‘“Iam solitos poscunt cursus populusque paterque,
cum me sollicita proles Neptunia voce
invocat Hippomenes ‘Cytherea,’ que ‘conprecor, ausis 640
adsit’ ait ‘nostris et quos dedit, adiuvet ignes.’
detulit aura preces ad me non invida blandas:
motaque sum, fateor, nec opis mora longa dabatur.
est ager, indigenae Tamasenum nomine dicunt,
telluris Cypriae pars optima, quem mihi prisci 645
sacravere senes templisque accedere dotem
hanc iussere meis; medio nitet arbor in arvo,
fulva comas, fulvo ramis crepitantibus auro:
hinc tria forte mea veniens decerpta ferebam
aurea poma manu nullique videnda nisi ipsi 650
Hippomenen adii docuique, quis usus in illis.
signa tubae dederant, cum carcere pronus uterque
emicat et summam celeri pede libat harenam:
posse putes illos sicco freta radere passu
et segetis canae stantes percurrere aristas. 655
adiciunt animos iuveni clamorque favorque
verbaque dicentum ‘nunc, nunc incumbere tempus!
Hippomene, propera! nunc viribus utere totis!
pelle moram: vinces!’ dubium, Megareius heros
gaudeat an virgo magis his Schoeneia dictis. 660
o quotiens, cum iam posset transire, morata est
spectatosque diu vultus invita reliquit!
aridus e lasso veniebat anhelitus ore,
metaque erat longe: tum denique de tribus unum
fetibus arboreis proles Neptunia misit. 665
obstipuit virgo nitidique cupidine pomi
declinat cursus aurumque volubile tollit;
praeterit Hippomenes: resonant spectacula plausu.
illa moram celeri cessataque tempora cursu
corrigit atque iterum iuvenem post terga relinquit: 670
et rursus pomi iactu remorata secundi
consequitur transitque virum. pars ultima cursus
restabat; ‘nunc’ inquit ‘ades, dea muneris auctor!’
inque latus campi, quo tardius illa rediret,
iecit ab obliquo nitidum iuvenaliter aurum. 675
an peteret, virgo visa est dubitare: coegi
tollere et adieci sublato pondera malo
inpediique oneris pariter gravitate moraque,
neve meus sermo cursu sit tardior ipso,
praeterita est virgo: duxit sua praemia victor. 680
‘“Dignane, cui grates ageret, cui turis honorem
ferret, Adoni, fui? nec grates inmemor egit,
nec mihi tura dedit. subitam convertor in iram,
contemptuque dolens, ne sim spernenda futuris,
exemplo caveo meque ipsa exhortor in ambos: 685
templa, deum Matri quae quondam clarus Echion
fecerat ex voto, nemorosis abdita silvis,
transibant, et iter longum requiescere suasit;
illic concubitus intempestiva cupido
occupat Hippomenen a numine concita nostro. 690
luminis exigui fuerat prope templa recessus,
speluncae similis, nativo pumice tectus,
religione sacer prisca, quo multa sacerdos
lignea contulerat veterum simulacra deorum;
hunc init et vetito temerat sacraria probro. 695
sacra retorserunt oculos, turritaque Mater
an Stygia sontes dubitavit mergeret unda:
poena levis visa est; ergo modo levia fulvae
colla iubae velant, digiti curvantur in ungues,
ex umeris armi fiunt, in pectora totum 700
pondus abit, summae cauda verruntur harenae;
iram vultus habet, pro verbis murmura reddunt,
pro thalamis celebrant silvas aliisque timendi
dente premunt domito Cybeleia frena leones.
hos tu, care mihi, cumque his genus omne ferarum, 705
quod non terga fugae, sed pugnae pectora praebet,
effuge, ne virtus tua sit damnosa duobus!”
‘Illa quidem monuit iunctisque per aera cycnis
carpit iter, sed stat monitis contraria virtus.
forte suem latebris vestigia certa secuti 710
excivere canes, silvisque exire parantem
fixerat obliquo iuvenis Cinyreius ictu:
protinus excussit pando venabula rostro
sanguine tincta suo trepidumque et tuta petentem
trux aper insequitur totosque sub inguine dentes 715
abdidit et fulva moribundum stravit harena.
vecta levi curru medias Cytherea per auras
Cypron olorinis nondum pervenerat alis:
agnovit longe gemitum morientis et albas
flexit aves illuc, utque aethere vidit ab alto 720
exanimem inque suo iactantem sanguine corpus,
desiluit pariterque sinum pariterque capillos
rupit et indignis percussit pectora palmis
questaque cum fatis “at non tamen omnia vestri
iuris erunt” dixit. “luctus monimenta manebunt 725
semper, Adoni, mei, repetitaque mortis imago
annua plangoris peraget simulamina nostri;
at cruor in florem mutabitur. an tibi quondam
femineos artus in olentes vertere mentas,
Persephone, licuit: nobis Cinyreius heros 730
invidiae mutatus erit?” sic fata cruorem
nectare odorato sparsit, qui tinctus ab illo
intumuit sic, ut fulvo perlucida caeno
surgere bulla solet, nec plena longior hora
facta mora est, cum flos de sanguine concolor ortus, 735
qualem, quae lento celant sub cortice granum,
punica ferre solent; brevis est tamen usus in illo;
namque male haerentem et nimia levitate caducum
excutiunt idem, qui praestant nomina, venti.’
“‘Meanwhile the people and her father demanded the accustomed race. Then did the Neptunian youth, Hippomenes, with suppliant voice call on me: “O may Cytherea,” he said, “be near, I pray, and assist the thing I dare and smile upon the love which she has given.” A kindly breeze bore this soft prayer to me and I confess it moved my heart. And there was but scanty time to give him aid. There is a field, the natives call it the field of Tamasus, the richest portion of the Cyprian land, which in ancient times men set apart to me and bade my temples be enriched with this. Within this field there stands a tree gleaming with golden leaves and its branches crackle with the same bright gold. Fresh come from there, I chanced to have in my hand three golden apples which I had plucked. Revealing myself to no one save to him, I approached Hippomenes and taught him how to use the apples. The trumpets had sounded for the race, when they both, crouching low, flashed forth from their stalls and skimmed the surface of the sandy course with flying feet. You would think that they could graze the sea with unwet feet and pass lightly over the ripened heads of the standing grain. The youth was cheered on by shouts of applause and the words of those who cried to him: “Now, now is the time to bend to the work, Hippomenes! Go on! Now use your utmost strength! No tarrying! You’re sure to win!” It is a matter of doubt whether the heroic son of Megareus or the daughter of Schoeneus took more joy of these words. Oh, how often, when she could have passed him, did she delay and after gazing long upon his face reluctantly leave him behind! And now dry, panting breath came from his weary throat and the goal was still far away. Then at length did Neptune’s scion throw one of the three golden apples. The maid beheld it with wonder and, eager to possess the shining fruit, she turned out of her course and picked up the flying golden thing. Hippomenes passed her by while the spectators roared their applause. She by a burst of speed made up for her delay and the time that she had lost, and again left the youth behind her. Again she delayed at the tossing of the second apple, followed and passed the man. The last part of the course remained. “Now be near me, goddess, author of my gift!” he said, and obliquely into a side of the field, returning whence she would lose much time, with all his youthful strength he threw the shining gold. The girl seemed to hesitate whether or no she should go after it. I forced her to take it up, and added weight to the fruit she carried, and so impeded her equally with the weight of her burden and with her loss of time. And, lest my story be longer even than the race, the maiden was outstripped; the victor led away his prize.
“‘And was I not worthy, Adonis, of being thanked and of having the honour of incense paid to me? But, forgetful of my services, he neither thanked nor offered incense to me. Then was I changed to sudden wrath and, smarting under the slight, and resolved not to be slighted in the future, I decided to make an example of them, and urged myself on against them both. They were passing by a temple deep hidden in the woods, which in ancient times illustrious Echion had built to the mother1 of the gods in payment of a vow; and the long journey persuaded them to rest. There incontinent desire seized on Hippomenes, who was under the spell of my divinity. Hard by the temple was a dimly lighted, cave-like place, built of soft native rock, hallowed by ancient religious veneration, where the priest had set many wooden images of the olden gods. This place he entered; this holy presence he defiled by lust. The sacred images turned away their eyes. The tower-crowned Mother was on the verge of plunging the guilty pair beneath the waves of Styx; but the punishment seemed light. And so tawny manes covered their necks but now smooth, their fingers curved into claws, their arms changed to legs, their weight went chiefly to their chests, with tails they swept the surface of the sandy ground. Harsh were their features, rough growls they gave for speech, and for marriage chamber they haunted the wild woods. And now as lions, to others terrible, with tamed mouths they champed the bits of Cybele. These beasts, and with them all other savage things which turn not their backs in flight, but offer their breasts to battle, do you, for my sake, dear boy, avoid, lest your manly courage be the ruin of us both.’
“Thus the goddess warned and through the air, drawn by her swans, she took her way; but the boy’s manly courage would not brook advice. It chanced his hounds, following a well-marked trail, roused up a wild boar from his hiding-place; and, as he was rushing from the wood, the young grandson of Cinyras pierced him with a glancing blow. Straightway the fierce boar with his curved snout rooted out the spear wet with his blood, and pursued the youth, now full of fear and running for his life; deep in the groin he sank his long tusks, and stretched the dying boy upon the yellow sand. Borne through the middle air by flying swans on her light car, Cytherea had not yet come to Cyprus, when she heard afar the groans of the dying youth and turned her white swans to go to him. And when from the high air she saw him lying lifeless and weltering in his blood, she leaped down, tore both her garments and her hair and beat her breasts with cruel hands. Reproaching fate, she said: ‘But all shall not be in your power. My grief, Adonis, shall have an enduring monument, and each passing year in memory of your death shall give an imitation of my grief. But your blood shall be changed to a flower. Or was it once allowed to thee, Persephone, to change a maiden’s2 form to fragrant mint, and shall the change of my hero, offspring of Cinyras, be grudged to me?’ So saying, with sweet-scented nectar she sprinkled the blood; and this, imbued with the nectar, swelled as when clear bubbles rise up from yellow mud. With no longer than an hour’s delay a flower sprang up of blood-red hue such as pomegranates bear which hide their seeds beneath the tenacious rind. But short-lived is their flower; for the winds from which it takes its name3 shake off the flower so delicately clinging and doomed too easily to fall.”
Cybele.
The nymph Menthe.
Anemone, “the wind-flower.”