shall leave the upper air, to Ganymede and to Dionysus;
I shall leave the upper air, the house of Semele. Let heaven be
one house for them both, for Perseus and for Dionysus.
I shall come to my Argos, to the splendid city of Mycenae,
[31.260] dwelling upon earth; and with his grieving mother
Ares himself will follow, your bridegroom; but do you too
set foot in your Sparta, and let it receive well-corseleted
Aphrodite in her anger together with bronze Ares.
I know whence I have these pains; my father's Erinys
[31.265] demands of me the outrage done to my father when he was forced,
because, bearing down in the tumult of Cronus my begetter,
Hera of the Titans assailed him, fighting on the side of Zeus;
a fine thing for me, to see Dionysus in the midst of Olympus
seated near Eros, sharing a hearth with the foam-born,
[31.270] lifting the aegis after Cronides and Athena.
But, goddess, help me, and as a helper of my distress
for a single dawn, so that I may charm the eyes of Zeus,
give me the cestus strap, your all-charming girdle,
and, while Zeus sleeps, I shall help my Indians.
[31.275] Do me a late-accomplished favor, since the dark-skinned Indians
are the hosts of Erythraean Aphrodite,
whom Dionysus in anger assailed, at whom also
woman-mad, unloving, child-begetting Zeus himself was enraged,
and whirled the lightning, fighting beside Dionysus;
[31.280] give me the helping cestus strap, in which alone
you charm all things in one; and I am worthy to wear it,
since I am the goddess of yoking and the fellow-contender of the Loves."

## Book XXXII


### And in the thirty-second are tumults and the bed of sleeping Zeus and the madness of Lyaeus.

[32.1] So speaking she persuaded her; and guile-devising Aphrodite
obeyed in her cunning, and drawing from her bosom
gave the cestus of the Loves as a gift to willing Hera.
And she spoke some word about the charming strap:
[32.5] "Receive this strap, the helper of your distress;
and you shall charm all things in one with the cestus, the steerer of longings,
the sun and Zeus and the upper air and the chorus of stars,
and the unfixed stream of boundless Ocean."
She spoke, and entered the Assyrian rock of Lebanon.
[32.10] And Hera entered the star-roaming circle of Olympus,
and swiftly adorned her all-white form;
and often, making even the wandering cluster of her hair
that hung down to her forehead, she set it in place as a migrant;
and washing her brow she covered it with a gleaming robe,
[32.15] and fastened the brooch, the key of her tunic;
and she wetted her plaited hair with fragrant oil,
from which, as it moved, after the upper air and after the sea
the long-shadowed scent of perfume made the whole earth drunk.
And on her head she had an all-varied crown, in which were many
[32.20] lychnis-stones, the companions of Eros, from which,
when they are shaken, the Cyprian flame sends bright sparkles;
and she had that stone which draws men into longing,
bearing the bright name of desire-stricken Selene,
and the stone that longs for love-begetting iron,
[32.25] and the Indian love-stone, because it too
grew from the waters, kin to the foam-born,
and the dark hyacinth, still lovely to Phoebus;
and about her locks she bound the herb of love,
which Cytherea loves as she loves the rose, as the anemone,
[32.30] and wears when she is about to mingle with the son of Myrrha;
and she bound her flanks crown-wise with the unaccustomed cestus;
and she had a varied, most ancient robe, on which was poured
the bridegroom blood of the bride, the remnant still of her ancient
maidenhood, from the secret love of a brother's wedlock,
[32.35] so that she might remind her consort of their wedded love.
And having adorned her body and beheld it in a mirror,
Hera ran through the upper air like a wing or a thought.
And she came near Zeus; and seeing her, high-ruling Zeus
was lashed toward hotter Loves by the goading cestus;
[32.40] and the eyes of Zeus were enslaved as he gazed;
and watching her Cronides asked her with a word:
"Hera, why have you come to the eastern region of the earth?
What need brought you? Why do you come here today?
Are you in anger arming yourself again against wine-dark Bacchus,
[32.45] and do you long to help the overbearing Indians?"
He spoke; and with a laughing mind much-devising Hera,
mad with jealousy, spoke, beguiling her consort:
"Father Zeus, another dear course holds me; for I do not come
pursuing the alien cares of the Indian Ares
[32.50] and of Indian-slaying Dionysus, but I go hastening
to the blazing courts of neighboring Helios of the east;
for winged Eros beside the water of Tethys,
shaken by the sting of Oceanid Rhodope,
has refused wedlock; and the cosmos has become a wanderer,
[32.55] and life is useless as weddings depart;
I go here to call him back;
for you know how I am called the Yoker, since my own
hands hold the power over generative birth."
As she cried such a word her hot consort answered:
[32.60] "Dear bride, leave the fighting; let my proud Dionysus
rejoice, mowing down the Bacchus-less race of the Indians
roots and all; and let the bridal bed receive us both;
for no longing for an earthly wife, nor for a goddess,
so raved in my heart with a charming cestus,
[32.65] not when I had Taygete daughter of Atlas, from whose bed
elder-born Lacedaemon the city-holder grew;
I did not so desire Niobe beside neighboring Lerna,
the daughter of first-born Phoroneus; nor so much Io,
the roaming Inachian bull-faced girl, who beside the Nile
[32.70] bore the offspring of Epaphus and first-born Ceroessa;
I did not come into so great a longing for the Paphian, for whose bed's sake
I planted the Centaurs, casting seed into the furrow of earth;
as I now hold a sweet longing for you. Do you yourself indeed,
being the Yoker and the ruler of generation,
[32.75] shoot your consort with the shafts of the Cyprus-born?"
So speaking he whirled golden clouds tower-wise
and rounded a curved, well-turned covering into a sphere;
and it was a manufactured pattern of a chamber, which then in a circle
the two-colored form of airy Iris crowned,
[32.80] purple, and for Zeus and his splendid-armed bride
it was a self-made shelter of a mountain-haunting wedlock,
and a self-perfected pattern of a necessary bed.
And they kept company in the sweet ordinance of a graceful marriage;
and Earth, unfolding a fragrant childbed,
[32.85] crowned the bridal bed with lovely flowers;
and Cilician saffron sprouted and the smilax grew,
and a twofold shoot adorned the bed of them both,
and it wove male leaves together with the female grass beside it,
like a delicate consort breathing of longing even among the flowers,
[32.90] covering Zeus with saffron and his consort Hera with smilax;
and the lovely narcissus, leaping upon the anemone,
showed the sharp love of Zeus with intelligent silence.
And none of the immortals saw the shadowy bed, not then the Nymphs
nearby, not all-seeing Phaethon, nor did the eye
[32.95] of ox-eyed Selene herself behold that imperishable bed;
for the shelter of the bed was girdled with thick clouds,
and Sleep, the companion of the Loves, charmed the eyes of Zeus.
While Zeus lay delicately among the flowers, charmed,
holding his consort in his arms upon that unseen bed,
[32.100] meanwhile the roaming Erinys of many shapes in the mountains
armed herself against Dionysus at the nods of Hera;
and she crashed out a din upon the eyes of Lyaeus,
shaking, heavy-thundering, her viperish whip;
and she whirled her head, and as her serpent locks
[32.105] were dreadfully shaken a deadly echo hissed,
and springs of venom sprinkled the lonely peak;
at another time, showing the pattern of a beast's face,
she bristled, dread-raving, a lion with thick-haired throat,
rushing down upon Dionysus with blood-red gape.
[32.110] Him, held fast by the leap of wit-robbing madness,
Artemis watched, and wished to drive off the madness,
but heavy-crashing Hera from on high terrified her,
hurling a torch; and the mistress of the hunt gave way
in anger at her stepmother; but she was a guardian of Bacchus
[32.115] in his madness, and checked her own beasts with a threat,
and bound her hunting hounds fast in a leash,
clamping the much-plaited trail of the straps about their necks,
lest they harm the flesh of mind-tottering Dionysus.
And Megaera, blackening in her nether tunic,
[32.120] came again into the gloom, darting at Lyaeus
phantoms of varied shape; and against Bacchus many
venom-shooting drops were shot from her head,
and grim sparks; and always within his hearing
the sound of the Tartarean mind-robbing whip hissed.
[32.125] And laboring, Dionysus within the lonely thicket
passed through hard-to-tread mountains with a roaming sole,
shaken by a divine panting; and against the rocks,
like a gadfly-mad bull, he battered his own horns,
pouring a harsh bellowing from a raving throat;
[32.130] and, leaving Pan and her song that speaks last,
ill-sounding Echo bellowed with a maddened voice,
answering the bold din of Dionysus with its counterpart.
And storm-swift Bacchus pursued dappled deer
and shaggy lionesses, holding a mountain-running hunt;
[32.135] nor did a bold lion come near him; and a bear,
terrified, much-dreaded, hid in a lair-holding rock,
cowering before the madness of threatening Lyaeus,
receiving the god-driven sound in its grim ears;
and long serpents propped against some rock,
[32.140] licking gently, he cut down with his pitiless thyrsus;
and he shook the peaks with his long-pointed horn,
killing the suppliant tribes of unbending lions;
and he uprooted the oaks of the fair-fruited field,
and pursued the Hadryads; and shooting at the hills
[32.145] he drove off the Naiad Nymphs of the river as migrants.
And the Bassarids wandered and did not touch Lyaeus,
and the Satyrs, shuddering, hid themselves in the sea,
nor did they come near him, astonished at the mass of his threat,
lest he rush upon them pouring a strange-sounding echo,
[32.150] hurling snowy foam, the witness of his madness.
And Deriades, having overbearing boldness, assailed the Bacchants,
while Dionysus was shaken at the nods of Hera.
And as when, bellowing with the trail of wintry surges,
the unnavigable sea raves with opposing tempests,
[32.155] snowing the drenched air with sky-high waves,
and the storms break the stern-cables with the unsparing
rush of the wave, and the furious wind, whirling the sail
with its breath, strips bare the bent mast
girdled about with canvas, and the yard-arm is slanted,
[32.160] and the sailors in distress entrust their hope to the sea;
so then the Indian Ares stirred the whole army of Bacchus.
There the strife was not in order, nor was the tumult of men
equal, nor the fighting matched; for unwearied,
returning, battle-rousing bronze Ares roared,
[32.165] of Modaeus <...> †
unsated of fighting, he delighted in joyless gore,
to whom slaughter was more pleasing than a banquet; and on his ox-hide shield,
like the snaky trails of the Gorgon's locks,
holding the painted image of fair-tressed Medusa,
[32.170] he was like Deriades, of the same color; and having then
the unlaughing imitation of his shuddering face,
and bearing his crooked lock and the device of his shield,
host-rousing Ares was carried dread-raving into the fray,
and heartened the champions. And with a shout of one tongue,
[32.175] since Bacchus was not present, the Indians roared fearless,
and deadly Ares crashed out a din of nine thousand,
having roaming Strife as his fellow-contender; and in the tumults
he set Terror, and Panic as the attendant of Deriades.
And they goaded the army of wilderness-ranging Dionysus,
[32.180] Deriades and the slumber of Zeus and Ares running with them.
And the mingled phalanxes of an emulous tumult
girdled the whole rank of the Bassarids with iron,
and many fleeing were killed by one slayer,
struck with swords. Homeric Muses, tell
[32.185] who died, who thudded down beneath the spear of Deriades:
Aebialus and Thyamis and Ormenius and Opheltes,
Criasus son of Argasus, Telebes and Lyctian Antheus
and Thronius and Aretus and Molineus of the fair ash-spear
and valiant Comarchus; and one after another the army
[32.190] was stretched out dead by the spear of Deriades; and as they perished
one was stretched upon the floor, another floated
in the streams, bearing a wavy battle <...> †
was subdued nearby, and Arabian Nereus entombed in the waves
the man freshly scored as he was pursued by the iron;
[32.195] and another ran through the mountain with stormy sole,
fleeing his doom, and another, leaving the spear driven
middle-deep about his back, went after the midday shade of the thicket,
needing evil-averting Dionysus, who was not there.
And boastful Echelaus fell by an unburied doom,
[32.200] struck by the man-breaking stone of sky-high Morrheus,
a Cyprian, still having the freshly scored circle of his first beard,
wholly like a high-tressed palm; and in the tumults
the delicate, unshorn youth rolled, shaking his torch,
struck at the top of the hip, where nature fitted
[32.205] the axle of the thigh to the socket in an age-mate bond of flesh;
and he died still gripping the mystic pine-torch as it caught,
and gasping he turned his own head to ash with his own brand,
burning his much-plaited locks with the sooty torch.
And mockery-loving Morrheus cried out, boasting over him:
[32.210] "Boy, stranger to the nurse men name as yours,
youth Echelaus, you have lied about your race from Cyprus;
you have no descent from Pygmalion, to whom Cypris gave
a long journey of a many-yeared life;
Ares the bridegroom of your Paphian did not save you;
[32.215] nor did your Cytherea give you the unspeakable circles
of returning years and an unlimping wagon,
so that you might flee your doom upon a doom-averting car,
forever steering the heavy-kneed course of mules.
I have erred: you do bear a race from Cyprus; for swift-fated
[32.220] Ares subdued you too, like the son of Myrrha."
So speaking, spear-wielding Morrheus fought against the foot-soldiers;
and taking shambling Bilithus and destroying Denthis,
and cutting down the neck of the dancer Erigbolus
with his far-throwing spear, he terrified the Phrygian warriors;
[32.225] and he laid Sebes low with a jagged missile;
and pursuing the phalanx of the Thebans and Actaeon
he killed Eubotes, a citizen of the Cadmeian field,
the pasture-mate of Actaeon. And with a shout of one voice
many, fleeing the measureless strength of Deriades,
[32.230] slipped in a body into the threads of a yoked Fate,
dying by the self-slaying crushing iron,
at the rushes of one man; and falling upon one another
they were spread out in rows upon the bloody dust,
Crimisus, Himaleon, Phrasius, Thargelus, Iaon,
[32.235] with whom, as they were cut down, Coelon fell in number,
and Cyes rolled a corpse in a bloody doom;
and the slaughter was unspeakable; and as they were cut down by iron
the thirsty field bathed in willing gore, hostile to it,
receiving the strange rain of a warlike snowfall.
[32.240] And there was tumult in the Bacchic phalanx; for unsteady
the foot-soldiers were shaken, and the fair-stoned bridles
of the war-fleeing drivers were reined back into flight;
of whom one, mountain-roaming, entered a hollow rock,
another came and sat beneath the long-leaved slope of a thicket
[32.245] hidden in the leaves, another a cave of lions,
another went after the midday den of an irresistible bear;
and one, escaping through a high-crested headland,
passed over the topmost hill with mountain-ranging feet.
And a Bacchant passed by the haunts of a freshly delivered beast,
[32.250] treading the headland with terrified sandal;
for she no longer longed to hold the lion's rock,
but came upon the nest of feeble deer,
with feeble ways, since the Bacchant had turned her former mind
into the heart of a deer instead of a lioness.
[32.255] And one of the storm-footed Satyrs ran with fearful sole,
unsandaled, like the unsteady breezes,
fleeing the god-fighting mass of the threat of Deriades.
And old wandering Silenus made for the crags;
and often he fell to the ground as his face grew dusty,
[32.260] sinking heavy-kneed on slipping sandals,
and again he straightened his shaggy body; and among the hills
he hid himself instead of fighting, and by necessity left
his Euian spear, the thyrsus, to the unwarlike storms to tend,
and scarcely avoided the point of well-helmeted Morrheus.
[32.265] And sluggish Erechtheus withdrew with shrinking feet,
stretching his well-rounded eye as he turned back,
ashamed before his battle-steadfast city-holding Athena.
And Aristaeus unwillingly refused the Maenad battle of Bacchus,
struck on his left shoulder by an arrow.
[32.270] And Melisseus shunned the army of the spear-bold Corybants,
wounded down his shaggy breast,
the tip of his nipple scored by an Erythraean point.
And the shameless, grim Cyclopes hurried into flight
on fair-footed sole, astonished, with whom Faunus,
[32.275] fleeing, unshaken, left the Indian war.
And drawing the whole army of the well-horned phalanx into flight,
elder-born Parrhasian Pan withdrew in rout,
and with silent feet entered a thick-shaded wood,
lest restless Echo see him fleeing through the mountain
[32.280] and laugh at him and call him feeble.
And all the champions then fled away; and in the tumults
Aeacus alone was left there, and as he fought
he lacked unconquered Dionysus, who was not present;
nevertheless he stayed there. And from the crag the Nymphs
[32.285] hid themselves in the deep halls of a Naiad;
some went as companions to the daughters of Hydaspes, others, fleeing,
lodged in the streams of the Indus that ran near by,
others as fellow-travelers of the daughters of Sydrus, and others in Ganges
wiped off their freshly rushing gore; and them, as many
[32.290] as came in throngs to the watery haunts,
a silver-footed Naiad received at a hospitable gateway
into the courts of her wavy maiden-chamber.
Others hid themselves in the shadowy clusters of a Hamadryad,
entering the oaken hollows as they opened.
[32.295] And many Bassarids wailed like fountains beneath
the moisture-bearing springs near a rock; and filled
with the freshly poured, tearful rain of their lamentation-loving faces
the whole deep-bosomed spring purpled,
mourning the heavy grief of griefless Dionysus.

## Book XXXIII


### And in the thirty-third furious Eros subdues Morrheus, setting him ablaze for the beauty of Chalcomede.

[33.1] But he, carried along with the roaming leap of his soles,
swift-kneed, rushed like a well-horned bull,
pouring a deadly panting in the swell of an alien madness.
And a Grace, swift-sandaled, beside an Erythraean garden,
[33.5] plucking a fragrant planting of reeds,
so that within the fire-breathing Paphian cauldrons,
mixing the poured travail of Assyrian oil
with Indian flowers, she might make perfume for her queen,
when she had gathered every kind of dewy herb,
[33.10] surveyed the whole place; and in the thicket that ran near by,
watching the madness of her father Lyaeus,
she wept in grief, and with a purpose of tender love
scored her cheeks with mourning nails;
and she watched the Satyrs cowering before Enyo,
[33.15] and perceived Codone and short-lived Gigarto
lying upon the unburied dust;
and she pitied Chalcomede, fleeing with stormy sandal
the point of maddened Morrheus,
and was shaken with envy for the sake of the rosy-faced girl,
[33.20] lest she should ever conquer Aphrodite in splendor.
And grieving she went up to Olympus, stealing away
the pain of her father Lyaeus with a mourning silence;
and a pallor, changing the flower of her well-rounded cheek,
dimmed the glittering sparkle of her face.
[33.25] And Cypris of Adonis spoke to her as she stood downcast,
crying such a comforting word; and from the face
of Pasithea she perceived her grief by a heralding silence:
"Dear bride, what has befallen you, that you have changed your form?
Maiden, how have you altered your reddening shape?
[33.30] Who has quenched the springtime beam of your face?
No longer does a silver gleam flash from your limbs;
no longer, as before, do your eyes laugh.
But tell your cares; does my son wear you down,
and do you love, like Selene beside a desire-stricken rock,
[33.35] some herdsman? Has Eros lashed you too with the cestus,
as he did the morning-born herself?
I know whence your cheeks are pale: because wandering Sleep,
a misty bridegroom, weds you, a girl;
but I shall not force you against your will, nor shall I join
[33.40] dark-skinned Sleep as consort to white Pasithea."
As she spoke the Grace wept and answered with a word:
"Plant-sower of the ever-flowing cosmos, mother of the Loves,
no herdsman routs me, nor the bold longing of Sleep.
I am not the morning-born, unhappy in love, nor Selene,
[33.45] but the roaming labor of Lyaeus distresses me,
my father shuddering before the Erinyes; and do you,
if you can, fight in the front for your brother Dionysus."
She spoke, and told the queen the whole labor of her father,
and the boundless phalanxes of the Bassarids whom Morrheus killed,
[33.50] and the whole routed army of the Satyrs; and she told of
the divine whip of Dionysus as he was shaken,
and of plaintive Gigarto gasping upon the ground,
and she spoke of Codone untimely dead; and in shame
she told of the grief and the beauty of Chalcomede together.
[33.55] And laughter-loving Aphrodite, changing the sparkle
of her rosy face, cast off her accustomed laughter.
And she bade Aglaia go as messenger, to call
her son, furious Eros, the aloft air-roamer,
the generative steersman of the human race.
[33.60] And the Grace bent her step, and with much-turning face
she surveyed sea and earth and heaven, to find somewhere
the restless track of Eros, since he shakes his wings everywhere,
wheeling about the rim of the cosmos cut fourfold.
And she found him about the topmost ridge of golden Olympus
[33.65] hurling nectarous drops with cups;
and beside him stood a boy of his own age, playing delicately,
fair-haired Hymenaeus; and, bringing the wheeling sphere,
the wise work of his aloft-minded mother Urania,
who knows the course of the stars, he set it as the prize of victory,
[33.70] a counterpart image of the cunning form of Argos;
and winged Eros, lifting his mother's well-rounded
golden necklace, set it there, belonging to Aphrodite of the sea,
a bright, all-varied ornament of victory; and a silver
cauldron lay in the contest, and an image of wine-pouring Hebe
[33.75] stood as a mark seen in the middle; and lovely Ganymede,
the wine-pourer of Cronides, was the judge of the contest,
bearing a garland in his palms. And for the unmixed-wine-loving casts
there was a lot, drawn with shifting fingers of the hands;
and some they straightened and held up, and others were clamped
[33.80] fast to the wrist of the hand, joined in a yoked bond;
and the strife was lovely for both. And soft-haired
Hymenaeus, drawing first, took the cup, and sending
the flying nectarous drop aloft through the air
he hurled it above the cauldron; and he did not then reveal his prayer
[33.85] to his mother the Muse; and the drop, darting from the cup,
struck the middle of the air, soaring aloft,
but, turning aside its cast with a dancing throb,
drawn back again about the face of the statue
it struck the top of the head noiselessly, without a sound;
[33.90] and second, shifting-witted Eros by a cunning ordinance
took the lovely cup, and prayed to the Cyprus-born
secretly in his heart, and stretching an unwandering eye
he hurled at the mark, sending the moisture far-shooting;
and the drop of the nectarous drink, turned back again,
[33.95] straight-stretched, unbending, above the temple of the statue,
crashed heavy-thundering from the air upon its brow;
and the delicate statue cried out, and for the son of the Cyprus-born
the golden cauldron crashed out a victory echo;
and Ganymede, laughing, gave the delicate garland to Eros;
[33.100] and swiftly taking the varied necklace and lifting the sphere
he had the double prize of the fair-dropping contest,
and skipping with his feet and tumbling on his head
bold Eros danced, glorying; and often he drew down
the hand of his grieving adversary from his face.
[33.105] And Aglaia stood near him; and she received in her hands
the prizes of the mind-delighting lord; and she nodded to the boy
to come apart, and into the ears of Eros, with witnessing silence,
she spoke the guile-minded word of her lying queen:
"All-subduer, unsubdued, life-sower, of one age with the cosmos,
[33.110] hasten, since Cytherea is hard pressed, and none
of her handmaids stayed by her; the Grace fled, Persuasion went off,
and unfixed Desire withdrew; and she has sent me alone
to you, needing your unconquered quiver."
As she spoke Eros questioned her, so that he might learn all;
[33.115] because all the young, when they hear the beginning
of an endless tale, hasten to hear the end;
and he shrieked out an unbridled voice from his lips:
"Who has grieved my Paphian? So that I may arm my hand
fighting against them all; and since my mother is forced,
[33.120] I shall stretch my all-subduing string against Cronides,
and make him again, goaded, a marriage-thieving bird of the Loves,
an eagle, or some bull, a sailor of the sea;
and if Pallas stirred her, and the lame god grieved her,
kindling the light-bearing brand of a Cecropian lamp,
[33.125] I fight against them both, against Hephaestus and Athena;
and if the hare-shooting archer-goddess draws her into anger,
drawing the fiery Olympian sword of Orion
I would goad Artemis, and drive her out of the upper air,
lifting on my wings the son of Maia as her companion,
[33.130] calling in vain on paltry Persuasion to help;
and leaving my shafts and the fiery knot of my quiver
I shall lash willing Phoebus with laurel leaves,
binding him fast with the speaking hyacinth;
nor do I tremble at the strength of Enyalius, nor shall I labor
[33.135] to lash Ares fettered with the sweet cestus;
and I shall drag the twin luminaries down as servants
from heaven to Paphos, and bring to my mother as attendants
Phaethon with Clymene, Selene with Endymion,
so that all may know that I subdue all things."
[33.140] He spoke, and whirling his straight-running sole in the air
he outran Aglaia with the twofold whirr of his wings,
until he came to the house of Aphrodite as she hastened.
And taking him about the middle with a calm face
she embraced the boy in her outspread, rejoicing arm,
[33.145] lifting the dear weight on her knees; and as he sat
she kissed the boy's mouth and eyes; and touching
his mind-charming bow and handling his quiver,
as though breathing anger, she broke into a guile-minded voice:
"My child, you have forgotten Phaethon and Cytherea;
[33.150] no longer does Pasiphae pursue a bellowing bed;
the sun laughs at me, and arms the blood of Astris,
the warlike Deriades, his daughter's son,
the destroyer of the Bassarids of woman-mad Dionysus,
and the driver of the desire-stricken Satyrs of Bromius.
[33.155] This has stirred me the more, that in mortal-seeming shape
battle-rousing Ares, having Enyo as his fellow-contender,
sparing nothing of his ancient love for Aphrodite,
has armed himself against Dionysus at the nods of Hera,
a fellow-traveler with the Indian king. But in the battle
[33.160] Ares is for Deriades; do you fight in the front for Lyaeus;
he has a spear, but you a mightier bow, before which
highest Zeus bends the knee, and furious Ares and lawful Hermes;
glorious-bowed Apollo too dreads your bow.
And if, dear boy, you do a favor to your foam-born mother,
[33.165] fight in the front for the Bassarids and for our Dionysus.
But going untouchable to the eastern region of the earth,
beside the Indian floor, where there is a handmaid of Lyaeus
among the Bacchants, surpassing the youth of her own age,
Chalcomede by name, a lover of maidenhood — and if you should see
[33.170] them both, Chalcomede and Cypris, within Lebanon,
you could not, dear boy, tell which was Aphrodite —,
go there and help wilderness-ranging Dionysus,
shooting Morrheus for the beauty of Chalcomede;
and I shall put into your hands a prize worthy of your archery,
[33.175] a well-made Lemnian crown, like the gleams
of the flaming sun; and do you, sending a sweet shaft,
do a favor to both, to Cypris and to Dionysus;
glorify your bird and mine, the bride-adorner of the Loves,
the herald of gladness, of life-yoking weddings."
[33.180] The goddess spoke; and greedy Eros leapt up from the bosom
of his mother, and lifted his bow, and about his little
shoulder hung his all-subduing quiver;
and winged he flew through the upper air; and about Cerne,
wheeling his light wings, facing the beams of Dawn,
[33.185] he flew smiling, because with a few shafts he had set ablaze
so great a charioteer of the heavenly cars,
and the radiance of the Loves had conquered the radiance of Helios.
And swiftly coming into the midst of the Indian throng
he fixed his bow upon the neck of Chalcomede;
[33.190] and directing his shaft about the circles of her rosy cheek
he sent it into the heart of Morrheus, and rowing his course
with the unequally yoked trail of his swimming wings
he went up to his father's starry bolts,
leaving the Indian pierced by a fiery arrow.
[33.195] And always, shaken this way and that by the shaft of longing,
wherever the maiden went, Morrheus went unhappy in love,
holding a gentle sword, lifting a sparing spear,
and his bold mind was lashed by the lovely cestus;
and stretching a love-maddened eye in a circle about her
[33.200] he drew his uncharmed gaze at the nods of the Cyprus-born.
And she, devising guile, beguiled the leader of the Indians,
as though longing for him, and the girl molded a lying
imitation of desire; and Morrheus touched the upper air,
carried by an empty hope; for he thought the maiden
[33.205] had in her heart an equal shaft of the Loves,
light-minded man, because he sought to charm a prudent girl
with dark limbs, and did not remember his own shape.
And the girl, laughing at him with a play-loving guile,
appearing near, provoked the man unhappy in love, and to her adversary
[33.210] she told of the wind-footed knees of an unwedded bride,
how once she fled Phoebus, running with the north wind,
how beside the liquid stream of the outstretched river
she fixed her maiden foot beside broad-flowing Orontes,
when the earth, gaping beside the mouth of the well-watered lake,
[33.215] received the pursued girl in a pitying bosom.
As she spoke such a word Morrheus leapt up with joy,
and one thing alone stirred him, that Daphne, when pursued,
even a god did not overtake, and Apollo did not defile her;
and he called Phoebus slow; and always he blamed the earth,
[33.220] because it hid a maiden untried in weddings;
for he feared, trembling with the sweet fire, lest Chalcomede
herself might be a lover of maidenhood, like Daphne,
lest, seeing her fleeing, he should come to a fruitless course,
laboring toward an unaccomplished longing, as Apollo did.
[33.225] But when night rose, the luller of tumult,
Chalcomede came to the ridge of a lonely wood,
seeking the tracks of mind-wandering Dionysus;
not then bearing rattles and the Euian cymbals of Rhea
did she celebrate the rites of unsleeping Lyaeus,
[33.230] but downcast and not touching the dance
she kept an unaccustomed silence on her never-silent lips,
knowing the sickness of her defender Dionysus.
And with shrinking feet slow Morrheus came scarcely on,
watching the bride with an eye that turned back again,
[33.235] blaming swift-running Phaethon; and he kept his mind
traveling as companion with Chalcomede; and in distress
he belched out a womanish cry with Cyprian whispers,
darting the shaft of nightly Loves beneath his heart:
"Away with shaft and warlike bow; for another,
[33.240] lovelier, mightier shaft forces me; away with the quiver;
the cestus strap has conquered the strap of my ox-hide shield.
No longer do I arm a fighting hand against the Bassarids;
but leaving my father's god, water and earth,
I shall set up an altar both to Cypris and to Dionysus,
[33.245] casting away the bronze spear of Enyalius and Athena.
No longer do I arm myself holding a torch; for the torch
of the Loves has quenched the brand of feeble Enyalius;
I am struck by another, hotter fire. Would that I too,
would that I were a woman-mad Satyr, so that I might dance
[33.250] in the midst of the Bassarids, and, propping my forearm with my palm,
might clamp a bond of love upon the neck of Chalcomede.
Let Dionysus drag the attendant of Deriades to Phrygia
beneath a slave's yoke, and instead of my fatherland
let deep-wealthy Maeonia receive me as its dweller;
[33.255] I wish to have Tmolus after Caucasus; and casting away
my first-born Indian name, let me be called a Lydian,
bending a slave neck of Eros to Dionysus;
let Pactolus bear me; what is my father's Hydaspes to me?
Let the sweet house of Chalcomede hold me; for in the wars
[33.260] Cypris together with Bacchus, with both their shafts,
assailed the sons-in-law of Deriades, so that someone may say:
'The cestus killed Morrheus, and the thyrsus killed Orontes.'"
Such things he cried; and with many-voiced care
he melted, remembering Chalcomede; for in darkness
[33.265] the sparks of the Loves are always hotter.
For already, leaping with a shadowy, earth-born throb,
the noiseless cone of cloudless mist blackened,
and joined all things in a single trembling silence;
and no Indian wayfarer hastened his step through the city,
[33.270] nor did a working woman lay hold of her accustomed craft,
nor in her palms beside the distaff-loving lamp
did the wandering spindle, going in a self-coiling circle,
stretch restless with the dancing trail of the thread,
but, heavy-headed beside the vigil-loving lamp,
[33.275] the toil-enduring woman slept; and a serpent, creeping quietly,
lay fallen, and drawing back its tail with its head
reined in the trail of the spine of its sleeping belly;
and some high-footed elephant beside a neighboring wall
slept an upright sleep, propping its back against an oak.
[33.280] And then Morrheus alone, sleepless, darting off, creeping
noiseless with returning feet, was tormented, coiling,
leaving Cheirobie alone sleeping in the chamber;
and having heard a tale from some ancient sage
among the Cilician men when he had battle near Taurus,
[33.285] he had learned the inspired sting of starry Loves,
and going to the clear court spread open in the air
he gazed at the bridegroom of Europa, the Bull of Olympus;
and stretching a much-wandering eye toward the axle's neck
he watched Callisto and the restless trail of the Wagon,
[33.290] knowing that a female received a female consort
wearing the bastard body of the mimicked archer-goddess
with unknown limbs; and rising above the Bull
he watched Myrtilus, the fire-breathing Charioteer,
because he helped a marriage, and for the course of Hippodameia
[33.295] made a counterfeit pattern with wheel-shaped wax,
until Pelops found his marriage; and near Cassiepeia
he saw the long-winged eagle, the consort of Aegina,
and he longed for such a thievish guile, so that he too
might loose the maidenhood of unwedded Chalcomede,
[33.300] and he spoke some word, keeping a sleepless eye:
"I have heard how high-ruling Zeus, wholly like a Satyr,
wedded the girl Antiope in a guileful shape
with the mimic love of leap-loving weddings;
I too wish to have such a body, so that I may dance
[33.305] coming unknown into the army of the well-horned Satyrs,
so that I may accomplish the bed of unmixed-wine-loving Chalcomede.
I know, Cytherea, why you are angry at the sons of the Indians;
your shafts rout the neighbors of Helios;
you have not yet lost the memory of your bonds when they were exposed.
[33.310] Phaethon did not beget me; why do you rout me, Aphrodite?
Ox-watching Pasiphae did not bear me, I am no brother
of Ariadne. Speak, stones, with a rocky voice.
I long for Chalcomede, and she refuses. Away, quiver,
away, blood-red bows and windy arrows;
[33.315] Ares did not save me when Aphrodite armed herself;
little Eros subdued me, whom proud Bacchus did not kill."
Such things Morrheus, unhappy in love, said in vain through the night.
Nor did the wing of mind-wandering sweet Sleep lull
bed-fleeing Chalcomede, since she had a longing for death,
[33.320] fearing maddened Morrheus, lest the hot man,
dragging her off, should yoke her in a forced wedlock
while Bacchus was not there; and she bent her nightly step
toward the Erythraean sea and cried to the deaf wave:
"Melis, I count you blessed; for you once, untaught of the Loves,
[33.325] casting your body into the sea with a self-moving whirl,
escaped the bed of woman-mad Damnameneus;
I count your maiden-loving doom blessed; for Aphrodite,
the daughter of the sea, armed a gadfly-mad bridegroom against you,
and the sea guarded you, even if it was the mother of the Paphian,
[33.330] and you died in the surges still a maiden. But let the water
of the sea hide even Chalcomede herself, willing,
untried in weddings, while Morrheus longs for her,
so that I may be called a new bed-fleeing Britomartis,
whom once the sea received and gave back again to the land,
[33.335] when she cared nothing for the Cyprian Loves of Minos.
The love-maddened Earth-shaker did not terrify me,
as he did maiden-loving Asterie, whom in the sea,
as she wandered, he pursued turning back again, until
Apollo rooted her unshaken in the waves,
[33.340] restless as she rode, running with an alternating breeze.
Receive me, receive me, sea, in your hospitable bosom;
receive Chalcomede after Melis; receive her too,
a younger Britomartis refusing weddings,
so that I may flee Morrheus and your Aphrodite;
[33.345] pity Chalcomede, helper of maidens."
So speaking she was shaken in mind beside the neighboring sea;
and now self-rolling she would have entered the wave of the sea,
but Thetis helped her, doing favor to Dionysus,
and changing her body stood beside Chalcomede,
[33.350] and having the look of a Bacchant cried a comforting voice:
"Endure, Chalcomede, do not fear the bed of Morrheus;
you have me as a favorable omen of your unloosed maidenhood,
bearing witness to your unwedded bed.
I am Thetis, a bed-fleeing woman like you, and I too,
[33.355] like Chalcomede, am a lover of maidenhood; and from heaven
father Zeus pursued me and wished to drag me into marriage,
had not old Prometheus checked him in his longing,
prophesying that he would beget a son better than Cronides,
lest ever a boy of Thetis should bear down upon his father
[33.360] and drive out Cronides, as high-ruling Zeus drove Cronus.
Become guileful for me, life-bearing; for if you die
self-slain, untaught of unwedded weddings,
the hostile Indian will destroy the whole rank of the Bassarids;
but beguile him, and you will save from death
[33.365] your routed army while Dionysus is lashed,
feigning an empty longing of the Paphian; and if Morrheus
should drag you to bed while you refuse the wedding,
you have no need of a helper against Cypris; for you have
as guardian of your girdle a measureless helping serpent;
[33.370] and taking your Dragon after the war of the Indians
Dionysus will fix it in the star-shining circle,
an unceasing messenger of your unloosed maidenhood,
near his own light-bearing Crown, when he shall make
the great starry sign of Cydonian Ariadne;
[33.375] and your dragon, matching the Arctic Dragon,
shall flash for mortals, flashing together with Ophiuchus.
Hereafter you shall praise Thetis of the sea, when you behold
your own fiery star flashing together with Selene.
And be of good courage about the marriage; for no consort
[33.380] shall loose the steadfast knot of your maidenhood,
no, by yourself and by Dionysus who has touched my table,
no, by yourself and your thyrsi, and by Aphrodite of the sea."
She spoke, beguiling her; and she covered the girl in a cloud,
lest the guards should behold her, or some spying man,
[33.385] a wayfarer of the night keeping a thievish track with guileful foot,
or a bold woman-mad goatherd, and should drag off
the maiden of the evening to a wedlock by the roadside.

## Book XXXIV


### While the Bacchants are killed on either side in the thirty-fourth, Deriades arms himself within his towers.

[34.1] And the mountain-roaming girl, with swift-whirling sole,
keeping a noiseless step, passed to the ridge of the wood;
nor did Thetis linger on the shore, but she too
entered the weedy court of her father Nereus.
[34.5] And already, stretching his eye through the cloudless air,
Morrheus had his fill of gazing at the starry circles;
and he spoke some word, lashing his heart with cares:
"My shifting mind wanders; not one counsel,
not one purpose holds me; wide-scattered longings
[34.10] have wheeled about me, and I know not how to accomplish one.
Shall I kill lovely Chalcomede? But what shall I do,
lest she too kill me with longing after her doom?
Or shall I leave her living, unwounded, and openly
drag the maiden to wedlock? But in my heart
[34.15] I tremble at Deriades and I pity Cheirobie.
I shall never kill the maiden; and if I subdue her,
how can I live, when I look upon the maiden no longer?
I labor when I am left without Chalcomede for a single hour."
Saying such things in vain much-devising Morrheus went,
[34.20] seething with the pains of desire-stricken care.
And bold Hyssacus, waking, saw him wandering,
turning back again from high on the bank,
having left the bed of his lonely, forgotten bride;
and guileful as he was, he perceived the hidden goad
[34.25] of untraceable Loves, a most faithful servant; and he questioned him
with a guileful word, pouring such a deceiving speech from his throat:
"Why, leaving your bed and your sleeping bride,
do you wander this way and that in the darkness, fearless Morrheus?
Has Deriades perhaps terrified you with a threat?
[34.30] Is Cheirobie angry at you with a jealous heart,
thinking you love some spear-won Bacchant?
For when they see their consorts love-maddened,
women are always jealous over a secret Cypris.
Is bold all-subduing Desire perhaps arming against you
[34.35] the bridal sparks of his unsleeping quiver?
Do you long for one of the Bassarids? As I hear,
there are three Graces, the dancers of Orchomenus,
the handmaids of Phoebus; but of dance-weaving Lyaeus
there are ranks of three hundred Graces, of whom one alone
[34.40] shines out surpassing them all, just as Selene herself,
shooting a well-rounded sparkle, hides the radiance
of the stars with brighter beams.
And she arms herself with twin shafts under a single ordinance,
shooting with beauty and hurling the spear with iron;
[34.45] there is helmet-glancing Pasithea, whom the Bacchants
call Chalcomede; but I myself would call her
silver-footed Artemis, or <...>" †
So speaking he fell silent; and drawing down the edge of his brow
Morrheus, unhappy in love, spoke with shamefaced lips:
[34.50] "Truly Dionysus entered the wave of the sea
fearing Lycurgus, and out of the underwater gulf
he armed the Nereids, and came from the brine bringing
his sister Aphrodite of the sea into battle;
and instead of a bridal, fragrant tunic
[34.55] he gave her an iron breastplate to wear, and instead of a cestus
he granted her a bronze spear; and changing her former name
he called armed Aphrodite Chalcomede;
and she is a fellow-traveler of the Bassarids; and against both
I fight unknowing, against both Cypris and Dionysus.
[34.60] And why do I lift my furious spear in vain? Yield, point;
if the Paphian has conquered the hurler of the thunderbolt,
if she subdues the scepter-bearer of wars with her own spark,
if she burned flaming Phaethon with a greater torch
and routs the fiery one — what could I do with iron?
[34.65] Tell me some counsel to help against the Cyprus-born;
shall I wound Eros? How shall I overtake the winged one?
Shall I lift my spear? He fights with fire. Shall I draw my sword?
He has a bow, and that bow is fire that touches my heart.
Often I have been wounded in the fighting; but as I labored
[34.70] a healer saved me with his life-sustaining art,
winding the pain-killing flower of herbs about the wound of my limbs.
Hyssacus, do not hide it: with what varied drugs sprinkled
shall I heal the wound of the Loves within my heart?
I am always bold against my adversaries; but when I look upon
[34.75] Chalcomede present, my spear-point turns womanish.
I do not tremble at Dionysus; but I cower before a woman,
because, sending the radiance of her desire-striking face,
she shoots me with her beauty, and I stretch my bows no more.
Thus I have looked upon one of the Nereids; if it is lawful to say,
[34.80] either Thetis or Galatea fights beside Dionysus."
He spoke, and treading slowly, scarcely, on the tips of his feet,
lest he should wake his consort sleeping in the night,
he came back to his chamber; and he turned his eye far
from his black-bosomed bride, and longed that Chalcomede
[34.85] might appear and shine, and that the morning-born might come.
And in distress he fell upon his bed, downcast beneath Eros;
and the sleepless servant Hyssacus, holding a longing
for sweet sleep, slept again above his ox-hide.
And a vision of a dream beguiled Morrheus as he slept,
[34.90] darting up from the mind-stealing gates of ivory,
and spoke some lovely, beguiling word:
"Receive obedient Chalcomede, bridegroom Morrheus;
receive your bride upon your bed after the wars;
you gladdened your gaze, seeing me by day,
[34.95] and now sleep beside loving Chalcomede by night.
There is a grace even in a sleeping wedlock, and there is
a lovely sweet sting even in the weddings of dreams.
I longed to hold you in my arms, and Dawn appears near."
So speaking she flew away; and Morrheus leapt up from sleep,
[34.100] and perceived the light of marriage-robbing Dawn beginning;
and he thought Chalcomede had longing for him; and at once in silence
he spoke, feeding a deceiving Cyprian hope:
"Threefold, morning-born, is the light you bring, because you bring
Chalcomede, and lead the daylight, and drive off the night.
[34.105] Comforter of sleepless Morrheus, may you too appear,
Chalcomede, rosier than rose-crowned Dawn;
never do the meadow Seasons bring such a rose.
Graceful maiden, your cheeks hold a springtime
meadow, which time knows not how to wither;
[34.110] your flowers bloom when the Seasons are of autumn;
your lilies shine even in winter; and about
your body is an unceasing reddening anemone,
which the Graces tend and the winds do not destroy.
You have adorned your name by playing the champion with iron;
[34.115] your name fits your manhood; and not in vain
do they call you Chalcomede; for bronze Ares begot you
dancing on the bed of the Cyprus-born, the mother of the Loves.
All call you Chalcomede, but I alone shall call you
Chrysomede, because you have the beauty of golden Aphrodite;
[34.120] I am persuaded that you have your race from Sparta; for as I think,
iron-tunicked Aphrodite brought forth Chalcomede."
Such a word he spoke upon his vigil-loving bed.
But when, sending a radiance from her reddening face,
far-shooting Dawn leapt up as forerunner of the fighting,
[34.125] host-rousing Ares armed the Indian offspring;
and then, arming themselves from their well-wheeled beds,
the Indians flowed in throngs to the chariot of Deriades.
And the Bacchoi, since unconquered Dionysus was not present,
poured out downcast into the plain; and in their hearts
[34.130] no longer bold they marched into the tumult,
but were shaken with fear; and no longer with man-breaking madness
did the bronze-tunicked women rave in Bacchic frenzy;
nor did they hurl forth foam from a heavy-sounding,
bellowing throat, but in unroaring silence
[34.135] the much-beaten backs of the untanned ox-hide stayed still;
no torches blazed the flame of an Enyalian pine,
belching a death-bearing smoke; but beneath the goad
of a divine whip the warriors turned womanish.
The Satyrs did not shout, no sound of the accustomed flute
[34.140] roared battle-rousing; and in a Bacchus-less tumult
the Sileni fought sober, nor, having smeared
their faces with red ochre of the same color as blazing gore,
did they redden their yellow pattern with a lying shape
for terror, nor were their brows sprinkled, defiled
[34.145] with white gypsum, as before; and the storm-swift Pans
did not rave in Bacchic frenzy in the tumult, having drunk
with their lips the hot, freshly rushing blood of a wilderness lioness,
but had become gentle through fear; and shrinking
they beat the ground with sparing, soundless hooves,
[34.150] having checked the dread mountain-running leap of their dance.
And overbearing Deriades assailed the male battle,
shaking the point of his horn like a helmet;
and Morrheus leapt raving upon the female phalanx;
for Chalcomede did not stand as companion of the Bacchants,
[34.155] that he might have respect for her, and might check his point
as it rushed on, purpling with the blood of women,
but then the lovely maiden, a new glorious-bowed Amazon,
took hold of the fighting as a companion of the champions,
wearing thin robes and a flashing tunic
[34.160] on the plain; for so wise Thetis had told her, so that she might save
the whole laboring host while Dionysus was shaken.
There, splitting apart the image of the Graces' face,
Morrheus took eleven feeble Bassarids alive,
whom he chose after Chalcomede; and he clamped the hands
[34.165] of the Maenalian women behind their backs in an unloosable bond,
and dragging the loose-haired rank beneath a slave's yoke
he gave the captive handmaids to his father-in-law Deriades,
a second bride-gift for his own wife, for whose bed's sake
he had held a bride-winning battle beside high-crested Taurus,
[34.170] when he clamped in a yoking bond the young royal girl
of Deriades, Cheirobie his age-mate;
for the leader of the Indians received no wedding gift
for his daughter, no lovely gold, no marble stone
of the brine, but Deriades refused herds of cattle
[34.175] and flocks of sheep, and joined his daughters' weddings
to battle-rousing warriors, taking no gifts,
having Morrheus as son-in-law and nine-cubit Orontes;
and he wedded his offspring to twin champions,
Cheirobie to Morrheus and Protonoe to Orontes;
[34.180] for Morrheus was not like men of earth,
but with the high-necked shape of Giant limbs
he imitated the ancestral valor of the earth-born Indians,
having the native stock of sky-high Typhon,
when beside the neighboring rock of the fire-reared Arimi
[34.185] he displayed his kindred manhood before witnessing Cydnus,
bringing as bride-gifts of the chamber the sweats of Cilician contests,
a bridegroom without possessions, who won his bride by valor.
So once, before the iron that wooed the marriage of Morrheus,
Assyria bent the knee, and Cilician Taurus bowed
[34.190] his rocky neck to the yoke of Deriades,
and bold Cydnus sank down; whence in the land of the Cilicians
Morrheus is still called Sandes Heracles.
And these things were among former times; but in the later tumult
Morrheus took the raving women alive with unsparing spear;
[34.195] and glorying he shrieked out an unbridled cry:
"To you, scepter-bearer, I bring first the Bacchants as treasures
for your daughter, and hereafter I shall grant you Bacchus himself."
As Morrheus so spoke, the lord of the Indians answered:
"Having Cheirobie without bride-price, helmet-glancing Morrheus,
[34.200] you gave me worthy bride-gifts of a shield-bearing wedlock,
enslaving the cities of the Cilicians with a high-manly victory.
Now again you grant new gifts; and if you wish,
take other Bassarids as plunder, and fill the whole house
of Cheirobie with handmaids; and about Bacchus
[34.205] I have no need of Morrheus, but fettering him in bonds none can escape
I myself shall drag Dionysus into a slave's yoke-strap.
Only guard yourself for me against longing for a spear-won bed,
lest I see you wholly like the woman-mad Indians;
do not watch the eyes and the silvery neck of a Bacchant,
[34.210] lest in your longing you make my daughter jealous.
But when I have destroyed the whole army of Bromius,
I shall go to the Maeonian land, whence I shall draw off
the unspeakable wealth of the Lydians, all that Pactolus increases;
I shall come to vine-rich Phrygia, where Rhea is,
[34.215] the child-tender of Bromius, and I shall destroy the neighboring
rich plain of silver Alybe, so that I may carry off
the bright snowy backs of its wealth-flowing metals;
and I shall sack the land of seven-gated Thebes, as they call it,
and burn the flaming house of Semele, where the bridal chambers
[34.220] bear the hot remains of a withering wedlock."
The lawless king spoke, and Deriades received
the whole rank of handmaids, the gifts of the tumult,
from his warlike son-in-law; and he gave Bacchants to Phlogius
and Agraeus, dragged by the hair; and in a plaited bond
[34.225] unbreakable straps were girdled about their palms.
And Phlogius, leading them as messengers of the royal victory,
paraded them bound through the city. And stretched aloft
some were squeezed beside the gateways of the well-carved hall,
their necks entwined in a throttling bond;
[34.230] to others he gave the hot doom of a fiery destruction;
and others were entombed in the ground-dug streams
in the hollows of a well, where from the deep bosoms
the water is drawn up, forced by alternating hands;
and one, half-seen within the deepening liquid hollow,
[34.235] unshaken, spoke with an answering voice:
"I have heard that earth and water were gods for the Indians;
and this is never said in vain; for both together
have armed themselves against me of one mind, and I am in the middle
of an earthly death and a watery destruction,
[34.240] and I have a twin-yoked doom near me; for a strange
muddy bond holds me, and I lift my sole no longer,
but, having rooted my fixed knees in the wet clay,
I stand unshaken, ready for the Fates;
a river pursued me too, and I did not tremble at poured water;
[34.245] would that this too were a resounding stream, so that here too,
rowing with my hands, I might cut through the black water."
She spoke; and receiving little by little the streams
that flowed down into her opened throat, she died by an unburied doom.
But Morrheus, fettered by the sweet goad of Chalcomede,
[34.250] drove the whole ironless army of the Maenalian women
into the beetling city, pricking them from behind with his spear.
And as when a shepherd, driving into the recesses of a capacious fold
the scattered ranks of mingled sheep into one,
steers the woolly flocks with his crook
[34.255] in a body, and many herdsmen march with him
clamping the sheep in a yoked trail of the forearm,
fitted in rows, driving them headlong, lest ever
a wandering swarm should stray aside as the flock is shut in;
so he, penning the female throng within the gateway,
[34.260] storm-footed Morrheus drove into the steep-built city
the whole Bacchic rank, torn away from the fighting.
And laboring he had a fruitless guile, so that, leaving
the fair-womaned plunder of the tumult, the migrant prey,
he might drag Chalcomede beneath the yokes of slavery,
[34.265] a companion of the other women, so that she might be
forever his handmaid by day and his bedfellow by night,
and might accomplish in turn the works of twin goddesses,
the secret works of Cypris and the open loom of Athena.
And spear-wielding Morrheus was not careless; for to Deriades,
[34.270] fighting at close quarters, he entrusted the routed female Enyo,
and assailed the male battle of the Bacchic phalanx,
so that he might shut in the men also; and in the tumults
they hurried into flight. And the stormy girl
stood adorned before the city near a tower,
[34.275] an unveiled maiden; and with manufactured nods the girl
imitated the pattern of love-maddened women,
whirling her eyes, and outside her accustomed girdle
her white tunic reddened at her reddening breast;
and Morrheus delighted as he watched, and through her thin
[34.280] robe he measured the swelling rim of her breast.
And the maiden, snatching up a well-made stone like a wheel-shaped
discus, a monstrous burden for a wagon,
hurled it at well-helmeted Morrheus with knowing art;
and the stone, carried from the air with a sharp whistle,
[34.285] struck the top of his shield, where a golden-wrought image
held the bastard body of Cheirobie in a lying shape,
and scraped away the manufactured head; and struck
by the marble point, as the face was scored,
it crumbled the well-rounded image of the mimic shape;
[34.290] and Morrheus leapt up again and again, counting his shield blessed,
and laughing in his heart he uttered a hidden voice:
"Fearless Chalcomede, new rosy-fingered Persuasion,
delicate statue of Cypris and of well-corseleted Athena,
Bacchic dawn and never-setting Selene,
[34.295] you have scraped away the painted image of my wife; would that
you had reaped the neck of true Cheirobie herself."
So speaking he pursued the unyoked girl before the city,
having a threatening tongue, not arming his hand,
hurling speech, not pricking the maiden with his spear,
[34.300] lifting a sparing spear with a gentle palm;
and he cried the deceiving Echo of a grim shout,
as though a truly angry champion, yet gentle; for both together,
he had a laughing mind, and showed anger in his face.
And whirling gently he sent his tottering point
[34.305] willingly at a useless mark; and she, fleeing,
ran swift-kneed, a companion of the airy breezes;
and as she stretched out with the windy rush of her knee
the winds fanned up her clustered locks,
baring her neck that strove with Selene;
[34.310] and Morrheus ran willingly with sparing feet,
now gazing at the bare tracks of her foot from the well-stitched
sandals toward her rosy ankles, now watching
the coiling locks of her hair that strayed behind her,
he pursued Chalcomede; and he cried with a sweet word,
[34.315] pouring a gentle speech from an unroaring throat:
"Wait for me, Chalcomede, for a warrior who longs;
your splendor saves you, and not your running; spear-points do not
know how to strike a man so much as the sparks of the Loves.
I have not become your foe, do not fear; for as I fought
[34.320] your beauty conquered my bronze point;
you have no need of spear, of shield; for you have
the beam of your face as a sword, as a furious spear,
and your cheeks play the champion far more than an ash-spear.
The dread strength of my palm is loosed; for it is no cause for blame
[34.325] if I have my furious spear conquered, since savage Ares
himself turns womanish when Cypris stands by.
Receive me as a companion for your Satyrs; for in the wars
the Indians will play the champion, while I still arm my hand.
And if you wish, I shall serve Dionysus like a hireling;
[34.330] if you wish, subdue me at the neck or the flank;
I care nothing for death when cut down by your point;
only groan for me when I have fallen; for the tears
of Chalcomede as she weeps will bring me back even from Hades.
Maiden, why do you tremble, because I lift a gentle spear?
[34.335] Seeing your coiling locks above your bared
shoulders, I have laid the helmet from my hair;
gazing at your fawnskin I loathe to wear a breastplate."
As he spoke the woman passed by and mingled with the Bacchoi,
and, having strayed from the murderous path of Morrheus,
[34.340] she fought boldly and strove in the male battle.
And then, leaving the whirl of the ill-sounding tumult,
the Bacchic throng breathed again, while Morrheus withdrew.
And Deriades pursued the phalanx of the Bassarids
before the city, striking with his sword, until he drove them near the towers,
[34.345] penning the whole rank within the opened gateway
of the high-crested wall; and pursued by the iron
they came inside the city, torn from their accustomed wood;
and the unsteady phalanxes marched this way and that,
divided, along unaccustomed circles of road, toward the wing of Eurus,
[34.350] toward the ridge of Zephyrus by the western region of the land,
and others wandering beside the floor of Notus, and others
of Boreas the Bassarids were routed; and the maenads
exchanged their male-spirited necessity, and became women again,
and refused the fighting, and remembered the distaff-loving
[34.355] craft and the baskets, and longed again to tend
the thread of Athena and no longer the sacred emblems of Lyaeus.
And the dark-skinned man, destroying the snowy rank,
held an inner tumult of a city-holding fight.

## Book XXXV


### In the thirty-fifth seek the hostile love of Morrheus, the slaughter of the Bassarids and the war of women.

[35.1] And measureless Deriades fought in a raving battle,
and the lord of the Indians assailed the attendants of Bromius,
now hurling with his long spear, now cutting down
with his hilted sword, and he was carried along shooting
[35.5] with torrent-borne missiles and with sharper arrows.
So they were routed through the city within the towers
by the spear of Deriades; and in the many-tongued tumult
there was a din of both; and with reddening gore
the fair-stoned streets of the city were purpled
[35.10] as the women were killed with a ringing cry in the city.
And unbending old men upon the high-crested towers
watched the fighting; and over the roofs the women themselves
gazed at the whole thyrsus-bearing rank;
and a trailing-robed maiden, leaning over the hall
[35.15] beside her nurse, looked upon the female war,
and, heavy with tears, groaned over a slain girl of her own age.
Nor did any man take a lovely bride and force her,
because the king commanded his woman-mad peoples
to flee the hostile beds of spear-won weddings,
[35.20] lest, caring for the Paphian, they should be careless of Enyo.
And a maiden, skipping about the dust upon the ground,
was stripped bare; and as her tunic was dragged aside
she was armed with splendor, and wounded her longing slayer
though she herself was wounded, and her beauty was her shaft,
[35.25] and perishing she conquered; and against her adversary her naked
thighs were armed, the archers of the Loves.
And now, holding a breathless love for a corpse, like Achilles
gazing upon another Penthesileia on the ground,
he would have embraced the cold lips of the dust-covered bride,
[35.30] had he not feared the mass of the threat of Deriades.
And he gazed at the flesh of the naked girl who refused him,
and watched her white ankles and the fold of her uncovered thighs,
and touched her limbs, and often laid hold of her swelling
rosy breast, still like an apple;
[35.35] and he wished to mingle with her in love; and at length, laboring,
he belched out such a lovely, witless voice:
"Rosy-armed maiden, you have wounded your unhappy-loving slayer
though wounded yourself; perishing, you subdue the living,
and you shoot your destroyer with your eyelids;
[35.40] my spear has been conquered by your beauty; the sparkles
of your face rout me as much as the points of javelins;
you have a breast like a bow, since your breasts play the champion
more than arrows, the archers of the Loves.
I have a strange and unbelievable longing, because I pursue
[35.45] the dead love of a girl, of a wedding that has perished;
a breathless sting holds me, the breathing; if it is lawful to say,
let these lips become voiced and breathing,
so that I may hear a word from your sweet mouth, maiden,
crying out such a speech: 'Leave the girl rolling on the ground,
[35.50] whom you killed, whom you plundered, reckless one;
do not touch the tunic of her whom your bronze cut down;
why do you grip the flank you wounded? Cease handling
the wound of a wretched woman, which you gave me.' Away with the spear,
away with the boldness of my palm, because, leaving
[35.55] the Sileni bristling with grey hair
and the whole misshapen race of the Satyrs, instead of old men,
instead of shaggy-breasted creatures, it subdued a delicate woman.
But, handling the wound of your desire-stricken flesh,
what herb shall I find, traversing the ridge of the fair-pastured wood,
[35.60] what helper of your wound shall I call to you,
what aged, life-bringing Chiron? Or whence shall I find
drugs, the rites of the toil-releasing art of Paeon?
I longed to have the Centaurian herb, as they call it,
so that, winding the pain-killing flower about your limbs,
[35.65] I might save you living out of Hades that none returns from.
What magic hymn have I, or starry song,
so that, pouring forth a melody with a god-invoking Euian voice,
I may lull the blood of your wounded flank?
I longed to have here a life-bearing spring,
[35.70] so that, casting pain-killing water upon your limbs,
I might soothe your lovely wound, so that I might bring back
even your own soul into you, recovered again.
Glaucus, who roll the whirl of wide-scattered years,
if it is lawful, leaving the recess of the barren sea
[35.75] show me the life-sustaining plant, show me that one
of which you once tasted with your lips, and draw an immortal
life, wheeling in the trail of ever-flowing time."
So speaking he passed on, hiding a dead longing in his heart.
And the bride Protonoe leapt up, the avenger of her slain
[35.80] husband, groaning still for the dead Orontes;
and she passed through the female phalanx; and one might see
another Erythraean Atalanta, a match for men.
And Cheirobie, taking a shield and the spear of Morrheus,
assailed the Bassarids, and was like Gorge,
[35.85] who once, when well-towered Calydon was shaken,
darting the ox-hide shield of her brother Toxeus,
fought, woman though she was, against angry Meleager.
And Orsiboe, appearing with her battle-rousing consort,
imitated the courage of warlike Deianeira,
[35.90] when beside the ill-guesting rock of Parnassus
she armed herself against the Dryopes and became a female Amazon.
And many were shut in within the broad-spaced halls,
and there was unspeakable groaning of a tumult under the roofs;
and another maiden, battle-rousing, entered the fighting
[35.95] in the road, and over the roofs other women
armed themselves with stony missiles;
and the inner phalanxes crashed out Enyo.
While battle-rousing Ares roared through the city,
cutting down the Lydian mountain-running tribes of the Bassarids,
[35.100] meanwhile Chalcomede stood alone before the wall,
having turned her homeward course from the war,
awaiting gadfly-mad Morrheus, if from anywhere he should come;
and then, stretching a much-coiling love-maddened eye,
when he perceived the maiden, wind-footed Morrheus came,
[35.105] shaking his knees more swiftly into a lovely course.
And a breeze lifted the robe of the pursued girl;
and he was charmed still more by the unclothed beauty of her shape,
gazing at the white, unveiled bride as she ran ahead.
And she beguiled him, and spoke with a shamefaced voice,
[35.110] cowering before the swifter course of Morrheus:
"If you truly seek my bed, bridegroom Morrheus,
lay down your iron breastplate, as Ares dances
into a wedding, soft-tunicked, when he mingles with Cypris,
covered in a snowy garment, like Apollo,
[35.115] so that Desire and Cypris may yoke us both
in a single bolt as mounters of a bridal bed,
furious Eros yoking Morrheus, and Aphrodite Chalcomede.
I do not receive a bronze husband upon my bed,
reddening with blood and squalid with dust;
[35.120] but brighten your body in a stream, so that you may appear
like Phaethon bathed in the outpourings of Ocean;
cast away your Enyalian shield, cast away your point,
lest your death-bearing spear ever strike me;
lay down for me the frightful helmet from your hair,
[35.125] because the crest of your shaken helm routs me;
let me not see the bastard look of an iron face;
what longing gladdens me when your shape is covered?
No longer shall I set foot in Maeonia; nor in the bridal chamber
shall I receive, if you wish, Bacchus as consort after Morrheus;
[35.130] I too shall be an Indian woman, friend; and instead of a Lydian
I shall glorify Erythraean Aphrodite with sacrifices,
the secret bedfellow of Morrheus; and in the tumults
let an Indian man have me, fighting beside Aphrodite;
for sending equal shafts at you and double ones at me
[35.135] Desire has joined a single distress for us both,
into the heart for Morrheus and into the mind for Chalcomede.
I labored hiding my longing for you; for a shamefaced
maiden does not challenge a consort to Aphrodite."
So speaking the woman persuaded the warrior unhappy in love,
[35.140] lying to him; and laughing, Morrheus said, ill in love:
"It is no cause for blame that Morrheus the well-helmeted warrior
should have a bronze spear in the bridal chamber of Chalcomede,
so that I may embrace you, well-named one, lifting bronze;
nevertheless I renounce my blood-red spear, nor do I touch
[35.145] my shield; and as you wish, bathed, I dance toward you
with bloodless hands, and I shall be another
naked Ares after the fighting, holding a naked Aphrodite.
I refuse the daughter of Deriades; I myself shall drive
my jealous bride unwilling out of my halls;
[35.150] no longer do I arm myself against the Bassarids, if you command me,
but I shall fight against my own dear dwellers; I shall destroy an Indian
holding a wine-dark thyrsus, not lifting a bronze spear;
I shall cast away all my armor and shake slender flowers,
fighting beside your king Dionysus."
[35.155] So speaking Morrheus shook the ash-spear from his palm,
and unclamped the crest from his sweating head,
and flung away the strap of his drenched ox-hide shield,
bathed with the well-toiled drop of his accustomed shoulder;
and he loosed the bronze tunic from his breast,
[35.160] the bloody breastplate. And Cypris showed to Ares
the armor of longing Morrheus lying on the ground,
conquered by the unarmored shape of Chalcomede;
and she spoke some word, provoking her consort:
"Ares, you have been plundered; Morrheus has refused wars,
[35.165] wearing no breastplate and no sword; but longing for a lovely
woman he has shaken the armor from his hands.
Do you too refuse your furious spear, do you too bathe
in the sea, stripped of your shields; for unwarlike
Cypris plays the champion more than Ares, and has no need
[35.170] of a shield, and never lacks an ash-spear; for both together,
my beauty was my spear, my shape was my sword,
and the beams of my eyelids have become my arrows;
a breast hurls farther than a spear; for lovely Morrheus
has become a chamber-servant instead of a spear-bold man.
[35.175] Do not set foot in Sparta, where the warlike citizens
have a bronze image of armed Aphrodite,
lest she, holding a spear, strike you with your own iron.
You do not hurl the spear so well as eyebrows do; spear-points do not
wound men so much as eyes strike them;
[35.180] behold your servants, the attendants of the Loves,
and bend your bold neck to unconquered Cytherea.
Ares, you have been conquered, because, leaving his bronze spear,
Morrheus has put on the bridal fawnskin of Chalcomede."
Laughter-loving Aphrodite spoke, laughing at the battles,
[35.185] mocking Ares the bride-adorner; and near the sea,
leaving his uncared-for tunic upon the shore,
Morrheus bathed, warmed with sweet cares,
naked; and he brightened his body in the cold sea,
holding the little hot shaft of the Paphian; and in the streams
[35.190] he entreated Indian Erythraean Aphrodite,
having heard that Cypris is the offspring of the sea;
and having bathed he came up black again; and he had the shape
that nature had brought forth, and the brine did not change the body
of the man, did not change his color, reddening though it was.
[35.195] And he bathed his flesh upon an empty hope; for lovely,
he longed to appear snowy to the unyoked girl;
and he adorned his body with a snowy linen robe,
such as warriors always wear beneath the breastplate.
And standing voiceless on the shore, guileful Chalcomede
[35.200] kept silence; and the girl, turning away,
drew aside her prudent gaze from unclothed Morrheus,
in shame at the uncovered body of the man; for being a woman
the girl was in awe to look upon a bathed male.
But when he saw a lonely place fitting for a bed,
[35.205] stretching a bold palm toward the shamefaced bride
he touched the untouched garment of the prudent girl;
and now, taking her girdled about in a man's bond,
he would have forced the raving girl with a bridal spark;
but a serpent leapt up from her undefiled bosom,
[35.210] the helper of the unwedded maiden, and about her girdle
it wheeled abundant with the guarding trail of its belly;
and as it hissed sharply from never-silent throats
the rocks bellowed; and Morrheus was whirled in fear,
hearing the bellowing of a bastard trumpet from its neck,
[35.215] gazing at the shield-bearer of her unwedded maidenhood;
and the coiling champion terrified the warrior,
whirling its crook-circling tail about the man's neck,
having a furious mouth for spear; and many viperish arrows
were shot, hurling venom;
[35.220] some darting from her unbound hair,
others through the loins of the serpent-haired girl, others from her bosom,
warriors hissing Ares, raved in Bacchic frenzy.
While Morrheus stood before the high-crested city,
drawing guileful Chalcomede toward an unaccomplished wedding,
[35.225] meanwhile the well-armed Enyo of the Bassarid army
escaped the spear of unwearied Deriades.
For swift-winged Hermes, leaping from Olympus,
bearing an answering image of the face of Bromius,
called the whole Bacchic rank with a mystic voice;
[35.230] and when the women heard the divine Euian echo,
they came to a single place; and bringing the whole nation
of Maenalian women from the crossroads along crooked
circles of road, the swift-sandaled god led them, until he came near the towers;
and upon the unsleeping eyes of the guards in their rows
[35.235] thievish Hermes, a champion of the night, poured sweet sleep
with his all-charming rod; and suddenly
for the Indians there was darkness, but for the unseen Bacchants
there was an unlooked-for light; and of the soundless women
wingless Hermes was the secret guide through the city;
[35.240] and with divine hand he opened the mighty bolt
of the sky-high gates, and became a sun for the Bacchants.
And when light-bearing Hermes had driven off the daytime night,
overbearing Deriades, holding an unaccomplished threat,
sought the swarm of Bassarids that had left the city as wayfarers.
[35.245] And as when someone by night in deep-wealthy dreams
delights in fruitless hopes, lifting
a pouring of short-lived wealth with rich palms,
feeding a deceiving hope of slumbering possessions;
but when rosy dawn appears
[35.250] the vision of the wealthy dream withdraws, loosed again,
and he wakes with empty palms, lifting nothing,
having cast away the shadowy delight of mind-stealing dreams;
so then Deriades, while darkness held the streets,
delighted, thinking to tend a self-offered catch
[35.255] of Bassarids shut in within the closed gateways,
having a lying, useless, shadowy victory;
but when the light shone, and he no longer saw the Bacchants,
everything ran off like a dream, and he cried with a mourning voice,
and was angry at Zeus and Phaethon and Dionysus,
[35.260] seeking the fugitive Maenalian women. And about the towers
the unveiled Bassarids cried out with a Euian voice.
And Deriades pursued a second time; and Zeus woke
on the summits of Caucasus, casting off the wing of Sleep;
and learning the beguiling guile of evil-working Hera
[35.265] he watched the Sileni routed, he saw the Bacchants
hurrying in throngs from the crossroads, from the towers,
and he perceived Deriades behind them, the leader of the Indians,
shearing the Satyrs and mowing down the women,
and his son lying upon the ground; and about him the brides
[35.270] were near, crown-wise; and in a whirl of dust he lay
heavy-headed, stretching a feeble panting,
hurling snowy foam, the witness of his madness.
And he convicted the ill-devised guile of envious Hera,
and blamed his guileful consort with a goading word;
[35.275] and now he would have shut Sleep away in a misty pit
as a sharer of the hearth of gloomy Iapetus,
had not Night entreated him, the subduer of gods and men.
And scarcely lulling his deadly anger he cried to Hera:
"Are you not yet sated with my Semele, hard-fighting Hera,
[35.280] but are you perhaps angry at her still though she is dead? Did not
the bridal flame itself soothe your endless rancor,
scattering the bed of Thyone struck by Zeus?
How long will you bear down upon Indian-slaying Dionysus?
Respect your former anvils again; they are still,
[35.285] those helpers are still with me, which I bound and clamped
upon your feet; and you, restless above the earth,
held an aloft necessity in air and clouds;
and bold Ares saw you bound aloft above the earth,
entwined among the clouds, and did not help his mother;
[35.290] fiery Hephaestus did not avail; for he cannot
endure one spark of the smoky thunderbolt.
I shall bind your palms again in the accustomed golden bond;
and I shall fetter Ares in unbreakable chains none can escape,
and lash his whole body with incurable blows,
[35.295] upon a self-rolling wheel that runs with him, like wandering
air-roaming Tantalus or migrant Ixion,
until my child conquers the sons of the Indians.
But you will do a favor to your Cronides, if you drive off
the much-dreaded madness of lashed Dionysus,
[35.300] and do not leave your consort angry, but going
untouchable beneath the well-pastured slope of the Indian wood
hold out your breast to Bacchus after my mother Rhea,
so that with his more perfect lips he may draw
your holy drop, the forerunner of Olympus,
[35.305] and make the upper air passable for earthly Dionysus;
and anointing the body of Lyaeus with your milk
quench the misshapen defilements of his wit-robbing sickness.
And I shall prepare a worthy prize for you; for I shall fix
in Olympus a circle like your dew,
[35.310] named for the milk of Hera, so that I may glorify
the moisture of your evil-averting breast, of which all speak;
only guard yourself against the child-loving threat of Zeus,
and do not prepare yet another guile against Dionysus."
So speaking he sent forth his hostile consort Hera
[35.315] as the averter by necessity of the Bacchic misery,
gracious, fair to meet, to dismayed Dionysus,
so that she might anoint the body of Bromius with milky dews
from her god-nourishing breasts with her hand.
And Hera was not careless; and anointing the body of Lyaeus
[35.320] with the divine drop of her pain-healing teat
she shook off the savage defilements of the divine madness;
and she had a twofold envy with a face that hid it,
seeing the manhood and the splendor of Dionysus,
and with envious palms she touched maddened Bacchus;
[35.325] and drawing aside her tunic about his mouth
she bared her own teat full of ambrosia,
gushing a pressed pouring from a jealous breast;
and she brought him back to life; and with long eyes
she measured the great youth of long-haired Lyaeus,
[35.330] wondering whether an earthly belly had ever borne such a form,
whether spear-wielding Ares was so great, or Hermes so great,
whether Phaethon was such, or lovely-voiced Apollo;
and she longed to have him in the upper air as the bridegroom of Hebe,
had not high-ruling Zeus after a time nodded to her
[35.335] that Heracles of the twelve labors was her fated consort.
And she, having warded off the mad labor of Bacchus,
went up high-visible a second time to the chorus of the stars,
lest she should behold the ironless army of Dionysus
fighting with fennel-stalk and vine cluster,
[35.340] and the champions killed by a little man-breaking thyrsus.
Nor was the son of Zeus careless of battle, but arming
his warriors he cried a host-rousing voice, turned back again,
whirling his flesh-cutting ivy with a Giant-slaying hand:
"Fight boldly a second time; for in the wars
[35.345] Zeus again stands as our champion, gracious to his son
Bacchus, and from heaven the chorus of immortals has come
shielding Dionysus, and Hera is angry no longer.
Who shall fight against the lightning of Cronides? Or when do cowardly
adversaries abide the thunderbolt as it arms itself?
[35.350] I shall appear equal to my begetter; for in the wars
my Cronion conquered the earth-born Titans,
and I too shall conquer the race of ground-born Indians.
Today you shall behold, after a cluster-bearing victory,
Deriades a slow-persuaded suppliant, and the chorus of Indians
[35.355] bowing the neck to calm Dionysus,
and the river holding the wine-tottering Euian water;
and you shall see your adversaries beside the mixing-bowl of Lyaeus
drinking the yellow water from the wine-bearing river,
and the bold Indian king, held fast by wine-dark ivy,
[35.360] wound about with leaves and a vine cluster,
bearing bonds like those which, after the waves of madness,
the god-fearing Nysian Nymphs still cry aloud,
witnesses of my strength, when my bold-working harvest,
having clamped the god-fighting man in a throttling bond
[35.365] of ivy, terrified Arabia,
while Lycurgus was forced with a clustered knot.
But after the circles of so great a rolling tumult
plunder the spoil of the foes and the treasure of the brine,
the marble stones, and remove to my mother Rhea
[35.370] the women dragged by the hair;
and avenge the fallen champions, for whose doom
I am worn with sharp cares; and in my heart
I both rage and grieve together, because I behold
Deriades living and Opheltes unburied,
[35.375] blaming after his doom the idle hand of Lyaeus;
no longer does Codone arm herself, no longer does wretched
spear-wielding Alcimacheia fight; but Aebialus himself
too has been subdued, and I still hold back my thyrsus.
I am ashamed before Arestor after the fighting, lest he hear
[35.380] that Opheltes, dying, found no helper as a corpse;
I cannot pass through the city of Corybantic Crete,
lest his father Agelaus lament his perished child,
hearing of the unavenged slaughter of Antheus as he perished;
I am ashamed to appear to Minos; for in his hut
[35.385] Asterius labors, stricken, whom beyond others
I shall save; for he has the race of Europa; but having saved him
I shall bring my kinsman back sound to his father
after the fighting, so that Cadmus may not hear
that Asterius lacked a war-fleeing Dionysus.
[35.390] But fight again, and I shall help you all in one,
killing one single destroyer of so many."

## Book XXXVI


### And in the thirty-sixth, after the defilements of madness, Bacchus arms against Deriades, changing his shape.

[36.1] So speaking he heartened his rejoicing leaders;
and on the other side Deriades armed his warriors.
And the gods who dwell in Olympus, divided,
set out for both phalanxes as steersmen of Enyo,
[36.5] some the helpers of Deriades, others of Lyaeus.
And lord Zeus, high-seated among the blessed ones, high above Cerne,
held the scales of Ares aslant; and from heaven
the watery dark-haired god challenged the fiery
sun, Ares the grey-eyed goddess, Hephaestus Hydaspes;
[36.10] and mountain Artemis stood on the opposite path to Hera;
and Hermes of the fair rod came to fight the daughter of Leto.
And the twice-crashing echo of the divine war roared
for both sets of blessed ones; and as they rushed into the tumult
seven-acre Ares fought against Tritogeneia,
[36.15] and sent his furious spear; and he struck the middle
of the aegis of the unwoundable goddess, and from her unseen head
he drove the snaky cornfields of the Gorgon's hair,
wounding the shaggy shield of Pallas; and the sharp-stretched
point of the unbending spear, sent with a whistle,
[36.20] scored the manufactured lock of the counterfeit Medusa.
And the battle-rousing girl, rushing on in her turn,
motherless Pallas, lifted her kindred spear against Ares,
that spear which, bearing it as her childbed weapon of age-mate bronze,
she leapt with from the generative head of her father.
[36.25] And measureless Ares, struck, bent his knee to the floor;
but Athena, setting him upright again,
gave him unwounded after the fighting to Hera his dear mother.
And Artemis strove with Hera as the mountain fellow-contender
of mountain-ranging Dionysus, and curved her straight-stretched
[36.30] bow; and in an emulous tumult
Hera, taking a cloud of Zeus thickened about her shoulders,
held it as an unbreakable shield; and Artemis, sending
one wandering shaft after another through the airy circle,
emptied her quiver at a useless mark,
[36.35] and thickened the whole unbreakable cloud with arrows;
and there was a mimic, air-roaming pattern of cranes
flying crown-wise in some alternating circle;
and the arrows were fixed in the shadowy cloud;
and the unscored veil had bloodless wounds.
[36.40] And Hera lifted a rocky, wind-borne missile,
and whirling in her hand the frozen backs of hail
she dashed Artemis with a torrent-borne shaft;
and the marble point crushed the curved circles of her bow;
nor did the wife of Zeus check the battle; but she struck
[36.45] the very middle of the top of Artemis's breast; and struck
by the frosty spear she poured her quiver on the ground.
And the bride of Zeus spoke, laughing at her:
"Artemis, shoot beasts; why do you match yourself against your betters?
And set foot on the crags; what is war to you? Wearing
[36.50] paltry hunting-boots, leave greaves to Athena;
and shake your guile-weaving nets; for beast-slaying
hounds hunt for you, and not winged arrows;
you do not wield a lion-slaying shaft; for the sweats
of your feeble labors are feeble hares;
[36.55] care for your deer and for your well-horned chariot,
care for your deer; why should you honor the son of Zeus,
the driver of leopards and charioteer of lions?
And if you wish, keep your bow, because Eros stretches a bow too;
bed-fleeing maiden, midwife of birth, you ought to have
[36.60] the cestus, the ferry of the Loves, as helper of childbirth,
with the Paphian, with Eros; for you rule over birth.
But, steersman of birth-perfecting generation,
go to the bridal chamber of child-bearing women,
and, shooting women with your childbed shafts,
[36.65] be like a lion beside a bride in childbed,
a midwife instead of a war-lover. But cease
your prudence even for the sake of a prudent girdle,
because, wearing the pattern of your limbs, high-ruling Zeus
weds unwedded maidens; still the Arcadian woods
[36.70] cry aloud that image of yours, the marriage-thief,
the bride-adorner of unwedded Callisto, and the hills
still groan for your intelligent witness, the bear,
blaming the bastard, love-maddened shape of the archer-goddess,
when a female consort entered the bed of a female.
[36.75] But casting away your useless quiver
leave the fighting of your better, Hera; and if you wish,
make war as goddess of childbirth against marriage-perfecting Cytherea."
She spoke, and Hera passed by Artemis as she suffered.
And Phoebus, bringing her, drunk with fear, from the tumult,
[36.80] embraced her with both downcast arms,
and led her and set her within a lonely thicket;
and returning untouchable he mingled in the divine fighting.
And the fiery champion stood facing the champion of the deep,
Phoebus against the Poseidonian war; and about his string
[36.85] he set a shaft and lifted a torch of Delphic pine
with both palms, ambidextrous, so that he might arm
his radiance and his bow against the wavy trail and the trident.
And the smoky point and the watery arrows
fell upon one another; and as Phoebus armed himself
[36.90] his father's upper air crashed out the melody of Ares,
a thunderous din; and a stormy trumpet,
a sea-borne Echo, resounded in the ears of Phoebus;
and broad-bearded Triton boomed with his accustomed conch,
man-formed, half-finished, from the loins a green fish;
[36.95] and the Nereids shouted; and peering above the sea
Arabian Nereus bellowed as the trident was shaken.
And hearing the sound of the heavenly phalanx above him,
the Zeus of the underworld cried out, lest the Earth-shaker, battering
the earth as it was lashed by the earth-shaking throb of the surges,
[36.100] should heave aside the harmony of the cosmos with his trident,
lest, moving the foundation of the nether pits,
he should make the seat of the unseen earth visible,
lest he should break open the whole vein of the deep haunts,
pouring migrant water into the Tartarean recess,
[36.105] deluging the moldering nether gateway.
So great a din then arose as the gods came together in strife,
and the nether trumpets roared; and gentle Hermes,
lifting his rod, reined them both back;
and to the three immortals he joined a single voice:
[36.110] "Brother of Zeus, and son, do you, glorious archer,
leave torch and bow to the storms, and you the point of your trident,
lest the Titans laugh at the tumult of the blessed ones,
lest after the Cronian war that threatened Olympus
Ares be a second civil strife among the immortals,
[36.115] lest I see another battle after the tumult of Iapetus,
and lest, after Zagreus and about later-born Bacchus,
Zeus in anger, burning the whole earth with his fire,
should deluge a second time the rim of the ever-flowing cosmos,
raining poured upper air with waters; and let me not behold
[36.120] the chariot of Selene drenched in airy seas;
let not Phaethon have a cold gleam again instead of a fiery one.
Yield to the elder steersman of the sea,
stretching out a favor to your father's brother, because
the Earth-shaker, the ruler of the brine, honors your sea-girt Delos;
[36.125] let not love of the palm and memory of the olive leave you.
Who here again, Earth-shaker, is a Cecrops to judge,
who again is another Inachus to cry his city to Hera,
that you should arm yourself against Apollo too, as against Athena,
and have another battle after your earlier fighting with Hera?
[36.130] And you, horned father of great Deriades,
beware the radiance of Hephaestus after the torch of Bacchus,
lest he burn you with his fire-pointed thunderbolt."
So speaking he checked the civil Enyo of the gods.
And then raging, heavy-wrathful Deriades took hold
[36.135] of a recovered battle, when he saw the Bacchants unharmed;
and watching the fighting of Dionysus sound again
he goaded his routed leaders into the fray;
and he crashed out a barbarian threat, common to foot-soldiers
and to horsemen, from his heavy-sounding throats:
[36.140] "Today either I shall drag Dionysus by the hair,
or the Bacchic war shall wipe out the race of the Indians.
Do you set up a defending necessity against the Satyrs;
and let Deriades arm himself against Dionysus.
And burn the leaves of the vines and the varied instruments
[36.145] of Bacchus, and set fire to their huts; and bring the Maenalian women
as handmaids to boastful Deriades;
and wither the hostile thyrsi with fire; and, having reaped
with crushing iron the cornfield of the wide-scattered heads
of the ox-horned Sileni and Satyrs,
[36.150] crown all my halls with their bull-horned heads.
Let Phaethon not turn his fire-gleaming horses to the west
before I bring Bacchus and the Satyrs clamped
in fetters none can escape, and him spotted, cut down by my point,
wearing a torn tunic upon his breast,
[36.155] having cast away his thyrsus; and turn to ash with my brand
the vine hair of the long-haired women.
And be of good courage, and after the Indian battle
sing the man-glorifying victory of Deriades,
so that even the army of later-born men may shudder
[36.160] to strive with the unconquered earth-born Indians."
He spoke, and going about among his champions one after another
he goaded the drivers of measureless-lived elephants,
and set the escorts of the foot-soldiers upon the throng,
fighting tower-wise. And in an emulous tumult
[36.165] thyrsus-mad Dionysus drove the rank of wilderness-ranging
beasts into the fray in Bacchic frenzy; and the mountain-reared
warriors raved with a roaring at the divine whip,
and many a maddened beast was armed from their mouths;
and serpents, spitting from raw-devouring teeth,
[36.170] sent far-throwing springs of venom into the air
with the hissing gape of a bellowing throat,
skipping aslant; and leaping at the adversaries
the viperish arrows had a self-chosen mark;
and the bodies of the Indians were girdled with crooked coils
[36.175] as they were coiled about, and a cord clamped mortal feet
as they darted into their course. And the war-mad women
imitated the fighting of serpent-hurling Phidaleia,
who once, holding the goad of a womanish tumult,
conquered her adversaries with viperish clusters.
[36.180] And one, sending a long-shadowed spear from its mouth,
spat a javelin-hurling venom at Deriades,
and his steel breastplate was wetted with a murderous drop.
And a corpse lay on the ground, struck by a living missile,
breathless, tending a breathing shaft. And upon the arched crest
[36.185] of straight-footed elephants a leopard, leaping up,
was suspended aloft with a leap of its soles;
and it fixed itself thickly upon the beast's head,
and checked the course of the long-shanked elephants.
And a great swarm fell, hearing from heavy-crashing throats
[36.190] the dread roaring of wilderness-ranging lions;
and one was conquered, trembling at the bellowing of a bull,
and seeing the point of the grim horn of the ox
hurling itself aslant into the air; and roaming,
another rushed into flight, cowering before the jaw of a bear;
[36.195] and one after another, resounding with the beasts' cries,
a hound of unconquered Pan bayed with it from its throat,
and the blazing Indians feared the barking battle.
And Enyo was common and yoked to both;
and the thirsty earth surged with the gore of slaughter
[36.200] as they were killed on either side, and as the wide-scattered were subdued
Lethe was crowded with so great a multitude of corpses;
and Hades, heaving up the gloomy bolt with his hand,
opened the broader gateways of his halls
as they were killed on either side, and as they darted through the pit
[36.205] the banks of Charon crashed out a Tartarean bellowing.
And there was a great battle-rousing din, and the wound
of the slain adversaries was of a strange kind, of whom one
slipped from his horse, struck on the throat,
another down the well-rounded rim of his breast,
[36.210] another, pierced in the middle of the flank, fell from his car;
another, struck by a sharp-pointed arrow beside the top of the navel,
self-rolling, kept company with a neighboring doom,
another struck above the middle rim, another through the shoulder;
and another fell fleeing, his back pierced by a point,
[36.215] on foot, having left his storm-swift horse when it was struck;
and one, falling, beardless, lamented the youth he had grown with;
and one, his liver scored by an incurable shaft,
crashed head first from an elephant into the dust,
laying his head aside on the floor, and, winding his hands,
[36.220] embraced the bloody earth with a downcast arm.
And a man stood slanting against a horseman,
and filled the hollow of his shield with poured dust,
and fixed his sole in the ground, awaiting the man's rush;
and stretching out his much-wrought shield with bold hand
[36.225] he sprinkled the whole gaze of the horse with sand;
and raving with its head, with face nodding upward,
the horse was lifted, shaking its dusty hair,
and spat out the curved tips of its fair-stoned bridle;
and rubbing its crook-toothed jaw sprinkled with foam
[36.230] it was shaken, stretched high, and tossing its upright neck
the goaded, unbridled beast propped itself upon the ground
with its hind feet, and, darting dust with its hoof,
hurled its driver off into the plain.
But the sharp-toothed man ran swiftly at him as he lay,
[36.235] holding a naked, swift sword; and as the dark champion
lay stretched upon the ground he cut through his throat.
Another wandering colt, much-dreaded, withdrew,
receiving the sound of the whip of a neighboring driver,
treading over its own pitiable driver as he died,
[36.240] lying freshly cut down, gasping in the dust.
And measureless Colletes, having a vast shape,
hard to fight, nine cubits high, like Alcyoneus,
raged in the midst of the Bacchic fighting;
and he longed to drag the phalanx of the Bassarids after the tumult
[36.245] into a bed of forced weddings without bride-price,
and made war upon an empty hope, so great a man,
such as bold Otus was, treading the pathless upper air,
longing for the chaste bed of the unwedded archer-goddess,
such as cloud-high Ephialtes was, loving the wedlock
[36.250] of pure Athena, hurling himself at Olympus;
such was Colletes, surpassing, a neighbor of the upper air,
bearing the god-fighting blood of his earth-born forefather,
first-born Indus; and he was sufficient in his shape
to bind furious Ares after the sons of Iphimedeia;
[36.255] but a woman killed him, great as he was, with a sharp stone,
Charopeia, the steersman of the Bacchic dance.
And one, seeing the high-necked girl playing the champion,
mixing wonder with anger, uttered a trembling voice:
"Ares, Ares, leave your bows and shield and your lance,
[36.260] Ares, you have been plundered, leave Caucasus; for Dionysus
draws other man-slaying Amazons into the fray;
the shieldless rout the weapon-bearers; for he did not bring
his women from your Thermodon.
I have seen a strange and unbelievable pattern; the Amazons
[36.265] of Dionysus have no shield on their shoulders, no furious spear;
the well-corseleted Caucasian women do not play
the champion so well; but the Bacchants hurl leaves
from shoot-loving hands, and have no need of iron.
Alas for maddened Deriades, because women
[36.270] split bronze tunics apart with their nails."
He spoke, astonished at the rocky missile, such as the Bacchant
took up and killed so great a high-headed man.
And untouchable Deriades ran upon the raving Bacchants,
and pursued stone-hurling Charope; and she, fleeing,
[36.275] fought boldly, standing beside Dionysus,
hurling her flower-loving thyrsus in a Euian battle.
And Deriades crushed Orithallus with his iron,
a kinsman of the Curetes, a citizen of the Abantian field.
And in anger for his fallen comrade the leader of the Abantes,
[36.280] Melisseus, laid low the king of the Carminians,
Cyllarus, striking his neck with his sharp sword,
and the son of Logasus, who alone, since he was a wise warrior,
was the care of Deriades beyond the spear-bold Indians
and the king loved him <...> †
[36.285] and he touched a single table with Orsiboe and the king,
sharing the hearth of the king's daughters; for in both
spear and wits he surpassed the youth he had grown with.
There many a champion strove with champion; and high-visible
high-footed Halimedes fought against Peucetius,
[36.290] and Maron armed against Phlogius and Leneus against Thureus.
And father Cronion tipped the scales of the fighting;
and Dionysus fought against mighty Deriades,
mixing thyrsus with spear; and against the javelin-bearing warrior
now, as he hurled, changing his shape turned about
[36.295] he entered the much-wrought phantoms of every kind of form;
now he armed himself as a stormy, maddened flame,
darting a crooked radiance with dancing smoke.
At another time, surging, he flowed as deceitful water,
liquid, shooting a wet shaft; and wearing
[36.300] an imitation of like nature to a lion's face
he lifted his throat upright aloft,
pouring a harsh roaring from a thick-haired throat
and the thunderous din of his loud-crashing father;
and bearing the much-wrought form of a shadowy harvest
[36.305] he was shaped strange in appearance, and like a shoot of the earth,
self-perfected, untouchable, he ran up, striking the upper air,
like a pine, like a plane-tree; and as his head was changed
he made his bastard hair into a tree with mimic leaves,
having a vast bush for a belly; and he made his hands
[36.310] into branches, and turned his tunics to bark,
and rooted his feet; and beating with his boughs
he whispered against the face of the fighting king;
and weaving a mimic pattern with spotted limbs
a high-flying leopard ran up with a leap of its soles,
[36.315] and mounted the crest of the high-crested elephants,
stepping lightly; and the elephant, hanging aside, shaking the car,
hurled its god-fighting driver into the plain,
shaking its bright harness and the curved circles of its bridle.
Nor did the monstrous champion, though fallen, neglect it, but he fought
[36.320] against Lyaeus in his new shape and wounded the leopard with his point.
But the god changed his body again; for high-visible,
warming the air, a wandering torch whirled,
darting a flaming shaft with the winds; and about the breasts
it ran round the shaggy chest of Deriades
[36.325] in a circle; and receiving the leaps of the high-traveling smoke
the Arabian breastplate blackened on its white flanks,
struck by the spark; and the half-burnt helmet
of the fire-struck bearer was heated with its seething crest.
And out of the grim lion a wandering boar appeared,
[36.330] widening the great gape of its shaggy-haired throat,
and bringing its crest near the belly of Deriades
it propped itself upright on the throb of a hind foot,
scoring the middle of his flank with whetted claws.
And overbearing Deriades fought against a deaf phantom,
[36.335] carried by an empty hope; and always he longed
to seize the untouchable image with untouching arms;
and he fixed his spear in the brow of the answering lion,
pouring a threatening word at many-shaped Bacchus:
"Why do you cower, Dionysus? Why guile instead of tumult for you?
[36.340] Do you change your much-wrought shape, trembling at Deriades?
The leopard of war-fleeing Dionysus does not rout me,
I shoot the bear, and I cut the tree with my sword;
and I shall score the flank of your lying lion.
But I shall arm the wise unarmored Brahmans against you;
[36.345] for they are naked, and often with god-invoking incantations
they have drugged and drawn down from heaven
air-roaming Selene, like an unyoked bull,
and often they have halted the journey of unsteady Phaethon
as he rides upon his hurrying chariot."
[36.350] He spoke, gazing at the strange-shaped phantoms of Bacchus;
and he had an unbelieving mind; and with an uncharmed purpose,
stitching a drugging art against Dionysus,
he hoped to conquer the son of Zeus with a mystic craft.
Then, leaping untouchable, he ran up high upon his car;
[36.355] and the god, watching the witless god-fighting man,
sprouted a vine as the helper of the fighting.
And a god-driven shoot of the fair-clustered vine,
creeping little by little toward the silver-wheeled wagon,
clamped Deriades with a threatening cluster,
[36.360] fettered, entwined about; and darting the freshly blooming,
grown-together, wandering cluster upon cluster,
shadowing the face of the maddened king,
it shook, girdling the whole man; and a self-grown
tendril made Deriades drunk with its fragrant fruit;
[36.365] and it wove an ironless fetter about his twin feet,
and rooted the feet of the yoked elephants
with unbreakable ivy; and not so much does the remora,
entwining the whetted tips of its jaws about a merchant ship
of the sea, hold it fast in the deep with a sharp-toothed bond;
[36.370] such was the likeness. And in vain the driver, urging on
his elephants, whirled his heavy-thundering whip,
scoring their disobedient backs with sharper goads.
And so great an Indian king, whom no measureless spear had killed,
a vine tendril conquered as champion; and having
[36.375] his throat held fast by a shoot of the vine,
Deriades was choked, squeezed by the crooked trail.
And laboring, unshaken, he prayed with a maenad voice,
having a thin ululation from a god-fearing throat,
shedding suppliant tears with voiceless nods;
[36.380] and he stretched out a speechless palm, crying his whole
labor with witnessing silence; and his tear became his voice.
And Dionysus, scattering his many-bound harvest,
drew off the fair-clustered fetter of Deriades,
and driving away the coiling ivy, the crown of vines,
[36.385] loosed the bound neck of the entwined elephants.
Nor, having escaped the woody bond of the long-shooted
cluster and the threatening, self-coiling necessity,
did Deriades renounce his accustomed boast of threat,
but he was a god-fighting champion again; and he had a twofold
[36.390] counsel, either to take Bacchus or to make him a slave.
And the darkness running round about checked them both from battle.
And there was fighting after the night, and an alternating Dawn
armed them again as they woke from their slumbering beds.
Nor was there an end of battles for hurrying Dionysus,
[36.395] but after the circles of so many rolling years
the trumpet boomed the rhythm of Enyalius in vain.
And already at the much-bending turning-post of battle-rousing years
the late-accomplished Bacchic Enyo raged the more.
Nor did the like-minded Dictaean Rhadamanes, sparing nothing
[36.400] for war-mad Dionysus, leave the word that was their care
to the forgetful winds; but for Lyaeus
they built warlike ships; and about the thickets
they bustled, one here, another there; one turned the bolts,
another labored about the middle keel, another, weaving
[36.405] upright decks about the alternating ribs,
made the side of a merchant ship, and joining the long
planks fixed them fast; and in the deepening mast-box
the Arabian carpenter set upright the mast, seen in the middle,
guarded with a spread sail; and upon its top
[36.410] they turned the curved wooden yard-arm,
skilled in the fair-handed craft of both Hephaestus and Athena.
So they, laboring with an inimitable art,
built ships for Bacchus. And in distress at the tumult
Dionysus remembered the prophecy of his Rhea,
[36.415] that the end of the war would appear when the Bacchoi
should raise a war at sea against the Indians.
And Lycus, leading the way through the topmost swell,
serving the unturning nods of Dionysus,
steered his unwetted wayfaring chariot of the sea,
[36.420] where the wise Rhadamanes, sea-wandering migrants,
built ships for sea-traveling Dionysus.
And then, rolling the whirl of fourfold time,
riding the sixth year, crooked Aeon wheeled about.
And scepter-bearing Deriades called the race of the dark-skinned
[36.425] Indians to assembly; and with hurrying sandal
a herald of a strange tongue went gathering the people.
And at once the ranks of the wide-scattered Indians assembled,
seated in rows upon successive benches;
and to the gathered peoples lord Morrheus spoke:
[36.430] "You know, friends, perhaps all of you, what I labored high upon the towers,
until the Cilician land and the race of Assyrian men
bent a slave neck beneath the yokes of Deriades;
you know too all that I accomplished, hurling the spear against Dionysus,
fighting against the Satyrs and, with reaping iron,
[36.435] cutting the hostile heads of the ox-horned race,
when, dragging off the fettered swarm of Bassarids,
I gave them to Deriades as a prize of war, beneath whose gore
the fair-stoned streets of the city were purpled
as they were killed; and others, about an aloft dance,
[36.440] were squeezed, their necks entwined in a throttling bond;
and others made trial of a watery destruction,
hidden in the recess of a ground-dug hollow.
But again I weave a better counsel for the dwellers;
I hear of the Rhadamanes, that with some woodcutting craft
[36.445] they have built ships for war-fleeing Dionysus;
nevertheless I do not tremble at a sea-fighting spear; for in wars
when do women with paltry leaves kill a man
armed with a shield high upon the ships?
Or when will raving mountain-running, high-horned Pan
[36.450] cut apart the ships of the Indians with whetted claws?
Silenus cannot, beating the heavy-thundering water
with an unwarlike fennel-stalk, cover a fighting ship,
leaping into a bloody dance with raving sole,
striking up a death-bearing revel; nor in the sea
[36.455] does he subdue a man pierced with bull's horns,
appearing near as his middle flank is split,
but, struck, he shall lie head first by some unburied
fate in the surges; and the Bacchants shall slip
into the murderous depth of the brine, struck
[36.460] by long spears; and I shall wipe out the ships of Dionysus,
whirling a twenty-cubit sea-fighting spear through a merchant ship.
But, friends, fight with confidence; and let none
of you cower, watching the rank of the Bacchic
ships; for the Indians are accustomed to a sea
[36.465] tumult, and play the champion better at sea
than fighting on land. And with unconquered iron
I shall not take many Satyrs as plunder, but instead of
two hundred champions I shall drag off by the hair one alone,
woman-mad Dionysus, as the attendant of Deriades."
[36.470] So speaking, shifting-witted Morrheus persuaded
uncharmed Deriades; and the peoples cried out,
praising his word; and from throats of one tongue
an echo roared like the sound of moving swells.
And the king dissolved the assembly. And a herald was sent to Bromius
[36.475] declaring a sea-battle to obedient Bacchus.
And both, coming together into one, made a truce
of the checked tumult for three circles of Selene,
until they should bury the ranks of the corpses cut down in battle;
and there was a short-lived peace, the neighbor of Ares,
[36.480] spreading out a calm that was in travail with war.

## Book XXXVII


### Where the thirty-seventh is, for the sake of victory there are funeral contests for prize-bearing men.

[37.1] So the prudent Indians, caring for friendship,
entrusting the Bacchic Enyo to the winds,
buried their dead with tearless eyes,
as men who had fled the earthly bonds of mortal life
[37.5] while the soul was sent back, whence it came, by a circling cord
to its ancient starting-post; and the army of Bacchus rested.
And Dionysus, seeing the friendly calm of the war,
urging on the mules and the men who went with them at dawn,
commanded them to bring dry mountain-nourished wood,
[37.10] so that he might burn with fire the dead body of Opheltes.
And the leader of them within the pine-wood was
Faunus, familiar with the accustomed thicket of the wilderness,
taught the midday haunts of his mountain mother Circe.
And the trees were cut in rows with woodcutting iron;
[37.15] many an elm was cut with long-edged bronze,
many a high-leaved oak crashed as it was felled,
and many a pine was stretched out, and the fir leaned over
with withered leaves; and as the wide-scattered trees
were cut, little by little the cliffs were laid bare;
[37.20] and a Hamadryad Nymph went as a migrant,
and untouchable mingled with an unaccustomed spring-girl.
And many a mountain-running man went with those who came,
holding a different path of the mountain; and one might see
a high-visible, jutting, slanting wayfarer coming down
[37.25] with much-wandering feet; and binding the timbers thickly
with a fitted bond of well-plaited cord
they set them upon the backs of the mules; and as the mules
hurried, their mountain-running hooves crashed in rows
as they sped, and the backs of the much-sanded dust
[37.30] were weighed down with the burden of the plants dragged behind.
And Satyrs and Pans bustled, of whom one,
with woodcutting palms, lightening the logs from the trees
one after another in unwearied arms,
clattered upon the cliff with leap-loving feet;
[37.35] and the woodmen laid them on the ground, where Euius
marked out a tomb on the floor to make for Opheltes.
And there was a great swarm from many cities; and about the corpse
each cut a mourning lock with downcast iron;
and groaning they poured about him one after another,
[37.40] shadowing the whole corpse with their alternating hair.
And Bacchus groaned for the corpse from a griefless face
with tearless eyes, and cutting a single lock
from his unshorn head he laid it as a gift for Opheltes.
And the Idaean servants of mountain-reared Dionysus
[37.45] made a pyre a hundred feet this way and that;
and in the middle of the pyre they spread the corpse. And about the dead man
Dictaean Asterius, drawing his hanging sword,
cut the throats of twelve dark Indians
and brought and set them crown-wise in a close-set array;
[37.50] and he set there jars of honey and of oil.
And many cattle and flocks of sheep were slaughtered
before the pyre; and he heaped upon the corpse the bodies
of the slain oxen, circled about, and ranks of freshly cut horses,
and taking all the fat from each of them in rows
[37.55] he spread it about the corpse and wheeled a rich girdle.
Then there was need of fire; and Faunus of the wilderness,
the son of crag-loving Circe, a citizen of the Tyrrhenian field,
as a child taught the works of his wilderness mother,
brought fire-bearing stones, the instruments of a mountain craft,
[37.60] from the crag, and where the signs of Victory,
the thunderbolts falling from the air, had confirmed it,
he brought the remains of divine fire, so that he might kindle
the pyre of the dead man; and with Zeus-struck brimstone
he anointed the hollows of both fire-bearing
[37.65] stones, smearing them; and scraping a thin chip
from an Erythraean cluster he mixed it with the twin stones;
and rubbing this way and that, and striking female against male,
he drew out a hidden, self-delivered stony fire,
and set it beneath the pyre, where the wild wood was.
[37.70] Nor did the kindled fire run round the pyre of the dead,
but the god, stretching his eye toward Phaethon opposite,
appearing near, called the eastern wind Eurus,
to bring a counter-blowing breeze to help the pyre.
And at the call of Bromius the neighboring Dawnstar heard
[37.75] his supplication, and sent his brother to Lyaeus
to kindle the flame-shaped torch with thicker panting.
And leaving the rosy chamber of his mother Dawn
the wind fanned up the flaming pyre
all night long, darting the wind-nourished, leaping fire;
[37.80] and the raving breezes hurled a radiance into the air,
the neighbors of Helios. And with grieving Lyaeus
Dictaean Asterius, bearing kindred blood,
holding a Cnossian two-handled cup of sweet, fragrant
wine, made the poured dust of the floor drunk,
[37.85] honoring the wind-roaming soul of the son of Arestor.
But when the dawn-light, reddening, the forerunner
of the dewy chariot of Dawn, sparkled, scoring the night,
then all rose up, and with alternating cups
they quenched their comrade's pyre with the moisture of Bacchus.
[37.90] And the hot wind withdrew on dappled wings
to the light-bearing house of Helios. And Asterius,
gathering the bones covered in a double layer of fat,
laid the remains of the dead man in a golden bowl.
And the running Corybants, since they had obtained the midday haunts of Ida,
[37.95] buried the dead man, a dweller of one fatherland, †
the true blood of Crete, and in the deepening foundations
they rounded a tomb through a ground-dug hollow; †
and they poured a last foreign dust over Opheltes,
and raised the grave with loftier building,
[37.100] inscribing such a word upon the newly grieved tomb:
"Here lies the short-lived corpse of the son of Arestor,
Opheltes of Cnossus, the Indian-slayer, fellow-contender of Bromius."
And the vine god, bringing funeral gifts,
kept the people there, and held a broad contest,
[37.105] having marked out the goal of a horse-driven course; and on the ground
was a stone equal in measure to a fathom in broad measure,
bearing the pattern of a half-cut circle, the image of the moon,
well-polished on answering flanks, such as an old carpenter
turns, weaving with labor-working palms,
[37.110] longing to fashion an inspired image; and then, lifting it
with his palms, a monstrous Cyclops set it in the earth
as a counterpart of the stony turning-post, fixing in the ground
another stone opposite, yoked, equal to that one.
And the prizes were varied: cauldron, tripod, shields, horses,
[37.115] silver, Indian metals, cattle, Pactolian silt.
And the god set prizes of victory for the horsemen;
for the first he set a bow and an Amazonian quiver
and a half-finished shield and a war-loving woman,
whom once, traveling on foot beneath the brows of Thermodon,
[37.120] he took alive as she bathed, and brought to the city of the Indians;
for the second he set a mare running with the north wind,
yellow in nature, her neck shadowed with long manes,
still carrying a half-finished foal, by whose burden still
her belly swelled with the horse-weight of her offspring;
[37.125] and for the third a breastplate, and for the fourth he set a shield;
the one the noblest-working Lemnian anvil had fashioned,
adorning it with golden cunning work, and in the middle
of the other a wheeling boss was embroidered with silver adornment;
for the fifth, two talents, a prize of the Pactolian bank.
[37.130] And standing upright he spoke, urging on the drivers:
"O friends, whom Ares taught the city-sacking Enyo,
to whom the dark-haired god granted the course of horsemanship,
I do not urge on men untaught of labors,
but men accustomed to mighty toils; for our
[37.135] warriors are practiced in every kind of valor;
for if a Lydian man has got his race from Tmolus,
he shall accomplish deeds worthy of the horsemanship of Pelops;
and if a citizen of fair-charioted Elis and of Oenomaus
holds the Pisan plain, the midwife of horses,
[37.140] he knows the wild-olive-bearing branch of the Olympian olive;
but this is not the course of Oenomaus, nor do the drivers
here have the goad of ill-guesting weddings,
but this is a course of valor, free of the foam-born;
if <...> †
[37.145] he knows the Pythian contest honored for Apollo;
if he tends the wise soil of olive-tressed Marathon,
he knows the pitcher pregnant with rich dew;
if he was a citizen of the Achaean land of fair childbirth,
he has learned Pellene, where men contend
[37.150] in a chilling contest for a cloak-loving victory,
binding their unwarmed limbs tight in a wintry tunic;
if he grew up a dweller of sea-girdled Corinth,
he knows the Isthmian contest of our Palaemon."
As he spoke the leaders ran up hastening,
[37.155] wheeling their cars in turn; and first of all Erechtheus,
bringing swift-footed Xanthus, bound him beneath the yoke,
the male, and clamped the female Podarce beside him,
whom Boreas sowed upon a fair-winged bed,
dragging a storm-swift Sithonian Harpy into wedlock,
[37.160] and them, when he snatched Oreithyia the Attic bride,
the wind as son-in-law gave to Erechtheus as bride-gift of his love.
Second, Actaeon brandished an Ismenian whip;
and third was Scelmis, swift-horsed, the offspring
of the Earth-shaker who rules the waters, who often scored
[37.165] the water, steering his father's Poseidonian chariot of the sea.
Fourth leapt up Faunus, who came into the midst of the contest
alone having a pattern equal to the mother of his begetter,
bearing an imitation of Helios with four-yoked horses;
and fifth Achates mounted a Sicilian car,
[37.170] having the Pisan sting of the olive-tressed river,
unsated of horsemanship, since he dwelt in the plain of the bride
of Alpheius unhappy in love, who comes to Arethusa
bringing unwetted garland-bearing water as bride-gift of his love.
And taking bold Actaeon apart from the throng
[37.175] his father gave dear counsels to his hastening son:
"Child of Aristaeus your father of surpassing mind,
I know that you bear strength enough, that you carry
the flower of youth grown together and mixed with manhood,
bearing your father's Phoebean blood, and our
[37.180] Arcadian horses are better as they dart into the course;
but all this is in vain, and neither strength nor the running of horses
knows how to conquer so much as the wits of the driver;
you lack cunning alone; for horsemanship
needs a prudent, knowing driver.
[37.185] But listen to your father, and the horse-cunning of the art,
all the many turns I have learned in time, I shall teach you too.
Hasten, child, to honor your father by your valor;
the course of horsemanship holds as much glory as Enyo;
hasten to honor me in the stadium too, after the wars;
[37.190] having conquered Ares, enter another victory,
so that after 'spearman' I may call you 'prize-bearer' as well.
O child, do deeds worthy of your kinsman Dionysus,
worthy of Phoebus and of skilled-handed Cyrene,
and surpass the labors of your father Aristaeus;
[37.195] and display your horsemanship, bringing a cunning victory,
your crafty counsel; since in the midst of the contest
another, untaught man, dragging his chariot along uncontrolled,
wanders this way and that, and the unsteady course of his opposing
horses is not forced by the whip, and does not obey the bridle,
[37.200] and the driver, turned about, is dragged outside the turning-post,
wherever his disobedient, snatching horses carry him;
but whoever is a much-devising driver, practiced
in cunning guile, even with lesser horses,
steers straight, watching the driver who runs ahead,
[37.205] always keeping his course close about the turning-post, and bends
his car, riding round the goal and never scraping the goal.
Watch for me, and clamping with the steering bridle
slant your whole left-hand horse close to the turning-post,
weighing down your car aslant, leaning on its side,
[37.210] appearing near but untouching, by some necessary measure
steering your course, on guard, until the hub
of your wheeling car appears as though touching
the very tip of the goal with its neighboring wheel-shaped circle;
but beware the stone, lest, striking the turning-post with your axle,
[37.215] you destroy in one both your car and your horses.
And shepherding your car this way and that along the course
be wholly like a helmsman; and both together,
urging with the goad, pouring out a horse-striking threat,
drive your right-hand horse, drawing it into a swifter course,
[37.220] keeping the loosened circles of an unsqueezed bridle;
be wholly like a helmsman, shepherding your car
into a straight-running course, since by a cunning counsel
the mind of the driver is the rudder of the chariot."
So speaking he withdrew, turned back again, having taught his son
[37.225] the varied cunning of the art of accustomed horsemanship.
And within the accustomed helmet one after another
stretched a blind hand with face averted,
wishing to have a shifting lot, as a man
shakes his far-throwing fingers over a changeful die.
[37.230] And the drivers drew lots in turn; and horse-mad
Faunus, the blood of the Phaethontian race of song,
was first by the lot, and second was Achates,
and after him the brother of Damnameneus, and after him
Actaeon drew; and last, though best, stood for the course
[37.235] horse-striking Erechtheus, having got the last lot.
And the drivers lifted their ox-hide whips,
standing in rows upon their several cars.
And Aeacus was the true watcher, so that, perceiving
the garland-loving drivers bending about the goal,
[37.240] as a witness of truth he might loose their discordant quarrels,
judging the course of the horses with unwandering eyes.
For them there was a course from the starting-line; and as they hurried
one was ahead, and another longed to overtake
the man ahead, and another pursued the middle, and another,
[37.245] appearing near, longed to score the driver behind.
And one driver in the stadium, overtaking a driver,
mixed car with car, and shaking the reins in his hands
terrified the horses with the crook-toothed bridle;
another, traveling with the driver who rushed at him,
[37.250] held an evenly balanced course in a doubtful strife,
slanting, crouching, stretched out, upright by necessity,
with bending loins, and driving a willing horse,
lashing it a little with a sparing, cunning palm,
he slanted the circle of his gaze as he turned back,
[37.255] on guard against the car of the driver coming behind;
and now the hoof of the horses would have slipped, as they darted on
with a mounting throb of feet, into the self-rolling wheel,
had not the driver reined back his own rush
as it still hastened, checking the car that came up behind.
[37.260] And one, running ahead with a driver behind him,
held an answering course upon the emulous cars,
unsteady, shutting in the driver who appeared near,
this way and that. And Scelmis, the offspring of the Earth-shaker,
whirling the sea-whip of Poseidon,
[37.265] drove his father's race of sea-ranging horses;
nor did long-winged Pegasus, soaring aloft, cutting the air,
fly so much as the feet of the deep-sea horses
made an untouchable journey over the land.
And the peoples, coming together into one, seated in rows
[37.270] upon a high-crested place as watchers of the contest,
gazed from afar at the course of the hurrying horses;
of whom one stood in fear, and another, shaking
the tip of his finger, waved it, urging on a driver,
another, shaken by an emulous longing for the horses,
[37.275] had a horse-mad mind running with the driver;
and one, seeing the course of his own driver in the lead,
clapped with his hands and cried with a mourning voice,
heartening, laughing, trembling, calling to the driver.
And the well-made cars, swifter than a raving bear,
[37.280] at one time flew aloft, and now upon the ground
were carried at their very tips, scarcely touching the dust;
and the wandering trail of the straight-running car
scored the sandy seat with a swift wheel-shaped circle;
and the strife was close; and the dust, rising up,
[37.285] was itself suspended upon the horses' breasts,
and their manes rushed with the airy storms;
and the busy drivers shrieked out from throats of one tongue
a cry sharper than the whip.
But when they were completing the last course, darting sharply,
[37.290] Scelmis was first of all, stretching out his sea-running car;
and Erechtheus, following him, lashed his horse,
appearing near, and you might quickly have said that the car behind
was seen mounting the chariot of the sea-Telchine;
for the proud, soaring horse of Erechtheus,
[37.295] stretching its back-blown panting from a twin nostril,
warmed the back of the alien driver,
and now it would have gripped the manes of his neck with its teeth,
watching the driver with eyes that turned back again,
and now, as its jaws were shaken with a running whirl,
[37.300] but Erechtheus, turning aside, reined back his car,
and drew down the well-made reins with a snatching throb,
clamping little by little the jaw of the horses that appeared near;
and the horse, standing, foaming, spat out the tips of the bridle,
and again he drove near, having escaped the unbridled necessity.
[37.305] And watching him rushing on with his car,
Scelmis shrieked out a threatening cry:
"Cease striving in vain against horses of the sea;
once Pelops, driving another chariot of my begetter,
conquered the course of the unconquered horses of Oenomaus.
[37.310] I shall call as the steersman of horsemanship
the horse-god who rules the waters; but you, horse-striker, stretch
all your hope of victory toward loom-perfecting Athena.
I have no need of your little olive-shoot, but I bring
another vine garland and no paltry olive."
[37.315] As he spoke, swift-counseling Erechtheus was angered the more,
and weaving a beguiling guile and a prudent counsel
he steered his own course with his hands, and in his heart,
calling upon his helper, his city-holding Athena
of horsemanship, he shrieked out a swift-worded Attic cry:
[37.320] "Lady of Cecropia, horse-rousing motherless Pallas,
as you conquered Poseidon in your own contest,
so let your dweller Erechtheus, driving a Marathonian horse,
conquer the son of Poseidon."
Crying such a word he lashed the flanks of his colts,
[37.325] and brought car level with car; and with his left hand
clamping the jaw of his adversary's horses in a heavy bond,
drawing back the car that ran beside him, forced by the bridle,
with his right he lashed his own high-necked horses
as they hurried forward; and, removing him from the road,
[37.330] he set the driver behind him, turned back again.
And pouring a mockery-loving echo from running lips
he reproached the son of Poseidon with an answering voice,
wearing a laughing look as he turned back:
"Scelmis, you are conquered; Erechtheus is better than you,
[37.335] because my aged mare Podarce has conquered your Balius,
the blood of the race of Zephyrus, a male and young horse,
a wayfarer unwetted by the brine.
And if you boast for the sake of the art of Pelops,
honoring the sea-running car of your begetter,
[37.340] shifting-witted Myrtilus accomplished a thievish victory,
having made a deceiving axle with mimic wax;
and if you think greatly of yourself for the race of the Earth-shaker,
whom you call the horse-god, the mounter of deep-sea cars,
the lord of the sea himself, the steersman of the trident —
[37.345] female Athena conquered your male helper."
So speaking the citizen of Athens ran past the Telchine.
And after him Faunus drove, lashing his four-horse car;
and fourth, crafty Actaeon followed Faunus,
still remembering the cunning words of his father
[37.350] Aristaeus; and last was Tyrrhenian Achates.
And bold Actaeon devised a guileful counsel:
overtaking Faunus as he still ran ahead with his car,
turning the course of his horses with a sharper whip
he drove beside him, stealing past the driver,
[37.355] getting a little ahead; and fixing his knees against the rail
he scored the emulous car with his slanting chariot,
scraping the horses' feet with his wheeling trail.
And the car fell to the ground; and as the chariot was shaken
three horses lay fallen upon the ground,
[37.360] one upon its flanks, another its belly, another on its neck,
and one stayed upright, leaning aside, and rooted
the tips of its feet in the ground, and shaking its restless neck
the yoke-mate propped the whole foot of the horse beside it,
lightening the yoke-straps and dragging the car upward.
[37.365] They were poured out upon the ground; and squalid
the driver rolled beside the wheel, a neighbor to his car;
and the top of his brow was crushed, and as his chin was defiled
his sharp-stretched elbow was scored, covered with dust from the floor.
And the driver leapt up more swiftly; and hastening
[37.370] he stood beside his neighboring car fallen to the ground,
drawing up the stretched-out horse with a shamefaced palm,
and lashing the downcast colt with a dappled whip.
And bold Actaeon, watching Faunus laboring
beside his car, broke into a play-loving voice:
[37.375] "Cease urging on your unwilling horses in vain,
cease in vain; for I shall get there first and announce to Dionysus
that Faunus, leaving all the drivers ahead of him,
will come home late on the road, dragging his car;
spare your whip, since with its flesh-cutting goad
[37.380] I pitied the body of your horses, seeing it scored."
He spoke, driving his unsteady car ahead
with a swifter whip; and Faunus grieved as he heard.
And scarcely, gripping a shaggy tail on the ground,
he set upright the dusty body of his fallen horses,
[37.385] and, bringing back a colt that had darted aside
as its harness was loosed, he clamped it with the bridle;
and setting the feet of his horses this way and that as they hurried past
he mounted high upon his car, and fixing his foot in the chariot
he lashed his horse a second time with a dreadful whip;
[37.390] and Faunus drove on farther, urging the course of his horses,
and pursued the driver ahead of him more swiftly;
and he overtook those who had got ahead, since the horse-god
Earth-shaker cast strength into his horses, honoring his bold son;
and seeing a narrow road beside a hollow rock
[37.395] he wove a prudent, guile-weaving counsel, so that, overtaking him,
he might dart past Achates with a cunning car.
There was a deep-bosomed cleft, which the migrant water of Zeus,
pouring from the air with a wintry lash, had broken
out of the road; and as the stream of the earth-cutting rain
[37.400] was checked, the ridge of the ground was hollowed out,
where Achates, coming unwilling, reined back his car,
fleeing the near approach of the driver on the road;
and to him as he rushed on he raised a trembling voice:
"Still, childish Faunus, your tunics are filthy,
[37.405] still the rims of your car are sandy,
not yet have you shaken the dust from your unadorned horses;
cleanse your defilements; why should you drive a horse so hard?
Let me not see you falling and gasping again.
Him <...> †
[37.410] let him mark your back beneath a bull's-hide whip,
lest he hurl you head first into the dust again.
Still you tend the scored circles of your cheek;
Faunus, why do you rage, fastening a common reproach
upon your father Poseidon and upon Helios your grandfather?
[37.415] Respect for me the mockery-loving throat of the Satyrs.
Beware the Sileni and the attendants of Dionysus,
lest they laugh at you and at your squalid car.
Where are your charms? Where your herbs? Where the varied drugs of Circe?
All have left you, all, when you came into the course of the contest."
[37.420] Who would announce to your proud mother
both your overturned car and your squalid whip?"
Such a proud word Achates shrieked out,
mocking him; and Nemesis recorded so great a speech.
And Faunus came near, driving his car beside him;
[37.425] and he brought car close to car, and striking the bolt
upon the axle he shattered it, driven middle-deep, with his wheeling circle;
and the wheel, self-rolling, coiling, leaned upon the ground,
wholly like the car of Oenomaus, when the deceiving
axle, loosed as the wax was warmed by Phaethon,
[37.430] checked the horsemanship of the maddened driver.
And Achates, holding the narrow road, waited,
until Faunus, seated upon the rail of his four-horse team,
passed Achates with a swifter whip,
as though he had not heard; and he lifted his whip the more,
[37.435] lashing untouchable the crest of his hurrying horses;
and he was behind Actaeon by as much as the long-shadowed
rush of a leaping discus when it is sent,
which a young man hurls, whirling it with a mighty palm.
And madness fell upon the peoples; and one strove with another,
[37.440] making wagers about the untraceable victory
to come; and the gifts, for the sake of the storm-footed horses,
were either a tripod or a cauldron or a sword or an ox-hide shield;
and dweller strove with dweller, friend with comrade,
old man with old man, young with young, man with man.
[37.445] And the strife of both was discordant: one glorifying
Achates, another convicting Faunus as the worse,
fallen upon the ground from his rolling car,
another contending that Erechtheus was second,
behind the sea-Telchine driver;
[37.450] and one strove with another, that the much-turning citizen of Athens,
appearing near, had conquered the course of the horses ahead of him,
having darted past Scelmis the driver while he still ran ahead.
Not yet had the quarrel ceased, and Erechtheus came up near,
lashing his horses this way and that with downswung arm;
[37.455] and much sweat ran down the horse's neck
and shaggy breast, and thick, squalid drops
of dust rushed down over the driver;
and the car ran upon the near-passing tracks of the horses
with a leaping whirl; and by the wheeling iron
[37.460] the unshaken backs of the fine dust were not stirred.
And he, after his flying course, high upon his car,
came into the middle of the contest; and with his tunic he wiped
the sweat dripping from his drenched brow;
and swiftly he came down from his car; and he leaned
[37.465] his long whip against the well-made yoke;
and his servant Amphidamas loosed the horses; and more swiftly
with delighted palm he lifted the first prizes of victory,
the quiver and the bow and the well-helmeted woman,
brandishing the mid-bossed back of the half-finished ox-hide shield.
[37.470] And after him came second upon his sea-borne car
Scelmis, urging on his Poseidonian chariot of the sea,
as far behind as a wheeling circle is from a swift horse,
when, as it darts on, the tips of the hairs of its outstretched,
whirling tail scarcely touch the wheel-rims;
[37.475] and he took the second prizes, and held out to Damnameneus
the pregnant mare to keep, stretching it with a jealous hand.
And third Actaeon lifted the tokens of victory,
the gold-shining breastplate, an all-varied work of Olympus.
And after him Faunus came; and drawing up his car there
[37.480] he raised aloft the silver-circled boss of the ox-hide shield,
still wearing those remains of squalid dust.
And a Sicilian servant beside the slow-wheeling car
showed the two talents of gold to downcast Achates,
pitiable to tender-loving Dionysus as he boasted.
[37.485] Then he set up a contest of harsh boxing;
for the first he set a bull from an Indian ox-stall
to be led as a gift, and for the other, taking a treasure
of the dark-skinned Indians, he laid down a barbarian, dappled-backed shield.
And standing upright he spoke, urging on the athletes,
[37.490] that two skilled-handed men should strive for victory:
"This is the contest of unwearied boxing; and to the prize-bearing
man who conquers I shall grant a shaggy-haired bull,
and to the man defeated I shall give a many-folded shield."
As Bromius so spoke, shield-brandishing Melisseus rose,
[37.495] practiced in accustomed boxing; and laying hold
of the well-horned bull he uttered so great a voice:
"Let him come who longs for the dappled shield; for I shall not leave
the fat bull to another, while I still lift my hands."
As he spoke silence sealed them all;
[37.500] and Eurymedon alone rose against him, to whom Hermes gave
the instruments of limb-strong boxing, who before always
had been busy sitting beside his father's forge,
the son of Hephaestus, striking the hammer-wrought anvil.
Him, much-dreaded <...> †
[37.505] his brother set a belt beside him, and fitted a girdle to his loins,
and, joining them with his long palms,
clamped the entwined trail of the dry thongs.
And the champion came into the middle, holding his left hand
before his face, an inborn shield; and instead of a lance
[37.510] the flesh-cutting thongs were his manufactured palm.
And always he guarded against the hard-fighting rush of his adversary,
lest he strike him upon the brow or the forehead,
or bloody him, tearing the stricken joint,
or cut him apart, hitting him at the temple,
[37.515] battering the edge of his intelligent brain within,
or, stretching a rough palm against his temples,
lay bare the eyes of a face robbed of its eyeballs,
or, as his blood-red chin was battered,
drive out the many-rowed swath of his sharper teeth.
[37.520] There, as Eurymedon rushed on, Melisseus
struck the top of his breast; and he, close before his face,
stretched out his hand in vain, and missed, striking the air;
and always, trembling, he ran round him, shifting his stance,
stretching his right hand beneath his bare breast.
[37.525] And both came together, advancing one against the other,
shifting foot a little past foot with sparing steps;
and they mixed hands with hands; and with rushes one upon another
a dread thud of the plaited thongs boomed
about the very tip of the hand; and as a cheek was scored
[37.530] the thongs were reddened with bloody drops;
and there was a thud of jaws; and on the swelling of the face,
grown broader, the cheeks surged,
and the eyes were hollowed on either side of the face.
Eurymedon labored beneath the knowing art of Melisseus,
[37.535] awaiting the unbearable radiance of the sun opposite him,
which dazzled his eye; and Melisseus, darting on
with a sharper whirl, lifting his step aloft,
suddenly struck his jaw beneath the ear; and he, laboring,
self-rolling, propped his back upon the dust on his back,
[37.540] soul-failing, wholly like a drunken man; and he held his head
leaning aside, and spat out the foam of blood
thickening thinly; and taking him out of the contest
his grim brother Alcon led him away upon his back,
weighed down with a wit-robbing blow. And hastening
[37.545] he lifted up the vast Indian ox-hide shield.
And Dionysus, urging on two athletes,
proclaimed a contest of wrestling for prize-bearing men;
and a tripod of twenty measures stood as the prize of victory
for the first athlete; and he set in the middle, lifting it,
[37.550] a flowery cauldron, keeping it for the worse man.
And standing upright he cried again with a commanding voice:
"Come, friends, and rouse this fair contest too."
He spoke; and at the call of garland-loving Dionysus
Aristaeus stood first, and after him second stood
[37.555] Aeacus, taught the works of skilled-handed wrestling.
And covering with a belt the nature of an unseen shame
they stood naked as they contended; and both
first entwined both palms about each other's wrists,
this way and that, drawing one another in turn
[37.560] over the backs of the poured dust, clamping
with the very tips of a knot of hands; and man ran round
man, bringing him back again with an unequal throb,
drawing and drawn; for both held each other
with alternating hands, and arched their necks,
[37.565] and propped head against head with the middle of the brow,
unbending, nodding toward the ground; and from their squeezed
brows the sweat, forerunner of toil, ran down;
and he sprinkled the poured dust with drenching sweat,
cleansing the liquid drop with squalid sand,
[37.570] lest he slip as he was entwined in the knot of hands,
sending hot moisture down a rubbed neck.
<...> †
was rubbed by the twin bond of an entwined palm;
and a self-perfected weal ran up with hot blood,
[37.575] purpling in varied colors; and the bodies of the men were spotted.
And they displayed to one another in turn the varied
tricks of the wrestler's art; and first Aristaeus
embraced his adversary by the wrist of his palm,
heaving him up from the ground; but shifting-witted Aeacus
[37.580] did not forget his guileful art, and with a stealing sole,
striking the hollow of the left knee of Aristaeus,
he threw his whole self-rolling body flat upon the ground,
wholly like a sky-high headland; and around, the peoples
gazed with astonished eyes upon so great a boastful
[37.585] son of Phoebus, of whom all speak, as he fell.
Second, Aeacus lifted the monstrous son of Cyrene
aloft above the ground, raising him without toil,
keeping his valor to come for his children,
unwearied Peleus and broad-strong Telamon,
[37.590] holding him in his arms, not bending his back or his upright neck,
bringing the man in the middle with both forearms,
holding a pattern like those weathervanes which a carpenter makes,
soothing the stormy necessity of the wind.
And bringing the whole man near, spread upon the dust,
[37.595] Aeacus mounted the middle of his adversary's back,
and sending his foot stretched across the spread belly,
joining a crooked bond about the very tip of his knee,
he propped sole against sole, winding it past the top of the ankle;
and swiftly, stretched high above his adversary's back,
[37.600] winding his own hands crown-wise upon one another,
he cast a bond upon his neck with his forearm, bending his fingers;
and as he was squeezed the chosen heralds, the watchers
of the contest, ran together with a sharp throb,
lest he kill him with the yoked trail of his forearm.
[37.605] For there was not then such a rule as men of later birth
themselves devised, when, as the bonds of the neck
are stretched tight, a man weighed down with a throttling labor
woos the victory of his adversary by an intelligent silence,
striking the victorious man with a downcast hand.
[37.610] And the Myrmidons, the servants of their prize-bearing king,
took and embraced the tripod of twenty measures;
and Actaeon lifted the cauldron with a swifter rush,
bringing his father's second prizes with a downcast hand.
And then Bacchus set up a contest of swiftness of feet;
[37.615] setting as treasures of victory for the first athlete
a silver mixing-bowl and a spear-won woman,
and for the second he set a dappled-necked Thessalian horse,
and for the last a sharp sword with a well-cut baldric.
And standing upright he spoke, urging on the swift-footed men:
[37.620] "Let these be the prizes for swift-traveling men."
As he spoke the Dictaean, shaking his accustomed knees,
and after him swift, shifting-witted Erechtheus ran up,
the care of Pallas of Nicaea, and after him
swift-footed Priasus, a citizen of the Cybelian field.
[37.625] For them there was a course from the starting-line; and Ocythous
was first, lightened with a stormy throb of feet,
holding a straight-stretched course in the lead; and hastening
second, close on the road, Erechtheus was behind him,
striking the back of neighboring Ocythous with his panting,
[37.630] and warming his head; and as far as the rod of a distaff-loving
girl is from the middle of her breast, by whatever measure
a loom-toiling maiden stretches it with cunning hand,
so far was he behind Ocythous; and about the ground
he struck his tracks with his feet before the dust settled.
[37.635] And now the course would have been in doubt; but, seeing
a mimic journey of equal measure, he stretched out with a lighter
sole, and ran past the man by a greater measure,
as far as a man's footstep; whence, trembling for the victory,
Erechtheus entreated Boreas, crying such a word:
[37.640] "Son-in-law, help your Erechtheus and your bride,
if you still tend the sweet sting of the Loves for my child;
give me the dappled running of your wings for a single hour,
so that I may pass swift-kneed Ocythous as he runs ahead."
As he spoke Boreas heard his suppliant voice,
[37.645] and made him swifter than a well-wheeling tempest.
Three rushed on with the windy throb of their feet,
but not with equal weight; and by as much as Erechtheus
was behind Ocythous who ran ahead with swift sole,
by so much was boastful Priasus, of Phrygian race,
[37.650] the neighbor of stormy Erechtheus. And as they hurried,
when the course was still at its last with the leap of their soles,
swift-kneed Ocythous slipped in the dust,
where there was unspeakable dung of the oxen which beside the tomb
Dionysus had crushed with a Mygdonian knife;
[37.655] but with the swift-whirling throb of a returning foot
if the course had then been still a little longer, going as he was
he would perhaps have been in doubt, or have got ahead of the citizen of Athens;
Ocythous was carried on, leaping after him; and hastening,
shifting his sole as it came up behind the adversary ahead of him —
[37.660] and swift Erechtheus lifted the dappled-backed treasure,
the well-made Sidonian mixing-bowl; and Ocythous
drew off the Thessalian horse; and third, coming quietly,
Priasus received the sword with its silver baldric.
And the chorus of Satyrs laughed with a play-loving heart,
[37.665] gazing at the Corybant filthy with poured dust,
spitting out dung that ran down from his throat.
And Dionysus, bringing a mass of rough-cast metal, set it in the contest,
urging on the discus-hurling casters;
for the first he brought and set two spears with a horse-plumed helmet,
[37.670] and for the second a bright circling girdle,
and for the third a bowl, and for the fourth he set a fawnskin,
which the smith of Zeus had pinned with a golden clasp.
And standing upright in the middle he spoke with a mind-rousing voice:
"This contest urges on athletes to the discus."
[37.675] As Bromius so spoke, shield-brandishing Melisseus rose,
and after him came second high-footed Halimedes,
and third Eurymedon and fourth came Acmon;
and four stood in rows, one after another.
And Melisseus, taking the well-whirled mass, hurled it;
[37.680] and the Sileni laughed at the man's lesser rush.
Second, Eurymedon propped his palm upon the discus;
and fair-crested Acmon, taking the well-whirled mass
with a steering wrist, sent forth the heavy, wheeling missile;
and the air-roaming shaft ran, running with the breezes,
[37.685] and passed the mark of Eurymedon by a greater measure
with a sharp whirl; and high-footed Halimedes
hurled the wandering discus in the air toward the mark;
and the mass whistled in the airy tempests,
carried from a mighty palm, as from a bow
[37.690] a shaft flies upright, shaken by the unsteady breezes;
and falling from the air it rolled upon the ground
with a far-traveling leap, still carried by the throb
of the well-turned hand, holding a self-moving rush,
until it had run past all the marks; and gathered together
[37.695] all the watchers of the contest crashed out,
astonished at the restless rush of the leaping discus.
And shaking the two spears with the high-crested helmet,
boastful Halimedes carried off the double gifts;
and shambling Acmon lifted the gold-gleaming girdle;
[37.700] and third Eurymedon, raising the unfired bowl,
took the two-handled treasure; and downcast in face
Melisseus lifted up the dappled-backed fawnskin.
And Dionysus set prizes of the bow for the champions,
an offering of good aim; and dragging out a toil-enduring
[37.705] seven-year-old mule he fixed it in the contest,
and a well-made cup stood as the prize of victory,
kept for the worse man. And Euryalus,
setting a long ship's mast upright in the field,
stood it above the sandy floor, and high-visible
[37.710] he hung a dove bound, entwined with the mast,
winding a thin thread about its two feet.
And the god cried a contest-voice to the gathered men,
urging the archers toward the air-roaming mark:
"Whoever shall shoot and pierce the top of the dove,
[37.715] let him lead off the much-yielding mule, the witness of victory;
but whoever shall stray as he draws toward the mark of the dove,
leaving the bird unscored by his sharp-pointed arrow,
and shall strike the top of the cord with his winged shaft,
let him shoot worse and receive the worse gifts;
[37.720] for instead of the mule he shall carry off a cup, so that he may pour
libation to archer Phoebus and to wine-pouring Dionysus."
As wealth-holding Lyaeus cried such a word,
fair-haired far-shooting Hymenaeus stood in the middle,
drawing toward the straight-running mark facing the mast,
[37.725] bearing a Cnossian bow stretched with a circling string,
and Asterius, having got the lot, sent his shaft first,
and struck the cord; and as it was cut by the missile
the wandering bird was carried aloft into the air;
and the thread fell to the ground. And carrying his eye
[37.730] in spirals along the high-traveling road, watching above the clouds,
the archer Hymenaeus, drawing a wind-borne shaft
from a most ready string toward the air-roaming mark,
sent it more sharply, aiming straight at the dove;
and the winged wandering shaft flew through the air
[37.735] at its very tip, scraping the middle backs of the clouds,
hissing with the winds; and Apollo steered the shaft,
keeping faith with his brother Dionysus unhappy in love;
and it struck the flying dove, and as it sped
it smote the top of its breast; and as its head grew heavy
[37.740] the storm-swift bird fell through the air to the ground;
and half-dead the dove beat its wings about in the dust,
skipping with its feet about dance-weaving Dionysus.
And the god, leaping up at the victory of the youth,
clapped his hands, crying aloud for Hymenaeus;
[37.745] and all together in one, as many as stayed at the contest,
marveled at the cloud-neighboring archery of Hymenaeus.
And laughing Dionysus, drawing it with his own palms,
gave the mule as the gift owed to Hymenaeus;
and his comrades lifted the cup, the prize of Asterius.
[37.750] And urging the spearmen to a friendly fight,
Bacchus brought Indian prizes and set them beside the contest,
a pair of greaves and a stone of the Indian brine.
And standing upright he spoke, and bade two warriors,
in a fighting that played and with iron that did not kill,
[37.755] accomplish a mimic image of a bloodless battle:
"This contest, rousing two javelin-hurling men,
knows a gentle Ares and a fair-weather Enyo."
As Bromius so spoke, Asterius armed himself,
brandishing iron weapons, and Aeacus stood in the middle
[37.760] holding a bronze spear, shaking a much-wrought shield,
like a wild lion rushing at some bull
or a shaggy boar; and both, covering their bodies
in an iron tunic, rushed into the middle,
spearmen of Ares; and hurling his furious spear,
[37.765] Asterius, having the ancestral valor of Minos,
wounded him, tearing the top of his right arm;
and Aeacus, lifting his iron spear against his throat,
doing deeds worthy of his high-ruling Zeus,
longed to pierce the very middle of his neck;
[37.770] but Bacchus checked him and snatched away the blood-red point,
lest he strike the neck with javelin-hurling iron;
and he reined them both back and cried with a raving voice:
"Cast away these weapons, and let the Enyo you have set up be friendly;
this Ares is a friend, and these contests are unwounding."
[37.775] He spoke; and taking the elder prizes of the battle-rousing victory,
boastful Aeacus, lifting the golden greaves,
gave them to his servant; and bringing the later gifts
Asterius lifted the spear-won stone of the Indians.

## Book XXXVIII


### Where the thirty-eighth is, with the blazing brand you have the doom of wretched Phaethon the charioteer.

[38.1] The contest was dissolved; and the peoples went to the midday haunts of the thicket,
and kept to their own huts; and the country Pans
lodged in torrent-cut halls,
dwelling at evening in the self-built caves of a wilderness
[38.5] lioness; and the Satyrs, entering a bear's cave,
hollowed out a little rocky bed with whetted
claws and not with cutting iron,
until the light-bearing dawn shone, and freshly appearing
the light of a calm Dawn rose for both,
[38.10] for Indians and for Satyrs; for then at the circling turning-post
coiling Time stretched out a truce of the Mygdonian
war and the Indian tumult; nor was there for them
slaughter or fighting then; and far from the battle
the six-year-old Bacchic shield lay covered with cobwebs.
[38.15] But when the Seasons brought the seventh year of the wars,
then a heavenly sign appeared, the forerunner
for wine-dark Bacchus, an unbelievable wonder; for at midday
an unforeseen darkness was stretched out, and a midday mist
held Phaethon hidden in a blackening robe,
[38.20] and as the beam was stolen the hills were shadowed;
and much wandering fire fell this way and that,
streaming from the heavenly chariot; and a measureless rain
deluged the tops of the earth, and the rocks surged
with airy drops, until scarcely, high upon his car,
[38.25] fiery Hyperion rose again, high-visible.
And for Dionysus in his distress a favorable eagle flew
through the air, high on its road, bringing a horned serpent
in its whetted talons; and it, bending its bold neck,
slipped head first, self-rolling, into Hydaspes.
[38.30] And a trembling silence held the whole numberless army;
and shifting-witted Idmon, since he had learned the rites of the Muse
Urania who knows the well-rounded rim of the stars,
stood fearless alone, since he had learned by a knowing art
the shadowy circles of Selene entwined with Phaethon,
[38.35] and the flame purpling beneath the gloomy cone
as Phaethon's unseen journey is stolen away,
and the thunderous crash of clashing clouds,
the airy bellowing, and the flashing comet,
and the beam of meteors, and the fiery leap of the thunderbolt.
[38.40] Taught such works by the goddess Urania
he stood, keeping a bold heart; and the limbs of each man
were loosed; and the old prophet Idmon, with a laughing face,
having steadfast persuasion upon his lips,
heartened the whole people, because he knew that after a little
[38.45] the victory of the long tumult would be near at hand.
And Erechtheus asked the much-knowing Phrygian prophet,
watching the signs of highest Zeus, whether they were favorable
in the battle for the adversaries or for Indian-slaying Dionysus,
not so much longing for the end of the fighting as to hear
[38.50] the tale of Olympus that is the care of mystic conversation,
and the ranks of the starry spirals and the circling moon,
and the setting by day of the Phaethontian radiance
when it is stolen away. For the citizens of ancient Attica
are always eager to learn about god-spoken tales.
[38.55] Nor was the old seer careless, but shaking
the Euian thyrsi of Lyaeus and not the laurel of Panopeus
he belched such a prophetic word from his throat:
"Do you wish to hear a mind-charming tale, Erechtheus,
which only the gods who dwell in Olympus know?
[38.60] I shall tell it as my laurel Apollo taught me.
Do not tremble at the lightning, do not fear the wandering fire,
nor the gloomy course of Helios, nor the bird of Olympus,
the first messenger of the victory of Lyaeus to come;
for as that horned serpent, scored by the points
[38.65] of whetted claws, pierced by the sharp foot
of a snatching bird, slipped into the outpourings of the river,
and old Hydaspes hid the creeping corpse,
so shall his father's swell cover Deriades,
who has a shape like his ox-horned begetter."
[38.70] Such things the god-speaking old man said; and at his prophetic
word the whole army rejoiced; and beyond the others
the citizen of motherless Athena mixed joy with wonder,
being such in his sweet hopes as though he were reveling
in the midst of Marathon after the war of Deriades.
[38.75] And then to crag-loving Dionysus, left alone,
his brother Hermes came from heaven, the messenger of Zeus,
and spoke some word, comforting him about the victory:
"Do not tremble at this sign, even if there was night by day;
this, fearless Bacchus, your father Cronion has shown you
[38.80] as the forerunner of an Indian-slaying victory; for to the sun
flashing a second time I liken light-bearing Bacchus,
and to the gloomy mist the bold dark-skinned Indian;
for this pattern in the upper air is alike; and as the darkness
dimmed the light of the fair-shining dawn as it was covered,
[38.85] and rising again high upon his fire-gleaming car
the sun hurled away the gloomy mist,
so you too, shaking far away from your eyelids
the gloomy, unseen darkness of the Tartarean Erinys,
shall flash a second time upon the war like Hyperion.
[38.90] Never did the old <...> †
since the time when, struck by the vapor of a divine fire,
half-burnt Phaethon fell head first from the light-bearing
car of Helios, and was hidden in a Celtic river;
and the daughters of Helios still groan for the bold youth
[38.95] beside the brows of Eridanus with plaintive leaves."
As he spoke Dionysus rejoiced in the hope of victory;
and he questioned Hermes, and wished to hear still more
the tale of Olympus that is the care of the western Celts,
how Phaethon rolled through the upper air, or whence the daughters
[38.100] of Helios themselves, beside the stream of mourning Eridanus,
were changed into a plant, and from fair-leaved trees
drop glittering tears into the streams.
And to him as he asked, gentle Hermes, opening his mouth,
shrieked out a wondrous word to inquiry-loving Bacchus:
[38.105] "Dionysus, mortal-delighting shepherd of human life,
if a sweet sting of ancient words urges you,
I shall tell the whole tale of Phaethon in order.
Resounding Ocean, girdled about the rim of the cosmos,
bringing his earth-holding water about a moist turning-post,
[38.110] consorting in first-born wedlock with Tethys
as a watery bridegroom, begot Clymene, whom once Tethys
midwifed at a liquid breast, better than the Naiads,
a younger, fair-armed maiden, for whose beauty
Helios, wheeling the twelve-month year,
[38.115] traveling crown-wise the seven-zoned rim of the upper air,
the steward of fire, labored with another fire; and the torch
of the Loves forced the flame of his car and the radiance of his beams,
when above the horn of reddening Ocean,
bathing his fiery body in the eastern waters,
[38.120] he beheld the maiden near his road, when naked
she swam, skipping in her father's streams,
and flashed as she bathed; and she was such as when
the bountiful evening Moon, having filled out the wheeling
sparkle of her twin horns, blazes through the water.
[38.125] And half-seen, unsandaled, the girl stood in the waters,
shooting at Helios with her rosy cheeks;
and the pattern of her flesh was scored in the outpourings; not then
did a girdle cover the girl's breast, and, lighting up the lake,
the well-rounded rim of her silvery breasts reddened.
[38.130] And her father yoked the girl to the airy charioteer;
and the fair-footed Seasons cried the wedding-hymn of Clymene
and the light-bearing marriage of Helios; and around,
the Naiad Nymphs danced; and beside a watery bridal chamber
the girl, blessed in childbirth, was wedded in a flashing marriage,
[38.135] and received a hot consort with her cold limbs.
And the gleam of the starry phalanx was the chamber-servant,
and the star of Cypris wove a melody for the Wedding-god,
the Dawnstar, forerunner of the yoking; and instead of a pine-torch
Selene held her bridal beam as bride-adorner;
[38.140] and the Hesperides shouted; and with his bride Tethys
Ocean cried out a melody from his many-springed throat.
And the belly of Clymene surged with a generative marriage;
and travailing with the infant, as the birth ripened,
she bore a wondrous light-bearing son. And about the boy
[38.145] as he was born his father's upper air cried out a melody;
and the daughters of Ocean washed the son
in his grandfather's baths as he leapt from the childbed;
and they cast swaddling-clothes about him; and the stars, darting
with blazing throb into the stream of accustomed Ocean,
[38.150] circled the boy, and Selene was his Eileithyia,
sending a light-bearing sparkle; and Helios
gave his son his own name to have, fitting his witnessing
shape; for on the flashing face of the youth
shone a radiance kindred to his begetter Helios.
[38.155] And often, playing delicately in his child-tending ways,
Ocean lifted Phaethon and tossed him back again,
raising him by the middle of his belly, and along a high-traveling path
received the boy back again in his arm from the air,
restless, self-whirling, running with a wandering breeze,
[38.160] and hurled him up again; and he, with the wheeling throb
of the well-turned hand, swerving aside from Ocean,
fell with a whirling spin into the black water,
a prophet of his own death; and the old man groaned as he perceived it,
knowing the oracles, and hid it in prudent silence,
[38.165] lest he tear the griefless heart of child-loving Clymene
by prophesying the bitter threads of Phaethon's Fate.
And the boy, freshly grown, having a beardless chin,
now tended the house of his Clymene, now went
to the meadow of Thrinacia itself, where he often
[38.170] stayed beside Lampetie, pasturing the cattle and the sheep;
and holding a longing for his divine father the charioteer,
he fitted an axle to timbers with a cunning bond,
wheeling a rounded pattern for a lying car;
and fashioning harness, and plaiting from the flower-tressed gardens
[38.175] a thrice-twisted whip of slender withies,
he set new bridles upon four rams;
and making a bastard, well-made Dawnstar
of white flowers, like a wheel-shaped circle,
he set it as the forerunner of his well-greaved wagon,
[38.180] bearing the pattern of the eastern star; and about his hair,
propping a light-bearing brand upright this way and that,
he imitated his father with lying beams,
riding crown-wise about the sea-beaten rim of the island.
But when he had grown, bearing a fair-flowering youth,
[38.185] often he laid hold of his father's flame, and with a little hand
lifted the hot harness and the starry whip,
and tended the wheel, and, handling the bodies of the horses
with snowy palms, the boy delighted as he played;
and with his right hand he touched the fire-struck bridle.
[38.190] And he raved, holding a longing for horsemanship; and seating himself
upon his father's knees, shedding suppliant tears,
he asked for the fiery car and the course of the airy horses.
And his father refused; and he entreated the more,
asking with a sweet word; and comforting his young son
[38.195] about the high-traveling car, he spoke with a tender-loving voice:
'O child of Helios, dear offspring of Ocean,
seek another prize; what is the car of Olympus to you?
Leave the untouchable course of horsemanship; for you cannot
steer my chariot, which I myself scarcely drive.
[38.200] Never did furious Ares arm himself with the flaming thunderbolt,
but he beats out a melody with the trumpet and not a thunderous crash;
Hephaestus does not gather the clouds of his begetter,
he is not called the cloud-gatherer as Cronion is,
but beside the forge he strikes an iron anvil,
[38.205] pouring a manufactured wind with manufactured panting;
Apollo has a winged swan, and not a swift horse;
Hermes does not lift the fiery lightning of his begetter,
but holds a rod, and does not raise his father's aegis.
But you will say: he gave a spark of the thunderbolt to Zagreus.
[38.210] Zagreus lifted the bolt, and kept company with destruction.
Be in awe, child, of suffering wholly like sufferings.'
He spoke, and did not persuade him; and the boy, goading his begetter,
wetted his tunics with hotter tears;
and with his hands he touched his father's flaming beard,
[38.215] crouching upon the floor, bending his wheeling neck,
entreating; and the father pitied the child as he watched.
And plaintive Clymene asked the more; and he in his heart,
knowing steadfastly the unturning threads of Fate,
nodded in distress, and wiping with his tunic
[38.220] the rain from the unsmiling eye of weeping Phaethon
he kissed the boy's lips, and uttered so great a voice:
'There are twelve houses in all of the fiery upper air,
fixed in the rim of the hollow Zodiac circle,
divided in rows, close-set, in which alone
[38.225] is the slanting, much-coiling path of the unsteady
planets. And coiling Cronus changes each house,
creeping heavy-kneed, until he scarcely completes at last
thirty circles of returning Selene,
above the rim of the seventh zone; and high on the sixth,
[38.230] opposite him, Zeus holds a swifter course than his begetter,
and passes through his course in a year; and in the third
fiery Ares passes in sixty days,
the neighbor of your father; and rising in the fourth
I myself cut the whole vault crown-wise with my car,
[38.235] pursuing the much-bending circles of the heavenly Spirals,
bringing the measures of time, wheeled about with the four Seasons,
about the same turning-post, until I travel a whole house,
filling out the accustomed month that brings fulfillment; nor do I
leave my journey unaccomplished and change to a backward path,
[38.240] nor again a forward one, since the other much-bending
wandering stars always go running against me,
and reining back again both forward and backward
they keep half-finished, re-loosed measures of their road,
receiving from both sides my radiance that darts otherwise;
[38.245] among whom horned Selene, whitening the vault,
filling her whole circle with wise fire, brings forth the month,
seen in the middle, arched, full with her whole face;
and I, opposite to Mene, wheeling my sphere-like
sparkle, the nurse of the sheaf-bearing birth,
[38.250] travel an endless circle about the Zodiac turning-post,
bringing forth the measures of time, and changing house from house,
and having completed one circle I bring a whole year.
But beware the ends of the node, lest, creeping near,
whirling the gloomy cone with your car,
[38.255] it steal the whole light <...> †
and do not ride past the rim of the accustomed circle;
nor, in the much-bending bond of the long-plaited spirals,
gazing at the rim of the five parallel circles,
be goaded, and leave your father's accustomed turning-post,
[38.260] lest the roaming horses lead you astray in the upper air;
nor, surveying the twelve circles of the journey,
hasten from house to another house; and on your car,
riding the Ram, do not seek to drive the Bull;
do not seek the neighboring Scorpion, forerunner of the plow-beam,
[38.265] steering it star-roaming beneath the Balance,
unless you have filled out thirty degrees.
But hear my word; and I shall teach you all.'
'The center of the whole cosmos, the mid-navel star of Olympus,
tending the Ram, lifted high, I increase the spring,
[38.270] and treading the tropic rim, forerunner of Zephyrus,
balancing the night evenly poised against the morning,
I steer the dewy course of the swallow Season;
and changing to the lower house opposite the Ram,
sending equinoctial lights in the twin Claws,
[38.275] I make ready, turned back again, a day yoked equal with the mist,
and lead the leaf-shaking course of the autumn Season,
driving with a lesser light toward a lower turning-post
in the leaf-shedding month; and I bring men the rainy
winter above the back of fishy Capricorn,
[38.280] so that the earth may bring forth life-bringing gifts for the country folk,
having the rain as bridegroom and the dew as midwife;
and I make ready the summer, the corn-tressed messenger of harvest,
lashing the fiery earth with hotter beams,
when, stretched high beside the turning-post, I steer into his course
[38.285] the Crab, opposite to unwarming Capricorn,
increasing both the Nile together and the grape-cluster.
And as you begin your course, go to neighboring Cerne,
keeping Phosphorus as escort of an unwandering road,
the forerunner of your horsemanship; and with an alternating journey
[38.290] the twelve circling Seasons steer your course.'
So speaking he fixed a golden helmet upon the head
of Phaethon, and crowned him with his own fire,
winding the seven-toned beams about his locks,
wheeling crown-wise a white girdle about his loins;
[38.295] and he cloaked him in his own fiery tunic,
and clamped his foot tight in a reddening sandal.
And he gave the car to his child; and from the eastern manger
the Seasons led the fiery horses of Helios;
and bold Phosphorus came to the yoke, and about the bright
[38.300] harness he shut the horses' slavish neck.
And Phaethon mounted; and his father Helios gave him
the reins to hold, the flashing reins and the gleaming whip;
and he was shaken with a trembling silence,
knowing his son was short-lived; and near the bank
[38.305] Clymene, half-seen, the child-loving mother,
leapt up with joy, watching him mount the flaming car.
And already the dewy star Phosphorus sparkled,
and Phaethon rose, treading the eastern rim,
bathed in his grandfather's waters of Ocean.
[38.310] And the bold, high-running driver of the fair-shining horses
gazed at heaven, scored with the chorus of the stars,
wheeled about its seven zones; he saw the wanderers
running opposite, and beheld the earth like a center
fixed in the middle, raised with long cliffs,
[38.315] towered on every side with winds beneath its roofs;
and he watched the rivers, and the brows of Ocean
reining his own stream back again into his own water.
While he stretched his eye toward the upper air and the pouring of the stars
and the dappled tribes of earth and the restless backs of the sea,
[38.320] gazing in spirals at the seats of the endless cosmos,
meanwhile the blazing horses, whirled beneath the yoke,
passed by the accustomed rim of the Zodiac circle.
And untaught Phaethon, holding the fiery whip,
appeared <...> †
[38.325] cowering before the goad of an unsparing driver,
the horses ran wandering, unwilling, past the starting-line
of their ancient road, beside the axle's turning-post,
receiving a different crash from their accustomed driver.
And beside the southern goal and the northern backs of Boreas
[38.330] there was tumult. And standing beside the heavenly gateway
the fair-footed Seasons marveled at a strange bastard day;
and the morning-born trembled; and the star Phosphorus cried:
'Where are you carried, dear boy? Why do you rave, driving the horse?
Spare your proud whip; and beware both
[38.335] the wandering stars and the chorus of the fixed,
lest bold Orion kill you with his sword,
lest old Bootes strike you with his fiery club;
spare your wandering horsemanship still, and let not the Sea-Monster
of Olympus entomb you in the upper air in its long belly;
[38.340] and let not the Lion carve you, or the Bull of Olympus,
arching its neck, strike you with its flaming horn;
beware the Archer, lest from his stretched string
he kill you with a fire-pointed arrow.
Let there not be another Chaos, and let the stars of the upper air
[38.345] not appear while the day stands, and let the unsteady
morning-born not meet Selene with a midday car.'
As he spoke Phaethon drove on further, dragging his car
toward Notus, toward Boreas, near Zephyrus, close to Eurus.
And there was tumult of the upper air, and he shook the harmony
[38.350] of the unmoving cosmos; and the axle itself,
pierced through the middle, was slanted in the whirling upper air.
And scarcely, lightening the self-coiling vault of the stars,
Libyan Atlas was propped crouching, bowed,
having a greater burden; and scraping the equinoctial circle
[38.355] outside the Bear with the coiling trail of his belly,
the Dragon hissed, running beside the starry Bull,
and the Lion roared from his throat at the scorching Dog,
warming the upper air with fierce fire, and stood bold,
routing the eight-footed Crab with a shaggy-haired throb;
[38.360] and beside the hind foot of the heavenly Lion
his thirsty tail lashed the Maiden near his road;
and the winged girl, darting past Bootes,
came near the axle and kept company with the Wagon;
and beside the western turning-post the star Phosphorus,
[38.365] sending wandering beams, pushed Hesperus on the opposite path;
and the morning-born strayed; and instead of the accustomed Hare
smoky Sirius gripped the thirsty Bear;
and leaving it in two, one Notus, the other Boreas,
the starry Fishes skipped about Olympus,
[38.370] the neighbors of the Water-pourer; and with a tumbler's throb
the coiling Dolphin danced, running with Capricorn;
and Orion trembled even among the stars at the Scorpion
near his road, strayed in spirals from the southern path,
touching his own sword, lest, creeping slowly,
[38.375] it scrape the tips of his feet a second time with its sharp sting;
and spitting out the half-finished radiance of her face,
blackening at the tips, midday Mene leapt up;
for she was not stealing a bastard light from the male fire
of Phaethon opposite, and did not milk her kindred radiance;
[38.380] and the coiling seven-starred echo of the Pleiad phalanx
roared through the seven-zoned heaven with a circling voice;
and darting a din from throats equal in number
the wandering stars raved in Bacchic frenzy, running against one another;
Cypris pushed Zeus, Ares pushed Cronus, and my own
[38.385] migrant star came near the springtime Pleiad,
and, mixing a kindred radiance with the seven-pathed stars,
rose half-seen beside my mother Maia,
swerving from the heavenly car, with which it always is
either a companion or a forerunner in the morning, and in the evening
[38.390] sends its beams behind the setting sun;
and when it travels with an equal course and an equal share,
those who know the stars have called it the heart of the sun;
and stretching a neck drenched with dewy snowflakes
the Bull of Olympus, bridegroom of Europa, bellowed,
[38.395] straightening his crooked foot into the course; and slanting
his sharp-stretched horn from his crooked forehead toward Phaethon
he struck the heavenly rim with flaming hooves;
and bold Orion drew his sword hanging at his blazing
thigh; Bootes brandished his crook;
[38.400] and shaking the aloft knees of his starry foot
Pegasus whinnied, and, darting at the vault with his hoof,
the half-seen Libyan horse ran up to the neighboring Swan,
and in anger shook his wings, so that he might hurl down
another driver from the upper air, as he himself
[38.405] shook Bellerophon from the heavenly rim;
and no longer did the circling Bears dance beside one another's
loins near the high-traveling northern turning-post,
but they mingled with Notus, and beside the western lake
they bathed their unwetted step in an unaccustomed Ocean.
[38.410] And Zeus the father laid Phaethon low with his thunderbolt,
self-rolling from on high above the stream of Eridanus;
and binding the harmony, recovered again, with an age-mate bond,
he gave the horses back to Helios, and gave the airy
car to the east, and beside the ancient turning-post
[38.415] the fair-footed Seasons, attendants of Phaethon, ran.
And the whole earth laughed a second time; and from the air
the rain of life-begetting Zeus cleansed all the fields,
and quenched with a liquid drop the wandering fire,
as much as over the whole earth the blazing horses,
[38.420] neighing from heaven, spat from their much-burning throats.
And Helios rose, shepherding his returning car;
and the seed grew, and the threshing-floors laughed again,
receiving the former life-bringing radiance of the upper air.
And Zeus the father fixed Phaethon in Olympus,
[38.425] like the Charioteer and named for him; and stretching out
the light-bearing heavenly Car with flashing forearm
he has the pattern of a Charioteer darting into the course,
as though longing for his father's car even among the stars.
And the fire-burnt river rose to the vault of the stars
[38.430] at the assent of Zeus, and in a starry circle
the crooked water of fiery Eridanus wheels.
And the sisters of the swift-fated fallen charioteer
changed their shape into a plant, and from mourning trees
they drip a wealthy dew upon their leaves."

## Book XXXIX


### And in the thirty-ninth you see, after the waves, Deriades fleeing the fire-blazing fleet of the Indians.

[39.1] So speaking, Hermes went untouchable to heaven,
leaving joy and wonder to his brother Dionysus.
While Bacchus still marveled at the pouring of the disordered stars
and at fallen Phaethon, how among the Celts
[39.5] he slipped fire-burnt into a western stream,
meanwhile the ships came up, which the Rhadamanes,
steering them in ranks upon the sea toward the sea-fighting
Ares of the Indians, sailed over a waveless sea,
the drivers of the battle, striking the deep
[39.10] with alternating rushes; and for hastening Lyaeus
an escorting wind whistled upon the answering merchant ships.
And Lycus led the way, driving his car in the waters,
scraping the unscored stream with horses' hooves.
And measureless Deriades, high above upon his towers,
[39.15] watched with an angry eye the sails of the ships
hurrying like clouds, and, hearing overbearing
that an Arabian carpenter had rounded out battle-rousing ships,
he swore to raise Enyo against the woodcutting Arabs,
and threatened to wipe out the city of Lycurgus,
[39.20] having mowed the Rhadamanes with crushing iron.
And seeing the fleet the fearless Indians trembled,
gazing at a sea-beaten Ares, until even the knees
of bold Deriades himself were loosed;
and with a manufactured laugh upon his calm face
[39.25] the Indian king commanded them to bring the people
from three hundred islands beside the hard-to-tread ankles
of his elephant-pasturing land; and a swift herald went upon the path,
traveling from land to land with much-bending feet.
And a sharp fleet came from the wide-scattered islands
[39.30] at the king's summons; and he, stretching a bold neck,
drawing his well-helmeted merchant ships to a sea-battle,
heartened the whole people, and spoke with a lofty-minded voice:
"Men whom my battle-steadfast Hydaspes reared,
now fight again with confidence; and bring blazing
[39.35] fire into the battle, and kindle unspeakable pine,
so that I may burn the newly come ships with a smoky brand,
and hide the wet-traveling army in the sea,
with spear, with breastplate, with merchant ships, with Dionysus.
If Bacchus was a god, I shall destroy Bacchus with my fire;
[39.40] is it not enough that, sprinkling many-turning drugs in the outpourings,
he reddened my Hydaspes with Thessalian flowers,
and I, seeing it, kept silence, and still endured quietly
to look upon the yellow streams of my defiled river?
For if this stream had been from an alien river,
[39.45] and my father had not been warlike Indian Hydaspes,
then I would have filled this flood with poured dust,
dimming the clustered scent of Dionysus,
and, treading the drunken outpouring of my begetter,
I would have run across the unwetted water with dusty feet,
[39.50] as among the Argives it is said that the Earth-shaker
made the water dry, and a horse's hoof scored
the Inachian dust of a parched river.
He is no god, no god; he has lied about his own stock;
for what Olympian aegis of Cronion does he brandish?
[39.55] What spark has he of the Zeus-struck thunderbolt?
What heavenly lightning of his begetter does he lift?
Cronides does not arm himself for war with wine-dark ivy;
I do not liken a thunderous melody to the crash of drums,
nor shall I call thyrsi like the bolts of Zeus,
[39.60] nor shall I say the cloud of Zeus equal to an earthly breastplate;
when do I liken a varied star to a cunning fawnskin?
But you will say that he received the cluster and the pouring of wine
as gifts from his plant-increasing father Cronion;
to one who bears Trojan blood and to some country herdsman,
[39.65] to Ganymede the wine-pourer, Zeus gave the nectar of Olympus,
and wine is not like nectar; yield, thyrsi.
Bacchus feasts upon the earth together with Satyrs;
Ganymede dines with the heavenly immortals.
And if this man was mortal, born of a heavenly father,
[39.70] he touched a single table with Zeus and the blessed ones.
I have heard how once he gave his own throne and the scepter
of Olympus as a prize to Zagreus, the elder Dionysus,
the lightning to Zagreus and the vine to wine-dark Bacchus."
He spoke and rose to battle; and the peoples rushed together
[39.75] with spear, with shields, and they transferred to the sea
their late hope of victory in a land war.
And Dionysus called to his champions with a raving voice:
"Valiant children of Ares and of well-corseleted Athena,
whose life is the works of battle and whose hopes are contests,
[39.80] hasten to wipe out the race of the Indians at sea also,
accomplishing a victory at sea after one on land.
But, doubling your spears as the ministers of a sea fighting,
plaited together in a twin bond,
sea-fighting, glued fast, clothed in bronze about the point,
[39.85] mingle a sea-dismaying Enyo with your adversaries,
getting there first, lest Deriades, lifting a fire-gleaming
brand in his hand, burn the warlike timbers of the ships.
Fight without fear, Mimallons; for the hopes
of the wet-fighting adversaries are empty-boasting; and if the leader
[39.90] of the Indians, laboring, did not accomplish the battle on land,
sitting upon the crests of sky-high elephants,
cloud-neighboring, untouchable, unwounded, a neighbor of the air,
then I never lack champions, nor shall I call
another helper after my father Cronion,
[39.95] the charioteer of sea and upper air; and if I wish,
I shall arm Poseidon, the brother of my Cronides,
to dim the whole Indian rank with his trident;
and I have as fellow-contender the broad-bearded champion
Glaucus, the offspring of the Earth-shaker, the neighbor of my Thebes,
[39.100] the sea-citizen of the Aonian field of Anthedon;
I have Glaucus and Phorcys; and Melicertes shall hide
the merchant ship of Deriades as it is lashed by the sea,
glorifying his kinsman Dionysus, whose mother once
reared the infant Bacchus, since Ino of the sea gave
[39.105] a single milk to them both, to Palaemon and to Dionysus;
and I am the friend of the prophetic old man Proteus,
who once foretold with a submerged voice
our victory to come upon the sea; and my Thetis
arms the daughters of Nereus for the fighting, and in the tumults
[39.110] my Ino shall arm herself as fellow-contender of the Bassarids;
and I shall arm Aeolus too for the war, so that I may behold
Eurus hurling the spear and Boreas wielding the lance,
the son-in-law of my champion, the ravisher of a Marathonian bride,
and Ethiopian Notus as shield-bearer of Lyaeus;
[39.115] and Zephyrus far more, in a stormy tumult,
shall ravage the merchant ships of the adversaries; for he has
as consort our Iris, the messenger of Zeus. But in silence,
outside the fair-thyrsus Indian tumult,
let bold Aeolus stay quiet, clamping his windy bag
[39.120] tight in its accustomed bond, and let not the winds
play the champion at sea with Indian-slaying pantings;
but I shall accomplish the battle, stretching out ship-destroying thyrsi."
So speaking he armed his confident leaders.
And already the trumpet stood as forerunner of war,
[39.125] and the flutes of Ares cried out a battle-rousing melody
gathering the people, and the beaten ox-hide
resounded the bronze-struck echo of a sea fighting,
and the host-gathering pipe cried a like-sounding clang;
and instead of a rocky voice the Panian Echo,
[39.130] speaking last, answered with the warlike remnants of a sea voice.
And for them as they fought there was tumult, and a cry rose
from those who called; and the people fought with accustomed art,
wheeling the whole host crown-wise, and in the middle
the fleet of the Indians was girdled by the yoked ships
[39.135] in the pattern of fish penned in a net; and to the sons of Aeacus
Aeacus, prophesying the wet Ares of Salamis,
as he began the war shrieked out a god-fearing voice:
"If before, hearing our suppliant cry,
you drove the unsown drought from the broad threshing-floor of the field,
[39.140] bringing life-bringing water to a thirsty land,
grant the same favor again, late-accomplished, rainy Zeus,
glorifying me with water here too; and let someone say,
watching our victory: 'As on land
Zeus honored his own son, so among the seas he honors him.'
[39.145] And let another Achaean man say: 'Under a single ordinance
Aeacus is Indian-slayer and life-bringer; for both together,
shearing hostile heads and granting fruit to the furrow,
he gave joy to Demeter and gladness to Dionysus.'
And save the voyage of our merchant ship; and as to a squalid,
[39.150] earthly hollow I brought life-bringing water,
so I arm the death-bearing swell of the deep flanks
to fight against the armies and the merchant ships of Deriades.
But, father, scepter-bearer of life, scepter-bearer of tumult,
send me an eagle, the bird that heralds my race,
[39.155] on the right for the champions and for your Dionysus;
and let another bird come on the left for the adversaries;
and let these different signs be for both:
the one I shall behold carried on a snatching foot,
lifting a vast horned serpent, a corpse
[39.160] scored by the sharp goad of whetted claws,
announcing the end of a horned adversary;
and let another, dark-skinned, come to the people of the foes,
prophesying with dark wings the slaughter of the Indians,
the black pattern of a self-chosen death; and if you wish,
[39.165] prophesy my victory with thunderous crashes,
and, sending the lightning of Bromius, the lights of his childbed,
honor your son again with fire, and let thunderbolts
shoot the well-helmeted merchant ships of the adversaries.
Yes, father, remember Aegina, lest you shame
[39.170] the winged bird of the Loves, the bridegroom of your bride."
So speaking he made war; and casting his eye toward the airy
paths, facing the returning Bear,
Erechtheus entreated his son-in-law and cried a word:
"Boreas my son-in-law, arm yourself, and stretching a helping
[39.175] panting for the fighting father of your bride
give a victory at sea as bride-gift of your chamber;
bringing a ship-saving breeze to the merchant ships of Bromius
do a favor to us both, to Erechtheus and to Dionysus;
and lashing a maddened sea against the ships of Deriades
[39.180] arm your tempests with a wavy panting —
for you are practiced in fighting, since you too
dwell in Thrace, practiced, like Ares —
and bringing an ill-winded panting to the phalanx of the adversaries
arm yourself with a frosty spear against Deriades;
[39.185] and setting up a stormy Enyo against the foes
shoot your adversaries with a hail-laden missile,
keeping faith with Zeus and Pallas and Dionysus.
Remember Cecropia of the fair maidens, where women
embroider with the shuttle the wedding of your Loves;
[39.190] and honor Ilissus the bride-adorner, where the ravishing
breezes snatched up your Attic bride, my daughter,
seated unshaken upon your unmoving shoulder.
I know that another wind will come as fellow-contender,
the eastern neighbor of the adversaries; but in the battle
[39.195] I do not tremble at bold Eurus, because the winged winds,
all that blow, are the attendants of Boreas;
and let Corymbasus, the champion of the Ethiopians,
return no more to the southern floor of the field, but be subdued,
having his hot fellow-contender, Ethiopian Notus,
[39.200] when he has drunk the cold death-bearing water above the sea;
I care nothing for Zephyrus when Boreas arms himself.
Show your like-mindedness to your father-in-law; and from heaven
Poseidon with you, fighting with his trident, and Athena,
shall help my Bacchic armies,
[39.205] she her own dwellers, and he the offspring of his brother;
and fiery Hephaestus, honoring the blood of Erechtheus,
shall come fair to meet into the watery Enyo,
whirling a fighting torch against the ships of Deriades.
And grant that I may conquer in the waters too, and after the victory
[39.210] let Erechtheus bring his people unharmed to Cecropia,
and let Athens sing of Boreas and Oreithyia."
Crying such a word he took hold of the sea-whirling battle
with a cunning spear, and as a dweller of Marathon
he had a sea-fighting longing; and in the oar-loving tumult
[39.215] Ares was then a well-equipped sailor, and in his palm
Terror held the rudder, and Panic, the steersman of the fighting,
loosed the cables of the javelin-bearing ships.
And the phalanxes of the Cyclopes sailed the sea,
shooting at the merchant ships with sea-neighboring cliffs;
[39.220] and Euryalus shouted, and cloud-neighboring Halimedes
was goaded into the fighting in a sea-roaring tumult.
And a sea Ares crashed upon the two armies
after the land fighting, and with a sea-roaring shout
the merchant ships of the Indians poured upon the Bacchic ships;
[39.225] and there was slaughter on both sides, and the waves seethed with gore,
and a great host of both fell; and with freshly poured
blood the backs of the dark sea reddened.
And many, falling this way and that in a poured destruction,
sailed the sea as swollen mariners;
[39.230] and having the winds as ferrymen in spirals upon the surges
a dead throng was dragged, running with an unsparing breeze;
and many, self-rolling beneath the whirl of the tumult,
slipped into the stream, and drinking the bitter water
by necessity perceived the threads of a submerged Fate,
[39.235] weighed down by their breastplates; and the black water covered
the same-colored bodies of the swollen dark corpses
in a weedy depth, and with its wet-traveling bearer
the bronze tunic was covered in muddy clay;
and the sea was their tomb. And many were entombed
[39.240] in the jaws of sea-monsters, and in a fishy throat
a seal, tossing a breathless corpse, buried it,
belching a yellow stream of blood. And the sea received
the armor of the slain, and of a freshly slaughtered bearer
the crested helmet floated of its own accord through the water
[39.245] as its strap was loosed, and in the stormy stream
the circles of many a roaming ox-hide shield swam
with its drenched baldric. And much reddening foam
gushed up beneath the topmost waves of the grey brine,
spotting the all-white pouring with a bloody trail.
[39.250] And Melicertes was reddened with murderous drops;
and Leucothea shouted, the child-tender of Lyaeus,
holding a proud neck, and about the Indian-slaying victory
the Nymph crowned her hair with a weedy flower;
and unveiled Thetis, peering above the sea,
[39.255] propping her hands upon both Doris and Panopeia,
stretched a glad eye upon fair-thyrsus Dionysus.
And Galatea of the deep was carried half-seen
through the sea-gulf, scraping the calm,
and watching the sea-dismaying Enyo of the murderous
[39.260] Cyclops she was shaken, and changed her cheeks with fear;
for she hoped to see Polyphemus in the war of the Indians
fighting beside Lyaeus against Deriades;
and in terror she entreated Aphrodite of the sea
to save the son of Poseidon as he played the champion,
[39.265] and besought the child-loving dark-haired god
to shield his son Polyphemus as he fought.
And the daughters of Nereus wheeled about the bearer
of the deep-sea trident; and propped upon his trident
the sea Earth-shaker watched the neighboring battle,
[39.270] and, gazing at the army of well-corseleted Dionysus,
jealous as he beheld the Enyo of another Cyclops,
broke into a much-reproaching voice at wet-fighting Bromius:
"Dear Bacchus, gathering so many Cyclopes into the fray,
but leaving one alone far from the fighting,
[39.275] you have a many-circled contest for a seven-year time,
feeding a shifting hope of endless battle,
because all the shield-bearers of your great contest
lack one unconquered Polyphemus;
for if my son the Cyclops had come to your fighting,
[39.280] and, fighting beside Dionysus over the plain,
had whirled the point of my father's trident,
then, cutting down a great dread throng with my trident,
he would have killed the whole race of the Indians in a single dawn,
and crushed the breast of ox-horned Deriades.
[39.285] My son long ago <...> †
helped your father, the destroyer of the Titans,
many-armed Aegaeon, when, drawing Cronus into terror,
he stretched out the wide-scattered nation of his sky-high arms,
having a high-necked mane that shadowed the sun,
[39.290] and the grim Titans were driven from Olympus,
cowering before the Enyo of skilled-handed Briareus."
Such a word he spoke in envy with an indignant voice.
And Thoosa in shame kept downcast cheeks,
since love-maddened Polyphemus was not present at the war.
[39.295] And when the labor of the loud-roaring tumult was ended,
Nereus beheld his accustomed sea streaming with blood;
and the Earth-shaker marveled at the yellow backs of the sea,
seeing man-eating fishes, and, with the multitude of corpses,
the unwetted backs of the neighboring sea bridged over.
[39.300] And the Bacchic phalanxes poured upon the blazing host.
And a measureless army of the adversaries lay, of whom in the battle
some were struck with swords and sharp-piercing arrows.
Into one a shaft fell above the flank, and of another, struck
by a bronze spear above the rim of the middle of his temple,
[39.305] the wound was deepened as his head was scored.
And many of the wide-scattered rowers this way and that,
splitting the sea with alternating oars,
whitened the dark, close-set pouring with foam,
and the labor of the hurrying rowers was useless,
[39.310] and a steersman cut the gathered cables with helping iron
and split the rope with his sword.
And from both phalanxes, sending a whistle through the air,
a long-shadowed rain of unwandering arrows flowed;
of which one struck the very middle of a mast, and another, passing
[39.315] through a well-whirled sail, boomed, running with the breezes,
another was fixed in the forestays, and another lay
fallen in the mast-box, and another wandering shaft through the air
hit the topmost tip of the high-crested yard-arm,
and another was stretched upon the benches; and others,
[39.320] appearing near, strayed from the path of the steersman
and scraped the restless tips of the rudder-blade;
and glorious-bowed Phlogius, drawing a wind-borne shaft,
struck the deck of a ship and did not hit Lyaeus.
And one might see in the sea a fair-winged wandering shaft
[39.325] entwined about the clusters of a crooked octopus;
and one missed another; and with Erythraean iron
another struck a pilot-fish as he hurled at Dionysus;
and Corymbasus hurled his spear, so that he might hit
the tail of a Satyr, and the lance, darting past,
[39.330] scored the twin tail of a wet-traveling fish
with its whetted point; and aiming with his iron
at the useless mark of unwoundable Dionysus
Deriades sent his spear, and straying from Bacchus
the deadly point busied itself in the spine of a dolphin,
[39.335] where the curving neck of the fish is joined to its crest,
and the dolphin, self-coiling, half-dead, skipped
about its accustomed circling turning-post with a dancer's leap of Fate;
and many fishes this way and that danced as tumblers
of destruction, from their scored backs.
[39.340] And Steropes fought in the front; and high-footed Halimedes,
taking in his hand the headland of a sea-born hill,
flung it at the adversaries; and a roaming ship sank,
struck by the wheel-shaped circle of the rough stone.
And a sea-running spear-point, hurled through a merchant ship,
[39.345] yoked two ships together as neighbor to neighbor,
clamping the two in a common bond
as they were crowded like clouds; and there was a discordant echo.
And the fleet of both held a fourfold Enyo,
of which one part was about the back of blazing Eurus opposite,
[39.350] another beside the wing of dewy Lips, another of Boreas,
and another beside the southern floor. And with alternating rushes
swift-kneed Morrheus, stepping from merchant ship to merchant ship,
terrified the sea-dismayed Enyo of the Bassarids,
playing the champion equally in the waters too; but Euius,
[39.355] wounding him with his thyrsus, reined him back from the wet fighting,
and laboring in his pains Morrheus went off to the city.
While the divine hand of a toil-releasing Brahman healed
with Phoebean art the inspired wound he had received,
murmuring a chattering hymn beneath a divine song,
[39.360] meanwhile the Lydian Ares assailed the adversaries.
For them the sailing was battle-rousing, and Enyo held
the lead of the voyage, and of the sea-crashing tumult
the turmoil of both was of a different kind; for of the adversaries,
all who were shot with rocky missiles
[39.365] or with murderous leaves or with spears or with knives,
rowing with unaccustomed hands into the black water,
were entombed in the sea with unsteady steps;
but if any warrior of Bromius fell into the brine when struck,
tossing his palms he swam, cutting the waves
[39.370] with sea-fighting hands, and in the sea-roaring tumult,
fighting in the surges, split the water after the men.
And Cronion tipped the scales of the sea battle,
preparing a watery victory for Dionysus;
and the dark-haired god armed himself with his deep-sea trident,
[39.375] fighting against the foes, and Melicertes raved in Bacchic frenzy,
steering the unwetted chariot of Poseidon.
And the winds, riding upon the sea with four tempests,
towering the waves, armed themselves,
wishing to wipe out the rank of the adversaries' ships,
[39.380] and Zephyrus armed himself, and Notus whistled to Eurus,
some the helpers of Deriades, others of Lyaeus;
and Boreas, bringing a Thracian counter-blowing breeze,
lashed the savage backs of the maddened sea.
And Strife, steering the warlike fleet of Deriades,
[39.385] led the fighting; and Victory bellied the sails
of the ships of Dionysus with an Indian-slaying palm.
And propping a warlike conch upon wet lips
Nereus bellowed a melody with a sea trumpet;
and Thetis crashed out the melody of a warlike Echo,
[39.390] shielding Lyaeus with her father's waves.
And Eurymedon the Cabeirus, lifting his accustomed brand,
found a guile to help the fighting; for he burned
his own long ship, kindling a willing fire;
<...> †
[39.395] skipping about the sea at the nods of Bacchus,
and with slanting coils, passing from merchant ship to merchant ship,
the wandering fire swam into a self-coiling circle,
burning this way and that the rank of the wide-scattered ships.
And an unveiled Nereid, beholding the radiance
[39.400] of the fire-struck sea, entered the depths of the deep,
fleeing the liquid fire through the blazing water.
And the Indian throng withdrew to the land, leaving the sea;
and Phaethon laughed, because after his former bonds
sea-fighting Ares fled again from the fire of Hephaestus.
[39.405] And Deriades, untouchable, seeing the flame running with the breezes,
flew into the plain, shaking his knees more swiftly,
fleeing the wet Ares of sea-fighting Dionysus.

## Book XL


### The fortieth holds the cutting down of the leader of the Indians, and how Dionysus entered Tyre, the fatherland of Cadmus.

[40.1] Nor did he escape all-seeing Justice, nor the unbending
threads of the unbreakable spindle of Fate;
but Pallas Athena, beholding him in flight —
for she sat upon a jutting cliff beside the sea,
[40.5] watching the sea-fighting battle of the Indians as they armed —
leapt up from her watch-place, and put on a male shape;
and with mind-stealing whispers she beguiled the leader of the Indians,
having the look of Morrheus, and doing favor to Lyaeus
she checked Deriades, and, as though caring for the tumult,
[40.10] shrieked out a dreadful word with a much-reproaching voice:
"Do you flee, Deriades? To whom have you left the Ares of the ships?
How can you appear to your dwellers? Or whence shall you look
face to face on battle-steadfast Orsiboe, if she hears
that Deriades fled and did not stand against women?
[40.15] Have respect for man-breaking Cheirobie, lest she perceive you
cowering before the ironless fighting of Lyaeus,
she who, holding a furious spear and heaving up a shield,
fought against the Bassarids, following her consort.
Withdraw from me and leave the battle to Morrheus; and if you wish,
[40.20] I myself shall play the champion and destroy feeble Bacchus.
I shall not call you father-in-law while you flee; and let your daughter
Cheirobie have another husband; for in shame
I shall leave your city, and shall go to the land of the Medes,
I shall go to Scythia, so that I may not be called your son-in-law.
[40.25] But you will say: my well-armed wife knows Enyo.
There are Amazons about Caucasus, where many
women play the champion far better than Cheirobie;
there, if I wish, I shall take one spear-won, mighty,
without bride-price, into marriage; for in my chambers
[40.30] I do not receive the child of a war-fleeing father."
So speaking she persuaded proud Deriades,
and gave him courage a second time, so that he might be subdued,
struck by the man-destroying thyrsus of Bromius as he fought.
And the bold man, not knowing that guileful Athena was present,
[40.35] hearing the reproaching word of a lying Morrheus,
cried a comforting voice with shamefaced lips:
"Spare your words; why do you blame me, fearless Morrheus?
He is no champion, no champion, forever changing his own body.
For I am helpless — whom do I fight, or whom do I strike?
[40.40] Hastening to strike Dionysus with a winged shaft,
or to smite him with my sword in the middle of the neck, or sending my spear
longing to wound him through the belly, instead of Lyaeus
I meet a dappled-backed leopard rushing at me;
and I hasten to cut the neck of a fighting lion,
[40.45] and instead of a lion I behold a bold, frightful serpent;
and hastening, instead of a dragon I gaze at the back of a bear;
and I hurl my furious spear at its arched crest,
but in vain I stretch out my long missile; for instead of the bear
an air-roaming, unwoundable flame appears, flying.
[40.50] Seeing a boar come on, I hear the bellowing of an ox;
instead of the boar I gaze at some bull, hurling
our elephants above his crooked brow
with gleaming horns; and I whirl my sword
against wide-scattered beasts, and I subdue not one beast.
[40.55] And seeing a plant I stretch out my shaft, but as it flees
I see water arched toward an airy turning-post.
Therefore, trembling at the many-drugged wonders of his art,
I shun the shifting fighting of Dionysus;
but I shall arm myself against Bromius again, until I convict
[40.60] the cunning tricks of guile-stitching Dionysus."
So speaking he armed himself a second time in his accustomed madness,
and again the battle roared in the plain, and he armed himself
against Dionysus as he fought after the sea-fighting;
and he was forgetful of the earlier victory of Bromius,
[40.65] when, his neck entwined in a woody bond,
he raised a much-prayed supplication to witnessing Bacchus;
but he was a god-fighting champion again; and he had a twofold
counsel, either to take Bacchus or to make him a slave.
Three times he sent his spear, and missed, striking the air;
[40.70] but when the fourth time he ran upon wine-dark Bacchus,
overbearing Deriades hurling his hanging spear
at a useless mark, he called upon his son-in-law,
the fellow-contender of his own contest, and Morrheus appeared no more;
but Athena, changing her guile-weaving shape,
[40.75] stood beside the clustered god; and as he watched,
the knees of Deriades were loosed with a divine terror;
and he knew that the deceiving image of a human shape
bore the mimicry of the answering face of Morrheus;
and he perceived the beguiling guile of wise Athena.
[40.80] And seeing her Dionysus rejoiced, and in his heart
knew that lying Athena was fighting beside him.
And then the clustered god raved in anger,
stretched high, vast, equal to the Parnassian rock;
and he pursued swift-running Deriades; but he, fleeing,
[40.85] stretched out light, running with the hurrying breezes;
but when they came to the place where old Hydaspes,
war-breeding water, murmured with a raving wave,
there he stood measureless beside the banks of the river,
as having his father as fellow-contender, a resounding warrior,
[40.90] a liquid javelin-hurler against Dionysus as he armed;
and the vine god, hurling his flesh-cutting thyrsus,
scored only the very surface of the flesh of Deriades.
But he, struck by the man-destroying ivy branch,
slipped head first into his father's stream,
[40.95] bridging the whole water of his own accord
with his long limbs. And after the long war of the Indians
the gods returned again to Olympus with all-ruling Zeus.
And the Bacchoi shouted around, crying Euoi for the fighting
of unopposed Dionysus, and many gathered
[40.100] wounding the whole body of Deriades with their spears.
And Orsiboe wailed upon the much-lamenting towers,
mourning her consort lying freshly cut down;
and with mourning nails she scored the circles of her face,
and tore the uncared-for cluster of her crooked hair,
[40.105] and poured smoky dust upon her head;
and she beat her dark arms, and bared
her whole silvery breast as her tunic was split;
and Cheirobie wailed for her perished father;
and Protonoe, unsandaled, scraping her cheeks,
[40.110] shaming the circles of her dust-covered face,
wept for them both, for her husband and her father,
having a double pain, and cried with a mourning voice:
"Husband, you perished young, out of due season; and you left me
a widow in the halls, untried in childbirth;
[40.115] I bore no infant son as a comfort; nor after the victory
did I see my husband return a second time, but he was subdued
by his own iron, and gave his name to the streams,
and died among strangers, so that I might call my husband
unsown, self-slain, never-returning, watery Orontes.
[40.120] I mourn them both, Deriades and Orontes,
perished alike in a watery doom; for the wave
hid man-slaying Deriades, and the stream covered Orontes.
I have not been like my mother; for Orsiboe
sang the weddings of her daughters as they were accomplished;
[40.125] she saw the marriage of Protonoe, she received Orontes as son-in-law,
and she yoked Cheirobie to an unconquered consort,
whom even so great a Bacchus fears; and Cheirobie
tends her dear husband living, and no thyrsus,
no stream has laid him low; but I suffer doubly,
[40.130] my husband gone and my father destroyed.
Cease, nurse, comforting your child in vain,
grant me to have my husband, and I shall not lament my father;
show me some child, a comfort for my grief for my husband.
Who would take me and bring me to the holy vale of Daphne,
[40.135] who would take me and bring me to broad-flowing Hydaspes,
so that I may kiss the dear swell of the honey-dripping river,
so that I may embrace Orontes even in his outpourings?
Would that I too were a lovely stream; would that I myself,
rained upon with tears, might appear there as a spring,
[40.140] where my husband, dead, rolls his fair-watered swell,
a watery bedfellow; and I shall be like Comaetho,
who once, having loved a lovely river,
delights, holding Cydnus still in her arms as consort,
<...> †
[40.145] a tale that I hear is the care of the Cilician men;
nor do I in my longing pass by sweet Orontes,
like Periboea in flight, and I shall never guard myself
against a watery consort, reining back his crooked water.
And if it is not fated for me to die beside neighboring Daphne,
[40.150] let my father's father Hydaspes hide me in his waves,
let me not see a Phrygian revel, let me not shake cymbals in my hands,
let me not celebrate a play-loving rite, nor behold
Maeonia, let me not see Tmolus, nor the house of Lyaeus,
let me not sleep in the arms of a horned Satyr,
[40.155] or bear the heavy-burdened yokes of slavery, lest someone say:
'The daughter of Deriades the spear-bold king
serves Dionysus as plunder after the fighting.'"
As she spoke the women groaned pitiably with her,
whose child, whose brother had died, whose fathers
[40.160] or whose fresh-bearded husband untimely. And tearing
the hair from her head Cheirobie scored her cheeks;
and she was lashed with a twofold pain, and did not so much
groan for her father as rage at her consort;
for she had heard of the love-maddened necessity of Morrheus
[40.165] and the beguiling, prudent guile of Chalcomede.
And she spoke some word, tearing her own tunic:
"Morrheus killed my father by sparing his ash-spear;
nor was he the avenger of the dead; but longing for
hateful Chalcomede he did not drive off the female Enyo,
[40.170] but still does favor to the Bassarids. Tell me, Fates:
what envy has sacked the Indian city? What envy suddenly
assailed both the daughters of Deriades?
Orontes, dying in the fighting, made his consort
Protonoe an uncared-for, mourning widow,
[40.175] and Cheirobie's consort has refused her while she still lives.
I suffer more deadly pains than my sister;
Protonoe had a husband who helped her nurse,
Cheirobie had a husband who destroyed her own fatherland,
a useless spearman, an attendant of the Cyprus-born,
[40.180] valiant, shifting, like-minded with Lyaeus.
My own marriage too was armed against me; for because
our Morrheus longed, the city of the Indians was plundered;
I was robbed of my father for a husband's sake; I who was proud before,
the daughter of a king, I once the mistress of the Indians.
[40.185] I too shall be one of the handmaids; and soon, wretched,
I shall call my slave Chalcomede my mistress.
Today you hold the Indian seat, deceitful Morrheus;
tomorrow you will go self-bidden to the land of the Lydians,
serving Dionysus for the beauty of Chalcomede.
[40.190] Take the bed of Chalcomede openly, bridegroom Morrheus;
for you no longer tremble at the grim mouth of Deriades.
Withdraw — the serpent calls you again, which pursues you,
sending a hiss as the guardian of an unplundered marriage."
Such things the heavy-weeping bride said in grief;
[40.195] and Protonoe wailed a second time. And leaning her hands
upon them both, their mother cried out downcast:
"The hopes of our fatherland have fallen; no longer do I see
my husband Deriades, and no longer my son-in-law Orontes.
Deriades is dead; the city of the Indians has been plundered,
[40.200] the unbreakable wall of my land has fallen; would that Bacchus
might take me too and destroy me with my perished consort,
and take me and hurl me into swift-flowing Hydaspes,
since I refuse the land; let my father-in-law water hold me,
and let me see Deriades even in the waters; and let me not behold
[40.205] Protonoe following Dionysus unwilling,
lest I hear another pitiable lament of Cheirobie
as she is dragged to the love of spear-won weddings;
let me not see another husband after my man Deriades.
Let me share a hearth with the Naiads, since the dark-haired god
[40.210] received even Leucothea herself alive,
and she is called one of the Nereids; and instead of a white one
I shall appear as another dark-footed water Ino.
Such things the trailing-robed women lamented,
standing in rows upon the loud-crashing towers.
[40.215] And the Bacchoi rattled, having cast away Enyo,
crying such a word from throats of one tongue:
'We have won great glory; we have killed the leader of the Indians.'
And laughing Dionysus leapt up with the joy of victory,
and, breathing again after the labor and the bloody contest,
[40.220] first he gave funeral rites to the rank of unburied corpses,
building one vast tomb with a broad hollow
about an undivided hundred-foot pyre; and about the dead
the Mygdonian pipe of varied song crashed out a dirge,
and Phrygian flute-players wove a male melody
[40.225] with mourning lips, and the Bacchants danced
as Ganyctor sang delicately with a Euian voice;
and the twin Berecyntian flutes beneath the mouth of Cleochus
bellowed a dread Libyan wail, which once both
Stheno and Euryale with one many-throated voice
[40.230] shrieking wept over Medusa freshly cut down,
as two hundred serpent heads cried out,
from whose mourning locks the crooked hissing
proclaimed a many-headed dirge for Medusa.
And ceasing from labor, and cleansing his limbs with water,
[40.235] he gave a god-fearing lord to the war-released Indians,
having chosen Modaeus; and over a common cup
they touched a single table with the feasting Bacchoi,
drinking the yellow water from the wine-bearing river.
And there was an unspeakable dance; and many a Bassarid
[40.240] skipped, striking the floor with a goaded sandal,
and a Satyr, striking the ground with heavy-thundering sole,
raved aslant with a tumbler's throb of his feet,
leaning his forearm on the neck of a maddened Bacchant;
and the foot-soldiers of Bromius danced with their ox-hide shields,
[40.245] and, whirling the armed circles of a running dance,
they imitated the rhythm of the shield-bearing Corybants,
and the host of horsemen stood in a helmet-glancing dance,
crying Euoi for the all-subduing victory of Dionysus;
nor was any man soundless; and with a shout of one tongue
[40.250] a Euian echo ran up to the seven-zoned vault.
But when the revel of the toil-releasing feast had passed,
Dionysus, taking all the plunder of victory after the war of the Indians,
remembered his own ancient fatherland,
having loosed the seven-year foundations of the fighting.
[40.255] And the warriors plundered all the wealth of the foes;
of whom one had Indian jasper, another the metals
of the Phoebean hyacinth with its writing, and the green backs of emerald;
another, beneath the watch-peaks of fair-based Imaus,
urged on the upright step of spear-won elephants,
[40.260] and another, beside the deep-caverned hill of Haemodus,
drove a migrant chariot of Indian lions,
glorying; and another, having fettered a knot about its neck,
hastened to drag a leopard to the Mygdonian shore;
and a Satyr was carried, reveling, lashing a spotted
[40.265] tiger ahead of him with an unmixed-wine-loving leaf;
another returned bringing to his Cybelian bride
a fragrant planting of sea-nourished reeds,
and a flashing stone, the prize of the Erythraean brine;
and many a captive dark-skinned bride was dragged by the hair
[40.270] from her chamber with her freshly wedded consort,
her fettered slave neck yoked beneath a harness.
And a god-driven Bacchant, lifting in her hand
a pouring of wealth-flowing riches, went to the peaks of Tmolus,
crying Euoi in revel for returning Dionysus.
[40.275] And Dionysus divided the plunder of the battle among his army,
sending the whole fellow-contending host back home
after the Indian war; and the peoples hurried away
lifting marble, the eastern gifts of the sea,
and dappled-shaped birds; and on the returning journey
[40.280] all raved in Bacchic frenzy, crying Euoi in revel
for unconquered Dionysus, leaving the memory
of the whole much-toiling war, scattered, running with a north
wind; and each, having the offerings of victory,
came home at last, turning back. But instead of his fatherland
[40.285] Asterius alone then settled near the unwashed Bears
about the stream of Phasis in an unwarmed land
beside the Massagetan gulf, dwelling beneath the ill-snowed
ankles of starry Taurus, the father of his own begetter,
fleeing the Cnossian city and his male-childed race,
[40.290] hating Pasiphae and his own father Minos,
and he preferred Scythia to his own land. But Bacchus,
with his Satyrs alone and the Indian-slaying Bacchants,
after the Caucasian war of the Amazonian river,
set foot in Arabia a second time, where, staying often,
[40.295] he taught the people of the Bacchus-less Arabs to lift
mystic fennel-stalks; and of the plant-increasing thicket
he crowned the Nysian mountains with a clustered branch.
And leaving the deep-shaded grove of the Arabian neck
he measured the Assyrian path, a wayfarer on foot,
[40.300] and longed to see the land of the Tyrians, the fatherland of Cadmus;
for there he bent his step, and gazing at unspeakable robes
he marveled at the two-colored cunning of Assyrian craft,
beholding the silvery work of a Babylonian Arachne;
and he gazed at garments drenched in the Tyrian shellfish,
[40.305] hurling the purple sparks of the sea,
where a sea-working dog, feeding on the shores,
the wondrous fish hidden within, with gleaming jaws,
purpled its snowy cheeks with the blood of the shellfish,
reddening its lips with a liquid fire, by which alone
[40.310] the bright robe of the sea-cloaked lords was reddened.
And seeing the city he rejoiced, which the Earth-shaker
has not girdled with a whole liquid belt of sea,
but it has got such an Olympian pattern as the moon weaves
when, near to fullness, she is wanting in a single horn.
[40.315] And as he gazed at the land in the middle, yoked to the brine,
a double wonder took him, since Tyre lies in the sea,
apportioned to the land, and, joined to the sea,
has made one girdle of three flanks;
and unshaken she was like a swimming girl,
[40.320] and she gave her head and breast and neck to the sea,
spreading her hands in the middle of a twin deep,
whitening her body with the neighboring sea-foam,
and she propped both her feet upon her mother earth.
And the Earth-shaker, holding the city in an unshaken bond,
[40.325] a watery bridegroom, swims about her, as though joining
the entwined neck of his bride with a seething forearm.
And Bacchus still marveled at Tyre, in which alone
a herdsman near at hand kept company with a neighboring sailor,
piping beside the shore, and a goatherd with a fisherman
[40.330] drawing up his net, and beside answering oars
splitting the waters the clod was scored by the plow;
and near a sea-thicket shepherds as companions conversed
with woodcutters, and in one place there roared together
the surf of the sea, the bellowing of oxen, the whisper of leaves,
[40.335] cable, plant, voyage, grove, water, ships, merchantman, plow-handle,
sheep, reed, sickle, skiffs, nets, sails, breastplate.
And gazing at these things he broke into a much-wondering voice:
"Whence have I seen an island on the mainland? If it is lawful to say,
never have I seen so great a beauty; for high-stretched
[40.340] trees whisper beside the waves, and while a Nereid
speaks in the sea a Hamadryad hears her nearby,
and to the Tyrian seas and the sea-neighboring fields
a delicate midday wind, blowing from Lebanon,
pours a ship-saving breeze with fruit-bearing panting,
[40.345] cooling the countryman and drawing the sailor into his voyage,
and, bringing an earthly sickle near a deep-sea trident,
the harvest Deo speaks here to the ruler of the waters,
as he drives his unwetted car over the deaf calm,
to steer an equal course upon emulous chariots,
[40.350] the bountiful one lashing the aloft backs of her serpents.
O city of whom all speak, pattern of earth, image of the upper air,
you have a threefold baldric of the sea grown together with you."
So speaking he passed on, stretching his eye through the city;
and as he gazed the stone-pointed streets
[40.355] showed the sparkle of one metal after another;
and he saw the house of his forefather Agenor, he beheld the courts
and the chamber of Cadmus, and he entered the unguarded
maiden-chamber of Europa, the bride once snatched away,
keeping the memory of his own horned Zeus; and he marveled more
[40.360] at the first-born springs, where through an earthly hollow,
as the water poured out, recovered again in a single hour,
much-nourishing water bubbled up with self-begotten streams;
he saw the generative flood of Abarbarea, he beheld the spring
lovely Callirhoe, named for her, and he saw the bridal
[40.365] water of Drosera herself as she belched it delicately.
But when he had beheld all with his delight-loving heart,
he reveled into the house of Astrochiton, and called upon
the lord of the stars, crying such a word with a mystic voice:
"Astrochiton Heracles, lord of fire, leader of the cosmos,
[40.370] Helios, long-shadowed shepherd of mortal life,
riding the whole vault in spirals with your blazing disc,
wheeling the twelve-month year, the son of time,
you lead circle after circle; and from your car
Aeon flows, shaped in old age and in youth;
[40.375] midwife of a wise travail, you bring to birth the thrice-coiled
image of motherless Mene, when dewy Selene
milks the answering fire of your childbed beam,
gathering her arched bull's horn;
all-shining eye of the upper air, you bring with your four-yoked car
[40.380] winter after autumn, you lead summer, changing the spring.
Night, pursued by your javelin-hurling torch,
withdraws unfixed, when, drawing the silver yoke,
the upright horse's neck, seen at its tip, is lashed,
and as you shine, the dappled meadow, no longer shining
[40.385] more brightly, is scored with fair-shining stars;
and bathed in the streams of eastern Ocean,
shaking off the generative moisture of your unwarmed hair,
you bring fruit-bearing rain, and upon Earth of fair childbirth
you belch the morning watering of an airy dew,
[40.390] and you make the travail of the corn-ears grow with your disc,
sprinkling the bountiful shore through a life-bearing furrow.
You are Belus on the Euphrates, called Libyan Ammon,
you are Apis of the Nile, Arabian Cronus, Assyrian Zeus;
and bringing fragrant wood with crook-clawed foot
[40.395] the thousand-year wise bird upon your fragrant altar,
the phoenix, bringing the end of life as a self-sown beginning,
is born as a recovered image of a time of like pattern,
and loosing his old age in fire he changes from fire into youth;
whether you are Sarapis, the cloudless Egyptian Zeus,
[40.400] whether Cronus, whether many-named Phaethon, or whether you are Mithras,
the Helios of Babylon, in Hellas Delphic Apollo;
whether you are Marriage, whom Eros sowed in shadowy dreams,
accomplishing the beguiling longing of a mimic bed,
when, from sleeping Zeus, as with the point of a knife
[40.405] he scraped the liquid seed of a self-wedding furrow,
and the cliffs were midwifed by heavenly drops;
whether you are pain-killing Paeon, whether you are the varied
Upper Air, and are called Astrochiton — for by night
your starry tunics light up the heaven —;
[40.410] receive my voice with gracious ears."
Such a word Dionysus belched out. And suddenly,
holding an inspired shape within the god-receiving temple,
Astrochiton flashed; and from his fire-eyed face
his eyes shot forth a rosy sparkle;
[40.415] and the gleaming god stretched out his palm to Lyaeus,
wearing a varied garment, the pattern of the upper air, the image of the cosmos,
glittering with yellow cheeks and a starry beard;
and gladdening him he soothed him with a friendly table.
And he delighted his heart at an uncarved dinner,
[40.420] touching ambrosia and nectar; and it was no cause for blame
if he drank sweet nectar after the immortal milk of Hera;
and he questioned Astrochiton, pouring an inquiry-loving voice:
"Astrochiton, teach me, by the pattern of the land, by the image of the island,
what god founded the city, what heavenly hand inscribed it?
[40.425] Who lifted the crags and rooted them in the sea?
Who wrought these cunning works? Whence did the springs get their names?
Who mingled the island with the land, yoked to its mother the sea?"
He spoke; and Heracles soothed him with a friendly word:
"Bacchus, do you hear my tale; and I shall teach you all.
[40.430] Here dwelt men whom alone the like-sown Aeon
once beheld as age-mates of the ever-flowing cosmos,
the pure race of an unwedded earth, whose shape then
the unplowed, unsown silt brought forth of its own accord;
who towered an unshaken city of level floors
[40.435] with earth-born craft upon rocky foundations.
And once, beside the fair-watered beds of the springs,
as the earth was lashed by the vapor of the fiery sun,
plucking the Lethaean wing of mind-delighting Sleep
they slept together, and, increasing a city-loving sting in my heart,
[40.440] I hung a standing step above the head of the earth-born,
and, having the shadowy image of a mortal face,
I belched an oracle from an inspired throat:
'Scattering idle sleep, children of the field,
build me a strange car of the passable brine; and with sharp-cutting
[40.445] axes cut me the ridge of the pine-wood;
build me a wise work; and beneath thick ribs
bolting decks in a close-set array,
bind them gathered, unshaken, with a fitted bond,
a car of the sea, a first-sailing raft, which through the deep
[40.450] may heave you up; and from end to end let one long
first-fixed timber receive the whole support;
and bind the decks fitted to the ribs in a circle,
the close pattern of a wooden wall; and let a stretched-high
timber stand upright in the middle, clamped with bonds;
[40.455] and fasten a broad linen cloth to the middle timber,
and plaited cables in turn, from whose bonds
belly out the cloth at full stretch for the airy wind,
pregnant from the wind, ship-saving; and fence the freshly fixed,
gaping timbers with slender bolts,
[40.460] spreading them thickly upon the yoked walls
with wicker mats, lest a thievish swell pour
within through the gaping trail of the hollow timber.
And whirling on every side the tiller, the steersman
of the raft's journey, the much-turning driver
[40.465] of the liquid path, wherever your mind draws you,
score the backs of the sea with the wooden hollow,
until you come to a fated place, where two
unfixed wandering rocks float in the brine,
which Nature has named the Ambrosial, on which grows
[40.470] a self-rooted, yoked shoot of an age-mate olive,
at the mid-navel of the water-traveling rock; and on its topmost
clusters you shall behold an eagle sitting
and a well-made bowl; and from the flaming tree
a self-moving fire belches astonishing sparks,
[40.475] and an unburning radiance feeds about the shoot of the olive;
and a coiling serpent dances about the high-leaved plant,
increasing a wonder for both eyes and ears;
for the slanting dragon, creeping noiseless, does not cast
a threatening coil about the soaring eagle,
[40.480] nor, spitting out the death-bearing venom of its teeth,
devours the bird with its jaws, nor does the eagle itself
snatch the many-coiled creeper by its spines
with its talons and cut the air aloft,
nor would it score it with a sharp-toothed beak;
[40.485] nor does the fire, carried upon the branches of the long-trunked
plant, feed about the shoot of the unharmed olive,
nor does it wither the coil of serpent scales,
its pasture-mate near its road, nor does the leaping fire
touch the entwined wings of the bird itself,
[40.490] nor does the unshaken cup, hanging aloft, fall
as it slips from the clusters shaken by the winds,
but sends its dear radiance as a vapor into the middle of the plant.
And hunting the wise bird that shares the hearth of the olive,
of the same age, the high-flying eagle, sacrifice it to the dark-haired god,
[40.495] pouring gore as libation to the sea-wandering hills
and to Zeus and the blessed ones; and the unfixed rock
shall wander water-borne no more, but, girdled of its own accord
with unmoving foundations, shall be joined to the unyoked rock.
And fix a city lying upon both hills,
[40.500] on either side upon the foundation of both seas.'
Such a prophetic word I belched out; and waking
the earth-born were shaken, and in the ears of each
the wondrous tale of the unwandering dreams boomed always.
And to them in their distress I showed another portent
[40.505] after the winged dreams, increasing their building-loving temper,
since I was to be their city-holder; and peering above the sea,
bearing an answering mimicry with a shape of like yoke,
the nautilus fish swam into a self-taught voyage;
and gazing at it then, like a ship of the sea,
[40.510] and having learned a well-made voyage without toil,
and having fixed a raft like the fish of the deep,
they imitated an equal pattern of sailing upon the sea.
And there was a voyage; and with the equally weighted burden
of four stones they made their sailing balanced on the sea,
[40.515] and imitated the unshaken journey of cranes,
which lift within their mouths a heavy stone,
the helper of their road, lest ever, as they fly,
a wind lead their light wings astray,
until they beheld that place, where with tempests
[40.520] the hills sailed into a self-directed voyage.
And they halted their raft beside the sea-crowned island,
and stepped upon the crags, where the plant of Athena was.
And to them as they sought it, the air-roaming eagle,
the hearth-mate of the olive, stood willing for its doom;
[40.525] and the earth-born, taking the fair-winged inspired prey,
reining back its head drawn backward,
spreading out its bare, free throat,
carved the self-offering eagle with a knife
for Zeus and the ruler of the waters; and as the intelligent bird
[40.530] was cut down by the iron, from its freshly slaughtered throat
wondrous blood flowed, and rooted the sea-traveling
hills in the sea with divine drops
near Tyre beside the deep; and upon the unbreakable rocks
the earth-born built their deep-bosomed nurse.
[40.535] To you, lord Dionysus, I have told the ground-reared,
self-delivered Olympian blood of the Giants, so that you may learn
the Tyrian earth-born stock of your own forefathers;
and I shall tell of the springs; for they were once
first-born, prudent maidens, at whose girdle
[40.540] hot Eros was angered, and, drawing a lovely shaft,
joined such a word to the marriage-averting Nymphs:
'Naiad Abarbarea, lover of maidenhood, receive yourself
this shaft, which all nature has received; here I shall fix
the bridal chamber of Callirhoe, and I shall sing the wedding of Drosera.
[40.545] But you will say: I keep a liquid race, and from the streams
I came self-perfected, and a spring was my nurse.
Clymene was a Naiad and the offspring of Ocean;
yet she yielded to marriage, and she too was wedded,
when she saw the dark-haired god, a better servant of Eros,
[40.550] shaken by a Cyprian sting; and first-born
Ocean, commanding the rivers and all waters,
knows the love of Tethys and fair-watered weddings.
Endure, you too, to bear the same as Tethys. And bearing
her blood from so great a sea and not from a little spring,
[40.555] Galatea longs for Polyphemus as he sings,
and she of the deep has a land-dwelling husband, and from the sea,
charmed by his harp, she goes a migrant to the land.
And the springs have learned my shaft; I need not teach you
a watery longing; you have heard of the liquid love
[40.560] of the desire-stricken spring, Syracusan Arethusa;
you have learned of Alpheius, who beside a wet bridal chamber
embraces his accustomed Nymph with watery palms.
Bearing the blood of a spring, why do you delight in the archer-goddess?
Artemis did not grow from water, as Aphrodite did.
[40.565] You ought rather to do favor to Cypris, since she too
bent her neck to Eros, even though she is the nurse of the Loves.
Tell this to Callirhoe; do not hide it from Drosera either.
Receive the goads of longing, and I shall call you water-ranging
in your birth, and in love the sister of Aphrodite.'
[40.570] Such a word he spoke; and from his back-bent bow
he sent three shafts, and beside a fair-watered bridal chamber
he joined the sons of the field in the love of the Naiads,
and sowed the god-born blood of the Tyrian race."
Such things Heracles, the champion of the upper air, told to Bacchus
[40.575] with mind-delighting conversation; and he delighted his heart in the tale,
and gave to Heracles a gold-shining, light-bearing
mixing-bowl, which a heavenly art had wrought; and Heracles
cloaked Dionysus in a starry tunic;
and leaving the star-clad god, the city-holder of Tyre,
[40.580] Bacchus set foot in another, Assyrian, land.

## Book XLI


### The forty-first holds how, to the son of Myrrha, Aphrodite bore Amymone, another Cypris.

[41.1] And now, above the brows of beetling Lebanon,
having fixed on the ground the splendid-fruited cluster of the harvest,
he made the wine-bearing hollows of the whole field drunk;
and he saw the bridal house of the Paphian; and roofing
[41.5] a deep-shaded grove with the freshly planted shoots of vines
he gave a gift of the vine to Adonis and Cytherea.
And there was a chorus of the Graces; and leaping upon the girdle
of vines of the plant-increasing thicket with a mounting throb,
the soaring ivy was girdled about a cypress.
[41.10] But beside the neighboring foot of law-tending Beroe
tell, Muses of Lebanon, the hymn of Amymone,
and the wavy Ares of the Cronides of the deep
and the clustered Enyo of well-hymned Lyaeus.
There is a city Beroe, the keel of life, the harbor of the Loves,
[41.15] sea-fixed, fair-islanded, fair-verdant, where the ridge of the isthmus
is narrow though long, where between the twin brine
its upright neck is lashed by waves on both sides;
but one part lies stretched beneath the deep-treed ridge
of blazing Eurus toward Assyrian Lebanon, where for the citizens
[41.20] a life-saving breeze comes whistling upright,
as the cypresses are shaken by fragrant winds,
and the house of country folk, where often beside a thicket
sickle-bearing Deo met Pan as he made music,
and some tiller of the soil, bending his neck over the plow-beam,
[41.25] sprinkling the freshly scored ground with back-thrown seed,
beside the ankles of a pasturing wood next to a neighboring
shepherd, having yoked his bull, conversed, a bent plowman.
And the city has other parts beside the seas, where it stretches
its breast to Poseidon, and a watery consort embraces
[41.30] the tender neck of the girl with a drenched forearm,
sending watery kisses to the lips of his bride;
and from his deep-sea hand the consort receives in her accustomed
bosom the bride-gifts of Poseidon, the brine-nourished flocks of the lake,
the fishy, many-colored dinners of the table,
[41.35] skipping on the sea-table of Nereus,
beside the northern floor, where along the deep-waved shore
a northern channel is drawn with a long hollow.
And about the midday neck of the mind-delighting land
toward the southern ridge are sandy paths
[41.40] into the Sidonian country, where the varied trees of the gardens
and the grape-clusters grow their hair, and with long-shooted leaves
a shady road is stretched for unwandering wayfarers.
And slanting its stream the sea beats upon the shore
about the dark-faced west, where with clear-sounding foot,
[41.45] as Zephyrus rides over the western haunts,
the Libyan bend is fanned with a dewy whistling,
where there is a flowery place, where beside the neighboring deep
the plantings bloom, and from the fair-leaved trees
the breathing wood makes melody with a booming panting;
[41.50] and an old shepherd, the pasture-mate of a fisherman, sang.
Here dwelt men of one age with the morning,
whom self-begetting Nature plowed by some unwedded
ordinance apart from marriage, fatherless, unchildbedded, motherless,
when, with the fourfold bond of mingled atoms,
[41.55] the unsown silt, shaping a yoked, wise offspring
mixed of water and of fiery vapor of air,
ensouled a breathing race in pregnant clay,
to whom Nature granted a perfected form; for they did not have
the pattern of first-born Cecrops, who with the venom-shooting trail
[41.60] of his foot was dragged along, scraping the earth with a snaky sole,
a serpent below, and above from the loins to the head
appeared a strange-natured, half-finished, two-colored man;
they did not have the savage pattern of Erechtheus, whom Hephaestus
begot, wedding a bridal dew to the furrow of Earth;
[41.65] but, an image of the gods, an offspring from an earth-born root,
a first-appearing golden corn-ear of men was midwifed.
And they settled the city of Beroe, a first-sown seat,
which Cronus himself built, when at the nod of wise Rhea
he set a chilling dinner in his capacious throat.
[41.70] And having the stone as an Eileithyia with its heavy burden,
the hurler-out of his squeezed, many-childed race,
drawing the whole stream of a river like a cloud with gaping throat,
he drank the childbirth-helping water with a seething breast,
and loosed the mass of his belly; and driving them out one upon another
[41.75] his pregnant neck belched forth his twice-born sons,
having his childbed throat as the ferry of the birth;
Zeus was then a boy, still an infant; never yet
did the lightning blaze, splitting a hot cloud
with a dancing throb, and not in a Titan battle
[41.80] were the helping thunderbolts of Zeus shot forth;
nor, with the bellowing whirl of clashing clouds,
did a heavy-thundering rainy echo of thunder boom.
But the city Beroe was earlier, which the grown-together
Aeon, first-appearing, beheld as the age-mate of the earth;
[41.85] not then was mortal-delighting Tarsus, not then Thebe,
not then was Sardis, where the rich silt of the Pactolian
bank sparkles, belching gold,
Sardis, the age-mate of Helios; there was no race of men,
not then was there any Achaean city, nor Arcadia
[41.90] herself older than the moon; but she alone sprang up
older than Phaethon, whence Selene had her light.
And being before the whole earth, in her all-mothering bosom,
milking the newly shining radiance of the sun's gleam
and the late-accomplished light of unsleeping Selene,
[41.95] she first shook off the cone of dark mist,
and dashed away the gloomy veil of chaos;
and being before Cyprus and the Isthmian city of Corinth
she first received Cypris at a hospitable gateway
freshly born from the brine, when the pregnant water
[41.100] brought forth Aphrodite of the deep from a heavenly furrow,
where, having plowed the stream apart from marriage with male gore,
the self-perfected offspring was shaped in daughter-bearing foam,
and Nature was the midwife; and rising together with the goddess
the dappled strap, wheeling a circle crown-wise about her loins,
[41.105] girdled the body of the queen with a self-made belt.
And the goddess, tracking a noiseless shore through the water,
did not run up to Paphos, not to Byblos, nor did she fit her foot
to the dry land of the Coliad beach, but with a swifter
whirl she ran past the very city of Cythera;
[41.110] and rubbing her flesh with a weedy cluster
she was the more purple; and rowing with her hands
she split the god-bearing water of the waveless sea,
swimming, and spreading her breast upon the sea
she checked the silent brine as it was scored by her sole,
[41.115] and she lifted her body, and as the calm was split
she pushed the water behind her with alternating feet;
and she set foot on Beroe; and the dweller of Cyprus has lied
about the landing-steps of the goddess as she came from the sea.
She first received Cypris; and high above the neighboring harbor
[41.120] self-grown meadows, belching the mosses of grass,
bloomed this way and that, and in the much-sanded bay
the shores were reddened with rosy clusters,
and a foaming rock, pregnant with fragrant wine,
bore a purple travail at a torrent-cut breast,
[41.125] and a white pouring murmured with a milky trail,
a rain of dew shaded with the drops of the vat;
and whirling aloft the vapor of self-poured perfume
a fragrant wind made drunk the paths of the air.
And then furious Eros, the first-sown beginning of generation,
[41.130] the life-bringing charioteer of the harmony of the cosmos,
she brought to birth, freshly appearing, upon the brows of the neighboring harbor;
and the swift-footed child, shaking a male labor with his feet,
forestalled the childbirth-helping hour of a belly that needed no midwife,
battering the closed bosom of his unwedded mother,
[41.135] hot before his birth; and with a tumbler's throb,
whirling his light wings, he opened the gates of the childbed.
And leaping swiftly upon his mother's gleaming arm,
restless Eros sprang up at her unbending breasts,
stretched upon a child-tending bosom; and he had
[41.140] a self-taught longing for food; and biting the tip
of the unmilked teat, squeezed with the mass of its generative drops,
unsated he drew off the whole milk of her swelling breasts.
Root of life, Beroe, nurse of cities, boast of kings,
first-appearing, like-sown with Aeon, of one age with the cosmos,
[41.145] seat of Hermes, floor of Justice, city of ordinances,
midday haunt of Gladness, house of the Paphian, home of the Loves,
the delightful seat of Bacchus, the haunt of the archer-goddess,
the offering of the Nereids, house of Zeus, court of Ares,
Orchomenus of the Graces, star of the Lebanon field,
[41.150] of equal years with Tethys, running with Ocean,
who begot Beroe in his many-springed bridal chamber,
consorting in the moist weddings of Tethys,
whom they called Amymone, when her mother
bore her in the submerged bed of a watery love.
[41.155] But there is a younger tale, that Cytherea herself,
the steersman of the human race, bore her all-white
as a mother to Assyrian Adonis;
and having filled out the nine-circled course of Selene
she lightens her burden; and forestalling her with swift sole,
[41.160] lifting a Latin tablet, the herald of things to come,
Hermes came as a midwife to the travail of Beroe,
and Themis was Eileithyia, and, unfolding the veil
of the crowded travail through her swollen bosom,
she lightened the sharp shaft of the ripening birth,
[41.165] holding the ordinances of Solon; and pressed by her childbed,
leaning her heavy back upon the birth-releasing goddess,
Cypris was delivered, and upon an Attic book
she brought forth a wise child, as Laconian women
travail with their sons upon a well-rounded shield;
[41.170] and she spat out the freshly delivered birth from a female womb,
having as a male midwife the judge, the son of Maia;
and she brought the babe into the light. And four winds
that ride over all cities bathed the girl,
so that from Beroe they might fill the whole earth with ordinances;
[41.175] and to her as she was born Ocean, still the first announcer
of laws, gave a childbed stream for the loins of the cosmos,
pouring water girdled about with an ever-flowing baldric;
and with aged hands Aeon her foster-brother lifted
the robes of Justice as swaddling-clothes to the flesh of the freshly born girl,
[41.180] a prophet of things to come, because, changing the burden of old age,
like a serpent shaking off the coil of its feeble scales,
he would grow young again, bathed in the swells of ordinances;
and the four-yoked Seasons beat out a concordant melody
for the wondrous daughter of Aphrodite as she was born.
[41.185] And learning of the birth-perfecting travail of the Paphian
the beasts raved in Bacchic frenzy; and a lion, playing delicately,
kissed the back of a bull with a gentle lip,
sending a friendly bellowing with the tips of its mouth,
and a horse, striking the heavy-thundering ground with running hoof,
[41.190] rattled out, beating a birthday sound,
and a dappled-backed leopard, leaping with the mounting throb
of a high-traveling foot, skipped about a hare,
and pouring the wail of a howl from a play-loving throat
a wolf embraced the flock with unscratching jaws,
[41.195] and in the thickets a dancing hound, leaving the fawn-driving
hunt, having another sweet sting, strove with a dancing boar
in an emulous dance,
and a bear, straightening its feet and entwining itself about its neck,
embraced a heifer in a harmless bond,
[41.200] and a calf, arching thickly the kiss-loving rim of its temple,
skipped up, licking the body of a lioness,
sending a half-finished bellowing from its young jaws,
and a serpent touched the friendly tusks of an elephant;
and the oaks cried out; and with a calm face
[41.205] laughter-loving Aphrodite sent forth her accustomed laughter,
watching the childbed play of the delighting beasts.
She whirled the rejoicing circle of her gaze upon them all,
upon all together; only the delight of the boars
she did not wish to see, like a prophet, since in the image
[41.210] of a boar's shape jagged-toothed Ares, mad with jealousy,
sending death-bearing venom, was to weave doom for Adonis.
And Beroe, still an infant, laughing, was received
in the knot of the hands of the nurse of the whole cosmos
the maiden Astraea, the rearer of the golden race,
[41.215] reared her with a prudent breast as she prattled of laws;
and gushing the streams of the ordinances with a maiden milk
she wetted the child's lips, and into the girl's mouth she squeezed
and made bubble up the cunning travail of the many-holed childbed
of the sweet-bearing Attic bee,
[41.220] mixing speaking honeycombs in a wise cup;
and if ever the girl was thirsty and asked for drink, she held out
the chattering water kept for Pythian Apollo,
or the stream of Ilissus, which the Pierian breezes of Phoebus
stir upon the shore, breathing for the Attic Muse;
[41.225] and the maidens, the dancers of Orchomenus,
the handmaids of the Paphian, drew her delicate baths,
the horse-water of the prudent spring that is the care of the nine Muses.
And bending a starry golden corn-ear about with a cluster,
she set it like a necklace upon the girl's neck.
[41.230] And Beroe grew up running with the archer-goddess,
lifting the nets of her hunter father;
and she had the whole kindred look of her mother the Paphian
and gleaming feet; and peering above the deep,
Thetis, skipping with a snowy dancing sole,
[41.235] saw another silver-footed Thetis; and in shame
she hid herself, fearing the mouth of Cassiepeia again.
And gazing at another unyoked Assyrian girl
Zeus was stirred again, and wished to change his shape;
and now, having the burden of Eros in a bull-faced form,
[41.240] he would have been carried dipped at the surface, rowing his step through the water,
lifting a woman undrenched upon his back,
had not the memory of the ox-horned wedding of the Sidonian
held him back, and had not the bridegroom of Europa,
the Bull of Olympus, bellowed a starry melody with a jealous throat,
[41.245] lest, making the image of an ox of like pattern through the upper air,
he should set up a younger star of sea-traveling Loves;
and he left Beroe, owed to liquid weddings,
as consort to his brother, guarding himself against a bridal
battle with the Earth-shaker over an earthly bride.
[41.250] Such was Beroe, the flower of the Graces; if ever the girl
uttered a honey-flowing voice more delicious than a hive,
sweet-worded Persuasion stood unsated upon her lips
and goaded the prudent minds of uncharmed men;
and her laughing eyes, the archers of the Loves,
[41.255] hid the whole company of the Assyrian youth of her own age
with brighter graces, as much as Selene at the full,
shooting cloudless beams, hides the stars the more;
and beside the lowest ankles of the girl white
tunics reddened with her purple limbs.
[41.260] This was never a cause for blame, even if she got so great a beauty
beyond the youth of her own age, since about her face
the bright beauties of both her parents sparkled.
Then Cypris, seeing her, pregnant with a prudent oracle,
whirled her purpose more swiftly, turning it about,
[41.265] and, riding her mind wandering over the whole earth,
measured the bright foundations of ancient cities,
because Mycenae, girdled with a walled crown
by the rules of the Cyclopes, bore the name of glancing-eyed Mycene,
and because beside the southern Nile Thebe
[41.270] was named for first-born Thebe;
and she longed to mark out a city named for Beroe,
having the city-loving sting of answering Loves.
And considering the rank of the evil-averting ordinances of Solon
she stretched a slanting eye toward broad-streeted Athens,
[41.275] having a jealousy of her judging sister; and with hurrying
sandal she whistled through the airy arch
to the house of all-mother Harmonia, where the bride
dwelt in a self-built house like the fourfold pattern
of the cosmos; and four doors of the sturdy hall,
[41.280] unbreakable, were girdled by the four winds;
and handmaids guarded the house, the wheeling image of the cosmos,
this way and that; and as the doorways were divided,
the servant East ran about the gate of Eurus,
and West, the rearer of Selene, the gateway of Zephyrus,
[41.285] and Midday held the fiery southern bolt,
and the servant North opened the gate of Boreas,
thick with clouds and sprinkled with hail.
There the Grace, leaping forward, the fellow-traveler of the foam-born,
struck the eastern doorway of Eurus; and within,
[41.290] as the saffron gateway of the East was beaten,
the messenger Astynomeia ran up, and beholding Cypris
standing beside the gateway of the hall,
she came with returning feet as forerunner to her queen.
And she, plying the much-wrought loom of Athena,
[41.295] was weaving a robe with the shuttle; and as the tunic was woven
she sprinkled in the earth first at the navel, and about the earth
she rounded heaven into a sphere, scored with the pattern of the stars,
and fitted the gathered sea to the yoked earth;
and she embroidered the rivers, and upon a human forehead
[41.300] a bull-natured, horned, green image was shaped;
and beside the last floor of the well-spun tunic
she wheeled Ocean running round about the rim of the cosmos.
And her handmaid came to her and near the female loom
announced that Aphrodite stood beside the doorway.
[41.305] And the goddess, when she heard, casting away the threads of the tunic,
shook the wondrous shuttle from her loom-toiling hands;
and swiftly covering her body with a snowy robe,
brighter, she sat above her accustomed golden seat,
receiving Cytherea, and leaping up from her throne
[41.310] she honored Aphrodite as she came, seen from afar.
And long-robed Eurynome set the Paphian upon a throne
near her queen; and watching Cypris with a dismayed face,
by a downcast witnessing shape,
all-nourishing Harmonia soothed her with a friendly word:
[41.315] "Root of life, plant-sowing Cytherea, midwife of generation,
hope of the whole cosmos, beneath the nod of your counsel
the unwandering Fates spin their many-turning threads —
prophesy to me as I ask, and as the nurse of life,
as the rearer of the immortals, as of one age with the age-mate cosmos,
[41.320] tell me: for which of the cities are the royal instruments of speech,
the unshaken reins of toil-releasing ordinances, kept?
Because, shaken by the sting of a long-lasting longing,
holding the goad of Hera's wedlock with her brother,
I yoked Zeus in marriage as he longed for a time
[41.325] of three hundred years; and as a worthy favor for my works
he nodded with prudent head the wage of his own chamber,
that to one of the cities which I obtained he would grant
the ordinances of Justice; and I long to learn whether these gifts
are kept for the land of Cyprus or for Paphos or for Corinth
[41.330] or for Sparta, whence Lycurgus came, or for the man-nourishing
fatherland of our own girl Beroe.
But care for justice, and grant harmony to the cosmos,
since you are life-saving Harmony; for she herself
sent me hurrying to you, the nurse of law-tending men,
[41.335] the starry maiden; and still more lawful Hermes
has released this prize, so that I alone may save
the men whom I sowed, when they are forced, by the ordinances of marriage."
So she spoke, and the goddess heartened her and answered with a word:
"Be of good courage, do not fear, mother of the Loves;
[41.340] for I have the oracles of the cosmos on seven tablets,
and the tablets are named for the seven planets.
The first is named for well-wheeling Selene;
the second golden tablet is called that of Hermes,
glittering, in which all the rites of the ordinances are wrought;
[41.345] the third, rosy, bears your name; for it holds
the pattern of your eastern star; and of the seven-pathed
planets the fourth, the mid-navel, is of Helios;
the fifth, reddening, is called fiery Ares;
and the sixth wanderer is called the Phaethon of Cronides;
[41.350] the seventh shows the name of high-traveling Cronus.
In these old Ophion scored with reddening letters
all the varied fated oracles of the cosmos.
But since you ask me about the straight-minded ordinances,
I keep these elder prizes for the elder of cities;
[41.355] whether then Arcadia was earlier, or the city of Hera,
whether Sardis was older, or whether
Tarsus itself of song was the first city, or some other,
I have not learned; but the Cronian tablet teaches all this,
which grew up earlier, which was of one age with Dawn."
[41.360] She spoke; and she led the way to the splendid oracles of the wall,
until she saw the place where, about the fatherland of Beroe,
the art of Ophion had written a late-accomplished oracle
on the Cronian tablet, scored in wine-dark ochre:
'First-appearing Beroe was of one age with the age-mate cosmos,
[41.365] named for a later-born bride, whom migrant
sons of the Ausonians, the consular lights of Rome,
shall call Berytus, since she fell as the neighbor of Lebanon.'
Such a god-speaking word she learned. But when the goddess
had measured the wondrous beginning of the seventh tablet,
[41.370] she looked upon a second, where beside the neighboring wall
varied cunning works of every art were scored
in prophetic words: that first of all Pan of the pastures
would devise the pipe, Heliconian Hermes the lyre,
delicate Hyagnis the double-voiced melody of the well-holed flute,
[41.375] Orpheus the god-speaking streams of a mystic song,
and Linus the Phoebean fair speech, the wandering Arcadian
the twelve-month measures and the journey of Helios,
the mother of the years brought forth by his four-yoked car,
and wise Endymion, bending his shifting fingers,
[41.380] would know the restless circles of returning Selene;
and, mixing a threefold element, the yoked with the unyoked,
Cadmus would teach the rites of fair-tongued speech,
Solon the undefiled ordinances, and Cecrops the lawful
twin pair of an unloosable yoking by an Attic pine-torch.
[41.385] And the Paphian, after all the many-turning cunning works of the Muse,
measured the thick works of wide-scattered cities;
and above the middle rim of the inscribed tablet of the cosmos
she found such a wise, many-lined word for the Greek Muse:
'When Augustus shall steer the scepter of the whole earth,
[41.390] the Ausonian Zeus shall grant to holy Rome
the lordship, and shall give the reins of the ordinances to Beroe,
when, armed upon shield-bearing ships,
she shall lull the war of sea-fighting Cleopatra;
for before that, city-sacking recklessness shall never cease
[41.395] to rout the city-saving peace, until Berytus,
the nurse of a calm life, gives judgment
to land and sea alike, having towered the cities
with the unbending wall of the ordinances, one city, the cities of the cosmos.'
And the goddess, when she had learned the whole oracle of Ophion,
[41.400] went back returning to her own house; and as her son sat
she set her golden-wrought seat near him,
and taking him about the middle with a calm face
she embraced the boy in her outspread, rejoicing arm,
lifting the dear weight upon her knees; and both together
[41.405] she kissed the boy's mouth and eyes; and touching
his mind-charming bow and handling his quiver,
as though in distress, she broke into a guile-minded voice:
"Hope of all life, comfort of the foam-born,
pitiless Cronion has forced my children alone;
[41.410] for having filled out nine childbirth-helping circles of Selene,
wearing the sharp shaft of a painful birth,
I brought forth Harmonia, and she suffers varied pains
in grief; but Leto got a childbirth-helping daughter,
Artemis Eileithyia, the helper of women.
[41.415] Child, born of the same womb as Amymone, I need not teach you
how I got my blood from the brine and the upper air; but I wished
to accomplish a worthy work, so that beside my mother the sea,
born from heaven, I might fix heaven upon the earth;
but stretching your bow at the beauty of your sister
[41.420] charm the gods, and rather send an equal shaft under a single
ordinance to Poseidon and to vine-clad Lyaeus,
to both the blessed ones; and I shall grant you a gift worthy
of your toils, a fitting wage for your archery;
I shall give you the golden bridal lyre, which Phoebus
[41.425] gave to Harmonia beside her bridal chamber, and I shall put into your hands
a memorial of the city that is to be, so that you may be
a lyre-striker as well as an archer, like Apollo."

## Book XLII


### I have woven the forty-second, where I sing shrill of the delightful love of Bacchus and the longing of the Earth-shaker.

[42.1] So speaking she persuaded him; and with aloft sandal
hot Eros, untouchable, shaking a wind-borne foot,
scored the air high among the clouds with winged sole,
bearing his flaming bow. And hanging from his shoulder
[42.5] his quiver too, full of gentle fire, was slung.
And as when through the cloudless upper air a sharp wayfarer,
a star, stretches upright with an outstretched spark,
bringing a portent either to an army at war or to some sailor,
and scores the back of the upper air with a trail of fire behind it;
[42.10] so then furious Eros, carried with a sharp whistle,
sending a windy boom from his beating wings,
whistled down from the air; and beside the Assyrian rock
he joined two fiery shafts upon a single string,
drawing into a like longing, by love of the maiden,
[42.15] two suitors of an emulous wedding,
the clustered god and the charioteer of the sea.
Then the one, leaving the deep wave of the sea-neighboring harbor,
and the other, after the floor of Tyre, met in one place
within the heads of Lebanon. And from his grim car
[42.20] Maron loosed a sweating leopard from its harness,
and shook off the dust, and washed with the water of a spring,
cooling the hot, scored neck of the beasts.
There Eros, coming untouchable, at the neighboring girl
struck both gods with a twin shaft,
[42.25] maddening Dionysus to bring treasures to the bride,
the gladness of life and the wine-dark cluster of the harvest,
and goading into love the steersman of the trident
to bring a double bride-gift of love to the sea-neighboring girl,
a sea-fighting wet Ares and the dappled dinners of the table.
[42.30] And he burned Bacchus the more, since wine rouses the mind
toward longing, and far more the young with a witless goad,
holding charmed, unbridled youth obedient;
Eros shot Bacchus, fixing the whole shaft in his heart;
and he burned as much as he charmed, dripping the honey of persuasion.
[42.35] And he goaded them both; and through the airy path,
wheeling his step to run with the dappled winds,
the bastard bird was lifted on a swimming sandal,
crying such a mockery-loving word: "If Dionysus
routs men with wine, I rout Bacchus with fire."
[42.40] And the vine god, stretching his eye toward her,
measured the delicate body of the fair-tressed bride,
holding a wonder that channeled him toward longing; and as they began,
the eye became the forerunner, the ferry of the Loves.
And Dionysus wandered within the mind-delighting wood,
[42.45] stretching a secret, guarded eye toward Beroe,
and little by little went behind her into the girl's path;
nor was there any surfeit for him as he gazed; for as much
as he saw the maiden standing, so much the more he wished to look.
And, reminding him of the love of Clymene, he entreated
[42.50] Helios, the champion of the stars, upon his back-bent car,
clamping his standing horse with an airy bridle,
to lengthen the sweet daylight, so that he might come slowly to his setting,
increasing the re-grown day with a sparing whip.
And, setting step upon step in measure in Beroe's tracks,
[42.55] as though not knowing, he ran round her; and from Lebanon
the Earth-shaker withdrew, stealing the track of a shrinking foot,
with a slow-obedient sole that turned back again,
and he had an unfixed mind like the sea,
seething with the waves of a many-voiced care.
[42.60] And unsated within the sweet Lebanon wood
Dionysus was left alone beside the lonely bride,
Dionysus was left alone. Tell me, mountain Nymphs.
What else did he wish more dearly than to see the girl's
flesh alone, free of the Earth-shaker unhappy in love?
[42.65] And Dionysus, holding a guileful, unlaughing look,
questioned the maiden about her father Adonis,
as a friend, as a mountain-running fellow-hunter; and as she stood
he brought his unhappy-loving hand near her breast, and as though unwilling
pressed the edge of her girdle; and touching her breasts
[42.70] the right hand of woman-mad Dionysus grew numb.
And creeping secretly he kissed with numberless kisses
the place where she set her foot, and the dust she trod,
the maiden, lighting it up with her rosy sandal;
and Bacchus gazed at her sweet neck, and the ankles of the girl
[42.75] as she went, and the beauty which nature gave the bride,
the beauty which nature found; nor did Beroe, anointing herself
with a yellow adornment, redden the rosy circles
of her face, making her cheeks lie with a bastard sparkle,
nor, by the bright witness of the answering bronze of her skin,
[42.80] did she laugh into the breathless shape of a mimic gaze
judging her own beauty, nor, by a cunning ordinance,
making the tips of her hair even again and again beside her brows,
did she set in place the wandering cluster of her straying locks.
But the splendors of an uncared-for face rout a woman-mad man
[42.85] far more with a sharp goad,
and the unkempt locks of an unadorned head
are the more delicate, when, unplaited and wandering,
they go in rows, hanging beside a snowy face.
And once, thirsty, she went after a neighboring spring,
[42.90] lashed by the vapor of the fiery heavenly Dog,
with parched lips; and with her head drawn down
she bent, arched, and again and again the girl
drew her father's water into her mouth with hollowed hands,
until, sated, she left the streams; and as she withdrew,
[42.95] Dionysus, bending his knee to the lovely spring,
hollowing his palms, imitated the lovely girl,
drinking water sweeter than self-poured nectar.
And beholding him shaken by the sting of longing,
an unsandaled, deep-bosomed spring Nymph cried:
[42.100] "In vain, Dionysus, you have drunk cold water; for the whole
stream of Ocean cannot quench the thirst of love.
Ask your father, that, having crossed so great a swell,
the bridegroom of Europa did not quench his lovely fire,
but labored still more in the waters; and you have as witness
[42.105] the wandering Alpheius, the wet-traveling servant of Eros,
because, dragging his waters through water with so many surges,
he did not flee a hot love, even though he was a liquid wayfarer."
So speaking, the unveiled Naiad entered the spring water
of her own age, laughing at Lyaeus.
[42.110] And the god, grudging Poseidon the ruler of the waters,
had fear and jealousy, since the maiden drank water
instead of wine, and he broke into a voice to the deaf air,
as though he had the girl listening and obedient:
"Maiden, receive nectar; leave the maiden-loving water;
[42.115] flee the drink of the spring, lest the watery dark-haired god
steal your maidenhood in the waters,
because he is guileful and woman-mad; and you know
the love of Thessalian Tyro and the wet-traveling wedding;
do you too guard yourself against a guileful stream, lest a lying god
[42.120] loose your girdle, as the marriage-thief Enipeus did.
Would that I too had become a stream, like the Earth-shaker,
and, resounding, had embraced beside a desire-striking spring
my thirsty, unguarded Lebanon Tyro."
The god spoke; and changing the shape of his limbs about,
[42.125] where the maiden was, Euius entered the thick-shaded wood
wholly like a hunter; and strange-natured, unknown,
he kept company with the soft-haired unyoked girl
like a youth, and about his face he molded an unbending,
lying imitation of a prudent modesty;
[42.130] and now he gazed at the top of a lonely cliff,
now toward the deep-shaded ridge of the long-shooted wood,
carrying a longing eye toward a pine, at another time
watching a fir or an elm; and with his face on guard
he looked at the girl beside him with secret eyes,
[42.135] lest she turn aside and shun him; for when a youth
gazes at beauty, the eyes of a girl of his own age
are a little comfort of the Cyprian Loves.
And he came near Beroe and wished to speak a word,
but was fettered with fear. O Euian, where are your
[42.140] man-slaying thyrsi? Where the dread horns? Where in your hair
the grey-green snaky bonds of ground-reared serpents?
Where the heavy-roaring bellowing of your mouth? Ah, great wonder,
Bacchus trembled at a maiden, at whom the tribes of Giants trembled;
the fear of the Loves conquered the destroyer of the earth-born;
[42.145] and he mowed down the race of so many war-mad Indians,
and feared one lovely, feeble girl,
feared a soft-skinned woman; and among the hills
with a beast-taming fennel-stalk he soothed the dreadful
bellowing of lions, and trembled at a female threat;
[42.150] and much-dreaded, a wandering word beneath his mouth
stretched to the very tip of his tongue, near his lip,
darting from his mind and creeping back again to his mind;
but, holding a bittersweet fear in a shamefaced silence,
he drew back his voice as it hurried into the light.
[42.155] And scarcely, having beaten down the late-speaking bond beneath his mouth,
he unclamped the work-delaying silence of shame,
and questioned Beroe, pouring out a lying voice:
"Artemis, where are your bows? Who has snatched your quiver?
Where have you left the tunic you wear down to the knee?
[42.160] Where are those sandals of yours, swifter than a circling breeze?
Where is the chorus of your handmaids? Where the nets? Where the swift hounds?
You are not making ready a fawn-driving course; for you do not wish
to hunt, where Cypris sleeps near Adonis."
He spoke, holding a deceiving wonder; and in her heart
[42.165] the maiden smiled; and with a purpose untried in evil
she lifted a proud neck, glorying in the grace of her youth,
because, though a woman, she seemed a goddess in form;
nor did she know the guile of mind-wandering Dionysus.
And Bacchus grieved the more, since the girl did not learn his longing,
[42.170] his heavy-toiling sting, because for a youth a late hope
of the Loves is left when a girl knows,
of a love to come; and men long
upon a fruitless purpose when women do not know.
And the god, day after day within the pine-wood,
[42.175] creeping at evening, at midday, at morning, at nightfall,
stayed beside the maiden, and wished to stay still longer;
for there is surfeit of all things among men, of sweet sleep
and of fair-sounding song, and when a man bends
into a dancing course; but for the woman-mad man alone
[42.180] there is no surfeit of longings; the book of Homer has lied.
And laboring, Dionysus roared beneath his breath in silence,
struck by a divine whip, digesting within him
the hidden wound of the unsleeping Loves beneath his heart.
the hidden wound of the unsleeping Loves beneath his heart.
[42.185] And as when a bull, untouchable, traveling within a flat place,
measured the accustomed swarm of mountain-ranging bulls,
goaded from the herd, which beside a fair-leaved thicket
an unforeseen gadfly, its body struck by a little sting,
the ox-striker, scored with a sharp goad,
[42.190] and so great a beast was dashed about, and rearing upright
above its back, reining it back, it drew its tail again,
arched, rubbing the ridge of the crags, and slanted
its sharp horn in answer, striking the unwounded air;
so a little Eros goaded Dionysus too, whom victory
[42.195] had often crowned, striking him with an all-charming goad.
And at length, seeking a sweet drug for love,
he revealed his sleepless Cyprian necessity,
and asked for counsel, the defender against the Loves.
<...> †
[42.200] And hearing the fire-breathing labors of Bacchus
horned Pan laughed, and was broken in his purpose,
pitying one unhappy in love, being himself unhappy in love; and he spoke a counsel
of Cypris; and he had a little comfort of the Loves,
seeing another burned by the spark of one quiver:
[42.205] "Suffering the same, dear Bacchus, I have pitied your cares;
and whence has bold Eros conquered you too? If it is lawful to say,
Eros has emptied his quiver into me and Dionysus.
But I shall tell you the many-turning character of guileful longing.
Every woman longs more than a man, and in shame
[42.210] hides the goad of Eros, though she too is love-maddened,
and labors far more, since the sparks of the Loves
are hotter when women hide
the shaft of the Loves fixed deep within their hearts.
For when they tell one another the necessity of their longings,
[42.215] they steal away their Cyprian cares with toil-releasing
whispers. But do you, Bacchus, wearing a deceiving blush
of mimic shame as the channel of your Loves,
as though holding a prudent, unlaughing gaze,
stand near Beroe as though unwilling; and shaking her nets
[42.220] gaze at the rosy-faced girl with a guileful wonder,
praising her beauty, that Hera did not obtain so great a one,
and, striking your brow with an unsparing open hand,
show your lying astonishment with an intelligent silence,
and call the Graces her inferiors, and fasten blame
[42.225] upon the shape of both Artemis and Athena,
and declare Beroe brighter than Aphrodite;
and the girl, hearing your lying reproach,
stands the longer, delighting in the praise; for she does not wish
for all the golden wealth so much as to hear
[42.230] about her rosy shape, that her beauty surpassed the youth of her own age.
And charm the maiden into love with an intelligent silence,
sending facing nods with moving eyelids;
but fear holds you near the prudent girl;
tell me, what will one maiden do to you? She brandishes no spear,
[42.235] she stretches no shaft with a rosy palm; the girl's spears
are her eyes, the archers of the Loves,
and the maiden's missiles are her rosy cheeks.
And as bride-gifts of your longing, treasures for your bride,
do not shake Indian stone or pearls in your hand,
[42.240] as is lawful for a woman-mad man; for against the Paphian
you keep your own shape, which is enough, and women long
for a beauty good to touch and not for gold.
I need no other witness; for what gifts
did Selene receive from soft-haired Endymion?
[42.245] What bride-gift of the Loves did Adonis show to Cypris?
Orion gave no silver to the morning-born;
Cephalus gave no lovely wealth; but alone,
being lame, Hephaestus, for the sake of an uncharmed shape,
granted varied gifts, and did not persuade Athena;
[42.250] his childbed axe did not help him; but longing for the goddess
he missed her. But I shall teach you another charm,
better, if you wish, for a yoking wedlock;
sing shrill with your hand upon the lyre, the offering of your Rhea,
the delicate, wine-loving statue of Cypris; and with both
[42.255] plectrum and lips pour out a twofold echo.
Sing first of Daphne and the course of unsteady Echo
and the late-speaking din of the never-silent goddess,
because they hated the gods who longed for them; and sing too
of bed-fleeing Pitys herself, running with the mountain breezes,
[42.260] shunning the unwedded weddings of Pan;
sing the earth-born doom of her perishing; blame the earth.
And perhaps she will weep for the pains of the mourning bride
and pity her doom; and do you delight your heart in silence,
watching the honey-sweet tears of the girl as she mourns;
[42.265] nor was laughter ever such, since with a wine-dark shape
women are lovelier when they groan.
Sing of Selene love-maddened for Endymion,
sing of the marriage of graceful Adonis, tell also
of Aphrodite herself, squalid, unsandaled, wandering,
[42.270] tracking her mountain-running bridegroom; and she will not flee you
as she hears the honey-minded ordinance of her father's Loves.
All this I declare to you, Bacchus unhappy in love;
but do you too teach me a charm for my Echo."
So speaking he sent away the rejoicing son of Thyone.
[42.275] And once, in her childish ways, the girl asked
the son of Zeus who was present, who he was and whose son;
and scarcely he found a pretext beside the doorway of Aphrodite,
the vine orchard and the rich cornfields of the earth
and the dewy meadow and the dappled trees, gazing
[42.280] with cunning ways; and, like a farming man,
he spoke some word about marriage with an unmarked voice:
"I am a farmer of your Lebanon; and if you wish,
I water your land, I make your fruit grow.
I know the course of the four Seasons; and watching
[42.285] the autumn turning-post as it stands, I shall cry this:
'The life-giving Scorpion rises, and is the herald
of a fair-fruited furrow; let us yoke the oxen to the plow.'
The Pleiades set; when <...> †
the furrows travail, when the dew falls upon the ground
[42.290] parched by Phaethon. And near the Arcadian Wagon,
seeing Arcturus when winter has rained, I shall say:
'The thirsty earth is wedded at last to the rain of Zeus.'
When spring rises I shall cry to you at morning:
'Your flowers bloom; when shall I pluck the lilies and the roses?
[42.295] See how the hyacinth has run up to the neighboring myrtle,
how the narcissus laughs as it leaps upon the anemone.'
And seeing the grape when summer is present I shall say:
'The young vine ripens, without share of the sickle;
maiden, your kinsman has come; when shall we gather the harvest?
[42.300] Your corn-ear has grown and needs the reaping;
I shall reap the corn-bearing cornfield, and instead of to Deo
I would make first-fruits to your mother the Cyprus-born.'
Receive me as an earth-toiling servant of your threshing-floor;
take me as the plant-tender of your foam-born mother,
[42.305] so that I may fix a life-bringing plant, and may know
the freshly blooming unripe grape of the vines, handling it with my hands.
I know whence apples ripen; I know how to plant
the long-leaved elm propped against a cypress;
and I mix the male palm, rejoicing, with the female,
[42.310] and I make the saffron grow fair beside the smilax, if you wish.
Bring me no gold for the sake of my tending; I have no need of wealth;
I have two apples for my wage, one cluster of a single harvest."
Such things he said in vain, and the girl did not answer,
not understanding the rank of words of woman-mad Bacchus.
[42.315] But he devised another guile upon guile <...> †
and received from the hand of Beroe the nets of the hunt
as though marveling at their cunning, and shaking them thickly
he whirled them about for a time, and asked the girl again and again:
"What god made these gear, what heavenly art wrought them?
[42.320] Who made them? For I have an unbelieving mind, that
jealousy-mad Hephaestus would make hunting gear for Adonis."
He spoke, leading astray the mind of the uncharmed girl.
And once, above the spread leaves of an anemone,
he slept a sweet sleep; and the girl came to him in a dream
[42.325] covered in a bridal garment. For a man beholds by night
the answering work which he accomplishes by day;
a herdsman sleeping drives his horned oxen to pasture;
a vision of dream shows nets to a hunter;
and farmers, sleeping, plow their fields
[42.330] and sow a corn-bearing furrow; and a man at midday,
held fast by a parching, blazing thirst,
a deceiving sleep drives toward a stream, toward a channel.
So Dionysus too, holding the images of his toils,
escorted his winged mind with a mimic dream,
[42.335] and kept company with a shadowy wedding. And waking
he did not find the maiden, and wished to sleep again;
and he brought away an empty grace of a short-lived bed,
sleeping among the petals of a swift-perishing anemone.
And he blamed the pouring of the voiceless petals; and in grief
[42.340] he entreated Sleep together with Eros and the evening Aphrodite
to see the same vision of dream again,
longing for the deceiving phantom of a marriage. And near a myrtle
Bacchus slept again and again, and did not obtain a bridal sleep.
But he had a sweet labor, and limb-loosing Dionysus
[42.345] himself had his limbs loosed by a desire-stricken care.
And as the companion of Beroe's father, the son of Myrrha,
he showed his hunting; and with a javelin-hurling thyrsus
he put on the spotted hides of freshly slaughtered fawns,
watching Beroe secretly; and as he stood
[42.350] the maiden, guarding herself against the restless eye of Dionysus,
hid her flashing cheek with her robe.
And she burned Bacchus the more, because the servants of the Loves
gaze still more at women who are ashamed,
and long the more for a face that is covered.
[42.355] And once, beholding the unyoked girl of Adonis alone,
he came near, and changed his shape from a human form,
and stood before the girl as a god;
and he told her his race and his name, and the slaughter of the Indians,
and the vine dance, and the pouring of sweet-drinking wine,
[42.360] because he had found it for men; and with a tender-loving purpose,
mixing boldness with a shamelessness alien to modesty,
he spoke such a varied-worded voice, fawning:
"Maiden, for your love I dwell in heaven no longer;
the caves of your fathers are better than Olympus.
[42.365] I love your fatherland more than the upper air; I do not long
for the scepters of Zeus my father so much as for the wedding of Beroe;
your beauty is above ambrosia; and your tunics
breathe of fragrant airy nectar.
Maiden, I hold wonder when I hear that Cypris is your mother,
[42.370] that the cestus left you uncharmed; and how did you alone
have Eros as kinsman and not learn the sting of the Loves?
The grey-eyed one did not bear you, nor Artemis. But you, girl,
bearing the blood of Cypris, why do you flee the rites of Cypris?
But you will say: the grey-eyed one is untried in weddings;
[42.375] Athena grew up apart from marriage and knows no marriage.
Do not shame your mother's race; and if you truly
bear the blood of graceful Assyrian Adonis,
be taught the delicate ordinances of your marriage-perfecting father,
and obey the cestus, the girdle of your age-mate the Paphian,
[42.380] and beware the hard-to-meet wrath of the bridal Loves;
the Loves are pitiless, when they demand of women the debt,
the vengeance for a love unaccomplished;
for you know how, dishonoring fiery Cytherea,
the maiden-loving <...> paid the wage of her pride, †
[42.385] because, becoming a plant in a bastard reedy shape,
she fled the love of Pan, and still sings the longings of Pan;
and the daughter of Ladon, the river of song,
hating the works of marriage, made her body a tree,
whistling with breath, and, fleeing the bed of Phoebus,
[42.390] with an oracular cluster she crowned the hair of Phoebus.
And do you too guard against a frightful anger, lest hot,
heavy-wrathful Eros harry you; and sparing nothing of your girdle
tend Bacchus in a double part, as attendant and as consort;
and lifting the nets of your father Adonis myself
[42.395] I would spread the bed of my sister Aphrodite.
What worthy gifts will the Earth-shaker bring you?
Shall salt water be spoken of as your bride-gift of marriage,
and will he spread the skins of seals breathing a foul
smell of the sea, the Poseidonian robes of the deep?
[42.400] Do not receive the skins of seals; but for your chamber
I shall grant you Bacchants as handmaids, Satyrs as servants;
receive from me the bride-gifts of marriage and the vine harvest;
and if you wish for the furious spear of Adonis, like a girl,
you have my thyrsus as a lance; leave the point of the trident.
[42.405] Flee, dear one, the evil sound of the never-silent sea,
flee the Poseidonian sting of hard-to-meet Loves.
The dark-haired god lay beside another Amymone,
but the woman after that bed became a spring of the same name;
and he slept beside Scylla and made her a rock of the sea;
[42.410] and he pursued Asterie, and she became a lonely island;
and he rooted the maiden Euboea in the sea.
This one woos Amymone, so that he may make her too
stone after the bed; this one will grant
as bride-gift of his chamber a little stream or the moss of the brine
[42.415] or some deep-sea shell. But I stand in distress for you,
for your shape's sake, wondering what gifts, what gifts to bring you;
the child of golden Aphrodite has no need of gold.
But I shall bring you many treasures from Alybe;
the silver-armed one refuses silver. To you I shall bring
[42.420] the glittering gifts of light-bearing Eridanus;
but your shape shames all the wealth of the Heliades,
white turning red, and, a match for the beams of Dawn,
the neck of Beroe sparkles like amber
and like a flashing stone; the look of your flesh convicts
[42.425] precious marbles; let me not bring you a lychnis-stone
like a blazing lamp — your eyes send the radiance;
let me not bring you roses as gifts, leaping up
from the cup of a rosy cluster — your cheeks are rose-faced."
Such a word he spoke; and the girl, propping both hands
[42.430] within her ears, fenced her twin hearing,
lest she hear another word again that was the care of Eros,
hating the works of marriage; and for desire-stricken Lyaeus
she mixed labor with labor. What is more cruel than the Loves,
than when, with the raving goad of a heart-devouring longing,
[42.435] women shun the men who long for them
and bring a greater sting by being prudent? And a love
hidden within is double, when a maiden flees a man.
So he was lashed by the goading cestus of longing;
and he stayed away from the maiden; and toward the ungirdled girl
[42.440] he escorted his wandering mind as it ran hunting,
holding a bittersweet goad. And darting up from the sea,
shaking wet tracks through a thirsty mountain,
Poseidon sought the maiden as a migrant,
sprinkling the dry land with a watery sole;
[42.445] and to him as he still hastened beside the well-pastured slope of the wood
the topmost heads of the mountain were shaken by the throb of his feet;
he gazed at Beroe, and from foot to head
he measured the inspired youth of the standing girl;
and sharply, through her thin garment as through a mirror,
[42.450] with unwandering eyes he inferred the pattern of the girl,
as though gazing sidelong at her bared, gleaming
breasts, and he blamed the jealous girdle
with its many-plaited bonds that hid her bosom,
whirling in spirals the love-maddened eye of his face,
[42.455] gazing unsated at her whole body; and gadfly-mad
the Earth-shaker, the ruler of the brine, entreated
Cytherea of the sea in his labor, and beside a country flock
soothed the maiden as she stood with a friendly word:
"One woman convicts all Hellas of fair women;
[42.460] Paphos is sung no more, nor Lesbos, no longer is the name
of Cyprus blessed in childbirth spoken; no longer shall I sing
Naxos of song, fair in maidens; but even Lacedaemon
has been conquered in childbirth and in travail;
not Paphos, not Lesbos — but the east, the nurse of Amymone,
[42.465] has plundered the whole glory of Orchomenus,
tending one single Grace; for younger than the three
Graces, Beroe grew up a fourth.
Maiden, leave the land, as is right; your mother
did not grow from the earth — Aphrodite is the daughter of the brine;
[42.470] you have my endless deep as bride-gift, greater than the earth;
hasten to contend with the wife of Zeus, so that someone may say
that the consort of Cronides and the bedfellow of the Earth-shaker
rule everywhere, since Hera holds the scepter
of snowy Olympus, and Beroe has got the power of the sea.
[42.475] I shall not put mad-eyed Bassarids into your hands,
I shall grant no skipping Satyr and no Silenus;
but as chamber-servant of your marriage-perfecting bed
I shall make Proteus and Glaucus your attendants;
receive Nereus too, and, if you wish, Melicertes;
[42.480] and I shall call resounding Ocean your servant,
broad, girdled about the rim of the ever-flowing cosmos;
I shall grant you all the rivers as attendants for a bride-gift.
And if you delight in handmaids too, I shall bring you
the daughters of Nereus; and let your chamber-servant be,
[42.485] though she refuse, your Ino, the nurse of Dionysus."
He spoke; and leaving the angry, disobedient girl
he said a word to the air, pouring a windy voice:
"Blessed son of Myrrha, having got a race blessed in children,
you alone hold a twofold honor; you alone are called
[42.490] both the father of Beroe and the bridegroom of the foam-born."
So the Earth-shaker was lashed by the goading cestus;
and he stretched out many gifts to Adonis and Cytherea,
the bride-gift of his love for the girl. And struck by the same
burning shaft, Dionysus, bringing wealth, as much as beside
[42.495] neighboring Ganges the gold-shining travails of the metals midwifed,
entreated Aphrodite of the sea much and in vain.
And the Paphian was shaken, and feared both suitors
of her much-wooed girl; and seeing the longing
and the jealousy of the Loves of both alike,
[42.500] she proclaimed to bridal Ares a contest for Beroe
and a spearman marriage and a lovely Enyo.
And covering her wholly in some womanish adornment
Cypris set her upon the acropolis of her own fatherland,
a maiden as the disputed, delicate prize of the Loves;
[42.505] and to both gods she joined a single voice:
"I could wish that I had two daughters, so that I might join
the one owed to the Earth-shaker, and the other to Lyaeus;
but since I did not bear twins, and the undefiled ordinances
of marriage do not bid me yoke one girl as consort
[42.510] to two alternating husbands,
let there be a bride-adorning battle over one wife;
for the bed of Beroe is not without toil; and about the bride
let you both contend in a contest that goes before the marriage;
and whoever conquers, let him take Beroe without bride-price.
[42.515] Let there be a friendly oath for both; since I greatly fear
for the neighboring city of the girl, where I am called city-holder,
lest I destroy the fatherland of Beroe for the beauty of Beroe;
make covenants before the marriage, lest after the fighting
the sea Earth-shaker, cheated of the victory,
[42.520] wipe out the land with the point of his trident,
lest Dionysus in anger over the bed of Amymone
dim the vine threshing-floor of the city.
And be gracious after the tumult; and let both of you,
holding a jealousy of love under an ordinance of like-mindedness,
[42.525] adorn the fatherland of the bride with a brighter beauty."
As she spoke the suitors assented; and for both
the steadfast oath was Cronides and Earth and Upper Air
and the drops of Styx; and the Fates confirmed
the covenants; and Strife grew, the escort of the Loves,
[42.530] and Turmoil; and bride-adorning Persuasion armed them both.
And coming from heaven as watchers of the contest
all who dwell in Olympus stayed with Zeus,
witnesses of the fighting high upon the Lebanon rock.
There a great sign appeared to desire-stricken Dionysus:
[42.535] a storm-swift falcon, slackening a wing pregnant with wind,
pursued a feeding dove; and suddenly a sea-eagle,
snatching her from the ground, flew into the deep,
lifting the bird aloft with sparing talons.
And seeing it Dionysus spat away his hope of victory;
[42.540] nevertheless he came to the battle. And at the tumult of both
father Cronion rejoiced with a smiling eye,
watching from on high the fighting of his brother and his son.

## Book XLIII


### Seek the forty-third besides, where I sing the wavy Ares and the vine Enyo.

[43.1] So battle-rousing Ares, the channeler of the Loves,
shouted the chamber-serving echo of a bridal fight,
and fixed the foundations of a marriage war;
and darting the tumult against the Earth-shaker and Dionysus
[43.5] Hymenaeus was furious, and dancing into the fighting
he lifted the bronze spear of Amyclaean Aphrodite,
bellowing the harmony of Ares with a Phrygian flute.
And for the king of the Satyrs and the charioteer of the sea
the maiden was the prize; and refusing in silence
[43.10] to have the migrant bed of a suitor of the brine
she feared the wet chamber of submerged Loves,
and wished for Bacchus the more; and she was like Deianeira,
who once, when a bridal contest roared around her,
wished for Heracles, and stood trembling
[43.15] at the ox-horned wedding of an unsteady river.
And with a self-bidden course in a coiling whirl
the cloudless upper air trumpeted a warlike melody;
and pouring a grim bellowing from a raving throat
the dark-haired god armed himself with an Assyrian trident,
[43.20] shaking his sea spear. And threatening the sea,
Dionysus reveled into the fray with a wine-dark thyrsus,
seated upon the car of his mountain-ranging mother Rhea;
and a self-perfected vine, growing beside the rail
of the Mygdonian chariot, covered the whole body of Bacchus,
[43.25] girdling his shadowed locks with yoked ivy;
and a lion, shaking its entwined neck beneath the yoke-strap,
sending a harsh bellowing from a grinning lip,
scored the surface of the ground with whetted paw;
and an elephant, creeping slowly beside a neighboring spring,
[43.30] digging the upright support of its unbending foot,
drew up the rain-water with parched lips,
and dried the outpourings; and as the streams turned to dust
it drove off the thirsty, tunicless Nymph of the spring.
And the god who rules the waters armed himself; and there was tumult
[43.35] among the Nereids; and drenched from the backs of the sea
the spirits marched out; and with long-shooted clusters
the house of Poseidon, the sea water, was lashed;
and as the crested earthly hollow was battered,
the vines of Lebanon were heaved aside with the trident.
[43.40] And upon some dark-skinned herd of cattle feeding near the sea,
the herd of Poseidon, the raving women rushed
with a furious leap; and of a wide-eyed bull
one, laying hold, split its spine, and another crushed
the unshaken tips of the twin horn of its brow;
[43.45] and one cut apart its belly with a crushing thyrsus;
another cut the whole side of the ox; and half-dead,
self-rolling, the bull sank upon its back on the field;
and as the freshly cut ox rolled in the dust
one drew off its hind feet, and another, taking hold,
[43.50] dragged the forefeet, and with a much-whirling rush
she sphered its twin hoof upright into the air.
And Dionysus marshaled the leaders of his army,
setting five phalanxes for the watery Enyo.
The first rank was led by Cilician Oeneus of the fair vines,
[43.55] the son of Ereuthalion, whom he plowed near Taurus,
consorting in the country wedding of Phyllis;
and the second was led by dark-haired Helicaon,
yellow in nature with rosy cheeks, and about his neck
the coiling cluster of his well-whirled hair trailed;
[43.60] Oenopion led the third, Staphylus fought in the front of the fourth,
the two children of Oenomaus, an unmixed-wine-loving father;
and Melanthius led the fifth, a chief of the Indians,
whom Oenone the daughter of Cisseus bore, and about the boy
his mother, plaiting the tips of the leaves of a fragrant
[43.65] planting, wound clustered swaddling-clothes about him,
having washed her son in a vat pregnant with drunkenness.
Such a phalanx armed itself, shooting with ivy-bearing
shafts, running with the clustered Bacchus.
And he armed his army, pouring out a host-rousing echo:
[43.70] "Bassarids, make war; and as Lyaeus arms himself
let my horned flute, beating out a warlike sound,
speak an answering melody against the bellowing conch,
and let the drums thud out the bronze-voiced echo
of battle with twin crashes; and dancing for Enyalius
[43.75] let Maron shoot Glaucus with a man-breaking thyrsus;
and bind the locks of Proteus with unaccustomed ivy,
and, leaving the Egyptian water of the Pharian sea,
wearing a dappled-backed fawnskin after the skins of the seal,
let him bend his bold neck to me; and if he can,
[43.80] let Melicertes arm himself against a drunken Silenus;
and teach old Phorcys, after his weedy haunts,
to lift the thyrsus as a dweller of Tmolus,
and let a battle-steadfast Satyr, shaking his fennel-stalk,
remove thirsty Nereus from the sea
[43.85] and let the old man become a vine-tending farmer of the land
with country palms; and from freshly planted gardens
girdle the locks of Palaemon with a wine-dark bond,
and bring the sea charioteer to my mother Rhea
as a servant after the depth of the Isthmian brine,
[43.90] a steersman of lions with a sea-whip;
for I shall no longer leave my cousin in the sea.
And I shall behold the phalanx of the spear-won sea
adorned with a fawnskin; and give cymbals to the Nereid
Nymphs who have not tried them; mingle the water-maidens
[43.95] with Bacchants; but guard the house of Thetis alone,
the hospitable goddess, even though she is of the race of the sea;
and fit the unsandaled soles of Leucothea to buskins;
and let Doris, appearing on land as the companion of a Euian
Bacchant, lift my revel-loving pine-torch;
[43.100] and let Panopeia of the deep, shaking off the moss of the brine,
girdle her locks with a viperish cluster;
and let Eidothea receive the much-beaten rattles unwilling;
and since she has a longing equal to his who is love-maddened himself,
what blame is it that Galatea should serve Dionysus,
[43.105] so that, as a chamber-serving bride-gift for Amymone,
she may make a robe with loom-toiling hand for the Lebanon queen?
But leave the race of Nereus; for I do not wish
sea-traveling handmaids, lest I rouse jealousy in Beroe.
And let my mountain-roaming Pan, pressing with unarmed hand
[43.110] the point of his long-shooted, hairy brow,
strike Poseidon with his whetted horn,
hitting the middle of his breast with well-curved points
or with a crested crag, and let him break with his hooves
the twofold yoked circle of the spine of Triton.
[43.115] Let Glaucus, the messenger of the brine-drenched Earth-shaker,
serve Bacchus, lifting in his hands the much-beaten
drums of Rhea, hanging from a neck-strap.
I fight not for Beroe alone, but for the fatherland
of our bride herself; let not the Earth-shaker, the ruler
[43.120] of the brine, batter her as she stands unshaken
and dim her with his trident, sea-girt though she be,
because I shall arm myself against him as he arms; for both together,
if she has got a neighboring deep, she has the countless plants of Bacchus,
the token of our victory; for of the sea-neighboring <...> †
[43.125] but after the elder Pallas let another Cecrops
come as judge with Bacchus for witness, so that the vine too
may be sung as city-bearing, as the olive is.
And having made another pattern of the city I shall not leave it
near the sea, but, cutting the rocky hills with my fennel-stalk,
[43.130] I shall bridge the depth of the brine that neighbors Berytus,
making dry land with crags of the petrified water of the sea;
and a rough road is leveled by a sharp thyrsus.
But make war again, Mimallons, bold in your accustomed
victory; and my fawnskin, wearing the freshly flowing
[43.135] blood of slain Giants, blackens; and still the east itself
trembles at me, and the Indian Ares bends his neck
to the ground, and old Hydaspes, shedding suppliant tears
for Bromius, wavy tears, has shuddered.
And having the Lebanon bride after the wet fighting
[43.140] I grant one prize to the Earth-shaker in his longing:
if he wishes, let him sing the wedding-hymn of my Loves,
only let him not stretch a slanting eye upon my Beroe."
Such a word he spoke; and with a threatening speech
the dark-haired god answered, mocking Dionysus:
[43.145] "In shame, Dionysus, I arm myself, because you have striven
with a spearman of the trident, you who fled the ox-axe of Lycurgus;
I never admire this, light-bearer; for from a mother-slaying
fire you grew, whence you do deeds worthy of fire.
But, dear Tritons, help me, bind the Bacchants,
[43.150] making them sea-travelers; and let the drums of Silenus,
their mountain-haunting bearer, be deluged by the sea
as he is dragged by the wave, and in a swelling stream
let the Euian-loving flute of a swimming Satyr wander
into a self-coiling voyage; and in a fair-watered hall
[43.155] let the Bassarids spread my bed instead of Lyaeus's.
I have no need of Satyrs, I draw no Maenads into the deep;
the Nereids are better; but let the thirsty Mimallons
be hidden in the sea, and instead of poured drunkenness
let them drink the salt water of my brine;
[43.160] and let some Bassarid, driven by the wet point of Proteus,
slip self-rolling into the sea,
having tumbled a dance of death for Lyaeus.
Come here, Thetis, look: your Dionysus, having escaped,
gave fair life-ransom to the hospitable sea.
[43.165] And drag off the phalanxes of the Ethiopians and the ranks of the Indians
as plunder for the Nereids, and bring to Doris
the slave children of the evil-tongued bride Cassiepeia,
a late-accomplished vengeance; and with an irresistible stream
let Ocean remove from Olympus the fiery star of Maera
[43.170] bathed in his water, the forerunner of the unsleeping dance
of the vat, the vine Sirius.
But do you, Lydian Bacchus, leaving your inferior thyrsus,
seek another shaft for yourself, and lay down the dappled skins
of fawns, a little covering of your limbs; and if
[43.175] the bridal flame of heavenly Zeus midwifed you,
now make war with fire, fire-reared one, now with your father's
thunderbolt fight in the front against the steersman of the trident,
and lift the lightning and brandish the aegis of your father;
for it is not Deriades who awaits you as champion, nor is this
[43.180] the contest of Lycurgus, a little battle of Arabs, but of so great
a sea; and heaven itself, trembling still at my sea point,
has learned my deep-sea Enyo;
and high-traveling Phaethon, the champion, made trial
of the point of my trident, when about Corinth
[43.185] a hard-fighting sea Ares armed himself into a starry battle;
and the sea was lifted toward the upper air, and in Ocean
the thirsty Wagon bathed, and in the waters of the neighboring brine
the Dog of Maera, dipping its hot jaws, was cooled,
and the hollows of the deep haunts were raised up,
[43.190] towering the waves, and as the sea was lashed
a sea-dolphin met the heavenly Dolphin."
So speaking he shook the recesses of the sea with his trident,
and with a resounding surge and a swelling stream
the trails of the water boomed, lashing the air.
[43.195] And the army of the brine armed itself with wet shields;
and beside the brine-drenched manger of the Cronides of the deep
Melicertes whirled his submerged lance,
yoking his Isthmian car, and hung the spear
of the water-traveling king beside his sea-greaved wagon,
[43.200] scoring the backs of the sea with a threefold point,
yoking his Isthmian car; and with a horse's whinnying
he clattered against the roaring of the Indian lions.
And he drove a wet course; and as his car stretched out
an undrenched, unwetted hoof scored the surface of the water.
[43.205] And broad-bearded Triton crashed out into the raving battle,
who in his twin limbs has a mortal-seeming shape,
strange-natured, green, half-finished from the loins
to the head; and hanging from the trail of his wet loins
a double tail is bent about in a fishy pattern.
[43.210] And with a wet whip, beside a sea manger
yoking his car carried by a swift-traveling tempest,
Glaucus lashed the crest of his unwashed horses
and pursued the Satyrs. And in the sea-roaring tumult
horned Pan, a light wayfarer upon the untrodden waters,
[43.215] undrenched, beating the brine with goat's hooves,
skipped restless, striking the sea with his crook,
whistling a melody of war upon his pipe; and in the surges,
hearing a mimic, windy image of his own voice,
he ran across the sea water with mountain-ranging feet,
[43.220] seeking another sound; and the sea echo itself,
wind-borne, born of the pipe, was pursued.
And another, whirling a fair-based island hill,
hurled it at the water-maidens, and the rock, straying,
shook the inner court of Palaemon of the Nereids.
[43.225] And Proteus, leaving the Isthmian swell of the Pallenian brine,
armed himself with a sea breastplate, the skin of a seal;
and about him the blazing Indians poured crown-wise
at the call of Bacchus, and ranks of woolly-haired men
embraced the many-shaped herdsman of the seals.
[43.230] and as the old man was clamped his image was of changing color;
for Proteus, weaving a mimic pattern in his limbs,
spotted his own shape as a dappled-backed leopard;
and he stood upright upon the ground as a self-perfected plant,
having made his limbs a tree, and as his leaves were shaken
[43.235] he whistled a lying whisper to the north wind;
and, scoring his back adorned with painted scales,
he crept as a serpent, and, as his middle flank was squeezed,
he lifted a coil aloft, and with a dancer's throb
the tips of his stretched circling tail were whirled,
[43.240] and he raised his head, and spitting from his jaws
a javelin-hurling venom he hissed with gaping throat;
and having a shifting body in a shadowy shape
he bristled as a lion, rushed as a boar, flowed as water; and the chorus of Indians
clamped the liquid stream in a threatening bond,
[43.245] holding the deceiving water with slipping hands;
and the cunning old man, changing his much-wrought shape,
had the many-turning devices of the form of Periclymenus,
whom Heracles killed, when, joining two fingers,
he crushed the lying imitation of a bastard bee.
[43.250] And the sea-monster flocks wheeled about the old man's
journey on land, and the heavy-thundering water seethed
in the opened throat of a sand-loving seal.
And drawing the phalanx of his daughters into the Euian fray
old Nereus armed himself with a wavy spear,
[43.255] leaping down upon the elephants with a sea-traveling trident,
dread to look upon; and many neighboring banks beside the shore
were slanted by the sea point of Nereus.
And the offspring of the Nereids beat out with their father
the shout of battle; and into the fray high upon the deep
[43.260] the half-seen, unsandaled chorus of the brine raved in Bacchic frenzy.
And unsteady Ino, rushing ironless into the tumult
of the Satyrs, ran up to her ancient madness,
belching the white foam of a maddened chin.
And grim Panopeia, darting through the calm,
[43.265] lashed the grey-green backs of a sea lioness;
and lifting the club of Polyphemus unhappy in love
Galatea of the sea armed herself against a raving Bacchant;
and lifting her unshaken upon its brine-nourished back
a pilot-fish bore Eido undrenched through the water.
[43.270] And as when a riding driver, by a wheeling art,
slanting his whole left-hand horse near the turning-post,
bends the right, the bridle let loose,
urging with the goad, pouring out a horse-striking threat,
crouching, arched, fixing his knees against the rail
[43.275] with bending loins, and, driving a willing horse,
lashes it a little with a sparing, cunning palm,
casting his eye behind, and with his face drawn back
guards against the car of the driver coming behind;
so then the Nereids drove their fishes, like swift-traveling
[43.280] horses, about the wet turning-post of the contest.
And another held a sea-running course on the opposite path,
riding the calm upon a fishy back,
a driver of a dolphin, peering above the sea,
and held a wet-maddened course; and some maddened wet wayfarer,
[43.285] a dolphin seen in the middle, split the yoked dolphins apart.
And the rivers cried out into the fighting of Dionysus,
heartening their lord; and from the ever-flowing throats
of gaping Ocean the Poseidonian trumpet,
the messenger of the battle, roared a watery bellowing;
[43.290] and the seas were arched, fighting beside the trident;
the Myrtoan ran upon the Icarian, and appearing near
the Sardinian upon the western, the Iberian was dragged upon the Celtic,
swelling with its seas, and with the accustomed twin deep
the unfixed Bosporus mingled its crooked water,
[43.295] and the hollows of the Ionian sea, darting together
with a tempest, lashed the streams of the Aegean,
yoked; and beside the ankles of the raving Sicilian brine
the Adriatic brine, towered with waves, crashed together,
cloud-neighboring; and taking his conch beneath the water of Syrtis
[43.300] Libyan Nereus bellowed with a sea trumpet;
and a land wayfarer, leaping up from the surges,
propped his left foot upon a watch-peak, and with his right,
cutting the topmost heads of a mountain with an earth-shaking sole,
hurled them at the head of an untouched maenad;
[43.305] and hurling his deep-sea trident against Dionysus
Melicertes raved in Bacchic frenzy with his mother's leaps.
And the phalanxes of the Bassarids marched into the tumult,
of whom one, shaking the migrant cluster of her hair,
armed herself for the watery fray with a roaming madness,
[43.310] unsteady, goaded with the dancing throb of her feet;
and another, who had settled beneath the Thracian cave
of the Cabeiri in Samos, skipped beside the Lebanon cliff,
darting a barbarian melody of Corybantic echo;
another from Tmolus, high upon a lioness in childbed,
[43.315] girdling her male hair with a snaky bond,
an unveiled Maeonian Mimallon roared beneath her breath,
and fixed the track of her foot aloft above the bank,
foaming at the sea with mimic jaws.
And the Sileni, gushing up the Cilician dew,
[43.320] armed themselves as drivers of Mygdonian lions,
and, skipping with a clang upon the throng of the deep,
raised in their palms the vine shoot of Enyo,
and stretched out their palms to a lion's neck,
gripping its mane, and boldly reined back
[43.325] their irresistible bearers with shaggy bridles.
And snatching up the neck of a torrent-cut haunt
Silenus fought against Palaemon, and drove off roaming
Ino through the water with an ivy spear.
And one strove with another; and a Bacchant did not shrink
[43.330] from rushing down upon a trident with javelin-hurling thyrsus,
a Bacchant though she was a woman; and shielding the sea,
Nereus the migrant strove against crag-loving Pan
with a seething forearm; and a mountain Bacchant drove off
the Pallenian spirit with blood-red ivy,
[43.335] nor did he dash her away; and as Glaucus came on
against Lyaeus, Maron shook him off with a javelin-hurling thyrsus.
And a cloud-high elephant, whirling its standing step
with an earth-shaking throb of its limbs, with the unbending mass of its knee,
fought with its long lips against a ground-bedded seal;
[43.340] and the Satyrs rushed on in a tumbling tumult,
bull-natured, trusting in their horns, and as they hurried
a strange-appearing upright tail hung loose from their loins.
And the phalanxes of the Sileni poured in, of whom one,
mounted with parted feet upon the loins of a bull,
[43.345] pressed out the twice-sounding melody of plaited flutes.
And darting her locks together with the dappled tempests
a Mygdonian Bacchant rattled her yoked cymbals,
and lashed the arched crest of a raving bear
facing a beast of the deep; and a wild mountain-roaming
[43.350] leopard was driven on by a goading thyrsus.
And one, held fast by the leap of a wit-robbing madness,
skipped upon the sea with unwetted steps,
as though skipping upon the head of Poseidon;
she struck the waves with the heel of her foot, and threatened the silent
[43.355] deep, and a water-borne Bassarid lashed the deaf water
with her thyrsus; and from the lock of the bride
a self-moving, unburning fire blazed down her neck,
a wonder to see. And plaintive Psamathe, beside the shore
by the neighboring deep, watching the battle
[43.360] of sea-fighting Dionysus, dread-suffering, broke into a much-fearing voice:
"If you know the favor of Thetis and of skilled-handed Briareus,
if you have learned of Aegaeon, the helper of your ordinances,
lord Zeus, check maddened Bacchus; and let me not behold
the slavery of Nereus upon the death of Glaucus;
[43.365] let not Thetis of the shifting tears serve Lyaeus,
let me not see her a handmaid beside Bromius, looking upon
the land of the Lydians after the sea, groaning in a single grief
for Achilles, Peleus, Pyrrhus, grandson, husband, son;
and pity mourning Leucothea, whose consort
[43.370] took her son and cut him down, whom the child-slaying
points of an unloving father’s knife carved apart."
So she spoke, and high-ruling Zeus heard through the upper air,
and entrusted the wedding of Beroe to the Earth-shaker,
and soothed the bride-adorning battle; for from heaven,
[43.375] checking the unaccomplished bridal Enyo,
threatening thunderbolts wheeled about Bacchus.
And the vine god, shaken by a bridal shaft,
longed for the girl; but his father, high-ruling Zeus,
checked him, beating out the melody of a thunderous trumpet,
[43.380] and his father's echo reined back his longing for the fighting.
And with shrinking feet he withdrew, a sluggish wayfarer,
grim, watching the girl with a backward-thrown eye;
and with shamefaced ears he heard in jealousy
the wedding of Amymone sung upon the sea.
[43.385] And the sea-roaring pipe cried the half-finished marriage,
and shaking an unquenchable bridal fire in the waters
Nereus the chamber-servant cried the bridal chamber of Amymone,
and Phorcys wove a melody; and in an emulous journey
Glaucus skipped up, and Melicertes raved in Bacchic frenzy;
[43.390] and Galatea, beating out a yoking dance,
whirled unsteady with a dancer's throb of her feet,
and spoke a bridal melody, since she had learned to sing fair,
taught by the shepherd's pipe of Polyphemus.
And consorting in the liquid wedding of Beroe
[43.395] the bridegroom Earth-shaker loved the fatherland of his bride;
and to the dwellers of Beroe he gave as a treasure of his own bed
the sea victory of a sea Ares.
And the marriage was blessed, since beside the deep-sea bridal chamber
Arabian Nereus brought a worthy bride-gift of love,
[43.400] the wise work of Hephaestus, Olympian cunning work, for the bride,
bringing a necklace and bearing buds and stretching out spirals,
as many as the Lemnian worker made for the Nereids
with inimitable art beside the waves <...> †
he brandished a fiery anvil and a submerged fire-tongs,
[43.405] stretching the circling panting of a blowing furnace
with manufactured winds, and as the forge was kindled
an unquenchable fire boomed hidden within the surges.
Nereus gave these many-turning gifts; and the Persian Euphrates
gave the girl the much-wrought work of the spider;
[43.410] the Iberian Rhine gave gold; and old Pactolus came
bringing like gifts of wealth-holding metals
with guarded hands, because he feared the champion of the Lydians,
Bacchus his own king, and feared his neighbor Rhea,
the city-holder of his own Mygdonian land; and Eridanus
[43.415] gave glittering gifts, the amber of the Heliades
from wealth-flowing trees; and from a silver rock
all the metals that Strymon and all that Geudis brings,
the dark-haired god gave as a bride-gift to Amymone.
So the Earth-shaker, fresh from the dance, rejoiced
[43.420] beside his submerged bridal chamber; and to unsmiling Lyaeus
his brother Eros cried a comforting voice as he grudged:
"Why, Dionysus, do you still blame the bride-tending cestus?
The marriage of Beroe did not befit Bromius, but this marriage
was fitting for the sea, because, taking the child of
[43.425] deep-sea Aphrodite, I yoked her to a sea-traveling consort;
but I have kept a more delicate Ariadne for your chamber,
kindred from the race of Minos; and leave in the sea
the paltry Amymone who bears sea blood.
But leaving the crest of Lebanon and the water of Adonis
[43.430] you shall come to Phrygia of fair maidens, where there awaits you
the unwetted bed of Titanian Aura, daughter of Helios;
and having fashioned a crown of battle and a bridal chamber for the girl,
bride-tending Thrace shall receive you, where spear-wielding
Pallene herself calls you, beside whose bridal chamber
[43.435] I shall crown you as prize-bearer with bridal clusters
when you have accomplished the lovely wrestling of Aphrodite."
Such things furious Eros said to his woman-mad brother
Bacchus; and sending the fiery boom of his wings
the bastard bird was lifted in an airy journey,
[43.440] and came to the house of Zeus. And from the Assyrian gulf
soft-tunicked Dionysus went up to the land of the Lydians
beside the floor of Pactolus, where with gold-gleaming clay
the black water reddens with a rich chalk;
and he set foot in Maeonia, and stood before his mother Rhea
[43.445] holding out the royal gifts of the Indian sea.
And leaving the streams of the deep-wealthy river
and the Phrygian hollow and the race of delicate-living men
he planted his harvest beside the northern floor,
going to the cities of Europe after the towns of Asia.

## Book XLIV


### I have woven the forty-fourth, where you may behold women maddened and the mass of the threat of Pentheus.

[44.1] And now, leaving the Daulantian nation of the Illyrian field
and the plain of Haemonia and the peak of Pelion,
he came near Hellas, and beside the Aonian floor
he set up dances. And hearing the melody of the bellowing flute
[44.5] a shepherd set up revel-bands for Pan of Tanagra;
and a spring cried out, where, battering the surface of the earth,
a liquid horse's hoof carved out the water named for it;
and Asopus danced, dragging fire-breathing streams
and whirling his outpourings; and with her father Ismenus
[44.10] Dirce danced, darting her circling floods.
And once a Hamadryad, leaping up from an oaken cluster,
sang shrill, half-seen, high upon her tree,
glorifying the name of cluster-bearing Dionysus;
and an unsandaled spring Nymph cried out with the same voice.
[44.15] And the mountain-roaming crash of the untanned ox-hide
crashed upon the truceless ears of Pentheus;
and the lawless king was enraged at wine-bearing Bacchus,
and armed a fighting host, and bade the citizens
fence about the gateways of the seven-pathed city;
[44.20] and they shut them in turn, but suddenly
the bolts of the gates opened of their own accord,
and the servants cast the long bars upon the gateway in vain,
striving against the airy winds.
Not then did any gatekeeper see and rein back a Bacchant;
[44.25] and shield-bearing spearmen trembled at the old, unarmed
Sileni; and with a shout of one tongue,
sparing nothing of the threat of the king who called them,
they danced again and again, and with their well-made ox-hide shields
they set up the shield-brandishing leap of a circling dance,
[44.30] And dread raving bears cried out among the mountains;
and a leopard, darting its jaw and its high-flying
rush, was suspended; and a lion, playing delicately,
an answering imitation of the crash-loving Corybants.
sent a gentle roaring to a lioness of its own age.
[44.35] And already the court of Pentheus shook, self-coiling,
leaping sphere-wise from its unbending foundations;
and the gateway was shaken, darting with an earth-shaking throb,
the forerunner of the misery to come; and of its own accord
the stone altar of Onca Athena was whirled about,
[44.40] which Cadmus once built, when with a slow-obedient rush
the city-bearing hoof of the tower-building heifer sank down;
and about the divine image of the city-holding goddess
a god-driven sweat bubbled with self-moving drops,
bringing terror to the dwellers; and from foot to head
[44.45] the statue of Ares flowed with gore, a messenger of things to come.
And the dwellers were shaken; and the mother of boastful Pentheus
was whirled with fear, and raved in her purpose,
remembering an earlier blood-red dream
that prophesied bitter things, since before, high upon her bed,
[44.50] ever since Pentheus had snatched his father's lordship,
phantoms of a mimic dream all night long,
leaping through the unwandering gateway of horn,
terrified Agave as she slept in slumbering whispers;
for she thought that Pentheus, a delicate dance-beating wayfarer,
[44.55] having adorned his male flesh with a woman's robe,
cast the purple-backed cloak of lords upon the ground,
lightening a thyrsus and no longer the bearer of a scepter;
and Cadmeian Agave thought she saw him again
seated aloft high upon a shadowy tree;
[44.60] and beasts wheeled about the high-headed plant
where bold Pentheus sat, and held a savage rush,
heaving the tree with threatening tooth,
with rough jaws; and as the tree was shaken
Pentheus was whirled head first, self-rolling, coiling,
[44.65] and raving bears mangled him as he fell;
and a wild lioness, rushing down upon his face,
tore off his hand at the root, and the beast, uncontrollably mad,
propping her foot upon the throat of half-cut Pentheus,
cut through his throat with whetted claws,
[44.70] and lifted his bloody head with a snatching paw
as he was pitiably cut apart, and showed it to Cadmus as witness,
brandishing it, and broke into a sinful mortal voice:
"I am your beast-slaying daughter; and I am the mother
of most blessed Pentheus, your child-loving Agave.
[44.75] I have destroyed so great a beast; and receive this head
as the first prey of my strength, of a lion-slaying victory;
never did my sister Ino kill so great a beast,
Autonoe did not kill one; but do you fix the tokens
of your daughter Agave, the noblest-working, before your hall."
[44.80] Such a grim-eyed dream did pale Agave see.
Whence, much-dreaded, shaking off the wing of Sleep,
at dawn she called the god-speaking son of Chariclo,
and told the prophet the murderous dreams of things to come;
and Teiresias the seer bade her sacrifice a male
[44.85] bull, a helper against the blood-red dream,
beside the god-invoking altar of evil-averting Zeus,
beside the tree of a long fir, where Cithaeron
is spread out high-headed; and he signified to sacrifice
a female sheep to the Hamadryad Nymphs beside the thicket.
[44.90] And he knew that the intelligent beast and hunting Agave
were the travail of her own belly and a child-destroying contest
and the head of Pentheus; and in voiceless silence
he hid the deceiving image of the dream victory,
lest he anger his heavy-wrathful king Pentheus.
[44.95] And obeying the wise old man, child-loving Agave
went as companion with Cadmus to the high-headed mountain,
Pentheus following; and beside a well-horned altar,
where was a grove of Zeus full of mountain wood,
Cadmus son of Agenor joined in a single sacrifice
[44.100] a female sheep together with a horned male bull
to Zeus and the Hadryads, kindling a god-delighting altar,
to make offering to both; and as the torch was kindled
the roaming coiling savor swam together with the smoke
in a fragrant whirl, and as the bull was cut down
[44.105] an upright, self-rushing pipe of bloody dew
purpled the hands of Agave with reddening slaughter;
and winding crown-wise about the sinew of his neck
a gentle serpent slanted its swollen, arched neck,
girdled about with a coiling trail,
[44.110] and the mild snake wheeled its head about the head of Cadmus
with a trailing garland, and its tongue licked about his beard,
spitting a friendly venom from its gentle jaws
as they opened; and a female serpent girdled the temple
of Harmonia, entwined about her yellow clusters.
[44.115] And Cronion turned the limbs of the two serpents to stone,
because beside the mouth of the serpent-feeding Illyrian sea
Harmonia and Cadmus, their faces changed,
were to have a stony, snaky shape.
Such a phantom she once saw, and remembering
[44.120] the oracular dream child-loving Agave was shaken with fear.
And holding another fear after the earlier fear of sleep
she came home returning with her son and her father.
And already Rumor was flying through the seven-pathed city
proclaiming the rites of dance-weaving Dionysus;
[44.125] nor was any man in the city without a dance; and the streets
were girdled with the springtime leaves of the country folk;
and shadowing with a green cluster the chamber of Semele,
still breathing of the bridal spark of the thunderbolt,
a self-grown tendril made it drunk with fragrant fruit.
[44.130] And gazing at the dread, many-shaped wonders of Bacchus,
holding an overbearing jealousy, king Pentheus surged;
and pouring out the proud boast of an empty threat
reckless Pentheus cried such a word to his servants:
"Bring me my Lydian servant, the womanish wanderer,
[44.135] the attendant of the table of Pentheus as he feasts,
dripping another drink into a wine-receiving cup,
either milk or a sweet stream <...> †
and I shall lash Autonoe with alternating blows.
and casting the resounding cymbals to the winds
[44.140] and the Berecyntian crash and the Euian drums of Rhea,
drag off the maddened Bassarids, drag off the Bacchants,
the handmaids and companions of Bromius, whom in Thebes,
hurling them into the liquid haunts of Ismenus,
mingle as Naiads with the Aonian river Nymphs,
[44.145] their age-mates; and let old Cithaeron receive the Hadryads
as yokemates for other Hadryads instead of Lyaeus;
and let us cut the locks of unshorn Dionysus;
Bring fire, servants, since by an avenging ordinance,
if Bacchus came from fire, I shall give Bacchus to fire;
[44.150] Zeus subdued Semele, I shall destroy Dionysus.
And if he should make trial of our thunderbolt too,
he shall know what earthly radiance I have; for my answering
fire has got hotter sparks than the heavenly;
today I shall make the vine-clad one smoky.
[44.155] And if he should set up a fight, lifting a warlike thyrsus,
he shall know what earthly spear I have; and I shall destroy him,
not tending a wound of foot, of flanks, of breast,
of hollows; nor shall I cut with an ox-axe
the two curved horns of his bull-horned brow,
[44.160] nor shall I cut through the middle of his neck; but I shall strike him
with a bronze spear, pierced in the fold of the thigh,
because he has lied about being the offspring of the thigh of great Zeus
and about the vault as his own house; and instead of that hall,
instead of the gateway of Zeus, I shall send him down to Hades,
[44.165] or, as he flees self-rolling, I shall cover him
with the waves of Ismenus, and there is no need of the sea.
I do not accept a mortal man as a bastard god; if it is lawful to say,
I shall lie about my own race, as Dionysus does; I do not bear
the blood of earthly Cadmus; but my father, the chief of the stars,
[44.170] Helios begot me, and Echion did not sow me;
Selene bore me, and Agave did not bring me forth;
I am of the race of Cronides, and I am a citizen of the upper air;
star-roaming heaven is my city; be gracious, Thebes;
Pallas is my consort, immortal Hebe is my wife;
[44.175] queen Hera held out her breast to Pentheus after Ares,
and holy Leto bore Pentheus after Phoebus;
I shall wed Artemis at her own desire; nor does she flee me,
as once she fled Phoebus, the suitor of her maidenhood,
shunning the reproach of a wedlock with her brother.
[44.180] And if the heavenly flame did not burn your Semele,
Cadmus burned his own house for the reproach of his daughter,
and called the ground-born, kindling fire a lightning,
and named the radiance of torches a spark of the thunderbolt.
As the king so spoke, his warriors marched out,
[44.185] weapon-bearers striving against empty winds;
and a measureless host was within the pine-wood,
seeking the tracks of Lyaeus who could not be seen.
While king Pentheus gave commands to the dwellers,
meanwhile Dionysus too, gazing at the lightless night,
[44.190] cried such a word toward Olympus to the circling Moon:
"O child of Helios, much-turning, all-nourishing Mene,
Selene, steersman of a silver car,
if you are many-named Hecate, and by night
shake the revel-loving pine-torch with a torch-bearing palm,
[44.195] come, night-roamer, whelp-rearer, since the nightly
hound-rousing echo of a whimpering whine delights you;
if you are deer-shooting Artemis, and among the hills,
hastening, hunt together with fawn-slaying Dionysus,
be the helper of your brother; for having got the blood
[44.200] of first-born Cadmus I am driven outside Thebes,
from the fatherland of my mother Semele; for a swift-fated
mortal man, a god-fighter, routs me; and as goddess of the night
help Dionysus of the night as he is driven off;
and if you are Persephoneia, the rouser of the dead, and souls
[44.205] serve your Tartarean thrones,
let me see Pentheus a corpse, and let your soul-escorting Hermes
lull the tear of grieving Dionysus;
and with the Tartarean whip of your raving Tisiphone
or Megaera stop the mind-robbing threat
[44.210] of earth-born Pentheus, since ill-devising Hera
has armed a later-born Titan against young Lyaeus.
But do you subdue the lawless man, so that you may honor
the name of first-born Zagreus Dionysus.
Lord Zeus, do you too watch the threat of a maddened man;
[44.215] hear, father and mother; and as Lyaeus is put to shame
let your bridal lightning be the avenger of Semele."
As he spoke, bull-faced Mene cried out from on high:
"Night-shining Dionysus, plant-tender, companion of Mene,
care for your grape; and the rites of Bacchus are my care,
[44.220] because the earth ripens the travail of your plants
receiving the dewy sparkle of unsleeping Selene;
and do you, dance-beating Bacchus, stretching out your thyrsi,
care for your own race, and do not tremble at a race of feeble
men, whose mind is always light, whose threats
[44.225] the whips of the Eumenides check by necessity.
With you I arm myself against the adversaries; and equally with Bacchus
I rule over a shifting madness; and I am a Bacchic
Mene, not only because I wheel the months in the upper air,
but because I am mistress of madness and rouse frenzy.
[44.230] I shall not leave your earthly outrage unavenged;
for already Lycurgus, who threatened Dionysus,
who was before swift-kneed, who sharply pursued the Maenads,
wanders blind and lacks a guide.
And already about the necks of the Erythraean reeds
[44.235] the dead throng of the Indians lies this way and that,
the self-announcer of your strength, and with a refusing stream
his father Hydaspes has hidden witless Deriades,
struck by an ivy spear; and he, fleeing,
fell downcast into his father's heavy-roaring stream;
[44.240] the Tyrrhenians have learned your strength, when the upright
mast of their ships was changed and became a vine shoot
self-perfected, and the sail, beneath shadowy leaves,
grew into a fair-clustered covering of vines,
and the forestays hissed with a viperish, venom-shooting
[44.245] cluster, and the foes, casting away their mortal shape
and their intelligent counsel, their faces changed,
swim the sea as witless dolphins;
and still they revel for Dionysus even in the surges,
skipping upon the calm like tumblers.
[44.250] And a corpse, struck by your sharp thyrsus,
Indian Orontes is covered by Assyrian streams,
still fearing the name of Bacchus even in the waters."
Such a word the golden-reined goddess cried to Bromius.
While Bacchus still kept company with the circling Moon,
[44.255] meanwhile Persephone, doing favor to Zagreus Dionysus,
armed the Erinyes, and in grief
helped her later-born brother Dionysus.
And they, at the hard-to-meet nod of the head of the Zeus of the underworld,
the Eumenides, marched against the hall of Pentheus,
[44.260] of whom one, leaping from the gloomy pit,
whirled a Tartarean viperish whip,
and drew the stream of Cocytus and the water of Styx,
and sprinkled the house of Agave with an earthly drop
as though prophesying the wailing and the tears of Thebes;
[44.265] and the spirit brought an Attic knife from Athens,
the ancient murderous knife of Itylus, with which once the mother
Procne, lion-hearted, together with man-slaying Philomela,
cutting apart her beloved travail with the iron,
carved a dear food for child-devouring Tereus;
[44.270] bearing that in her hand, the Erinys, the channeler of murders,
digging the dust with her evil-beginning nails,
hid the Attic sword beside the mountain-grown root
of a long fir, where the Maenads, where Pentheus
was to die headless; and gathering in a shell
[44.275] the freshly flowing blood of the newly slain Gorgon Medusa
she anointed the tree with purple Libyan dews.
These things the maddened Erinys wrought among the crags.
And with gloomy feet night-shining Dionysus entered
the house of Cadmus, having a bull-faced shape,
[44.280] darting the maddening Cronian whip of Pan;
and, driving the unbridled wife of Aristaeus to frenzy,
he called Autonoe, and cried with a raving voice:
"Blessed Autonoe, more than Semele; for in the wedding
of your freshly wedded son you contend even with Olympus;
[44.285] you have snatched the boast of the upper air, since Artemis got
Actaeon as her delicate consort, as Selene got Endymion.
Actaeon did not die, he did not get the look of a beast,
not the long-pointed horn of a dappled deer,
he did not receive a bastard shape, and did not lie about his form,
[44.290] he did not see his own hunting hounds as his slayers;
but with the empty-minded tale of evil-tongued mouths
the herdsmen lied about the doom of your son,
hating the bridegroom of an unwedded goddess.
I know whence this guile comes; over the weddings of others,
[44.295] over marriage, over the Paphian, women are jealous.
But leaping with stormy sandal
hasten to go untouchable to the mountains; and going there
you shall see Actaeon hunting with Lyaeus,
holding Artemis near him, and wearing the dappled nets
[44.300] of the hunt and hunting-boots, and handling his quiver.
Blessed Autonoe, more than Semele, because you are
the mother-in-law of the archer-goddess as she comes to a wedding;
more blessed than Ino of the fair children, because your son
has got the bed of a goddess, which proud Otus did not get.
[44.305] Bold Orion was not the bridegroom of the archer-goddess.
And grown young with joy for the sake of your son's bride
your Cadmus revels beside the mountain-haunting bridal chamber,
shaking his snowy hair in the airy winds.
Wake, and do you too be a bride-adorner, mother blessed in childbirth;
[44.310] this Eros is fitting, because chaste Artemis has taken
as bridegroom her brother's son and not a stranger as consort.
But when the bed-fleeing goddess shall one day bear a child,
lifting the son of the prudent archer-goddess
in a child-tending arm, show him to jealous Agave.
[44.315] What blame would this ever be, if the hound-rouser beside a bridal chamber
wished to bear a hare-shooting hunter son,
like Actaeon and crag-loving Cyrene,
riding upon the swift car of his mother's deer?"

## Book XLV


### You shall look upon the forty-fifth, where Pentheus binds fast a bull instead of horn-drawing Lyaeus.

[45.1] As Bromius so spoke, the bride ran out of her halls
held fast by a raving joy, so that she might behold
Actaeon the bridegroom seated beside the archer-goddess;
and with her as she hurried with tottering foot, running with the breezes,
[45.5] the maenad Agave went unveiled to the mountain,
and, her heart lashed by the goad of the Cronian whip,
shrieked out an unmarked voice with maddened lip:
"I arm myself against paltry Pentheus, so that he may learn
that Cadmus begot in Agave a bold Amazon.
[45.10] I too am full of manhood; and if I wish,
I shall subdue the whole of Pentheus with bare palms,
and cut down a well-armed host with an unarmed hand.
I have a thyrsus; I need no ash-spear, I brandish no lance;
and with a vine spear I strike a spear-wielding man;
[45.15] I wear no breastplate, and I shall subdue the well-corseleted.
And darting my cymbals and my double-beaten ox-hide
I glorify the son of Zeus, and do not honor Pentheus.
Give me Lydian rattles; why do you delay, raving Seasons?
I shall go to the crags, where the Maenads are, where women
[45.20] of my own age hunt together with Lyaeus as he hunts.
I have jealousy, Dionysus, of lion-slaying Cyrene;
spare me Bromius, god-fighter, spare him, Pentheus;
untouchable I shall go to the crags, so that I too,
singing the Euian cry, may whirl a dance-beating step;
[45.25] no longer do I refuse the rites of clustered Bacchus,
no longer do I hate the chorus of the Bassarids; but I too
fear Dionysus, whom an imperishable bed plowed,
whom the thunderbolts of high-ruling Zeus washed.
I shall be swift-sandaled, lifting the nets
[45.30] of the archer-goddess my companion, and not the threads of Athena."
So speaking she flew off, a young Mimallon skipping,
keeping the Euian-loving leap of a vat dance,
crying Euoi for Bacchus and singing of Thyone;
and she called Semele the wife of highest Zeus,
[45.35] and sang shrill of the radiance of the fair-shining bridal thunderbolts.
And there was a great dance among the crags; and about them the rocks
cried out; and a many-shaped echo ran round the plain
of seven-gated Thebes; and with a shout of one tongue
from the singers heavy-thundering Cithaeron crashed;
[45.40] and the dewy din of the sea resounded; and one might see
the trees reveling and the cliff speaking.
And a girl leapt dance-beating out of her chamber
when the horned flute cried through its pierced channels;
and the much-shouted crash of the untanned ox-hide
[45.45] drove the maidens to frenzy, and from their well-made halls
sent the Bacchants as wanderers to the high-headed mountain.
And a girl, goaded, with stormy sandal,
her hair let loose, darted out of her maiden-chamber,
leaving the shuttle and the loom-perfecting Athena;
[45.50] and casting away the uncared-for veil of her locks
she mingled with the Bassarids and became an Aonian Bacchant.
And Teiresias made sacrifice to evil-averting Dionysus,
setting up an altar, so that he might check the outrage of Pentheus
and scatter the unsoftened anger of Lyaeus;
[45.55] but he entreated in vain, since the thread of Fate had come.
And the prudent seer called the father of Semele,
so that they might share in the dancing of Dionysus.
And old Cadmus danced with heavy feet,
having crowned his snowy locks with Aonian ivy;
[45.60] and Teiresias, going with him, whirling his sluggish foot,
striking up a Phrygian revel for Mygdonian Dionysus,
went as companion with Cadmus as he darted into the dance,
propping his aged forearm upon a god-fearing fennel-stalk.
And beholding the two old men together with a slanting eye,
[45.65] Teiresias and Cadmus, reckless Pentheus cried:
"Cadmus, why do you rage? For what god do you rouse a revel?
Cadmus, lay down the ivy from your defiled hair,
lay down the fennel-stalk of mind-wandering Dionysus too;
and lift the prudent bronze of Onca Athena.
[45.70] Childish Teiresias, garland-bearer, fling to the winds
these leaves of your locks, a bastard crown; and instead of a thyrsus
lift rather your Ismenian laurel of Phoebus.
I respect your old age, and honor the grey lock
that witnesses your very years, measureless in life;
[45.75] for if this old age and your hair did not restrain me,
I would have wound your hands in fetters none can escape
and sealed you bound in a gloomy hall.
Your mind has not escaped me; for in jealousy of Pentheus
you make a bastard god into a man with guileful prophecies,
[45.80] having taken gifts from a deceiving Lydian man,
the gifts of a river called rich in gold.
But you will say that Bacchus found the wine-bearing harvest;
wine always draws drunken men toward Aphrodite,
wine rouses the mind of an unsteady man toward slaughter.
[45.85] But has he the body or the tunics of Zeus his father?
Wearing golden robes, not fawnskins, high-ruling Zeus
flashes among the blessed ones; and Ares fights against men
holding a bronze spear, not lifting a wine-dark thyrsus;
Apollo is not horned with an ox's horns.
[45.90] Did a river wed Semele, and did the bride bear
a bastard horned son to an ox-horned consort?
But you will say: grey-eyed Pallas Athena comes to a male
fight, holding her kindred spear and shield.
Do you too stretch out the aegis of your father Cronides."
[45.95] As Pentheus so spoke, the prudent seer answered:
"Why do you rout Dionysus, whom high-ruling Zeus plowed,
whom father Cronides travailed with in a pregnant thigh,
and god-bearing Rhea reared with child-tending milk,
whom before, half-finished, still breathing of his mother,
[45.100] the unburning sparks of the thunderbolt washed?
He alone strives with sheaf-bearing Demeter,
having a fair-clustered harvest to answer her corn-ears.
But guard against the anger of Bromius; and about impiety,
child, if you wish, I shall tell you a Sicilian tale.
[45.105] Once the sons of the Tyrrhenians sailed the sea,
stranger-slayers, wandering mariners, snatchers of wealth,
seizing the shore-side flocks of sheep from every side;
and many an old sailor, half-dead, was rolled
this way and that from spear-won ships into a watery doom,
[45.110] and another, an abundant shepherd shielding his own flock,
reddened his grey hairs with slaughter.
If a merchant then sailed the sea, if ever a Phoenician
had for sale the sea-purple robes of the Sidonian deep,
the wandering Tyrrhenian, taking him upon the sea,
[45.115] was carried off unforeseen upon his wealth-flowing ships;
and some man, having lost a boundless cargo unavenged,
a Phoenician, was ferried in bonds to Sicilian Arethusa,
having left his city, without share of his plundered wealth.
But Dionysus, changing his shape by a thievish guile,
[45.120] beguiled the Tyrrhenians; and he put on a bastard form,
like a lovely boy with unscored chin,
having a golden-wrought adornment at his neck; and about his temple
was the self-moving gleam of a flashing garland
of unquenchable lychnis, and the green backs of emerald,
[45.125] and Indian stone, the sparkle of the gleaming sea;
and he put upon his flesh robes brighter than the circling Dawn
as she is freshly scored, stained with the Tyrian shellfish.
And he stood beside the brows of the shore, as though he too
longed to board a merchant ship. And they, leaping out,
[45.130] took the bright, guile-weaving son of Thyone as plunder
and stripped him of his possessions; and a running cord
was girdled about the hands of Dionysus drawn behind him.
And suddenly the youth became great in a wondrous shape,
man-formed, horned, lifted as high as Olympus,
[45.135] piercing the shelter of the airy clouds; and with a fair-sounding
throat he bellowed like a host of nine thousand.
And the long cables became viperish trails,
shaped, breathing, into the curved backs of serpents;
and the forestays hissed; and a wind-borne horned snake
[45.140] ran up with trailing coils to the yard-arm of the mast;
and the mast, shadowed with green leaves, a neighbor of the air,
was a topmost cypress; and in the mast-box
high-flying ivy went up, a neighbor of the upper air,
plaiting a self-coiling cord about the cypress;
[45.145] and about the rudders, peering above the sea,
a Bacchic vine-pole was weighed down with clustered fruit;
and as the stern was weighed down with sweet-drinking Dionysus
a spring, gushing up wine, raved with drunkenness.
And about all the benches, coming up through the prow,
[45.150] beasts grew; and bulls bellowed,
and a lion roared a grim din from its throat.
And the Tyrrhenians cried out, and raved with madness,
goaded into terror. And the wavy trails of the plant-increasing
sea spat out flowers;
[45.155] and the rose grew, and above, as in a garden,
the foam-bearing hollows of the sea reddened,
and the lily sparkled in the surges. And as they gazed
their eyes raved in Bacchic frenzy at the lying meadows,
and a deep-treed mountain appeared to them and a pasture of wood
[45.160] and a chorus of country folk and the flocks of shepherds,
and they thought they perceived the sound of a clear-voiced herdsman
making melody upon a shepherd's pipe,
and, hearing the melody of clear, well-holed flutes
as they sailed high upon the middle of the endless deep,
[45.165] they thought they saw land; and beneath a wit-robbing madness,
darting into the depth, they danced upon the calm,
sea-traveling dolphins; and as their faces changed
the race of men was shaped into a fishy nature.
And do you too, child, beware the guileful anger of Lyaeus.
[45.170] But you will say: I wear a valiant body, and I tend
the dread self-sown blood of the tooth-grown Giants.
Flee the divine hand of Giant-slaying Dionysus,
who once beside the base of Tyrrhenian Pelorus
crushed Alpos, the god-fighting son of Earth,
[45.175] as he fought with crags and hurled hills as spears;
and cowering before the rank of throats of the maddened Giant
no wayfarer then trod that head of the rock;
and if anyone, not knowing, was carried along the untrodden road
lashing a bold horse, the son of Earth, perceiving him,
[45.180] entwined him with his wide-scattered hands above the crag
and entombed driver and colt alike in his throat.
And often, dragging them to pasture through a well-treed mountain,
the old shepherd carved up his sheep as they rested at midday.
Not then, sitting beside the goat-folds or beside the pens,
[45.185] did music-tending Pan make melody with his gathered reeds,
nor did late-speaking Echo answer the crash of his harp;
but, chatterer though she was, the silence of never-silent Pan
sealed her who sounded with his accustomed flute,
because the Giant then assailed all; not then did a herdsman,
[45.190] nor did any chorus of woodcutters grieve the Nymphs of their own age
by cutting ship-timbers, and no wise carpenter
bolted a timber-fixed merchantman, the wayfaring car of the sea,
until Bacchus passed by those heads as he traveled,
shaking his Euian thyrsi; and as Lyaeus passed
[45.195] the cloud-high, vast son of Earth assailed him,
lifting a rocky shield upon his shoulders;
and he had a crag for missile, and he leapt upon Bacchus
holding a neighboring woody, high-running point,
hurling either a pine or a plane-tree at Dionysus.
[45.200] He had a pine for club, and, whirling it like a swift sword,
he lifted an olive bush by the root from its base.
But when he had emptied the mountains of their far-throwing hills,
and the deep-treed ridge of the shadowy wood was laid bare,
then thyrsus-mad Bacchus hurled his own shaft
[45.205] at the mark with an accustomed whistle, and struck sky-high Alpos
in his broad throat, and through the middle of his windpipe
the sharp-stretched, green Bacchic point darted;
there the Giant, pierced by a little sharp thyrsus,
rolled half-dead and fell into the neighboring deep,
[45.210] filling the whole deep-bosomed hollow of the sea;
and raising its streams through the Typhaonian rock
the sea deluged the hot backs of his brother's bed,
cooling a fiery body with a watery trail.
But, child, beware, lest you too perceive the like,
[45.215] as the sons of the Tyrrhenians did, as the bold son of Earth."
He spoke, and did not persuade him; and with fearless sandal
he went with Cadmus to the high-headed mountain,
so that he might take part in the dance. And to his iron-bearing warriors
helmet-glancing Pentheus cried, lifting his shield:
[45.220] "My servants, going through the city and the middle of the wood,
bring me this feeble wanderer in heavy bonds,
so that, struck by the alternating whips of Pentheus,
he may no longer charm women with a drugged drink,
but may bend his knee; and from the crags remove
[45.225] my own child-loving mother Agave, raving in Bacchic frenzy,
from the roaming, sleepless dance,
dragging her by the unveiled cluster of her raving hair."
As Pentheus so spoke, his attendants ran with swift sole
to the hard-to-enter ridge of the high-tressed wood,
[45.230] seeking the tracks of mountain-wandering Dionysus.
And scarcely, beholding thyrsus-mad Dionysus
near a lonely rock, the warriors rushed on;
and they clamped thongs about the palms of Bromius,
wishing to cast bonds upon unconquered Dionysus;
[45.235] but he was unseen, having darted off untouchable
on his winged sandal, and in voiceless silence
the servants were enslaved by a divine necessity,
shunning in terror the wrath of Lyaeus
who could not be seen. And Bacchus, like a shield-bearer,
[45.240] taking an unyoked bull, gripped it by the horn with his hand,
as though a servant of Pentheus threatening a lying
horned Dionysus, and, as with an angry face,
he came near maddened Pentheus, and as the raving king
sat, playing with his proud boast,
[45.245] unsmiling he cried a dread, thievish voice:
"This is the man, scepter-bearer, who has goaded your Agave;
this is the man who desires the royal seat of Pentheus;
but take the horned, guile-minded wandering Bacchus
and bind in fetters none can escape the suitor of your throne,
[45.250] and beware the head of ox-horned Dionysus,
lest he take you and strike you with his long-pointed horn."
As Bromius so spoke, held fast by an intelligent madness
the god-fighter Pentheus cried a threatening word:
"Bind him, bind this plunderer of my throne;
[45.255] this man arms himself against my scepters, this man comes
desiring the Cadmeian, ancestral seat of Semele.
A fine thing for me, that Dionysus, whom a secret bed plowed,
should have some man-formed bull as a partner of his honor,
lighting up a bastard shape upon an ox-horned brow,
[45.260] whom perhaps Semele bore to a bull, after Pasiphae,
joined to a horned, pasturing consort."
He spoke, and pressing the feet of the country bull
he clamped it in fetters none can escape; and taking it instead of Lyaeus
he led it fettered near a horse's manger,
[45.265] as though penning the bold son of Semele and not a bull.
And the phalanx of the Bassarids, entwined in a knot of hands,
he sealed bound in a moldering hall,
in some hollow cavity, a house of joyless necessity,
a hard-to-escape imitation of the Cimmerians, without share of Dawn,
[45.270] the revel-loving handmaids of Bromius, about whose squeezed
palms thongs were girdled beneath the bond,
and a bronze chain was sealed upon their feet.
But when the course of the swift-whirling dance came,
the maenads danced; and a stormy Bacchant,
[45.275] whirled restlessly with a dancing throb of her feet,
checked the loosened trail of the unbreakable thongs,
and with her palms rattled a free Euian echo
with well-rhythmed crashes; and beneath the whirl of her soles
the swelling, bronze-heavy chain of her feet was split.
[45.280] And a god-driven gleam crowned the gloomy house
of the Bassarids, dripping from the dark hall;
and the gateways of the dark pit were unfolded
of their own accord; and astonished with a trembling leap of their soles,
the guards hurried into flight at the roaring of the Bassarids
[45.285] and the savage foam of their teeth. And they, fleeing,
bent a homeward step to the ridge of the lonely wood,
of whom one carved a herd of cattle with her hide-piercing
thyrsus, and defiled her hands with gore,
splitting the rough covering of a bull with her nails,
[45.290] and another with a blood-red cluster cut apart
the unbreakable flocks of woolly sheep,
and another killed goats; and the crags were reddened
with the bloody drops of gore from the cut-down flock.
And another, snatching a three-year-old child from its father,
[45.295] stood lifting it aloft above her shoulders, fearless,
unshaken, unbound, the boy that was the care of the tempests,
seated, laughing, and not falling into the dust;
and the boy asked the Bacchant for milk, as though she were his mother,
and handled her breasts; and the breasts of the unwedded girl
[45.300] gushed up a self-moving milky moisture.
And spreading open her shaggy tunics for the hungry child
she held out the freshly flowing teat to his infant lips,
and the maiden sated the boy with an unaccustomed dew;
and many nursed the children of a freshly delivered,
[45.305] shaggy-breasted lioness, removed from their mother.
Another struck the thirsty ground with a sharp thyrsus,
beating the freshly split top of the mountain; and the rocky
crag purpled, belching self-perfected wine,
and as milk was poured from the beaten rock
[45.310] the springs whitened with self-poured streams.
Another cast a serpent against an oak; and about the tree
the snake wheeled its coil, and became a wandering ivy,
girdling the trunk with a coiling, crooked trail,
imitating the knot of serpents entwined about it.
[45.315] And a Satyr was carried along, bringing a grinning beast,
a threatening tiger seated high upon his back,
having a savage temper and not touching its bearer;
and old Silenus, dragging a boar by the tips of its jaws,
hurled the sharp-toothed beast into the air in play;
[45.320] another, with a stormy mounting throb of his feet,
was suspended untouchable upon the crest of a camel;
and one, leaping upon its back, rode a bull.
And these things were among the crags; but in lyre-built Thebes
Bacchus showed varied wonders to all the citizens;
[45.325] and the women raved in Bacchic frenzy with tottering feet
and foam-tressed lips; and all Thebes was whirled about,
and the streets hurled forth flaming sparks;
all the foundations were shaken, and as from the throats of oxen
the unbending gateways of the halls bellowed;
[45.330] and the unshaken house roared with tumult,
pouring a self-moving echo with a stony trumpet.
Nor did Dionysus cease from anger; and he bellowed
a divine, air-roaming sound from his throat
toward the rim of the seven-pathed stars, like a raving bull;
[45.335] and, routing maddened Pentheus with a witnessing torch,
he filled the whole house with a sparkle; and about the walls
opposite, a many-cleft leaping fire blazed,
rushing down with a kindled spark; and about the purple
robes and the breast of the sea-cloaked king
[45.340] a coiling torch was carried, and did not burn his tunics;
and with divided beams, torn away, with a hot leap,
from foot to the middle of his back, through his loins to the top of his spine,
migrant gleams ran about the neck of Pentheus;
and often, with a dancing throb of self-traveling fire,
[45.345] a wondrous radiance spat unburning sparks
upon the well-spread bed of the earth-born king.
And seeing the self-coiling radiance Pentheus roared,
and bade his servants bring defending water,
so that they might quench the kindled flame of the torch,
[45.350] sprinkling the house with evil-averting streams;
and the water of the hollow cavities appeared, laid bare,
and the spring, great though it was, had its stream dried up
as the river was drawn off in numberless vessels.
And the labor was useless and the water in vain.
[45.355] And the fire, struck by the liquid drops, grew
with hotter beams; and as from many bulls
there was a sound beneath the roof of resounding bellowing,
and the court of Pentheus crashed with thunders hidden within.

## Book XLVI


### Look besides upon the forty-sixth, where you shall perceive the head of Pentheus and child-destroying Agave.

[46.1] But when the bold king knew that, their bonds
loosed of their own accord from his iron-bearing hands,
the maenads had rushed off as migrants to the ridge of the wood,
and knew the shifting guile of Dionysus whom none could see,
[46.5] Pentheus surged, unsteady, with an insolent anger;
and seeing him present again, his locks girdled
with the accustomed ivy, and beholding the unplaited
trail of his long hair loosed from above his shoulders,
he shrieked out such a word with a raving throat:
[46.10] "Sweet is he who sends deceiving Teiresias to me;
your seer cannot beguile my mind;
tell this to others. How did the goddess Rhea hold out
her breast to a son not Zeus, and rear the son of Thyone?
Ask the helmet-glancing cave of the Dictaean cliff,
[46.15] Zeus increased his strength, and did not draw the milk of Rhea.
ask the Corybants too, where once the boy at play,
milking the child-rearing breast of the goat Amaltheia,
You too have taken the ways of your guileful mother;
Cronides burned lying Semele with the thunderbolt;
[46.20] beware, lest Cronides subdue you too after your mother.
I do not keep a barbarian race either; first-born
Ismenus begot me, and liquid Hydaspes did not bear me;
I do not know Deriades and I am not called Lycurgus.
But with your Satyrs and raving Bacchants
[46.25] leave the streams of Dirce, and, if you wish, with your thyrsus
kill among the Assyrians another, younger Orontes.
You are not the Olympian race of Cronides; for the lightnings
cry aloud the reproaches of your mother as she perished,
and the thunderbolts are witnesses of a secret bed.
[46.30] Rainy Zeus did not burn Danae after the bed,
and, carrying off Europa the unshaken sister of my Cadmus,
he guarded her, and did not hide her in the sea.
I know indeed that a heavenly flame destroyed you,
an unborn infant still, after your mother was burnt,
[46.35] and loosed the half-finished bastard travail of a withering birth;
but if it did not subdue you, because you are guiltless
of the earthly wedlock, of your mother's secret love,
I am persuaded, as you say, and unwillingly shall call you the child
of heavenly Zeus, and not one burnt by the thunderbolt.
[46.40] And do you teach me this with a true, witnessing word:
when did father Zeus bring forth Phoebus or Ares from his thigh?
If you have got the blood of Zeus, go to the circle of Olympus
and dwell in the upper air; leave Thebes as fatherland to Pentheus.
You should have told another fitting, blameless tale,
[46.45] mixing mind-charming Persuasion with a cunning lie,
that Cronides bore you from his accustomed child-bearing head;
perhaps that word would not have been so unbelievable, that after Pallas
he bore Bacchus too from an unwedded head.
I could wish, if you had got an Olympian race — would that
[46.50] high-ruling Cronion had begotten you, so that, pursuing the blood of Zeus,
I might conquer Dionysus, being called the son of Echion."
As he spoke the god was indignant and answered with a word,
hiding the mass of a divine threat beneath his heart:
"I count blessed the land of the Celts that bears barbarian ordinances,
[46.55] where the Rhine, judging the pure travail of new infants,
the law-tender of an unmarked birth,
knows how to convict the bastard race of an unknown blood.
But I am not judged by the paltry streams of the river
called Rhine, but thunderbolts are heralds
[46.60] more trustworthy to me than streams;
do not seek a better witness than the lightning, Pentheus;
let the Galatian trust in water, but do you trust the witnessing torch.
I have no need of the earthly hall of Pentheus;
the house of Dionysus is his father's upper air;
[46.65] and if there were a judging between earth and starry Olympus,
tell me as I ask, which would you yourself call the better,
the seven-zoned heaven or the land of seven-gated Thebes?
I have no need of the earthly hall of Pentheus.
Only honor the honey-dripping flower of my harvest;
[46.70] do not dishonor the drink of vine-clad Dionysus.
Do not fight against Indian-slaying Bromius, but, if you can,
make war against one woman, a man-breaking Bacchant.
Perhaps the prophetic Fates set you a fair name,
the forerunner of your own death; and it is no cause for blame
[46.75] that dread-suffering Pentheus, bearing the earth-born blood
of a ground-reared father, should bear the likeness of the Giants,
nor is it a cause for blame that Bacchus, having the Olympian
blood of the race of Zeus, should bear the likeness of his Giant-slaying father.
Ask Teiresias with whom you are angry; ask Pytho
[46.80] who lay beside Semele, who plowed the child of Thyone.
And if you wish to learn the rites of dance-delighting Bacchus,
leave your royal robes and endure, Pentheus,
to wear a woman's dress, and become a female Agave;
lest the women dart past you as you hunt.
[46.85] And if you stretch beast-slaying bows in your hand,
Cadmus will praise you for hunting together with your mother.
Strive with Bacchus alone, and, if it is lawful, with the archer-goddess,
so that I may call you the lion-slayer after Actaeon.
Lay down these weapons; my women kill
[46.90] iron-bearing warriors with uncorseleted hands;
and if they conquer you, adorned in armor,
in an unarmed female battle, what citizen would praise
a man who gasped his life away in a womanish fighting?
A Bassarid does not tremble at a winged shaft, does not flee a spear;
[46.95] but, covering your unknown face with a hidden guile,
you shall see all the rites of dance-weaving Dionysus."
So speaking he persuaded him, since, lashing the man's mind,
he shook him, held fast by the leap of a roaming madness;
and Mene, fighting beside Bromius, assailed Pentheus
[46.100] with a divine whip; and, joining with Lyaeus,
the raging, bold sting of wit-robbing Selene,
showing varied-shaped phantoms to maddened Pentheus,
turned the dread son of Echion from his former purpose,
and crashed upon the tottering hearing of Pentheus,
[46.105] beating out the avenging din of a divine trumpet;
and terrified the man. And Pentheus came into his house
gadfly-mad, longing for the rites of revel-loving Bacchus;
and he opened the fragrant chests, where lay the women's
sea-purple robes of the Sidonian deep;
[46.110] and he put upon his flesh the dappled-backed robe of Agave;
and he clamped the veil of Autonoe upon his locks,
girdling his royal breast with a circling art;
and he clamped his feet in women's sandals;
and in his hand he lifted a thyrsus; and as he went after the Bacchants
[46.115] the dappled tunic trailed along his tracking sole.
And with mimic feet coiling Pentheus danced,
sweetly mad; and with slanting sandal he rattled the floor,
darting foot after foot; and making his two hands
womanish he whirled them in turn with a twofold throb,
[46.120] like a woman playing at the dance; and, beating out
a twice-sounding harmony with a rattle of unequally yoked bronze,
he let his wandering lock loose to the airy breezes,
striking up a Euian Lydian melody. Indeed you might have said
you saw a raving Bacchant reveling wildly.
[46.125] And he beheld two suns and two Thebes;
and he thought to heave the gateway of seven-pathed Thebes
laid upon his unwearied shoulders from above.
And the citizens wheeled crown-wise about him,
one holding a wheeling hill of earth, another high-visible
[46.130] upon a rock, another, propping his forearm upon a man's shoulder,
lifted his step, fixing his fingers upon the ground;
and one went after a sharp-pointed mass of the field,
another was upon a jutting battlement, another, watching,
stretched a slanting eye from the high-crested towers;
[46.135] and another, winding his hands crown-wise about the middle of a rail,
went up climbing a column with the tips of his feet,
gazing at Pentheus shaken with a leap of madness,
lifting a thyrsus and darting his veil.
And already he had run past the walls of seven-pathed Thebes,
[46.140] as the gateways opened with self-moving hinges;
and already before the city, shaking his locks into the air,
he had passed the delicate streams of serpent-feeding Dirce;
and whirling a dance-beating step with raving foot
he held a journey behind the vine god.
[46.145] But when he came to the place where the oaks were, where the dances,
and the revel-loving rites of Bromius, where the unsandaled,
fawn-driving hunt of the Bassarids itself was,
then vine-clad Bacchus, within the mountain thicket,
seeing an ancient fir, a vast tree of the same height
[46.150] as a neighboring rock, rejoiced, beneath whose bush
cloud-neighboring hills were shadowed with leaves;
and, pressing down the topmost cluster with unsparing hand,
to the ground, to the ground Pentheus drew, stretched down to the earth,
the high-flying branch, and, clamping its bearer,
[46.155] gripped with his hand the clusters stretched on high,
and, whirling his feet this way and that, turned back again,
unsteady Pentheus was lifted in a dancer's fashion.
And then the dancing Seasons came to the Bassarids;
and they called to one another, and girded themselves with their robes,
[46.160] and cast fawnskins about them; and mountain-roaming Agave
shrieked out a cry with foam-tressed lips:
"Autonoe, let us hasten to where the dance of Lyaeus is
and the mountain-roaming crash of the accustomed flute is heard,
so that I may weave a Euian-loving melody, so that I may learn
[46.165] who shall be first to set up a dance for Dionysus,
who shall conquer whom in making sacrifice to Lyaeus.
You delay, danceless one, and Ino has come before us;
no longer does she hold the sea as a migrant, but she too
has come running from the brine with water-traveling Melicertes,
[46.170] has come shielding Dionysus as he is pursued,
lest lawless Pentheus bear down upon Lyaeus.
Initiates, to the crags; come, Ismenian Bacchants,
and let us set up the rites, and in an emulous dance
let us contend with the Lydian Bassarids, so that someone may say:
[46.175] 'The Maenad Agave has conquered the Mygdonian Mimallon.'"
So speaking she gazed at her god-fighting son seated
high upon the tree, the mother at her son, as at a wild lion;
and she showed him to the raving Bacchants as they gathered;
and she called her son an intelligent beast with a raving voice.
[46.180] And the women wheeled crown-wise about him
as he sat among the leaves; and with a well-handled bond
they embraced the tree, and wished to cast to the ground
the shoot together with Pentheus; and clamping about the bush
the trail of her yoked palm, with an earth-shaking throb
[46.185] Agave tore up the tree by the root from its base.
And the plant fell to the ground; and Cithaeron was laid bare;
and the bold king, self-coiling, with a dancing throb,
rolled head first from the air and fell — Pentheus.
And then the madness of mind-tottering Dionysus left him,
[46.190] and he had his former wits a second time; and upon the ground,
having his doom near, he uttered a plaintive voice:
"Hamadryad Nymphs, hide me, lest my child-loving Agave
subdue me with child-slaying palms.
My mother, ill mother, hold back your unsoftened madness;
[46.195] whence do you call me, your son, a beast? What shaggy breast
do I bear? What roaring do I send forth?
No longer do you know me whom you reared, no longer do you see;
who has snatched your wits and your eye? Farewell, Cithaeron;
farewell, these trees and mountains; be safe, Thebes;
[46.200] be safe you too, dear child-slaying mother Agave.
Look at this freshly bearded chin, look at my human
shape; I am no lion; you do not behold a beast.
Spare your own travail, pitiless one, spare your breasts;
you gaze at me, Pentheus, whom you reared. Cease, my voice,
[46.205] keep back your words; Agave does not hear.
But if you kill me, doing favor to Dionysus,
subdue your son alone, heavy-groaning one, and do not let
your son be subdued by the bastard palms of the Bassarids."
So speaking he entreated, and Agave did not hear.
[46.210] And the grim women rushed upon him
with emulous hands; and as he rolled in the dust
one drew off his hind feet, and another, taking hold,
tore his right hand up by the root, and Autonoe
pulled at the left; and the mother, led astray,
[46.215] fixed her foot upon her son's breast, and as he lay
she cut through his bold neck with a sharp thyrsus;
and swift-kneed she ran up with the bloody joy of madness,
and showed the bloody head to joyless Cadmus;
and glorying in the grace of her hunt of a lying lion
[46.220] she shrieked out such a word with a raving throat:
"Blessed Cadmus, I call you more blessed; for among the crags
Artemis watched Agave playing the champion
with uncorseleted hands, even though she is mistress of the hunt,
hiding her jealousy of your lion-slaying daughter;
[46.225] and the Dryads marveled at my labor; and the father
of our Harmonia, bronze Ares, helmeted with his accustomed lance,
marveled at your ironless daughter
as she hurled the thyrsus, the crusher of lions,
glorying; but do you, Cadmus, call Pentheus here,
[46.230] the mounter of your thrones, so that with envious eyes
he may gaze upon a woman's beast-slaying sweats.
My servants, go, and beside the gateway of Cadmus
fix this head, the offering of my victory.
Never did my sister Ino kill so great a beast;
[46.235] Autonoe, look, and bend your neck to Agave;
for you have not got a boast like mine, and I have shamed
the still-spoken-of victory of the mother of Aristaeus,
your mother-in-law, lion-slaying Cyrene."
She spoke, lifting the dear weight; and hearing
[46.240] the alien-minded threat of his glorying daughter,
Cadmus answered, mixing his words with tears, in a mourning voice:
"What an intelligent beast you have subdued, child Agave!
What a beast you have subdued, whom your own belly bore!
What a beast you have subdued, whom Echion sowed!
[46.245] Look at your lion, whom while he was still little
Look at your lion, whom Harmonia your mother
Cadmus lifted and raised in a child-tending, rejoicing arm;
often lifted and held out her breast for him to milk.
You seek your child as a beholder of your toils;
[46.250] how shall I call Pentheus, whom you lift in your palms?
Look at your beast, and you will perceive your son.
Whom you killed unknowing — whence shall I call your child?
Fair are the nursing-gifts you bring, Dionysus, to your Cadmus;
fair was the marriage of Harmonia that Cronion gave me;
[46.255] these things are worthy of Ares and of heavenly Aphrodite.
Ino has the sea, Cronion burned Semele,
Autonoe mourns a horned child, and ah, greatly wretched,
Agave has killed the only son she bore, untimely.
And my Polydorus labors, a wanderer without a fatherland.
[46.260] I alone am left, a breathing corpse; to whom shall I flee,
with Pentheus perished and Polydorus gone?
What alien city will receive me? Perish, Cithaeron;
you have killed the tenders of Cadmus's old age, and you hold
both — Pentheus a corpse, and you cover Actaeon."
[46.265] As Cadmus so spoke, pouring his lament like a spring,
old Cithaeron wept with fountain tears;
and the oaks mourned, and the Naiad Nymphs
cried their dirges. And Dionysus respected the grey hair
of Cadmus and his groaning; and mixing a tear
[46.270] with the laughter of a griefless face, he changed the mind of Agave,
and made her intelligent again, so that she might groan for Pentheus.
And she, her mind turned about and her gaze unbelieving,
stood for a time, self-rooted, voiceless, the mother;
and gazing at the head of Pentheus dead
[46.275] she fell self-rolling, and upon the floor, wretched,
she rolled in the poured dust, shaming her locks;
and she flung the shaggy tunics from her breast
and the revel-loving bowls of Bromius, reddening
her breast with a trail of blood and the fold of her uncovered bosom;
[46.280] and she kissed her son's eye and the green circles of his face
and the graceful locks of his reddening head;
and wailing sharply she uttered so great a voice:
"Pitiless Dionysus, unsated of your own race,
give me my former madness again; for now I have another,
[46.285] a worse madness, a prudent one; give me that
witlessness, so that I may call my son a beast a second time.
I thought to strike a beast; and instead of a lion's crest
I lift the freshly cut head of Pentheus.
Blessed is heavy-weeping Autonoe, because she groaned
[46.290] for Actaeon dead, and the mother did not kill her son;
I alone have become a child-slayer; my migrant Ino
did not kill Melicertes or Learchus,
but the father subdued the son he plowed. Ah, greatly wretched,
Zeus lay beside Semele, so that I might groan for Pentheus;
[46.295] father Zeus bore Dionysus in his own thigh,
so that he might wipe out the whole Cadmeian race.
Be gracious, Dionysus — he has destroyed the whole race of Cadmus.
But after the bridal feast of a god-invoked table,
after the bed of Harmonia, after the chamber of my Cadmus,
[46.300] let Apollo himself, shaking his ancient lyre again,
strike one dirge for both Autonoe and Agave,
singing shrill of swift-fated Pentheus and Actaeon.
Dear boy, what drug is there for my grief?
Not yet have I lifted the bride-adorning fire in your chamber;
[46.305] I have not heard the wedding-hymn of your yoking Loves;
what child of yours shall I see as comfort? Would that another
Bacchant had crushed you, and not much-toiling Agave.
Do not blame your maddened mother, ill-fated Pentheus;
blame Bacchus rather; Agave is guiltless.
[46.310] My hands, dear boy, drip with your dew
from your reaped neck; and from your self-poured head
your blood has reddened your mother's whole tunic.
Yes, I entreat you, give me the cup of Bromius; for instead of wine
I pour the gore of my Pentheus as libation to Dionysus.
[46.315] For you, untimely one, I who love tears raise a tomb
with my own hands, having hidden your headless body
in the dust; and upon your grave I shall score this:
'I am the corpse of Pentheus, wayfarer; the child-tending belly
of Agave bore me, and a child-slaying hand killed me.'"
[46.320] She spoke, raving with a wise mind; and as she mourned
Autonoe, lamenting, cried a comforting voice:
"I have jealousy and longing for your misery, Agave,
because you embrace the sweet face of Pentheus
and his mouth and dear eye and the ends of your son's hair.
[46.325] Sister, I count you blessed, even though you killed your son as a mother;
for instead of Actaeon, from a shape that was changed,
I wept for a fawn, and instead of my son's head
I gave burial to the long, bastard horn of a deer.
And there is little comfort for your pain, that of your son
[46.330] in death you did not see another form, not a fawn's hair,
and you lifted no useless hoof or horn;
but I alone looked upon my son as a bastard corpse, and wailed
over a strange-natured, dappled, speechless image of a shape,
and I am called the mother of a deer and no longer of a son.
[46.335] But do you, maiden-loving daughter of Zeus, honoring
Phoebus the father of my husband Aristaeus,
change my mortal-seeming shape into a deer;
do a favor to Apollo; and after Actaeon give wretched
Autonoe too as food to those same whelps
[46.340] or to your hounds; and Cithaeron shall behold
the mother after the son torn by dogs; and do not, wretched as I am,
yoke me, wearing the horn-drawing shape equal to that of your deer,
to your car, lashing me wildly.
Farewell, plant of Pentheus, farewell, pitiless Cithaeron;
[46.345] farewell also, fennel-stalks of wit-robbing Dionysus;
be safe for me, mortal-delighting Phaethon; shine upon the hills;
shine for both, for the daughter of Leto and for Dionysus;
and if with your beams you know how to subdue men too,
strike with your pure fire both Autonoe and Agave;
[46.350] and be the avenger of Pasiphae, so that you may laugh,
grieving Aphrodite the mother of Harmonia."
She spoke, and child-destroying Agave mourned the more.
And the dear mother entombed the corpse she had killed,
gushing up a tearful spring from her face;
[46.355] and the citizens built a well-made tomb.
So they groaned downcast; and seeing it
lord Bacchus pitied them, and checked the lamentation-loving
women as they mourned, since to each in turn
he mixed a toil-releasing drug with honey-sweet wine
[46.360] and gave a Lethaean drink; and he soothed the mourning
lament of Cadmus with a healing word;
and he lulled both Autonoe and Agave,
showing the first-announcing oracles of a hope to come.
And to the Illyrian land, to the country of the western sea,
[46.365] he escorted both as wanderers, Harmonia leaving her fatherland
as companion of her age-mate Cadmus, to whom creeping time
granted to have a stony, snaky shape.
And having Satyrs and Pans, and lashing lynxes,
delicate Bacchus reveled into never-silent Athens.

## Book XLVII


### Go to the forty-seventh, where Perseus is, and the doom of Icarius, and soft-tunicked Ariadne.

[47.1] And already Rumor flew this way and that through the city,
the self-shouting messenger that cluster-rich Dionysus
had come to the Attic land; and for unsleeping Lyaeus
Athens, blessed in childbirth, raved in Bacchic frenzy into the dance.
[47.5] And a great revel roared; and the citizens, gathered together,
cloaked the streets with cunning garments
in their wide-scattered hands; and with the leaves of the vines
of plant-increasing Bacchus Athens was girdled
of its own accord; and the women girded bowls
[47.10] upon their iron-bearing breasts, upon their mystic bosoms,
and maidens danced, and crowned their temples,
binding their Attic hair about with the flower of ivy.
And Ilissus whirled its breathing water about the city,
glorifying Dionysus; and in an emulous dance
[47.15] the banks of Cephisus struck up a Euian melody.
And a planting rose, and from the earthly bosom
a self-grown cluster of sweet ripening travail
reddened olive-bearing Marathon,
and the oaks whispered, and as their petals opened
[47.20] the meadow Seasons belched forth the two-colored rose,
and the hills midwifed the self-perfected lily.
And the flute of Athena crashed together with Phrygian flutes,
and the Acharnian reed, squeezed by the palms,
sang shrill a twofold din; and from throats of one tongue
[47.25] a Bacchant of the city, heavy-thundering, sounding together
with an unyoked Mygdonian girl, cried a twice-sounding harmony,
leaning her forearm upon a young Pactolian bride,
and lifted up a night-danced flame with a twin pine-torch
for first-born Zagreus and later-born Dionysus;
[47.30] and remembering Itylus and loom-toiling Philomela
the Attic nightingale of the shifting throat cried out with them,
and the chattering bird of Zephyrus poured her melody beneath the roof,
having flung all memory of Tereus to the storms.
Nor was any man without a dance through the city. But rejoicing
[47.35] Bacchus came to the house of Icarius, who was better
than other country folk at planting trees of every kind.
And the old vine-dresser danced with country feet
when he beheld Dionysus arriving, and entertained
the lord of fair-planted vines at a little table;
[47.40] and Erigone mixed the drink, drawing goats' milk;
but Bacchus checked her, and to the tender-loving old man
he gave skins pregnant with toil-releasing drunkenness,
and holding in his right hand a fragrant cup of sweet wine
he held it out to Icarius; and greeted him with a friendly word:
[47.45] "Receive this gift, old man, which Athens has not known.
O old man, I count you blessed; for the citizens will sing of you,
crying such a word: that Icarius found glory
to convict Celeus, and Erigone Metaneira.
I have jealousy of the elder Demeter, because Deo too
[47.50] gave the rich corn-ear to another tiller of the soil.
Triptolemus found the corn-ear, and you the wine-dark grape of harvest;
gracious one, you alone strive with heavenly Ganymede,
more blessed than the elder Triptolemus; for corn-ears
do not loose heart-devouring cares, but the wine-bearing
[47.55] clusters are the healers of human grief."
Such a word he told him, and to the hospitable old man
he gave a delicate cup full of mind-rousing wine;
and the old planter, the vine-dresser, drank one cup after another,
having an unsated sting for the fair-dripping dew;
[47.60] and the girl, drawing a pouring of wine instead of milk,
held out the cup with her hand, until she made her father drunk.
But when he found surfeit of the cup-receiving table,
slanting, coiling about, whirling a much-slipping step,
the vine-dresser skipped up with alternating feet,
[47.65] striking up a Euian hymn of Zagreus for Dionysus.
And the plant-tending god gave the country old man
clustered vine-shoots, the Euian-loving gifts of the table;
and the lord taught him by a plant-increasing art
to prune and to dig trenches and to set the shoots in the pits.
[47.70] And the old planter, the vine-dresser, bringing the gifts
of Bromius and the vine harvest to other country folk,
taught them the wine-planting husbandry of Dionysus;
and casting a measureless stream of wine into a pastoral mixing-bowl
he gladdened the feasters with cup after cup,
[47.75] unfolding the fragrant pouring of the wine-receiving skins.
And one, drinking the stream of sweet, mind-rousing wine,
soothed the father of Erigone with a friendly word:
"Tell me, old man, whence have you found the nectar of Olympus on earth?
You do not bring yellow water from Cephisus,
[47.80] you do not carry honey-sweet gifts from the Naiads;
for springs do not gush up honey-flowing streams,
nor is the stream of Ilissus reddened with a poured trail;
this is not the drink of the shoot-loving bee,
which brings the sharpest surfeit to mortals; but strange-natured
[47.85] you bring a water sweeter than sweet honey;
the Attic olive does not bear this ancestral drink;
you have a drink pleasanter than milk, steadfast always,
than the gathered drops of a honey-mixed posset.
And if the rosy-armed Seasons knew how to bring
[47.90] a drink for mortals from the cups of plant-increasing gardens,
I too would have called this the springtime drink
of Adonis or of Cytherea, the fragrant dew of roses.
You bring a toil-releasing and strange drink; for it has scattered
my wandering cares to the airy winds.
[47.95] Did immortal Hebe give you a gift from the upper air?
Did your city-holding Athena bring you this?
Who snatched from heaven the mixing-bowl from which Ganymede
draws and mixes the cup for Zeus and the immortals?
More blessed than hospitable Celeus, did you too
[47.100] entertain a gracious dweller of Olympus from heaven?
I am persuaded that another god revelled into your hall,
and gave this drink of your friendly table as a gift
to the Attic land through his dinner, as Deo gave the corn-ear."
He spoke, marveling at the sweet drink; and from his lips,
[47.105] sweetly mad, he shouted, pouring out a country song.
And the country folk, drawing cup after cup,
all raved in Bacchic frenzy, their wits taken by the wine;
and their eyes wandered, and with the unmixed-wine-loving cups
their white cheeks purpled, and the breasts of the tillers
[47.110] were warmed, and their temples were weighed down with the drink,
and the veins of their swelling heads surged;
and as they gazed the bosom of the field was shaken
and the oaks danced and the cliffs skipped;
and full of unaccustomed wine with its tottering drops
[47.115] a man fell self-rolling on his back upon the ground.
And the chorus of country folk, shaken by a murderous sting,
ran down upon wretched Icarius with a raving madness,
as though he had mixed the guile of a drugged wine,
one holding an iron ox-axe, another arming
[47.120] his hands with a mattock, another lifting a corn-cutting
sickle, another raising a vast stone,
another goaded, stretching out a crook in his hand,
striking the old man; and one, taking a whip nearby,
pierced the body of Icarius with a flesh-cutting goad.
[47.125] And laboring, the old planter, the vine-dresser, fell to the ground
struck with clubs, and skipping against the table
he struck the mixing-bowl of drunkenness, and rolled half-dead
into the pouring of gleaming wine; and as his head grew heavy,
struck by the alternating blows of the country folk,
[47.130] a bloody dew reddened the wine of the same color.
And scarcely, a neighbor of Hades, he cried a word from his lips:
"Wine of my Bromius, the rest of mortal care,
sweet to all but pitiless to me alone; for you gave gladness
to all men, and to Icarius you gave doom;
[47.135] sweet to Erigone, but a foe; for grief-less
Dionysus has made my girl a girl of grief."
Not yet had his word ceased; but doom came before his voice.
And he lay there a corpse, far from his prudent daughter,
with eyes spread open. And upon an unspread bed on the ground
[47.140] the murderers slept a sweet sleep above the floor,
heavy with wine, like corpses; and waking
they groaned for the man they had killed unknowing; and lifting
the corpse high upon their shoulders they carried it up to the ridge of the wood
with intelligent hearts, and in a fair-watered stream
[47.145] they cleansed his wounds beside a mountain-poured spring;
and the murderers with man-slaying palms entombed
the freshly cut corpse they had killed in a witless madness.
And the soul of Icarius rushed, wholly like smoke,
to the house of Erigone; and the light phantom
[47.150] of a shadowy dream-vision was matched to a mortal shape,
wholly like the freshly wounded man, and the wretched thing had
a spotted tunic, the herald of an unmarked murder,
reddening with blood and squalid with dust,
torn with the blows of alternating iron.
[47.155] And he stretched out his palms; and he showed the wounds
of his freshly slaughtered limbs for the girl beside him to see.
And the maiden wailed within her lamentation-loving dreams,
when she saw so many wounds of his head, when the wretched girl saw
the freshly flowing gore of his reddening throat;
[47.160] and the shadowy father spoke a word to his girl of grief:
"Wake, wretched one, and seek your father;
wake, and search out my drunken murderers;
I am your heavy-suffering father, whom for the sake of wine
the grim country folk destroyed with iron.
[47.165] O child, I count you blessed; for you did not hear
the clang of your slain father's battered head,
you did not see his grey hair reddening beneath the gore,
nor the freshly cut corpse gasping in the dust,
you did not behold the father-slaying clubs; but a god
[47.170] kept you away from your father, and guarded your gaze,
lest you should behold the doom of your father cut down.
Look at my tunics purpling with blood;
for yesterday the country folk, made drunk with cup after cup,
gushing out the moisture of unaccustomed Bacchus,
[47.175] wheeled about me; and as I was cut down with iron
I called the shepherds, and they did not hear my cry;
only late-speaking Echo heard my din,
groaning for your father with answering dirges.
No longer, lifting your crook out of the middle of the wood,
[47.180] do you come to the flowery pasture and the meadows,
feeding your herd with the country <...> †
no longer, handling your tree-tending mattock,
do you bring channeled water to your garden of fair childbirth;
but, unsated of my honey-dripping harvest,
[47.185] weep for me your father fallen; and I shall behold you
living an orphan, untried in weddings."
So speaking the winged vision of the dream ran past.
And the girl, waking, tore her rosy cheeks,
and scraped her unbending breasts with mourning nails,
[47.190] and tore up by the root the cluster of her long hair;
and seeing the cattle still standing beside the rock
the maiden in grief roared with a plaintive voice:
"Where is the corpse of Icarius? Dear hills, speak;
accustomed bulls, tell the doom of my father;
[47.195] who are the murderers of my slain father?
Where has my sweet father gone? Does he wander,
teaching a neighbor the new shoots of the fair-planted harvest,
sitting beside the country folk, or does he stay
with some tree-tending herdsman, sharing his hearth at a feast?
[47.200] Tell me as I mourn, and I shall endure until he comes.
If my father still lives, I shall water the shoots
of the garden again, living together with my father;
but if my father is dead and plants trees no more,
I shall behold an equal doom upon my perished father."
[47.205] So speaking she ran swift-kneed to the ridge of the wood,
seeking the tracks of her freshly slaughtered father.
But no bold goatherd told her as she asked, nor beside the thickets
did any herdsman of the flock, pitying the maiden,
tell the unsteady track of her unheralded father,
[47.210] nor did an old shepherd show her the corpse of Icarius;
but she wandered in vain; and scarcely a vine-dresser found her
and cried the ill news with plaintive lips,
and showed her the nearby tomb of her freshly slain father.
And the maiden, hearing, raved with a prudent madness;
[47.215] and tearing her locks she laid herself beside the dear tomb,
a maiden unveiled, unsandaled, and she had her tunic
washed with ever-flowing, self-poured tears.
And she sealed silence upon her voiceless lips
for a time; and an intelligent dog, the companion of Erigone,
[47.220] went with the girl of grief, whimpering a mourning whine,
and mourned with her as she mourned. And raving
she ran up into a high-headed tree; and about the tree,
clamping her neck entwined in a throttling bond,
the girl perished aloft with a self-slaying whirl,
[47.225] and died, and had a willing doom; and about the girl
shaking both her feet with a dancing throb;
the dog was shaken thickly, and cried a mourning echo,
pouring intelligent tears from a beast's eyes.
Nor did the dog leave the lonely girl unguarded,
[47.230] but stayed beside the tree, driving off any beast that came,
a leopard or a lion; and to the wayfarers as they passed
it showed with voiceless nods the unyoked girl
entwined in throttling bonds high upon the tree.
And they, pitying her, went up into the tree of the wood
[47.235] on the tips of their feet, and from the fair-leaved clusters
brought down the unwedded maiden; and they hollowed
the earth close at hand with ground-digging mattocks.
And with them the dog too labored with a prudent heart,
and deepened the ground with mourning, skilled paw,
[47.240] scoring the surface of the poured earth with whetted claws.
And the wayfarers gave funeral rites to the freshly cut corpse;
and each, holding the mass of a common grief beneath his heart,
ran up to his own work with swift foot;
but the dog alone stayed beside the neighboring tomb
[47.245] for love of Erigone, and perished by a willing doom.
And Zeus the father pitied them; and in the starry circle
he fixed Erigone beside the back of the Lion;
and the country maiden holds a corn-ear; for she did not wish
to lift the wine-dark cluster, the slayer of her father.
[47.250] And leading old Icarius as companion of the girl beside him
into the star-roaming vault, he named him bright
Bootes, who touches the Wagon of the Arcadian Bear;
and he made the flashing Dog, darting down upon the Hare,
a fiery star, where about the circle of Olympus
[47.255] the sea-borne Argo sails in a starry pattern.
And these things Achaean tale has molded, mixing
its accustomed persuasion with a lie; but the truth is that high-ruling Zeus
assigned the soul of Erigone as yokemate to the star
of the heavenly Maiden of the corn-ear, and beside the airy
[47.260] Dog he set a dog like it in the pattern of its shape,
Sirius, whom they call the autumnal, and the air-roaming
soul of Icarius he joined to Bootes.
And these things Cronides granted to the wine-planted Attic land,
preparing one honor both for Pallas and for Dionysus.
[47.265] And leaving the honey-flowing streams of Ilissus
delicate Bacchus reveled to the vine-clad rim of Naxos;
and about him bold Eros shook his wings, and as Lyaeus
came to his marriage Cytherea led the way.
For lately, leaving her sleeping upon the shores,
[47.270] pitiless Theseus sailed away from the maiden who had left her fatherland,
and entrusted his covenants to the winds. And seeing
Ariadne sleeping and lonely, Dionysus
mixed love with wonder; and to the dance-weaving Bacchants
he spoke a guarded word with an astonished tongue:
[47.275] "Bassarids, do not shake your rattles, let there be no sound
of foot or pipe; let Cypris sleep;
but she has no cestus, the token of the Cyprus-born.
I am persuaded that a Grace is wedded to guileful Sleep;
but since dawn has shone and Dawn appears near,
[47.280] wake Pasithea as she sleeps; who beside Naxos,
who has cloaked the unclothed Grace? Can it be Hebe?
But to whom has she left the cup of the blessed ones? Can gleaming
Selene, the driver of oxen, be lying beside the sea?
And whence does she sleep apart from her accustomed Endymion?
[47.285] Do I behold silver-footed Thetis upon the shores?
But she has not a naked rosy body. If it is lawful to say,
the Naxian archer-goddess rests from the labors of the hunt,
having wiped off her beast-slaying sweats in the sea;
for labor always brings forth sweet sleep; but in a thicket
[47.290] who has seen Artemis in a trailing tunic? Wait, Bacchants.
Stand, Maron; do not dance here; cease your singing,
dear Pan, lest you scatter the morning sleep of Athena;
and to whom has Pallas left her spear? And who lifts
the bronze helmet or the aegis of Tritogeneia?"
[47.295] Such things Bacchus said; and from the sand the wretched,
unhappy-loving girl woke, scattering her sleep,
and did not see the fleet nor her deceiving husband;
but the Cydonian bride groaned with the halcyons,
haunting the shores, the heavy-roaring bride-gift of the Loves;
[47.300] and she called the youth by name; and she raved beside the sea,
seeking the merchant ship; and she was angry at jealous sleep,
and blamed the sea, the mother of the Paphian, far more;
and she entreated Boreas, and called the wind to his oath,
to his oath by Oreithyia, that he might bring the youth
[47.305] back to the land of Naxos, and she might see the sweet ship a second time;
she asked uncharmed Aeolus rather; and to her prayer
he was persuaded and nodded, and sent a counter-blowing
wind to breathe; but Boreas, unhappy in love,
cared nothing for the desire-stricken girl; but the very breezes
[47.310] were perhaps jealous and angry at the maiden,
they who then carried the ship to the Attic land. And Eros
himself marveled at the maiden, and in griefless Naxos
he thought he beheld Aphrodite mourning;
and she was brighter even in her pains, and grief
[47.315] adorned her as she sorrowed; and to lamenting Ariadne
laughter-loving Aphrodite yielded a little in the judging,
smiling lovely, and the eyes of Persuasion yielded,
and of the Graces and of Eros, to the lovely tears of the girl.
And at length, weeping, she uttered so great a voice:
[47.320] "Sweet sleep came to me, while sweet Theseus went away;
would that I, delighting <...> †
I saw Cecropia, and within the court of Theseus
there was a delicate wedding-hymn as Ariadne was sung of,
and a dance, and my own delighted hand adorned
[47.325] the altar of the Loves, blooming with springtime leaves;
and I had a bridal garland; and Theseus was near me
in bridegroom's garments, sacrificing to Aphrodite.
Alas, what a sweet dream I saw; but fleeing me
he went away, leaving me still a maiden; be gracious, Persuasion;
[47.330] these things the gloomy, bride-adorning darkness gave me,
and jealous light-bearing Dawn snatched them all away;
and waking I did not find my longing. Are then the very
images of answering Loves jealous,
because I beheld the lovely, deceiving vision
[47.335] of marriage-perfecting dreams, and lovely Theseus fled?
To me even dear Sleep is hostile; tell me, rocks,
tell me who am unhappy in love: who has snatched the citizen of Athens?
If Boreas should blow, I come to Oreithyia;
but Oreithyia is angry at me, because she too
[47.340] bears the blood of Marathon, whence dear Theseus came.
If Zephyrus stirs, show to the Zephyrian bride,
to Iris the mother of Desire, Ariadne forced;
if Notus, if bold Eurus, I come to the morning-born,
blaming the mother of the roaring winds, unhappy in love.
[47.345] Give me again the empty, dear favor, Sleep, sending
another lovely dream like that one, so that I may behold
the sweet, deceiving bed of Cypris in sleep;
only linger upon my eyes, so that I may perceive
the breathless sting of Eros in dream weddings.
[47.350] If the snatching breezes carried your voyage from Naxos
to the Attic land, thievish bridegroom Theseus,
tell me as I ask, and I go at once to Aeolus,
blaming the jealous and unholy winds;
but if he set me, who left my fatherland, upon lonely Naxos,
[47.355] and the pitiless sailor sailed while you knew nothing,
he has sinned against Theseus and against Themis, against Ariadne;
let this sailor never again see an escorting wind,
nor let calm Melicertes behold him graciously
as he rides with unsteady tempests;
[47.360] but let Notus blow when there is need of Boreas;
let him find Eurus when he wants Zephyrus; and when the springtime
winds blow for all sea-travelers,
then let him alone keep company with a wintry sea.
This lawless sailor has sinned; but I too
[47.365] erred in longing for the citizen of prudent Athens.
Would that I, unhappy in love, had not longed for him; for toward the Paphian
Theseus was as savage as he was lovely;
he did not tell me this while he still shook my thread;
he did not tell me this beside our labyrinth.
[47.370] Would that the pitiless bull had killed him — cease, my voice,
from witlessness, do not kill the sweet youth; alas for the Loves;
Theseus sailed alone to Athens blessed in childbirth.
I know why he has left me; perhaps he has a love
of one of the maidens sailing with him, and he dances in Marathon
[47.375] at another wedding, another's, while I still walk in Naxos.
Naxos is my bridal chamber, thievish bridegroom Theseus;
I have lost both father and bridegroom; alas for the Loves;
I do not see Minos, and I do not behold Theseus;
I have left my Cnossus, and I have not seen your Athens;
[47.380] I am robbed of father and fatherland; ah, greatly wretched,
the water of the sea is the bride-gift of my love; to whom shall I flee?
What god will snatch me up and carry me to Marathon,
Ariadne, pleading her case against Cypris and Theseus?
Who will take me and carry me through the swell? Would that I too
[47.385] might see another thread as the escort of my road;
I too wish to have such a thread, so that I may escape
the swell of the Aegean sea and cross to Marathon,
so that I may embrace you, even if you hate Ariadne,
so that I may embrace you, my oath-breaking consort.
[47.390] Receive me as chamber-servant of your bed, if you wish;
and I, Ariadne, shall spread your bed after Crete,
like a spear-won woman; and for your most blessed bride
I shall endure, as a handmaid, to weave the loud-clattering loom
and to lift an unaccustomed pitcher on jealous shoulders,
[47.395] and to bring after-dinner water to sweet Theseus;
only let me see Theseus. My own mother too once
served country folk, and bent her neck to a herdsman,
and conversed with a pasturing, speechless bull,
and bore a bull to an ox; and when a herdsman made melody
[47.400] she had no longing for the harp, but only to hear bellowing.
But I shall not touch a crook, nor stand beside
a manger; I shall be near my mistress
while Theseus speaks, and I shall not hear bellowing;
and I shall sing the lovely wedding-hymn of your marriage,
[47.405] hiding my jealousy of your freshly yoked bride.
Halt beside the Naxian shores as you sail,
halt your ship for me. Why, sailor, do you too vex me?
So then you too are of Marathon; if you come
to your lovely land, where the house of the Loves is,
[47.410] receive me, wretched, so that I may see the city of Cecrops;
but if you leave me, pitiless one, and sail on,
tell your Theseus of lamenting Ariadne,
blaming the unaccomplished, thievish oath of the Loves.
I know why heavy-wrathful Eros made the promise
[47.415] of deceiving Theseus unaccomplished; for instead of Hera,
whom they call the Yoker, he swore a marriage oath
by the undefiled, unwedded goddess Athena;
he swore the oath of Pallas; what has Pallas to do with Cytherea?"
Bacchus delighted, hearing her lament;
[47.420] and he learned of Cecropia and knew the name of Theseus
and the deceiving voyage from Crete; and near the girl
he flashed, wearing an inspired shape; and the maiden
roaming, furious Eros lashed toward another, better longing
with his goading cestus, so that he might yoke the daughter
[47.425] of Minos, persuaded, to his brother Dionysus.
And comforting lamenting Ariadne, unhappy in love,
Bacchus spoke such a word with his mind-charming voice:
"Maiden, why do you groan for the deceiving citizen of Athens?
Leave the memory of Theseus; you have Dionysus as consort,
[47.430] an imperishable husband instead of a short-lived one; and if the mortal
body of a youth of your own age delights you, never does Theseus
strive with Dionysus in valor and beauty.
But you will say: he reddened the dweller of the ground-dug labyrinth,
the two-natured man yoked with a bull;
[47.435] you know your thread was his helper; for the club-bearing
citizen of Athens would not have found a contest to strive in,
had not a rosy-skinned woman defended him; I need not teach you
of the Paphian and of Eros and of the distaff of Ariadne.
You will not say that Athens is greater than the upper air;
[47.440] Minos your father was not wholly like all-ruling Zeus;
Cnossus is not like Olympus.
Nor did this fleet depart from my Naxos in vain,
but Desire guarded you for a better wedding;
blessed are you, because, leaving the worse bed of Theseus,
[47.445] you shall behold the couch of lovely Dionysus.
What greater boast did you wish for? For both together,
you have heaven for a house, and Cronion is your father-in-law.
Cassiepeia shall not be able to match you
through her daughter's Olympian adornment; for Perseus gave
[47.450] Andromeda airy bonds even among the stars;
but I shall make you a starry crown, so that you may be called
the gleaming bedfellow of garland-loving Dionysus."
He spoke, comforting her; and the girl leapt up with joy,
having flung all memory of Theseus to the sea,
[47.455] having received the promise of a wedding with a heavenly
suitor. And Eros adorned the bridal chamber for Bacchus;
and a wedding dance crashed out; and about the chamber
all flowers bloomed; and with springtime leaves
the dancers of Orchomenus wheeled about Naxos;
[47.460] and a Hamadryad sang shrill of the chamber, and beside the springs
an unveiled, unsandaled Naiad Nymph praised
Ariadne joined to the clustered god;
and Ortygia wailed for joy, and striking up a bridal hymn
for Lyaeus the brother of her city-holding Phoebus
[47.465] she skipped into the dance, unshaken though she is.
And crowning a wheeling flower with purple roses
fiery, prophetic Eros plaited a garland of the same color as the stars,
the forerunner of the heavenly Crown; and about the Naxian
bride the bride-adorning swarm of the Loves skipped.
[47.470] And keeping company in the yoking chamber of the wedding-hymn
the consort Chrysopator sowed a many-childed offspring.
And rolling the long whirl of grey time
he remembered his mother Rhea, blessed in childbirth;
and leaving blameless Naxos full of the Graces
[47.475] he went after all the cities of Hellas; and near horse-pasturing
Argos he came, even though Hera had got Inachus.
And they did not receive him, but pursued the dance-weaving
women and the Satyrs, and refused the thyrsi,
lest ever Hera should harm the Pelasgian seat,
[47.480] jealous, heavy-wrathful, bearing down upon Lyaeus;
and they checked the old Sileni. And in grief
Dionysus goaded all the Inachian women to frenzy;
and the Achaean women shouted with bellowing; and they assailed
those they met at the crossroads; and the wretched women whetted
[47.485] knives against their own freshly born infants,
of whom one drew a sword and killed her son as a mother,
another crushed her three-year-old offspring,
and one hurled into the air a wandering boy
still seeking his dear milk; and Inachus
[47.490] raved at the doom of the freshly born infants as they perished;
and a mother killed her son, and there was no longing for the child-tending
breasts, no memory of the necessary birth;
and Asterion, where many first-fruits of the greater youth
of young men were shorn, the flowers of the hair-shedding head,
[47.495] received the boys themselves and no longer the locks of their hair.
And one, seeing some servant of Lyaeus as he came,
a citizen of the Pelasgian field, told such a word:
"This is the cluster-bearer, a two-natured race; Argos, worthy of Hera,
has Perseus and has no need of Dionysus;
[47.500] I have another son of Zeus and do not want Bacchus.
With much-skipping feet Dionysus treads the harvest;
with high-traveling steps my offspring cuts the air.
Do not match ivy with a sickle; for Perseus
the sickle-bearer is better than thyrsus-bearing Bacchus;
[47.505] if he killed the Indian host, I shall call the contest equal
for Gorgon-slaying Perseus and Indian-slaying Dionysus;
and if beside the western clime of the much-washed sea
he fixed a stony Tyrrhenian merchant ship in the deep,
my Perseus turned a whole vast sea-monster to stone.
[47.510] And if your Dionysus saved sleeping Ariadne
upon the shores beside a lonely sea,
winged Perseus loosed the bonds of Andromeda,
having as a worthy bride-gift the petrified beast of the sea;
never did Perseus rescue Andromeda for the sake of the Paphian,
[47.515] never his own bride longing for a Theseus;
but he got a prudent marriage. And the fiery thunderbolts
did not turn Danae to ash, as they did Semele;
but the father of Perseus, the Olympian rain of the Loves,
came golden to the marriage, and not a flaming consort.
[47.520] I never admire this champion; for in his palm
what furious spear of Ares does he hold? Hold back, Perseus;
do not fight with your Gorgon-slaying sickle against womanish ivy;
do not defile your hand with women's buskins;
do not shake the helmet of Hades upon your temples
[47.525] against a vine garland; but if you wish,
arm Andromeda against uncorseleted Dionysus.
Withdraw from me, Dionysus, and leaving horse-pasturing Argos
drive the women of seven-gated Thebes to frenzy again;
kill a new Pentheus; what has Perseus to do with Dionysus?
[47.530] Refuse swift-flowing Inachus; and let the slow river
of Aonian Thebes receive you; I need not teach you
of heavy-kneed Asopus, still seething with the thunderbolt."
Such a word he told, laughing at Dionysus.
And Pelasgian Hera armed the Argive phalanx;
[47.535] and she was like the seer Melampus; and in anger
she broke into a warlike voice to Gorgon-slaying Perseus:
"Offspring of a heavenly race, helmet-glancing Perseus,
lift your sickle, lest with some unwarlike thyrsus
feeble women wipe out your Argos;
[47.540] do not tremble at one single serpent, the girdle of his hair,
since your blood-red, beast-slaying reaping-hook
mowed the cornfields of so many serpents of Medusa;
arm yourself against the phalanx of the Bassarids; and remember
the bronze-roofed maiden-chamber, where through the bosom of Danae
[47.545] rainy Zeus poured a marriage-thieving golden shower,
lest Danae after her bed, after her golden wedding,
should bend a slave's knee to paltry Lyaeus;
show that you bear the true blood of Cronion,
show that you have a golden race, and proclaim
[47.550] the bed of your heavenly, wealth-holding snowfall;
and make war on the Satyrs; and as Lyaeus arms himself
stretch out the bloody eye of serpent-haired Medusa,
and after the bitter king of much-washed Seriphos
I shall behold another new Polydectes of stone.
[47.555] With you all-subduing Argolic Hera arms herself,
the stepmother of Bromius; and shielding Mycenae
lift your city-saving sickle, so that I may behold
Ariadne following Perseus as a spear-won woman;
kill the rank of ox-horned Satyrs; and with a Gorgon eye
[47.560] change the mortal gaze of the Bassarids
into a self-perfected image like them; and adorn your streets
with an answering stony beauty,
making varied statues for the Inachian assemblies.
Why do you tremble at Dionysus, whom the bed of Zeus did not plow?
[47.565] Tell me, what could he do to you? When will a footman
upon the floor overtake a winged one, an aloft air-roamer?"
She spoke, heartening him; and Perseus flew into the fray.
And the Pelasgian trumpet roared, calling the dwellers,
of whom one lifted the spear of Lynceus the spearman,
[47.570] another that of elder Phoroneus, another of Pelasgus,
another raised in his hand the Abantian ox-hide shield
and the ash-spear of Proetus, and another man lifted
the quiver of Acrisius, and another stood bold in the fray
holding the sword of Danaus, which once, lifting it bare,
[47.575] he armed his daughters with for a man-slaying wedding,
another was gripping a great axe, which beside the altar
Inachus, the inspired sacrificer of city-holding Hera,
used to stand lifting, the cutter of oxen's foreheads.
And a tumult-rousing host upon high-footed horses
[47.580] ran after Perseus as he fought; and one stood beside them,
sending the shout of battle from rough lips,
a foot-soldier, and fitted his bows to a circling string,
and lifted a hollow quiver above his back;
and Perseus the sickle-bearer was the champion of the Argives,
[47.585] and he clamped his feet in airy sandals,
and lifted the head of Medusa whom none may look upon.
And Iobacchus armed his loose-haired women
and horned Satyrs; and he raved in Bacchic frenzy in the tumult
when he saw the airy journey of the winged champion;
[47.590] and in his hand he lifted a thyrsus, raising before his face
adamant, a stone petrified by the shower of Zeus,
the defender against stone-eyed Medusa,
so that he might flee the hostile gleam of the face none may look upon.
And seeing the phalanxes of the Bassarids and the emblems of Lyaeus,
[47.595] helmet-glancing Perseus laughed dreadfully and said:
"Sweet is he who holds a thyrsus, a green shaft, and coming against me
arms himself with paltry leaves, playing at Ares;
if you have got the blood of Zeus, show forth your race;
if you have the golden Pactolian water of a river,
[47.600] I have gold for a begetter, and my father is rainy Zeus;
behold the reddening foundations of the maiden-chamber,
still bearing those remains of the wealth-flowing snowfall.
But flee glorious Argos, since battle-steadfast Hera
has got these seats, the destroyer of your mother,
[47.605] lest she make you, the goader, also the goaded,
lest I behold you at last sharpened again with madness."
So speaking he fought in the front; and all-subduing Hera,
arming Ares and the reaper of Medusa,
terrified the Bacchants; and darting down upon Bacchus
[47.610] an imitation of lightning, a god-driven leaping fire,
she hurled a light-bearing, gleaming lance at Bromius.
And laughing Dionysus answered with a raving voice:
"You have no such flashing, ironless point;
you cannot rout me, even if you have got a fiery spear;
[47.615] nor does the lightning of Zeus harm me; for the thunderbolts
washed Bacchus while he was still a half-finished infant,
pouring an unburning breath upon unharmed Dionysus.
And do you too, boastful sickle-bearing Perseus, cease;
this is no battle of a lesser Gorgon, no single bride
[47.620] Andromeda in heavy bonds is the contest; but you bring
a fight against Lyaeus, who has the race of Zeus, to whom alone
Rhea once held out a life-bringing breast, whom once
the gentle flame of a bridal lightning midwifed with its torch,
at whom the west and the Dawnstar marveled, to whom the ranks of Indians
[47.625] yielded, trembling at whom both Deriades and Orontes
fell, having the measureless likeness of sky-high Giants,
to whom bold Alpos sank down, the son of Earth,
having a vast, cloud-neighboring body, to whom bends the knee
the Arab people, and the Sicilian sailor still sings
[47.630] of the bastard sea-running shape of the Tyrrhenians, whose human
form I once changed and turned about, and instead of men
dancing fishes skip upon the sea.
And you have heard the lament of seven-gated Thebes; I need not teach you
of dread-maddened Pentheus and child-destroying Agave;
[47.635] and you need no rumor or witness that your Argos
has made trial of Lyaeus, and that the Achaean women themselves
still groan for their own travail.
But fight, friend, and perhaps you will praise Bacchus
as he hurls his clusters, because you shall see the wings
[47.640] of your sandals yielding to my unbreakable buskins;
never shall you scatter the battle of the Bassarids, never shall I cease
sending my wine-dark thyrsus, until I show your throat in Argos
pierced by an ivy spear
and your sickle conquered by leaves; my Zeus
[47.645] shall not save you, nor the grey-eyed one your kinswoman, nor your Hera,
however angry she may be at battle-steadfast Dionysus;
but I shall kill you, and boastful Mycenae
shall behold the reaper of Medusa reaped;
or, clamping you in a chest with a greater bond,
[47.650] I shall hurl you afloat a second time upon your accustomed sea;
and if you wish, set foot again at last upon your Seriphos.
And if you boast greatly about your golden race,
have paltry golden Aphrodite as your fellow-contender."
So speaking he fought in the front; and the Bacchants made war,
[47.655] and the Satyrs fought. And above the head of Bromius
Perseus flew aloft, darting his light wings;
and Iobacchus, heightening his body, a neighbor of the upper air,
wingless, high-traveling, was lifted with a greater sole
higher than flying Perseus, and to the seven-pathed
[47.660] upper air he brought his hand, and kept company with Olympus,
and squeezed the clouds; and Perseus was whirled with fear,
gazing at the untouchable right hand of Dionysus
touching the sun and laying hold of the moon.
But leaving Dionysus he fought against the raving Bacchants;
[47.665] and shaking in his palm the death-bearing eye of Medusa
he made Ariadne stone as she armed herself.
And Bacchus roared the more, seeing his bride of rock;
and now he would have sacked Argos and thrown down Mycenae
and reaped the whole rank of the Danaans, and now he would have wounded
[47.670] unwoundable Hera herself as she fought unknown
in the bastard mortal-seeming shape of the answering seer,
and now swift-sandaled Perseus would have perished beyond his doom,
had not Hermes, appearing behind him on winged sandal,
taken him by his golden lock and reined him back,
[47.675] and soothed him with an evil-averting, friendly word:
"True blood of Zeus, bastard of jealous Hera,
you know how I saved you from the Zeus-fallen torches,
and gave you to the Nymphs, the daughters of the river Lamos,
while you were still a child, and lifting you again in my hands
[47.680] brought you to the house of your child-rearing Ino;
and do you, bringing a favor to your rescuer the son of Maia,
lull the kindred battle, brother; for both together,
Perseus and Dionysus are the offspring of one father;
do not blame the host of the Argives, do not blame the sickle of Perseus;
[47.685] for he does not arm himself for war willingly; but Hera
armed him, and in the shape of the seer Melampus
she fights openly; but do you withdraw and leave the fight,
lest ill-devising Hera bear down upon you again.
But you will speak of the doom of your wife; she has died
[47.690] fighting, by a glorious doom; and you ought to count
Ariadne blessed in her death, because she found so great a slayer,
born of a heavenly and not of a mortal stock,
the reaper of the sea-monster and of horse-bearing Medusa;
the threads of the Fates obey no one; for heavenly
[47.695] Electra died, the bedfellow of Zeus, and she herself,
the sister of your Cadmus, Europa, wedded to Zeus,
went away after her Olympian bed, and your own
mother perished still bearing your birth in her belly;
Semele did not cross the gates of Olympus before her doom,
[47.700] but when she had received it. And your bride, in her perishing,
shall come to the star-roaming heaven, and shall appear
near our Maia of the seven-pathed Pleiad.
What more dear did she wish than to shine upon the earth,
dwelling in the upper air, Ariadne after Crete?
[47.705] But do you lay down your thyrsus, and leave Enyo to the winds,
and set the self-perfected image of earthly Ariadne
where the image of heavenly Hera stands.
Do not sack the city where the blood of your parents is,
but honor the floor of your own ox-horned Io,
[47.710] lulling your thyrsus; and hereafter you shall praise
the Achaean women, since they shall set up an altar
of bull-faced Hera and of your fair-chambered bride."
Such a word he told, and leaving horse-pasturing Argos
he came again to the vault, having mixed for both
[47.715] an ordinance of like-mindedness, for Perseus and for Dionysus.
Nor did Argolic Hera stay there for long;
but changing her bastard mortal-seeming shape
she went back to Olympus, having her wondrous form again.
And old Melampus spoke to the Inachian phalanx,
[47.720] the blood of first-born Lynceus, of god-fearing Pelasgus:
"Obey the seer, and shake for wine-dark Bacchus,
shake the bronze rattles and the Euian drums of Rhea,
lest he wipe out the whole Inachian race,
lest after the infant children he destroy the youths too,
[47.725] lest after the doom of the children he kill the women;
but make a god-delighting sacrifice to Bacchus
and to Zeus, and dance for Perseus and for Dionysus."
So speaking he persuaded them; and the peoples gathered together,
striking up a night-danced song for Bacchus,
[47.730] and set up the rites; and in a god-invoking dance
the rattles clattered, and the soles beat time,
and torches blazed; and the citizens, gathered together,
anointed their cheeks with mystic white gypsum;
and the drums clattered, and as the bronze was beaten
[47.735] a twice-sounding din roared; and the altars reddened
from bulls slaughtered in rows, one after another,
and unspeakable flocks were killed; and at the gleaming altar
the men soothed Bacchus and the women propitiated him;
and a female cry crashed out an air-roaming melody,
[47.740] exchanging it for a life-ransoming revel; and the Inachian
maenads flung their mind-forgetting madness to the winds.

## Book XLVIII


### Seek in the forty-eighth the blood of the Giants, and behold Pallene and the child of sleeping Aura.

[48.1] But he, mounted upon the rail of his leopard chariot,
reveled roaming through the Thracian field,
leaving the horse-pasturing floor of first-born Phoroneus.
Nor did Inachian Hera soften her renewed anger
[48.5] when Argos was goaded, but, keeping the memory
of the madness of the Achaean women, she armed herself again against Bacchus.
And she made guileful prayers to Earth the mother of all,
crying aloud the works of Zeus and the manhood of Dionysus
who had destroyed the measureless cloud of earth-born Indians;
[48.10] and when the life-bringing mother heard that the son of Semele
had wiped out the swift-fated Indian race,
remembering her children she groaned the more; and against Bacchus
she armed the mountain-running tribes of the self-begotten Giants,
goading her high-crested sons into the tumult:
[48.15] "My children, fight against cluster-bearing Dionysus
on the sky-high crags, and overtake the destroyer
of my race, the Indian-slaying son of Zeus; and let me not see
a bastard scepter-bearer of Olympus ruling with Zeus.
Bind, bind Bacchus, so that he may be a chamber-servant
[48.20] when I grant Hebe in marriage to Porphyrion
and Cytherea to Chthonius, when I sing the grey-eyed one
as the bedfellow of Enceladus and Artemis of Alcyoneus;
bring me Dionysus, so that I may vex Cronion
as he beholds the slavery of spear-won Lyaeus;
[48.25] or, wounding him with crushing iron,
kill him for me, wholly like Zagreus, so that someone may say,
either a god or one of mortals, that Earth in anger
armed twin murderers against the offspring of Cronides,
the elder Titans against the earlier Dionysus,
[48.30] and the younger Giants against the later-born Dionysus."
So speaking she goaded the whole rank of the Giants.
And the phalanxes of the earth-born marched into the tumult.
One, holding a Nysaean foundation, another, having hollowed
a cloud-high, torrent-cut flank with iron,
[48.35] armed himself against Dionysus, hurling crags as spears;
another, a rocky hill of the sea-based field,
another, having broken off the ridge of a sea-girdled isthmus,
hastened to the fray. And with measureless arms
Peloreus hurled high-headed Pelion,
[48.40] laying bare the hollow house of Philyra; and as the unroofed
crag was snatched away, old Chiron was whirled,
man-formed, half-finished, entwined with an age-mate horse.
And holding a cluster of vines, the destroyer of Giants,
Bacchus ran down upon high-crested Alcyoneus,
[48.45] having no furious spear, lifting no bloody sword,
but he cut the wide-scattered hands of the Giants,
hurling coiling shoots; and with an unmixed-wine-loving leaf
the dread tribes of ground-reared serpents were cut apart;
and as the viper-haired heads of a Giant were struck
[48.50] the reaped necks danced in the dust.
And unspeakable tribes were killed; and as the Giants were cut down
rivers of ever-flowing blood ran, and with freshly poured
purple surges the gullies reddened.
And the phalanxes of the earth-born raved in Bacchic frenzy,
[48.55] fearing the serpent locks of snaky-haired Dionysus.
And Bacchus fought with fire, hurling into the air a brand,
the destroyer of his adversaries; and along a high-traveling road
a Bacchic, self-coiling, leaping flame ran on,
darting down upon the Giants with a limb-devouring spark;
[48.60] and one, a half-burnt serpent, bearing the radiance upon its threatening
throat, hissed with a fire-heated gullet,
spitting out smoke, and hurling no deadly venom.
And there was unspeakable tumult; and above the heads of his adversaries
Bacchus was suspended, lifting a warlike brand,
[48.65] and warmed the bodies of the Giants with an earthly hurricane,
the answering imitation of the Zeus-hurled thunderbolt;
and the torches blazed; and above the head of Enceladus
a wandering torch was whirled, warming the air;
but it did not subdue him, and Enceladus did not bend his knee
[48.70] at the vapor of earthly fire, since he had been guarded against the thunderbolt.
And measureless Alcyoneus leapt upon Lyaeus,
helmeted with Thracian crags; and against Bacchus
he lifted the cloud-high ridge of wintry Haemus
toward a useless mark, unwoundable Dionysus;
[48.75] and he hurled the watch-peak; and touching the unbreakable
fawnskin of Lyaeus the hills were split apart;
and a new Typhoeus, high-visible, wholly like the earlier one,
laid bare the heads of Emathia — he who once lifted
many torn hollows of his mother the field,
[48.80] hurling rocky missiles at Dionysus.
And drawing the sword of one gasping upon the ground
lord Bacchus armed himself against the Giants' heads,
shearing the snaky cornfields of their venom-shooting locks;
and cutting the self-perfected host with an unarmed hand
[48.85] he fought raging, holding the long-leaved ivy
that mounts green trees, the hurler at Giants.
And now he would have killed them all with his man-breaking thyrsus,
but he withdrew willingly from the fight, turned back again,
keeping his foes alive for his own father.
[48.90] And now he would have run swiftly to Phrygia with hurrying foot,
but another contest checked him, so that among so many
dead he might kill one man, a murderer,
the death-bearing father of Pallene, who once,
having a lawless sting for the girl, of guilty weddings,
[48.95] checked her yoking, and cutting down measureless
suitors about to be wed, reaped them, beneath whose gore
as they were killed the wrestling-grounds reddened with a clang,
until Bacchus came as the champion of Justice; and standing beside
the father of Pallene, unhappy in love as her marriage neared,
[48.100] he asked for the reckless wedding of the shuddering girl,
and held out varied gifts; and to Lyaeus as he asked
the dread man proclaimed a wrestling for the marriage;
and leading him he set him in the ill-guesting wrestling-ground,
where the bold, spear-wielding girl stood
[48.105] lightening a bridal ox-hide upon her shoulders.
And then Cypris was the judge of the contest; and in the middle
was naked Eros, and he held out a wedding garland to Bacchus,
and wrestling was the bride-adorner; and with a silvery
garment Persuasion cloaked her delicate body,
[48.110] prophesying the victory of Lyaeus soon to wed.
And the girl stripped the robes from her sturdy limbs,
and laid aside her furious spear for the wedding, and more delicate
the Sithonian girl stood unveiled, unsandaled,
womanish, ironless, and with a reddening band
[48.115] she girdled the wheeling rim of her unbending breasts;
and her body was uncovered, and the unplaited locks
of her measureless hair flowed down the girl's neck,
and she showed her shins and the fold of her uncovered thighs
with the bare knee appearing; and about her thighs
[48.120] she fitted a white weaving, the covering of a woman's shame;
and she had her skin stained with rich oil,
and her palms far more, so that, when squeezed, the girl's
moist flesh might slip from hands that could not hold.
And threatening Lyaeus with grim lips
[48.125] she stood beside the bride-tending suitor, and cast
a twofold bond about his neck with a yoked trail of her forearm;
but Bacchus, turned back again, loosed his own neck,
flinging off the soft-skinned fingers of the girl,
shaking the neck entwined in womanish bonds;
[48.130] and winding his two hands crown-wise about her waist
he shook Pallene with a shifting throb of his feet;
and he gripped her rosy palm, and held
a Cyprian comfort, pressing her snowy hand;
nor did he so much long to roll the child upon the ground
[48.135] as to touch her soft flesh, delighting in a sweet
labor; and he grew weary, stretching a guile-weaving breath
like a mortal, and left the victory by a willing delay.
And lovely Pallene, with the skilled throb of wrestling,
lifted the body of Lyaeus with womanish palms;
[48.140] nor did she raise him, so great a weight, but growing weary
she left the male limbs of unmoving Dionysus.
And the god, taking the lovely maiden with an answering
binding knot of his hands, as though lifting a thyrsus,
raised her slanting and coiling above his shoulder;
[48.145] and with a sparing hand he shook off the sturdy girl,
and stretched Pallene whole and unshaken upon the ground;
and he whirled his gaze with guileful eyelids,
beholding the dust-covered limbs of the soft-haired girl
and the squalid locks of her uncared-for head.
[48.150] But leaping up again from the dust, turned back,
the girl fixed her steps upright a second time;
and Dionysus, with the swift, unsparing rush of his knee,
gripping the belly of Pallene with a shifting throb,
longed to roll the maiden upon the floor,
[48.155] and shifted his palms, winding them about her sides,
arching his neck aslant, and about the middle
of her back he wheeled his fingers, bending them behind,
watching to catch either ankle or shin or knee.
And the god fell self-rolling, willing, to the ground,
[48.160] conquered by a paltry palm; and he had a lovely
drug of love, and in the sweet dust,
lifting the lovely burden of the Loves upon his belly,
he stayed upon his back, and did not shake off the girl,
but clamped her in the mind-charming bond of longing.
[48.165] And she, with the swift-whirling, guiding throb of her feet,
lifted her step, and loosed the male hand
of love-maddened Lyaeus; and the god, with a lesser rush,
turning her limbs about, stretched out the rosy girl,
spreading her on the floor; and the girl lay upon the ground
[48.170] with her hands spread out; and as she stretched upon the earth
he clamped her neck with a well-handled, yoking bond.
And with swifter feet her father rushed into the middle
and reined back his daughter, who wished to contend,
and checked the bridal contest of the wedding,
[48.175] entrusting the lovely victory to Dionysus,
lest he should kill her, holding her in an unshaken bond.
And at the assent of Zeus, after the prize-bearing victory,
Eros crowned his brother with the escorting cluster of marriage,
who had accomplished the lovely wrestling of the wedding.
[48.180] And such a contest was like that other, when, rolling
golden bridal gifts before the girl,
Hippomenes conquered Atalanta as she hurried.
But when Bacchus had accomplished the contest of bride-tending
wrestling, still dripping with the bridal sweats of the struggle,
[48.185] he threw down Sithon, struck by the sharp thyrsus,
the destroyer of suitors; and as he rolled in the dust
he gave the girl the thyrsus, the blood-stained bride-gift of the Loves.
And the marriage was much-hymned; and in the never-silent chamber
the Sileni resounded, and the Bacchants danced,
[48.190] and drunken Satyrs wove a hymn of the Loves,
singing the yoking of a prize-won wedding.
And the phalanxes of the Nereids, beneath the ankles of the neighboring isthmus,
girdled Dionysus with a bridal dance,
and uttered a melody; and beside the Thracian sea
[48.195] old Nereus, the host of Bromius, danced,
and Galatea, skipping about the bridal sea,
sang shrill of Pallene joined to Dionysus,
and Thetis skipped, even though she is untaught of the Loves,
and Melicertes crowned the bridal ridge of the sea-girdled isthmus,
[48.200] crying Euoi for the wedding-hymn of Pallene;
and one of the Hamadryads, beside neighboring flaming Lemnos,
an Athos-nymph, kindled the Thracian bridal pine.
And comforting his bride with friendly whispers
as she mourned her father, the Euian-loving consort said:
[48.205] "Maiden, do not groan for your father unhappy in love;
maiden, do not groan for the suitor of your own maidenhood;
what father ever sowed a daughter and led her to marriage?
Leave your empty grief, since, now your father is slain,
your Sithon, Justice dances laughing,
[48.210] and, kindling the bridal fire with maiden hands,
she who knows no marriage still sings of your marriage,
beholding another Oenomaus dead;
Oenomaus perished, and with her father destroyed
Hippodameia delights in her freshly wedded consort.
[48.215] And do you too, flinging the longings of your father to the storms,
delight, joined to a clustered consort,
shunning a father's reproach; I need not teach you
of Sithon's hostile love and his delaying of the wedding,
who, lifting a son-in-law-slaying spear with a murderous hand,
[48.220] made you grow old, untried in Aphrodite,
and scattered the yoking of your unwedded bed.
Look at the rotting remains of the dead suitors,
whom the Paphian adorned and a furious Erinys killed;
behold those heads, the first-fruits of your halls,
[48.225] still dripping with the gore of ill-guesting weddings.
You do not keep the earthly race of Sithon; I am persuaded
that your Thracian Ares, a heavenly one, bore you,
I am persuaded that Cytherea travailed with your birth;
and you have taken the ways of both your parents,
[48.230] having the temper of Ares and the splendor of Aphrodite;
I am persuaded that lord Hermes of the contests begot you,
coming to the delicate bed of marriage-perfecting Persuasion,
and taught you wrestling, the escort of the Loves."
He spoke, comforting her griefs with a healing word,
[48.235] and lulled the lovely tears of the mourning girl.
And he lingered a time beside his bridal bride,
delighting in the love of a freshly yoked wedding.
And leaving the halls of Pallene and Thracian Boreas
he came to the house of Rhea, where beside the Phrygian floor
[48.240] were the Cybelian courts of the goddess blessed in childbirth.
There, hunting beside the ankles of the Dindymon rock,
the mountain-roaming Rhyndacian maiden Aura grew up,
still untaught of Eros, running with the archer-goddess,
fleeing the thoughts of unwarlike maidens,
[48.245] a younger Lelantian Artemis, whom once the Titan
Lelantus the elder, having wedded Periboea the offspring
of Ocean, plowed as a storm-footed girl,
a girl who matched men, untried in Aphrodite.
She grew up taller than the youth of her own age,
[48.250] lovely, rosy-armed, always delighting in the hills;
and often, hunting, she ran down a raving bear,
and sent her furious spear, hurling it at a lioness,
not killing deer and not shooting hares;
but lightening a blood-red quiver
[48.255] she shot the mountain-running tribes of raw-devouring lions
with beast-slaying arrows; and in name and in deed
she had the swiftest running, a companion of the mountain breezes.
And once, in the fire-gleaming hour of thirsty heat,
the maiden, sleeping, rested from the labors of the hunt;
[48.260] and spreading her body high upon the Cybelian grass,
laying her head aside upon the shoot of a prudent laurel,
she slept at midday, and beheld a lovely, prophetic
vision of a dream of the wedding to come,
that the fiery god, stretching a shaft upon a gleaming string,
[48.265] furious Eros, was shooting hares within a thicket,
shooting the rank of beasts with paltry arrows;
and Cypris, laughing, went as companion with the boy as he hunted,
with the son of Myrrha; and the maiden Aura stood,
lightening upon her shoulder, after the bow of Artemis,
[48.270] the unaccustomed quiver of Eros the hunter;
and he killed the beasts, until he had his fill of the bowstring,
striking the grim mouth of leopards and the jaw of a bear,
and, having taken a lioness alive with his all-charming cestus,
he showed the squeezed beast to his play-loving mother;
[48.275] and the maiden thought in the darkness that she too,
leaning her forearm upon Adonis and Cytherea,
was goaded by greedy Eros, who bent for Aphrodite
the slave knee of the captive, overbearing lioness,
crying such a word: 'Garland-bearing mother of the Loves,
[48.280] I bring you maiden-loving Aura, bending her neck to you;
but, dancers of desire-stricken Orchomenus,
crown the bride-adorning cestus strap, because it has conquered
so great a purpose of an unconquered lioness.'"
Such a prophetic word the mountain-dweller Aura beheld;
[48.285] nor was the dream in vain toward the Loves, since they too
bring a man into the net and hunt a woman.
And the girl, waking, raged at the prudent laurel,
and fought with the Paphian and with Eros, and was angry
still more at bold Sleep, and threatened the Dream,
[48.290] and was indignant at the leaves, and spoke with a voiceless voice:
It is no cause for blame to behold such dreams beside a myrtle;
"Laurel, why do you rout me? What has Cypris to do with your tree?
I erred in sleeping beneath your neighboring boughs,
hoping your plant was maiden-loving, and I did not find
[48.295] your report or my hope; so then, Laurel,
having changed your body, you have found how to change your mind too?
Do you serve bridal Aphrodite after your doom?
This tree is not a prudent woman's, but a freshly wedded bride's;
this dream is worthy of a wanton. Was it Persuasion,
[48.300] was it your laurel Apollo who planted you with his hand?"
She spoke, angry alike at the plant and at Eros and at Sleep.
And once, hunting through the mountains, the mistress of the hunt,
her flesh lashed by the torch of smoky heat,
Artemis made ready her car, so that together with the Naiad Nymphs
[48.305] she might cool her hot body in mountain-poured baths,
when it was the middle of the flaming summer, when, brandishing
the fiery midday sound of a rough whip,
the sun blazed upon the back of the Lion.
And mountain-roaming Artemis shut her deer in yoking
[48.310] harness; and mounting the car
the maiden Aura took both whip and reins,
and drove the horned, stormy wagon.
And the unveiled daughters of ever-flowing Ocean
rushed on as handmaids, companions of the archer-goddess,
[48.315] of whom one was swift-kneed, going before her queen,
and another, of equal pace, having drawn up her tunic,
was near, and another, laying hold of the basket-rail
of the long-greaved wagon, kept a course running with it.
And the archer-goddess, lighting up the radiance of her face,
[48.320] flashed above her handmaids, as when upon her airy
car Selene, sending the flame of vigil-loving torches,
shooting cloudless beams,
rose at the full <...> †
dimming the whole heavenly rank with her face;
[48.325] having a radiance equal to hers Artemis ran through the wood,
until she came to the place where with a resounding stream
the Zeus-fallen water of the river Sangarius is drawn along.
And Aura checked her coiling whip,
and, reining back the deer with golden bridles,
[48.330] halted the light-bearing car of her queen beside the streams;
and the goddess ran down from the car; and from her shoulders
Oupis received the bow, and Hecaerge the quiver,
and the daughters of Ocean the well-plaited nets of the hunt;
and Loxo loosed the hounds and the hunting-boots from her feet.
[48.335] And at midday she kept the maiden-loving reverence of modesty
in the outpourings, creeping into the streams
with sparing steps, and from foot to head,
clamping her feet about with twin thigh,
drawing up her tunic little by little, dipped at the tip,
[48.340] the girl washed her whole body, hidden by measure.
And glancing sidelong through the water, sharp-sighted Aura
with the bold eyelids of a shameless face
measured the pure body of the girl none may look upon,
gazing at the wondrous form of her prudent queen;
[48.345] and spreading her feet with palms outstretched
the maiden Aura swam together with the swimming goddess.
And half-seen, unfinished, within the river bank,
wild Artemis wiped the moist drops from her hair;
and near her the huntress Aura,
[48.350] handling her breasts, cried a god-fighting voice:
"Artemis, you have only the maiden-loving name of a girl,
since you have the female breast of the Paphian, not the male breast of Athena,
because through your bosom the rim of your nipple hangs loose,
and your cheeks shoot forth rosy sparks;
[48.355] but, keeping the body of a desire-stricken goddess,
do you too rule over weddings with soft-haired Cytherea,
receiving some bridegroom into your chamber; and if you wish,
lie beside Hermes and Ares, and leave Athena;
and if you wish, lift the shaft and bow of the Loves,
[48.360] if you keep the bold sting of an arrow-bearing quiver.
Be gracious, your form; I am far better than you;
look how I keep a sturdy body; behold a male
shape, and the step of Aura swifter than Zephyrus;
look how my arms swell; behold my breasts,
[48.365] unripe, swelling, unsuckled; indeed you might say
that yours gush up a milky dew;
how do you keep a soft-skinned palm? How is it that your breasts
have no wheeling circle, such as Aura's,
self-moving heralds of an unplundered maidenhood?"
[48.370] She spoke, mocking; and downcast in silence
her companion the goddess surged with swelling anger,
and her eyes shot forth murderous sparks;
and she leapt up out of the stream, and put on her tunic again,
and fitted her girdle a second time to her pure flanks
[48.375] in grief. And she went after Nemesis; and she found the girl
beside cloud-high Taurus, where beside neighboring Cydnus
she had stopped the high-necked boast of the threat of Typhaon;
and a self-rolling wheel was beside the feet of the queen,
signifying that she drags all the proud down to the ground,
[48.380] whirling them from on high with the avenging circle of justice,
the all-subduing goddess, turning about the journey of life;
and about her, beside her throne, flew an avenging bird,
a winged griffin, lifted by the throb of four feet,
the self-announcer of the flying goddess, that she too
[48.385] passes through the four-parted seats of the cosmos;
clamping high-crested men with an unloosable bridle,
an answering likeness — and as with the whip of evil,
as with a self-rolling wheel, she rolls a proud man down.
And the goddess knew, when she saw with a pale face
[48.390] Artemis grieving and full of murderous threat,
and questioning her she soothed her with a friendly word:
"Your eyes cry aloud your anger, archer-goddess;
Artemis, what god-fighting son of Earth routs you?
What Typhoeus has sprouted again above the floor?
[48.395] Has Tityos, come back, stretching a love-maddened eye,
touched the untouchable garment of your mother?
Artemis, where are your bows and the arrows of Apollo?
What Orion forces you again? Still he lies,
that wretch who touched your tunic,
[48.400] a breathless corpse within his mother's flanks; and if some man
has laid hold of your robes with desire-stricken hands,
I shall raise another scorpion, the avenger of your girdle;
and if bold Otus again or boastful Ephialtes
has longed for the untouchable yoking of your Loves,
[48.405] kill the suitor of your unwedded maidenhood;
and if some woman of many children vexes your Leto,
let another stony Niobe weep for her offspring;
what envy is it, if I make another stone above Sipylus?
Does your father stir you over a marriage, after the grey-eyed one?
[48.410] Has Cronion nodded your marriage to Hermes,
as he did the wedding of pure Athena to Hephaestus?
But if a woman routs you, like your mother Leto,
I shall be the avenger of the grieving archer-goddess."
Not yet had her word ceased; and to the evil-averting goddess
[48.415] the whelp-rearing girl got in first and cried such a word:
"All-subduing maiden, steersman of birth,
not Zeus, not Niobe routs me, and not bold Otus;
Tityos did not drag back my deep-robed Leto;
no new Orion forces me, no son of Earth;
[48.420] but mocking me with a sharp word, heavy-mouthed,
the daughter of Lelantus, ill-maiden Aura, has grieved me;
but why should I tell you all this? For I am ashamed
to speak the shame of my limbs and the reproaches of my breasts;
and I have suffered a grief like my mother's; for both together,
[48.425] in Phrygia Niobe grieved Leto the bearer of twins,
and again in Phrygia god-fighting Aura has grieved me;
but she, changing to a bastard shape, paid the penalty,
the daughter of Tantalus, dread in childbirth, and still sheds tears
from stony eyes; but I alone, grieved,
[48.430] have an unavenged shame, since maiden-loving Aura
had no stone washed with tears, and saw no spring
proclaiming the reproach of her unsparing throat.
But do you, honoring your Titan stock,
grant another favor after my mother's, so that I may behold
[48.435] the unshaken body of Aura changed to stone;
and do not leave your own kinswoman mourning,
lest I see unturned Aura laughing at me again,
or let your bronze-forged reaping-hook goad her."
The goddess heartened her as she spoke, and answered with a word:
[48.440] "Bed-fleeing daughter of Leto, hound-rouser, sister of Phoebus,
I shall not subdue a Titan child with my sickle,
nor shall I make her a rocky bride in Phrygia,
since I too am born of the most ancient blood of the Titans,
lest father Lelantus should ever blame me when he hears;
[48.445] but one thing I grant you, archer-goddess: the huntress Aura
has convicted a maiden, and she shall be a maiden no longer;
and you shall behold her beside a mountain-poured bosom
still mourning her girdle with fountain tears."
She spoke, comforting her; and the girl left the mountains,
[48.450] Artemis, seated in her four-yoked car of deer,
and set foot in Phrygia. And in an emulous journey
the maiden Adrasteia went after hard-fighting Aura,
having yoked contending griffins beneath the bridle;
and she was carried swiftly through the air in her sharp car,
[48.455] and fixed her course above the heads of Sipylus
before the stone-eyed face of the daughter of Tantalus,
clamping the crooked bridles of her winged four-footed beasts.
And she came near proud Aura; and the high-minded
neck of the wretched girl she struck with a snaky whip,
[48.460] and dashed her down with the wheeling circle of justice,
and bent the witless mind of the unbending girl; and about the girdle
of the maiden Argolic Adrasteia whirled
her viperish whip; and doing favor to the goddess,
though she was greatly angry at her brother Dionysus,
[48.465] she armed another love, even though she is untaught of the Loves,
after the bed of Pallene, after Ariadne perished,
the one left behind in her fatherland, the other in an alien
land turned to stone, like the Achaean image of Hera,
and far more after the unaccomplished bed of Beroe.
[48.470] And Nemesis flew beside snow-struck Taurus,
until she came to Cydnus a second time; and about the girl
with a sweet-striking <...> †
and wheeling her wings she mounted lightly to Olympus.
And the mountain-roaming god was lashed with a greater torch;
[48.475] for there was no little comfort; he had no Cyprian hope
of the girl then, no drug of the Loves;
but Eros burned him the more with a mind-charming torch
toward the late-accomplished marriage of raving, disobedient Aura.
And laboring he hid his longing, nor in the thickets
[48.480] did he keep company with Cyprian whispers near Aura,
lest she should flee him. What is more cruel than when men
alone long, and women do not desire?
And he kept in his heart the fixed shaft of the Loves,
if the maiden held a hound-rousing course within a thicket;
[48.485] and as her tunic was lifted by Cyprian winds
wandering Bacchus was made womanish, gazing at her thigh.
And at length, shaken by a seething longing for Aura,
helpless Bacchus cried a word with a raving voice:
"I have the pattern of Pan unhappy in love, because a wind-roaming
[48.490] maiden flees me, and with a lonely sandal
wanders unsteady, more than Echo whom none may see.
Blessed Pan, far more than Bromius, because in seeking
you found a drug of love in a mind-charming voice;
unsteady, late-speaking Echo answers your sound,
[48.495] uttering a like chattering echo; would that the maiden Aura
too belched one word from her lips.
This love is not like all others; for she herself
does not grow a temper like that of other maidens.
What drug is there for my pain? Shall I charm her
[48.500] with a Cyprian nod? When, when is Aura ever charmed
by moving eyelids? Stretching a love-maddened eye,
who leads astray the wits of a bear with bridal whispers
toward the Paphian, toward Eros? Who has conversed with a lioness?
Who has spoken a word to an oak? Who has beguiled a breathless pine?
[48.505] Who has persuaded a cornel, and led a rock to marriage?
What man could charm the uncharmed mind of Aura?
What man could charm her? And to an ungirdled girl
who shall speak of marriage or the cestus, the helper of love?
Who of the sweet sting of Eros or the name of the Cyprus-born?
[48.510] Athena would perhaps be persuaded sooner; nor does fearless
Artemis flee me as much as maiden-loving Aura does.
Would that with dear lips she might say this one word:
'Bacchus, you long in vain, do not seek the maiden Aura.'"
He spoke, traveling within a flowery meadow
[48.515] with springtime winds; and beside a fragrant myrtle,
resting sweetly at midday, he lulled his feet, and about the tree
he lay, having a whistling Zephyrian breeze,
held fast by both weariness and love; and as he sat
a maiden Hamadryad Nymph, unveiled, peering out
[48.520] from her age-mate cluster, her own dwelling, spoke,
bringing faithful things to Cypris and to lovely Lyaeus:
"Bacchus can never bring Aura to his bed,
unless he fetter her heavy-bound in chains none can escape,
winding her feet and hands with Cyprian bonds,
[48.525] or, yoking her in wedlock while she sleeps,
steal the maidenhood of the girl without bride-price."
So speaking she hid herself again in her age-mate bush,
entering her oaken house once more; but Bacchus, weary,
escorted his mind with love-bearing dreams.
[48.530] And the wind-roaming soul of Ariadne who had perished,
standing beside Dionysus as he slept sweetly,
jealous after her doom, spoke in a dream word:
"Dionysus, forgetful of your former wedding,
the jealousy of a breeze holds you, and you care nothing for Ariadne;
[48.535] alas for my Theseus, whom a bitter wind snatched away,
alas for my Theseus, whom Phaedra got as husband.
Perhaps it was not fated for me to escape an oath-breaking consort,
if the sweet youth left me sleeping, and instead of him
I was wedded to Lyaeus, unhappy in love and a deceiver.
[48.540] Alas that I did not have a swift-fated mortal consort,
and then, arming myself against love-maddened Dionysus,
I too should have become one of the women of Lemnos.
But, mounter of wide-scattered bridal beds,
oath-breaking bridegroom, after Theseus I shall call you so too;
[48.545] and if your bride demands of you a gift of Eros,
receive from me a distaff, the loving bride-gift of the Loves,
so that you may give, lawless one, to your crag-loving bride
the gifts of your wife the daughter of Minos, so that someone may say:
'She gave a thread to Theseus and a distaff to Dionysus.'
[48.550] And you too, changing bed after bed like Cronion,
have imitated the works of your woman-mad father,
having an unsated sting for an alternating Aphrodite;
I know the marriage of your Sithonian wife, of the freshly yoked
wedding of Pallene, and the wedding-hymn of Althaea;
[48.555] I shall keep silent about the love of Coronis, from whose bed
the three Graces were born together; but, Mycenae,
cry aloud my doom and the savage eye of Medusa,
and, shores of Naxos, shout of jealous Ariadne
forced into love; bridegroom Theseus,
[48.560] the daughter of Minos calls you, angry at Dionysus.
But why do I remember Cecropia? For toward the Paphian
I blame them both, both Theseus and Dionysus."
So speaking she rushed away, wholly like shadowy smoke.
And bold Bacchus woke, scattering the wing of Sleep,
[48.565] and pitied mourning Ariadne of the dream.
And he sought a shifting guile, the escort of the Loves;
and he remembered the former bed of the Astacid bride,
how he had wedded the lovely girl with a guileful drink,
having sleep as the escort of a drunken-tottering wedding.
[48.570] While Bacchus wished to make ready the guile of the bed,
meanwhile the roaming Lelantian girl ran
seeking a spring, held fast by a gleaming thirst.
Nor did unsteady, mountain-running Aura escape Dionysus
in her thirst; and darting swiftly to the base of a rock
[48.575] he struck the ground with his thyrsus; and the split hill
brought forth of its own accord a drunkenness from a fragrant breast
with a purpling stream; and doing favor to Lyaeus
the Seasons, handmaids of Helios, scored with flowers
the topmost brows of the spring, and with fragrant breezes
[48.580] the sweet air of the freshly planted meadow was lashed;
and it had the leaves named for the clusters of Narcissus,
the graceful youth, whom beside fair-leaved Latmos
the bridegroom Endymion sowed upon horned Selene,
who once, fair of skin, at the deceiving shape of a speechless
[48.585] water, seeing it molded into a self-perfected pattern,
died, gazing at the shadowy phantoms of his own form;
and it had the breathing plant of the Amyclaean hyacinth;
and springtime nightingales sang shrill above the leaves,
flying in flocks upon the flowery cluster.
[48.590] And there thirsty Aura ran at midday,
and about her eyelids Eros poured a mist,
to see whether anywhere in her thirst she might behold a pouring of Zeus
or some spring or the stream of a mountain-poured river.
But when she saw the deceiving Bacchic spring,
[48.595] then indeed Persuasion drove the shadowy cloud from her eyelids,
crying to Aura such a word, the first herald of marriage:
"Maiden, come here, and of the marriage-perfecting spring
receive the streams into your mouth, and a consort into your bosom."
And the girl saw it with joy; and pouring herself beside the spring
[48.600] she drew up the moisture of Bacchus with opened lips.
And the maiden, having drunk, uttered so great a voice:
"Naiads, what is this wonder? Whence is this sweet water?
Who gushed up this drink? What heavenly belly bore it?
At any rate, having drunk this, I walk to my course no more;
[48.605] but my feet grow heavy, and I am charmed with sweet sleep,
and I send forth a tottering, soft-sounding echo from my lips."
She spoke, and had an unsteady journey of her foot;
and she went this way and that with much-wandering rushes,
her head shaken thickly about her temples;
[48.610] and she laid her head aside, propped near her shoulder;
and she slept upon the floor beside a long-shooted tree,
entrusting her unguarded maidenhood to a bed on the ground.
And fiery Eros, watching heavy-kneed Aura,
leapt down from heaven, and with a calm face,
[48.615] smiling, spoke, of one mind with Dionysus:
"You are hunting, Dionysus; and the maiden Aura awaits you."
So speaking he hastened to Olympus, and shaking his wings
he withdrew, having scored this upon the springtime leaves:
'Bridegroom, accomplish the bed while the maiden still sleeps;
[48.620] silence between us, lest sleep leave the maiden.'
And seeing her upon her unspread bed on the ground,
plucking the Lethaean wing of bridal Sleep,
Iobacchus, soundless, unsandaled, creeping on the tips of his feet,
went after the deaf couch of speechless Aura;
[48.625] and with a sparing hand he laid aside the hollow quiver
of the maiden, and hid her bow in a hollow rock,
lest she should shoot him when she shook off the wing of Sleep;
and he clamped the girl's feet in unloosable bonds,
and sealed a cord about her palms in coils,
[48.630] lest she should flee him; and having spread out in the dust
the heavy-sleeping maiden, most ready for Aphrodite,
he stole the bridal harvest of sleeping Aura.
And he was a husband without bride-price; and upon the floor the wretched girl,
heavy with wine, unshaken, was wedded to Dionysus;
[48.635] and clamping the body of Aura with shadowy wings
Sleep was the bride-adorner of Bacchus, since he too
has made trial of the Paphian, and is the yokemate of Selene,
and is the fellow-traveler of the Loves in nightly love;
and the marriage was like a dream. And with a much-skipping dance
[48.640] the hill leapt up into a self-coiling dance,
and a half-seen Hamadryad shook her age-mate pine;
and only the maiden Echo was without a dance among the mountains,
and in shame she hid herself untouchable at the base of a rock,
lest she should behold the marriage of woman-mad Dionysus.
[48.645] And having accomplished the wedding-hymn upon that soundless bed
the vine bridegroom, lifting a guarded step,
kissed the lovely lip of his bride, and loosed
her unbending feet and hands, and taking from the rock
the quiver and bow in his hand he laid them beside the bride again.
[48.650] And he came near the Satyrs, still breathing of the wedding,
having entrusted the bed of sleeping Aura to the winds.
And the bride ran up from her love; and she shook off
the limb-loosing sleep, the witness of unheralded Loves;
and beholding with astonishment, outside her prudent girdle,
[48.655] her bared breasts and the fold of her uncovered thigh
and her tunic spotted with a bridal drop,
proclaiming her maidenhood snatched away without bride-price,
she raved as she gazed; and she fitted her circling girdle,
shadowing her breast again, and of her accustomed <...> †
[48.660] maiden belt she was clasped in vain with its bond.
And in grief she wailed, held fast by a leap of madness;
and she pursued the country folk, and near a fair-leaved bank,
punishing her guileful husband by an avenging ordinance,
she cut down shepherds; and with pitiless iron
[48.665] she killed an oxherd rather, since she had learned that the bridegroom of Dawn,
graceful Tithonus, was a herdsman unhappy in love,
and that Selene the driver of oxen had herself
Latmian Endymion, who was the care of herds of cattle;
she had heard too of the Phrygian, whom another maiden killed,
[48.670] the bitter love of Hymnus, the desire-stricken herdsman;
she killed a goatherd rather, she killed a whole flock of goats,
dread-suffering, because the girl had seen Pan unhappy in love
keeping a shape like that of a shaggy-haired goat;
for she thought this above all, that, shaken by longing for Echo,
[48.675] the shepherd Pan had forced her as she slept;
and she subdued tillers of the soil far more, because they too
serve Cypris, since a man who worked the ground,
Iasion, was the consort of sheaf-bearing Demeter;
and she killed a hunter, obeying a more ancient
[48.680] tale; for she had heard that Cephalus, the citizen of motherless Athena,
a hunter, was the husband of rose-crowned Dawn;
and she cut down the servants of the Bacchic harvest,
because, gushing the dew of unmixed-wine-loving drunkenness,
heavy with wine, unhappy in love, they are the attendants of Lyaeus;
[48.685] for she had not yet learned the guile of Dionysus
and the deceiving drink of unmixed-wine-loving Cytherea,
but she emptied the huts of the crag-loving herdsmen,
sprinkling the hills with blood-red gore.
And darting her mind about, held fast by a leap of madness,
[48.690] she came to the house of Cypris; and loosing the threatening
belt of the cestus from her freshly spun tunic
she lashed the delicate body of the unconquered goddess;
and snatching the image of marriage-perfecting Cytherea
she came near Sangarius, and gave naked Aphrodite,
[48.695] rolling in the streams, to the naked Naiads.
And after the divine statue and the self-coiling whip
she hurled the delicate likeness of Eros into the dust;
and she left empty the house of the Cybelian foam-born.
And roaming untouchable she entered her accustomed thicket,
[48.700] and touched her hunting-stakes, and remembered the hunt again;
and with moist eyelids she groaned for her own maidenhood,
and wailing sharply uttered so great a voice:
"What god has loosed the bonds of my maidenhood?
If counseling Zeus, stealing his shape, forced me
[48.705] as I slumbered upon a lonely bed,
and did not even respect our neighbor Rhea,
I shall shoot the vault of stars after the wild beasts;
and if Phoebus Apollo lay beside me as I slept,
I shall sack all rocky Pytho of whom all speak;
[48.710] and if Cyllenian Hermes plundered my bed,
I shall destroy Arcadia root and all with my shafts,
and I shall make golden-crowned Persuasion my handmaid;
and if with the bridal guiles of dream weddings
unforeseen Dionysus plundered my maidenhood,
[48.715] I shall go where the house of Cybele is, and I shall drive
gadfly-mad Dionysus from high-crested Tmolus;
and hanging a murderous quiver upon my shoulders
I shall arm myself against Paphos, against Phrygia; for against both
I shall stretch my bow, against Cypris and against Dionysus.
[48.720] With you, archer-goddess, I am more angry, because, girl,
you did not kill me while I still slept a maiden, nor did you arm yourself
with your pure shafts against my consort himself."
She spoke, and reined back her trembling voice,
conquered by tears. And filled with the child-bearing seed
[48.725] of marriage-perfecting Lyaeus, ill-maiden Aura
lifted a double burden; and the woman raved at her load,
raving unchecked, ill-maiden Aura, at the seed,
whether it was self-delivered or from the wedding of a man
or of a guileful god; and she remembered the bride of Zeus,
[48.730] Plouto of Berecyntus, dread in childbirth, from whose bed
Tantalus sprang. And she wished to cut her belly open,
so that from a cloven womb, in a witless madness,
she might wipe out the unreared, half-finished offspring.
And she lifted a sword, and longed to draw the blade
[48.735] through her bare breast with an unsparing right hand.
And often she went after the caves of a freshly delivered lioness,
so that she might slip into the nets of a willing Fate;
but the mountain-roaming beast fled from her in terror,
lest she should kill it, and hid in the recess of a rock,
[48.740] leaving its cub to a lonely bed on the ground.
And often through her swollen woman's bosom
she longed, self-slaying, to drive a willing sword,
so that, self-destroyed, she might escape the reproaches of her belly
and the mockery-loving mouth of the delighted archer-goddess;
[48.745] and she longed to know her husband, so that she too
might carve up her son for a consort who refused her,
herself both child-slayer and bedfellow, so that someone might say:
'Ill-wedded Aura was a new child-destroying Procne.'
And watching her pregnant with new children
[48.750] Artemis came near with a laughing face,
and goaded the wretched girl, and spoke with an unloving voice:
"I saw Sleep, the chamber-servant of the Paphian, I saw the deceiving
streams of the yellow bridal spring of the Loves,
where with a guileful drink young girls loose the girdle
[48.755] of their own age by a bridal dream that snatches maidenhood;
I saw the slope, I saw where beside the yoking rock
a woman, unforeseeing, is wedded to guileful sleep;
I saw the loving mountain of Cypris, where consorts,
stealing the maidenhood of women, slip away.
[48.760] Tell me, bed-fleeing woman, why do you walk slowly today?
You who were stormy before, why do you travel heavy-kneed?
You were wedded unwilling, and you do not know your consort;
you cannot hide a secret marriage; for your swelling,
freshly milky breasts proclaim your husband.
[48.765] And tell me, heavy-sleeper, boar-slayer, maiden, bride,
how do you keep your reddening shape turned pale?
Who defiled your bed? Who snatched your maidenhood?
Yellow Naiads, do not hide the bridegroom of Aura.
I know, heavy-burdened woman, your secret consort;
[48.770] your marriage has not escaped me, even if you long to hide it,
your husband has not escaped me; weighed down in body with sleep,
unshaken, you were wedded as bedfellow to Dionysus.
But leave your bow; and refusing your quiver
celebrate the rites of your woman-mad Bacchus,
[48.775] bearing drums in your hand and the sound of fair-horned flutes.
And I beseech you by your marriage-perfecting bed on the ground,
what bride-gifts did your consort Dionysus give you?
Did he give you a fawnskin, the self-announcer of your bed?
Did he give you bronze rattles as playthings for your children?
[48.780] I am persuaded that he gave you a thyrsus, the hurler at lions;
and perhaps he gave you cymbals, which nurses shake
as drugs for infants' lamentation-loving pains."
She spoke, mocking; and the goddess went back again,
shooting beasts a second time; and in grief
[48.785] she let her cares go to the airy winds.
And the mountain-roaming girl, unwitnessed, high upon a rock,
keeping the sharp shaft of a dread-suffering birth,
had the dreadful roaring of a lioness in childbed;
and the rocks cried back; and answering the sound
[48.790] of the loud-crashing girl, ill-sounding Echo bellowed.
And clamping her palms about her womb like a lid,
she shut in the swift travail of her ripening birth,
and checked the birth just accomplished; for she did not wish
to call hateful Artemis to her travail;
[48.795] and she refused the daughters of Hera, lest ever, as children
of the stepmother of Bacchus, they should bear down upon her childbed.
And the girl in distress broke into a downcast cry,
pierced by the goads of an unaccustomed necessity of travail:
"So may I see the archer-goddess and furious Athena,
[48.800] so may I behold them both pregnant;
midwife Seasons, convict Artemis in travail
by the witness of birth, and say to Tritogeneia:
'Grey-eyed maiden, freshly delivered motherless mother.'
So may I see maiden-loving Echo suffering the same,
[48.805] lying beside Pan or beside evil-beginning Dionysus.
Artemis, you too, when you have borne a child, shall be Aura's comfort,
dripping female childbed milk from a male breast."
She spoke, lamenting the heavy-paining goads of childbed.
And the archer-goddess held back the birth, and gave the child-bearing
[48.810] bride the labor of a birth that was checked.
And Nicaea, the steersman of the rite of Lyaeus,
watching the labor and the shame of raving Aura,
broke into such a hidden, pitying voice:
"Aura, who have suffered the same, do you too lament your maidenhood;
[48.815] and having in your belly the burden of a dread-suffering birth
endure, after the bed, to have the goads of childbed too,
endure to hold out an unaccustomed breast to infants.
Whence did you too drink wine, the plunderer of my girdle?
Whence did you too drink wine, until you were pregnant, Aura?
[48.820] You too have suffered, bed-fleeing one, what I suffered; but do you too
blame the deceiving sleep of the bride-tending Loves.
One guile fitted marriage to us both, one husband of Aura
made the maiden Nicaea the mother of children;
no longer do I hold a beast-slaying bow, no longer, as before,
[48.825] do I draw a string and a shaft; but I am a wretched
loom-toiling woman, and no longer a furious Amazon."
She spoke, pitying the birth-accomplishing labor of Aura,
as one who had herself made trial of a toilsome birth.
And the daughter of Leto, hearing the din of heavy-voiced Aura,
[48.830] came boastful a second time near the bride;
and she goaded her as she was worn, and cried with a goading word:
"Maiden, who made you a childbed mother of children?
How did she who knows no marriage get milk in her breast?
I have not seen, I have not heard, that a maiden bears a son.
[48.835] Has my father changed nature? Do women
give birth apart from marriage? For you, maiden-loving girl,
travail with new children, even though you hate Aphrodite.
Do women in childbed no longer call upon Artemis,
the steersman of necessary birth, because you alone
[48.840] have no need of the wild archer-goddess for your delivery?
Nor did Eileithyia, the driver of your offspring,
behold your Dionysus from an unmidwifed bosom;
but the thunderbolts midwifed him half-finished.
Do not be angry that you bear children among the crags;
[48.845] Rhea the queen of crags made trial of birth where you do;
what blame is this ever? You bear children in the mountains,
as the mountain-roaming wife of mountain-ranging Dionysus."
She spoke; and the childbed bride grieved in anger,
ashamed before Artemis even in her pains. Ah, greatly wretched,
[48.850] she was near her delivery and wished to be a maiden.
And the babe came to the light more swiftly; for while Artemis
was still speaking her birth-hurling word
the twofold birth of Aura was midwifed self-bidden
as her travail was loosed, whence from the twin children
[48.855] the high-headed mountain of Rhea was called Dindymon.
And the goddess, beholding the new offspring of fair children,
turning back spoke such a word with an answering voice:
"Nurse, solitary woman, twin-bearing ill-wedded bride,
hold out an unaccustomed breast to your sons, maiden mother;
[48.860] your boy cries 'papa,' demanding a father of you;
tell your children your secret consort.
Artemis knows no marriage, and did not rear a son at the breast;
your bed is these mountains, and instead of an accustomed tunic
the swaddling-clothes of your infants are the varied skins of fawns."
[48.865] She spoke, and swift-sandaled entered the thick-shaded wood.
And calling Nicaea his Cybelian bride,
Dionysus, smiling, showed her Aura in childbed,
still blaming her own marriage; and boasting of the freshly wedded
marriage of the lonely girl, he spoke:
[48.870] "Now at last, Nicaea, you have found a comfort for the Loves;
now again Dionysus has accomplished a thievish bed,
and has snatched the marriage of another maiden; and among the hills
the mountain-dweller Aura, who before shunned even the name
of the Loves, has beheld a pattern equal to your chamber.
[48.875] Not you alone received sweet sleep, the escort of the Loves,
not you alone drank the thievish wine, the snatcher of a girdle;
but from a new spring opened unknown
the bride-tending wine gushed up again, and Aura drank.
But since you have known the shaft of necessary birth,
[48.880] I beseech you by Telete, your dance-weaving daughter,
hasten to lift up my son, lest my ill-devising Aura
destroy him with bold palms;
for I know that of the twin babes she will subdue one child,
raving unchecked; but do you defend Iacchus;
[48.885] be the guardian of the better travail, so that
your Telete may be handmaid both to son and to father."
So speaking proud Bacchus went back again,
glorying in both his Phrygian weddings,
in the elder wife and in the younger bride.
[48.890] And having heavy grief beside the birth-accomplishing rock,
lifting her children, the childbed mother cried:
"This marriage is from the air; I shall fling my offspring to the air;
I was wedded to winds and saw no mortal bed,
and breezes named for Aura came to her wedding;
[48.895] and let the winds have my childbed travail.
Perish from me, new children of a guile-stitching father,
I did not bear you; what have I to do with the evils of women?
Openly now, lions, come free to the pasture
of the wood, with confidence, since Aura fights no more;
[48.900] and you, quick-eyed hares, are better than whelps;
jackals, delight in me; and beside my bed on the ground
I shall behold a fearless leopard skipping;
bring the bear as my companion, undismayed; for the bronze-tunicked
arrows of child-bearing Aura have turned womanish.
[48.905] I am ashamed to keep the name of bride after that of maiden,
lest I ever give my sturdy breast to children;
let me not squeeze out bastard milk with my palm, nor in the thickets,
having been a beast-slayer, be called a child-loving woman."
<...> †
[48.910] She set them beneath a cave as a childbed dinner for a lioness;
but a leopard, licking with raw-devouring jaws
the bodies of the new fair offspring of Dionysus,
having an intelligent heart, midwifed them with a wise breast;
and astonished serpents wheeled about the childbed
[48.915] with venom-shooting mouths, since, guarding his new children,
the bridegroom of Aura made even the beasts gentle.
And with roaming foot the Lelantian girl leapt up,
having the savage temper of a shaggy-breasted lioness,
and untouchable she hurled into the airy tempests
[48.920] one child, snatched from the beasts' jaws;
and the freshly delivered boy, in a whirl of dust,
slipped head first from the air upon the ground;
and snatching him up she entombed him in her own throat,
feasting on a dear dinner. And in terror of the unloving mother,
[48.925] the maiden archer-goddess snatched the other child
of childbed Aura, and passing through the thicket
she lightened the boy in an unaccustomed child-tending arm.
And after the bed of Bromius, after the whirl of childbed,
shunning the reproach of marriage, the huntress Aura,
[48.930] keeping the reverence of her ancient maiden-loving modesty,
came near Sangarius; and together with her back-bent bow
she flung her uncared-for quiver into the outpourings,
and leapt head first into the deep stream,
refusing the light of Dawn with shamefaced eyes,
[48.935] and was covered by the surges of the river; and Cronion
changed her into a fountain; and of the mountain-poured spring
her breasts were the jet, her body the outpouring, her hair the flowers,
and her bow became the bull-natured horn of the fair-horned
river, and her bowstring, changed, became a rush,
[48.940] and her arrows, become reeds, whistled,
and her quiver, poured out, rushing through the muddy depth
of the river, murmured into a hollow recess.
And the archer-goddess lulled her anger; and about the thicket,
seeking the tracks of crag-loving Lyaeus,
[48.945] she went, lifting the freshly delivered babe of Aura,
raising a bastard weight upon her forearm; and in shame
she gave the male child to her brother Dionysus.
And the father gave his son to Nicaea, the nursing bride;
and she lifted him, and, pressing from the very tip of the nipple
[48.950] the life-bringing moisture of her child-tending breasts,
she reared the boy. And taking him high upon a car,
Bacchus set down the infant Bacchus, the son named for his father,
beside Attic Athena, initiate of the mysteries,
as he cried 'Euoi, papa'; and the goddess Pallas received him
[48.955] within her temple in an unwedded, god-receiving bosom;
and she held out to the boy the breast which Erechtheus alone had drawn,
dripping self-poured bastard milk from an unripe breast.
And the goddess set him down beside the Eleusinian Bacchants;
and about the boy Iacchus the ivy-bearing nymphs
[48.960] of Marathon wheeled in a dance, and for the freshly born
god they lifted the night-danced Attic pine;
and they propitiated the god after the son of Persephoneia,
and after the son of Semele, and set up sacrifices
for later-born Lyaeus and for first-born Dionysus,
[48.965] and crashed out a new hymn for the third, Iacchus.
And Athens raved in Bacchic frenzy with threefold rites;
and the citizens struck up a late-accomplished dance,
glorifying Zagreus together with Bromius and Iacchus.
Nor did Bacchus forget the Cydonian Loves,
[48.970] but he remembered his former bride, even though she had perished;
and he fixed in Olympus the wheeling Crown of Ariadne
who was gone, the witness of his own love,
an unceasing messenger of garland-loving weddings.
And the vine god, going to his father's upper air,
[48.975] touched a single table with his father blessed in childbirth,
and after the mortal feast, after the earlier pouring of wine,
he drank heavenly nectar from better cups,
sharing a throne with Apollo, sharing a hearth with the son of Maia.