Beneath this monarch fair Pomona liv'd,
Than whom amongst the Hamadryad train
None tended closer to her garden's care;
None o'er the trees' young fruit more anxious watch'd;
And thence her name. In rivers, she, and woods,
Delighted not, for fields were all her joy;
And branches bending with delicious loads.
Nor grasps her hand a javelin, but a hook,
With which she now luxurious boughs restrains,
And prunes the stragglers, when too wide they spread:
Now she divides the rind, and in the cleft
Inserts a scion, and supporting juice
Affords th' adopted stranger. Ne'er she bears
That drought they feel, but oft with flowing streams
Waters the crooked fibres of their roots:
This all her love, this all her care, for man
She heeded not. Yet of the lawless force
Of rustics fearful, she her orchard round
Well fenc'd, and every part from access barr'd,
And fled from all mankind. What was there left
Untry'd, by satyrs, by the wanton fawns,
Or pine-crown'd Pan; Sylvanus, ever youth;
Or him whose sickle frights nocturnal thieves
To gain her? These Vertumnus all excell'd
In passion; but not happier he than they.
How oft a basket of ripe grain he bore,
Clad like a hardy reaper, and in form
A real reaper seem'd! Oft with new hay
His temples bound, who turns the fresh cut grass
He might be thought. Oft in his horny hand
He bears a goad; then might you swear, that now
The weary oxen he had just unyok'd.
Arm'd with a pruning hook, he one appears
Who lops the vines. When he the ladder lifts,
Apples about to pluck he seems. His sword
Shews him a soldier; and his trembling reed
An angler. Thus a thousand shapes he tries,
T' enjoy the pleasure of her beauteous sight.
Now leaning on a staff, his temples clad
In painted bonnet, he an ancient dame,
With silver locks thin scatter'd o'er her head,
Would seem; and in the well-trimm'd orchard walks;
Admires the fruit—“But, O! how far beyond
“Are these;”—he said, and kiss'd the lips he prais'd:
No ancient dame such kisses e'er bestow'd.
Then rested on the swelling turf, and view'd
The branches bending with th' autumnal load.
An elm there stood right opposite, full spread
With swelling grapes, which, with its social vine,
He prais'd;—“Yet should that trunk there single stand”—
Said he,—“without its vine, nought but the leaves
“Desirable would seem. As well the vine
“Which rests now safe upon its wedded elm,
“If not so join'd, were prostrate on the ground.
“Yet does the tree's example move not thee.
“Thou fly'st from marriage; fly'st from nuptial joys;
“Would they could charm thy soul. Not Helen e'er
“Such crowds of wooers sought; not her who mov'd
“The Lapithæan war; nor the bright queen
“Of Ithacus, still 'gainst the coward brave,
“As would pursue thee. Now, though all thou fly'st,
“Thy suitors scorning, thousands seek thy hand,
“Both demi-gods and gods, whoever dwell
“Of deities on Alba's lofty hills.
“Yet wisely would'st thou act, and happy wed,
“Attend my aged counsel (thee I love
“More than all these, and more than thou'dst believe)
“Reject such vulgar offers, and select
“Vertumnus for the consort of thy bed:
“And for his worth accept of me as pledge.
“For to himself not better is he known
“Than me. No truant through the earth he roves;
“These spots he dwells in, and in these alone,
“Nor loves he, like thy wooer's greatest share,
“Instant whate'er he sees. Thou his first flame
“Shalt be, and be his last. He will devote
“His every year to thee, and thee alone.
“Add too his youth, and nature's bounteous gifts
“Which decorate him; and that changed with ease,
“He every form can take, and those the best
“That thou may'st like, for all thou may'st command.
“Are not your pleasures both the same? the fruits
“Thou gatherest first, are they not given to him?
“Who takes thy offerings with a grateful hand.
“But now he seeks not fruits pluck'd from thy trees,
“Nor herbs thy garden feeds with mellow juice,
“Nor aught, save thee. Have pity on his flame:
“Think 'tis himself that sues; think that he prays
“Through me. O fear the vengeance of the gods!
“Affronted Venus' unrelenting rage;
“And fear Rhamnusia's still vindictive mind.
“That these you more may dread, I will relate
“(For age has much to me made known) a fact
“Notorious through all Cyprus which may urge
“Your soul more quickly to relent and love.
“Iphis of humble origin beheld
“The noble Anaxareté—the blood
“Of ancient Teucer: he beheld, and felt
“Love burn through all his frame; he struggled long
“By reason to o'ercome the flame, in vain.
“He came a humble suppliant to her gate.
“To her old nurse, he now his hapless love
“Confess'd, and pray'd her by her nurseling's hopes,
“She would not be severe. Now he assails
“All her attendants with his flattering speech,
“And anxious begs of each to intercede.
“Oft, grav'n on tablets, were his amorous words
“Borne to her. Oft against her door he hung
“Garlands, wet dropping with the dew of tears.
“Plac'd on the threshold hard his tender side,
“Venting reproaches on the cruel bar.
“But she more deaf than surges which arise
“With setting stars; and harder than the steel
“Numician fires have temper'd; or the rock
“Still living in its bed, spurn'd him, and laugh'd:
“And cruel, added lofty words to deeds
“Unmerciful, and robb'd him ev'n of hope.
“Impatient Iphis, now no longer bore
“The pangs of endless grief, but at her gate
“Thus utter'd his last 'plaints—Thou hast o'ercome
“O Anaxareté! for never more
“Will I molest thy quiet. Now prepare
“Glad triumphs; Pæan call; and bind thy brows
“With laurel bright, for thou victorious art,
“And joyfully I die. O heart of steel!
“Enjoy thy bliss. Now will I force thy praise
“In something;—somehow find a way to please,
“And thee constrain to grant I have desert.
“Yet still remember, that my love for thee
“Leaves me not but with life! at once I lose
“A double light. But fame shall not announce
“To thee my death, for I myself will come.
“Lest thou should'st doubt, thou shalt thyself behold
“My death, and on my lifeless body glut
“Thy cruel eyes. But, O ye gods above!
“If mortal deeds ye view, remember me:
“No more my tongue can dare to ask, than this,
“That distant ages may my fortune know;
“Grant fame to him, whom ye of life deprive.—
“He spoke, and to the porch so oft adorn'd
“With flowing chaplets, rais'd his humid eyes,
“And stretch'd his pallid arms; then to the post,
“The cord with noose well-fitted, fastening, cry'd:—
“Nymph, pitiless and cruel! pleas'd the best
“With garlands such as these!—Then in the cord,
“His head inserted; tow'rd the maid still turn'd,
“As, hapless load! with strangled throat he hung.
“Struck by his dangling feet, the portals seem'd
“A sound to give, which mighty seem'd to mourn;
“And open thrown, the horrid deed display'd:
“Loudly the servants shriek, and vainly bear
“His breathless body to his mother's dome.
“(Defunct his sire) She clasp'd him to her breast,
“Embrac'd his clay-cold limbs; and all she said
“That wretched parents say; and all she did
“That hapless mothers do: then through the town
“The melancholy funeral pomp she led,
“The lurid members following, on a bier
“For burning. In the road the dwelling stood
“Through which the sad procession took its way,
“And sound of lamentation struck the ears
“Of Anaxareté, whom now the power
“Of vengeance follow'd. Mov'd, she now exclaim'd—
“I will this melancholy prospect view.—
“And to the open casement mounted high.
“Scarce had she Iphis on the bier beheld,
“When harden'd grew her eyes; a pallid hue
“O'erspread her body as the warm blood fled.
“Her feet to move for flight she try'd, her feet
“Stuck fast; her face she try'd to turn away;
“She could not turn it; and by small degrees
“The stony hardness of her breast was spread
“O'er all her limbs. Believe not that I feign,
“For Salamis the figure of the nymph
“Still keeps; and there a temple is high rear'd
“Where Venus, the beholder, they adore.
“Mindful of this, O dearest nymph! lay by
“That cold disdain, and join thee to a spouse.
“So may no vernal frosts thy budding fruits
“Destroy, nor sweeping storms despoil thy flowers.”
When this the god, to various shapes in vain
Transform'd, had utter'd; he assum'd again
The youth, and flung the garb of age aside:
And so appear'd, as seems the radiant sun,
Freed from opposing clouds, and darting bright
His glory round. Force he prepar'd, but force
He needed not. The nymph his beauty mov'd,
And straight her bosom felt a mutual flame.
Th' Ausonian realm Amulius' force unjust
Commanded next; and ancient Numitor
By his young grandsons the lost realm regain'd.
The city's walls on Pales' feast were laid.
Now Tatius and the Sabine sires wage war
Against it; and the fortress' gate unclos'd,
Tarpeïa, well-deserving of her fate,
Breathes out her soul beneath a pile of shields.
Thence Cures' sons, each sound of voice repress'd,
Silent as wolves, steal on them drown'd in sleep,
And gain the gates, which Ilia's son had clos'd
With massive bars. But Juno one threw ope,
Nor creak'd the portal on its turning hinge.
Venus alone the fastening of the gate
Withdrawn, perceiv'd, and had it clos'd again,
Save that the acts a deity performs,
No deity can e'er undo. A spot
Near Janus' temple, cool with flowing streams,
Ausonia's Naiäds own'd; and aid from these
She sought. Nor could the nymphs deny a boon
So just; and instant all their rills and floods
Burst forth. But still to Janus' open gate
The way was passable, nor could the waves
Oppose their way. They to the fruitful springs
Apply blue sulphur, and the hollow caves
Fire with bitumen; to the lowest depth
They forceful penetrate, both this, and that.
And streams that late might vie with Alpine cold,
To flames themselves, not now in heat would yield.
The porches of the deity two-fac'd
Smok'd with the fiery sprinkling; and the gate,
Op'd to the hardy Sabine troops in vain,
Was by the new-sprung fountain guarded, 'till
The sons of Mars had girt them in their arms.
Soon Romulus attack'd them, and Rome's soil
Was strew'd with Sabine bodies and her own:
And impious weapons mingled blood of sires
With blood of sons-in-law; yet so it pleas'd,
War settled into peace, nor rag'd the steel
To ultimate destruction; in the realm
Tatius as equal sovereign was receiv'd.
Tatius deceas'd, thou, Romulus, dispens'd,
To the joint nations, equitable laws.
When Mars, his helmet thrown aside, the sire
Of gods and men, in words like these, address'd.—
“O parent! (since the Roman realm has gain'd
“A strong and wide foundation, nor should look
“To one protector only) lo! the time
“To grant the favor, promis'd me so long,
“To thy deserving grandson. Snatch'd from earth
“Let him in heaven he plac'd. Time was, long since,
“In a full council of the gods thou said'st,
“Well I remember, well my mindful breast
“The tender words remark'd; a son of mine
“By thee should in the azure sky be plac'd:
“Now be the fulness of thy words complete.”
Th' Omnipotent consented; with black clouds
Darken'd the air; and frighten'd all the town
With flaming thunders. When the martial god
Perceiv'd this fiat of the promis'd change,
Propp'd on his spear he fearless mounts the steeds,
Press'd by the bloody yoke; loud sounds the lash,
And prone the air he cleaves, lights on the top
Of shady Palatine. There Ilia's son
Delivering regal laws to Romans round,
He saw, and swept him thence: his mortal limbs
Waste in the empty air, as balls of lead
Hurl'd from a sling, melt in the midmost sky:
More fair his face appears, and worthy more
Of the high shrines: such now appears the form
Of great Quirinus, clad in purple robe.
His spouse him wept as lost, when heaven's high queen
Bade Iris on her sweeping bow descend,
And thus her orders to Hersilia speak:—
“O matron! glory of the Latian land;
“Pride of the Sabine race; most worthy spouse
“Of such an hero once; spouse worthy now
“Of god Quirinus, cease thy tears: if wish
“To see thy husband warms thee, led by me,
“To yonder grove upon Quirinus' hill
“Which flourishes, and overshades the fane
“Of Rome's great monarch, haste.”—Iris obeys;
Upon her painted bow to earth slides down,
And hails Hersilia in the bidden words.
Her eyes scarce lifting, she with blushing face
Replies—“O goddess! whom thou art, to me
“Unknown; that thou a goddess art is plain.
“Lead me, O lead! shew me my spouse's face:
“Which if fate grant I may once more behold,
“Heaven I'll allow I've seen.” Nor waits she more,
But with Thaumantian Iris, to the hill
Of Romulus proceeds. There, shot from heaven,
A star tow'rd earth descended; from its rays
Bright flam'd Hersilia's hair, and with the star
Mounted aloft. Rome's founder's well-known arms
Receive her. Now her former name is chang'd,
As chang'd her body: known as Ora, now,
A goddess, with her great Quirinus join'd.
The Fifteenth Book.
Numa's journey to Crotona. The Pythagorean philosophy of transmigration of the soul, and relation of various transformations. Death of Numa, and grief of Egeria. Story of Hippolytus. Change of Egeria to a fountain. Cippus. Visit of Esculapius to Rome, in the form of a snake. Assassination and apotheösis of Julius Cæsar. Praise of Augustus. Prophetic conclusion.
THE
Fifteenth Book
OF THE
METAMORPHOSES
OF
OVID.
Meantime they seek who may the mighty load
Sustain; who may succeed so great a king.
Fame, harbinger of truth, the realm decreed
To noble Numa. Not content to know
The laws and customs of the Sabine race,
His mind capacious grasp'd a larger field.
He sought for nature's laws. Fir'd by this wish,
His country left, he journey'd to the town
Of him, who erst was great Alcides' host:
And as he sought to learn what founder first
These Grecian walls rear'd on Italia's shore,
Thus an old 'habitant, well vers'd in tales
Of yore, reply'd.—“Jove's son, rich in the herds
“Iberia bred, his prosperous journey bent
“By ocean unto fair Lacinia's shores:
“Enter'd himself the hospitable roof
“Of mighty Croto, while his cattle' stray'd
“Amid the tender grass; and his long toil
“Reliev'd by rest. Departing, thus he spoke—
“Here in thy grandson's age a town shall rise.—
“And true the promis'd words; for Myscelos,
“Argive Alemon's son, dear to the gods,
“Beyond all mortals of that time, now liv'd.
“The club-arm'd god, as press'd with heavy sleep,
“He lay, hung o'er him, and directed thus.—
“Haste leave thy native land;—where distant flows
“The rocky stream of Æsaris, go seek.—
“And threaten'd much if disobedient found:
“Then disappear'd the god and sleep at once.
“Alemon's son arose; with silent care
“Revolv'd the new-seen vision in his soul,
“And undetermin'd waver'd long his mind.
“The god commands,—the laws forbid to go:
“Death is the punishment to him decreed
“Who would his country quit. Now glorious Sol
“Had in the ocean hid his glittering face,
“And densest night shew'd her star-studded head;
“Again the god was seen to come; again
“Admonish, and with threats more stern demand
“Obedience. Terror-struck he now prepar'd
“His property and household gods to move
“To this new seat. Quick through the city flies
“The rumor; as a slighter of the laws
“Is he denounc'd. The trial ends at once;
“Th' acknowledg'd crime without a witness prov'd.
“The wretched culprit lifts his eyes and hands
“To heaven, exclaiming;—Thou whose toils twice six
“Have given thee claim to glory, lend thy aid;
“Thou art the cause that I offence have given.—
“Sentence in old, by stones of white and black
“Was shewn: by these th' accus'd was clear'd, by those
“Condemn'd. Thus is the heavy doom now pass'd,
“And in the fatal urn each flings a stone
“Of sable hue. Inverted then to count
“The pebbles, lo! their color all is chang'd
“From black to white; and thus, the doom revers'd,
“Alemon's son by Hercules is freed.
“Thanks to Alcmena's son, his kinsman, given,
“He o'er th' Ionian sea with favoring winds
“Sail'd, and Tarentum, Sparta's city, pass'd,
“And Sybaris, Neæthus Salentine,
“The gulph of Thurium, and Japygia's fields,
“With Temeses; which shores at distance seen
“By him, were scarcely pass'd, when he beheld
“The mouth of Æsaris, the destin'd flood:
“And thence not far a lofty heap of earth,
“Where Croto's hallow'd bones were safe inhum'd.
“There he as bidden rais'd the walls, which took
“From the high sepulchre their lasting name.
“Plain then the city's origin appears
“By fame, thus built upon Italia's shores.”