Then seek they from the herd a steer, whose horns With two years' growth are curling, and stop fast, Plunge madly as he may, the panting mouth And nostrils twain, and done with blows to death, Batter his flesh to pulp i' the hide yet whole, And shut the doors, and leave him there to lie.
But 'neath his ribs they scatter broken boughs, With thyme and fresh-pulled cassias: this is done When first the west winds bid the waters flow, Ere flush the meadows with new tints, and ere The twittering swallow buildeth from the beams.
Meanwhile the juice within his softened bones Heats and ferments, and things of wondrous birth, Footless at first, anon with feet and wings, Swarm there and buzz, a marvel to behold;And more and more the fleeting breeze they take, Till, like a shower that pours from summer-clouds, Forth burst they, or like shafts from quivering string When Parthia's flying hosts provoke the fray.
Say what was he, what God, that fashioned forth This art for us, O Muses? of man's skill Whence came the new adventure? From thy vale, Peneian Tempe, turning, bee-bereft, So runs the tale, by famine and disease, Mournful the shepherd Aristaeus stood Fast by the haunted river-head, and thus With many a plaint to her that bare him cried:
"Mother, Cyrene, mother, who hast thy home Beneath this whirling flood, if he thou sayest, Apollo, lord of Thymbra, be my sire, Sprung from the Gods' high line, why barest thou me With fortune's ban for birthright? Where is now Thy love to me-ward banished from thy breast?
O! wherefore didst thou bid me hope for heaven?
Lo! even the crown of this poor mortal life, Which all my skilful care by field and fold, No art neglected, scarce had fashioned forth, Even this falls from me, yet thou call'st me son.
Nay, then, arise! With thine own hands pluck up My fruit-plantations: on the homestead fling Pitiless fire; make havoc of my crops;Burn the young plants, and wield the stubborn axe Against my vines, if there hath taken the Such loathing of my greatness." But that cry, Even from her chamber in the river-deeps, His mother heard: around her spun the nymphs Milesian wool stained through with hyaline dye, Drymo, Xantho, Ligea, Phyllodoce, Their glossy locks o'er snowy shoulders shed, Cydippe and Lycorias yellow-haired, A maiden one, one newly learned even then To bear Lucina's birth-pang. Clio, too, And Beroe, sisters, ocean-children both, Both zoned with gold and girt with dappled fell, Ephyre and Opis, and from Asian meads Deiopea, and, bow at length laid by, Fleet-footed Arethusa. But in their midst Fair Clymene was telling o'er the tale Of Vulcan's idle vigilance and the stealth Of Mars' sweet rapine, and from Chaos old Counted the jostling love-joys of the Gods.
Charmed by whose lay, the while their woolly tasks With spindles down they drew, yet once again Smote on his mother's ears the mournful plaint Of Aristaeus; on their glassy thrones Amazement held them all; but Arethuse Before the rest put forth her auburn head, Peering above the wave-top, and from far Exclaimed, "Cyrene, sister, not for naught Scared by a groan so deep, behold! 'tis he, Even Aristaeus, thy heart's fondest care, Here by the brink of the Peneian sire Stands woebegone and weeping, and by name Cries out upon thee for thy cruelty."
To whom, strange terror knocking at her heart, "Bring, bring him to our sight," the mother cried;"His feet may tread the threshold even of Gods."
So saying, she bids the flood yawn wide and yield A pathway for his footsteps; but the wave Arched mountain-wise closed round him, and within Its mighty bosom welcomed, and let speed To the deep river-bed. And now, with eyes Of wonder gazing on his mother's hall And watery kingdom and cave-prisoned pools And echoing groves, he went, and, stunned by that Stupendous whirl of waters, separate saw All streams beneath the mighty earth that glide, Phasis and Lycus, and that fountain-head Whence first the deep Enipeus leaps to light, Whence father Tiber, and whence Anio's flood, And Hypanis that roars amid his rocks, And Mysian Caicus, and, bull-browed 'Twixt either gilded horn, Eridanus, Than whom none other through the laughing plains More furious pours into the purple sea.
Soon as the chamber's hanging roof of stone Was gained, and now Cyrene from her son Had heard his idle weeping, in due course Clear water for his hands the sisters bring, With napkins of shorn pile, while others heap The board with dainties, and set on afresh The brimming goblets; with Panchaian fires Upleap the altars; then the mother spake, "Take beakers of Maconian wine," she said, "Pour we to Ocean." Ocean, sire of all, She worships, and the sister-nymphs who guard The hundred forests and the hundred streams;Thrice Vesta's fire with nectar clear she dashed, Thrice to the roof-top shot the flame and shone:
Armed with which omen she essayed to speak:
"In Neptune's gulf Carpathian dwells a seer, Caerulean Proteus, he who metes the main With fish-drawn chariot of two-footed steeds;Now visits he his native home once more, Pallene and the Emathian ports; to him We nymphs do reverence, ay, and Nereus old;For all things knows the seer, both those which are And have been, or which time hath yet to bring;So willed it Neptune, whose portentous flocks, And loathly sea-calves 'neath the surge he feeds.
Him first, my son, behoves thee seize and bind That he may all the cause of sickness show, And grant a prosperous end. For save by force No rede will he vouchsafe, nor shalt thou bend His soul by praying; whom once made captive, ply With rigorous force and fetters; against these His wiles will break and spend themselves in vain.
I, when the sun has lit his noontide fires, When the blades thirst, and cattle love the shade, Myself will guide thee to the old man's haunt, Whither he hies him weary from the waves, That thou mayst safelier steal upon his sleep.
