---
title: "Metamorphoses"
author: "Ovid"
translator: "Brookes More"
title_ru: "Метаморфозы"
author_ru: "Овидий"
languages: [la, en]
shelf: "Classical Latin"
section: 26 of 30
url: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/26/
cite: "Ovid, tr. Brookes More, Metamorphoses, section 26. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/26/"
---

# 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.

## 26. Book XIII · lines 494–968

Source: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/26/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/26/#p-N

[¶0] “My daughter, what further sorrow can be mine?
My daughter you lie dead, I see your wounds—
they are indeed my own. Lest I should lose
one child of mine without a cruel sword,
you have your wound. I thought, because
you were a woman, you were safe from swords.
But you, a woman, felt the deadly steel.
That same Achilles, who has given to death
so many of your brothers, caused your death,
the bane of Troy and the serpent by my nest!
When Paris and when Phoebus with their shafts
had laid him low, ‘Ah, now at least,’ I said,
‘Achilles will no longer cause me dread.’
Yet even then he still was to be feared.
For him I have been fertile! Mighty Troy
now lies in ruin, and the public woe
is ended in one vast calamity.
For me alone the woe of Troy still lives.
“But lately on the pinnacle of fame,
surrounded by my powerful sons-in-law,
daughters, and daughters-in-law, and strong
in my great husband, I am exiled now,
and destitute, and forced from the sad tombs
of those I love, to wretched slavery,
serving Penelope: who showing me
to curious dames of Ithaca, will point
and say, while I am bending to my task,
‘Look at that woman who was widely known,
the mother of great Hector, once the wife
of Priam!’ After so many have been lost,
now you, last comfort of a mother's grief,
must make atonement on the foeman's tomb.
I bore a victim for my enemy.
“Why do I live—an iron witted wretch?
Why do I linger? Why does cruel age
detain me? Why, pernicious deities,
thus hold me to this earth, unless you will
that I may weep at future funerals?
After the fall of Troy, who would suppose
King Priam could be happy? Blest in death,
he has not seen my daughter's dreadful fate.
He lost at once his kingdom and his life.
“Can I imagine you, a royal maid,
will soon be honored with due funeral rites,
and will be buried in our family tomb?
Such fortune comes no more to your sad house.
A drift of foreign sand will be your grave,
the parting gift will be your mother's tears.
We have lost everything! But no, there is
one reason why I should endure a while.
His mother's dearest, now her only child,
once youngest of that company of sons,
my Polydorus lives here on these shores
protected by the friendly Thracian king.
Then why delay to bathe these cruel wounds,
her dear face spattered with the dreadful blood?”
So Hecuba went wailing towards the shore
with aged step and tearing her gray hair.
At last the unhappy mother said, “Give me
an urn; O, Trojan women!” for, she wished
to dip up salt sea water. But just then,
she saw the corpse of her last son, thrown out
upon the shore; her Polydorus, killed,
disfigured with deep wounds of Thracian swords.
The Trojan women cried aloud, and she
was struck dumb with her agony, which quite
consumed both voice and tears within her heart—
rigid and still she seemed as a hard rock.
And now she gazes at the earth in front
now lifts her haggard face up toward the skies,
now scans that body lying stark and dead,
now scans his wounds and most of all the wounds.
She arms herself and draws up all her wrath.
It burned as if she still held regal power
she gave up all life to the single thought
of quick revenge. Just as a lioness
rages when plundered of her suckling cub
and follows on his trail the unseen foe,
so, Hecuba with rage mixed in her grief
forgetful of her years, not her intent,
went hastily to Polymnestor, who
contrived this dreadful murder, and desired
an interview, pretending it was her wish
to show him hidden gold, for her lost son.
The Odrysian king believed it all:
accustomed to the love of gain, he went
with her, in secret, to the spot she chose.
Then craftily he said in his bland way:
“Oh, Hecuba, you need not wait, give now,
munificently to your son—and all
you give, and all that you have given,
by the good gods, I swear, shall be his own.”
She eyed him sternly as he spoke
and swore so falsely.—Then her rage boiled over,
and, seconded by all her captive train,
she flew at him and drove her fingers deep
in his perfidious eyes; and tore them from
his face—and plunged her hands into the raw
and bleeding sockets (passion made her strong),
defiled with his bad blood. How could she tear
his eyes, gone from their seats? She wildly gouged
the sightless sockets of his bleeding face!
The Thracians, angered by such violence done
upon their king, immediately attacked
the Trojan matron with their stones and darts
but she with hoarse growling and snapping jaws
sprang at the stones, and, when she tried to speak,
she barked like a fierce dog. The place still bears
a name suggested by her hideous change.
And she, long mindful! of her old time woe,
ran howling dismally in Thracian fields.
Her sad fate moved the Trojans and the Greeks,
her friends and foes, and all the heavenly gods.
Yes all, for even the sister-wife of Jove
denied that Hecuba deserved such fate.

> Latin: “Nata, tuae (quid enim superest?) dolor ultime matris,
nata, iaces, videoque tuum, mea vulnera, pectus,
et ne perdiderim quemquam sine caede meorum,
tu quoque vulnus habes! At te, quia femina, rebar
a ferro tutam: cecidisti et femina ferro,
totque tuos idem fratres, te perdidit idem,
exitium Troiae nostrique orbator, Achilles.
At postquam cecidit Paridis Phoebique sagittis,
“nunc certe,” dixi, “non est metuendus Achilles!rsquo;
Nunc quoque mi metuendus erat: cinis ipse sepulti
in genus hoc saevit, tumulo quoque sensimus hostem.
Aeacidae fecunda fui! Iacet Ilion ingens,
eventuque gravi finita est publica clades, —
sed finita tamen; soli mihi Pergama restant,
in cursuque meus dolor est: modo maxima rerum,
tot generis natisque potens nuribusque viroque,
nunc trahor exul, inops, tumulis avulsa meorum,
Penelopae munus; quae me data pensa trahentem
matribus ostendens Ithacis “haec Hectoris illa est
clara parens, haec est” dicet “Priameia coniunx!”
Postque tot amissos tu nunc, quae sola levabas
maternos luctus, hostilia busta piasti!
Inferias hosti peperi! Quo ferrea resto?
Quidve moror? Quo me servas, annosa senectus?
Quo, di crudeles, nisi uti nova funera cernam,
vivacem differtis anum? Quis posse putaret
felicem Priamum post diruta Pergama dici?
Felix morte sua est, nec te, mea nata, peremptam
adspicit et vitam pariter regnumque reliquit.
At, puto, funeribus dotabere, regia virgo,
condeturque tuum monumentis corpus avitis.
Non haec est fortuna domus: tibi munera matris
contingent fletus peregrinaeque haustus harenae!
Omnia perdidimus: superest, cur vivere tempus
in breve sustineam, proles gratissima matri,
nunc solus, quondam minimus de stirpe virili,
has datus Ismario regi Polydorus in oras.
Quid moror interea crudelia vulnera lymphis
abluere et sparsos inmiti sanguine vultus?”
Dixit et ad litus passu processit anili,
albentes lacerata comas. “Date, Troades, urnam”
dixerat infelix, liquidas hauriret ut undas:
adspicit eiectum Polydori in litore corpus
factaque Threiciis ingentia vulnera telis!
Troades exclamant: obmutuit illa dolore,
et pariter vocem lacrimasque introrsus obortas
devorat ipse dolor, duroque simillima saxo
torpet et adversa figit modo lumina terra,
interdum torvos sustollit ad aethera vultus,
nunc positi spectat vultum, nunc vulnera nati
vulnera praecipue, seque armat et instruit iram.”
Qua simul exarsit, tamquam regina maneret,
ulcisci statuit poenaeque in imagine tota est,
utque furit catulo lactente orbata leaena
signaque nacta pedum sequitur, quem non videt, hostem,
sic Hecube, postquam cum luctu miscuit iram,
non oblita animorum, annorum oblita suorum,
vadit ad artificem dirae, Polymestora, caedis
conloquiumque petit: nam se monstrare relictum
velle latens illi, quod nato redderet, aurum.
Credidit Odrysius praedaeque adsuetus amore
in secreta venit. Tum blando callidus ore
“tolle moras, Hecube,” dixit, “da munera nato!
Omne fore illius quod das, quod et ante dedisti,
per superos iuro.” Spectat truculenta loquentem
falsaque iurantem tumidaque exaestuat ira
atque ita correpto captivarum agmina matrum
invocat et digitos in perfida lumina condit
expellitque genis oculos (facit ira nocentem)
immergitque manus, foedataque sanguine sonti
non lumen (neque enim superest), loca luminis haurit.
Clade sui Thracum gens inritata tyranni
Troada telorum lapidumque incessere iactu
coepit. At haec missum rauco cum murmure saxum
morsibus insequitur, rictuque in verba parato
latravit, conata loqui: locus exstat et ex re
nomen habet, veterumque diu memor illa malorum
tum quoque Sithonios ululavit maesta per agros.
illius Troasque suos hostesque Pelasgos,
illius fortuna deos quoque moverat omnes,
sic omnes, ut et ipsa Iovis coniunxque sororque
eventus Hecubam meruisse negaverit illos.

[¶1] Although Aurora had given aid to Troy,
she had no heart nor leisure to be moved
by fall of Troy or fate of Hecuba.
At home she bore a greater grief and care;
her loss of Memnon is afflicting her.
Aurora, his rose-tinted mother, saw
him perish by Achilles' deadly spear,
upon the Phrygian plain. She saw his death,
and the loved rose that lights the dawning hour
turned death-pale, and the sky was veiled in clouds.
The parent could not bear to see his limbs
laid on the final flames. Just as she was,
with loose hair streaming round her, she did not
disdain to crouch down at the knees of Jove,
and said these sad words added to her tears:
“Beneath all those whom golden heaven sustains;
(inferior, for see, through all the world
my temples are so few) I have come now
a goddess, to you; not with any hope
that you may grant me temples, festivals,
and altars, heated with devoted fires:
but if you will consider the good deeds,
which I, a woman, may yet do for you,
when at the dawn I mark the edge of night;
then you may think of some reward for me.
But that is not my care; nor is it now
Aurora's purpose here, that she should plead
for honors, though deserved. I come bereaved,
of my son Memnon, who in vain bore arms
to aid his uncle and in prime of life
(0, thus you willed it!) fell stricken by the sword
of great Achilles. Give my son, I pray,
O highest ruler of the gods, some honor,
some comfort for his death, a little ease
his mother's grief.” Jove nodded his assent.
Immediately the high-wrought funeral-pile
of Memnon fell down with its lofty fire,
and volumes of black smoke obscured the day,
as streams exhaling their dense rising fogs,
exclude the bright sun from the land below.
Black ashes fly and, rolling up a shape,
retain a form and gather heat and life
out of the fire. Their lightness gave them wings,
first like a bird and then in fact a bird.
The wings move whirring. In the neighboring air
uncounted sisters, of one birth and growth
together make one noise. Three times they flew
around the funeral pile; and thrice the sound
accordant of their fluttering wings went swift
upon the soft breeze. When they turned about,
their fourth flight in the skies divided them.
As two fierce races from two hostile camps,
clash in their warfare, these bird-sisters with
their beaks and crooked claws clashed, passionate,
until their tired wings and opposing breasts
could not sustain them. And those kindred-foes
fell down a sacrifice, memorial,
to Memnon's ashes buried in that place.
Brave Memnon, author of their birth, has given
his name to those birds, marvellously formed,—
and from him they are called Memnonides.—
now, always when the Sun has passed the twelve
signs of the Zodiac, they war again,
to perish as a sacrifice for him.
So others grieved, while Dymas' royal daughter
was barking: but Aurora overcome
with lasting sorrows, could not think of her:
and even now, she sheds affectionate tears:
and sprinkles them as dew on all the world.

> Latin: Non vacat Aurorae, quamquam isdem faverat armis,
cladibus et casu Troiaeque Hecubaeque moveri.
Cura deam proprior luctusque domesticus angit
Memnonis amissi, Phrygiis quem lutea campis
vidit Achillea pereuntem cuspide mater:
vidit, et ille rubor, quo matutina rubescunt
tempora, palluerat, latuitque in nubibus aether.
At non impositos supremis ignibus artus
sustinuit spectare parens, sed crine soluto,
sicut erat, magni genibus procumbere non est
dedignata Iovis lacrimisque has addere voces:
“Omnibus inferior, quas sustinet aureus aether
(nam mihi sunt totum rarissima templa per orbem),
diva tamen veni, non ut delubra diesque
des mihi sacrificos caliturasque ignibus aras.
Si tamen adspicias, quantum tibi femina praestem,
tum cum luce nova noctis confinia servo,
praemia danda putes; sed non ea cura neque hic est
nunc status Aurorae, meritos ut poscat honores:
Memnonis orba mei venio, qui fortia frustra
pro patruo tulit arma suo primisque sub annis
occidit a forti, sic vos voluistis, Achille.
Da, precor, huic aliquem, solacia mortis, honorem,
summe deum rector, maternaque vulnera leni.”
Iuppiter adnuerat, cum Memnonis arduus alto
corruit igne rogus nigrique volumine fumi
infecere diem (veluti cum flumina natas
exhalant nebulas, nec sol admittitur infra);
atra favilla volat glomerataque corpus in unum
densetur faciemque capit sumitque calorem
atque animam ex igni (levitas sua praebuit alas),
et primo similis volucri, mox vera volucris
insonuit pennis: pariter sonuere sorores
innumerae, quibus est eadem natalis origo,
terque rogum lustrant, et consonus exit in auras
ter plangor: quarto seducunt castra volatu.
Tam duo diversa populi de parte feroces
bella gerunt rostrisque et aduncis unguibus iras
exercent alasque adversaque pectora iactant
inferiaeque cadunt cineri cognata sepulto
corpora seque viro forti meminere creatas.
praepetibus subitis nomen facit auctor: ab illo
Memnonides dictae, cum sol duodena peregit
signa, parentali moriturae voce rebellant.
Ergo aliis latrasse Dymantida flebile visum est:
luctibus est Aurora suis intenta, piasque
nunc quoque dat lacrimas et toto rorat in orbe.

[¶2] The Fates did not allow the hope of Troy
to be destroyed entirely with her walls.
Aeneas, the heroic son of Venus,
bore on his shoulders holy images
and still another holy weight, his sire,
a venerable burden. From all his wealth
the pious hero chose this for his care
together with his child, Ascanius.
Then with a fleet of exiles he sails forth,
he leaves Antandrus, leaves the wicked realm
and shore of Thrace now dripping with the blood
of Polydorus. With fair winds and tide
he and his comrades reach Apollo's isle.
Good Anius, king of Delos, vigilant
for all his subjects' welfare, and as priest
devoted to Apollo, took him there
into his temple and his home, and showed
the city, the famed shrines, and the two trees
which once Latona, while in labor, held.
They burned sweet incense, adding to it wine,
and laid the flesh of cattle in the flames,
an offering marked by custom for the god.
Then in the palace and its kingly hall,
reclining on luxurious couches, they
drank flowing wine with Ceres' gifts of food.
But old Anchises asked: “O chosen priest
of Phoebus, can I be deceived? When first
I saw these walls, did you not have a son,
and twice two daughters? Is it possible
I am mistaken?” Anius replied,—
shaking his temples wreathed with fillets white,—
“It can be no mistake, great hero, you
did see the father of five children then,
(so much the risk of fortune may affect
the best of men). You see me now, almost
bereft of all. For what assistance can
my absent son afford, while he is king,
the ruler over Andros—that land named
for his name—over which he rules for me?
“The Delian god gave to my son the art
of augury; and likewise, Liber gave
my daughters precious gifts exceeding all
my wishes and belief: since, every thing
my daughters touched assumed the forms of corn,
of sparkling wine, or gray-green olive oil.
Most surely, wonderful advantages.
“Soon as Atrides, he who conquered Troy
had heard of this (for you should not suppose
that we, too, did not suffer from your storms)
he dragged my daughters there with savage force,
from my loved bosom to his hostile camp,
and ordered them to feed the Argive fleet,
by their divinely given power of touch.
“Whichever way they could, they made escape
two hastened to Euboea, and two sought
their brother's island, Andros. Quickly then
an Argive squadron, following, threatened war,
unless they were surrendered. The brother's love
gave way to fear. And there is reason why
you should forgive a timid brother's fear:
he had no warrior like Aeneas, none
like Hector, by whose prowess you held Troy
from its destruction through ten years of war.
“Strong chains were brought to hold my daughters' arms.
Both lifted suppliant hands, which still were free,
to heaven and cried, ‘0, Father Bacchus! give
us needed aid!’ And he who had before
given them the power of touch, did give them aid—
if giving freedom without human shape
can be called giving aid.—I never knew
by what means they lost shape, and cannot tell;
but their calamity is surely known:
my daughters were transformed to snow-white doves,
white birds of Venus, guardian of your days.”
With this and other talk they shared the feast,
then left the table and retired to sleep.
They rose up with the day, and went at once
to hear the oracle of Phoebus speak.
He counselled them to leave that land and find
their ancient mother and their kindred shores.
The king attended them, and gave them gifts
when ready to depart; a sceptre to
Anchises, and a robe and quiver to
his grandson, and he gave a goblet to
Aeneas, that which formerly was sent
to him by Therses, once his Theban guest.
Therses had sent it from Aonian shores;
but Alcon the Hylean should be named,
for he had made the goblet and inscribed
a pictured story on the polished side.
There was a city shown with seven gates,
from which the name could be derived by all.
Outside the walls was a sad funeral,
and tombs and fires and funeral pyres were shown,
and many matrons with dishevelled hair
and naked breasts, expressive of their grief,
and many nymphs too, weeping mournfully
because their streams were dry. Without a leaf
the bare trees stood straight up and the she goats
were nibbling in dry, stony fields. And there he carved
Orion's daughters in the Theban square,
one giving her bare throat a cruel cut,
one with her shuttle making clumsy wounds;
both dying for their people. Next they were borne
out through the city with doe funeral pomp,
and mourning crowds were gathered round their pyre.
Then from the virgin ashes, lest the race
should die. twin youths arose, whom fame
has named Coroni and they shared
in all the rites becoming for their mothers' dust.
Even so in shining figures all was shown
inscribed on ancient bronze. The top rim, made
quite rough, was gilded with acanthus leaves.
Presents of equal worth the Trojans gave:
a maple incense casket for the priest,
a bowl, a crown adorned with gold and gems.

> Latin: Non tamen eversam Troiae cum moenibus esse
spem quoque fata sinunt: sacra et, sacra altera, patrem
fert umeris, venerabile onus, Cythereius heros:
de tantis opibus praedam pius eligit illam
Ascaniumque suum profugaque per aequora classe
fertur ab Antandro scelerataque limina Thracum
et Polydoreo manantem sanguine terram
linquit et utilibus ventis aestuque secundo
intrat Apollineam sociis comitantibus urbem.
Hunc Anius, quo rege homines, antistite Phoebus
rite colebatur, temploque domoque recepit
urbemque ostendit delubraque nota duasque
Latona quondam stirpes pariente retentas.
Ture dato flammis vinoque in tura profuso
caesarumque boum fibris de more crematis
regia tecta petunt positisque tapetibus altis
munera cum liquido capiunt Cerealia Baccho.
Tum pius Anchises: “O Phoebi lecte sacerdos,
fallor, an et natum, cum primum haec moenia vidi,
bisque duas natas, quantum reminiscor, habebas?”
Huic Anius niveis circumdata tempora vittis
concutiens et tristis ait: “Non falleris, heros
maxime: vidisti natorum quinque parentem,
quem nunc (tanta homines rerum inconstantia versat!)
paene vides orbum. Quod enim mihi filius absens
auxilium, quem dicta suo de nomine tellus
Andros habet pro patre locumque et regna tenentem?
Delius augurium dedit huic, dedit altera Liber
femineae stirpi voto maiora fideque
munera: nam tactu natarum cuncta mearum
in segetem laticemque meri canaeque Minervae
transformabantur, divesque erat usus in illis.
Hoc ubi cognovit Troiae populator Atrides,
ne non ex aliqua vestram sensisse procellam
nos quoque parte putes, armorum viribus usus
abstrahit invitas gremio genitoris, alantque
imperat Argolicam caelesti munere classem.
Effugiunt, quo quaeque potest: Euboea duabus,
et totidem natis Andros fraterna petita est.
Miles adest et, ni dedantur, bella minatur.
Victa metu pietas: consortia corpora poenae
dedidit (et timido possis ignoscere fratri:
non hic Aeneas, non, qui defenderet Andron,
Hector erat, per quem decimum durastis in annum);
iamque parabantur captivis vincla lacertis:
illae tollentes etiamnum libera caelo
bracchia “Bacche pater, fer opem!” dixere, tulitque
muneris auctor opem, — si miro perdere more
ferre vocatur opem, nec qua ratione figuram
perdiderint, potui scire aut nunc dicere possum;
summa mali nota est: pennas sumpsere tuaeque
coniugis in volucres, niveas abiere columbas.”
Talibus atque aliis postquam convivia dictis
implerunt, mensa somnum petiere remota,
cumque die surgunt adeuntque oracula Phoebi:
qui petere antiquam matrem cognataque iussit
litora; prosequitur rex et dat munus ituris,
Anchisae sceptrum, chlamydem pharetramque nepoti,
cratera Aeneae, quem quondam transtulit illi
hospes ab Aoniis Therses Ismenius oris.
Miserat hunc illi Therses, fabricaverat Alcon
Hyleus et longo caelaverat argumento.
Urbs erat, et septem posses ostendere portas:
hae pro nomine erant et, quae foret illa, docebant.
Ante urbem exequiae tumulique ignesque rogique
effusaeque comas et apertae pectora matres
significant luctum: nymphae quoque flere videntur
siccatosque queri fontes, sine frondibus arbor
nuda riget, rodunt arentia saxa capellae.
Ecce facit mediis natas Orione Thebis,
agmen femineum, iugulo dare pectus aperto,
illas demisso per inertia vulnera telo
pro populo cecidisse suo pulchrisque per urbem
funeribus ferri celebrique in parte cremari,
tum de virginea geminos exire favilla,
ne genus intereat, iuvenes, quos fama Coronos
nominat, et cineri materno ducere pompam.
Hactenus antiquo signis fulgentibus aere,
summus inaurato crater erat asper acantho.
Nec leviora datis Troiani dona remittunt
dantque sacerdoti custodem turis acerram,
dant pateram claramque auro gemmisque coronam.

[¶3] Then, recollecting how the Trojans had
derived their origin from Teucer's race,
they sailed to Crete but there could not endure
ills sent by Jove, and, having left behind
the hundred cities, they desired to reach
the western harbors of the Ausonian land.
Wintry seas then tossed the heroic band,
and in a treacherous harbor of those isles,
called Strophades, Aello frightened them.
They passed Dulichium's port, and Ithaca,
Samos, and all the homes of Neritos,—
the kingdom of the shrewd deceitful man,
Ulysses; and they reached Ambracia,
contended for by those disputing gods;
which is today renowned abroad, because
of Actian Apollo, and the stone
seen there conspicuous as a transformed judge;
they saw Dodona, vocal with its oaks;
and also, the well known Chaonian bays,
where sons of the Molossian king escaped
with wings attached, from unavailing flames.
They set their sails then for the neighboring land
of the Phaeacians, rich with luscious fruit:
then for Epirus and to Buthrotos,
and came then to a mimic town of Troy,
ruled by the Phrygian seer. With prophecies
which Helenus, the son of Priam, gave,
they came to Sicily, whose three high capes
jut outward in the sea. Of these three points
Pachynos faces towards the showery south;
and Lilybaeum is exposed to soft
delicious zephyrs; but Peloros looks
out towards the Bears which never touch the sea.
The Trojans came there. Favored by the tide,
and active oars, by nightfall all the fleet
arrived together on Zanclaean sands.
Scylla upon the right infests the shore,
Charybdis, restless on the left, destroys.
Charybdis swallows and then vomits forth
misfortuned ships that she has taken down;
Scylla's dark waist is girt with savage dogs.
She has a maiden's face, and, if we may believe
what poets tell, she was in olden time
a maiden. Many suitors courted her,
but she repulsed them; and, because she was
so much beloved by all the Nereids,
she sought these nymphs and used to tell
how she escaped from the love-stricken youths.
But Galatea, while her loosened locks
were being combed, said to her visitor,—
“Truly, O maiden, a gentle race of men
courts you, and so you can, and do, refuse
all with impunity. But I, whose sire
is Nereus, whom the azure Doris bore,
though guarded by so many sister nymphs,
escaped the Cyclops' love with tragic loss.”
And, sobbing, she was choked with tears.
When with her fingers, marble white and smooth,
Scylla had wiped away the rising tears
of sorrow and had comforted the nymph,
she said, “Tell me, dear goddess, and do not
conceal from me (for I am true to you)
the cause of your great sorrows.” And the nymph,
daughter of Nereus, thus replied to her:—
“Acis, the son of Faunus and the nymph
Symaethis, was a great delight to his
dear father and his mother, but even more
to me, for he alone had won my love.
Eight birthdays having passed a second time,
his tender cheeks were marked with softest down.
“While I pursued him with a constant love,
the Cyclops followed me as constantly.
And, should you ask me, I could not declare
whether my hatred of him, or my love
of Acis was the stronger.—They were equal.
“O gentle Venus! what power equals yours!
That savage, dreaded by the forest trees,
feared by the stranger who beholds his face
contemner of Olympus and the gods,
now he can feel what love is. He is filled
with passion for me. He burns hot for me,
forgetful of his cattle and his caves.
“Now, Polyphemus, wretched Cyclops, you
are careful of appearance, and you try
the art of pleasing. You have even combed
your stiffened hair with rakes: it pleases you
to trim your shaggy beard with sickles, while
you gaze at your fierce features in a pool
so earnest to compose them. Love of flesh,
ferocity and your keen thirst for blood
have ceased. The ships may safely come and go!
“While all this happened, Telemus arrived
at the Sicilian Aetna—Telemus,
the son of Eurymus, who never could
mistake an omen, met the dreadful fierce,
huge Cyclops, Polyphemus, and he said,
‘That single eye now midmost in your brow
Ulysses will take from you.’ In reply,
the Cyclops only laughed at him and said,
‘Most silly of the prophets! you are wrong,
a maiden has already taken it!’
So he made fun of Telemus, who warned
him vainly of the truth—and after that,
he either burdened with his bulk the shore,
by stalking back and forth with lengthy strides,
or came back weary to his shaded cave.
“A wedge-formed hill projects far in the sea
and either side there flow the salty waves.
To this the giant savage climbed and sat
upon the highest point. The wooly flock,
no longer guided by him, followed after.
There, after he had laid his pine tree down,
which served him for a staff, although so tall
it seemed best fitted for a ship's high mast,
he played his shepherd pipes—in them I saw
a hundred reeds. The very mountains felt
the pipings of that shepherd, and the waves
beneath him shook respondent to each note.
All this time I was hidden by a rock,
reclining on the bosom of my own
dear Acis; and, although afar, I heard
such words as these, which I can not forget:—
‘O Galatea, fairer than the flower
of snow-white privet, and more blooming than
the meadows, and more slender than the tall
delightful alder, brighter than smooth glass,
more wanton than the tender skipping kid,
smoother than shells worn by continual floods,
more pleasing than the winter sun, or than
the summer shade, more beautiful than fruit
of apple trees, more pleasing to the sight
than lofty plane tree, clearer than pure ice,
and sweeter than the ripe grape, softer than
soft swan-down and the softest curdled milk;
alas, and if you did not fly from me,
I would declare you are more beautiful
than any watered garden of this world.
‘And yet, O Galatea; I must say,
that you are wilder than all untrained bullocks,
harder than seasoned oak, more treacherous
than tumbled waters, tougher than the twigs
of osier and the white vine, harder to move
than cliffs which front these waves, more violent
than any torrent, you are prouder than
the flattered peacock, fiercer than hot fire,
rougher than thistles, and more cruel than
the pregnant she-bear, deafer than the waves
of stormy seas, more deadly savage than
the trodden water-snake: and, (what I would
endeavor surely to deprive you of)
your speed is fleeter than the deer
pursued by frightful barkings, and more swift
than rapid storm-winds and the flitting air.
‘But Galatea, if you knew me well
you would regret your hasty flight from me,
and you would even blame your own delay,
and strive for my affection. I now hold
the choice part of this mountain for my cave,
roofed over with the native rock. The sun
is not felt in the heat of middle day,
nor is the winter felt there: apples load
the bending boughs and luscious grapes
hang on the lengthened vines, resembling gold,
and purple grapes as rich—I keep for you
those two delicious fruits. With your own hands,
you shall yourself uncover strawberries,
growing so soft beneath the woodland shade;
you shall pluck corners in the autumn ripe,
and plums, not only darkened with black juice
but larger kinds as yellow as new wax.
If I may be your mate, you shall have chestnuts,
fruits of the arbute shall be always near,
and every tree shall yield at your desire.
‘The ewes here all are mine, and many more
are wandering in the valleys; and the woods
conceal a multitude—and many more
are penned within my caves. If you perchance
should ask me, I could never even guess
or count the number; it is for the poor
to count their cattle. Do not trust my word,
but go yourself and see with your own eyes,
how they can hardly stand up on their legs
because of their distended udders' weight.
‘I have lambs also, as a future flock,
kept in warm folds, and kids of their same age
in other folds. I always have supplies
of snow-white milk for drinking, and much more
is hardened with good rennet liquefied.
‘The common joys of ordinary things
will not be all you should expect of me—
tame does and hares and she-goats or a pair
of doves, or even a nest from a tall tree—
for I have found upon a mountain top,
the twin cubs of a shaggy wild she-bear,
of such appearance you can hardly know
the one from other. They will play with you.
The very day I found them I declared,
these I will keep for my dear loved one's joy.
‘Do now but raise your shining head above
the azure sea: come Galatea come,
and do not scorn my presents. Certainly,
I know myself, for only recently
I saw my own reflection pictured clear
in limpid water, and my features pleased
and charmed me when I saw it. See how huge
I am. Not even Jove in his high heaven
is larger than my body: this I say
because you tell me how imperial Jove
surpasses.—Who is he? I never knew.
‘My long hair plentifully hangs to hide
unpleasant features; as a grove of trees
overshadowing my shoulders. Never think
my body is uncomely, although rough,
thick set with wiry bristles. Every tree
without leaves is unseemly; every horse,
unless a mane hangs on his tawny neck;
feathers must cover birds; and their soft wool
is ornamental on the best formed sheep:
therefore a beard, and rough hair spread upon
the body is becoming to all men.
I have but one eye centered perfectly
within my forehead, so it seems most like
a mighty buckler. Ha! does not the Sun
see everything from heaven? Yet it has
but one eye.—
‘Galatea, you must know,
my father is chief ruler in your sea,
and therefor I now offer him to you
as your own father-in-law—But oh, do take
some pity on a suppliant,— and hear his prayer,
for only unto you my heart is given.
‘I, who despise the power of Jove, his heavens
and piercing lightnings, am afraid of you—
your wrath more fearful than the lightning's flash—
but I should be more patient under slights,
if you avoided all men: why reject
the Cyclops for the love that Acis gives?
And why prefer his smiles to my embraces,
but let him please himself, and let him please
you, Galatea, though against my will.
‘If I am given an opportunity
he will be shown that I have every strength
proportioned to a body vast as mine:
I will pull out his palpitating entrails,
and scatter his torn limbs about the fields
and over and throughout your salty waves;
and then let him unite himself to you.—
I burn so, and my slighted passion raves
with greater fury and I seem to hold
and carry Aetna in my breast—transferred
there with its flames—Oh Galatea! can
you listen to my passion thus unmoved!’
“I saw all this; and, after he in vain
had uttered such complaints, he stood up like
a raging bull whose heifer has been lost,
that cannot stand still, but must wander on
through brush and forests, that he knows so well:
when that fierce monster saw me and my Acis—
we neither knew nor guessed our fate—he roared:
‘I see you and you never will again
parade your love before me!’ In such a voice
as matched his giant size. All Aetna shook
and trembled at the noise; and I amazed
with horror, plunged into the adjoining sea.
“My loved one, Acis turned his back and fled
and cried out, ‘Help me Galatea, help!
0, let your parents help me, and admit
me safe within their realm; for I am now
near my destruction!’ But the Cyclops rushed
at him and hurled a fragment, he had torn
out from the mountain, and although the extreme
edge only of the rock could reach him there.
It buried him entirely.
“Then I did
the only thing the Fates permitted me:
I let my Acis take ancestral power
of river deities. The purple blood
flowed from beneath the rock, but soon
the sanguine richness faded and became
at first the color of a stream, disturbed
and muddied by a shower. And presently
it clarified.— The rock that had been thrown
then split in two, and through the cleft a reed,
stately and vigorous, arose to life.
And soon the hollow mouth in the great rock,
resounded with the waters gushing forth.
And wonderful to tell, a youth emerged,
the water flowing clear about his waist,
his new horns circled with entwining reeds,
and the youth certainly was Acis, though
he was of larger stature and his face
and features all were azure. Acis changed
into a stream which ever since that time
has flowed there and retained its former name.

> Latin: Inde recordati Teucros a sanguine Teucri
ducere principium, Cretam tenuere locique
ferre diu nequiere Iovem, centumque relictis
urbibus Ausonios optant contingere portus:
saevit hiems iactatque viros, Strophadumque receptos
portubus infidis exterruit ales Aello.
Et iam Dulichios portus Ithacamque Samonque
Neritiasque domus, regnum fallacis Ulixis,
praeter erant vecti: certatam lite deorum
Ambraciam versique vident sub imagine saxum
iudicis, Actiaco quae nunc ab Apolline nota est,
vocalemque sua terram Dodonida quercu
Chaoniosque sinus, ubi nati rege Molosso
inpia subiectis fugere incendia pennis.
Proxima Phaeacum felicibus obsita pomis
rura petunt, Epiros ab his regnataque vati
Buthrotos Phrygio simulataque Troia tenetur.
Inde futurorum certi, quae cuncta fideli
Priamides Helenus monitu praedixerat, intrant
Sicaniam: tribus haec excurrit in aequora pinnis,
e quibus imbriferos est versa Pachynos ad austros,
mollibus expositum zephyris Lilybaeon, ad arctos
aequoris expertes spectat boreamque Peloros.
Hac subeunt Teucri, et remis aestuque secundo
sub noctem potitur Zanclaea classis harena.
Scylla latus dextrum, laevum inrequieta Charybdis
infestat: vorat haec raptas revomitque carinas,
illa feris atram canibus succingitur alvum,
virginis ora gerens, et, si non omnia vates
ficta reliquerunt aliquo quoque tempore virgo.
Hanc multi petiere proci; quibus illa repulsis
ad pelagi nymphas, pelagi gratissima nymphis,
ibat et elusos iuvenum narrabat amores.
Quam, dum pectendos praebet Galatea capillos,
talibus adloquitur, referens suspiria, dictis:
“Te tamen, o virgo, genus haud inmite virorum
expetit, utque facis, potes his impune negare;
At mihi, cui pater est Nereus, quam caerula Doris
enixa est, quae sum turba quoque tuta sororum,
non nisi per luctus licuit Cyclopis amorem
effugere,” — et lacrimae vocem impediere loquentis.
Quas ubi marmoreo detersit pollice virgo
et solata deam est, “refer, o carissima,” dixit.
“neve tui causam tege (sic sum fida) doloris!”
Nereis his contra resecuta Crataeide natam est:
“Acis erat Fauno nymphaque Symaethide cretus,
magna quidem patrisque sui matrisque voluptas,
nostra tamen maior: nam me sibi iunxerat uni.
Pulcher et octonis iterum natalibus actis
signarat teneras dubia lanugine malas.
Hunc ego, me Cyclops nulla cum fine petebat.
En si quaesieris, odium Cyclopis, amorne
Acidis in nobis fuerit praesentior, edam:
par utrumque fuit. Pro quanta potentia regni
est, Venus alma, tui! Nempe ille inmitis et ipsis
horrendus silvis et visus ab hospite nullo
impune et magni cum dis contemptor Olympi,
quid sit amor, sensit validaque cupidine captus
uritur, oblitus pecorum antrorumque suorum.
Iamque tibi formae, iamque est tibi cura placendi,
iam rigidos pectis rastris, Polypheme, capillos,
iam libet hirsutam tibi falce recidere barbam
et spectare feros in aqua et componere vultus.
Caedis amor feritasque sitisque inmensa cruoris
cessant, et tutae veniunt abeuntque carinae.
Telemus interea Siculam delatus ad Aetnen,
Telemus Eurymides, quem nulla fefellerat ales,
terribilem Polyphemon adit “lumen” que, “quod unum
fronte geris media, rapiet tibi” dixit “Ulixes!”
Risit et “o vatum stolidissime, falleris,” inquit,
“altera iam rapuit!” Sic frustra vera monentem
spernit et aut gradiens ingenti litora passu
degravat aut fessus sub opaca revertitur antra.
Prominet in pontum cuneatus acumine longo
collis utrumque latus circumfluit aequoris unda;
huc ferus ascendit Cyclops mediusque resedit,
lanigerae pecudes nullo ducente secutae.
Cui postquam pinus, baculi quae praebuit usum,
ante pedes posita est, antemnis apta ferendis,
sumptaque harundinibus compacta est fistula centum,
senserunt toti pastoria sibila montes,
senserunt undae; latitans ego rupe meique
Acidis in gremio residens procul auribus hausi
talia dicta meis auditaque verba notavi:
“Candidior folio nivei, Galatea, ligustri,
floridior pratis, longa procerior alno,
splendidior vitro, tenero lascivior haedo,
levior adsiduo detritis aequore conchis,
solibus hibernis, aestiva gratior umbra,
nobilior pomis, platano conspectior alta,
lucidior glacie, matura dulcior uva,
mollior et cygni plumis et lacte coacto
saevior indomitis eadem Galatea iuvencis,
durior annosa quercu, fallacior undis,
lentior et salicis virgis et vitibus albis,
his inmobilior scopulis, violentior amne,
laudato pavone superbior, acrior igni,
asperior tribulis, feta truculentior ursa,
surdior aequoribus, calcato inmitior hydro,
et, quod praecipue vellem tibi demere possem.
Non tantum cervo claris latratibus acto,
verum etiam ventis volucrique fugacior aura!
At bene si noris, pigeat fugisse morasque
ipsa tuas damnes et me retinere labores.
Sunt mihi, pars montis, vivo pendentia saxo
antra, quibus nec sol medio sentitur in aestu
nec sentitur hiems; sunt poma gravantia ramos,
sunt auro similes longis in vitibus uvae,
sunt et purpureae: tibi et has servamus et illas.
Ipsa tuis manibus silvestri nata sub umbra
mollia fraga leges, ipsa autumnalia corna
prunaque, non solum nigro liventia suco,
verum etiam generosa novasque imitantia ceras.
Nec tibi castaneae me coniuge, nec tibi deerunt
arbutei fetus: omnis tibi serviet arbor.
Hoc pecus omne meum est, multae quoque vallibus errant,
multas silva tegit, multae stabulantur in antris.
Nec, si forte roges, possim tibi dicere, quot sint:
pauperis est numerare pecus! De laudibus harum
nil mihi credideris: praesens potes ipse videre,
ut vix circueant distentum cruribus uber.
Sunt, fetura minor, tepidis in ovilibus agni,
sunt quoque, par aetas, aliis in ovilibus haedi.
Lac mihi semper adest niveum: pars inde bibenda
servatur, partem liquefacta coagula durant.
Nec tibi deliciae faciles vulgataque tantum
munera contingent, dammae leporesque caperque
parve columbarum demptusve cacumine nidus:
inveni geminos, qui tecum ludere possint,
inter se similes, vix ut dignoscere possis,
villosae catulos in summis montibus ursae,
inveni et dixi “dominae servabimus istos!”
Iam modo caeruleo nitidum caput exsere ponto,
iam, Galatea, veni, nec munera despice nostra.
Certe ego me novi liquidaeque in imagine vidi
nuper aquae, placuitque mihi mea forma videnti.
Adspice, sim quantus! Non est hoc corpore maior
Iuppiter in caelo: nam vos narrare soletis,
nescio quem regnare Iovem. Coma plurima torvos
prominet in vultus umerosque, ut lucus, obumbrat.
Nec mea quod rigidis horrent densissima saetis
corpora, turpe puta turpis sine frondibus arbor,
turpis equus, nisi colla iubae flaventia velent;
barba viros hirtaeque decent in corpore saetae.
Unum est in media lumen mihi fronte, sed instar
ingentis clipei. Quid? non haec omnia magnus
Sol videt e caelo? Soli tamen unicus orbis!
Adde, quod in vestro genitor meus aequore regnat:
hunc tibi do socerum; tantum miserere precesque
supplicis exaudi! tibi enim succumbimus uni.
Quique Iovem et caelum sperno et penetrabile fulmen,
Nerei, te veneror: tua fulmine saevior ira est. —
Atque ego contemptus essem patientior huius,
si fugeres omnes; sed cur Cyclope repulso
Acin amas praefersque meis complexibus Acin?
Ille tamen placeatque sibi placeatque licebit,
quod nollem, Galatea, tibi; modo copia detur,
sentiet esse mihi tanto pro corpore vires!
Viscera viva traham divisaque membra per agros
perque tuas spargam (sic se tibi misceat!) undas.
Uror enim, laesusque exaestuat acrior ignis,
cumque suis videor translatam viribus Aetnam
pectore ferre meo: nec tu, Galatea, moveris.”
Talia nequiquam questus (nam cuncta videbam)
surgit et ut taurus vacca furibundus adempta,
stare nequit silvaque et notis saltibus errat:
cum ferus ignaros nec quicquam tale timentes
me videt atque Acin “video” que exclamat “et ista
ultima sit, faciam, veneris concordia vestrae!”
Tantaque vox, quantam Cyclops iratus habere
debuit, illa fuit: clamore perhorruit Aetne.
Ast ego vicino pavefacta sub aequore mergor,
terga fugae dederat conversa Symaethius heros
et “fer opem, Galatea, precor, mihi! ferte, parentes”
dixerat “et vestris periturum admittite regnis!”
Insequitur Cyclops partemque e monte revulsam
mittit, et extremus quamvis pervenit ad illum,
angulus is molis totum tamen obruit Acin.
At nos, quod fieri solum per fata licebat,
fecimus, ut vires adsumeret Acis avitas.
Puniceus de mole cruor manabat, et intra
temporis exiguum rubor evanescere coepit
fitque color primo turbati fluminis imbre
purgaturque mora; tum moles tacta dehiscit,
vivaque per rimas proceraque surgit harundo,
osque cavum saxi sonat exsultantibus undis:
miraque res, subito media tenus exstitit alvo
incinctus iuvenis flexis nova cornua cannis,
qui, nisi quod maior, quod toto caerulus ore,
Acis erat. Sed sic quoque erat tamen Acis, in amnem
versus, et antiquum tenuerunt flumina nomen.”

[¶4] So Galatea, after she had told
her sorrow, ceased; and, when the company
had gone from there, the Nereids swam again
in the calm and quiet waves. But Scylla soon
returned (because she did not trust herself
in deep salt waters) and she wandered there
naked of garments on the thirsty sand;
but, tired, by chance she found a lonely bay,
and cooled her limbs with its enclosing waves.
Then suddenly appeared a newly made
inhabitant of that deep sea, whose name
was Glaucus. Cleaving through the blue sea waves,
he swam towards her. His shape had been transformed
but lately for this watery life, while he
was living at Anthedon in Euboea.—
now he is lingering from desire for her
he saw there and speaks whatever words
he thought might stop her as she fled from him.
Yet still she fled from him, and swift through fear,
climbed to a mountain top above the sea.
Facing the waves, it rose in one huge peak,
parting the waters with a forest crown.
She stood on that high summit quite secure:
and, doubtful whether he might be a god
or monster, wondered at his flowing hair
which covered his broad shoulders and his back,—
and marvelled at the color of his skin
and at his waist merged into a twisted fish.
All this he noticed, and while leaning there
against a rock that stood near by, he said: —
“I am no monster, maiden, I am not
a savage beast; I am in truth a god
of waters, with such power upon the seas
as that of Proteus, Triton, or Palaemon—
reared on land the son of Athamas.
“Not long ago I was a mortal man,
yet even then my thought turned to the sea
and all my living came from waters deep,
for I would drag the nets that swept up fish,
or, seated on a rock, I flung the line
forth from the rod. The shore I loved was near
a verdant meadow. One side were the waves,
the other grass, which never had been touched
by horned, grazing cattle. Harmless sheep
and shaggy goats had never cropped it—no
industrious bee came there to harvest flowers;
no festive garlands had been gathered there,
adornments of the head; no mower's hands
had ever cut it. I was certainly
the first who ever sat upon that turf,—
while I was drying there the dripping nets.
And so that I might in due order count
the fish that I had caught, I laid out those
which by good chance were driven into my nets,
or credulous, were caught on my barbed hooks.
“It all seems like a fiction (but what good
can I derive from fictions?) just as soon
as any of my fish-prey touched the grass,
they instantly began to move and skip
as usual in sea water. While I paused
and wondered, all of them slid to the waves,
and left me, their late captor, and the shore.
“I was amazed and doubtful, a long time;
while I considered what could be the cause.
What god had done this? Or perhaps the juice
of some herb caused it? ‘But,’ I said, ‘what herb
can have such properties?’ and with my hand
I plucked the grass and chewed it with my teeth.
My throat had hardly time to swallow those
unheard of juices, when I suddenly
felt all my entrails throbbing inwardly,
and my entire mind also, felt possessed
by passions foreign to my life before.
“I could not stay in that place, and I said
with shouting, ‘Farewell! dry land! never more
shall I revisit you;’ and with those words
upon my lips, I plunged beneath the waves.
The gods of that deep water gave to me,
when they received me, kindred honors, while
they prayed Oceanus and Tethys both
to take from me such mortal essence as
might yet remain. So I was purified
by them and after a good charm had been
nine times repeated over me, which washed
away all guilt, I was commanded then
to put my breast beneath a hundred streams.
“So far I can relate to you all things
most worthy to be told; for all so far
I can remember; but from that time on
I was unconscious of the many things
that followed. When my mind returned to me,
I found myself entirely different
from what I was before; and my changed mind
was not the same as it had always been.
Then, for the first time I beheld this beard
so green in its deep color, and I saw
my flowing hair which now I sweep along
the spacious seas, and my huge shoulders with
their azure colored arms, and I observed
my leg extremities hung tapering
exactly perfect as a finny fish.
“But what avail is this new form to me.
Although it pleased the Ocean deities?
What benefit, although I am a god,
if you are not persuaded by these things?”
While he was telling wonders such as these—
quite ready to say more—Scylla arose
and left the god. Provoked at his repulse—
enraged, he hastened to the marvellous court
of Circe, well known daughter of the Sun.

> Latin: Desierat Galatea loqui, coetuque soluto
discedunt placidisque natant Nereides undis.
Scylla redit (neque enim medio se credere ponto
audet) et aut bibula sine vestibus errat harena,
aut, ubi lassata est, seductos nacta recessus
gurgitis, inclusa sua membra refrigerat unda.
Ecce fretum scindens alti novus incola ponti,
nuper in Euboica versis Anthedone membris,
Glaucus adest visaeque cupidine virginis haeret
et quaecumque putat fugientem posse morari
verba refert; fugit illa tamen veloxque timore
pervenit in summum positi prope litora montis.
Ante fretum est ingens, apicem conlectus in unum,
longa sub arboribus convexus in aequora vertex:
constitit hic, et tuta loco, monstrumne deusne
ille sit, ignorans, admiraturque colorem
caesariemque umeros subiectaque terga tegentem,
ultimaque excipiat quod tortilis inguina piscis.
Sensit et innitens, quae stabat proxima, moli,
“non ego prodigium nec sum fera belua, virgo,
sed deus” inquit “aquae: nec maius in aequore Proteus
ius habet et Triton Athamantiadesque Palaemon.
Ante tamen mortalis eram, sed, scilicet altis
deditus aequoribus, tantum exercebar in illis.
Nam modo ducebam ducentia retia pisces,
nunc in mole sedens moderabar harundine linum.
Sunt viridi prato confinia litora, quorum
altera pars undis, pars altera cingitur herbis,
quas neque cornigerae morsu laesere iuvencae,
nec placidae carpsistis oves hirtaeve capellae;
non apis inde tulit conlectos semine flores,
non data sunt capiti genialia serta, neque umquam
falciferae secuere manus; ego primus in illo
caespite consedi, dum lina madentia sicco,
utque recenserem captivos ordine pisces,
insuper exposui, quos aut in retia casus
aut sua credulitas in aduncos egerat hamos.
Res similis fictae (sed quid mihi fingere prodest?):
gramine contacto coepit mea praeda moveri
et mutare latus terraque, ut in aequore, niti.
Dumque moror mirorque simul, fugit omnis in undas
turba suas dominumque novum litusque relinquunt.
Obstipui dubitoque diu causamque requiro,
num deus hoc aliquis, num sucus fecerit herbae.
“Quae” tamen “has” inquam “vires habet herba?”,manuque
pabula decerpsi decerptaque dente momordi.
Vix bene combiberant ignotos guttura sucos,
cum subito trepidare intus praecordia sensi
alteriusque rapi naturae pectus amore,
nec potui restare diu “repetenda” que “numquam
terra, vale!” dixi corpusque sub aequora mersi.
Di maris exceptum socio dignantur honore,
utque mihi quaecumque feram mortalia, demant,
Oceanum Tethynque rogant: ego lustror ab illis,
et purgante nefas noviens mihi carmine dicto
pectora fluminibus iubeor supponere centum;
nec mora, diversis lapsi de partibus amnes
totaque vertuntur supra caput aequora nostrum.
Hactenus acta tibi possum memoranda referre,
hactenus haec memini, nec mens mea cetera sensit.
Quae postquam rediit, alium me corpore toto
ac fueram nuper, neque eundem mente recepi.
Hanc ego tum primum viridem ferrugine barbam
caesariemque meam, quam longa per aequora verro,
ingentesque umeros et caerula bracchia vidi
cruraque pinnigero curvata novissima pisce.
Quid tamen haec species, quid dis placuisse marinis,
quid iuvat esse deum, si tu non tangeris istis?”
Talia dicentem, dicturum plura, reliquit
Scylla deum; furit ille inritatusque repulsa
prodigiosa petit Titanidos atria Circes.