---
title: "Metamorphoses"
author: "Ovid"
translator: "Brookes More"
title_ru: "Метаморфозы"
author_ru: "Овидий"
languages: [la, en]
shelf: "Classical Latin"
section: 12 of 30
url: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/12/
cite: "Ovid, tr. Brookes More, Metamorphoses, section 12. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/12/"
---

# Metamorphoses

*Ovid, tr. Brookes More*

Russian: Метаморфозы, Овидий

Bodies changed into new forms, from the creation of the world to the deification of Julius Caesar: Daphne, Narcissus, Pyramus and Thisbe, Icarus, Orpheus.

> Latin: ed. Hugo Magnus, from the Perseus Digital Library (canonical-latinLit, phi0959.phi006, CC BY-SA 4.0).

> English: Brookes More, from the Perseus Digital Library (phi0959.phi006.perseus-eng3). Notes are not included.

> Rows follow the references the two texts share (line numbers), cut where both reach the end of a sentence.

## 12. Book VI · lines 382–721

Source: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/12/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/12/#p-N

[¶0] So he related how the clowns were changed
to leaping frogs; and after he was through,
another told the tale of Marsyas, in these words:
The Satyr Marsyas, when he played the flute
in rivalry against Apollo's lyre,
lost that audacious contest and, alas!
His life was forfeit; for, they had agreed
the one who lost should be the victor's prey.
And, as Apollo punished him, he cried,
“Ah-h-h! why are you now tearing me apart?
A flute has not the value of my life!”
Even as he shrieked out in his agony,
his living skin was ripped off from his limbs,
till his whole body was a flaming wound,
with nerves and veins and viscera exposed.
But all the weeping people of that land,
and all the Fauns and Sylvan Deities,
and all the Satyrs, and Olympus, his
loved pupil—even then renowned in song,
and all the Nymphs, lamented his sad fate;
and all the shepherds, roaming on the hills,
lamented as they tended fleecy flocks.
And all those falling tears, on fruitful Earth,
descended to her deepest veins, as drip
the moistening dews,—and, gathering as a fount,
turned upward from her secret-winding caves,
to issue, sparkling, in the sun-kissed air,
the clearest river in the land of Phrygia,—
through which it swiftly flows between steep banks
down to the sea: and, therefore, from his name,
'Tis called “The Marsyas” to this very day.
And after this was told, the people turned
and wept for Niobe's loved children dead,
and also, mourned Amphion, sorrow-slain.
The Theban people hated Niobe,
but Pelops, her own brother, mourned her death;
and as he rent his garment, and laid bare
his white left shoulder, you could see the part
composed of ivory.—At his birth 'twas all
of healthy flesh; but when his father cut
his limbs asunder, and the Gods restored
his life, all parts were rightly joined, except
part of one shoulder, which was wanting; so
to serve the purpose of the missing flesh,
a piece of ivory was inserted there,
making his body by such means complete.

> Latin: Sic ubi nescio quis Lycia de gente virorum
rettulit exitium, satyri reminiscitur alter,
quem Tritoniaca Latous harundine victum
adfecit poena. “Quid me mihi detrahis?” inquit:
“a piget a non est” clamabat “tibia tanti.”
Clamanti cutis est summos direpta per artus,
nec quicquam nisi vulnus erat; cruor undique manat,
detectique patent nervi, trepidaeque sine ulla
pelle micant venae; salientia viscera posses
et perlucentes numerare in pectore fibras.
Illum ruricolae, silvarum numina, fauni
et satyri fratres et tunc quoque carus Olympus
et nymphae flerunt, et quisquis montibus illis
lanigerosque greges armentaque bucera pavit.
Fertilis inmaduit madefactaque terra caducas
concepit lacrimas ac venis perbibit imis;
quas ubi fecit aquam, vacuas emisit in auras.
Inde petens rapidum ripis declivibus aequor
Marsya nomen habet, Phrygiae liquidissimus amnis.
Talibus extemplo redit ad praesentia dictis
vulgus et exstinctum cum stirpe Amphiona luget.
Mater in invidia est. Hanc tunc quoque dicitur unus
flesse Pelops, umeroque, suas a pectore postquam
deduxit vestes ebur ostendisse sinistro.
Concolor hic umerus nascendi tempore dextro
corporeusque fuit: manibus mox caesa paternis
membra ferunt iunxisse deos; aliisque repertis,
qui locus est iuguli medius summique lacerti,
defuit. Impositum est non comparentis in usum
partis ebur, factoque Pelops fuit integer illo.

[¶1] The lords of many cities that were near,
now met together and implored their kings
to mourn with Pelops those unhappy deeds.—
The lords of Argos; Sparta and Mycenae;
and Calydon, before it had incurred
the hatred of Diana, goddess of the chase;
fertile Orchomenus and Corinth, great
in wealth of brass; Patrae and fierce Messena;
Cleone, small; and Pylus and Troezen,
not ruled by Pittheus then,—and also, all
the other cities which are shut off by
the Isthmus there dividing by its two seas,
and all the cities which are seen from there.
What seemed most wonderful, of all those towns
Athens alone was wanting, for a war
had gathered from the distant seas, a host
of savage warriors had alarmed her walls,
and hindered her from mourning for the dead.
Now Tereus, then the mighty king of Thrace,
came to the aid of Athens as defense
from that fierce horde; and there by his great deeds
achieved a glorious fame. Since his descent
was boasted from the mighty Gradivus,
and he was gifted with enormous wealth,
Pandion, king of Athens, gave to him
in sacred wedlock his dear daughter, Procne.
But Juno, guardian of the sacred rites
attended not, nor Hymenaeus, nor
the Graces. But the Furies snatched up brands
from burning funeral pyres, and brandished them
as torches. They prepared the nuptial couch,—
a boding owl flew over the bride's room,
and then sat silently upon the roof.
With such bad omens Tereus married her,
sad Procne, and those omens cast a gloom
on all the household till the fateful birth
of their first born. All Thrace went wild with joy—
and even they, rejoicing, blessed the Gods,
when he, the little Itys, saw the light;
and they ordained each year their wedding day,
and every year the birthday of their child,
should be observed with festival and song:
so the sad veil of fate conceals from us
our future woes.
Now Titan had drawn forth
the changing seasons through five autumns, when,
in gentle accents, Procne spoke these words:
“My dearest husband, if you love me, let
me visit my dear sister, or consent
that she may come to us and promise her
that she may soon return. If you will but
permit me to enjoy her company
my heart will bless you as I bless the Gods.”
At once the monarch ordered his long ships
to launch upon the sea; and driven by sail,
and hastened by the swiftly sweeping oars,
they entered the deep port of Athens, where
he made fair landing on the fortified
Piraeus. There, when time was opportune
to greet his father-in-law and shake his hand,
they both exchanged their wishes for good health,
and Tereus told the reason why he came.
He was relating all his wife's desire.
Promising Philomela's safe return
from a brief visit, when Philomela appeared
rich in her costly raiment, yet more rich
in charm and beauty, just as if a fair
Dryad or Naiad should be so attired,
appearing radiant, from dark solitudes.
As if someone should kindle whitening corn
or the dry leaves, or hay piled in a stack;
so Tereus, when he saw the beautiful
and blushing virgin, was consumed with love.
Her modest beauty was a worthy cause
of worthy love; but by his heritage,
derived from a debasing clime, his love
was base; and fires unholy burned within
from his own lawless nature, just as fierce
as are the habits of his evil race.
In the wild frenzy of his wicked heart,
he thought he would corrupt her trusted maid,
her tried attendants, and corrupt even
her virtue with large presents: he would waste
his kingdom in the effort.—He prepared
to seize her at the risk of cruel war.
And he would do or dare all things to feed
his raging flame.—He could not brook delay.
With most impassioned words he begged for her,
pretending he gave voice to Procne's hopes.—
his own desire made him wax eloquent,
as often as his words exceeded bounds,
he pleaded he was uttering Procne's words.
His hypocritic eyes were filled with tears,
as though they represented her desire—
and, O you Gods above, what devious ways
are harbored in the hearts of mortals! Through
his villainous desire he gathered praise,
and many lauded him for the great love
he bore his wife.
And even Philomela
desires her own undoing; and with fond
embraces nestles to her father, while
she pleads for his consent, that she may go
to visit her dear sister.—Tereus viewed
her pretty pleading, and in his hot heart,
imagined he was then embracing her;
and as he saw her kiss her father's lips,
her arms around his neck, it seemed that each
caress was his; and so his fire increased.
He even wished he were her father; though,
if it were so, his passion would no less
be impious.—Overcome at last by these
entreaties, her kind father gave consent.
Greatly she joyed and thanked him for her own
misfortune. She imagined a success,
instead of all the sorrow that would come.
The day declining, little of his toil
remained for Phoebus. Now his flaming steeds
were beating with their hoofs the downward slope
of high Olympus; and the regal feast
was set before the guests, and flashing wine
was poured in golden vessels, and the feast
went merrily, until the satisfied
assembly sought in gentle sleep their rest.
Not so, the love-hot Tereus, king of Thrace,
who, sleepless, imaged in his doting mind
the form of Philomela, recalled the shape
of her fair hands, and in his memory
reviewed her movements. And his flaming heart
pictured her beauties yet unseen.—He fed
his frenzy on itself, and could not sleep.
Fair broke the day; and now the ancient king,
Pandion, took his son-in-law's right hand
to bid farewell; and, as he wept,
commended his dear daughter, Philomela,
unto his guarding care. “And in your care,
my son-in-law, I trust my daughter's health.
Good reason, grounded on my love, compels
my sad approval. You have begged for her,
and both my daughters have persuaded me.
Wherefore, I do entreat you and implore
your honor, as I call upon the Gods,
that you will ever shield her with the love
of a kind father and return her safe,
as soon as may be—my last comfort given
to bless my doting age. And all delay
will agitate and vex my failing heart.
“And, O my dearest daughter, Philomela,
if you have any love for me, return
without too long delay and comfort me,
lest I may grieve; for it is quite enough
that I should suffer while your sister stays away.”

> Latin: Finitimi proceres coeunt, urbesque propinquae
oravere suos ire ad solacia reges,
Argosque et Sparte Pelopeiadesque Mycenae
et nondum torvae Calydon invisa Dianae
Orchomenosque ferax et nobilis aere Corinthus
Messeneque ferox Patraeque humilesque Cleonae
et Nelea Pylos, neque adhuc Pittheia Troezen,
quaeque urbes aliae bimari clauduntur ab Isthmo
exteriusque sitae bimari spectantur ab Isthmo.
Credere quis posset? solae cessastis Athenae.
Obstitit officio bellum, subvectaque ponto
barbara Mopsopios terrebant agmina muros.
Threicius Tereus haec auxiliaribus armis
fuderat et clarum vincendo nomen habebat.
Quem sibi Pandion opibusque virisque potentem
et genus a magno ducentem forte Gradivo
conubio Procnes iunxit. Non pronuba Iuno,
non Hymenaeus adest, non illi Gratia lecto.
Eumenides tenuere faces de funere raptas,
Eumenides stravere torum, tectoque profanus
incubuit bubo thalamique in culmine sedit.
Hac ave coniuncti Procne Tereusque, parentes
hac ave sunt facti. Gratata est scilicet illis
Thracia, disque ipsi grates egere diemque,
quaque data est claro Pandione nata tyranno,
quaque erat ortus Itys, festum iussere vocari.
Usque adeo latet utilitas. Iam tempora Titan
quinque per autumnos repetiti duxerat anni,
cum blandita viro Procne “si gratia” dixit
“ulla mea est, vel me visendam mitte sorori,
vel soror huc veniat! redituram tempore parvo
promittes socero: magni mihi muneris instar
germanam vidisse dabis.” Iubet ille carinas
in freta deduci veloque et remige portus
Cecropios intrat Piraeaque litora tangit.
Ut primum soceri data copia, dextera dextrae
iungitur, et fausto committitur omine sermo.
Coeperat adventus causam, mandata referre
coniugis et celeres missae spondere recursus:
ecce venit magno dives Philomela paratu,
divitior forma: quales audire solemus
naidas et dryadas mediis incedere silvis,
si modo des illis cultus similesque paratus.
Non secus exarsit conspecta virgine Tereus,
quam siquis canis ignem supponat aristis,
aut frondem positasque cremet faenilibus herbas.
Digna quidem facies: sed et hunc innata libido
exstimulat, pronumque genus regionibus illis
in venerem est: flagrat vitio gentisque suoque.
Impetus est illi comitum corrumpere curam
nutricisque fidem, nec non ingentibus ipsam
sollicitare datis totumque impendere regnum,
aut rapere et saevo raptam defendere bello—,
et nihil est quod non effreno captus amore
ausit nec capiunt inclusas pectora flammas.
Iamque moras male fert cupidoque revertitur ore
ad mandata Procnes, et agit sua vota sub illa.
Facundum faciebat amor: quotiensque rogabat
ulterius iusto Procnen ita velle ferebat.
Addidit et lacrimas, tamquam mandasset et illas.
Pro superi, quantum mortalia pectora caecae
noctis habent! ipso sceleris molimine Tereus
creditur esse pius laudemque a crimine sumit.
Quid quod idem Philomela cupit patriosque lacertis
blanda tenens umeros, ut eat visura sororem,
perque suam contraque suam petit ipsa salutem.
Spectat eam Tereus praecontrectatque videndo
osculaque et collo circumdata bracchia cernens
omnia pro stimulis facibusque ciboque furoris
accipit; et quotiens amplectitur illa parentem,
esse parens vellet: neque enim minus impius esset.
Vincitur ambarum genitor prece. Gaudet agitque
illa patri grates et successisse duabus
id putat infelix, quod erit lugubre duabus.
Iam labor exiguus Phoebo restabat, equique
pulsabant pedibus spatium declivis Olympi:
regales epulae mensis et Bacchus in auro
ponitur; hinc placido dantur sua corpora somno.
At rex Odrysius, quamvis secessit, in illa
aestuat, et, repetens faciem motusque manusque,
qualia vult fingit quae nondum vidit, et ignes
ipse suos nutrit, cura removente soporem.
Lux erat, et generi dextram complexus euntis
Pandion comitem lacrimis commendat obortis:
“Hanc ego, care gener, quoniam pia causa coegit
et voluere ambae, voluisti tu quoque, Tereu,
do tibi, perque fidem cognataque pectora supplex,
per superos oro, patrio ut tuearis amore
et mihi sollicitae lenimen dulce senectae
quam primum (omnis erit nobis mora longa) remittas.
Tu quoque quam primum (satis est procul esse sororem)
si pietas ulla est, ad me, Philomela, redito.”

[¶2] The old king made them promise, and he kissed
his daughter, while he wept. Then did he join
their hands in pledge of their fidelity,
and, as he gave his blessing, cautioned them
to kiss his absent daughter and her son
for his dear sake. Then as he spoke a last
farewell, his trembling voice was filled with sobs.
And he could hardly speak;—for a great fear
from some vague intuition of his mind,
surged over him, and he was left forlorn.
So soon as Philomela was safe aboard
the painted ship and as the sailors urged
the swiftly gliding keel across the deep
and the dim land fast-faded from their view,
then Tereus, in exultant humor, thought,
“Now all is well, the object of my love
sails with me while the sailors ply the oars.”,
He scarcely could control his barbarous
desire—with difficulty stayed his lust,
he followed all her actions with hot eyes. —
So, when the ravenous bird of Jupiter
has caught with crooked talons the poor hare,
and dropped it—ruthless,—in his lofty nest,
where there is no escape, his cruel eyes
gloat on the victim he anticipates.
And now, as Tereus reached his journey's end,
they landed from the travel-wearied ship,
safe on the shores of his own kingdom. Then
he hastened with the frightened Philomela
into most wild and silent solitudes
of an old forest; where, concealed among
deep thickets a forbidding old house stood:
there he immured the pale and trembling maid,
who, vainly in her fright, began to call
upon her absent sister,—and her tears
implored his pity. His obdurate mind
could not be softened by such piteous cries;
but even while her agonizing screams
implored her sister's and her father's aid,
and while she vainly called upon the Gods,
he overmastered her with brutal force.—
The poor child trembled as a frightened lamb,
which, just delivered from the frothing jaws
of a gaunt wolf, dreads every moving twig.
She trembled as a timid injured dove,
(her feathers dripping with her own life-blood)
that dreads the ravening talons of a hawk
from which some fortune has delivered her.
But presently, as consciousness returned,
she tore her streaming hair and beat her arms,
and, stretching forth her hands in frenzied grief,
cried out, “Oh, barbarous and brutal wretch!
Unnatural monster of abhorrent deeds!
Could not my anxious father's parting words,
nor his foreboding tears restrain your lust?
Have you no slight regard for your chaste wife,
my dearest sister, and are you without
all honor, so to spoil virginity
now making me invade my sister's claim,
you have befouled the sacred fount of life,—
you are a lawless bond of double sin!
“Oh, this dark punishment was not my due!
Come, finish with my murder your black deed,
so nothing wicked may remain undone.
But oh, if you had only slaughtered me
before your criminal embrace befouled
my purity, I should have had a shade
entirely pure, and free from any stain!
Oh, if there is a Majesty in Heaven,
and if my ruin has not wrecked the world,
then, you shall suffer for this grievous wrong
and time shall hasten to avenge my wreck.
“I shall declare your sin before the world,
and publish my own shame to punish you!
And if I'm prisoned in the solitudes,
my voice will wake the echoes in the wood
and move the conscious rocks. Hear me, O Heaven!
And let my imprecations rouse the Gods—
ah-h-h, if there can be a god in Heaven!”
Her cries aroused the dastard tyrant's wrath,
and frightened him, lest ever his foul deed
might shock his kingdom: and, roused at once
by rage and guilty fear; he seized her hair,
forced her weak arms against her back, and bound
them fast with brazen chains, then drew his sword.
When she first saw his sword above her head.
Flashing and sharp, she wished only for death,
and offered her bare throat: but while she screamed,
and, struggling, called upon her father's name,
he caught her tongue with pincers, pitiless,
And cut it with his sword.—The mangled root
still quivered, but the bleeding tongue itself,
fell murmuring on the blood-stained floor. As the tail
of a slain snake still writhes upon the ground,
so did the throbbing tongue; and, while it died,
moved up to her, as if to seek her feet.—
And, it is said that after this foul crime,
the monster violated her again.
And after these vile deeds, that wicked king
returned to Procne, who, when she first met
her brutal husband, anxiously inquired
for tidings of her sister; but with sighs
and tears, he told a false tale of her death,
and with such woe that all believed it true.
Then Procne, full of lamentation, took
her royal robe, bordered with purest gold,
and putting it away, assumed instead
garments of sable mourning; and she built
a noble sepulchre, and offered there
her pious gifts to an imagined shade;—
lamenting the sad death of her who lived.
A year had passed by since that awful date—
the sun had coursed the Zodiac's twelve signs.
But what could Philomela hope or do?
For like a jail the strong walls of the house
were built of massive stone, and guards around
prevented flight; and mutilated, she
could not communicate with anyone
to tell her injuries and tragic woe.
But even in despair and utmost grief,
there is an ingenuity which gives
inventive genius to protect from harm:
and now, the grief-distracted Philomela
wove in a warp with purple marks and white,
a story of the crime; and when 'twas done
she gave it to her one attendant there
and begged her by appropriate signs to take
it secretly to Procne. She took the web,
she carried it to Procne, with no thought
of words or messages by art conveyed.
The wife of that inhuman tyrant took
the cloth, and after she unwrapped it saw
and understood the mournful record sent.
She pondered it in silence and her tongue
could find no words to utter her despair;—
her grief and frenzy were too great for tears.—
In a mad rage her rapid mind counfounded
the right and wrong—intent upon revenge.

> Latin: Mandabat pariterque suae dabat oscula natae,
et lacrimae mites inter mandata cadebant.
Utque fide pignus dextras utriusque poposcit
inter seque datas iunxit natamque nepotemque
absentes pro se memori rogat ore salutent;
supremumque vale pleno singultibus ore
vix dixit timuitque suae praesagia mentis.
Ut semel imposita est pictae Philomela carinae,
admotumque fretum remis tellusque repulsa est,
“vicimus” exclamat, “mecum mea vota feruntur”
exsultatque et vix animo sua gaudia differt
barbarus et nusquam lumen detorquet ab illa,
non aliter, quam cum pedibus praedator obuncis
deposuit nido leporem Iovis ales in alto:
nulla fuga est capto, spectat sua praemia raptor.
Iamque iter effectum, iamque in sua litora fessis
puppibus exierant, cum rex Pandione natam
in stabula alta trahit, silvis obscura vetustis,
atque ibi pallentem trepidamque et cuncta timentem
et iam cum lacrimis, ubi sit germana, rogantem
includit: fassusque nefas et virginem et unam
vi superat frustra clamato saepe parente,
saepe sorore sua, magnis super omnia divis.
Illa tremit velut agna pavens, quae saucia cani
ore excussa lupi nondum sibi tuta videtur,
utque columba suo madefactis sanguine plumis
horret adhuc avidosque timet, quibus haeserat, ungues.
Mox ubi mens rediit, passos laniata capillos,
lugenti similis, caesis plangore lacertis,
intendens palmas “o diris barbare factis,
o crudelis” ait “nec te mandata parentis
cum lacrimis movere piis nec cura sororis
nec mea virginitas nec coniugialia iura!
Omnia turbasti: paelex ego facta sororis,
tu geminus coniunx, hostis mihi debita Procne.
Quin animam hanc, ne quod facinus tibi, perfide, restet,
eripis? atque utinam fecisses ante nefandos
concubitus vacuas habuissem criminis umbras.
Si tamen haec superi cernunt, si numina divum
sunt aliquid, si non perierunt omnia mecum,
quandocumque mihi poenas dabis. Ipsa pudore
proiecto tua facta loquar. Si copia detur,
in populos veniam; si silvis clausa tenebor,
implebo silvas et conscia saxa movebo:
audiet haec aether, et si deus ullus in illo est.”
Talibus ira feri postquam commota tyranni
nec minor hac metus est, causa stimulatus utraque
quo fuit accinctus, vagina liberat ensem
arreptamque coma flexis post terga lacertis
vincla pati cogit. Iugulum Philomela parabat
spemque suae mortis viso conceperat ense:
ille indignantem et nomen patris usque vocantem
luctantemque loqui comprensam forcipe linguam
abstulit ense fero. Radix micat ultima linguae,
ipsa iacet terraeque tremens inmurmurat atrae;
utque salire solet mutilatae cauda colubrae,
palpitat et moriens dominae vestigia quaerit.
Hoc quoque post facinus (vix ausim credere) fertur
saepe sua lacerum repetisse libidine corpus.
Sustinet ad Procnen post talia facta reverti.
Coniuge quae viso germanam quaerit: at ille
dat gemitus fictos commentaque funera narrat,
et lacrimae fecere fidem. Velamima Procne
deripit ex umeris auro fulgentia lato
induiturque atras vestes et inane sepulcrum
constituit falsisque piacula manibus infert
et luget non sic lugendae fata sororis.
Signa deus bis sex acto lustraverat anno.
Quid faciat Philomela? fugam custodia claudit,
structa rigent solido stabulorum moenia saxo,
os mutum facti caret indice. Grande doloris
ingenium est, miserisque venit sollertia rebus.
Stamina barbarica suspendit callida tela
purpureasque notas filis intexuit albis,
indicium sceleris; perfectaque tradidit uni,
utque ferat dominae gestu rogat: illa rogata
pertulit ad Procnen, nec scit, quid tradat in illis.
Evolvit vestes saevi matrona tyranni
fortunaeque suae carmen miserabile legit
et (mirum potuisse) silet. Dolor ora repressit,
verbaque quaerenti satis indignantia linguae
defuerunt; nec flere vacat, sed fasque nefasque
confusura ruit, poenaeque in imagine tota est.

[¶3] Since it was now the time of festival,
when all the Thracian matrons celebrate
the rites of Bacchus—every third year thus—
night then was in their secret; and at night
the slopes of Rhodope resounded loud
with clashing of shrill cymbals. So, at night
the frantic queen of Tereus left her home
and, clothed according to the well known rites
of Bacchus, hurried to the wilderness.
Her head was covered with the green vine leaves;
and from her left side native deer skin hung;
and on her shoulder rested a light spear.—
so fashioned, the revengeful Procne rushed
through the dark woods, attended by a host
of screaming followers, and wild with rage,
pretended it was Bacchus urged her forth.
At last she reached the lonely building, where
her sister, Philomela, was immured;
and as she howled and shouted “Ee-woh-ee-e!”,
She forced the massive doors; and having seized
her sister, instantly concealed her face
in ivy leaves, arrayed her in the trappings
of Bacchanalian rites. When this was done,
they rushed from there, demented, to the house
where as the Queen of Tereus, Procne dwelt.
When Philomela knew she had arrived
at that accursed house, her countenance,
though pale with grief, took on a ghastlier hue:
and, wretched in her misery and fright,
she shuddered in convulsions.—Procne took
the symbols, Bacchanalian, from her then,
and as she held her in a strict embrace
unveiled her downcast head. But she refused
to lift her eyes, and fixing her sad gaze
on vacant space, she raised her hand, instead;
as if in oath she called upon the Gods
to witness truly she had done no wrong,
but suffered a disgrace of violence.—
Lo, Procne, wild with a consuming rage,
cut short her sister's terror in these words,
“This is no time for weeping! awful deeds
demand a great revenge—take up the sword,
and any weapon fiercer than its edge!
My breast is hardened to the worst of crime
make haste with me! together let us put
this palace to the torch!
“Come, let us maim,
the beastly Tereus with revenging iron,
cut out his tongue, and quench his cruel eyes,
and hurl and burn him writhing in the flames!
Or, shall we pierce him with a grisly blade,
and let his black soul issue from deep wounds
a thousand.—Slaughter him with every death
imagined in the misery of hate!”
While Procne still was raving out such words,
Itys, her son, was hastening to his mother;
and when she saw him, her revengeful eyes
conceiving a dark punishment, she said,
“Aha! here comes the image of his father!”
She gave no other warning, but prepared
to execute a horrible revenge.
But when the tender child came up to her,
and called her “mother”, put his little arms
around her neck, and when he smiled and kissed
her often, gracious in his cunning ways,—
again the instinct of true motherhood
pulsed in her veins, and moved to pity, she
began to weep in spite of her resolve.
Feeling the tender impulse of her love
unnerving her, she turned her eyes from him
and looked upon her sister, and from her
glanced at her darling boy again. And so,
while she was looking at them both, by turns,
she said, “Why does the little one prevail
with pretty words, while Philomela stands
in silence always, with her tongue torn out?
She cannot call her sister, whom he calls
his mother! Oh, you daughter of Pandion,
consider what a wretch your husband is!
The wife of such a monster must be flint;
compassion in her heart is but a crime.”
No more she hesitated, but as swift
as the fierce tigress of the Ganges leaps,
seizes the suckling offspring of the hind,
and drags it through the forest to its lair;
so, Procne seized and dragged the frightened boy
to a most lonely section of the house;
and there she put him to the cruel sword,
while he, aware of his sad fate, stretched forth
his little hands, and cried, “Ah, mother,—ah!—”
And clung to her—clung to her, while she struck—
her fixed eyes, maddened, glaring horribly—
struck wildly, lopping off his tender limbs.
But Philomela cut through his tender throat.
Then they together, mangled his remains,
still quivering with the remnant of his life,
and boiled a part of him in steaming pots,
that bubbled over with the dead child's blood,
and roasted other parts on hissing spits.
And, after all was ready, Procne bade
her husband, Tereus, to the loathsome feast,
and with a false pretense of sacred rites,
according to the custom of her land,
by which, but one man may partake of it,
she sent the servants from the banquet hall.—
Tereus, majestic on his ancient throne
high in imagined state, devoured his son,
and gorged himself with flesh of his own flesh—
and in his rage of gluttony called out
for Itys to attend and share the feast!
Curst with a joy she could conceal no more,
and eager to gloat over his distress,
Procne cried out,
“Inside yourself, you have
the thing that you are asking for!” — Amazed,
he looked around and called his son again:—
that instant, Philomela sprang forth—her hair
disordered, and all stained with blood of murder,
unable then to speak, she hurled the head
of Itys in his father's fear-struck face,
and more than ever longed for fitting words.
The Thracian Tereus overturned the table,
and howling, called up from the Stygian pit,
the viperous sisters. Tearing at his breast,
in miserable efforts to disgorge
the half-digested gobbets of his son,
he called himself his own child's sepulchre,
and wept the hot tears of a frenzied man.
Then with his sword he rushed at the two sisters.
Fleeing from him, they seemed to rise on wings,
and it was true, for they had changed to birds.
Then Philomela, flitting to the woods,
found refuge in the leaves: but Procne flew
straight to the sheltering gables of a roof—
and always, if you look, you can observe
the brand of murder on the swallow's breast—
red feathers from that day. And Tereus, swift
in his great agitation, and his will
to wreak a fierce revenge, himself is turned
into a crested bird. His long, sharp beak
is given him instead of a long sword,
and so, because his beak is long and sharp,
he rightly bears the name of Hoopoe.

> Latin: Tempus erat, quo sacra solent trieterica Bacchi
Sithoniae celebrare nurus: nox conscia sacris.
Nocte sonat Rhodope tinnitibus aeris acuti,
nocte sua est egressa domo regina deique
ritibus instruitur furialiaque accipit arma.
Vite caput tegitur, lateri cervina sinistro
vellera dependent, umero levis incubat hasta.
Concita per silvas turba comitante suarum
terribilis Procne furiisque agitata doloris,
Bacche, tuas simulat. Venit ad stabula avia tandem
exululatque euhoeque sonat portasque refringit
germanamque rapit; raptaeque insignia Bacchi
induit et vultus hederarum frondibus abdit
attonitamque trahens intra sua moenia ducit.
Ut sensit tetigisse domum Philomela nefandam,
horruit infelix totoque expalluit ore.
Nacta locum Procne sacrorum pignera demit
oraque develat miserae pudibunda sororis
amplexumque petit. Sed non attollere contra
sustinet haec oculos, paelex sibi visa sororis,
deiectoque in humum vultu iurare volenti
testarique deos, per vim sibi dedecus illud
illatum, pro voce manus fuit. Ardet et iram
non capit ipsa suam Procne; fletumque sororis
corripiens “non est lacrimis hoc” inquit “agendum,
sed ferro, sed si quid habes, quod vincere ferrum
possit. In omne nefas ego me, germana, paravi.
Aut ego, cum facibus regalia tecta cremabo,
artificem mediis inmittam Terea flammis,
aut linguam, aut oculos et quae tibi membra pudorem
abstulerunt, ferro rapiam, aut per vulnera mille
sontem animam expellam. Magnum quodcumque paravi:
quid sit, adhuc dubito.” Peragit dum talia Procne,
ad matrem veniebat Itys. Quid possit, ab illo
admonita est: oculisque tuens inmitibus “a quam
es similis patri” dixit. Nec plura locuta
triste parat facinus tacitaque exaestuat ira.
Ut tamen accessit natus matrique salutem
attulit et parvis adduxit colla lacertis
mixtaque blanditiis puerilibus oscula iunxit,
mota quidem est genetrix infractaque constitit ira
invitique oculi lacrimis maduere coactis:
sed simul ex nimia mentem pietate labare
sensit, ab hoc iterum est ad vultus versa sororis
inque vicem spectans ambos “cur admovet” inquit
“alter blanditias, rapta silet altera lingua?
Quam vocat hic matrem, cur non vocat illa sororem?
Cui sis nupta, vide, Pandione nata, marito.
Degeneras: scelus est pietas in coniuge Tereo.”
Nec mora, traxit Ityn, veluti Gangetica cervae
lactentem fetum per silvas tigris opacas.
Utque domus altae partem tenuere remotam,
tendentemque manus et iam sua fata videntem
et “mater, mater” clamantem et colla petentem
ense ferit Procne, lateri qua pectus adhaeret,
nec vultum vertit. Satis illi ad fata vel unum
vulnus erat: iugulum ferro Philomela resolvit.
Vivaque adhuc animaeque aliquid retinentia membra
dilaniant. Pars inde cavis exsultat aenis,
pars veribus stridunt: manant penetralia tabo.
His adhibet coniunx ignarum Terea mensis
et patrii moris sacrum mentita, quod uni
fas sit adire viro, comites famulosque removit.
Ipse sedens solio Tereus sublimis avito
vescitur inque suam sua viscera congerit alvum.
Tantaque nox animi est, “Ityn huc accersite” dixit.
Dissimulare nequit crudelia gaudia Procne,
iamque suae cupiens exsistere nuntia cladis,
“intus habes, quem poscis” ait. Circumspicit ille
atque ubi sit quaerit. Quaerenti iterumque vocanti,
sicut erat sparsis furiali caede capillis,
prosiluit Ityosque caput Philomela cruentum
misit in ora patris: nec tempore maluit ullo
posse loqui et mentis testari gaudia dictis.
Thracius ingenti mensas clamore repellit
vipereasque ciet Stygia de valle sorores;
et modo, si posset reserato pectore diras
egerere inde dapes inmersaque viscera gestit,
flet modo seque vocat bustum miserabile nati,
nunc sequitur nudo genitas Pandione ferro.
Corpora Cecropidum pennis pendere putares:
pendebant pennis. Quarum petit altera silvas,
altera tecta subit; neque adhuc de pectore caedis
excessere notae, signataque sanguine pluma est.
Ille dolore suo poenaeque cupidine velox
vertitur in volucrem, cui stant in vertice cristae;
prominet inmodicum pro longa cuspide rostrum:
nomen epops volucri, facies armata videtur.

[¶4] Before the number of his years was told,
Pandion with the shades of Tartarus,
because of this, has wandered in sad dooms.
Erectheus, next in line, with mighty sway
and justice, ruled all Athens on the throne
left vacant by the good Pandion's death.
Four daughters and four sons were granted him;
and of his daughters, two were beautiful,
and one of these was wed to Cephalus,
grandson of Aeolus. — But mighty Boreas
desired the hand of Orithyia, fair
and lovable.—King Tereus and the Thracians
were then such obstacles to Boreas
the god was long kept from his dear beloved.
Although the great king (who compels the cold
north-wind) had sought with prayers to win her hand,
and urged his love in gentleness, not force.
When quite aware his wishes were disdained,
he roughly said, with customary rage
and violence: “Away with sentimental talk!
My prayers and kind intentions are despised,
but I should blame nobody but myself;
then why should I, despising my great strength,
debase myself to weakness and soft prayers?—
might is my right, and violence my strength!—
by force I drive the force of gloomy clouds.
“Tremendous actions are the wine of life!—
monarch of Violence, rolling on clouds,
I toss wide waters, and I fell huge trees—
knotted old oaks—and whirled upon ice-wings,
I scatter the light snow, and pelt the Earth
with sleet and hail! I rush through boundless voids.
My thunders rumble in the hollow clouds—
and crash upon my brothers—fire to fire!
“Possessed of daemon-rage, I penetrate,
sheer to the utmost caverns of old Earth;
and straining, up from those unfathomed deeps,
scatter the terror-stricken shades of hell;
and hurl death-dealing earthquakes through the world!
“Such are the fateful powers I should use,
and never trust entreaties to prevail,
or win my bride—Force is the law of life!”
And now impetuous Boreas, having howled
resounding words, unrolled his rustling wings—
that fan the earth and ruffle the wide sea—
and, swiftly wrapping untrod mountain peaks
in whirling mantles of far-woven dust,
thence downward hovered to the darkened world;
and, canopied in artificial night
of swarthy overshadowing wings, caught up
the trembling Orithyia to his breast:
nor did he hesitate in airy course
until his huge wings fanned the chilling winds
around Ciconian Walls.
There, she was pledged
the wife of that cold, northern king of storms;
and unto him she gave those hero twins,
endowed with wings of their immortal sire,
and graceful in their mother's form and face.
Their bird-like wings were not fledged at their birth
and those twin boys, Zetes and Calais,
at first were void of feathers and soft down.
But when their golden hair and beards were grown,
wings like an eagle's came;—and feather-down
grew golden on their cheeks: and when from youth
they entered manhood, quick they were to join
the Argonauts, who for the Golden Fleece,
sought in that first ship, ventured on the sea.

> Latin: Hic dolor ante diem longaeque extrema senectae
tempora Tartareas Pandiona misit ad umbras.
Sceptra loci rerumque capit moderamen Erechtheus,
iustitia dubium validisne potentior armis.
Quattuor ille quidem iuvenes totidemque crearat
femineae sortis: sed erat par forma duarum.
E quibus Aeolides Cephalus te coniuge felix,
Procri, fuit; Boreae Tereus Thracesque nocebant,
dilectaque diu caruit deus Orithyia,
dum rogat et precibus mavult quam viribus uti.
Ast ubi blanditiis agitur nihil, horridus ira,
quae solita est illi nimiumque domestica vento,
“et merito!” dixit: “quid enim mea tela reliqui,
saevitiam et vires iramque animosque minaces,
admovique preces, quarum me dedecet usus?
Apta mihi vis est: vi tristia nubila pello,
vi freta concutio nodosaque robora verto
induroque nives et terras grandine pulso.
Idem ego cum fratres caelo sum nactus aperto
(nam mihi campus is est), tanto molimine luctor,
ut medius nostris concursibus insonet aether
exsiliantque cavis elisi nubibus ignes.
Idem ego cum subii convexa foramina terrae
supposuique ferox imis mea terga cavernis,
sollicito manes totumque tremoribus orbem.
Hac ope debueram thalamos petiisse, socerque
non orandus erat, vi sed faciendus Erechtheus.”
Haec Boreas aut his non inferiora locutus
excussit pennas: quarum iactatibus omnis
adflata est tellus latumque perhorruit aequor.
Pulvereamque trahens per summa cacumina pallam
verrit humum pavidamque metu caligine tectus
Orithyian amans fulvis amplectitur alis.
Dum volat, arserunt agitati fortius ignes.
Nec prius aerii cursus suppressit habenas,
quam Ciconum tenuit populos et moenia raptor.
Illic et gelidi coniunx Actaea tyranni
et genetrix facta est, partus enixa gemellos,
cetera qui matris, pennas genitoris haberent.
Non tamen has una memorant cum corpore natas,
barbaque dum rutilis aberat subnixa capillis,
implumes Calaisque puer Zetesque fuerunt.
Mox pariter pennae ritu coepere volucrum
cingere utrumque latus, pariter flavescere malae.
Ergo ubi concessit tempus puerile iuventae,
vellera cum Minyis nitido radiantia villo
per mare non notum prima petiere carina.