So he related how the clowns were changedto leaping frogs; and after he was through,another told the tale of Marsyas, in these words:The Satyr Marsyas, when he played the flutein rivalry against Apollo's lyre,lost that audacious contest and, alas!His life was forfeit; for, they had agreedthe 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, hisloved 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 dripthe 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 banksdown to the sea: and, therefore, from his name,'Tis called “The Marsyas” to this very day.And after this was told, the people turnedand 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 barehis white left shoulder, you could see the partcomposed of ivory.—At his birth 'twas allof healthy flesh; but when his father cuthis limbs asunder, and the Gods restoredhis life, all parts were rightly joined, exceptpart of one shoulder, which was wanting; soto serve the purpose of the missing flesh,a piece of ivory was inserted there,making his body by such means complete.
Sic ubi nescio quis Lycia de gente virorumrettulit exitium, satyri reminiscitur alter,quem Tritoniaca Latous harundine victumadfecit 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 ullapelle micant venae; salientia viscera posseset perlucentes numerare in pectore fibras.Illum ruricolae, silvarum numina, fauniet satyri fratres et tunc quoque carus Olympuset nymphae flerunt, et quisquis montibus illislanigerosque greges armentaque bucera pavit.Fertilis inmaduit madefactaque terra caducasconcepit lacrimas ac venis perbibit imis;quas ubi fecit aquam, vacuas emisit in auras.Inde petens rapidum ripis declivibus aequorMarsya nomen habet, Phrygiae liquidissimus amnis.Talibus extemplo redit ad praesentia dictisvulgus et exstinctum cum stirpe Amphiona luget.Mater in invidia est. Hanc tunc quoque dicitur unusflesse Pelops, umeroque, suas a pectore postquamdeduxit vestes ebur ostendisse sinistro.Concolor hic umerus nascendi tempore dextrocorporeusque fuit: manibus mox caesa paternismembra ferunt iunxisse deos; aliisque repertis,qui locus est iuguli medius summique lacerti,defuit. Impositum est non comparentis in usumpartis ebur, factoque Pelops fuit integer illo.
The lords of many cities that were near,now met together and implored their kingsto mourn with Pelops those unhappy deeds.—The lords of Argos; Sparta and Mycenae;and Calydon, before it had incurredthe hatred of Diana, goddess of the chase;fertile Orchomenus and Corinth, greatin wealth of brass; Patrae and fierce Messena;Cleone, small; and Pylus and Troezen,not ruled by Pittheus then,—and also, allthe other cities which are shut off bythe Isthmus there dividing by its two seas,and all the cities which are seen from there.What seemed most wonderful, of all those townsAthens alone was wanting, for a warhad gathered from the distant seas, a hostof 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 defensefrom that fierce horde; and there by his great deedsachieved a glorious fame. Since his descentwas boasted from the mighty Gradivus,and he was gifted with enormous wealth,Pandion, king of Athens, gave to himin sacred wedlock his dear daughter, Procne.But Juno, guardian of the sacred ritesattended not, nor Hymenaeus, northe Graces. But the Furies snatched up brandsfrom burning funeral pyres, and brandished themas 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 gloomon all the household till the fateful birthof 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 usour future woes.Now Titan had drawn forththe changing seasons through five autumns, when,in gentle accents, Procne spoke these words:“My dearest husband, if you love me, letme visit my dear sister, or consentthat she may come to us and promise herthat she may soon return. If you will butpermit me to enjoy her companymy heart will bless you as I bless the Gods.”At once the monarch ordered his long shipsto launch upon the sea; and driven by sail,and hastened by the swiftly sweeping oars,they entered the deep port of Athens, wherehe made fair landing on the fortifiedPiraeus. There, when time was opportuneto 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 returnfrom a brief visit, when Philomela appearedrich in her costly raiment, yet more richin charm and beauty, just as if a fairDryad or Naiad should be so attired,appearing radiant, from dark solitudes.As if someone should kindle whitening cornor the dry leaves, or hay piled in a stack;so Tereus, when he saw the beautifuland blushing virgin, was consumed with love.Her modest beauty was a worthy causeof worthy love; but by his heritage,derived from a debasing clime, his lovewas base; and fires unholy burned withinfrom his own lawless nature, just as fierceas 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 evenher virtue with large presents: he would wastehis kingdom in the effort.—He preparedto seize her at the risk of cruel war.And he would do or dare all things to feedhis 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 waysare harbored in the hearts of mortals! Throughhis villainous desire he gathered praise,and many lauded him for the great lovehe bore his wife.And even Philomeladesires her own undoing; and with fondembraces nestles to her father, whileshe pleads for his consent, that she may goto visit her dear sister.—Tereus viewedher 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 eachcaress was his; and so his fire increased.He even wished he were her father; though,if it were so, his passion would no lessbe impious.—Overcome at last by theseentreaties, her kind father gave consent.Greatly she joyed and thanked him for her ownmisfortune. She imagined a success,instead of all the sorrow that would come.The day declining, little of his toilremained for Phoebus. Now his flaming steedswere beating with their hoofs the downward slopeof high Olympus; and the regal feastwas set before the guests, and flashing winewas poured in golden vessels, and the feastwent merrily, until the satisfiedassembly sought in gentle sleep their rest.Not so, the love-hot Tereus, king of Thrace,who, sleepless, imaged in his doting mindthe form of Philomela, recalled the shapeof her fair hands, and in his memoryreviewed her movements. And his flaming heartpictured her beauties yet unseen.—He fedhis frenzy on itself, and could not sleep.Fair broke the day; and now the ancient king,Pandion, took his son-in-law's right handto 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, compelsmy sad approval. You have begged for her,and both my daughters have persuaded me.Wherefore, I do entreat you and imploreyour honor, as I call upon the Gods,that you will ever shield her with the loveof a kind father and return her safe,as soon as may be—my last comfort givento bless my doting age. And all delaywill agitate and vex my failing heart.“And, O my dearest daughter, Philomela,if you have any love for me, returnwithout too long delay and comfort me,lest I may grieve; for it is quite enoughthat I should suffer while your sister stays away.”
Finitimi proceres coeunt, urbesque propinquaeoravere suos ire ad solacia reges,Argosque et Sparte Pelopeiadesque Mycenaeet nondum torvae Calydon invisa DianaeOrchomenosque ferax et nobilis aere CorinthusMesseneque ferox Patraeque humilesque Cleonaeet Nelea Pylos, neque adhuc Pittheia Troezen,quaeque urbes aliae bimari clauduntur ab Isthmoexteriusque sitae bimari spectantur ab Isthmo.Credere quis posset? solae cessastis Athenae.Obstitit officio bellum, subvectaque pontobarbara Mopsopios terrebant agmina muros.Threicius Tereus haec auxiliaribus armisfuderat et clarum vincendo nomen habebat.Quem sibi Pandion opibusque virisque potentemet genus a magno ducentem forte Gradivoconubio Procnes iunxit. Non pronuba Iuno,non Hymenaeus adest, non illi Gratia lecto.Eumenides tenuere faces de funere raptas,Eumenides stravere torum, tectoque profanusincubuit bubo thalamique in culmine sedit.Hac ave coniuncti Procne Tereusque, parenteshac ave sunt facti. Gratata est scilicet illisThracia, 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 Titanquinque 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 parvopromittes socero: magni mihi muneris instargermanam vidisse dabis.” Iubet ille carinasin freta deduci veloque et remige portusCecropios intrat Piraeaque litora tangit.Ut primum soceri data copia, dextera dextraeiungitur, et fausto committitur omine sermo.Coeperat adventus causam, mandata referreconiugis et celeres missae spondere recursus:ecce venit magno dives Philomela paratu,divitior forma: quales audire solemusnaidas 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 libidoexstimulat, pronumque genus regionibus illisin venerem est: flagrat vitio gentisque suoque.Impetus est illi comitum corrumpere curamnutricisque fidem, nec non ingentibus ipsamsollicitare datis totumque impendere regnum,aut rapere et saevo raptam defendere bello—,et nihil est quod non effreno captus amoreausit nec capiunt inclusas pectora flammas.Iamque moras male fert cupidoque revertitur oread mandata Procnes, et agit sua vota sub illa.Facundum faciebat amor: quotiensque rogabatulterius iusto Procnen ita velle ferebat.Addidit et lacrimas, tamquam mandasset et illas.Pro superi, quantum mortalia pectora caecaenoctis habent! ipso sceleris molimine Tereuscreditur esse pius laudemque a crimine sumit.Quid quod idem Philomela cupit patriosque lacertisblanda tenens umeros, ut eat visura sororem,perque suam contraque suam petit ipsa salutem.Spectat eam Tereus praecontrectatque videndoosculaque et collo circumdata bracchia cernensomnia pro stimulis facibusque ciboque furorisaccipit; et quotiens amplectitur illa parentem,esse parens vellet: neque enim minus impius esset.Vincitur ambarum genitor prece. Gaudet agitqueilla patri grates et successisse duabusid putat infelix, quod erit lugubre duabus.Iam labor exiguus Phoebo restabat, equiquepulsabant pedibus spatium declivis Olympi:regales epulae mensis et Bacchus in auroponitur; hinc placido dantur sua corpora somno.At rex Odrysius, quamvis secessit, in illaaestuat, et, repetens faciem motusque manusque,qualia vult fingit quae nondum vidit, et ignesipse suos nutrit, cura removente soporem.Lux erat, et generi dextram complexus euntisPandion comitem lacrimis commendat obortis:“Hanc ego, care gener, quoniam pia causa coegitet voluere ambae, voluisti tu quoque, Tereu,do tibi, perque fidem cognataque pectora supplex,per superos oro, patrio ut tuearis amoreet mihi sollicitae lenimen dulce senectaequam primum (omnis erit nobis mora longa) remittas.Tu quoque quam primum (satis est procul esse sororem)si pietas ulla est, ad me, Philomela, redito.”
The old king made them promise, and he kissedhis daughter, while he wept. Then did he jointheir hands in pledge of their fidelity,and, as he gave his blessing, cautioned themto kiss his absent daughter and her sonfor his dear sake. Then as he spoke a lastfarewell, his trembling voice was filled with sobs.And he could hardly speak;—for a great fearfrom some vague intuition of his mind,surged over him, and he was left forlorn.So soon as Philomela was safe aboardthe painted ship and as the sailors urgedthe swiftly gliding keel across the deepand the dim land fast-faded from their view,then Tereus, in exultant humor, thought,“Now all is well, the object of my lovesails with me while the sailors ply the oars.”,He scarcely could control his barbarousdesire—with difficulty stayed his lust,he followed all her actions with hot eyes. —So, when the ravenous bird of Jupiterhas caught with crooked talons the poor hare,and dropped it—ruthless,—in his lofty nest,where there is no escape, his cruel eyesgloat 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. Thenhe hastened with the frightened Philomelainto most wild and silent solitudesof an old forest; where, concealed amongdeep thickets a forbidding old house stood:there he immured the pale and trembling maid,who, vainly in her fright, began to callupon her absent sister,—and her tearsimplored his pity. His obdurate mindcould not be softened by such piteous cries;but even while her agonizing screamsimplored 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 jawsof 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 hawkfrom 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 withoutall honor, so to spoil virginitynow 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 mebefore your criminal embrace befouledmy purity, I should have had a shadeentirely 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 wrongand 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 woodand 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 deedmight shock his kingdom: and, roused at onceby rage and guilty fear; he seized her hair,forced her weak arms against her back, and boundthem 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 rootstill quivered, but the bleeding tongue itself,fell murmuring on the blood-stained floor. As the tailof 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 kingreturned to Procne, who, when she first mether brutal husband, anxiously inquiredfor tidings of her sister; but with sighsand tears, he told a false tale of her death,and with such woe that all believed it true.Then Procne, full of lamentation, tookher royal robe, bordered with purest gold,and putting it away, assumed insteadgarments of sable mourning; and she builta noble sepulchre, and offered thereher 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 housewere built of massive stone, and guards aroundprevented flight; and mutilated, shecould not communicate with anyoneto tell her injuries and tragic woe.But even in despair and utmost grief,there is an ingenuity which givesinventive genius to protect from harm:and now, the grief-distracted Philomelawove in a warp with purple marks and white,a story of the crime; and when 'twas doneshe gave it to her one attendant thereand begged her by appropriate signs to takeit secretly to Procne. She took the web,she carried it to Procne, with no thoughtof words or messages by art conveyed.The wife of that inhuman tyrant tookthe cloth, and after she unwrapped it sawand understood the mournful record sent.She pondered it in silence and her tonguecould find no words to utter her despair;—her grief and frenzy were too great for tears.—In a mad rage her rapid mind counfoundedthe right and wrong—intent upon revenge.
Mandabat pariterque suae dabat oscula natae,et lacrimae mites inter mandata cadebant.Utque fide pignus dextras utriusque poposcitinter seque datas iunxit natamque nepotemqueabsentes pro se memori rogat ore salutent;supremumque vale pleno singultibus orevix 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 differtbarbarus et nusquam lumen detorquet ab illa,non aliter, quam cum pedibus praedator obuncisdeposuit nido leporem Iovis ales in alto:nulla fuga est capto, spectat sua praemia raptor.Iamque iter effectum, iamque in sua litora fessispuppibus exierant, cum rex Pandione natamin stabula alta trahit, silvis obscura vetustis,atque ibi pallentem trepidamque et cuncta timentemet iam cum lacrimis, ubi sit germana, rogantemincludit: fassusque nefas et virginem et unamvi superat frustra clamato saepe parente,saepe sorore sua, magnis super omnia divis.Illa tremit velut agna pavens, quae saucia caniore excussa lupi nondum sibi tuta videtur,utque columba suo madefactis sanguine plumishorret 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 parentiscum lacrimis movere piis nec cura sororisnec 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 nefandosconcubitus vacuas habuissem criminis umbras.Si tamen haec superi cernunt, si numina divumsunt aliquid, si non perierunt omnia mecum,quandocumque mihi poenas dabis. Ipsa pudoreproiecto 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 tyranninec minor hac metus est, causa stimulatus utraquequo fuit accinctus, vagina liberat ensemarreptamque coma flexis post terga lacertisvincla pati cogit. Iugulum Philomela parabatspemque suae mortis viso conceperat ense:ille indignantem et nomen patris usque vocantemluctantemque loqui comprensam forcipe linguamabstulit 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) fertursaepe sua lacerum repetisse libidine corpus.Sustinet ad Procnen post talia facta reverti.Coniuge quae viso germanam quaerit: at illedat gemitus fictos commentaque funera narrat,et lacrimae fecere fidem. Velamima Procnederipit ex umeris auro fulgentia latoinduiturque atras vestes et inane sepulcrumconstituit falsisque piacula manibus infertet 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 dolorisingenium est, miserisque venit sollertia rebus.Stamina barbarica suspendit callida telapurpureasque notas filis intexuit albis,indicium sceleris; perfectaque tradidit uni,utque ferat dominae gestu rogat: illa rogatapertulit ad Procnen, nec scit, quid tradat in illis.Evolvit vestes saevi matrona tyrannifortunaeque suae carmen miserabile legitet (mirum potuisse) silet. Dolor ora repressit,verbaque quaerenti satis indignantia linguaedefuerunt; nec flere vacat, sed fasque nefasqueconfusura ruit, poenaeque in imagine tota est.
Since it was now the time of festival,when all the Thracian matrons celebratethe rites of Bacchus—every third year thus—night then was in their secret; and at nightthe slopes of Rhodope resounded loudwith clashing of shrill cymbals. So, at nightthe frantic queen of Tereus left her homeand, clothed according to the well known ritesof 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 rushedthrough the dark woods, attended by a hostof screaming followers, and wild with rage,pretended it was Bacchus urged her forth.At last she reached the lonely building, whereher sister, Philomela, was immured;and as she howled and shouted “Ee-woh-ee-e!”,She forced the massive doors; and having seizedher sister, instantly concealed her facein ivy leaves, arrayed her in the trappingsof Bacchanalian rites. When this was done,they rushed from there, demented, to the housewhere as the Queen of Tereus, Procne dwelt.When Philomela knew she had arrivedat 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 tookthe symbols, Bacchanalian, from her then,and as she held her in a strict embraceunveiled her downcast head. But she refusedto lift her eyes, and fixing her sad gazeon vacant space, she raised her hand, instead;as if in oath she called upon the Godsto 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 deedsdemand a great revenge—take up the sword,and any weapon fiercer than its edge!My breast is hardened to the worst of crimemake haste with me! together let us putthis 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 woundsa thousand.—Slaughter him with every deathimagined 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 eyesconceiving a dark punishment, she said,“Aha! here comes the image of his father!”She gave no other warning, but preparedto execute a horrible revenge.But when the tender child came up to her,and called her “mother”, put his little armsaround her neck, and when he smiled and kissedher often, gracious in his cunning ways,—again the instinct of true motherhoodpulsed in her veins, and moved to pity, shebegan to weep in spite of her resolve.Feeling the tender impulse of her loveunnerving her, she turned her eyes from himand looked upon her sister, and from herglanced at her darling boy again. And so,while she was looking at them both, by turns,she said, “Why does the little one prevailwith pretty words, while Philomela standsin silence always, with her tongue torn out?She cannot call her sister, whom he callshis 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 swiftas 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 boyto a most lonely section of the house;and there she put him to the cruel sword,while he, aware of his sad fate, stretched forthhis 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 badeher 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 thronehigh in imagined state, devoured his son,and gorged himself with flesh of his own flesh—and in his rage of gluttony called outfor 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 havethe thing that you are asking for!” — Amazed,he looked around and called his son again:—that instant, Philomela sprang forth—her hairdisordered, and all stained with blood of murder,unable then to speak, she hurled the headof 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 disgorgethe 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 flewstraight to the sheltering gables of a roof—and always, if you look, you can observethe brand of murder on the swallow's breast—red feathers from that day. And Tereus, swiftin his great agitation, and his willto wreak a fierce revenge, himself is turnedinto a crested bird. His long, sharp beakis given him instead of a long sword,and so, because his beak is long and sharp,he rightly bears the name of Hoopoe.
Tempus erat, quo sacra solent trieterica BacchiSithoniae celebrare nurus: nox conscia sacris.Nocte sonat Rhodope tinnitibus aeris acuti,nocte sua est egressa domo regina deiqueritibus instruitur furialiaque accipit arma.Vite caput tegitur, lateri cervina sinistrovellera dependent, umero levis incubat hasta.Concita per silvas turba comitante suarumterribilis Procne furiisque agitata doloris,Bacche, tuas simulat. Venit ad stabula avia tandemexululatque euhoeque sonat portasque refringitgermanamque rapit; raptaeque insignia Bacchiinduit et vultus hederarum frondibus abditattonitamque trahens intra sua moenia ducit.Ut sensit tetigisse domum Philomela nefandam,horruit infelix totoque expalluit ore.Nacta locum Procne sacrorum pignera demitoraque develat miserae pudibunda sororisamplexumque petit. Sed non attollere contrasustinet haec oculos, paelex sibi visa sororis,deiectoque in humum vultu iurare volentitestarique deos, per vim sibi dedecus illudillatum, pro voce manus fuit. Ardet et iramnon capit ipsa suam Procne; fletumque sororiscorripiens “non est lacrimis hoc” inquit “agendum,sed ferro, sed si quid habes, quod vincere ferrumpossit. 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 pudoremabstulerunt, ferro rapiam, aut per vulnera millesontem animam expellam. Magnum quodcumque paravi:quid sit, adhuc dubito.” Peragit dum talia Procne,ad matrem veniebat Itys. Quid possit, ab illoadmonita est: oculisque tuens inmitibus “a quames similis patri” dixit. Nec plura locutatriste parat facinus tacitaque exaestuat ira.Ut tamen accessit natus matrique salutemattulit et parvis adduxit colla lacertismixtaque blanditiis puerilibus oscula iunxit,mota quidem est genetrix infractaque constitit irainvitique oculi lacrimis maduere coactis:sed simul ex nimia mentem pietate labaresensit, ab hoc iterum est ad vultus versa sororisinque 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 cervaelactentem fetum per silvas tigris opacas.Utque domus altae partem tenuere remotam,tendentemque manus et iam sua fata videntemet “mater, mater” clamantem et colla petentemense ferit Procne, lateri qua pectus adhaeret,nec vultum vertit. Satis illi ad fata vel unumvulnus erat: iugulum ferro Philomela resolvit.Vivaque adhuc animaeque aliquid retinentia membradilaniant. Pars inde cavis exsultat aenis,pars veribus stridunt: manant penetralia tabo.His adhibet coniunx ignarum Terea mensiset patrii moris sacrum mentita, quod unifas sit adire viro, comites famulosque removit.Ipse sedens solio Tereus sublimis avitovescitur 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 illeatque ubi sit quaerit. Quaerenti iterumque vocanti,sicut erat sparsis furiali caede capillis,prosiluit Ityosque caput Philomela cruentummisit in ora patris: nec tempore maluit ulloposse loqui et mentis testari gaudia dictis.Thracius ingenti mensas clamore repellitvipereasque ciet Stygia de valle sorores;et modo, si posset reserato pectore dirasegerere 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 caedisexcessere notae, signataque sanguine pluma est.Ille dolore suo poenaeque cupidine veloxvertitur in volucrem, cui stant in vertice cristae;prominet inmodicum pro longa cuspide rostrum:nomen epops volucri, facies armata videtur.
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 swayand justice, ruled all Athens on the throneleft 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 Boreasdesired the hand of Orithyia, fairand lovable.—King Tereus and the Thracianswere then such obstacles to Boreasthe god was long kept from his dear beloved.Although the great king (who compels the coldnorth-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 rageand 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 Earthwith 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 howledresounding words, unrolled his rustling wings—that fan the earth and ruffle the wide sea—and, swiftly wrapping untrod mountain peaksin whirling mantles of far-woven dust,thence downward hovered to the darkened world;and, canopied in artificial nightof swarthy overshadowing wings, caught upthe trembling Orithyia to his breast:nor did he hesitate in airy courseuntil his huge wings fanned the chilling windsaround Ciconian Walls.There, she was pledgedthe 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 birthand 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-downgrew golden on their cheeks: and when from youththey entered manhood, quick they were to jointhe Argonauts, who for the Golden Fleece,sought in that first ship, ventured on the sea.
Hic dolor ante diem longaeque extrema senectaetempora Tartareas Pandiona misit ad umbras.Sceptra loci rerumque capit moderamen Erechtheus,iustitia dubium validisne potentior armis.Quattuor ille quidem iuvenes totidemque crearatfemineae 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 vertoinduroque 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 aetherexsiliantque cavis elisi nubibus ignes.Idem ego cum subii convexa foramina terraesupposuique ferox imis mea terga cavernis,sollicito manes totumque tremoribus orbem.Hac ope debueram thalamos petiisse, socerquenon orandus erat, vi sed faciendus Erechtheus.”Haec Boreas aut his non inferiora locutusexcussit pennas: quarum iactatibus omnisadflata est tellus latumque perhorruit aequor.Pulvereamque trahens per summa cacumina pallamverrit humum pavidamque metu caligine tectusOrithyian 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 tyranniet 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 volucrumcingere utrumque latus, pariter flavescere malae.Ergo ubi concessit tempus puerile iuventae,vellera cum Minyis nitido radiantia villoper mare non notum prima petiere carina.