'Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth' by Ovid

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1 ADPRIAM, to whom the story was unknown,As dead, deplor'd his metamorphos'd son:A cenotaph his name, and title kept,And Hector round the tomb, with all his brothers,wept.This pious office Paris did not share;Absent alone; and author of the war,Which, for the Spartan queen, the Grecians drewT' avenge the rape; and Asia to subdue.TheA thousand ships were mann'd, to sail the sea:Trojan WarNor had their just resentments found delay,Had not the winds, and waves oppos'd their way.At Aulis, with united pow'rs they meet,But there, cross-winds or calms detain'd the fleet.Now, while they raise an altar on the shore,And Jove with solemn sacrifice adore;A boding sign the priests and people see:A snake of size immense ascends a tree,And, in the leafie summit, spy'd a nest,Which o'er her callow young, a sparrow press'd.Eight were the birds unfledg'd; their mother flew,And hover'd round her care; but still in view:'Till the fierce reptile first devour'd the brood,Then seiz'd the flutt'ring dam, and drunk herblood.This dire ostent, the fearful people view;Calchas alone, by Phoebus taught, foreknewWhat Heav'n decreed; and with a smiling glance,Thus gratulates to Greece her happy chance:O Argives, we shall conquer: Troy is ours,But long delays shall first afflict our pow'rs:Nine years of labour, the nine birds portend;The tenth shall in the town's destruction end.The serpent, who his maw obscene had fill'd,The branches in his curl'd embraces held:But, as in spires he stood, he turn'd to stone:The stony snake retain'd the figure still his own.Yet, not for this, the wind-bound navy weigh'd;Slack were their sails; and Neptune disobey'd.Some thought him loth the town should be destroy'd,Whose building had his hands divine employ'd:Not so the seer; who knew, and known foreshow'd,The virgin Phoebe, with a virgin's bloodMust first be reconcil'd: the common causePrevail'd; and pity yielding to the laws,Fair Iphigenia the devoted maidWas, by the weeping priests, in linnen-robesarray'd;All mourn her fate; but no relief appear'd;The royal victim bound, the knife already rear'd:When that offended Pow'r, who caus'd their woe,Relenting ceas'd her wrath; and stop'd the comingblow.A mist before the ministers she cast,And, in the virgin's room, a hind she plac'd.Th' oblation slain, and Phoebe, reconcil'd,The storm was hush'd, and dimpled ocean smil'd:A favourable gale arose from shore,Which to the port desir'd, the Graecian galliesbore.The House ofFull in the midst of this created space,FameBetwixt Heav'n, Earth, and skies, there stands aplace,Confining on all three, with triple bound;Whence all things, tho' remote, are view'd around;And thither bring their undulating sound.The palace of loud Fame, her seat of pow'r,Plac'd on the summet of a lofty tow'r;A thousand winding entries long and wide,Receive of fresh reports a flowing tide.A thousand crannies in the walls are made;Nor gate, nor bars exclude the busie trade.'Tis built of brass, the better to diffuseThe spreading sounds, and multiply the news:Where eccho's in repeated eccho's play:A mart for ever full, and open night and day.Nor silence is within, nor voice express,But a deaf noise of sounds, that never cease.Confus'd and chiding, like the hollow roarOf tides, receding from th' insulted shore,Or like the broken thunder heard from far,When Jove at distance drives the rouling war.The courts are fill'd with a tumultuous dinOf crouds, or issuing forth, or entring in:A thorough-fare of news: where some deviseThings never heard, some mingle truth with lies;The troubled air with empty sounds they beat,Intent to hear, and eager to repeat.Error sits brooding there, with added trainOf vain credulity, and joys as vain:Suspicion, with sedition join'd, are near,And rumours rais'd, and murmurs mix'd, and paniquefear.Fame sits aloft, and sees the subject ground,And seas about, and skies above; enquiring allaround.The Goddess gives th' alarm; and soon is knownThe Grecian fleet descending on the town.Fix'd on defence, the Trojans are not slowTo guard their shore, from an expected foe.They meet in fight: by Hector's fatal handProtesilaus falls, and bites the strand:Which with expence of blood the Grecians won;And prov'd the strength unknown of Priam's son.And to their cost the Trojan leaders feltThe Grecian heroes; and what deaths they dealt.The Story ofFrom these first onsets, the Sigaean shoreCygnusWas strew'd with carcasses, and stain'd with gore:Neptunian Cygnus troops of Greeks had slain;Achilles in his carr had scour'd the plain,And clear'd the Trojan ranks: where-e'er he fought,Cygnus, or Hector, through the fields he sought:Cygnus he found; on him his force essay'd:For Hector was to the tenth year delay'd.His white-main'd steeds, that bow'd beneath theyoke,He chear'd to courage, with a gentle stroke;Then urg'd his fiery chariot on the foe;And rising shook his lance; in act to throw.But first he cry'd, O youth, be proud to bearThy death, ennobled by Pelides' spear.The lance pursu'd the voice without delay,Nor did the whizzing weapon miss the way;But pierc'd his cuirass, with such fury sent,And sign'd his bosom with a purple dint.At this the seed of Neptune: Goddess-born,For ornament, not use, these arms are worn;This helm, and heavy buckler, I can spare;As only decorations of the war:So Mars is arm'd for glory, not for need.'Tis somewhat more from Neptune to proceed,Than from a daughter of the sea to spring:Thy sire is mortal; mine is ocean's king.Secure of death, I shou'd contemn thy dart,Tho' naked; and impassible depart:He said, and threw: the trembling weapon pass'dThrough nine bull-hides, each under other plac'd,On his broad shield; and stuck within the last.Achilles wrench'd it out; and sent againThe hostile gift: the hostile gift was vain.He try'd a third, a tough well-chosen spear;Th' inviolable body stood sincere,Though Cygnus then did no defence provide,But scornful offer'd his unshielded side.Not otherwise th' impatient hero far'd,Than as a bull incompass'd with a guard,Amid the Circus roars, provok'd from farBy sight of scarlet, and a sanguine war:They quit their ground, his bended horns elude;In vain pursuing, and in vain pursu'd:Before to farther fight he wou'd advance,He stood considering, and survey'd his lance.Doubts if he wielded not a wooden spearWithout a point: he look'd, the point was there.This is my hand, and this my lance, he said;By which so many thousand foes are dead,O whither is their usual virtue fled!I had it once; and the Lyrnessian wall,And Tenedos, confess'd it in their fall.Thy streams, Caicus, rowl'd a crimson-flood;And Thebes ran red with her own natives' blood.Twice Telephus employ'd their piercing steel,To wound him first, and afterward to heal.The vigour of this arm was never vain:And that my wonted prowess I retain,Witness these heaps of slaughter on the plain.He said; and, doubtful of his former deeds,To some new tryal of his force proceeds.He chose Menoetes from among the rest;At him he launch'd his spear, and pierc'd hisbreast:On the hard earth the Lycian knock'd his head,And lay supine; and forth the spirit fled.Then thus the hero: Neither can I blameThe hand, or jav'lin; both are still the same.The same I will employ against this foe,And wish but with the same success to throw.So spoke the chief; and while he spoke he threw;The weapon with unerring fury flew,At his left shoulder aim'd: nor entrance found;But back, as from a rock, with swift reboundHarmless return'd: a bloody mark appear'd,Which with false joy the flatter'd hero chear'd.Wound there was none; the blood that was in view,The lance before from slain Menoetes drew.Headlong he leaps from off his lofty car,And in close fight on foot renews the war.Raging with high disdain, repeats his blows;Nor shield, nor armour can their force oppose;Huge cantlets of his buckler strew the ground,And no defence in his bor'd arms is found,But on his flesh, no wound or blood is seen;The sword it self is blunted on the skin.This vain attempt the chief no longer bears;But round his hollow temples and his earsHis buckler beats: the son of Neptune, stunn'dWith these repeated buffets, quits his ground;A sickly sweat succeeds, and shades of night;Inverted Nature swims before his sight:Th' insulting victor presses on the more,And treads the steps the vanquish'd trod before,Nor rest, nor respite gives. A stone there layBehind his trembling foe, and stopp'd his way:Achilles took th' advantage which he found,O'er-turn'd, and push'd him backward on the ground,His buckler held him under, while he press'd,With both his knees, above his panting breast.Unlac'd his helm: about his chin the twistHe ty'd; and soon the strangled soul dismiss'd.With eager haste he went to strip the dead:The vanish'd body from his arms was fled.His sea-God sire, t' immortalize his frame,Had turn'd it to a bird that bears his name.A truce succeeds the labours of this day,And arms suspended with a long delay.While Trojan walls are kept with watch and ward;The Greeks before their trenches mount the guard;The feast approach'd; when to the blue-ey'd maidHis vows for Cygnus slain the victor paid,And a white heyfer on her altar laid.The reeking entrails on the fire they threw,And to the Gods the grateful odour flew.Heav'n had its part in sacrifice: the restWas broil'd, and roasted for the future feast.The chief-invited guests were set around!And hunger first asswag'd, the bowls were crown'd,Which in deep draughts their cares, and laboursdrown'd.The mellow harp did not their ears employ:And mute was all the warlike symphony:Discourse, the food of souls, was their delight,And pleasing chat prolong'd the summer's night.The subject, deeds of arms; and valour shown,Or on the Trojan side, or on their own.Of dangers undertaken, fame atchiev'd,They talk'd by turns; the talk by turns reliev'd.What things but these could fierce Achilles tell,Or what cou'd fierce Achilles hear so well?The last great act perform'd, of Cygnus slain,Did most the martial audience entertain:Wondring to find a body free by FateFrom steel; and which cou'd ev'n that steel rebate:Amaz'd, their admiration they renew;And scarce Pelides cou'd believe it true.The Story ofThen Nestor thus: what once this age has known,CaeneusIn fated Cygnus, and in him alone,These eyes have seen in Caeneus long before;Whose body not a thousand swords cou'd bore.Caeneus, in courage, and in strength, excell'd;And still his Othrys with his fame is fill'd:But what did most his martial deeds adorn(Though since he chang'd his sex) a woman born.A novelty so strange, and full of Fate,His list'ning audience ask'd him to relate.Achilles thus commends their common sute:O father, first for prudence in repute,Tell, with that eloquence, so much thy own,What thou hast heard, or what of Caeneus known:What was he, whence his change of sex begun,What trophies, join'd in wars with thee, he won?Who conquer'd him, and in what fatal strifeThe youth, without a wound, cou'd lose his life?Neleides then: Though tardy age, and time,Have shrunk my sinews, and decay'd my prime;Though much I have forgotten of my store,Yet not exhausted, I remember more.Of all that arms atchiev'd, or peace design'd,That action still is fresher in my mind,Than ought beside. If reverend age can giveTo faith a sanction, in my third I live.'Twas in my second cent'ry, I survey'dYoung Caenis, then a fair Thessalian maid:Caenis the bright, was born to high command;A princess, and a native of thy land,Divine Achilles; every tongue proclaim'dHer beauty, and her eyes all hearts inflam'd.Peleus, thy sire, perhaps had sought her bed,Among the rest; but he had either ledThy mother then; or was by promise ty'd;But she to him, and all, alike her love deny'd.It was her fortune once to take her wayAlong the sandy margin of the sea:The Pow'r of ocean view'd her as she pass'd,And, lov'd as soon as seen, by force embrac'd.So Fame reports. Her virgin-treasure seiz'd,And his new joys, the ravisher so pleas'd,That thus, transported, to the nymph he cry'd;Ask what thou wilt, no pray'r shall be deny'd.This also Fame relates: the haughty fair,Who not the rape ev'n of a God cou'd bear,This answer, proud, return'd: To mighty wrongsA mighty recompence, of right, belongs.Give me no more to suffer such a shame;But change the woman, for a better name;One gift for all: she said; and while she spoke,A stern, majestick, manly tone she took.A man she was: and as the Godhead swore,To Caeneus turn'd, who Caenis was before.To this the lover adds, without request,No force of steel shou'd violate his breast.Glad of the gift, the new-made warrior goes;And arms among the Greeks, and longs for equalfoes.The SkirmishNow brave Perithous, bold Ixion's son,between theThe love of fair Hippodame had won.Centaurs andThe cloud-begotten race, half men, half beast,LapithitesInvited, came to grace the nuptial feast:In a cool cave's recess the treat was made,Whose entrance, trees with spreading boughso'er-shadeThey sate: and summon'd by the bridegroom, came,To mix with those, the Lapythaean name:Nor wanted I: the roofs with joy resound:And Hymen, Io Hymen, rung around.Rais'd altars shone with holy fires; the bride,Lovely her self (and lovely by her sideA bevy of bright nymphs, with sober grace),Came glitt'ring like a star, and took her place.Her heav'nly form beheld, all wish'd her joy;And little wanted; but in vain, their wishes allemploy.For one, most brutal, of the brutal brood,Or whether wine, or beauty fir'd his blood,Or both at once, beheld with lustful eyesThe bride; at once resolv'd to make his prize.Down went the board; and fastning on her hair,He seiz'd with sudden force the frighted fair.'Twas Eurytus began: his bestial kindHis crime pursu'd; and each as pleas'd his mind,Or her, whom chance presented, took: the feastAn image of a taken town express'd.The cave resounds with female shrieks; we rise,Mad with revenge to make a swift reprise:And Theseus first, What phrenzy has possess'd,O Eurytus, he cry'd, thy brutal breast,To wrong Perithous, and not him alone,But while I live, two friends conjoyn'd in one?To justifie his threat, he thrusts asideThe crowd of centaurs; and redeems the bride:The monster nought reply'd: for words were vain,And deeds cou'd only deeds unjust maintain;But answers with his hand, and forward press'd,With blows redoubled, on his face, and breast.An ample goblet stood, of antick mold,And rough with figures of the rising gold;The hero snatch'd it up, and toss'd in airFull at the front of the foul ravisher.He falls; and falling vomits forth a floodOf wine, and foam, and brains, and mingled blood.Half roaring, and half neighing through the hall,Arms, arms, the double-form'd with fury call;To wreak their brother's death: a medley-flightOf bowls, and jars, at first supply the fight,Once instruments of feasts; but now of Fate;Wine animates their rage, and arms their hate.Bold Amycus, from the robb'd vestry bringsThe chalices of Heav'n; and holy thingsOf precious weight: a sconce that hung on high,With tapers fill'd, to light the sacristy,Torn from the cord, with his unhallow'd handHe threw amid the Lapythaean band.On Celadon the ruin fell; and leftHis face of feature, and of form bereft:So, when some brawny sacrificer knocks,Before an altar led, an offer'd ox,His eyes-balls rooted out, are thrown to ground;His nose, dismantled, in his mouth is found;His jaws, cheeks, front, one undistinguish'd wound.This, Belates, th' avenger, cou'd not brook;But, by the foot, a maple board he took;And hurl'd at Amycus; his chin it bentAgainst his chest, and down the centaur sent:Whom sputtring bloody teeth, the second blowOf his drawn sword, dispatch'd to shades below.Grineus was near; and cast a furious lookOn the side-altar, cens'd with sacred smoke,And bright with flaming fires; The Gods, he cry'd,Have with their holy trade our hands supply'd:Why use we not their gifts? Then from the floorAn altar stone he heav'd, with all the load itbore:Altar, and altar's freight together slew,Where thickest throng'd the Lapythaean crew:And, at once, Broteas and Oryus flew.Oryus' mother, Mycale, was knownDown from her sphere to draw the lab'ring moon.Exadius cry'd, Unpunish'd shall not goThis fact, if arms are found against the foe.He look'd about, where on a pine were spreadThe votive horns of a stag's branching head:At Grineus these he throws; so just they fly,That the sharp antlers stuck in either eye:Breathless, and blind he fell; with bloodbesmear'd;His eye-balls beaten out, hung dangling on hisbeard.Fierce Rhoetus, from the hearth a burning brandSelects, and whirling waves; 'till, from his handThe fire took flame; then dash'd it from the right,On fair Charaxus' temples, near the sight:The whistling pest came on, and pierc'd the bone,And caught the yellow hair, that shrivel'd while itshone.Caught, like dry stubble fir'd; or like seerwood;Yet from the wound ensu'd no purple flood;But look'd a bubbling mass of frying blood.His blazing locks sent forth a crackling sound;And hiss'd, like red hot ir'n within the smithydrown'd.The wounded warrior shook his flaming hair,Then (what a team of horse could hardly rear)He heaves the threshold stone, but could not throw;The weight itself forbad the threaten'd blow;Which dropping from his lifted arms, came downFull on Cometes' head; and crush'd his crown.Nor Rhoetus then retain'd his joy; but said,So by their fellows may our foes be sped;Then, with redoubled strokes he plies his head:The burning lever not deludes his pains:But drives the batter'd skull within the brains.Thus flush'd, the conqueror, with force renew'd,Evagrus, Dryas, Corythus, pursu'd:First, Corythus, with downy cheeks, he slew;Whose fall, when fierce Evagrus had in view,He cry'd, What palm is from a beardless prey?Rhoetus prevents what more he had to say;And drove within his mouth the fi'ry death,Which enter'd hissing in, and choak'd his breath.At Dryas next he flew: but weary chance,No longer wou'd the same success advance.For while he whirl'd in fiery circles roundThe brand, a sharpen'd stake strong Dryas found;And in the shoulder's joint inflicts the wound.The weapon stuck; which, roaring out with pain,He drew; nor longer durst the fight maintain,But turn'd his back, for fear; and fled amain.With him fled Orneus, with like dread possess'd,Thaumas, and Medon wounded in the breast;And Mermeros, in the late race renown'd,Now limping ran, and tardy with his wound.Pholus, and Melaneus from fight withdrew,And Abas maim'd, who boars encountring slew:And Augur Asbolos, whose art in vain,From fight dissuaded the four-footed train,Now beat the hoof with Nessus on the plain;But to his fellow cry'd, Be safely slow,Thy death deferr'd is due to great Alcides' bow.Mean-time strong Dryas urg'd his chance so well,That Lycidas, Areos, Imbreus fell;All, one by one, and fighting face to face:Crenaeus fled, to fall with more disgrace:For, fearful, while he look'd behind, he bore,Betwixt his nose, and front, the blow before.Amid the noise, and tumult of the fray,Snoring, and drunk with wine, Aphidas lay.Ev'n then the bowl within his hand he kept,And on a bear's rough hide securely slept.Him Phorbas with his flying dart transfix'd;Take thy next draught, with Stygian waters mix'd,And sleep thy fill, th' insulting victor cry'd;Surpriz'd with death unfelt, the centaur dy'd;The ruddy vomit, as he breath'd his soulRepass'd his throat, and fill'd his empty bowl.I saw Petraeus' arms employ'd aroundA well-grown oak, to root it from the ground.This way, and that, he wrench'd the fibrous bands;The trunk was like a sappling, in his hands,And still obey'd the bent: while thus he stood,Perithous' dart drove on; and nail'd him to thewood;Lycus, and Chromis fell, by him oppress'd:Helops, and Dictis added to the restA nobler palm: Helops, through either earTransfix'd, receiv'd the penetrating spear.This Dictis saw; and, seiz'd with sudden fright,Leapt headlong from the hill of steepy height;And crush'd an ash beneath, that cou'd not bear hisweight.The shatter'd tree receives his fall; and strikes,Within his full-blown paunch, the sharpen'd spikes.Strong Aphareus had heav'd a mighty stone,The fragment of a rock; and wou'd have thrown;But Theseus, with a club of harden'd oak,The cubit-bone of the bold centaur broke;And left him maim'd; nor seconded the stroke.Then leapt on tall Bianor's back (who boreNo mortal burden but his own, before);Press'd with his knees his sides; the double man,His speed with spurs increas'd, unwilling ran.One hand the hero fastn'd on his locks;His other ply'd him with repeated strokes.The club rung round his ears, and batter'd brows;He falls; and lashing up his heels, his riderthrows.The same Herculean arms, Nedymnus wound;And lay by him Lycotas on the ground,And Hippasus, whose beard his breast invades;And Ripheus, haunter of the woodland shades:And Thereus, us'd with mountain-bears to strive,And from their dens to draw th' indignant beastsalive.Demoleon cou'd not bear this hateful sight,Or the long fortune of th' Athenian knight:But pull'd with all his force, to disengageFrom Earth a pine, the product of an age:The root stuck fast: the broken trunk he sentAt Theseus; Theseus frustrates his intent,And leaps aside; by Pallas warn'd, the blowTo shun (for so he said; and we believ'd it so).Yet not in vain th' enormous weight was cast;Which Crantor's body sunder'd at the waist:Thy father's 'squire, Achilles, and his care;Whom conquer'd in the Polopeian war,Their king, his present ruin to prevent,A pledge of peace implor'd, to Peleus sent.Thy sire, with grieving eyes, beheld his Fate;And cry'd, Not long, lov'd Crantor, shalt thou waitThy vow'd revenge. At once he said, and threwHis ashen-spear; which quiver'd, as it flew;With all his force, and all his soul apply'd;The sharp point enter'd in the centaur's side:Both hands, to wrench it out, the monster join'd;And wrench'd it out; but left the steel behind;Stuck in his lungs it stood: inrag'd he rearsHis hoofs, and down to ground thy father bears.Thus trampled under foot, his shield defendsHis head; his other hand the lance portends.Ev'n while he lay extended on the dust,He sped the centaur, with one single thrust.Two more his lance before transfix'd from far;And two, his sword had slain, in closer war.To these was added Dorylas, who spreadA bull's two goring horns around his head.With these he push'd; in blood already dy'd,Him fearless, I approach'd; and thus defy'd:Now, monster, now, by proof it shall appear,Whether thy horns are sharper, or my spear.At this, I threw: for want of other ward,He lifted up his hand, his front to guard.His hand it pass'd; and fix'd it to his brow:Loud shouts of ours attend the lucky blow.Him Peleus finish'd, with a second wound,Which thro' the navel pierc'd: he reel'd around;And dragg'd his dangling bowels on the ground.Trod what he drag'd; and what he trod, he crush'd:And to his mother-Earth, with empty belly, rush'd.The Story ofNor cou'd thy form, o Cyllarus, foreflowCyllarus andThy Fate (if form to monsters men allow):HylonomeJust bloom'd thy beard: thy beard of golden hue:Thy locks, in golden waves, about thy shouldersflew.Sprightly thy look: thy shapes in ev'ry partSo clean, as might instruct the sculptor's art;As far as man extended: where beganThe beast, the beast was equal to the man.Add but a horse's head and neck; and he,O Castor, was a courser worthy thee.So was his back proportion'd for the seat:So rose his brawny chest; so swiftly mov'd hisfeet.Coal-black his colour, but like jett it shone;His legs, and flowing tail were white alone.Belov'd by many maidens of his kind;But fair Hylonome possess'd his mind;Hylonome, for features, and for face,Excelling all the nymphs of double race:Nor less her blandishments, than beauty, move;At once both loving, and confessing love.For him she dress'd: for him, with female careShe comb'd, and set in curls, her auburn hair.Of roses, violets, and lillies mix'd,And sprigs of flowing rosemary betwixt,She form'd the chaplet, that adorn'd her front:In waters of the Pegasaean fount,And in the streams that from the fountain play,She wash'd her face; and bath'd her twice a-day.The scarf of furs, that hung below her side,Was ermin, or the panther's spotted pride;Spoils of no common beast: with equal flameThey lov'd: their silvan pleasures were the same:All day they hunted: and when day expir'd,Together to some shady cave retir'd:Invited to the nuptials, both repair:And, side by side, they both engage in war.Uncertain from what hand, a flying dartAt Cyllarus was sent; which pierc'd his heart.The jav'lin drawn from out the mortal wound,He faints with stagg'ring steps; and seeks theground:The fair within her arms receiv'd his fall,And strove his wand'ring spirits to recall:And while her hand the streaming blood oppos'd,Join'd face to face, his lips with hers she clos'd.Stifled with kisses, a sweet death he dies;She fills the fields with undistinguish'd cries;At least her words were in her clamour drown'd;For my stunn'd ears receiv'd no vocal sound.In madness of her grief, she seiz'd the dartNew-drawn, and reeking from her lover's heart;To her bare bosom the sharp point apply'd;And wounded fell; and falling by his side,Embrac'd him in her arms; and thus embracing dy'd.Ev'n still methinks, I see Phaeocomes;Strange was his habit, and as odd his dress.Six lions' hides, with thongs together fast,His upper part defended to his waist:And where man ended, the continued vest,Spread on his back, the houss and trappings of abeast.A stump too heavy for a team to draw(It seems a fable, tho' the fact I saw);He threw at Pholon; the descending blowDivides the skull, and cleaves his head in two.The brains, from nose, and mouth, and either ear,Came issuing out, as through a colendarThe curdled milk; or from the press the whey,Driv'n down by weight above, is drain'd away.But him, while stooping down to spoil the slain,Pierc'd through the paunch, I tumbled on the plain.Then Chthonyus, and Teleboas I slew:A fork the former arm'd; a dart his fellow threw.The jav'lin wounded me (behold the scar,Then was my time to seek the Trojan war;Then I was Hector's match in open field;But he was then unborn; at least a child:Now, I am nothing). I forbear to tellBy Periphantas how Pyretus fell;The centaur by the knight: nor will I stayOn Amphix, or what deaths he dealt that day:What honour, with a pointless lance, he won,Stuck in the front of a four-footed man.What fame young Macareus obtain'd in fight:Or dwell on Nessus, now return'd from flight.How prophet Mopsus not alone divin'd,Whose valour equal'd his foreseeing mind.CaeneusAlready Caeneus, with his conquering hand,transform'd toHad slaughter'd five the boldest of their band.an EaglePyrachmus, Helymus, Antimachus,Bromus the brave, and stronger Stiphelus,Their names I number'd, and remember well,No trace remaining, by what wounds they fell.Laitreus, the bulki'st of the double race,Whom the spoil'd arms of slain Halesus grace,In years retaining still his youthful might,Though his black hairs were interspers'd withwhite,Betwixt th' imbattled ranks began to prance,Proud of his helm, and Macedonian lance;And rode the ring around; that either hoastMight hear him, while he made this empty boast:And from a strumpet shall we suffer shame?For Caenis still, not Caeneus, is thy name:And still the native softness of thy kindPrevails; and leaves the woman in thy mind;Remember what thou wert; what price was paidTo change thy sex; to make thee not a maid:And but a man in shew; go, card and spin;And leave the business of the war to men.While thus the boaster exercis'd his pride,The fatal spear of Caeneus reach'd his side:Just in the mixture of the kinds it ran;Betwixt the neather beast, and upper man:The monster mad with rage, and stung with smart,His lance directed at the hero's heart:It struck; but bounded from his harden'd breast,Like hail from tiles, which the safe house invest.Nor seem'd the stroke with more effect to come,Than a small pebble falling on a drum.He next his fauchion try'd, in closer fight;But the keen fauchion had no pow'r to bite.He thrust; the blunted point return'd again:Since downright blows, he cry'd, and thrusts arevain,I'll prove his side; in strong embraces heldHe prov'd his side; his side the sword repell'd:His hollow belly eccho'd to the stroke,Untouch'd his body, as a solid rock;Aim'd at his neck at last, the blade in shiversbroke.Th' impassive knight stood idle, to derideHis rage, and offer'd oft his naked side;At length, Now monster, in thy turn, he cry'd,Try thou the strength of Caeneus: at the wordHe thrust; and in his shoulder plung'd the sword.Then writh'd his hand; and as he drove it down,Deep in his breast, made many wounds in one.The centaurs saw, inrag'd, th' unhop'd success;And rushing on in crowds, together press;At him, and him alone, their darts they threw:Repuls'd they from his fated body flew.Amaz'd they stood; 'till Monichus began,O shame, a nation conquer'd by a man!A woman-man! yet more a man is he,Than all our race; and what he was, are we.Now, what avail our nerves? th' united force,Of two the strongest creatures, man and horse;Nor Goddess-born; nor of Ixion's seedWe seem (a lover built for Juno's bed);Master'd by this half man. Whole mountains throwWith woods at once, and bury him below.This only way remains. Nor need we doubtTo choak the soul within; though not to force itout:Heap weights, instead of wounds. He chanc'd to seeWhere southern storms had rooted up a tree;This, rais'd from Earth, against the foe he threw;Th' example shewn, his fellow-brutes pursue.With forest-loads the warrior they invade;Othrys, and Pelion soon were void of shade;And spreading groves were naked mountains made.Press'd with the burden, Caeneus pants for breath;And on his shoulders bears the wooden death.To heave th' intolerable weight he tries;At length it rose above his mouth and eyes:Yet still he heaves; and, strugling with despair,Shakes all aside, and gains a gulp of air:A short relief, which but prolongs his pain;He faints by fits; and then respires again:At last, the burden only nods above,As when an earthquake stirs th' Idaean grove.Doubtful his death: he suffocated seem'd,To most; but otherwise our Mopsus deem'd,Who said he saw a yellow bird ariseFrom out the piles, and cleave the liquid skies:I saw it too, with golden feathers bright;Nor e'er before beheld so strange a sight.Whom Mopsus viewing, as it soar'd aroundOur troop, and heard the pinions' rattling sound,All hail, he cry'd, thy country's grace and love!Once first of men below, now first of birds above.Its author to the story gave belief:For us, our courage was increas'd by grief:Asham'd to see a single man, pursu'dWith odds, to sink beneath a multitude,We push'd the foe: and forc'd to shameful flight,Part fell, and part escap'd by favour of the night.The Fate ofThis tale, by Nestor told, did much displeasePericlymenosTlepolemus, the seed of Hercules:For, often he had heard his father say,That he himself was present at the fray;And more than shar'd the glories of the day.Old Chronicle, he said, among the rest,You might have nam'd Alcides at the least:Is he not worth your praise? The Pylian princeSigh'd ere he spoke; then made this proud defence.My former woes in long oblivion drown'd,I wou'd have lost; but you renew the wound:Better to pass him o'er, than to relateThe cause I have your mighty sire to hate.His fame has fill'd the world, and reach'd the sky(Which, oh, I wish, with truth, I cou'd deny!);We praise not Hector; though his name, we know,Is great in arms; 'tis hard to praise a foe.He, your great father, levell'd to the groundMessenia's tow'rs: nor better fortune foundElis, and Pylos; that a neighb'ring state,And this my own: both guiltless of their fate.To pass the rest, twelve, wanting one, he slew;My brethren, who their birth from Neleus drew,All youths of early promise, had they liv'd;By him they perish'd: I alone surviv'd.The rest were easie conquest: but the fateOf Periclymenos, is wondrous to relate.To him, our common grandsire of the mainHad giv'n to change his form, and chang'd, resumeagain.Vary'd at pleasure, every shape he try'd;And in all beasts, Alcides still defy'd:Vanquish'd on Earth, at length he soar'd above;Chang'd to the bird, that bears the bolt of Jove:The new-dissembled eagle, now endu'dWith beak, and pounces, Hercules pursu'd,And cuff'd his manly cheeks, and tore his face;Then, safe retir'd, and tour'd in empty space.Alcides bore not long his flying foe;But bending his inevitable bow,Reach'd him in air, suspended as he stood;And in his pinion fix'd the feather'd wood.Light was the wound; but in the sinew hungThe point, and his disabled wing unstrung.He wheel'd in air, and stretch'd his vans in vain;His vans no longer cou'd his flight sustain:For while one gather'd wind, one unsupply'dHung drooping down, nor pois'd his other side.He fell: the shaft that slightly was impress'd,Now from his heavy fall with weight increas'd,Drove through his neck, aslant, he spurns theground,And the soul issues through the weazon's wound.Now, brave commander of the Rhodian seas,What praise is due from me, to Hercules?Silence is all the vengeance I decreeFor my slain brothers; but 'tis peace with thee.Thus with a flowing tongue old Nestor spoke:Then, to full bowls each other they provoke:At length, with weariness, and wine oppress'd,They rise from table; and withdraw to rest.The Death ofThe sire of Cygnus, monarch of the main,AchillesMean-time, laments his son, in battel slain,And vows the victor's death; nor vows in vain.For nine long years the smother'd pain he bore(Achilles was not ripe for Fate before):Then when he saw the promis'd hour was near,He thus bespoke the God, that guides the year:Immortal offspring of my brother Jove;My brightest nephew, and whom best I love,Whose hands were join'd with mine, to raise thewallOf tott'ring Troy, now nodding to her fall,Dost thou not mourn our pow'r employ'd in vain;And the defenders of our city slain?To pass the rest, could noble Hector lieUnpity'd, drag'd around his native Troy?And yet the murd'rer lives: himself by farA greater plague, than all the wasteful war:He lives; the proud Pelides lives, to boastOur town destroy'd, our common labour lost.O, could I meet him! But I wish too late:To prove my trident is not in his Fate!But let him try (for that's allow'd) thy dart,And pierce his only penetrable part.Apollo bows to the superior throne;And to his uncle's anger, adds his own.Then in a cloud involv'd, he takes his flight,Where Greeks, and Trojans mix'd in mortal fight;And found out Paris, lurking where he stood,And stain'd his arrows with plebeian blood:Phoebus to him alone the God confess'd,Then to the recreant knight, he thus address'd.Dost thou not blush, to spend thy shafts in vainOn a degenerate, and ignoble train?If fame, or better vengeance be thy care,There aim: and, with one arrow, end the war.He said; and shew'd from far the blazing shieldAnd sword, which, but Achilles, none cou'd wield;And how he mov'd a God, and mow'd the standingfield.The deity himself directs arightTh' invenom'd shaft; and wings the fatal flight.Thus fell the foremost of the Grecian name;And he, the base adult'rer, boasts the fame.A spectacle to glad the Trojan train;And please old Priam, after Hector slain.If by a female hand he had foreseenHe was to die, his wish had rather beenThe lance, and double ax of the fair warriourqueen.And now the terror of the Trojan field,The Grecian honour, ornament, and shield,High on a pile, th' unconquer'd chief is plac'd,The God that arm'd him first, consum'd at last.Of all the mighty man, the small remainsA little urn, and scarcely fill'd, contains.Yet great in Homer, still Achilles lives;And equal to himself, himself survives.His buckler owns its former lord; and bringsNew cause of strife, betwixt contending kings;Who worthi'st after him, his sword to wield,Or wear his armour, or sustain his shield.Ev'n Diomede sat mute, with down-cast eyes;Conscious of wanted worth to win the prize:Nor Menelaus presum'd these arms to claim,Nor he the king of men, a greater name.Two rivals only rose: Laertes' son,And the vast bulk of Ajax Telamon:The king, who cherish'd each with equal love,And from himself all envy wou'd remove,Left both to be determin'd by the laws;And to the Graecian chiefs transferr'd the cause.The End of the Twelfth Book.

Editor 1 Interpretation

"Ovid’s Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth - A Journey Through Love, Loss, and Transformation"

Are you looking for a poetic journey that takes you through mythical tales of love, loss, and transformation? Look no further than Ovid’s Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth. This classic work of poetry is full of powerful imagery, emotional depth, and timeless themes that continue to captivate readers today.

In this literary criticism and interpretation, we will explore the central themes and motifs of Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth, discuss its historical context, and examine Ovid’s use of language and imagery to convey his messages. So, sit back, relax, and let’s dive into the world of Ovid’s Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth.

Historical Context

Before we delve into the literary elements of the book, it is important to understand the historical context in which it was written. Ovid lived during a time of political upheaval in Rome, and his work was heavily influenced by the turbulent social and political climate of the time.

Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth was written during the reign of Augustus, a time when the Roman Empire was trying to establish its cultural and political dominance over the Mediterranean world. Ovid's poetry was not only a form of artistic expression but also a tool for political commentary and social criticism.

The themes of love, loss, and transformation that pervade Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth reflect the cultural anxieties of Ovid's time. As Rome's power grew, so did its fear of losing its identity and cultural heritage. Ovid's poetry was a way of exploring these fears and anxieties, and of seeking to find meaning and stability amidst the chaos of his world.

Central Themes and Motifs

One of the central themes of Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth is the transformative power of love. Throughout the book, Ovid explores the many ways in which love can change and transform individuals and even the very fabric of the world itself.

One of the book's most striking examples of this theme is the story of Ceyx and Alcyone. In this tale, the love between the two characters transforms them into birds after Ceyx is lost at sea. The beauty and depth of their love is so great that it transcends even death, and their transformation into birds represents a kind of eternal rebirth and renewal.

Another theme that runs throughout the book is the idea of loss and its transformative power. Ovid explores the many ways in which loss can change individuals and communities, and how it can force us to confront our deepest fears and vulnerabilities.

In the story of Pygmalion, for example, we see the transformative power of loss through the character's love for his statue. Pygmalion is so consumed with grief after losing his wife that he creates a statue in her image, and falls in love with it. The statue's transformation into a real woman represents not only Pygmalion's triumph over grief but also his ability to create something beautiful and enduring out of loss and pain.

Finally, the book explores the theme of transformation itself, and the many ways in which individuals can change and evolve over time. Ovid's stories are full of characters who undergo radical transformations, whether through the power of love, loss, or simply the passage of time.

One of the most powerful examples of this theme is the story of Daedalus and Icarus. In this tale, Daedalus transforms himself and his son into birds in order to escape the clutches of King Minos. The transformation represents not only their physical escape but also their ability to change and adapt in the face of danger and adversity.

Language and Imagery

Throughout Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth, Ovid employs a rich and evocative language that is full of powerful imagery and vivid descriptions. His use of language is both poetic and precise, and his attention to detail is evident in every line.

One of the most striking examples of Ovid's use of language can be seen in the story of Echo and Narcissus. Here, he employs a series of metaphors and similes to vividly describe the beauty and allure of Narcissus, as well as the tragic consequences of his obsession with his own image.

Another example of Ovid's use of language can be seen in the story of Pygmalion. Here, he employs a series of vivid descriptions and powerful metaphors to convey the intensity of the character's grief, as well as the transformative power of his love for the statue.

Finally, Ovid's use of imagery is particularly striking throughout the book. His descriptions of the natural world are full of vivid and evocative imagery, and his use of allegory and symbolism help to underscore the book's central themes and motifs.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Ovid's Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth is a masterpiece of poetry that continues to captivate readers today. Through its exploration of themes such as love, loss, and transformation, the book speaks to the human experience and our innate desire for meaning and stability in an ever-changing world.

Ovid's use of language and imagery is both poetic and precise, and his attention to detail is evident in every line. His stories are timeless and enduring, and his messages continue to resonate with readers across generations.

So, if you're looking for a poetic journey that takes you through the depths of the human experience, look no further than Ovid's Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Ovid's Metamorphoses: Book The Twelfth - A Masterpiece of Poetry

Ovid's Metamorphoses is a classic work of literature that has stood the test of time. The twelfth book of the Metamorphoses is a masterpiece of poetry that explores the theme of love and its transformative power. In this article, we will take a detailed look at the twelfth book of the Metamorphoses and analyze its themes, characters, and literary devices.

The twelfth book of the Metamorphoses is divided into three parts, each of which explores a different aspect of love. The first part of the book tells the story of the love between Ceyx and Alcyone. Ceyx was the king of Thessaly, and Alcyone was his wife. They were deeply in love and lived a happy life together. However, Ceyx decided to go on a voyage to consult the oracle of Apollo. Alcyone begged him not to go, but he refused to listen. During the voyage, a storm arose, and Ceyx was drowned. When Alcyone heard the news, she was devastated and prayed to the gods to let her join her husband in death. The gods took pity on her and transformed both Ceyx and Alcyone into birds, so they could be together forever.

The story of Ceyx and Alcyone is a powerful exploration of the transformative power of love. The love between Ceyx and Alcyone was so strong that it transcended death itself. The gods recognized the power of their love and granted them eternal life as birds. This story is a testament to the power of love and its ability to transform even the most tragic of circumstances.

The second part of the book tells the story of the love between Aesacus and Hesperie. Aesacus was the son of the river god, and Hesperie was a nymph. Aesacus fell in love with Hesperie, but she was already betrothed to another man. Aesacus was heartbroken and prayed to the gods to let him die. The gods took pity on him and transformed him into a bird. Hesperie, upon seeing the bird, realized the depth of Aesacus's love for her and begged the gods to transform her into a bird as well. The gods granted her wish, and the two birds flew away together.

The story of Aesacus and Hesperie is a poignant exploration of unrequited love. Aesacus's love for Hesperie was so strong that he was willing to die for it. The gods recognized the depth of his love and granted him eternal life as a bird. Hesperie, upon seeing the bird, realized the depth of Aesacus's love and was moved to join him in eternal life as a bird. This story is a testament to the power of love and its ability to transcend even the most difficult of circumstances.

The third part of the book tells the story of the love between Cinyras and Myrrha. Cinyras was the king of Cyprus, and Myrrha was his daughter. Myrrha fell in love with her father and could not resist her desire for him. She disguised herself and seduced him, and they had a child together. When Cinyras discovered the truth, he was horrified and tried to kill Myrrha. The gods took pity on her and transformed her into a tree. The child was born and was named Adonis. Adonis grew up to be a handsome young man, and Venus fell in love with him. However, Adonis was killed by a wild boar, and Venus was devastated.

The story of Cinyras and Myrrha is a powerful exploration of the destructive power of love. Myrrha's love for her father was so strong that it led her to commit a terrible act. The gods recognized the destructive nature of her love and transformed her into a tree. The story of Adonis is a tragic exploration of the fleeting nature of love. Adonis was loved by Venus, but his life was cut short by a wild boar. This story is a cautionary tale about the dangers of love and its ability to lead us down dark paths.

Throughout the twelfth book of the Metamorphoses, Ovid employs a variety of literary devices to convey his themes. One of the most prominent devices is the use of transformation. The gods transform Ceyx and Alcyone into birds, Aesacus into a bird, and Myrrha into a tree. These transformations serve as a metaphor for the transformative power of love. Love has the ability to transform us, to change us into something new and different.

Another literary device that Ovid employs is the use of repetition. Throughout the book, Ovid repeats certain phrases and images, such as the image of birds flying away together. This repetition serves to reinforce the themes of the book and to create a sense of unity and coherence.

In conclusion, the twelfth book of the Metamorphoses is a masterpiece of poetry that explores the transformative power of love. Through the stories of Ceyx and Alcyone, Aesacus and Hesperie, and Cinyras and Myrrha, Ovid explores the many facets of love, from its transformative power to its destructive potential. The book is filled with powerful imagery, poignant themes, and masterful storytelling. It is a testament to the enduring power of Ovid's poetry and a timeless exploration of the human experience.

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