Marriage of Orpheus and Eurydicé. Her death. Descent of Orpheus to Hell, to recover her. Her second loss. His mournful music on mount Hæmus draws the trees, birds, and beasts around him. Change of Cyparissus to a cypress-tree. Song of Orpheus. Ganymede. Hyacinth changed to a flower. The Amanthians to oxen. The Propætides to flints. Pygmalion's statue to a woman. Myrrha's incestuous love, and transformation to a tree. Venus' love for Adonis. Story of Atalanta and Hippomenes. Adonis changed to an anemoné.
THE
Tenth Book
OF THE
METAMORPHOSES
OF
OVID.
Thence Hymen, in his saffron vesture clad,
Through the vast air departs; and seeks the land
Ciconian; by the voice of Orpheus call'd
Vainly. He came indeed, but with him brought
No wonted gratulations, no glad face,
Nor happy omen. And the torch he bore
Crackled in hissing smoke; nor gather'd flame
From whirling motion. Still more dire th' event
Prov'd, than the presage. As the new-made bride,
Attended by a train of Naïad nymphs,
Rov'd through the grass, a serpent's fangs her heel
Pierc'd, and she instant dy'd. Her, when long-mourn'd
In upper air, the Rhodopeïan bard
Ventur'd to seek in shades, and dar'd descend
Through the Tænarian cave to Stygia's realms.
'Mid shadowy crowds, and bury'd ghosts he goes,
To Proserpine, and him who rules the shades
With sway ungrateful. There he strikes the strings
Responsive to his words, and this his song.—
“Gods of this subterraneous world, where all
“Of mortal origin must come, permit
“That I the truth declare; no tedious tales
“Of falshood will I tell. Here came I not
“Your dusky Hell to view: nor to o'ercome
“The triple-throated Medusæan beast
“Snake-hair'd;—my wife alone my journey caus'd,
“Whose heel a trampled serpent venom'd stung:
“Snatch'd in her bloom of years. Much did I wish,
“My loss to bear; nor ought forbore to strive;
“But love o'ercame. Well do the upper gods
“That deity confess. In doubt I stand
“If here too he is known; but here I judge
“His power is felt: the ancient rape, if true,
“Proves love ev'n you first join'd. You I implore,
“By all those regions fill'd with dread; by this
“Chaos immense; your ample realm, all fill'd
“With silence; once again the thread renew
“Eurydicé too hasty lost. To you
“We all belong; a little while we stay,
“Then soon or late to one repose we haste:
“All hither tend; this is our final home.
“You hold o'er human kind a lengthen'd reign.
“She too, when once her years mature are fill'd,
“To you again, must by just right belong.
“I then request her only as a loan:
“But should the fates this favor me refuse,
“Certain I'll ne'er return. Two deaths enjoy.”—
The bloodless shadows wept as thus he sung,
And struck the strings in concord with his words.
Nor Tantalus at flying waters caught;
Nor roll'd Ixion's wheel: the liver gnaw'd
The birds not: rested on their empty urns
The Belides: and Sisyphus, thou sat'st
Upon thy stone. Nay fame declares, then first,
Vanquish'd by song, the furies felt their cheeks
Wetted with tears. Nor could the royal spouse,
Nor he who rules deep darkness, him withstand
Thus praying; and Eurydicé is call'd.
Amid the recent dead she walk'd, and still
Halted with tardy steps from her late wound.
Her, when the bard of Thrace receiv'd, this law
Receiv'd he also: that his eyes reverse
He should not bend, till past Avernus' realms;
Else he'd the granted favor useless find.
In silence mute, through the steep path they climb
Dark, difficult, and thick with pitchy mist;
Nor far earth's surface wanted they to gain:
The lover here, in dread lest she should stray,
And anxious to behold, bent back his sight,
And instant back she sunk. As forth his arms
He stretch'd, to clasp expecting, and be clasp'd:
Unhappy! nought but fleeting air he held.
Twice dying, she can nought her spouse condemn;
For how blame him because too much he lov'd?
She gives her last farewel; which scarce his ears
Receive, then sinks again to shades below.
Orpheus, thus doubly of his spouse despoil'd,
All stunn'd appear'd: not less than he who saw
In wild affright the triple-headed dog,
Chain'd by the midmost: fear him never fled,
Till fled his former nature: sudden stone
On all his body seizing. Or than he,
Olenus, when the crime upon himself
He took, and guilty wish'd to seem; with thee
Hapless Lethæa, confident in charms.
Once breast to breast you join'd, now join as stones,
Which watery Ida bears. Beseeching vain,
And wishing once again the stream to pass,
The ferryman denies. Then on the bank
In squalid guise he sate, nor tasted food
For seven long days; his cares, and grieving soul,
And tears were all the sustenance he knew.
Cruel he call'd the gods of Erebus,
And to high Rhodopé himself betook,
And lofty Hæmus by the north-wind beat.
Thrice had the sun the year completed, each
By watery Pisces ended. Orpheus still
Fled every female's love: or his deep woe
Made him so cold; or faithful promise giv'n.
Yet crowds there were, who wish'd the bard's embrace:
And crowds with sorrow saw their love repuls'd.
A hill there rose, and on its summit spread
A wide extended plain, with herbage green:
Shade to the place was wanting; hither came
The heaven-born poet; seated him, and touch'd
His sounding strings, and straight a shade approach'd.
Nor wanted there Chaönian trees; nor groves
Of poplars; nor the acorn's spacious leaves:
The linden soft, the beech, the virgin bay,
The brittle hazle, and spear-forming ash;
The knotless fir; ilex with fruit low-bow'd;
The genial plane; the maple various stain'd;
Stream-loving willow; and the watery lote;
Box of perpetual green; slight tamarisk;
Two-teinted myrtle; and the laurustine
With purple berries. Thou too, ivy, cam'st
Hither with flexile feet: together flock'd
Grape-bearing vines; and elms with vines entwin'd:
Wild ash, and pitch tree; and arbutus, bent
With loads of ruddy fruit; the pliant palm,
Meed of the conqueror; the pine close bound
About its boughs, but at its summit shagg'd:
Dear to the mother of celestial powers,
Since Atys Cybeleïan was transform'd,
And in the trunk a rigid tree became.
In form pyramidal, amid the crowd,
The cypress came; now tree, but once a boy;
Dear to the god who rules the lyre's fine chords,
And rules the bowstring. Once was known a stag
Sacred to nymphs that own Carthæa's fields,
Who bore upon his head a lofty shade
From his wide-spreading horns; his horns bright shone
With gold; his collar, with bright gems bedeck'd,
Fell o'er his shoulders from his round neck hung;
A silver boss, by slender reins control'd
Mov'd o'er his brow; a brazen pair the same,
Shone o'er his temples hanging from his ears:
Devoid of fear, his nature's timid dread
Relinquish'd, oft the houses would he seek;
And oft would gently fondling stoop his neck,
Heedless who strok'd him. Cyparissus, thou
Beyond all others priz'd the sacred beast:
Thou, fairest far amongst the Cæan youths.
Thou to fresh pastures led'st the stag; to streams
Of cooling fountains: oft his horns entwin'd
With variegated garlands. Horseman-like
Now on his back thou pressest; and now here,
Now there, thou rul'st his soft jaws with the reins
Of purple tinge. 'Twas once in mid-day heat,
When burnt the bent claws of the sea-shore crab,
In Sol's fierce vapor; on the grassy earth
The weary stag repos'd his limbs, and drew
Cool breezes from the trees umbrageous shades.
Here the boy Cyparissus careless flung
His painted dart, and fix'd it in his side.
Who, when he from the cruel wound beheld
Him dying, instant bent his mind to die.
What consolation did not Phœbus speak?
Urging the loss far slighter grief deserv'd:
Yet mourn'd he still, and from the gods supreme
Begg'd this last gift, to latest times to mourn.
His blood in constant tears exhausted, now
His limbs a green hue take; his locks which late
Hung o'er his snowy forehead, rough become
In frightful bushiness; and hardening quick,
Shoot up to heaven in form a slender spire.
The mourning god, in grief exclaim'd—“By me
“Bemoan'd, thou shalt with others always grieve;
“And henceforth mourners shalt thou still attend.”—
Thus did the bard a wood collect around;
And in the midst he sate of thronging beasts,
And crowding birds. The chords he amply try'd
With his impulsive thumb, and vary'd much
In sound, he found their notes concordant still;
Then to this song rais'd his melodious voice.—
“O parent muse! from Jove derive my song:
“All yield to Jove's dominion. Oft my verse
“Before the mightiness of Jove has sung.
“I sung the giants, in a strain sublime,
“And vengeful thunders, o'er Phlegræa's plain
“Scatter'd; a tender theme now claims my lyre:
“I sing of youths by deities belov'd;
“And nymphs who with forbidden wishes burn'd,
“And met the doom their sensual lusts deserv'd.
“The king of gods made Phrygian Ganymede
“His favorite, but some other form possess'd.
“Jove must in shape be something else than Jove.
“He deems no form becomes him, save the bird
“That bears his thunder. Instant all is done;
“The Phrygian borne away: the air he beats
“With his feign'd wing. And now this youth the cup
“Of nectar hands, in Juno's spite, to Jove.
“Son of Amycla, thee had Phœbus plac'd
“Also the skies amidst, had fate allow'd
“For such position place; yet still thou hold'st
“Eternal, what fate grants: oft as the spring
“Winter repulses, and the ram succeeds
“The watery fishes, thou spring'st forth in flower
“'Mid the green sward. Beyond all else my sire
“Thee lov'd, and Delphos, plac'd in midmost earth,
“Wanted its ruling power, whilst now the god
“Eurotas lov'd, and Sparta un-intrench'd.
“Nor lyre, nor darts attention claim'd as wont;
“Of dignity unmindful, he not spurns
“To bear the nets; to curb the hounds; to climb
“With the full train the steepest mountain's ridge:
“And every toil augments his pleasure more.
“Now had the sun the midmost point near gain'd
“'Twixt flying night, and night approaching, each
“Distant in equal space; when from their limbs
“They flung their robes; with the fat olive's juice
“Their bodies shone; they enter'd in the lists
“Of the broad disk, which Phœbus first well pois'd,
“Then flung through lofty air; opposing clouds
“Flying it cleft; at length on solid earth
“It pitch'd, displaying skill with strength combin'd.
“Instant the rash Tænarian boy, impell'd
“By love of sport, sprung on to snatch the orb,
“But the hard ground repulsive in thy face,
“O, Hyacinth! it flung. Pale as the boy
“The god appear'd: he rais'd his fainting limbs,
“And in his arms now cherishes, now wipes
“The fatal wound, now stays his fleeting breath,
“With herbs apply'd; but all his arts are vain;
“Incurable the hurt. Just so, when broke,
“The violet, poppy, or the lily hang,
“Whose dark stems in a water'd garden spring;
“Flaccid they instant droop; the weighty head
“No longer upright rais'd, but bent to earth.
“So bent his dying face; his neck, bereft
“Of vigor, heavy on his shoulder laid.
“Phœbus exclaim'd;—Fall'st thou, Œbalian youth,
“Depriv'd of life in prime? and must I see
“Thy death my fault? thou art my grief, my crime;
“My hand the charge of thy destruction bears:
“I am the cause of thy untimely fate!
“But what my crime? unless with him to sport;
“Unless a fault it were too much to love.
“Would I could life for thee, or with thee quit;
“But fatal laws restrain me: yet shalt thou
“Be with me still; dwell ever on my lips;
“My hand shall sound thee on the lyre I touch;
“My songs of thee shall tell: a new-found flower
“Shall bear the letters which my griefs resound:
“And time shall come, when a most valiant chief
“Shall join him to thy flower; in the same leaf
“His name too shall be read.—As words like these
“The truth-predicting lips of Phœbus spoke,
“Behold! the blood which flow'd along the ground,
“And all the herbage ting'd, is blood no more;
“But springs a flower than Tyrian red more bright,
“A form assuming such as lilies wear:
“Like it, save purple this, that silvery white.
“Nor yet content was Phœbus; for from him
“The honor was deriv'd. Upon its leaves
“He trac'd his groans: ai, ai, on every flower
“In mournful characters is fair inscrib'd.
“Nor blush the Spartans, Hyacinth to own:
“His honors still the present age attend;
“And annual are the Hyacinthian feasts,
“In pomp surpassing aught of ancient days.
“Should you by chance of Amathus enquire,
“If williang the Propœtides it bore,
“Denying nods would equally disclaim
“Them, and the race whose foreheads once were rough
“With double horns; Cerastæ, hence their name.
“Jove's hospitable altar at their gates
“Of mournful wickedness was rear'd: who saw
“This stain'd with gore, if stranger, might conceive
“That sucking calves, or two-year's sheep there bled.
“There bled the guest! Mild Venus griev'd
“At these most impious rites, at first prepar'd
“To quit her cities, and her Cyprian fields:—
“But how,—she said,—can my beloved clime?
“How can my towns have given offence? what fault
“Abides in them? Rather the impious race,
“Shall vengeance feel in exile, or in death;
“Save death and exile medium may allow:
“How may that be, unless their shape is chang'd?—
“Then while she doubts what shape they shall assume,
“Their horns attract her eyes; struck by the hint,
“Their mighty horns she leaves them, and transforms
“To savage oxen all their lusty limbs.
“Still dar'd th' obscene Propœtides deny
“Venus a goddess' power; for which, fame says
“They first, so forc'd the deity's revenge,
“Their bodies prostituted, and their charms.
“As shame them left, the blood which ting'd their cheeks
“Harden'd, and soon they rigid stone became.