The Metamorphoses of Publius Ovidus Naso in English blank verse Vols. I & II

by Ovid

Much, say they, Juno rag'd; more than beseem'd
The trivial cause, or sentence justly given;
And veil'd the judge's eyes in endless night.
But Jove omnipotent, him gave to know,
(For fate forbids to cancel others' deeds)
What future times conceal; a light divine;
An honor'd gift to mitigate his pain.

Fam'd far and wide through all Bœotia's towns,
Unerring answers still the prophet gave,
To all who sought him. Blue Liriopé,
First prov'd his faith, and ne'er-deceiving words.
Her once Cephisus, in his winding stream
Entwin'd, and forceful in his waves enjoy'd.
The beauteous nymph's full womb, in time produc'd
A babe, whose features ev'n from birth inspir'd
Th' attendant nymphs with love; Narcissus nam'd.
For him enquiring, whether doom'd to see,
The peaceful period of maturest age,
The fate-foretelling prophet thus reply'd:—
“Yes,—if himself he never knows.” The words
Were long absurd esteem'd: but well th' event
Their justice prov'd; his strange unheard of death;
And love of object never lov'd before.

Now sixteen summers had Narcissus seen,
A boy in beauty, but in growth a man;
And crowds of youths his friendship sought, and crowds
Of damsels sought his love: but fiercely pride
Swell'd in his snowy bosom; and he spurn'd
His friends' advances, and the love-sick maids.
A chattering nymph, resounding Echo, saw
The youth, when in his toils the trembling deer
He drove;—a nymph who ne'er her words retain'd,
Nor dialogue commenc'd. But then she bore
A body palpable; and not, as now,
Merely a voice:—yet garrulous, she then
That voice, nor other us'd; 'twas all she could,
The closing words of speakers to repeat.
Juno had this ordain'd: for oft the dame
The frailer nymphs upon the hills had caught,
In trespass with her Jove; but Echo sly
With lengthen'd speech the goddess kept amus'd,
Till all by flight were sav'd. Soon Juno saw
The trick:—“The power of that delusive tongue,”—
She cry'd, “I'll lessen, and make brief thy words;”
Nor stay'd, but straight her threaten'd vengeance took.
Now she redoubles (all she can) the words
Which end another's speech; reporting back,

But only what she hears.
	Through pathless woods

Thus slighted he the nymph; nor her alone,
But numbers else who o'er the mountains rov'd;
Or sported in the waves. Nor less his pride,
When more mature: keen smarting from his scorn,
To heaven one rais'd her hands, and ardent pray'd;—
“Ordain that he may love, but love like me
“One ne'er to be enjoy'd!” Rhamnusia grants
To prayers so just, th' assenting nod. There stood,
A mudless pool, whose waters silvery bright,
The shepherds touch'd not,—nor the mountain goats,
Nor lowing herds: which birds, and fierce wild beasts,
Dabbling disturb'd not:—nor a wither'd branch,
Dropt from a tree o'erhanging. Round the brink,
Fed by the moisture, virid grass arose;
And trees impervious to the solar beam,
Screen'd the cool surface. Weary'd with the chase,
And faint with heat, here laid Narcissus down;
Charm'd with the place, and tempted by the pool.
Here as he seeks to quench his burning thirst,
He burns with other fires: and while he drinks,
Caught by the image of his beauteous face,
He loves th' unbody'd form: a substance thinks
The shadow:—loves enraptur'd,—loves himself!
Fixes with eager gaze upon the sight
As on a face in Parian marble wrought.
Stretcht on the ground, his own bright eyes he views,
Twin stars;—his fingers, such as Bacchus grace;
His tresses like Apollo's;—downy cheeks,
Unbearded yet; his neck as ivory white;
The roseate blooming fading into snow:
Each trait admiring which the hapless nymphs,
In him admir'd. Unwitting youth, himself
He wants;—at once beloving, and belov'd:
Himself desiring, by himself desir'd:
Burning with love, while by himself he burns.
Oft, stooping, were his fruitless kisses given:
Oft were his arms outstretch'd to clasp the neck
So plainly seen beneath the waters. No!—
Himself he could not clasp. Whom he beholds,
He knows not; but for whom he sees he burns.
The error that his eye deceives, provokes
His rage. O, foolish youth! why vainly grasp
A fleeting shadow? What thou seek'st is not:—
And what thou lov'st thou now destroy'st:—thou see'st
A semblance only;—a reflected shade—
Nought of itself: with thee it came;—with thee
It stays;—and with thee, if thou could'st, would go.
Not hunger's power has force to drag him thence;
Nor cares of sleep oppress him. Thrown along
The shaded grass, he bends insatiate eyes
Tow'rds the fallacious beauty;—by those eyes
He perishes. Now half-uprais'd, his arms
Outspread, to all the groves around he cry'd:—
“Ye woods, whose darken'd shades so oft have given
“Convenient privacies to lovers, say,
“Saw you e'er one so cruelly who lov'd?
“In ages heap'd on ages you have stood,
“Remember ye a youth who pin'd as I?
“Pleas'd with the object, I its form behold;
“But what I see, and what so pleases flies.
“I find it not: in such bewilder'd maze
“The lover stands. And what my grief augments,
“No mighty seas divide us; lengthen'd roads;
“Nor lofty hills; nor high embattled walls,
“With portals clos'd: asunder are we held
“By trivial drops of water. It no less
“Than I, would give th' embrace; for when I bend
“My lips to kiss it in the limpid stream;
“With rising lips to meet, it anxious strives:
“Then might you think we touch, so faint a line
“Sunders us lovers. Come! whate'er thou art,
“Come hither! why thus mock me, dearest form?
“Why fly my wooing thus? My beauty sure,
“Nor youth are such as should provoke thy flight:
“For numerous nymphs for me have burn'd. Some hope
“Thy kindly sympathizing face affords;
“And when my anxious arms I stretch,—thy arms
“Advance to clasp me:—when I smile, thou smil'st:
“And often have I noted, when the tears
“Stream'd down my cheeks, a rivulet on thine:
“I nod,—thou, answering, noddest: and those lips,
“Those beauteous lips, whose movements plain I see,
“Words utter sure to mine,—though I forbid,
“The sounds to hear. In thee am I!—no more
“My shadow me deceives: I see the whole;
“Love for myself consumes me:—flames self-rais'd,
“Myself torment. What hope? be woo'd,—or woo?
“Wooing, or being woo'd, where is my gain?
“Myself I wish, and plenty makes me poor.
“Would that my body from itself could part!
“Strange wish for lovers, what most dear they love,
“Absent to pray. Grief undermines my strength;
“Nor long my life can linger;—immature,
“In youth I perish: but in me no fears,
“Can death infuse, of all my woes the end;
“Might I but leave this lovely object, still
“Existing: now two images, alas!
“Sink with one soul in death.” Narcissus wails;
And raving turns to view the face again.
His tears the waters trouble; and the face
So beauteous, scarce is seen. Griev'd, he exclaims,
When disappearing,—“Whither fly'st thou? stay—
“Stay, I beseech thee; cruel, fly me not,—
“Thy lover: grant me still to view the form,
“To touch forbidden:—food, at least, afford
“To this unhappy flame.” Lamenting thus,
He from his shoulders tore his robe, and beat
With snow-white hands his bosom; at the blow
His bosom redden'd: so the cherry seems,
Here ruddy blushing, there as fair as snow:
Or grapes unripe, part purpling to the sun,
In vary'd clusters. This he soon espy'd,
Reflected in the placid pool; no more
He bore it, but as gentle fire dissolves
The yellow wax: as Phœbus' morning beams
Melt the light hoar;—so wasted he,—by love
Gradual consum'd, as by a secret fire.
No more the ruddy teints appear, with white
Soft blended. All his active strength decays;
And all that pleas'd so lately. Ev'n his form
So much by Echo lov'd, no more remains.

All Echo saw; and though of former slights
Still mindful, griev'd; and when the hapless youth
“Alas!” exclaim'd; responsive sigh'd, “Alas!”
When on his breast the blows resounded; blows
Loud answering his were heard. His final words,
Gazing still earnest on the wonted wave,
Were,—“dearest form, belov'd in vain!”—the words
Resounded from the grove: “farewel,” he cry'd,
And Echo cry'd, “farewel.” Weary'd he threw,
On the green turf his head. Night clos'd his eyes;
Their owner fond admiring. Now retir'd
To regions far beneath, the Stygian lake
Reflects his form. The Naiäd sisters wail,
Shorn of their tresses, which to him they throw:
The Dryads also mourn; their bosoms beat;
And Echo answers every tearful groan.
A pile they build; the high-tost torches bring;
And funeral bier; but, lo! the corpse is gone:
A saffron-teinted flower alone is found,
Rising encircled with its snowy leaves.

Th' adventure spread through all the Achaian towns,
And much repute th' unerring augur gain'd.
Great now his prophesying fame. Alone,
Pentheus despis'd him;—(he the gods despis'd)
And only he;—he mock'd each holy word
Sagely prophetic:—with his rayless eyes
Reproach'd him. Angrily, his temples hoar
With reverend locks, the prophet shook, and said;—
“Happy for thee, if thus of light bereft,
“The Bacchanalian orgies ne'er to see!
“The day approaches, nor far distant now;
“My sight prophetic tells,—when here will come
“Bacchus new-born, of Semelé the son,
“Whose rites, if thou with honor due, not tend'st
“In temples worthy,—scatter'd far and wide,
“Thy limbs dismember'd shall the ground bestrew:
“Thy blood the forests shall distain;—thy gore
“Thy aunts,—nay e'en thy mother, shall pollute:
“For thou such honors, as immortals claim,
“Shalt to the god deny; then wilt thou find
“Beneath this darkness I but see too well.”
Thus speaking, Echion's son the prophet push'd
Harshly away; but his too faithful words
Time prov'd;—the threaten'd deeds accomplish'd all.

Lo! Bacchus comes, and all the country rings
With joyous outcries; crowds on crowds thick swarm;—
Matrons, and wives new-wedded, mixt with men;
Nobles, and commons; all the impulse bears,
To join the stranger's rites. But Pentheus thus;—
“Offspring of Mars! O nation, serpent born!
“What madness fills your minds? Can piercing sounds
“Of brass from brass rebounding; winding horns,
“And magic cheatings, then possess such power?
“You whom the warlike sword, the trumpet's clang,
“And battle's edge, dread bristling close with arms,
“Appal not; yield ye thus to female howls;
“Wine's maddening fumes; a filthy shameless crowd;
“And empty cymbals? In amaze, I see,
“You venerable men who plough'd the seas,
“And here, a refuge for your exil'd gods,
“This second Tyre have built,—without a blow,
“Yield it a spoil! Ye too, robuster youths,
“Of hardier age, and years more near my own;—
“Whom warlike arms, than Thyrsi more become;
“And brows with helmets than with leaves comprest:
“Think whence you sprang, and let the thought inspire
“Your souls with all the dragon's fierceness: he
Singly slew hosts: he for his fountain fell;
You for your honor vanquish. He destroy'd
The valiant; you th' effeminate expel;
And all the glory of your sire regain.
“If fate to Thebes a speedy fall decrees,
“May heroes, O, ye gods! with battering force
“O'erturn her walls;—may the sword rage, and flames
“Crackling, devour her. Wretched though our lot;
“Not criminal: our fate, though much bemoan'd,
“Would need concealment not: tears then might flow,
“But not from shame. Now unresisting Thebes,
“Yields to a boy unarm'd; who never joys
“In armies, steeds, nor swords;—but more in locks
“With myrrh moist-dropping, garlands soft, and robes
“Of various teints, with gold and purple gay.
“Rest ye but tranquil, and without delay,
“Him will I force to own his boasted sire
“Untrue; and forg'd those new invented rites.
“Had not Acrisius bravery to despise
“The counterfeited deity, and close
“The gates of Argos on him? And must now
“This wanderer come, and Pentheus terrify,
“With all the power of Thebes! Haste, quickly haste,”—
He bade his servants,—“hither drag, firm chain'd,
“This leader. Quick, nor brook my words delay!”
His grandsire, Athamas, and all the crowd
Reprove;—while thus he rails, with fruitless toil
Labor to stop him. Obstinate he stands,
More raging at remonstrance; and his ire
Restrain'd, increases; goading more and more;
Restraint itself enkindling more his rage.
So may be seen a river rolling smooth,
With murmuring nearly silent, while unchecked;
But when by rocks, or bulky trees oppos'd,
Foaming and boiling furious, on it sweeps
Impetuous raging; fiercer, more withstood.

With blood besmear'd, his men return;—their lord
For Bacchus anxious asks;—but Bacchus they,
To find, arriv'd too late;—“but here,” they cry,—
“Here have we seiz'd his comrade;—one who joins
“His train, and joins his rites.” (The Tuscans once
The Bacchanalian orgies follow'd.) Bound
Behind, his hands, their prisoner they present.
Pentheus survey'd the stranger, while his eyes
Sparkled with rage terrific: with constraint
His torture so deferring, thus he spoke;—
“Wretch! ere thou sufferest,—ere thy death shall give
“A public warning,—tell thy name;—confess
“Thy sire; declare thy country; and the cause
“Those rites thou celebratest in a mode
“Diverse from others.” Fearless, he reply'd;—
“Acœtes is my name: my natal land,
“Tyrrhenia: from an humble stock I spring.
“Lands by strong oxen plough'd, or wool-clad flocks,
“Or lowing herds my father left me none:
“For poor was he;—his daily toil to catch
“With nets and lines the fish, and as they leap'd,
“Draw with his bending rod the prey to land:
“His skill his sole estate. When unto me
“This art he taught,—receive, said he, my wealth;
“Such wealth as I possess; heir to my toil,
“And to my toil successor: dying, he
“To me bequeath'd the waters;—nothing more:
“These only as paternal wealth I claim.
“But soon, disliking on the self-same rock
“To dwell, I learn'd the art to rule the track
“Plough'd by the keel, with skilful guiding hand;
“And learn'd th' Olenian sign, the showery goat;
“Taygeté; and the Hyädes; the Bear;
“The dwellings of the winds; and every port
“Where ships could shelter. Once for Delos bound,
“By chance, the shore of Chios' isle we near'd;
“And when our starboard oars the beach had touch'd,
“Lightly I leap'd, and rested on the land.
“Now, night expir'd, Aurora warmly glow'd,
“And rousing up from sleep, my men I bade
“Supplies of living waters bring; and shew'd
“What path the fountain led to. I meanwhile,
“A lofty hill ascending, careful mark'd
“The wish'd-for wind approaching;—loud I call'd
“My fellows, and with haste the vessel gain'd.
“Lo! cry'd Opheltes, chief of all my crew,—
“Lo! here we come;—and from the desart fields,
“(A prize obtain'd, he thought),—he dragg'd along
“A boy of virgin beauty tow'rd the sands:
“Staggering, the youth, with wine and sleep opprest,
“With difficulty follow'd. Closely I
“His dress, his countenance, and his gait remark;
“And all I see, displays no mortal man.
“Conscious, I speak my comrades thus:—Unknown
“To me, what deity before us stands,
“But sure I am, that form conceals a god.
“O thou! whoe'er thou art, assist us;—aid
“Our undertakings;—who have seiz'd thee, spare,
“Unknowing what they did. Bold Dictys cries,—
“Than whom none swifter gain'd the topmost yards,
“Nor on the cordage slid more agile down;—
“Prayers offer not for us. Him Lybis joins;
“And brown Melanthus, ruler of the helm;
“Alcimedon unites; Epopeus too,
“Who rul'd the rowers, and their restings mark'd;
“(Arduous they urg'd their sinews by his voice)—
“Nay all Opheltes join,—the lust of gain,
“So blinded all their judgments. Still I cry;—
“Ne'er will I yield my vessel to behold
“Burthen'd with such a sacrilegious load:
“Pre-eminent is here my right. I stand
“To those who strive to hoist him in, oppos'd.
“Bold and outrageous, far beyond the rest,
“Was Lycabas; from Tuscan shore exil'd
“For deeds of murderous violence: he grasp'd
“My throat with force athletic, as I stood,
“And in the waves had flung me; but sore stunn'd,
“A cable caught, and sav'd me. Loud the crew
“The impious deed applauded. Bacchus rose,
“(The boy was Bacchus!) with the tumult loud
“Rous'd from his sleep;—the fumes of wine dispell'd,
“His senses seem'd restor'd. What is't you do?
“What noise is this? he cry'd;—What brought me here?
“O, mariners! inform me;—tell me where
“You carry me! Fear not,—the pilot said,—
“Say but the port, where most thou'dst chuse to land;—
“Thither we straight will steer. The god reply'd;—
“To Naxos then your course direct; that isle
“My native soil I call:—to you that isle
“A friendly shore shall prove. False men, they swear,
“By ocean, and by all the sacred gods,
“This to perform; and order me to loose,
“The painted vessel's sails. Full on the right
“Stood Naxos. Loudly one to me exclaims;
“As tow'rd the right I trim the sails to steer;—
“What now, Acœtes? madman! fool! what now?
“Art thou distracted? to the left we sail.—
“Most nod significant their wishes: some
“Soft whisper in my ear. Astounded, I
“Let others guide!—exclaim,—and quit the helm;
“Guiltless of aiding in their treacherous guile.
“Loud murmurings sound from all; and loudly one,
“Ethalion, cries;—in thee alone is plac'd
“Our safety, doubtless!—forward steps himself;—
“My station seizes; and a different course
“Directs the vessel, Naxos left behind.
“The feigning god, as though but then, the fraud
“To him perceptible, the waves beholds
“From the curv'd poop, and tears pretending, cries;—
“Not this, O, seamen! is the promis'd shore:
“Not this the wish'd-for land! What deed of mine
“This cruel treatment merits? Where the fame
“Of men, a child deceiving; numbers leagu'd
“Misleading one? Fast flow'd my tears with his;
“Our tears the impious mob deride, and press
“The ocean with their strong-propelling oars.
“Now by the god himself, I swear, (and none
“To vows more ready listens) that the tale,
“Though in appearance credence far beyond,
“Is strictly true. Firm fixt amid the waves
“The vessel stands, as in a harbour laid
“Dry from the ocean! Wondering, they their oars,
“With strokes redoubled ply; loose to the wind
“More sails; and with this double aid essay
“Onward to urge. Their oars with ivy twin'd,
“Are clogg'd; the curving tendrils crooked spread;
“The sails with clustering berries loaded hang.
“His temples girded with a branchy crown,
“Whence grapes hang dangling, stands the god, and shakes
“A spear entwisted with the curling vine.
“Round seem to prowl the tiger, and the lynx,
“And savage forms of panthers, various mark'd.
“Up leap'd the men, by sudden madness mov'd;
“Or terror only: Medon first appear'd
“Blackening to grow, with shooting fins; his form
“Flatten'd; and in a curve was bent his spine.
“Him Lycabas address'd;—what wonderous shape
“Art thou receiving?—speaking, wide his jaws
“Expanded; flatten'd down, his nose appear'd;
“A scaly covering cloth'd his harden'd skin.
“Lybis to turn the firm fixt oars attempts,
“But while he tries, perceives his fingers shrink;
“And hands, now hands no longer, fins he sees.
“Another round the cordage strives his arms
“To clasp,—but arms he has not,—down he leaps
“Broad on his crooked back, and seeks the waves.
“Forkt is their new-made tail; like Luna's form
“Bent in the skies, ere half her orb is fill'd.
“Bounding all round they leap;—now down they dash,
“Besprinkling wide the foamy drops; now 'merge;
“And now re-diving, plunge in playful sport:
“As chorus regular they act, and move
“Their forms in shapes lascivious; spouting high,
“The briny waters through their nostrils wide.
“Of twenty now, (our ship so many bore)
“I only stand unchang'd; with trembling limbs,
“And petrify'd with fear. The god himself,
“Scarce courage in my mind inspires; when thus,—
“Pale terror from thy bosom drive, and seek
“The isle of Naxos.—Thither come, I tend
“On smoking altars, Bacchus' sacred rites.”

Him Pentheus angry stopp'd. “Thy tedious tale,
“Form'd to divert my rage, in vain is told.
“Here, men, swift drag him hence!—dispatch his soul,
“Driven from his body, down to Stygian night;
“By pangs excruciating.” Straight close pent,
In solid dungeon is Acœtes thrown,
While they the instruments of death prepare;
The cruel steel; the flames;—spontaneous fly
Wide ope the dungeon doors; spontaneous fall
The fetters from his arms, and freed he goes.
Stubborn, the son of Echion still persists;
But sends no messenger: himself proceeds,
To where Cythæron, for the sacred rites
Selected, rings with Bacchanalian songs,
And outcries shrill. As foams an high-bred steed,
When through the speaking brass the warlike trump,
Sounds the glad signal; and with ardor burns
For battle: so the air, with howlings loud
Re-echoing, Pentheus moves, and doubly flames
His rage, to hear the clangor. Clear'd from trees,
A plain extends, from every part fair seen,
And near the mountain's centre: round its skirt,
Thick groves grow shady. Here his mother saw
His eye unhallow'd view the sacred rites;
And first,—by frantic madness urg'd,—she first
Furious the Thyrsus at her Pentheus flung:
Exclaiming loud;—“Ho, sisters! hither haste!
“Here stands the furious boar that wastes our grounds:
“My hand has smote him.” Raging rush the crowd,
In one united body. All close join,
And all pursue the now pale trembling wretch.
No longer fierce he storms; but grieving blames
His rashness, and his obstinacy owns.
Wounded,—“dear aunt, Autonoë!”—he cries,
“Help me!—O, let your own Actæon's ghost
“Move you to pity!” She, Actæon's name
Nought heeding, tears his outstretcht arm away;
The other, Ino from his body drags!
And when his arms, unhappy wretch, he tries
To lift unto his mother, arms to lift
Were none;—but stretching forth his mangled trunk
Of limbs bereft;—“look, mother!”—he exclaims.
Loud howl'd Agavé at the sight; his neck
Fierce grasping,—toss'd on high his streaming locks,
Her bloody fingers twisted in his hair.
Then clamor'd loudly;—“joy, my comrades, joy!
“The victory is mine!” Not swifter sweep
The winds those leaves which early frosts have nipp'd,
And lightly to the boughs attach'd remain,
Than scatter'd flew his limbs by furious hands.