---
title: "Metamorphoses"
author: "Ovid"
translator: "Brookes More"
title_ru: "Метаморфозы"
author_ru: "Овидий"
languages: [la, en]
shelf: "Classical Latin"
section: 5 of 30
url: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/5/
cite: "Ovid, tr. Brookes More, Metamorphoses, section 5. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/5/"
---

# 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.

## 5. Book III · lines 1–434

Source: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/5/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/5/#p-N

[¶0] Now Jupiter had not revealed himself,
nor laid aside the semblance of a bull,
until they stood upon the plains of Crete.
But not aware of this, her father bade
her brother Cadmus search through all the world,
until he found his sister, and proclaimed
him doomed to exile if he found her not;—
thus was he good and wicked in one deed.
When he had vainly wandered over the earth
(for who can fathom the deceits of Jove?)
Cadmus, the son of King Agenor, shunned
his country and his father's mighty wrath.
But he consulted the famed oracles
of Phoebus, and enquired of them what land
might offer him a refuge and a home.
And Phoebus answered him; “When on the plains
a heifer, that has never known the yoke,
shall cross thy path go thou thy way with her,
and follow where she leads; and when she lies,
to rest herself upon the meadow green,
there shalt thou stop, as it will be a sign
for thee to build upon that plain the walls
of a great city: and its name shall be
the City of Boeotia.”
Cadmus turned;
but hardly had descended from the cave,
Castalian, ere he saw a heifer go
unguarded, gentle-paced, without the scars
of labour on her neck. He followed close
upon her steps (and silently adored
celestial Phoebus, author of his way)
till over the channel that Cephissus wears
he forded to the fields of Panope
and even over to Boeotia.—
there stood the slow-paced heifer, and she raised
her forehead, broad with shapely horns, towards Heaven;
and as she filled the air with lowing, stretched
her side upon the tender grass, and turned
her gaze on him who followed in her path.
Cadmus gave thanks and kissed the foreign soil,
and offered salutation to the fields
and unexplored hills. Then he prepared
to make large sacrifice to Jupiter,
and ordered slaves to seek the living springs
whose waters in libation might be poured.
There was an ancient grove, whose branching trees
had never known the desecrating ax,
where hidden in the undergrowth a cave,
with oziers bending round its low-formed arch,
was hollowed in the jutting rocks—deep-found
in the dark center of that hallowed grove—
beneath its arched roof a beauteous stream
of water welled serene. Its gloom concealed
a dragon, sacred to the war-like Mars;
crested and gorgeous with radescent scales,
and eyes that sparkled as the glow of coals.
A deadly venom had puffed up his bulk,
and from his jaws he darted forth three tongues,
and in a triple row his sharp teeth stood.
Now those who ventured of the Tyrian race,
misfortuned followers of Cadmus, took
the path that led them to this grove; and when
they cast down-splashing in the springs an urn,
the hidden dragon stretched his azure head
out from the cavern's gloom, and vented forth
terrific hissings. Horrified they dropped
their urns. A sudden trembling shook their knees;
and their life-blood was ice within their veins.
The dragon wreathed his scales in rolling knots,
and with a spring, entwisted in great folds,
reared up his bulk beyond the middle rings,
high in the air from whence was given his gaze
the extreme confines of the grove below.
A size prodigious, his enormous bulk,
if seen extended where was naught to hide,
would rival in its length the Serpent's folds,
involved betwixt the planes of the Twin Bears.
The terrified Phoenicians, whether armed
for conflict, or in flight precipitate,
or whether held incapable from fear,
he seized with sudden rage; stung them to death,
or crushed them in the grasp of crushing folds,
or blasted with the poison of his breath.
High in the Heavens the sun small shadow made
when Cadmus, wondering what detained his men,
prepared to follow them. Clothed in a skin
torn from a lion, he was armed, complete,
with lance of glittering steel; and with a dart:
but passing these he had a dauntless soul.
When he explored the grove and there beheld
the lifeless bodies, and above them stretched
the vast victorious dragon licking up
the blood that issued from their ghastly wounds;
his red tongues dripping gore; then Cadmus filled
with rage and grief; “Behold, my faithful ones!
I will avenge your deaths or I will share it!”
He spoke; and lifted up a mill-stone huge,
in his right hand, and having poised it, hurled
with a tremendous effort dealing such
a blow would crush the strongest builded walls;
yet neither did the dragon flinch the shock
nor was he wounded, for his armour-scales,
fixed in his hard and swarthy hide, repelled
the dreadful impact. Not the javelin thus,
so surely by his armoured skin was foiled,
for through the middle segment of his spine
the steel point pierced, and sank beneath the flesh,
deep in his entrails. Writhing in great pain
he turned his head upon his bleeding back,
twisting the shaft, with force prodigious shook
it back and forth, and wrenched it from the wound;
with difficulty wrenched it. But the steel
remained securely fastened in his bones.
Such agony but made increase of rage:
his throat was swollen with great knotted veins;
a white froth gathered on his poisonous jaws;
the earth resounded with his rasping scales;
he breathed upon the grass a pestilence,
steaming mephitic from his Stygian mouth.
His body writhes up in tremendous gyres;
his folds, now straighter than a beam, untwist;
he rushes forward on his vengeful foe,
his great breast crushing the deep-rooted trees.
Small space gave Cadmus to the dragon's rage,
for by the lion's spoil he stood the shock,
and thrusting in his adversary's jaws
the trusted lance gave check his mad career.
Wild in his rage the dragon bit the steel
and fixed his teeth on the keen-biting point:
out from his poisoned palate streams of gore
spouted and stained the green with sanguine spray.
Yet slight the wound for he recoiled in time,
and drew his wounded body from the spear;
by shrinking from the sharp steel saved his throat
a mortal wound. But Cadmus as he pressed
the spear-point deeper in the serpent's throat,
pursued him till an oak-tree barred the way;
to this he fixed the dragon through the neck:
the stout trunk bending with the monster's weight,
groaned at the lashing of his serpent tail.

> Latin: Iamque deus posita fallacis imagine tauri
se confessus erat Dictaeaque rura tenebat,
cum pater ignarus Cadmo perquirere raptam
imperat et poenam, si non invenerit, addit
exilium, facto pius et sceleratus eodem.
Orbe pererrato (quis enim deprendere possit
furta Iovis?) profugus patriamque iramque parentis
vitat Agenorides Phoebique oracula supplex
consulit et, quae sit tellus habitanda, requirit.
“Bos tibi” Phoebus ait “solis occurret in arvis,
nullum passa iugum curvique inmunis aratri.
Hac duce carpe vias et qua requieverit herba
moenia fac condas, Boeotiaque ma vocato.”
Vix bene Castalio Cadmus descenderat antro,
incustoditam lente videt ire iuvencam
nullum servitii signum cervice gerentem.
Subsequitur pressoque legit vestigia gressu,
auctoremque viae Phoebum taciturnus adorat.
Iam vada Cephisi Panopesque evaserat arva:
bos stetit et tollens speciosam cornibus altis
ad caelum frontem mugitibus impulit auras,
atque ita, respiciens comites sua terga sequentes,
procubuit teneraque latus submisit in herba.
Cadmus agit grates peregrinaeque oscula terrae
figit et ignotos montes agrosque salutat.
Sacra Iovi facturus erat. Iubet ire ministros
et petere e vivis libandas fontibus undas.
Silva vetus stabat, nulla violata securi,
et specus in medio, virgis ac vimine densus,
efficiens humilem lapidum compagibus arcum,
uberibus fecundus aquis, ubi conditus antro
Martius anguis erat, cristis praesignis et auro;
igne micant oculi, corpus tumet omne venenis,
tres vibrant linguae, triplici stant ordine dentes.
Quem postquam Tyria lucum de gente profecti
infausto tetigere gradu, demissaque in undas
urna dedit sonitum, longo caput extulit antro
caeruleus serpens horrendaque sibila misit.
Effluxere urnae manibus sanguisque reliquit
corpus, et attonitos subitus tremor occupat artus.
Ille volubilibus squamosos nexibus orbes
torquet et inmensos saltu sinuatur in arcus,
ac media plus parte leves erectus in auras
despicit omne nemus, tantoque est corpore, quanto
si totum spectes, geminas qui separat arctos.
Nec mora, Phoenicas, sive illi tela parabant,
sive fugam, sive ipse timor prohibebat utrumque,
occupat: hos morsu, longis complexibus illos,
hos necat adfiatu funesti tabe veneni.
Fecerat exiguas iam sol altissimus umbras:
quae mora sit sociis, miratur Agenore natus,
vestigatque viros. Tegimen derepta leoni
pellis erat, telum splendenti lancea ferro
et iaculum, teloque animus praestantior omni.
Ut nemus intravit letataque corpora vidit
victoremque supra spatiosi corporis hostem
tristia sanguinea lambentem vulnera lingua,
“aut ultor vestrae, fidissima corpora, mortis,
aut comes” inquit “ero.” Dixit, dextraque molarem
sustulit et magnum magno conamine misit.
Illius impulsu cum turribus ardua celsis
moenia mota forent: serpens sine vulnere mansit
loricaeque modo squamis defensus et atrae
duritia pellis validos cute reppulit ictus.
At non duritia iaculum quoque vicit eadem:
quod medio lentae spinae curvamine fixum
constitit et totum descendit in ilia ferrum.
Ille dolore ferox caput in sua terga retorsit
vulneraque adspexit fixumque hastile momordit
idque, ubi vi multa partem labefecit in omnem,
vix tergo eripuit; ferrum tamen ossibus haesit.
Tum vero, postquam solitas accessit ad iras
causa recens, plenis tumuerunt guttura venis,
spumaque pestiferos circumfluit albida rictus,
terraque rasa sonat squamis, quique halitus exit
ore niger Stygio, vitiatas inficit auras.
Ipse modo inmensum spiris facientibus orbem
cingitur, interdum longa trabe rectior adstat
impete nunc vasto ceu concitus imbribus amnis
fertur et obstantes proturbat pectore silvas.
Cedit Agenorides paulum spolioque leonis
sustinet incursus instantiaque ora retardat
cuspide praetenta. Furit ille et inania duro
vulnera dat ferro figitque in acumine dentes.
Iamque venenifero sanguis manare palato
coeperat et virides adspergine tinxerat herbas:
sed leve vulnus erat, quia se retrahebat ab ictu
laesaque colla dabat retro plagamque sedere
cedendo arcebat nec longius ire sinebat,
donec Agenorides coniectum in guttura ferrum
usque sequens pressit, dum retro quercus eunti
obstitit, et fixa est pariter cum robore cervix.
Pondere serpentis curvata est arbor et ima
parte flagellari gemuit sua robora caudae.

[¶1] While the brave victor gazed upon the bulk
enormous of his vanquished foe, a voice
was heard—from whence was difficult to know,
but surely heard—“Son of Agenor, why
art thou here standing by this carcase-worm,
for others shall behold thy body changed
into a serpent?” Terrified, amazed,
he lost his colour and his self-control;
his hair stood upright from the dreadful fright.
But lo, the hero's watchful Deity,
Minerva, from the upper realms of air
appeared before him. She commanded him
to sow the dragon's teeth in mellowed soil,
from which might spring another race of men.
And he obeyed: and as he plowed the land,
took care to scatter in the furrowed soil
the dragon's teeth; a seed to raise up man.
'Tis marvelous but true, when this was done
the clods began to move. A spear-point first
appeared above the furrows, followed next
by helmet-covered heads, nodding their cones;
their shoulders, breasts and arms weighted with spears;
and largely grew the shielded crop of men.—
so is it in the joyful theaters
when the gay curtains, rolling from the floor,
are upward drawn until the scene is shown,—
it seems as if the figures rise to view:
first we behold their faces, then we see
their bodies, and their forms by slow degrees
appear before us on the painted cloth.
Cadmus, affrighted by this host, prepared
to arm for his defence; but one of those
from earth created cried; “Arm not! Away
from civil wars!” And with his trenchant sword
he smote an earth-born brother, hand to hand;
even as the vanquished so the victor fell,
pierced by a dart some distant brother hurled;
and likewise he who cast that dart was slain:
both breathing forth their lives upon the air
so briefly theirs, expired together. All
as if demented leaped in sudden rage,
each on the other, dealing mutual wounds.
So, having lived the space allotted them,
the youthful warriors perished as they smote
the earth (their blood-stained mother) with their breasts:
and only five of all the troop remained;
of whom Echion, by Minerva warned,
called on his brothers to give up the fight,
and cast his arms away in pledge of faith.—
when Cadmus, exiled from Sidonia's gates,
builded the city by Apollo named,
these five were trusted comrades in his toil.
Now Thebes is founded, who can deem thy days
unhappy in shine exile, Cadmus? Thou,
the son-in-law of Mars and Venus; thou,
whose glorious wife has borne to shine embrace
daughters and sons? And thy grandchildren join
around thee, almost grown to man's estate.—
nor should we say, “He leads a happy life,”
Till after death the funeral rites are paid.

> Latin: Dum spatium victor victi considerat hostis,
vox subito audita est; neque erat cognoscere promptum
unde, sed audita est: “Quid, Agenore nate, peremptum
serpentem spectas? et tu spectabere serpens.”
Ille diu pavidus pariter cum mente colorem
perdiderat, gelidoque comae terrore rigebant.
Ecce viri fautrix, superas delapsa per auras,
Pallas adest motaeque iubet supponere terrae
vipereos dentes, populi incrementa futuri.
Paret et, ut presso sulcum patefecit aratro,
spargit humi iussos, mortalia semina, dentes.
Inde (fide maius) glaebae coepere moveri,
primaque de sulcis acies apparuit hastae,
tegmina mox capitum picto nutantia cono,
mox umeri pectusque onerataque bracchia telis
exsistunt, crescitque seges clipeata virorum.
Sic ubi tolluntur festis aulaea theatris,
surgere signa solent primumque ostendere vultus,
cetera paulatim, placidoque educta tenore
tota patent imoque pedes in margine ponunt.
Territus hoste novo Cadmus capere arma parabat:
“ne cape”, de populo, quem terra creaverat, unus
exclamat “nec te civilibus insere bellis.”
Atque ita terrigenis rigido de fratribus unum
comminus ense ferit; iaculo cadit eminus ipse.
Hunc quoque qui leto dederat, non longius illo
vivit et exspirat modo quas acceperat auras;
exemploque pari furit omnis turba, suoque
Marte cadunt subiti per mutua vulnera fratres.
Iamque brevis vitae spatium sortita iuventus
sanguineam tepido plangebat pectore matrem,
quinque superstitibus, quorum fuit unus Echion.
Is sua iecit humo monitu Tritonidis arma
fraternaeque fidem pacis petiitque deditque.
Hos operis comites habuit Sidonius hospes,
cum posuit iussam Phoebeis sortibus urbem.
Iam stabant Thebae: poteras iam, Cadme, videri
exsilio felix. Soceri tibi Marsque Venusque
contigerant: huc adde genus de coniuge tanta,
tot natos natasque et pignera cara nepotes,
hos quoque iam iuvenes. Sed scilicet ultima semper
exspectanda dies homini est, dicique beatus
ante obitum nemo supremaque funera debet.

[¶2] Thy grandson, Cadmus, was the first to cast
thy dear felicity in sorrow's gloom.
Oh, it was pitiful to witness him,
his horns outbranching from his forehead, chased
by dogs that panted for their master's blood!
If thou shouldst well inquire it will be shown
his sorrow was the crime of Fortune—not
his guilt—for who maintains mistakes are crimes?
Upon a mountain stained with slaughtered game,
the young Hyantian stood. Already day,
increasing to meridian, made decrease
the flitting shadows, and the hot sun shone
betwixt extremes in equal distance. Such
the hour, when speaking to his fellow friends,
the while they wandered by those lonely haunts,
actaeon of Hyantis kindly thus;
“Our nets and steel are stained with slaughtered game,
the day has filled its complement of sport;
now, when Aurora in her saffron car
brings back the light of day, we may again
repair to haunts of sport. Now Phoebus hangs
in middle sky, cleaving the fields with heat.—
enough of toil; take down the knotted nets.”—
all did as he commanded; and they sought
their needed rest.
There is a valley called
Gargaphia; sacred to Diana, dense
with pine trees and the pointed cypress, where,
deep in the woods that fringed the valley's edge,
was hollowed in frail sandstone and the soft
white pumice of the hills an arch, so true
it seemed the art of man; for Nature's touch
ingenious had so fairly wrought the stone,
making the entrance of a grotto cool.
Upon the right a limpid fountain ran,
and babbled, as its lucid channel spread
into a clear pool edged with tender grass.
Here, when a-wearied with exciting sport,
the Sylvan goddess loved to come and bathe
her virgin beauty in the crystal pool.
After Diana entered with her nymphs,
she gave her javelin, quiver and her bow
to one accustomed to the care of arms;
she gave her mantle to another nymph
who stood near by her as she took it off;
two others loosed the sandals from her feet;
but Crocale, the daughter of Ismenus,
more skillful than her sisters, gathered up
the goddess' scattered tresses in a knot;—
her own were loosely wantoned on the breeze.
Then in their ample urns dipt up the wave
and poured it forth, the cloud-nymph Nephele,
the nymph of crystal pools called Hyale,
the rain-drop Rhanis, Psecas of the dews,
and Phyale the guardian of their urns.
And while they bathed Diana in their streams,
Actaeon, wandering through the unknown woods,
entered the precincts of that sacred grove;
with steps uncertain wandered he as fate
directed, for his sport must wait till morn.—
soon as he entered where the clear springs welled
or trickled from the grotto's walls, the nymphs,
now ready for the bath, beheld the man,
smote on their breasts, and made the woods resound,
suddenly shrieking. Quickly gathered they
to shield Diana with their naked forms, but she
stood head and shoulders taller than her guards.—
as clouds bright-tinted by the slanting sun,
or purple-dyed Aurora, so appeared
Diana's countenance when she was seen.
Oh, how she wished her arrows were at hand!
But only having water, this she took
and dashed it on his manly countenance,
and sprinkled with the avenging stream his hair,
and said these words, presage of future woe;
“Go tell it, if your tongue can tell the tale,
your bold eyes saw me stripped of all my robes.”
No more she threatened, but she fixed the horns
of a great stag firm on his sprinkled brows;
she lengthened out his neck; she made his ears
sharp at the top; she changed his hands and feet;
made long legs of his arms, and covered him
with dappled hair—his courage turned to fear.
The brave son of Autonoe took to flight,
and marveled that he sped so swiftly on.—
he saw his horns reflected in a stream
and would have said, “Ah, wretched me!” but now
he had no voice, and he could only groan:
large tears ran trickling down his face, transformed
in every feature.—Yet, as clear remained
his understanding, and he wondered what
he should attempt to do: should he return
to his ancestral palace, or plunge deep
in vast vacuities of forest wilds?
Fear made him hesitate to trust the woods,
and shame deterred him from his homeward way.
While doubting thus his dogs espied him there:
first Blackfoot and the sharp nosed Tracer raised
the signal: Tracer of the Gnossian breed,
and Blackfoot of the Spartan: swift as wind
the others followed. Glutton, Quicksight, Surefoot,
three dogs of Arcady; then valiant Killbuck,
Tempest, fierce Hunter, and the rapid Wingfoot;
sharp-scented Chaser, and Woodranger wounded
so lately by a wild boar; savage Wildwood,
the wolf-begot with Shepherdess the cow-dog;
and ravenous Harpy followed by her twin whelps;
and thin-girt Ladon chosen from Sicyonia;
racer and Barker, brindled Spot and Tiger;
sturdy old Stout and white haired Blanche and black Smut
lusty big Lacon, trusty Storm and Quickfoot;
active young Wolfet and her Cyprian brother
black headed Snap, blazed with a patch of white hair
from forehead to his muzzle; swarthy Blackcoat
and shaggy Bristle, Towser and Wildtooth,
his sire of Dicte and his dam of Lacon;
and yelping Babbler: these and others, more
than patience leads us to recount or name.
All eager for their prey the pack surmount
rocks, cliffs and crags, precipitous—where paths
are steep, where roads are none. He flies by routes
so oft pursued but now, alas, his flight
is from his own!—He would have cried, “Behold
your master!—It is I—Actaeon!” Words
refused his will. The yelping pack pressed on.
First Blackmane seized and tore his master's back,
Savage the next, then Rover's teeth were clinched
deep in his shoulder.—These, though tardy out,
cut through a by-path and arriving first
clung to their master till the pack came up.
The whole pack fastened on their master's flesh
till place was none for others. Groaning he
made frightful sounds that not the human voice
could utter nor the stag; and filled the hills
with dismal moans; and as a suppliant fell
down to the ground upon his trembling knees;
and turned his stricken eyes on his own dogs,
entreating them to spare him from their fangs.
But his companions, witless of his plight,
urged on the swift pack with their hunting cries.
They sought Actaeon and they vainly called,
“Actaeon! Hi! Actaeon!” just as though
he was away from them. Each time they called
he turned his head. And when they chided him,
whose indolence denied the joys of sport,
how much he wished an indolent desire
had haply held him from his ravenous pack.
Oh, how much; better 'tis to see the hunt,
and the fierce dogs, than feel their savage deeds!
They gathered round him, and they fixed their snouts
deep in his flesh: tore him to pieces, he
whose features only as a stag appeared.—
'Tis said Diana's fury raged with none
abatement till the torn flesh ceased to live.
Hapless Actaeon's end in various ways
was now regarded; some deplored his doom,
but others praised Diana's chastity;
and all gave many reasons. But the spouse
of Jove, alone remaining silent, gave
nor praise nor blame. Whenever calamity
befell the race of Cadmus she rejoiced,
in secret, for she visited her rage
on all Europa's kindred.
Now a fresh
occasion has been added to her grief,
and wild with jealousy of Semele,
her tongue as ever ready to her rage,
lets loose a torrent of abuse;
“Away!
Away with words! Why should I speak of it?
Let me attack her! Let me spoil that jade!
Am I not Juno the supreme of Heaven?
Queen of the flashing scepter? Am I not
sister and wife of Jove omnipotent?
She even wishes to be known by him
a mother of a Deity, a joy
almost denied to me! Great confidence
has she in her great beauty—nevertheless,
I shall so weave the web the bolt of Jove
would fail to save her.—Let the Gods deny
that I am Saturn's daughter, if her shade
descend not stricken to the Stygian wave.”
She rose up quickly from her shining throne,
and hidden in a cloud of fiery hue
descended to the home of Semele;
and while encompassed by the cloud, transformed
her whole appearance as to counterfeit
old Beroe, an Epidaurian nurse,
who tended Semele.
Her tresses changed
to grey, her smooth skin wrinkled and her step
grown feeble as she moved with trembling limbs;—
her voice was quavering as an ancient dame's,
as Juno, thus disguised, began to talk
to Semele. When presently the name
of Jove was mentioned—artful Juno thus;
(doubtful that Jupiter could be her love)—
“When Jove appears to pledge his love to you,
implore him to assume his majesty
and all his glory, even as he does
in presence of his stately Juno—Yea,
implore him to caress you as a God.”
With artful words as these the goddess worked
upon the trusting mind of Semele,
daughter of Cadmus, till she begged of Jove
a boon, that only hastened her sad death;
for Jove not knowing her design replied,
“Whatever thy wish, it shall not be denied,
and that thy heart shall suffer no distrust,
I pledge me by that Deity, the Waves
of the deep Stygian Lake,—oath of the Gods.”
All overjoyed at her misfortune, proud
that she prevailed, and pleased that she secured
of him a promise, that could only cause
her own disaster, Semele addressed
almighty Jove; “Come unto me in all
the splendour of thy glory, as thy might
is shown to Juno, goddess of the skies.”
Fain would he stifle her disastrous tongue;
before he knew her quest the words were said;
and, knowing that his greatest oath was pledged,
he sadly mounted to the lofty skies,
and by his potent nod assembled there
the deep clouds: and the rain began to pour,
and thunder-bolts resounded.
But he strove
to mitigate his power, and armed him not
with flames overwhelming as had put to flight
his hundred-handed foe Typhoeus—flames
too dreadful. Other thunder-bolts he took,
forged by the Cyclops of a milder heat,
with which insignia of his majesty,
sad and reluctant, he appeared to her.—
her mortal form could not endure the shock
and she was burned to ashes in his sight.
An unformed babe was rescued from her side,
and, nurtured in the thigh of Jupiter,
completed Nature's time until his birth.
Ino, his aunt, in secret nursed the boy
and cradled him. And him Nyseian nymphs
concealed in caves and fed with needful milk.

> Latin: Prima nepos inter tot res tibi, Cadme, secundas
causa fuit luctus, alienaque cornua fronti
addita, vosque canes satiatae sanguine erili.
At bene si quaeras, fortunae crimen in illo,
non scelus invenies: quod enim scelus error habebat?
Mons erat infectus variarum caede ferarum;
iamque dies medius rerum contraxerat umbras
et sol ex aequo meta distabat utraque,
cum iuvenis placido per devia lustra vagantes
participes operum compellat Hyantius ore:
“Lina madent, comites, ferrumque cruore ferarum,
fortunamque dies habuit satis. Altera lucem
cum croceis invecta rotis Aurora reducet,
propositum repetemus opus; nunc Phoebus utraque
distat idem terra finditque vaporibus arva.
Sistite opus praesens nodosaque tollite lina.”
Iussa viri faciunt intermittuntque laborem.
Vallis erat piceis et acuta densa cupressu,
nomine Gargaphie, succinctae sacra Dianae.
Cuius in extremo est antrum nemorale recessu,
arte laboratum nulla: simulaverat artem
ingenio natura suo; nam pumice vivo
et levibus tofis nativum duxerat arcum.
Fons sonat a dextra, tenui perlucidus unda,
margine gramineo patulos succinctus hiatus.
Hic dea silvarum venatu fessa solebat
virgineos artus liquido perfundere rore.
Quo postquam subiit, nympharum tradidit uni
armigerae iaculum pharetramque arcusque retentos;
altera depositae subiecit bracchia pallae,
vincla duae pedibus demunt; nam doctior illis
Ismenis Crocale sparsos per colla capillos
conligit in nodum, quamvis erat ipsa solutis.
Excipiunt laticem Nepheleque Hyaleque Rhanisque
et Psecas et Phiale funduntque capacibus urnis.
Dumque ibi perluitur solita Titania lympha,
ecce nepos Cadmi dilata parte laborum
per nemus ignotum non certis passibus errans
pervenit in lucum: sic illum fata ferebant.
Qui simul intravit rorantia fontibus antra,
sicut erant, viso nudae sua pectora nymphae
percussere viro, subitisque ululatibus omne
implevere nemus circumfusaeque Dianam
corporibus texere suis; tamen altior illis
ipsa dea est colloque tenus supereminet omnes.
Qui color infectis adversi solis ab ictu
nubibus esse solet aut purpureae aurorae,
is fuit in vultu visae sine veste Dianae.
Quae quamquam comitum turba est stipata suarum,
in latus obliquum tamen adstitit oraque retro
flexit, et ut vellet promptas habuisse sagittas,
quas habuit sic hausit aquas vultumque virilem
perfudit, spargensque comas ultricibus undis
addidit haec cladis praenuntia verba futurae:
“Nunc tibi me posito visam velamine narres,
si poteris narrare, licet.” Nec plura minata
dat sparso capiti vivacis cornua cervi,
dat spatium collo summasque cacuminat aures,
cum pedibusque manus, cum longis bracchia mutat
cruribus et velat maculoso vellere corpus.
Additus et pavor est. Fugit Autonoeius heros
et se tam celerem cursu miratur in ipso.
Ut vero vultus et cornua vidit in unda,
“me miserum!” dicturus erat: vox nulla secuta est.
Ingemuit: vox illa fuit, lacrimaeque per ora
non sua fluxerunt; mens tantum pristina mansit.
Quid faciat? repetatne domum et regalia tecta
an lateat silvis? pudor hoc, timor impedit illud.
Dum dubitat, videre canes. Primumque Melampus
Ichnobatesque sagax latratu signa dedere,
Gnosius Ichnobates, Spartana gente Melampus.
Inde ruunt alii rapida velocius aura,
Pamphagus et Dorceus et Oribasus, Arcades omnes,
Nebrophonusque valens et trux cum Laelape Theron
et pedibus Pterelas et naribus utilis Agre,
Hylaeusque ferox, nuper percussus ab apro,
deque lupo concepta Nape, pecudesque secuta
Poemenis et natis comitata Harpyia duobus,
et substricta gerens Sicyonius ilia Ladon,
et Dromas et Canache Sticteque et Tigris et Alce
et niveis Leucon et villis Asbolus atris
praevalidusque Lacon et cursu fortis Aello
et Thous et Cyprio velox cum fratre Lycisce,
et nigram medio frontem distinctus ab albo
Harpalos, et Melaneus hirsutaque corpore Lachne,
et patre Dictaeo, sed matre Laconide nati
Labros et Argiodus, et acutae vocis Hylactor,
quosque referre mora est. Ea turba cupidine praedae
per rupes scopulosque adituque carentia saxa,
quaque est difficilis quaque est via nulla, sequuntur.
Ille fugit per quae fuerat loca saepe secutus,
heu famulos fugit ipse suos. Clamare libebat
“Actaeon ego sum, dominum cognoscite vestrum!”
Verba animo desunt: resonat latratibus aether.
Prima Melanchaetes in tergo vulnera fecit,
proxima Therodamas, Oresitrophus haesit in armo:
tardius exierant, sed per compendia montis
anticipata via est. Dominum retinentibus illis,
cetera turba coit confertque in corpore dentes.
Iam loca vulneribus desunt. Gemit ille sonumque,
etsi non hominis, quem non tamen edere possit
cervus habet, maestisque replet iuga nota querellis.
Et genibus pronis supplex similisque roganti
circumfert tacitos tamquam sua bracchia vultus.
At comites rapidum solitis hortatibus agmen
ignari instigant oculisque Actaeona quaerunt
et velut absentem certatim Actaeona clamant
(ad nomen caput ille refert), et abesse queruntur
nec capere oblatae segnem spectacula praedae.
Vellet abesse quidem, sed adest; velletque videre,
non etiam sentire canum fera facta suorum.
Undique circumstant mersisque in corpore rostris
dilacerant falsi dominum sub imagine cervi.
Rumor in ambiguo est: aliis violentior aequo
visa dea est, alii laudant dignamque severa
virginitate vocant; pars invenit utraque causas.
Sola Iovis coniunx non tam culpetne probetne
eloquitur, quam clade domus ab Agenore ductae
gaudet et a Tyria conlectum paelice transfert
in generis socios odium. Subit ecce priori
causa recens, gravidamque dolet de semine magni
esse Iovis Semelen. Dum linguam ad iurgia solvit,
“profeci quid enim totiens per iurgia?” dixit:
“ipsa petenda mihi est, ipsam, si maxima Iuno
rite vocor, perdam, si me gemmantia dextra
sceptra tenere decet, si sum regina Iovisque
et soror et coniunx, certe soror. At, puto, furto est
contenta, et thalami brevis est iniuria nostri:
concipit, id deerat! manifestaque crimina pleno
fert utero, et mater, quod vix mihi contigit uno
de Iove vult fieri: tanta est fiducia formae.
Fallat eam faxo; nec sum Saturnia, si non
ab Iove mersa suo Stygias penetrabit in undas.”
Surgit ab his solio fulvaque recondita nube
limen adit Semeles. Nec nubes ante removit,
quam simulavit anum posuitque ad tempora canos
sulcavitque cutem rugis et curva trementi
membra tulit passu; vocem quoque fecit anilem,
ipsaque erat Beroe, Semeles Epidauria nutrix.
Ergo ubi captato sermone diuque loquendo
ad nomen venere Iovis, suspirat et “opto,
Iuppiter ut sit” ait: “metuo tamen omnia: multi
nomine divorum thalamos iniere pudicos.
Nec tamen esse Iovem satis est: det pignus amoris,
si modo verus is est, quantusque et qualis ab alta
Iunone excipitur, tantus talisque, rogato,
det tibi complexus suaque ante insignia sumat.”
Talibus ignaram Iuno Cadmeida dictis
formarat. Rogat illa Iovem sine nomine munus.
Cui deus “elige” ait: “nullam patiere repulsam.
Quoque magis credas, Stygii quoque conscia sunto
numina torrentis: timor et deus ille deorum est“.
Laeta malo nimiumque potens perituraque amantis
obsequio Semele “qualem Saturnia” dixit
“te solet amplecti, Veneris cum foedus initis,
da mihi te talem.” Voluit deus ora loquentis
opprimere: exierat iam vox properata sub auras.
Ingemuit; neque enim non haec optasse, neque ille
non iurasse potest. Ergo maestissimus altum
aethera conscendit vultuque sequentia traxit
nubila, quis nimbos inmixtaque fulgura ventis
addidit et tonitrus et inevitabile fulmen.
Qua tamen usque potest, vires sibi demere temptat;
nec, quo centimanum deiecerat igne Typhoea,
nunc armatur eo: nimium feritatis in illo est.
Est aliud levius fulmen, cui dextra Cyclopum
saevitiae flammaeque minus, minus addidit irae;
tela secunda vocant superi. Capit illa, domumque
intrat Agenoream. Corpus mortale tumultus
non tulit aetherios donisque iugalibus arsit.
Imperfectus adhuc infans genetricis ab alvo
eripitur, patrioque tener (si credere dignum est)
insuitur femori maternaque tempora complet.
Furtim illum primis Ino matertera cuuis

[¶3] While these events according to the laws
of destiny occurred, and while the child,
the twice-born Bacchus, in his cradle lay,
'Tis told that Jupiter, a careless hour,
indulged too freely in the nectar cup;
and having laid aside all weighty cares,
jested with Juno as she idled by.
Freely the god began; “Who doubts the truth?
The female's pleasure is a great delight,
much greater than the pleasure of a male.”
Juno denied it; wherefore 'twas agreed
to ask Tiresias to declare the truth,
than whom none knew both male and female joys:
for wandering in a green wood he had seen
two serpents coupling; and he took his staff
and sharply struck them, till they broke and fled.
'Tis marvelous, that instant he became
a woman from a man, and so remained
while seven autumns passed. When eight were told,
again he saw them in their former plight,
and thus he spoke; “Since such a power was wrought,
by one stroke of a staff my sex was changed—
again I strike!” And even as he struck
the same two snakes, his former sex returned;
his manhood was restored.—
as both agreed
to choose him umpire of the sportive strife,
he gave decision in support of Jove;
from this the disappointment Juno felt
surpassed all reason, and enraged, decreed
eternal night should seal Tiresias' eyes.—
immortal Deities may never turn
decrees and deeds of other Gods to naught,
but Jove, to recompense his loss of sight,
endowed him with the gift of prophecy.
Tiresias' fame of prophecy was spread
through all the cities of Aonia,
for his unerring answers unto all
who listened to his words. And first of those
that harkened to his fateful prophecies,
a lovely Nymph, named Liriope, came
with her dear son, who then fifteen, might seem
a man or boy—he who was born to her
upon the green merge of Cephissus' stream—
that mighty River-God whom she declared
the father of her boy.—
she questioned him.
Imploring him to tell her if her son,
unequalled for his beauty, whom she called
Narcissus, might attain a ripe old age.
To which the blind seer answered in these words,
“If he but fail to recognize himself,
a long life he may have, beneath the sun,”—
so, frivolous the prophet's words appeared;
and yet the event, the manner of his death,
the strange delusion of his frenzied love, confirmed it.
Three times five years so were passed.
Another five-years, and the lad might seem
a young man or a boy. And many a youth,
and many a damsel sought to gain his love;
but such his mood and spirit and his pride,
none gained his favour.
Once a noisy Nymph,
(who never held her tongue when others spoke,
who never spoke till others had begun)
mocking Echo, spied him as he drove,
in his delusive nets, some timid stags.—
for Echo was a Nymph, in olden time,—
and, more than vapid sound,—possessed a form:
and she was then deprived the use of speech,
except to babble and repeat the words,
once spoken, over and over.
Juno confused
her silly tongue, because she often held
that glorious goddess with her endless tales,
till many a hapless Nymph, from Jove's embrace,
had made escape adown a mountain. But
for this, the goddess might have caught them. Thus
the glorious Juno, when she knew her guile;
“Your tongue, so freely wagged at my expense,
shall be of little use; your endless voice,
much shorter than your tongue.” At once the Nymph
was stricken as the goddess had decreed;—
and, ever since, she only mocks the sounds
of others' voices, or, perchance, returns
their final words.
One day, when she observed
Narcissus wandering in the pathless woods,
she loved him and she followed him, with soft
and stealthy tread.—The more she followed him
the hotter did she burn, as when the flame
flares upward from the sulphur on the torch.
Oh, how she longed to make her passion known!
To plead in soft entreaty! to implore his love!
But now, till others have begun, a mute
of Nature she must be. She cannot choose
but wait the moment when his voice may give
to her an answer.
Presently the youth,
by chance divided from his trusted friends,
cries loudly, “Who is here?” and Echo, “Here!”
Replies. Amazed, he casts his eyes around,
and calls with louder voice, “Come here!” “Come here!”
She calls the youth who calls.—He turns to see
who calls him and, beholding naught exclaims,
“Avoid me not!” “Avoid me not!” returns.
He tries again, again, and is deceived
by this alternate voice, and calls aloud;
“Oh let us come together!” Echo cries,
“Oh let us come together!” Never sound
seemed sweeter to the Nymph, and from the woods
she hastens in accordance with her words,
and strives to wind her arms around his neck.
He flies from her and as he leaves her says,
“Take off your hands! you shall not fold your arms
around me. Better death than such a one
should ever caress me!” Naught she answers save,
“Caress me!”
Thus rejected she lies hid
in the deep woods, hiding her blushing face
with the green leaves; and ever after lives
concealed in lonely caverns in the hills.
But her great love increases with neglect;
her miserable body wastes away,
wakeful with sorrows; leanness shrivels up
her skin, and all her lovely features melt,
as if dissolved upon the wafting winds—
nothing remains except her bones and voice—
her voice continues, in the wilderness;
her bones have turned to stone. She lies concealed
in the wild woods, nor is she ever seen
on lonely mountain range; for, though we hear
her calling in the hills, 'tis but a voice,
a voice that lives, that lives among the hills.
Thus he deceived the Nymph and many more,
sprung from the mountains or the sparkling waves;
and thus he slighted many an amorous youth.—
and therefore, some one whom he once despised,
lifting his hands to Heaven, implored the Gods,
“If he should love deny him what he loves!”
and as the prayer was uttered it was heard
by Nemesis, who granted her assent.
There was a fountain silver-clear and bright,
which neither shepherds nor the wild she-goats,
that range the hills, nor any cattle's mouth
had touched—its waters were unsullied—birds
disturbed it not; nor animals, nor boughs
that fall so often from the trees. Around
sweet grasses nourished by the stream grew; trees
that shaded from the sun let balmy airs
temper its waters. Here Narcissus, tired
of hunting and the heated noon, lay down,
attracted by the peaceful solitudes
and by the glassy spring. There as he stooped
to quench his thirst another thirst increased.
While he is drinking he beholds himself
reflected in the mirrored pool—and loves;
loves an imagined body which contains
no substance, for he deems the mirrored shade
a thing of life to love. He cannot move,
for so he marvels at himself, and lies
with countenance unchanged, as if indeed
a statue carved of Parian marble. Long,
supine upon the bank, his gaze is fixed
on his own eyes, twin stars; his fingers shaped
as Bacchus might desire, his flowing hair
as glorious as Apollo's, and his cheeks
youthful and smooth; his ivory neck, his mouth
dreaming in sweetness, his complexion fair
and blushing as the rose in snow-drift white.
All that is lovely in himself he loves,
and in his witless way he wants himself:—
he who approves is equally approved;
he seeks, is sought, he burns and he is burnt.
And how he kisses the deceitful fount;
and how he thrusts his arms to catch the neck
that's pictured in the middle of the stream!
Yet never may he wreathe his arms around
that image of himself. He knows not what
he there beholds, but what he sees inflames
his longing, and the error that deceives
allures his eyes. But why, O foolish boy,
so vainly catching at this flitting form?
The cheat that you are seeking has no place.
Avert your gaze and you will lose your love,
for this that holds your eyes is nothing save
the image of yourself reflected back to you.
It comes and waits with you; it has no life;
it will depart if you will only go.

> Latin: educat: inde datum nymphae Nyseides antris
occuluere suis lactisque alimenta dedere.
Dumque ea per terras fatali lege geruntur
tutaque bis geniti sunt incunabula Bacchi,
forte Iovem memorant, diffusum nectare, curas
seposuisse graves vacuumque agitasse remissos
cum Iunone iocos et “maior vestra profecto est,
quam quae contingit maribus” dixisse “voluptas.”
Illa negat. Placuit quae sit sententia docti
quaerere Tiresiae: venus huic erat utraque nota.
Nam duo magnorum viridi coeuntia silva
corpora serpentum baculi violaverat ictu;
deque viro factus (mirabile) femina septem
egerat autumnos. Octavo rursus eosdem
vidit, et “est vestrae si tanta potentia plagae”
dixit “ut auctoris sortem in contraria mutet,
nunc quoque vos feriam.” Percussis anguibus isdem
forma prior rediit genetivaque venit imago.
Arbiter hic igitur sumptus de lite iocosa
dicta Iovis firmat. Gravius Saturnia iusto
nec pro materia fertur doluisse, suique
iudicis aeterna damnavit lumina nocte.
At pater omnipotens (neque enim licet inrita cuiquam
facta dei fecisse deo) pro lumine adempto
scire futura dedit, poenamque levavit honore.
Ille per Aonias fama celeberrimus urbes
inreprehensa dabat populo responsa petenti.
Prima fide vocisque ratae temptamina sumpsit
caerula Liriope. Quam quondam flumine curvo
implicuit clausaeque suis Cephisus in undis
vim tulit. Enixa est utero pulcherrima pleno
infantem, nymphis iam tunc qui posset amari,
Narcissumque vocat. De quo consultus, an esset
tempora maturae visurus longa senectae,
fatidicus vates “si se non noverit” inquit.
Vana diu visa est vox auguris: exitus illam
resque probat letique genus novitasque furoris.
Namque ter ad quinos unum Cephisius annum
addiderat poteratque puer iuvenisque videri:
multi illum iuvenes, multae cupiere puellae.
Sed fuit in tenera tam dura superbia forma:
nulli illum iuvenes, nullae tetigere puellae.
Adspicit hunc trepidos agitantem in retia cervos
vocalis nymphe, quae nec reticere loquenti,
nec prior ipsa loqui didicit, resonabilis Echo.
Corpus adhuc Echo, non vox erat; et tamen usum
garrula non alium, quam nunc habet, oris habebat,
reddere de multis ut verba novissima posset.
Fecerat hoc Iuno, quia, cum deprendere posset
cum Iove saepe suo nymphas in monte iacentes,
illa deam longo prudens sermone tenebat,
dum fugerent nymphae. Postquam Saturnia sensit
“huius” ait “linguae, qua sum delusa, potestas
parva tibi dabitur vocisque brevissimus usus”:
reque minas firmat. Tamen haec in fine loquendi
ingeminat voces auditaque verba reportat.
Ergo ubi Narcissum per devia rura vagantem
vidit et incaluit, sequitur vestigia furtim,
quoque magis sequitur, flamma propiore calescit,
non aliter, quam cum summis circumlita taedis
admotas rapiunt vivacia sulphura flammas.
O quotiens voluit blandis accedere dictis
et molles adhibere preces: natura repugnat
nec sinit incipiat. Sed, quod sinit, illa parata est
exspectare sonos, ad quos sua verba remittat.
Forte puer comitum seductus ab agmine fido,
dixerat “ecquis adest?” et “adest!” responderat Echo.
Hic stupet, utque aciem partes dimittit in omnes,
voce “veni!” magna clamat: vocat illa vocantem.
Respicit et rursus nullo veniente “quid” inquit
“me fugis?” et totidem, quot dixit, verba recepit.
Perstat et, alternae deceptus imagine vocis,
“huc coeamus!” ait: nullique libentius umquam
responsura sono “coeamus” rettulit Echo,
et verbis favet ipsa suis egressaque silva
ibat, ut iniceret sperato bracchia collo.
Ille fugit fugiensque “manus complexibus aufer:
ante” ait “emoriar, quam sit tibi copia nostri.”
Rettulit illa nihil nisi “sit tibi copia nostri.”
Spreta latet silvis pudibundaque frondibus ora
protegit et solis ex illo vivit in antris.
Sed tamen haeret amor crescitque dolore repulsae.
Extenuant vigiles corpus miserabile curae,
adducitque cutem macies et in aera sucus
corporis omnis abit. Vox tantum atque ossa supersunt:
vox manet; ossa ferunt lapidis traxisse figuram.
Sic hanc, sic alias undis aut montibus ortas
luserat hic nymphas, sic coetus ante viriles.
Inde manus aliquis despectus ad aethera tollens
“sic amet ipse licet sic non potiatur amato!”
dixerat. Adsensit precibus Rhamnusia iustis.
Fons erat inlimis, nitidis argenteus undis,
quem neque pastores neque pastae monte capellae
contigerant aliudve pecus, quem nulla volucris
nec fera turbarat nec lapsus ab arbore ramus.
Gramen erat circa, quod proximus umor alebat,
silvaque sole locum passura tepescere nullo.
Hic puer, et studio venandi lassus et aestu,
procubuit faciemque loci fontemque secutus.
Dumque bibit, visae correptus imagine formae
adstupet ipse sibi, vultuque inmotus eodem
haeret, ut e Pario formatum marmore signum.
Spectat humi positus geminum, sua lumina, sidus
et dignos Baccho, dignos et Apolline crines
impubesque genas et eburnea colla decusque
oris et in niveo mixtum candore ruborem,
cunctaque miratur, quibus est mirabilis ipse.
Se cupit imprudens et qui probat, ipse probatur,
dumque petit, petitur, pariterque accendit et ardet.
Inrita fallaci quotiens dedit oscula fonti!
In mediis quotiens visum captantia collum
bracchia mersit aquis, nec se deprendit in illis!
Quid videat, nescit: sed quod videt, uritur illo,
atque oculos idem, qui decipit, incitat error.
Credule, quid frusta simulacra fugacia captas?
quod petis, est nusquam; quod amas, avertere, perdes.
Ista repercussae, quam cernis, imaginis umbra est: