Time gliding by without our knowledge cheats us,and nothing can be swifter than the years.That son of sister and grandfather, whowas lately hidden in his parent tree,just lately born, a lovely baby-boyis now a youth, now man more beautifulthan during growth. He wins the love of Venusand so avenges his own mother's passion.For while the goddess' son with quiver heldon shoulder, once was kissing his loved mother,it chanced unwittingly he grazed her breastwith a projecting arrow. Instantlythe wounded goddess pushed her son away;but the scratch had pierced her deeper than she thoughtand even Venus was at first deceived.Delighted with the beauty of the youth,she does not think of her Cytherian shoresand does not care for Paphos, which is girtby the deep sea, nor Cnidos, haunts of fish,nor Amathus far-famed for precious ores.Venus, neglecting heaven, prefers Adonisto heaven, and so she holds close to his waysas his companion, and forgets to restat noon-day in the shade, neglecting careof her sweet beauty. She goes through the woods,and over mountain ridges and wild fields,rocky and thorn-set, bare to her white kneesafter Diana's manner. And she cheersthe hounds, intent to hunt for harmless prey,such as the leaping hare, or the wild stag,high-crowned with branching antlers, or the doe.—she keeps away from fierce wild boars, awayfrom ravenous wolves; and she avoids the bearsof frightful claws, and lions glutted withthe blood of slaughtered cattle.She warns you,Adonis, to beware and fear them. If her fearsfor you were only heeded! “Oh be brave,”she says, “against those timid animalswhich fly from you; but courage is not safeagainst the bold. Dear boy, do not be rash,do not attack the wild beasts which are armedby nature, lest your glory may cost megreat sorrow. Neither youth nor beauty northe deeds which have moved Venus have effecton lions, bristling boars, and on the eyesand tempers of wild beasts. Boars have the forceof lightning in their curved tusks, and the rageof tawny lions is unlimited.I fear and hate them all.”When he inquiresthe reason, she says: “I will tell it; youwill be surprised to learn the bad resultcaused by an ancient crime.—But I am wearywith unaccustomed toil; and see! a poplarconvenient, offers a delightful shadeand this lawn gives a good couch. Let us restourselves here on the grass.” So saying, shereclined upon the turf and, pillowingher head against his breast and mingling kisseswith her words, she told him the following tale:
Labitur occulte fallitque volatilis aetas,et nihil est annis velocius. Ille sororenatus avoque suo, qui conditus arbore nuper,nuper erat genitus, modo formosissimus infans,iam iuvenis, iam vir, iam se formosior ipso est:iam placet et Veneri matrisque ulciscitur ignes.Namque pharetratus dum dat puer oscula matri,inscius exstanti destrinxit harundine pectus.Laesa manu natum dea reppulit. Altius actumvulnus erat specie primoque fefellerat ipsam.Capta viri forma non iam Cythereia curatlitora, non alto repetit Paphon aequore cinctampiscosamque Gnidon gravidamve Amathunta metallis;abstinet et caelo: caelo praefertur Adonis.Hunc tenet, huic comes est; adsuetaque semper in umbraindulgere sibi formamque augere colendoper iuga, per silvas dumosaque saxa vagaturfine genu vestem ritu succincta Dianaehortaturque canes; tutaeque animalia praedae,aut pronos lepores aut celsum in cornua cervum,aut agitat dammas: a fortibus abstinet aprisraptoresque lupos armatosque unguibus ursosvitat et armenti saturatos caede leones.Te quoque, ut hos timeas, siquid prodesse monendopossit, Adoni, monet, “fortis” que “fugacibus esto”inquit “in audaces non est audacia tuta.Parce meo, iuvenis, temerarius esse periclo,neve feras, quibus arma dedit natura, lacesse,stet mihi ne magno tua gloria. Non movet aetasnec facies nec quae Venerem movere, leonessaetigerosque sues oculosque animosque ferarum.Fulmen habent acres in aduncis dentibus apri,impetus est fulvis et vasta leonibus ira,invisumque mihi genus est.” Quae causa, roganti“dicam,” ait “et veteris monstrum mirabere culpae.Sed labor insolitus iam me lassavit, et ecceopportuna sua blanditur populus umbra,datque torum caespes; libet hac requiescere tecum”(et requievit) “humo” pressitque et gramen et ipsum,inque sinu iuvenis posita cervice reclinissic ait ac mediis interserit oscula verbis:
Perhaps you may have heard of a swift maid,who ran much faster than swift-footed mencontesting in the race. What they have toldis not an idle tale.—She did excelthem all—and you could not have saidwhether her swift speed or her beauty wasmore worthy of your praise. When this maid onceconsulted with an oracle, of herfate after marriage, the god answered her:“You, Atalanta, never will have needof husband, who will only be your harm.For your best good you should avoid the tie;but surely you will not avoid your harm;and while yet living you will lose yourself.”She was so frightened by the oracle,she lived unwedded in far shaded woods;and with harsh terms repulsed insistent throngsof suitors. “I will not be won,” she said,“Till I am conquered first in speed. Contestthe race with me. A wife and couch shall bothbe given to reward the swift, but deathmust recompense the one who lags behind.This must be the condition of a race.”Indeed she was that pitiless, but suchthe power of beauty, a rash multitudeagreed to her harsh terms.Hippomeneshad come, a stranger, to the cruel race,with condemnation in his heart againstthe racing young men for their headstrong love;and said, “Why seek a wife at such a risk?”But when he saw her face, and perfect formdisrobed for perfect running, such a formas mine, Adonis, or as yours—if youwere woman—he was so astonished heraised up his hands and said, “Oh pardon mebrave men whom I was blaming, I could notthen realize the value of the prizeyou strove for.” And as he is praising her,his own heart leaping with love's fire, he hopesno young man may outstrip her in the race;and, full of envy, fears for the result.“But why,” he cries, “is my chance in the raceuntried? Divinity helps those who dare.”But while the hero weighed it in his mindthe virgin flew as if her feet had wings.Although she seemed to him in flight as swiftas any Scythian arrow, he admiredher beauty more; and her swift speed appearedin her most beautiful. The breeze bore backthe streamers on her flying ankles, whileher hair was tossed back over her white shoulders;the bright trimmed ribbons at her knees were fluttering,and over her white girlish body camea pink flush, just as when a purple awningacross a marble hall gives it a wealthof borrowed hues. And while Hippomenesin wonder gazed at her, the goal was reached;and Atalanta crowned victoriouswith festal wreath.—But all the vanquished youthspaid the death-penalty with sighs and groans,according to the stipulated bond.Not frightened by the fate of those young men,he stood up boldly in the midst of all;and fixing his strong eyes upon the maiden, said:“Where is the glory in an easy victoryover such weaklings? Try your fate with me!If fortune fail to favor you, how couldit shame you to be conquered by a man?Megareus of Onchestus is my father,his grandsire, Neptune, god of all the seas.I am descendant of the King of Waves:and add to this, my name for manly worthhas not disgraced the fame of my descent.If you should prove victorious againstthis combination, you will have achieveda great enduring name—the only onewho ever bested great Hippomenes.”While he was speaking, Atalanta's gazegrew softer, in her vacillating hopesto conquer and be conquered; till at last,her heart, unbalanced, argued in this way:“It must be some god envious of youth,wishing to spoil this one prompts him to seekwedlock with me and risk his own dear life.I am not worth the price, if I may judge.His beauty does not touch me—but I couldbe moved by it—I must consider heis but a boy. It is not he himselfwho moves me, but his youth. Sufficient causefor thought are his great courage and his soulfearless of death. What of his high descent;—great grandson of the King of all the seas?What of his love for me that has such greatimportance, he would perish if his fatedenied my marriage to him? O strange boy,go from me while you can; abandon hopeof this alliance stained with blood—A matchwith me is fatal. Other maids will notrefuse to wed you, and a wiser girlwill gladly seek your love.—But what concernis it of mine, when I but think of thosewho have already perished! Let him lookto it himself; and let him die. Since heis not warned by his knowledge of the fateof many other suitors, he declaresquite plainly, he is weary of his life.—“Shall he then die, because it must be hisone hope to live with me? And suffer deaththough undeserved, for me because he loves?My victory will not ward off the hate,the odium of the deed! But it is nota fault of mine.—Oh fond, fond man, I wouldthat you had never seen me! But you areso madly set upon it, I could wishyou may prove much the swifter! Oh how dearhow lovable is his young girlish face!—ah, doomed Hippomenes, I only wishmischance had never let you see me! Youare truly worthy of a life on earth.If I had been more fortunate, and notdenied a happy marriage day; I wouldnot share my bed with any man but you.”All this the virgin Atalanta said;and knowing nothing of the power of love,she is so ignorant of what she does,she loves and does not know she is in love.Meanwhile her father and the people, allloudly demanded the accustomed race.A suppliant, the young Hippomenesinvoked me with his anxious voice, “I prayto you, O Venus, Queen of Love, be nearand help my daring—smile upon the loveyou have inspired!” The breeze, not envious,wafted this prayer to me; and I confess,it was so tender it did move my heart—I had but little time to give him aid.There is a field there which the natives callthe Field Tamasus—the most prized of allthe fertile lands of Cyprus. This rich field,in ancient days, was set apart for me,by chosen elders who decreed it shouldenrich my temples yearly. In this fieldthere grows a tree, with gleaming golden leaves,and all its branches crackle with bright gold.Since I was coming from there, by some chance,I had three golden apples in my hand,which I had plucked. With them I planned to aidHippomenes. While quite invisibleto all but him, I taught him how to usethose golden apples for his benefit.
“Forsitan audieris aliquam certamine cursusveloces superasse viros. Non fabula rumorille fuit: superabat enim; nec dicere posses,laude pedum formaene bono praestantior esset.Scitanti deus huic de coniuge “coniuge” dixit“nil opus est, Atalanta, tibi: fuge coniugis usum!nec tamen effugies teque ipsa viva carebis.”Territa sorte dei per opacas innuba silvasvivit et instantem turbam violenta procorumcondicione fugat, nec “sum potienda, nisi” inquit“victa prius cursu. Pedibus contendite mecum:praemia veloci coniunx thalamique dabuntur,mors pretium tardis. Ea lex certaminis esto.”Illa quidem inmitis: sed (tanta potentia formae est)venit ad hanc legem temeraria turba procorum.Sederat Hippomenes cursus spectator iniquiet “petitur cuiquam per tanta pericula coniunx?”dixerat ac nimios iuvenum damnarat amores.Ut faciem et posito corpus velamine vidit,quale meum, vel quale tuum, si femina fias,obstipuit tollensque manus “ignoscite,” dixit“quos modo culpavi. Nondum mihi praemia nota,quae peteretis, erant.” Laudando concipit igneset, ne quis iuvenum currat velocius, optatinvidiaque timet. “Sed cur certaminis huiusintemptata mihi fortuna relinquitur?” inquit“audentes deus ipse iuvat.” Dum talia secumexigit Hippomenes, passu volat alite virgo.Quae quamquam Scythica non setius ire sagittaAonio visa est iuveni, tamen ille decoremmiratur magis; et cursus facit ipse decorem.Aura refert ablata citis talaria plantis,tergaque iactantur crines per eburnea, quaequepoplitibus suberant picto genualia limbo;inque puellari corpus candore ruboremtraxerat, haud aliter, quam cum super atria velumcandida purpureum simulatas inficit umbras.Dum notat haec hospes, decursa novissima meta estet tegitur festa victrix Atalanta corona.Dant gemitum victi penduntque ex foedere poenas.Non tamen eventu iuvenis deterritus horumconstitit in medio, vultuque in virgine fixo“quid facilem titulum superando quaeris inertes?mecum confer!” ait. “Seu me fortuna potentemfecerit, a tanto non indignabere vinci:namque mihi genitor Megareus Onchestius, illiest Neptunus avus, pronepos ego regis aquarum,nec virtus citra genus est; seu vincar, habebisHippomene victo magnum et memorabile nomen.”Talia dicentem molli Schoeneia vultuadspicit et dubitat, superari an vincere malit.Atque ita “quis deus hunc formosis” inquit “iniquusperdere vult caraeque iubet discrimine vitaeconiugium petere hoc? Non sum, me iudice, tanti. —Nec forma tangor (poteram tamen hac quoque tangi),sed quod adhuc puer est: non me movet ipse, sed aetas.Quid quod inest virtus et mens interrita leti?Quid quod ab aequorea numeratur origine quartus?Quid quod amat tantique putat conubia nostra,ut pereat, si me fors illi dura negarit?Dum licet, hospes, abi thalamosque relinque cruentos:coniugium crudele meum est. Tibi nubere nullanolet, et optari potes a sapiente puella. —Cur tamen est mihi cura tui tot iam ante peremptis?Viderit! Intereat, quoniam tot caede procorumadmonitus non est agiturque in taedia vitae. —Occidet hic igitur, voluit quia vivere mecum,indignamque necem pretium patietur amoris?Non erit invidiae victoria nostra ferendae.Sed non culpa mea est. Utinam desistere velles,aut, quoniam es demens, utinam velocior esses!A! quam virgineus puerili vultus in ore est!A! miser Hippomene, nollem tibi visa fuissem!Vivere dignus eras. Quod si felicior essem,nec mihi coniugium fata importuna negarent,unus eras, cum quo sociare cubilia vellem.”Dixerat; utque rudis primoque Cupidine tacta,quid facit ignorans, amat et non sentit amorem.Iam solitos poscunt cursus populusque paterque,cum me sollicita proles Neptunia voceinvocat Hippomenes “Cytherea” que “comprecor, ausisadsit” ait “nostris et quos dedit adiuvet ignes.”Detulit aura preces ad me non invida blandas;motaque sum, fateor. Nec opis mora longa dabatur.Est ager, indigenae Tamasenum nomine dicunt,telluris Cypriae pars optima, quam mihi priscisacravere senes templisque accedere dotemhanc iussere meis. Medio nitet arbor in arvo,fulva comas, fulvo ramis crepitantibus auro.Hinc tria forte mea veniens decerpta ferebamaurea poma manu: nullique videnda nisi ipsiHippomenen adii docuique, quis usus in illis.
The trumpet soon gave signal for the raceand both of them crouching flashed quickly forthand skimmed the surface of the sandy coursewith flying feet. You might even think those twocould graze the sea with unwet feet and passover the ripened heads of standing grain.Shouts of applause gave courage to the youth:the cheering multitude cried out to him:—“Now is the time to use your strength. Go on!Hippomenes! Bend to the work! You're sureto win!” It must be doubted who was mostrejoiced by those brave words, Megareus' son,or Schoeneus' daughter. Oh, how often, whenshe could have passed him, she delayed her speed;and after gazing long upon his facereluctantly again would pass him! Nowdry panting breath came from his weary throat—the goal still far away.—Then Neptune's scionthrew one of three gold apples. Atalantawith wonder saw it—eager to possessthe shining fruit, she turned out of her course,picked up the rolling gold. Hippomenespassed by her, while spectators roared applause.Increasing speed, she overcame delay,made up for time lost, and again she leftthe youth behind. She was delayed againbecause he tossed another golden apple.She followed him, and passed him in the race.The last part of the course remained. He cried“Be near me, goddess, while I use your gift.”With youthful might he threw the shining gold,in an oblique direction to the side,so that pursuit would mean a slow return.The virgin seemed to hesitate, in doubtwhether to follow after this third prize.I forced her to turn for it; take it up;and, adding weight to the gold fruit, she held,impeded her with weight and loss of time.For fear my narrative may stretch beyondthe race itself,—the maiden was outstripped;Hippomenes then led his prize away.Adonis, did I not deserve his thankswith tribute of sweet incense? But he wasungrateful, and, forgetful of my help,he gave me neither frankincense nor thanks.Such conduct threw me into sudden wrath,and, fretting at the slight, I felt I mustnot be despised at any future time.I told myself 'twas only right to makea just example of them. They were neara temple, hidden in the forest, whichglorious Echion in remembered timehad built to Rhea, Mother of the gods,in payment of a vow. So, wearied fromthe distance traveled, they were glad to havea needed rest. Hippomenes while there,was seized with love his heart could not control.—a passion caused by my divinity.Quite near the temple was a cave-like place,covered with pumice. It was hallowed byreligious veneration of the past.Within the shadows of that place, a priesthad stationed many wooden imagesof olden gods. The lovers entered thereand desecrated it. The imageswere scandalized, and turned their eyes away.The tower-crowned Mother, Cybele, at firstprepared to plunge the guilty pair beneaththe waves of Styx, but such a punishmentseemed light. And so their necks, that had been smooth.Were covered instantly with tawny manes;their fingers bent to claws; their arms were changedto fore-legs; and their bosoms held their weight;and with their tails they swept the sandy ground.Their casual glance is anger, and insteadof words they utter growls. They haunt the woods,a bridal-room to their ferocious taste.And now fierce lions they are terribleto all of life; except to Cybele;whose harness has subdued their champing jaws.My dear Adonis keep away from allsuch savage animals; avoid all thosewhich do not turn their fearful backs in flightbut offer their bold breasts to your attack,lest courage should be fatal to us both.Indeed she warned him. — Harnessing her swans,she traveled swiftly through the yielding air;but his rash courage would not heed advice.By chance his dogs, which followed a sure track,aroused a wild boar from his hiding place;and, as he rushed out from his forest lair,Adonis pierced him with a glancing stroke.Infuriate, the fierce boar's curved snoutfirst struck the spear-shaft from his bleeding side;and, while the trembling youth was seeking whereto find a safe retreat, the savage beastraced after him, until at last he sankhis deadly tusk deep in Adonis' groin;and stretched him dying on the yellow sand.And now sweet Aphrodite, borne through airin her light chariot, had not yet arrivedat Cyprus, on the wings of her white swans.Afar she recognized his dying groans,and turned her white birds towards the sound. And whendown looking from the lofty sky, she sawhim nearly dead, his body bathed in blood,she leaped down—tore her garment—tore her hair —and beat her bosom with distracted hands.And blaming Fate said, “But not everythingis at the mercy of your cruel power.My sorrow for Adonis will remain,enduring as a lasting monument.Each passing year the memory of his deathshall cause an imitation of my grief.“Your blood, Adonis, will become a flowerperennial. Was it not allowed to youPersephone, to transform Menthe's limbsinto sweet fragrant mint? And can this changeof my loved hero be denied to me?”Her grief declared, she sprinkled his blood withsweet-smelling nectar, and his blood as soonas touched by it began to effervesce,just as transparent bubbles always risein rainy weather. Nor was there a pausemore than an hour, when from Adonis, blood,exactly of its color, a loved flowersprang up, such as pomegranates give to us,small trees which later hide their seeds beneatha tough rind. But the joy it gives to manis short-lived, for the winds which give the flowerits name, Anemone, shake it right down,because its slender hold, always so weak,lets it fall to the ground from its frail stem.
Signa tubae dederant, cum carcere pronus uterqueemicat et summam celeri pede libat harenam.Posse putes illos sicco freta radere passuet segetis canae stantes percurrere aristas.Adiciunt animos iuveni clamorque favorqueverbaque dicentum: “Nunc, nunc incumbere tempus!Hippomene, propera! nunc viribus utere totis!pelle moram, vinces!” Dubium, Megareius herosgaudeat, an virgo magis his Schoeneia dictis.O quotiens, cum iam posset transire, morata estspectatosque diu vultus invita reliquit!Aridus e lasso veniebat anhelitus ore,metaque erat longe. Tum denique de tribus unumfetibus arboreis proles Neptunia misit.Obstipuit virgo, nitidique cupidine pomideclinat cursus aurumque volubile tollit.Praeterit Hippomenes! Resonant spectacula plausu.Illa moram celeri cessataque tempora cursucorrigit atque iterum iuvenem post terga relinquit.Et rursus pomi iactu remorata secundiconsequitur transitque virum. Pars ultima cursusrestabat; “nunc” inquit “ades, dea muneris auctor!”inque latus campi, quo tardius illa rediret,iecit ab obliquo nitidum iuvenaliter aurum.An peteret, virgo visa est dubitare: coegitollere et adieci sublato pondera maloimpediique oneris pariter gravitate moraque.Neve meus sermo cursu sit tardior ipso,praeterita est virgo: duxit sua praemia victor.Dignane, cui grates ageret, cui turis honoremferret, Adoni, fui? — nec grates inmemor egit,nec mihi tura dedit. Subitam convertor in iram;contemptuque dolens, ne sim spernenda futuris,exemplo caveo meque ipsa exhortor in ambos.Templa, deum Matri quae quondam clarus Echionfecerat ex voto, nemorosis abdita silvis,transibant, et iter longum requiescere suasit.Illic concubitus intempestiva cupidooccupat Hippomenen, a numine concita nostro.Luminis exigui fuerat prope templa recessus,speluncae similis, nativo pumice tectus,religione sacer prisca, quo multa sacerdoslignea contulerat veterum simulacra deorum.Hunc init et vetito temerat sacraria probro.Sacra retorserunt oculos; turritaque Materan Stygia sontes dubitavit mergeret unda.Poena levis visa est. Ergo modo levia fulvaecolla iubae velant, digiti curvantur in ungues,ex umeris armi fiunt, in pectora totumpondus abit, summae cauda verruntur harenae.Iram vultus habet, pro verbis murmura reddunt,pro thalamis celebrant silvas: aliisque timendidente premunt domito Cybeleia frena leones.Hos tu, care mihi, cumque his genus omne ferarum,quod non terga fugae, sed pugnae pectora praebet,effuge, ne virtus tua sit damnosa duobus.”Illa quidem monuit iunctisque per aera cygniscarpit iter: sed stat monitis contraria virtus.Forte suem latebris vestigia certa secutiexcivere canes, silvisque exire parantemfixerat obliquo iuvenis Cinyreius ictu.Protinus excussit pando venabula rostrosanguine tincta suo trepidumque et tuta petentemtrux aper insequitur totosque sub inguine dentesabdidit et fulva moribundum stravit harena.Vecta levi curru medias Cytherea per aurasCypron olorinis nondum pervenerat alis,agnovit longe gemitum morientis et albasflexit aves illuc. Utque aethere vidit ab altoexanimem inque suo iactantem sanguine corpus,desiluit pariterque sinum pariterque capillosrupit et indignis percussit pectora palmis.Questaque cum fatis “at non tamen omnia vestriiuris erunt” dixit. “Luctus monimenta manebuntsemper, Adoni, mei, repetitaque mortis imagoannua plangoris peraget simulamina nostri.At cruor in florem mutabitur. An tibi quondamfemineos artus in olentes vertere mentas,Persephone, licuit: nobis Cinyreius herosinvidiae mutatus erit?” — Sic fata cruoremnectare odorato sparsit: qui tactus ab illointumuit sic ut fulvo perlucida caenosurgere bulla solet. Nec plena longior horafacta mora est, cum flos de sanguine concolor ortus,qualem, quae lento celant sub cortice granum,punica ferre solent. Brevis est tamen usus in illo:namque male haerentem et nimia levitate caducumexcutiunt idem, qui praestant nomina, venti.”