Nor food nor rest can draw him thence—outstretchedupon the overshadowed green, his eyesfixed on the mirrored image never may knowtheir longings satisfied, and by their sighthe is himself undone. Raising himselfa moment, he extends his arms around,and, beckoning to the murmuring forest; “Oh,ye aisled wood was ever man in lovemore fatally than I? Your silent pathshave sheltered many a one whose love was told,and ye have heard their voices. Ages vasthave rolled away since your forgotten birth,but who is he through all those weary yearsthat ever pined away as I? Alas,this fatal image wins my love, as Ibehold it. But I cannot press my armsaround the form I see, the form that givesme joy. What strange mistake has intervenedbetwixt us and our love? It grieves me morethat neither lands nor seas nor mountains, no,nor walls with closed gates deny our loves,but only a little water keeps us farasunder. Surely he desires my loveand my embraces, for as oft I striveto kiss him, bending to the limpid streammy lips, so often does he hold his facefondly to me, and vainly struggles up.It seems that I could touch him. 'Tis a strangedelusion that is keeping us apart.“Whoever thou art, Come up! Deceive me not!Oh, whither when I fain pursue art thou?Ah, surely I am young and fair, the Nymphshave loved me; and when I behold thy smilesI cannot tell thee what sweet hopes arise.When I extend my loving arms to theethine also are extended me — thy smilesreturn my own. When I was weeping, Ihave seen thy tears, and every sign I makethou cost return; and often thy sweet lipshave seemed to move, that, peradventure words,which I have never heard, thou hast returned.“No more my shade deceives me, I perceive'Tis I in thee—I love myself—the flamearises in my breast and burns my heart—what shall I do? Shall I at once implore?Or should I linger till my love is sought?What is it I implore? The thing that Idesire is mine—abundance makes me poor.Oh, I am tortured by a strange desireunknown to me before, for I would fainput off this mortal form; which only meansI wish the object of my love away.Grief saps my strength, the sands of life are run,and in my early youth am I cut off;but death is not my bane—it ends my woe.—I would not death for this that is my love,as two united in a single soulwould die as one.”He spoke; and crazed with love,returned to view the same face in the pool;and as he grieved his tears disturbed the stream,and ripples on the surface, glassy clear,defaced his mirrored form. And thus the youth,when he beheld that lovely shadow go;“Ah whither cost thou fly? Oh, I entreatthee leave me not. Alas, thou cruel boythus to forsake thy lover. Stay with methat I may see thy lovely form, for thoughI may not touch thee I shall feed my eyesand soothe my wretched pains.” And while he spokehe rent his garment from the upper edge,and beating on his naked breast, all whiteas marble, every stroke produced a tintas lovely as the apple streaked with red,or as the glowing grape when purple bloomtouches the ripening clusters.When as glassagain the rippling waters smoothed, and whensuch beauty in the stream the youth observed,no more could he endure. As in the flamethe yellow wax, or as the hoar-frost meltsin early morning 'neath the genial sun;so did he pine away, by love consumed,and slowly wasted by a hidden flame.No vermeil bloom now mingled in the whiteof his complexion fair; no strength has he,no vigor, nor the comeliness that wroughtfor love so long: alas, that handsome formby Echo fondly loved may please no more.But when she saw him in his hapless plight,though angry at his scorn, she only grieved.As often as the love-lore boy complained,“Alas!” “Alas!” her echoing voice returned;and as he struck his hands against his arms,she ever answered with her echoing sounds.And as he gazed upon the mirrored poolhe said at last, “Ah, youth beloved in vain!”“In vain, in vain!” the spot returned his words;and when he breathed a sad “farewell!” “Farewell!”sighed Echo too. He laid his wearied head,and rested on the verdant grass; and thosebright eyes, which had so loved to gaze, entranced,on their own master's beauty, sad Night closed.And now although among the nether shadeshis sad sprite roams, he ever loves to gazeon his reflection in the Stygian wave.His Naiad sisters mourned, and having clippedtheir shining tresses laid them on his corpse:and all the Dryads mourned: and Echo madelament anew. And these would have upraisedhis funeral pyre, and waved the flaming torch,and made his bier; but as they turned their eyeswhere he had been, alas he was not there!And in his body's place a sweet flower grew,golden and white, the white around the gold.
nil habet ista sui; tecum venitque manetque,tecum discedet, si tu discedere possis.Non illum Cereris, non illum cura quietisabstrahere inde potest, sed opaca fusus in herbaspectat inexpleto mendacem lumine formam,perque oculos perit ipse suos; paulumque levatusad circumstantes tendens sua bracchia silvas“ecquis, io silvae, crudelius” inquit “amavit?Scitis enim, et multis latebra opportuna fuistis.Ecquem, cum vestrae tot agantur saecula vitae,qui sic tabuerit, longo meministis in aevo?Et placet et video; sed quod videoque placetque,non tamen invenio: tantus tenet error amantem.Quoque magis doleam, nec nos mare separat ingens,nec via nec montes nec clausis moenia portis:exigua prohibemur aqua. Cupit ipse teneri:nam quotiens liquidis porreximus oscula lymphis,hic totiens ad me resupino nititur ore.Posse putes tangi: minimum est, quod amantibus obstat.Quisquis es, huc exi! quid me, puer unice, fallis,quove petitus abis? certe nec forma nec aetasest mea quam fugias, et amarunt me quoque nymphae.Spem mihi nescio quam vultu promittis amico,cumque ego porrexi tibi bracchia, porrigis ultro:cum risi, adrides; lacrimas quoque saepe notavime lacrimante tuas, nutu quoque signa remittis,et quantum motu formosi suspicor oris,verba refers aures non pervenientia nostras.Iste ego sum: sensi, nec me mea fallit imago.Uror amore mei, flammas moveoque feroque.Quid faciam? roger, anne rogem? quid deinde rogabo?quod cupio mecum est: inopem me copia fecit.O utinam a nostro secedere corpore possem!Votum in amante novum: vellem quod amamus abesset! —Iamque dolor vires adimit, nec tempora vitaelonga meae superant, primoque exstinguor in aevo.Nec mihi mors gravis est posituro morte dolores:hic, qui diligitur, vellem diuturnior esset.Nunc duo concordes anima moriemur in una.”Dixit et ad faciem rediit male sanus eandemet lacrimis turbavit aquas, obscuraque motoreddita forma lacu est. Quam cum vidisset abire,“quo refugis? remane, nec me, crudelis, amantemdesere!” clamavit: “liceat, quod tangere non est,adspicere et misero praebere alimenta furori.”Dumque dolet, summa vestem deduxit ab oranudaque marmoreis percussit pectora palmis.Pectora traxerunt tenuem percussa ruborem,non aliter quam poma solent, quae candida parte,parte rubent, aut ut variis solet uva racemisducere purpureum nondum matura colorem.Quae simul adspexit liquefacta rursus in unda,non tulit ulterius, sed ut intabescere flavaeigne levi cerae matutinaeque pruinaesole tepente solent, sic attenuatus amoreliquitur et tecto paulatim carpitur igni.Et neque iam color est mixto candore rubori,nec vigor et vires et quae modo visa placebant,nec corpus remanet, quondam quod amaverat Echo.Quae tamen ut vidit, quamvis irata memorque,indoluit, quotiensque puer miserabilis “eheu”dixerat, haec resonis iterabat vocibus “eheu”;cumque suos manibus percusserat ille lacertos,haec quoque reddebat sonitum plangoris eundem.Ultima vox solitam fuit haec spectantis in undam,“heu frustra dilecte puer!” totidemque remisitverba locus, dictoque vale “vale!” inquit et Echo.Ille caput viridi fessum submisit in herba;lumina mors clausit domini mirantia formam.Tunc quoque se, postquam est inferna sede receptus,in Stygia spectabat aqua. Planxere sororesnaides et sectos fratri posuere capillos,planxerunt dryades: plangentibus adsonat Echo.Iamque rogum quassasque faces feretrumque parabant:
Narcissus' fate, when known throughout the landand cities of Achaia, added famedeserved, to blind Tiresias,—mighty seer.Yet Pentheus, bold despiser of the Gods,son of Echion, scoffed at all his praise,and, sole of man deriding the great seer,upbraided him his hapless loss of sight.And shaking his white temples, hoar with age.Tiresias of Pentheus prophesied,“Oh glad the day to thee, if, light denied,thine eyes, most fortunate, should not beholdthe Bacchanalian rites! The day will come,and soon the light will dawn, when Bacchus, bornof Semele, shall make his advent known—all hail the new god Bacchus! Either thoumust build a temple to this Deity,or shalt be torn asunder; thy remains,throughout the forest scattered, will pollutethe wood with sanguinary streams; and thylife-blood bespatter with corrupting blotsthy frenzied mother and her sisters twain.And all shall come to pass, as I have told,because thou wilt not honour the New God.And thou shalt wail and marvel at the sightof blind Tiresias, though veiled in night.”And as he spoke, lo, Pentheus drove the seer:but all his words, prophetic, were fulfilled,and confirmation followed in his steps.—Bacchus at once appears, and all the fieldsresound with shouts of everybody there.—men, brides and matrons, and a howling rout—nobles and commons and the most refined—a motley multitude—resistless borneto join those rites of Bacchus, there begun.Then Pentheus cries; “What madness, O ye bravedescendants of the Dragon! Sons of Mars!What frenzy has confounded you? Can soundsof clanging brass prevail; and pipes and horns,and magical delusions, drunkenness,and yelling women, and obscene displays,and hollow drums, overcome you, whom the sword,nor troops of war, nor trumpet could affright?“How shall I wonder at these ancient men,who, crossing boundless seas from distant Tyre,hither transferred their exiled Household Gods,and founded a new Tyre; but now are shorn,and even as captives would be led awaywithout appeal to Mars? And, O young men,of active prime whose vigor equals mine!Cast down your ivy scepters; take up arms;put on your helmets; strip your brows of leaves;be mindful of the mighty stock you are,and let your souls be animated withthe spirit of that dauntless dragon, which,unaided, slew so many, and at lastdied to defend his fountain and his lake.—so ye may conquer in the hope of fame.“He gave the brave to death, but with your armsye shall expel the worthless, and enhancethe glory of your land. If Fate decreethe fall of Thebes, Oh, let the enginesof war and men pull down its walls, and letthe clash of steel and roaring flames resound.Thus, blameless in great misery, our woeswould be the theme of lamentations, knownto story; and our tears would shame us not.“But now an unarmed boy will conquer Thebes:a lad whom neither weapons, wars nor steedsdelight; whose ringlets reek with myrrh; adornedwith chaplets, purple and embroidered robesof interwoven gold. Make way for me!And I will soon compel him to confesshis father is assumed and all his ritesare frauds.“If in days gone Acrisiusso held this vain god in deserved contempt,and shut the Argive gates against his face,why, therefore, should not Pentheus close the gatesof Thebes, with equal courage—Hence! Away!Fetch the vile leader of these riotersin chains! Let not my mandate be delayed.”Him to restrain his grandsire, Cadmus, strove;and Athamas, and many of his trusted friendsunited in vain efforts to rebukehis reckless rage; but greater violencewas gained from every admonition.—his rage increased the more it was restrained,and injury resulted from his friends.So have I seen a stream in open course,run gently on its way with pleasant noise,but whensoever logs and rocks detained,it foamed, with violence increased, againstobstruction.Presently returning camehis servants stained with blood, to whom he said,“What have ye done with Bacchus?” And to himthey made reply; “Not Bacchus have we seen,but we have taken his attendant lad,the chosen servant of his sacred rites.”And they delivered to the noble king,a youth whose hands were lashed behind his back.Then Pentheus, terrible in anger, turnedhis awful gaze upon the lad, and thoughhe scarce deferred his doom, addressed him thus;“Doomed to destruction, thou art soon to giveexample to my people by thy death:tell me thy name; what are thy parents called;where is thy land; and wherefore art thou foundattendant on these Bacchanalian rites.”
nusquam corpus erat; croceum pro corpore floreminveniunt, foliis medium cingentibus albis.Cognita res meritam vati per Achaidas urbesattulerat famam, nomenque erat auguris ingens.Spernit Echionides tamen hunc ex omnibus unus,contemptor superum, Pentheus, praesagaque ridetverba senis tenebrasque et cladem lucis ademptaeobicit. Ille movens albentia tempora canis“quam felix esses, si tu quoque luminis huiusorbus” ait “fieres, ne Bacchica sacra videres!Namque dies aderit, quam non procul auguror esse,qua novus huc veniat, proles Semeleia, Liber;quem nisi templorum fueris dignatus honore,mille lacer spargere locis et sanguine silvasfoedabis matremque tuam matrisque sorores.Evenient; neque enim dignabere numen honore,meque sub his tenebris nimium vidisse quereris.”Talia dicentem proturbat Echione natus.Dicta fides sequitur, responsaque vatis aguntur:Liber adest, festisque fremunt ululatibus agri;turba ruit, mixtaeque viris matresque nurusquevulgusque proceresque ignota ad sacra feruntur.“Quis furor, anguigenae, proles Mavortia, vestrasattonuit mentes?” Pentheus ait: “aerane tantumaere repulsa valent et adunco tibia cornuet magicae fraudes, ut, quos non bellicus ensis,non tuba terruerit, non strictis agmina telis,femineae voces et mota insania vinoobscenique greges et inania tympana vincant?Vosne, senes, mirer, qui longa per aequora vectihac Tyron, hac profugos posuistis sede penates,nunc sinitis sine Marte capi? vosne, acrior aetas,o iuvenes, propiorque meae, quos arma tenere,non thyrsos, galeaque tegi, non fronde, decebat?Este, precor, memores, qua sitis stirpe creati,illiusque animos, qui multos perdidit unus,sumite serpentis! Pro fontibus ille lacuqueinteriit: at vos pro fama vincite vestra!Ille dedit leto fortes, vos pellite molleset patrium retinete decus. Si fata vetabantstare diu Thebas, utinam tormenta viriquemoenia diruerent, ferrumque ignisque sonarent!Essemus miseri sine crimine, sorsque querenda,non celanda foret, lacrimaeque pudore carerent.At nunc a puero Thebae capientur inermi,quem neque bella iuvant nec tela nec usus equorum,sed madidi murra crines mollesque coronaepurpuraque et pictis intextum vestibus aurum.Quem quidem ego actutum (modo vos absistite) cogamadsumptumque patrem commentaque sacra fateri.An satis Acrisio est animi contemnere vanumnumen et Argolicas venienti claudere portas,Penthea terrebit cum totis advena Thebis?Ite citi” (famulis hoc imperat), “ite ducemqueattrahite huc vinctum! iussis mora segnis abesto.”Hunc avus, hunc Athamas, hunc cetera turba suorumcorripiunt dictis frustraque inhibere laborant.Acrior admonitu est, inritaturque retentaet crescit rabies, remoraminaque ipsa nocebant.Sic ego torrentem, qua nil obstabat eunti,lenius et modico strepitu decurrere vidi:at quacumque trabes obstructaque saxa tenebant,spumeus et fervens et ab obice saevior ibat.Ecce cruentati redeunt et, Bacchus ubi esset,quaerenti domino Bacchum vidisse negarunt;“hunc” dixere “tamen comitem famulumque sacrorumcepimus”; et tradunt manibus post terga ligatissacra dei quondam Tyrrhena gente secutum.Adspicit hunc Pentheus oculis, quos ira tremendosfecerat, et quamquam poenae vix tempora differt,“o periture tuaque aliis documenta dature
But fearless he replied; “They call my nameAcoetes; and Maeonia is the landfrom whence I came. My parents were so poor,my father left me neither fruitful fields,tilled by the lusty ox, nor fleecy sheep,nor lowing kine; for, he himself was poor,and with his hook and line was wont to catchthe leaping fishes, landed by his rod.His skill was all his wealth. And when to mehe gave his trade, he said, ‘You are the heirof my employment, therefore unto youall that is mine I give,’ and, at his death,he left me nothing but the running waves. —they are the sum of my inheritance.“And, afterwhile, that I might not be boundforever to my father's rocky shores,I learned to steer the keel with dextrous hand;and marked with watchful gaze the guiding stars;the watery Constellation of the Goat,Olenian, and the Bear, the Hyades,the Pleiades, the houses of the winds,and every harbour suitable for ships.“So chanced it, as I made for Delos, firstI veered close to the shores of Chios: thereI steered, by plying on the starboard oar,and nimbly leaping gained the sea-wet strand.“Now when the night was past and lovely dawnappeared, I, rose from slumber, and I bademy men to fetch fresh water, and I showedthe pathway to the stream. Then did I climba promontory's height, to learn from therethe promise of the winds; which having done,I called the men and sought once more my ship.Opheltes, first of my companions, cried,‘Behold we come!’ And, thinking he had caughta worthy prize in that unfruitful land,he led a boy, of virgin-beauty formed,across the shore.“Heavy with wine and sleepthe lad appeared to stagger on his way,—with difficulty moving. When I sawthe manner of his dress, his countenanceand grace, I knew it was not mortal man,and being well assured, I said to them;‘What Deity abideth in that formI cannot say; but 'tis a god in truth.—O whosoever thou art, vouchsafe to uspropitious waters; ease our toils, and grantto these thy grace.’“At this, the one of allmy mariners who was the quickest hand,who ever was the nimblest on the yards,and first to slip the ropes, Dictys exclaimed;‘Pray not for us!’ and all approved his words.The golden haired, the guardian of the prow,Melanthus, Libys and Alcimedonapproved it; and Epopeus who should urgethe flagging spirits, and with rhythmic chantsgive time and measure to the beating oars,and all the others praised their leader's words,—so blind is greed of gain.—Then I rejoined,‘Mine is the greatest share in this good ship,which I will not permit to be destroyed,nor injured by this sacred freight:’ and Iopposed them as they came.“Then Lycabas,the most audacious of that impious crew,began to rage. He was a criminal,who, for a dreadful murder, had been sentin exile from a Tuscan city's gates.Whilst I opposed he gripped me by the throat,and shook me as would cast me in the deep,had I not firmly held a rope, half stunned:and all that wicked crew approved the deed.“Then Bacchus (be assured it was the God)as though the noise disturbed his lethargyfrom wine, and reason had regained its power,at last bespake the men, ‘What deeds are these?What noise assails my ears? What means decoyedmy wandering footsteps? Whither do ye lead?’‘Fear not,’ the steersman said, ‘but tell us fairthe haven of your hope, and you shall landwhereso your heart desires.’ ‘To Naxos steer,’Quoth Bacchus, ‘for it is indeed my home,and there the mariner finds welcome cheer.’Him to deceive, they pledged themselves, and sworeby Gods of seas and skies to do his will:and they commanded me to steer that way.“The Isle of Naxos was upon our right;and when they saw the sails were set that way,they all began to shout at once, ‘What, ho!Thou madman! what insanity is this,Acoetes? Make our passage to the left.’And all the while they made their meaning knownby artful signs or whispers in my ears.“I was amazed and answered, ‘Take the helm.’And I refused to execute their will,atrocious, and at once resigned command.Then all began to murmur, and the crewreviled me. Up Aethalion jumped and said,‘As if our only safety is in you!’With this he swaggered up and took command;and leaving Naxos steered for other shores.“Then Bacchus, mocking them,—as if but thenhe had discovered their deceitful ways,—looked on the ocean from the rounded stern,and seemed to sob as he addressed the men;‘Ah mariners, what alien shores are these?'Tis not the land you promised nor the portmy heart desires. For what have I deservedthis cruel wrong? What honour can accrueif strong men mock a boy; a lonely youthif many should deceive?’ And as he spoke,I, also, wept to see their wickedness.“The impious gang made merry at our tears,and lashed the billows with their quickening oars.By Bacchus do I swear to you (and naughtcelestial is more potent) all the thingsI tell you are as true as they surpassthe limit of belief. The ship stood stillas if a dry dock held it in the sea.—“The wondering sailors laboured at the oars,and they unfurled the sails, in hopes to gainsome headway, with redoubled energies;but twisting ivy tangled in the oars,and interlacing held them by its weight.And Bacchus in the midst of all stood crownedwith chaplets of grape-leaves, and shook a lancecovered with twisted fronds of leafy vines.Around him crouched the visionary formsof tigers, lynxes, and the mottled shapesof panthers.“Then the mariners leaped out,possessed by fear or madness. Medon firstbegan to turn a swarthy hue, and finsgrew outward from his flattened trunk,and with a curving spine his body bent.—then Lycabas to him, ‘What prodigyis this that I behold?’ Even as he spoke,his jaws were broadened and his nose was bent;his hardened skin was covered with bright scales.And Libys, as he tried to pull the oars,could see his own hands shrivel into fins;another of the crew began to graspthe twisted ropes, but even as he stroveto lift his arms they fastened to his sides;—with bending body and a crooked backhe plunged into the waves, and as he swamdisplayed a tail, as crescent as the moon.“Now here, now there, they flounce about the ship;they spray her decks with brine; they rise and sink;they rise again, and dive beneath the waves;they seem in sportive dance upon the main;out from their nostrils they spout sprays of brine;they toss their supple sides. And I alone,of twenty mariners that manned that ship,remained. A cold chill seized my limbs,—I was so frightened; but the gracious Godnow spake me fair, ‘Fear not and steer for Naxos.’And when we landed there I ministeredon smoking altars Bacchanalian rites.”
morte” ait, “ede tuum nomen nomenque parentumet patriam, morisque novi cur sacra frequentes.”Ille metu vacuus “nomen mihi” dixit “Acoetes,patria Maeonia est, humili de plebe parentes.Non mihi quae duri colerent pater arva iuvenci,lanigerosve greges, non ulla armenta reliquit;pauper et ipse fuit, linoque solebat et hamisdecipere et calamo salientes ducere pisces.Ars illi sua census erat. Cum traderet artem,“accipe quas habeo, studii successor et heres,”dixit “opes.” Moriensque mihi nil ille reliquitpraeter aquas: unum hoc possum appellare paternum.Mox ego, ne scopulis haererem semper in isdem,addidici regimen dextra moderante carinaeflectere et Oleniae sidus pluviale capellaeTaygetenque hyadasque oculis arctonque notaviventorumque domos et portus puppibus aptos.Forte petens Delum Chiae telluris ad orasapplicor et dextris adducor litora remis,doque leves saltus udaeque inmittor harenae.Nox ubi consumpta est (aurora rubescere primacoeperat), exsurgo, laticesque inferre recentesadmoneo monstroque viam, quae ducat ad undas.Ipse, quid aura mihi tumulo promittat ab altoprospicio comitesque voco repetoque carinam.“Adsumus en!” inquit sociorum primus Opheltes,utque putat, praedam deserto nactus in agro,virginea puerum ducit per litora forma.Ille mero somnoque gravis titubare videturvixque sequi. Specto cultum faciemque gradumque:nil ibi quod credi posset mortale videbam.Et sensi et dixi sociis: “Quod numen in istocorpore sit, dubito; sed corpore numen in isto est.Quisquis es, o faveas nostrisque laboribus adsis.His quoque des veniam.” — “Pro nobis mitte precari”Dictys ait, quo non alius conscendere summasocior antemnas prensoque rudente relabi.Hoc Libys, hoc flavus, prorae tutela, Melanthus,hoc probat Alcimedon, et qui requiemque modumquevoce dabat remis, animorum hortator Epopeus,hoc omnes alii: praedae tam caeca cupido est.“Non tamen hanc sacro violari pondere pinumperpetiar” dixi: “pars hic mihi maxima iuris”;inque aditu obsisto. Furit audacissimus omnide numero Lycabas, qui Tusca pulsus ab urbeexsilium dira poenam pro caede luebat.Is mihi, dum resto, iuvenali guttura pugnorupit et excussum misisset in aequora, si nonhaesissem, quamvis amens, in fune retentus.Impia turba probat factum. Tum denique Bacchus(Bacchus enim fuerat), veluti clamore solutussit sopor aque mero redeant in pectora sensus,“quid facitis? quis clamor?” ait “qua, dicite, nautae,huc ope perveni? quo me deferre paratis?”“Pone metum”, Proreus “et quos contingere portusede velis” dixit: “terra sistere petita.” —“Naxon” ait Liber “cursus advertite vestros.Illa mihi domus est, vobis erit hospita tellus.”Per mare fallaces perque omnia numina iurantsic fore, meque iubent pictae dare vela carinae.Dextera Naxos erat. Dextra mihi lintea danti“quid facis, o demens? quis te furor—?” inquit Opheltes.Pro se quisque timet: “laevam pete” maxima nutupars mihi significat, pars quid velit aure susurrat.Obstipui “capiat” que “aliquis moderamina” diximeque ministerio scelerisque artisque removi.Increpor a cunctis, totumque inmurmurat agmen.E quibus Aethalion “te scilicet omnis in unonostra salus posita est” ait, et subit ipse meumqueexplet opus, Naxoque petit diversa relicta.Tum deus inludens, tamquam modo denique fraudemsenserit, e puppi pontum prospectat aduncaet flenti similis “non haec mihi litora, nautae,promisistis” ait, “non haec mihi terra rogata est.Quo merui poenam facto? quae gloria vestra est,si puerum iuvenes, si multi fallitis unum?”Iamdudum flebam: lacrimas manus impia nostrasridet et impellit properantibus aequora remis.Per tibi nunc ipsum (nec enim praesentior illoest deus) adiuro, tam me tibi vera referre,quam veri maiora fide: stetit aequore puppishaud aliter quam si siccum navale teneret.Illi admirantes remorum in verbere perstantvelaque deducunt geminaque ope currere temptant.Impediunt hederae remos nexuque recurvoserpunt et gravidis distinguunt vela corymbis.Ipse racemiferis frontem circumdatus uvispampineis agitat velatam frondibus hastam.Quem circa tigres simulacraque inania lyncumpictarumque iacent fera corpora pantherarum.Exsiluere viri, sive hoc insania fecit,sive timor, primusque Medon nigrescere coepitcorpore et expresso spinae curvamine flecti.Incipit huic Lycabas: “In quae miracula” dixit“verteris?” et lati rictus et panda loquentinaris erat, squamamque cutis durata trahebat.At Libys obstantes dum vult obvertere remos,in spatium resilire manus breve vidit et illasiam non esse manus, iam pinnas posse vocari.Alter, ad intortos cupiens dare bracchia funes,bracchia non habuit, truncoque repandus in undascorpore desiluit: falcata novissima cauda est,qualia dimidiae sinuantur cornua lunae.Undique dant saltus multaque adspergine rorantemerguntque iterum redeuntque sub aequora rursusinque chori ludunt speciem lascivaque iactantcorpora et acceptum patulis mare naribus efflant.De modo viginti (tot enim ratis illa ferebat)restabam solus. Pavidum gelidumque trementicorpore vixque meum firmat deus “excute” dicens
But Pentheus answered him: “A parlous tale,and we have listened to the dreary end,hoping our anger might consume its rage;—away with him! hence drag him, hurl him out,with dreadful torture, into Stygian night.”Quickly they seized and dragged Acoetes forth,and cast him in a dungeon triple-strong.And while they fixed the instruments of death,kindled the fires, and wrought the cruel irons,the legend says, though no one aided him,the chains were loosened and slipped off his arms;the doors flew open of their own accord.But Pentheus, long-persisting in his rage,not caring to command his men to go,himself went forth to Mount Cithaeron, whereresound with singing and with shrilly notethe votaries of Bacchus at their rites.As when with sounding brass the trumpeteralarms of war, the mettled charger neighsand scents the battle; so the clamored skiesresounding with the dreadful outcries fretthe wrath of Pentheus and his rage enflame.About the middle of the mount (with grovesaround its margin) was a treeless plain,where nothing might conceal. Here as he stoodto view the sacred rites with impious eyes,his mother saw him first. She was so wroughtwith frenzy that she failed to know her son,and cast her thyrsus that it wounded him;and shouted, “Hi! come hither, Ho!Come hither my two sisters! a great boarhath strayed into our fields; come! see me strikeand wound him!”As he fled from them in frightthe raging multitude rushed after him;and, as they gathered round; in cowardicehe cried for mercy and condemned himself,confessing he had sinned against a God.And as they wounded him he called his aunt;“Autonoe have mercy! Let the shadeof sad Actaeon move thee to relent!”No pity moved her when she heard that name;in a wild frenzy she forgot her son.While Pentheus was imploring her, she torehis right arm out; her sister Ino wrenchedthe other from his trunk. He could not stretchhis arms out to his mother, but he cried,“Behold me, mother!” When Agave saw,his bleeding limbs, torn, scattered on the ground,she howled, and tossed her head, and shook her hairthat streamed upon the breeze; and when his headwas wrenched out from his mangled corpse,she clutched it with her blood-smeared fingers, whileshe shouted, “Ho! companions! victory!The victory is ours!” So when the windstrips from a lofty tree its leaves, which touchedby autumn's cold are loosely held, they fallnot quicker than the wretch's bleeding limbswere torn asunder by their cursed hands.Now, frightened by this terrible event,the women of Ismenus celebratethe new Bacchantian rites; and they reverethe sacred altars, heaped with frankincense.
“corde metum Diamque tene.” Delatus in illamaccessi sacris Baccheaque sacra frequento.”“Praebuimus longis” Pentheus “ambagibus aures”inquit “ut ira mora vires absumere posset.Praecipitem famuli rapite hunc cruciataque diriscorpora tormentis Stygiae demittite nocti.”Protinus abstractus solidis Tyrrhenus Acoetesclauditur in tectis; et dum crudelia iussaeinstrumenta necis ferrumque ignesque parantur,sponte sua patuisse fores lapsasque lacertissponte sua fama est nullo solvente catenas.Perstat Echionides. Nec iam iubet ire, sed ipsevadit, ubi electus facienda ad sacra Cithaeroncantibus et clara bacchantum voce sonabat.Ut fremit acer equus, cum bellicus aere canorosigna dedit tubicen, pugnaeque adsumit amorem,Penthea sic ictus longis ululatibus aethermovit, et audito clamore recanduit ira.Monte fere medio est, cingentibus ultima silvis,purus ab arboribus, spectabilis undique campus.Hic oculis illum cernentem sacra profanisprima videt, prima est insano concita cursu,prima suum misso violavit Penthea thyrsomater. “Io, geminae” clamavit “adeste sorores!ille aper, in nostris errat qui maximus agris,ille mihi feriendus aper.” Ruit omnis in unumturba furens; cunctae coeunt trepidumque sequuntur,iam trepidum, iam verba minus violenta loquentem,iam se damnantem, iam se peccasse fatentem.Saucius ille tamen “fer opem, matertera” dixit“Autonoë! moveant animos Actaeonis umbrae.”Illa, quis Actaeon, nescit dextramque precantisabstulit: Inoo lacerata est altera raptu.Non habet infelix quae matri bracchia tendat,trunca sed ostendens deiectis vulnera membris“adspice, mater!” ait. Visis ululavit Agauecollaque iactavit movitque per aera crinemavulsumque caput digitis complexa cruentisclamat “io comites, opus haec victoria nostrum est!”Non citius frondes autumni frigore tactasiamque male haerentes alta rapit arbore ventus,quam sunt membra viri manibus direpta nefandis.Talibus exemplis monitae nova sacra frequentantturaque dant sanctasque colunt Ismenides aras.