Metamorphoses by Ovid; Melville A. D.; Kenney E. J

Author:Ovid; Melville, A. D.; Kenney, E. J. [Ovid; Melville, A. D.; Kenney, E. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 019283472X
Publisher: Oxford University Press
Published: 1998-01-15T07:00:00+00:00

VENUS AND ADONIS

Time glides in secret and his wings deceive;

Nothing is swifter than the years. That son,

Child of his sister and his grandfather,

So lately bark-enswathed, so lately born,

Then a most lovely infant, then a youth,

And now a man more lovely than the boy,

Was Venus’ darling (Venus’!) and avenged

His mother’s passion. Once, when Venus’ son

Was kissing her, his quiver dangling down,

A jutting arrow, unbeknown, had grazed

Her breast. She pushed the boy away.

In fact the wound was deeper than it seemed,

Though unperceived at first. Enraptured by

The beauty of a man, she cared no more

For her Cythera’s shores nor sought again

Her sea-girt Paphos nor her Cnidos, famed

For fish, nor her ore-laden Amathus.

She shunned heaven too: to heaven she preferred

Adonis. Him she clung to, he was her

Constant companion. She who always used

To idle in the shade and take such pains

To enhance her beauty, roamed across the hills,

Through woods and brambly boulders, with her dress

Knee-high like Dian’s, urging on the hounds,

Chasing the quarry when the quarry’s safe—

Does and low-leaping hares and antlered deer—

But keeping well away from brigand wolves

And battling boars and bears well-armed with claws

And lions soaked in slaughter of the herds.

She warned Adonis too, if warnings could

Have been of any use, to fear those beasts.

“Be brave when backs are turned, but when they’re bold,

Boldness is dangerous. Never be rash,

My darling, to my risk; never provoke

Quarry that nature’s armed, lest your renown

Should cost me dear. Not youth, not beauty, nor

Charms that move Venus’ heart can ever move

Lions or bristly boars or eyes or minds

Of savage beasts. In his curved tusks a boar

Wields lightning; tawny lions launch their charge

In giant anger. Creatures of that kind

I hate.” And when Adonis asked her why,

‘I’ll tell”, she said, “a tale to astonish you

Of ancient guilt and magic long ago.

But my unwonted toil has made me tired

And, look, a poplar, happily at hand,

Drops shade for our delight, and greensward gives

A couch. Here I would wish to rest with you”

(She rested) “on the ground”, and on the grass

And him she lay, her head upon his breast,

And mingling kisses with her words began.

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