Ovid's Metamorphoses: The George Sandys Translation in Modern Spelling by Ovid

Author:Ovid [Ovid]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barriclyn Classics
Published: 2014-07-13T04:00:00+00:00

MELEAGER AND ALTHAEA

Gifts to the holy Gods Althaea brings 8.445

For her son’s victory, and paeans sings.

When back she saw her slaughtered brothers brought,

At that sad object screeched, and grief-distraught,

The city fills with outcries; off she tears

Her royal robes, and funeral garments wears.

But told by whom they fell, no longer mourns;

Rage dries her eyes, her tears to vengeance turns.

The Triple Sisters erst a brand conveyed 8.451

Into the fire, her belly newly laid,

Thus chanting while they spun the fatal twine,

“O lately born, one period we assign

To thee, and to this brand.” The charm they weave

Into his fate, and then the chamber leave.

His mother snatched it with an hasty hand

Out of the fire, and quenched the flagrant brand.

This in an inward closet closely lays,

And by preserving it, preserves his days.

Which now produced, a pile of wood she raised,

That by the hostile fire invaded, blazed.

Four times she proffers to the greedy flame

The fatal brand; as oft withdrew the same.

A mother and a sister now contend,

And two-contending names one bosom rend.

Oft fear of future crimes a paleness bred; 8.465

Oft burning fury gave her eyes his red.

Now seems to threaten with a cruel look,

And now appears like one that pity took.

Her tears the fervor of her anger dries,

Yet found she tears again to drown her eyes.

Even as a ship, when wind and tide contends,

Feels both their furies, and with either bends,

So Thestias, whom unsteady passion drives;

By changes, calms her rage, and rage revives.

A sister’s love at length subdues a mother’s;

That blood may calm the ghosts of bleeding brothers,

Impiously pious. “Flames to ashes turn

This brand,” said she, “and my loathed bowels burn.”

Then holding in her hand the fatal wood,

As she before the funeral altar stood,

“You Triple Powers, who guilty souls pursue,

Eumenides, these rites of vengeance view.

I act the crime I punish. Death must be

By death atoned. On murder, murder we

Accumulate, redoubling funerals.

This cursed house by throngs of mischief falls.

Shall Oeneus joy in his victorious son?

Sad Thestius robbed of his? One fortune run.

Look up, O you my brothers’ ghosts, you late

Dislodged souls, see how I right your fate.

Accept of this infernal sacrifice,

Which cost me dear: my womb’s accursed prize.

Ay me! Oh, whither am I rapt! Excuse

A mother, brothers. Trembling hands refuse

Their fainting aid. He merits death, yet by

A mother’s rage me thinks he should not die.

Then shall he ’scape? Alive, a victor, feast

In proud success, of Calydon possessed?

You, little ashes and chill shades, forlorn?

I’ll not endure it. Perish villain, born

To our immortal ruin. Ruinate

With thee thy father’s hopes, his crown and state.

Where is a mother’s heart? A parent’s prayer!

Th’ unthought-of burthen which I ten months bare?

Oh would, while yet an infant the first flame

Had thee devoured, nor I opposed the same!

Thy life I gave; by thine own merit die,

A just reward for thy impiety.

Thy twice-given life resign, first by my womb,

Last by this ravished brand, or me entomb

With my poor brothers. Fain I would pursue

Revenge, yet would not. Oh, what shall I do!

Before my eyes my brothers’ wounds now bleed,

And the sad image of so foul a deed.

Now pity, and a mother’s name control

My stern intention.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.