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,
W
hither he hies him weary from the waves,
That thou mayst safelier steal upon his sleep.
But when thou hast gripped him fast with hand and gyve,
Then
divers forms and bestial semblances
Shall mock thy grasp; for sudden he will change
To bristly boar, fell tigress,
dragon scaled,
And tawny-tufted lioness, or send forth
A crackling sound of fire, and so shake of
The fetters, or in showery drops anon
Dissolve and
vanish. But the more he shifts
His endless transformations, thou, my son,
More straitlier
clench the clinging bands, until
His body's shape return to that thou sawest,
When with closed eyelids first he sank to sleep."
So
saying, an odour of ambrosial dew
She sheds around, and all his frame therewith
Steeps throughly; forth from his trim-combed locks
Breathed effluence sweet, and a lithe
vigour leapt
Into his limbs. There is a
cavern vast
Scooped in the mountain-side, where wave on wave
By the wind's
stress is
driven, and breaks far up
Its inmost creeks- safe
anchorage from of old
For tempest-taken mariners: therewithin,
Behind a rock's huge
barrier, Proteus hides.
Here in close
covert out of the sun's eye
The youth she places, and herself the while
Swathed in a
shadowy mist stands far aloof.
And now the ravening dog-star that burns up
The
thirsty Indians blazed in heaven; his course
The fiery sun had half devoured: the blades
Were parched, and the void
streams with droughty jaws
Baked to their mud-beds by the scorching ray,
When Proteus seeking his accustomed cave
Strode from the billows: round him frolicking
The
watery folk that people the waste sea
Sprinkled the bitter brine-dew far and wide.
Along the shore in scattered groups to feed
The sea-calves stretch them: while the seer himself,
Like
herdsman on the hills when evening bids
The steers from
pasture to their stall repair,
And the lambs' bleating whets the listening wolves,
Sits midmost on the rock and tells his tale.
But Aristaeus, the foe within his clutch,
Scarce
suffering him
compose his aged limbs,
With a great cry leapt on him, and ere he rose
Forestalled him with the fetters; he nathless,
All unforgetful of his ancient craft,
Transforms himself to every
wondrous thing,
Fire and a
fearful beast, and flowing
stream.
But when no trickery found a path for flight,
Baffled at length, to his own shape returned,
With human lips he spake, "Who bade thee, then,
So
reckless in youth's hardihood, affront
Our portals? or what wouldst thou hence?"- But he,
"Proteus, thou knowest, of thine own heart thou knowest;
For thee there is no cheating, but cease thou
To
practise upon me: at heaven's behest
I for my fainting fortunes
hither come
An
oracle to ask thee." There he ceased.
Whereat the seer, by
stubborn force constrained,
Shot forth the grey light of his gleaming eyes
Upon him, and with
fiercely gnashing teeth
Unlocks his lips to spell the fates of heaven:
"Doubt not 'tis wrath
divine that plagues thee thus,
Nor light the debt thou payest; 'tis Orpheus' self,
Orpheus
unhappy by no fault of his,
So fates prevent not, fans thy penal fires,
Yet madly raging for his ravished bride.
She in her haste to shun thy hot pursuit
Along the
stream, saw not the coming death,
Where at her feet kept ward upon the bank
In the tall grass a
monstrous water-snake.
But with their cries the Dryad-band her peers
Filled up the mountains to their proudest peaks:
Wailed for her fate the heights of Rhodope,
And tall Pangaea, and,
beloved of Mars,
The land that bowed to Rhesus, Thrace no less
With Hebrus'
stream; and Orithyia wept,
Daughter of Acte old. But Orpheus' self,
Soothing his love-pain with the hollow shell,
Thee his sweet wife on the lone shore alone,
Thee when day dawned and when it died he sang.
Nay to the jaws of Taenarus too he came,
Of Dis the
infernal palace, and the grove
Grim with a
horror of great darkness- came,
Entered, and faced the Manes and the King
Of
terrors, the stone heart no prayer can tame.
Then from the deepest deeps of Erebus,
Wrung by his minstrelsy, the hollow shades
Came trooping,
ghostly semblances of forms
Lost to the light, as birds by myriads hie
To
greenwood boughs for cover, when twilight-hour
Or storms of winter chase them from the hills;
Matrons and men, and great
heroic frames