The Essential Metamorphoses by Ovid

The Essential Metamorphoses by Ovid

Author:Ovid [Ovid; Lombard, Stanley; Johnson, W. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-62466-160-0
Publisher: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc.
Published: 2011-02-15T00:00:00+00:00


Book 7

Procris and Cephalus

[Having sailed to Aegina by the power of the East Wind to secure military assistance against Crete, the Athenian prince Cephalus and two younger Athenians, the sons of Pallas, awaken after enjoying a day of talk and feasting with their hosts, King Aeacus and his son Phocus.]

When the golden sun lifted his crest of light,

The East Wind still blew, keeping the ships

From sailing back home. The two sons of Pallas

Came to Cephalus, who was older, and together

[730] They went to see the king, but he was still fast asleep.

Aeacus’ son Phocus met them at the door,

For Telamon and his brother Peleus

Were marshaling the troops. Phocus led the Athenians

Into a beautiful inner courtyard

And there the four of them sat down together.

Phocus noticed that Cephalus had in his hand

A javelin made out of an unusual wood

And tipped in gold. After saying a few words,

He interrupted himself:

“I love the woods

[740] And am a hunter myself, but I’ve been wondering

What kind of wood that javelin is made of.

If it were ash, it would have a tawny color,

And if it were cornel it would be knotty.

I don’t recognize the wood, but I’ve never seen

A javelin more beautiful than the one you have.”

One of the Athenian brothers replied,

“You’ll like its use more than its looks. It goes

Straight to the target, no luck involved,

And comes back bloodied all on its own.”

[750] Young Phocus wanted to know all about it then,

Where it came from, and who gave Cephalus

Such a wonderful gift. Cephalus told him

What he wanted to know, but was ashamed to say

What that javelin cost him. He fell silent,

Then, thinking of his lost wife, burst into tears.

“Who could believe that it is this weapon

That makes me weep? And it will make me weep

All the rest of my life. This javelin destroyed me

Along with my dear wife. I wish I’d never had it.

[760] My wife was Procris. You may have heard of

Orithyia, the beauty ravaged by the North Wind;

She was her sister, and if you were to compare

The two sisters in character and beauty,

Procris would be more worthy to be stolen away.

Erechtheus gave her to me in marriage,

But Love tied the knot. I was called happy,

And I was. I might have still been happy now,

But the gods saw it differently.

In the second month

After our wedding, while I was spreading my nets

[770] To catch antlered deer, Aurora, golden in her dawn,

Had just dispelled the shadows when she saw me

From the top of flowering Hymettus

And took me against my will. May the goddess

Not be offended if I speak the truth,

But as sure as her face is lovely as a rose,

As sure as she holds the border of day and night

And drinks nectar, it was Procris I loved,

Procris in my heart, Procris ever on my lips.

I kept talking about our wedding and the first time

[780] We made love in our now desolate bed.

The goddess was upset and said,

‘Quit complaining,

You little ingrate. Keep your Procris! But if I can

Prophesy at all, you’ll wish you never had her.’

And mad as can be, she sent me back to her.



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