Chapter XIII: Book THE SECOND: Fable I. Ii.1-303 (1)

Phaëton, insulted by Epaphus, goes to the Palace of Apollo, to beseech
him to give some token that he is his son. Apollo, having sworn, by
the river Styx, to refuse him nothing that he should desire, he
immediately asks to guide his chariot for one day. He is unsuccessful
in the attempt, and, the horses running away, the world is in danger
of being consumed.

The palace of the Sun was raised high, on stately columns, bright with radiant gold, and carbuncle that rivals the flames; polished ivory covered its highest top, {and} double folding doors shone with the brightness of silver. The workmanship {even} exceeded the material; for there Mulciber had carved the sea circling round the encompassed Earth; and the orb of the Earth, and the Heavens which hang over that orb. {There} the waves have {in them} the azure Deities, both Triton, sounding {with his shell}, and the changing Proteus, and Ægeon,[1] pressing the huge backs of whales with his arms; Doris,[2] too, and her daughters, part of whom appear to be swimming, part, sitting on the bank, to be drying their green hair; some {are seen} borne upon fishes. The features in all are not the same, nor, however, {remarkably} different: {they are} such as those of sisters ought to be. The Earth has {upon it} men and cities, and woods, and wild beasts, and rivers, and Nymphs, and other Deities of the country. Over these is placed the figure of the shining Heaven, and there are six Signs {of the Zodiac} on the right door, and as many on the left.

Soon as the son of Clymene had arrived thither by an ascending path, and entered the house of his parent, {thus} doubted of; he immediately turned his steps to the presence of his father, and stood at a distance, for he could not bear the refulgence nearer. Arrayed in a purple garment, Phœbus was seated on a throne sparkling with brilliant emeralds. On his right hand, and on his left, the Days, the Months, the Years, the Ages, and the Hours were arranged, at corresponding distances, and the fresh Spring was standing, crowned with a chaplet of blossoms; Summer was standing naked, and wearing garlands made of ears of corn; Autumn, too, was standing besmeared with the trodden-out grapes; and icy Winter, rough with his hoary hair.

Then the Sun, from the midst of this place, with those eyes with which he beholds all things, sees the young man struck with fear at the novelty of {these} things, and says, “What is the occasion of thy journey {hither}? What dost thou seek, Phaëton, in this {my} palace, a son not to be denied by his parent?”

He answers, “O thou universal Light of the unbounded World, Phœbus, my father, if thou grantest me the use of that name; and if Clymene is not concealing an error under a {false} pretext, give me, my parent, some token, by which I may be believed to be really thy progeny; and remove this uncertainty from my mind.” Thus he spoke; but his parent took off the rays shining all around his head, and commanded him to come nearer; and, having embraced him, he says, “{And} neither art thou deserving to be denied to be mine, and Clymene has told thee thy true origin; and that thou mayst have the less doubt, ask any gift thou mayst please, that thou mayst receive it from me bestowing it. Let the lake, by which the Gods are wont to swear, and which is unseen, {even} by my eyes, be as a witness of my promise.”

Hardly had he well finished, when he asks for his father’s chariot, and for the command and guidance of the wing-footed horses for one day. His father repented that he had {so} sworn, and shaking his splendid head three or four times, he said, “By thine have my words been made rash. I wish I were allowed not to grant what I have promised! I confess, my son, that this alone I would deny thee. {Still}, I may dissuade thee: thy desire is not attended with safety. Thou desirest, Phaëton, a gift {too} great, and {one} which is suited neither to thy strength, nor to such youthful years. Thy lot is that of a mortal; that which thou desirest, belongs not to mortals. {Nay}, thou aimest, in thy ignorance, at even more than it is allowed the Gods above to obtain. Let every one be self-satisfied, {if he likes}; still, with the exception of myself, no one is able to take his stand upon the fire-bearing axle-tree. Even the Ruler of vast Olympus, who hurls the ruthless bolts with his terrific right hand, cannot guide this chariot; and {yet}, what have we greater than Jupiter? The first {part of the} road is steep, and such as the horses, {though} fresh in the morning, can hardly climb. In the middle of the heavens it is high aloft, from whence it is often a {source of} fear, {even} to myself, to look {down} upon the sea and the earth, and my breast trembles with fearful apprehensions. The last stage is a steep descent, and requires a sure command {of the horses}. Then, too, Tethys[3] herself, who receives me in her waves, extended below, is often wont to fear, lest I should be borne headlong {from above}. Besides, the heavens are carried round[4] with a constant rotation, and carry {with them} the lofty stars, and whirl them with rapid revolution. Against this I have to contend; and that force which overcomes {all} other things, {does} not {overcome} me; and I am carried in a contrary direction to the rapid world. Suppose the chariot given {to thee}; what couldst thou do? Couldst thou proceed, opposed to the whirling poles, so that the rapid heavens should not carry thee away? Perhaps, too, thou dost fancy in thy mind that there are groves, and cities of the Gods, and temples enriched with gifts; {whereas}, the way is through dangers, and the forms of wild beasts;[5] and though thou shouldst keep on thy road, and be drawn aside by no wanderings, still thou must pass amid the horns of the threatening Bull, and the Hæmonian[6] bow, and {before} the visage of the raging Lion, and the Scorpion, bending his cruel claws with a wide compass, and the Crab, that bends his claws in a different manner; nor is it easy for thee to govern the steeds spirited by those fires which they have in their breasts, and which they breathe forth from their mouths and their nostrils. Hardly are they restrained by me, when their high-mettled spirit is {once} heated, and their necks struggle against the reins. But do thou have a care, my son, that I be not the occasion of a gift fatal to thee, and while the matter {still} permits, alter thy intentions. Thou askest, forsooth, a sure proof that thou mayst believe thyself sprung from my blood? I give thee a sure proof in {thus} being alarmed {for thee}; and by my paternal apprehensions, I am shown to be thy father. Lo, behold my countenance! I wish, too, that thou couldst direct thy eyes into my breast, and discover my fatherly concern within! Finally, look around thee, upon whatever the rich world contains, and ask for anything out of the blessings, so many and so great, of heaven, of earth, and of sea; {and} thou shalt suffer no denial. In this one thing alone I beg to be excused, which, {called} by its right name, is a penalty, and not an honor; thou art asking, Phaëton, a punishment instead of a gift. Why, in thy ignorance, art thou embracing my neck with caressing arms? Doubt not; whatever thou shalt desire shall be granted thee (by the Stygian waves I have sworn it); but do thou make thy desire more considerately.”

He had finished his admonitions; and yet {Phaëton} resists his advice, and presses his point, and burns with eagerness for the chariot. Wherefore, his parent having delayed as long as he could, leads the young man to the lofty chariot, the gift of Vulcan. The axle-tree was of gold, the poles were of gold; the circumference of the exterior of the wheel was of gold; the range of the spokes was of silver. Chrysolites and gems placed along the yoke in order, gave a bright light from the reflected sun. And while the aspiring Phaëton is admiring these things, and is examining the workmanship, behold! the watchful Aurora opened her purple doors in the ruddy east, and her halls filled with roses. The stars disappear, the troops whereof Lucifer gathers, and moves the last from his station in the heavens. But the father Titan, when he beheld the earth and the universe growing red, and the horns of the far-distant Moon, as if about to vanish, orders the swift Hours to yoke the horses. The Goddesses speedily perform his commands, and lead forth the steeds from the lofty stalls, snorting forth flames, and filled with the juice of Ambrosia; and {then} they put on the sounding bits.

Then the father touched the face of his son with a hallowed drug, and made it able to endure the burning flames, and placed the rays upon his locks, and fetching from his troubled heart sighs presaging his sorrow, he said: “If thou canst here at least, my boy, obey the advice of thy father, be sparing of the whip, and use the bridle with nerve. Of their own accord they are wont to hasten on; the difficulty is to check them in their full career. And let not the way attract thee through the five direct circles.[7] There is a track cut obliquely, with a broad curvature, and bounded by the extremities of three zones, and {so} it shuns the South pole, and the Bear united to the North. Let thy way be here; thou wilt perceive distinct traces of the wheels. And that heaven and earth may endure equal heat, neither drive too low, nor urge the chariot along the summit of the sky. Going forth too high, thou wilt set on fire the signs of the heavens; too low, the earth; in the middle course thou will go most safely. Neither let the right wheel bear thee off towards the twisted Serpent, nor let the left lead thee to the low Altar; hold thy course between them. The rest I leave to Fortune, who, I pray, may aid thee, and take more care of thee, than thou dost of thyself. Whilst I am speaking, the moist Night has touched the goals placed on the Western shores; delay is not allowed me. I am required; the Morning is shining forth, the darkness being dispersed. Seize the reins with thy hands; or if thou hast a mind capable of change, make use of my advice, {and} not my chariot, while thou art {still} able, and art even yet standing upon solid ground; and while thou art not yet in thy ignorance filling the chariot that thou didst so unfortunately covet.”

The other leaps into the light chariot with his youthful body, and stands aloft, and rejoices to take in his hand the reins presented {to him}, and then gives thanks to his reluctant parent. In the meantime the swift Pyroeis, and Eoüs and Æthon, the horses of the sun, and Phlegon, {making} the fourth, fill the air with neighings, sending forth flames, and beat the barriers with their feet. After Tethys, ignorant of the destiny of her grandson, had removed these, and the scope of the boundless universe was given them, they take the road, and moving their feet through the air, they cleave the resisting clouds, and raised aloft by their wings, they pass by the East winds that had arisen from the same parts. But the weight was light; and such as the horses of the sun could not feel; and the yoke was deficient of its wonted weight. And as the curving ships, without proper ballast, are tossed about, and unsteady, through their too great lightness, are borne through the sea, so does the chariot give bounds[8] in the air, unimpeded by its usual burden, and is tossed on high, and is just like an empty one.

Soon as the steeds have perceived this, they rush on, and leave the beaten track, and run not in the order in which {they did} before. He himself becomes alarmed; and knows not which way to turn the reins entrusted {to him}, nor does he know where the way is, nor, if he did know, could he control them. Then, for the first time, did the cold Triones grow warm with sunbeams, and attempt, in vain, to be dipped in the sea that was forbidden {to them}. And the Serpent which is situate next to the icy pole, being before torpid with cold, and formidable to no one, grew warm, and regained new rage from the heat. They say, too,[9] that thou, Boötes, being disturbed, took to flight; although thou wast {but} slow, and thy wain impeded thee. But when, from the height of the skies, the unhappy Phaëton looked down upon the earth, lying far, very far beneath, he grew pale, and his knees shook with a sudden terror; and in a light so great, darkness overspread his eyes. And now he could wish that he had never touched the horses of his father; and now he is sorry that he knew his descent, and that he prevailed in his request; now desiring to be called the son of Merops. He is borne along, just as a ship driven by the furious Boreas, to which its pilot has given up the overpowered helm, {and} which he has resigned to the Gods and {the effect of} his supplications. What can he do? much of heaven is left behind his back; still more is before his eyes. Either {space} he measures in his mind; and at one moment he is looking forward to the West, which it is not allowed him by fate to reach; {and} sometimes he looks back upon the East. Ignorant what to do, he is stupefied; and he neither lets go the reins, nor is he able to retain them; nor does he know the names of the horses. In his fright, too, he sees strange objects scattered everywhere in various parts of the heavens, and the forms of huge wild beasts. There is a spot where the Scorpion bends his arms into two curves, and with his tail and claws bending on either side, he extends his limbs through the space of two signs {of the Zodiac}. As soon as the youth beheld him wet with the sweat of black venom, and threatening wounds with the barbed point {of his tail}, bereft of sense, he let go the reins, in a chill of horror. Soon as they, falling down, have touched the top of their backs, the horses range at large: and no one restraining them, they go through the air of an unknown region; and where their fury drives them thither, without check, do they hurry along, and they rush on to the stars fixed in the sky, and drag the chariot through pathless places. One while they are mounting aloft, and now they are borne through steep places, and {along} headlong paths in a tract nearer to the earth.

The Moon, too, wonders that her brother’s horses run lower than her own, and the scorched clouds send forth smoke. As each region is most elevated, it is caught by the flames, and cleft, it makes {vast} chasms, and becomes dry, its moisture being carried away. The grass grows pale; the trees, with their foliage, are burnt up; and the dry standing corn affords fuel for its own destruction. {But} I am complaining of trifling {ills}. Great cities perish, together with their fortifications, and the flames turn whole nations, with their populations, into ashes; woods, together with mountains, are on fire. Athos[10] burns, and the Cilician Taurus,[11] and Tmolus,[12] and Œta,[13] and Ida,[14] now dry, {but} once most famed for its springs; and Helicon,[15] the resort of the Virgin {Muses}, and Hæmus,[16] not yet {called} Œagrian. Ætna[17] burns intensely with redoubled flames, and Parnassus, with its two summits, and Eryx,[18] and Cynthus,[19] and Othrys, and Rhodope,[20] at length to be despoiled of its snows, and Mimas,[21] and Dindyma,[22] and Mycale,[23] and Cithæron,[24] created for {the performance of} sacred rites. Nor does its cold avail {even} Scythia; Caucasus[25] is on fire, and Ossa with Pindus, and Olympus, greater than them both, and the lofty Alps,[26] and the cloud-bearing Apennines.[27]

Then, indeed, Phaëton beholds the world set on fire on all sides, and he cannot endure heat so great, and he inhales with his mouth scorching air, as though from a deep furnace, and perceives his own chariot to be on fire. And neither is he able now to bear the ashes and the emitted embers; and, on every side, he is involved in heated smoke. Covered with a pitchy darkness, he knows not whither he is going, nor where he is, and is hurried away at the pleasure of the winged steeds. They believe that it was then that the nations of the Æthiopians contracted their black hue,[28] the blood being attracted into the surface of the body. Then was Libya[29] made dry by the heat, the moisture being carried off; then, with dishevelled hair, the Nymphs lamented the springs and the lakes. Bœotia bewails Dirce,[30] Argos Amymone,[31] and Ephyre[32] the waters of Pirene. Nor do rivers that have got banks distant in situation, remain {secure}; Tanais[33] smokes in the midst of its waters, and the aged Peneus, and Teuthrantian Caïcus,[34] and rapid Ismenus,[35] with Phocean Erymanthus,[36] and Xanthus[37] again to burn, and yellow Lycormas,[38] and Mæander,[39] which sports with winding streams, and the Mygdonian Melas,[40] and the Tænarian Eurotas.[41] The Babylonian Euphrates, too, was on fire, Orontes[42] was in flames, and the swift Thermodon[43] and Ganges,[44] and Phasis,[45] and Ister.[46] Alpheus[47] boils; the banks of Spercheus burn; and the gold which Tagus[48] carries with its stream, melts in the flames. The river birds too, which made famous the Mæonian[49] banks {of the river} with their song, grew hot in the middle of Caÿster. The Nile, affrighted, fled to the remotest parts of the earth, and concealed his head, which still lies hid; his seven last mouths are empty, {become} seven {mere} channels, without any stream. The same fate dries up the Ismarian {rivers}, Hebrus together with Strymon,[50] and the Hesperian[51] streams, the Rhine, and the Rhone, and the Po, and the Tiber, to which was promised the sovereignty of the world.

All the ground bursts asunder; and through the chinks, the light penetrates into Tartarus, and startles the Infernal King with his spouse. The Ocean too, is contracted, and that which lately was sea, is a surface of parched sand; and the mountains which the deep sea had covered, start up and increase {the number of} the scattered Cyclades.[52] The fishes sink to the bottom, and the crooked Dolphins do not care to raise themselves on the surface into the air, as usual. The bodies of sea calves float lifeless on their backs, on the top of the water. The story, too, is, that {even} Nereus himself, and Doris and their daughters, lay hid in the heated caverns. Three times had Neptune ventured, with a stern countenance, to thrust his arms out of the water; three times he was unable to endure the scorching heat of the air. However, the genial Earth, as she was surrounded with sea, amid the waters of the main, and the springs, dried up on every side, which had hidden themselves in the bowels of their cavernous parent, burnt-up, lifted up her all-productive face[53] as far as her neck, and placed her hands to her forehead, and shaking all things with a vast trembling, she sank down a little, and retired below the spot where she is wont to be, and thus she spoke, with a parched voice: “O sovereign of the Gods, if thou approvest of this, if I have deserved it, why do thy lightnings linger? Let me, {if} doomed to perish by the force of fire, perish by thy flames; and alleviate my misfortune, by being the author {of it}. With difficulty, indeed, do I open my mouth for these very words;” (the vapor had oppressed her utterance.) “Behold my scorched hair, and such a quantity of ashes over my eyes, so much {too}, over my features. And dost thou give this as my recompense? this, as the reward of my fertility and of my duty, in that I endure wounds from the crooked plough and harrows, and am harassed all the year through? In that I supply green leaves for the cattle, and corn, a wholesome food for mankind, and frankincense for yourselves? But still, suppose that I am deserving of destruction, why have the waves {deserved this}? Why has thy brother deserved it? Why do the seas, delivered to him by lot, decrease, and why do they recede still further from the sky? But if regard for neither thy brother nor for myself influences thee, still have consideration for thy own skies; look around, on either side, {how} each pole is smoking; if the fire shall injure them, thy palace will fall in ruins. See! Atlas[54] himself is struggling, and hardly can he bear the glowing heavens on his shoulders. If the sea, if the earth perishes, if the palace of heaven, we are thrown[55] into the confused state of ancient chaos. Save it from the flames, if aught still survives, and provide for the preservation of the universe.”

Thus spoke the Earth; nor, indeed, could she any longer endure the vapor, nor say more; and she withdrew her face within herself, and the caverns neighboring to the shades below.

[Footnote 1: _Ægeon._--Ver. 10. Homer makes him to be the same
with Briareus. According to another account, which Ovid here
follows, he was a sea God, the son of Oceanus and Terra.]

[Footnote 2: _Doris._--Ver. 11. She was the daughter of Oceanus,
the wife of Nereus, and the mother of the fifty Nereids.]

[Footnote 3: _Tethys._--Ver. 69. She was the daughter of Cœlus and
Terra, and the wife of Oceanus. Her name is here used to signify
the ocean itself.]

[Footnote 4: _Are carried round._--Ver. 70. Clarke thus renders
this line,--“Add, too, that the heaven was whisked round with a
continual rolling.”]

[Footnote 5: _Wild beasts._--Ver. 78. The signs of the Zodiac.]

[Footnote 6: _Hæmonian._--Ver. 81. Or Thessalian. He here alludes
to the Thessalian Chiron, the Centaur, who, according to Ovid and
other writers, was placed in the Zodiac as the Constellation
Sagittarius: while others say that Crotus, or Croto, the son of
Eupheme, the nurse of the Muses, was thus honored.]

[Footnote 7: _Through the five direct circles._--Ver. 129. There
is some obscurity in this passage, arising from the mode of
expression. Phœbus here counsels Phaëton what track to follow, and
tells him to pursue his way by an oblique path, and not directly
in the plane of the equator. This last is what he calls ‘directos
via quinque per arcus.’ These five arcs, or circles, are the five
parallel circles by which astronomers distinguish the heavens,
namely, the two polar circles, the two tropics, and the
equinoctial. The latter runs exactly in the middle, between the
other two circles, so that the expression must be understood to
mean, ‘pursue not your way directly through that circle which is
the middlemost of the five, but observe the track that cuts it
obliquely.’]

[Footnote 8: _The chariot give bounds._--Ver. 165-6. Clarke thus
renders these lines.--‘Thus does the chariot give jumps into the
air without its usual weight, and is kicked up on high, and is
like one empty.’]

[Footnote 9: _They say, too._--Ver. 176-7. The following is
Clarke’s translation of these two lines,--‘They say, too, that
you, Boötes, scowered off in a mighty bustle, although you were
but slow, and thy cart hindered thee.’]

[Footnote 10: _Athos._--Ver. 217. Athos (now Monte Santo) was a
mountain of Macedonia, so lofty that its shadow was said to extend
even to the Isle of Lemnos, which was eighty-seven miles distant.]

[Footnote 11: _Taurus._--Ver. 217. This was an immense mountain
range which ran through the middle of Cilicia, in Asia Minor.]

[Footnote 12: _Tmolus._--Ver. 217. Tmolus (now Bozdaz) was a
mountain of Lydia, famed for its wines and saffron. Pactolus,
a stream with sands reputed to be golden, took its rise there.]

[Footnote 13: _Œta._--Ver. 217. This was a mountain chain, which
divided Thessaly from Doris and Phocis; famed for the death of
Hercules on one of its ridges.]

[Footnote 14: _Ida._--Ver. 218. There were two mountains of the
name of Ide, or Ida; one in Crete, the other near Troy. The latter
is here referred to, as being famed for its springs.]

[Footnote 15: _Helicon._--Ver. 219. This was a mountain of Bœotia,
sacred to the Virgin Muses.]

[Footnote 16: _Hæmus._--Ver. 219. This, which is now called the
Balkan range, was a lofty chain of mountains running through
Thrace. Orpheus, the son of Œagrus and Calliope, was there torn in
pieces by the Mænades, or Bacchanalian women, whence the mountain
obtained the epithet of ‘Œagrian.’]

[Footnote 17: _Ætna._--Ver. 220. This is the volcanic mountain of
Sicily; the flames caused by the fall of Phaëton, added to its
own, caused them to be redoubled.]

[Footnote 18: _Eryx._--Ver. 221. This was a mountain of Sicily,
now called San Juliano. On it, a magnificent temple was erected,
in honor of Venus.]

[Footnote 19: _Cynthus._--Ver. 221. This was a mountain of Delos,
on which Apollo and Diana were said to have been born.]

[Footnote 20: _Rhodope._--Ver. 222. It was a high mountain, capped
with perpetual snows, in the northern part of Thrace.]

[Footnote 21: _Mimas._--Ver. 222. A mountain of Ionia, near the
Ionian Sea. It was of very great height; whence Homer calls it
ὑψίκρημνος.]

[Footnote 22: _Dindyma._--Ver. 223. This was a mountain of
Phrygia, near Troy, sacred to Cybele, the mother of the Gods.]

[Footnote 23: _Mycale._--Ver. 223. A mountain of Caria, opposite
to the Isle of Samos.]

[Footnote 24: _Cithæron._--Ver. 223. This was a mountain of
Bœotia, famous for the orgies of Bacchus, there celebrated. In its
neighborhood, Pentheus was torn to pieces by the Mænades, for
slighting the worship of Bacchus.]

[Footnote 25: _Caucasus._--Ver. 224. This was a mountain chain in
Asia, between the Euxine and Caspian Seas.]

[Footnote 26: _Alps._--Ver. 226. This mountain range divides
France from Italy.]

[Footnote 27: _Apennines._--Ver. 226. This range of mountains runs
down the centre of Italy.]

[Footnote 28: _Their black hue._--Ver. 235. The notion that the
blackness of the African tribes was produced by the heat of the
sun, is borrowed by the Poet from Hesiod. Hyginus, too, says, ‘the
Indians, because, by the proximity of the fire, their blood was
turned black by the heat thereof, became of black appearance
themselves.’ Notwithstanding the learned and minute investigations
of physiologists on the subject, this question is still involved
in considerable obscurity.]

[Footnote 29: _Libya._--Ver. 237. This was a region between
Mauritania and Cyrene. The Greek writers, however, often use the
word to signify the whole of Africa. Servius gives a trifling
derivation for the name, in saying that Libya was so called,
because λείπει ὁ ὕετος, ‘it is without rain.’]

[Footnote 30: _Dirce._--Ver. 239. Dirce was a celebrated fountain
of Bœotia, into which it was said that Dirce, the wife of Lycus,
king of Thebes, was transformed.]

[Footnote 31: _Amymone._--Ver. 240. It was a fountain of Argos,
near Lerna, into which the Nymph, Amymone, the daughter of Lycus,
king of the Argives, was said to have been transformed.]

[Footnote 32: _Ephyre._--Ver. 240. It was the most ancient name of
Corinth, in the citadel of which, or the Acrocorinthus, was the
spring Pyrene, of extreme brightness and purity and sacred to the
Muses.]

[Footnote 33: _Tanais._--Ver. 242. This river, now the Don, after
a long winding course, discharges itself into the ‘Palus Mæotis,’
now the sea of ‘Azof.’]

[Footnote 34: _Caïcus._--Ver. 243. This is a river of Mysia, here
called ‘Teuthrantian,’ from Mount Teuthras, in its vicinity.]

[Footnote 35: _Ismenus._--Ver. 244. Ismenus was a river of Bœotia,
that flowed past Thebes into the Euripus.]

[Footnote 36: _Erymanthus._--Ver. 245. This was a river of
Arcadia, which, rising in a mountain of that name, fell into the
Alpheus.]

[Footnote 37: _Xanthus._--Ver. 245. This was a river of Troy; here
spoken of as destined to behold flames a second time, in the
conflagration of that city.]

[Footnote 38: _Lycormas._--Ver. 245. This was a rapid river of
Ætolia, which was afterwards known by the name of Evenus.]

[Footnote 39: _Mæander._--Ver. 246. This was a river of Phrygia,
flowing between Lydia and Caria; it was said to have 600 windings
in its course.]

[Footnote 40: _Melas._--Ver. 247. This name was given to many
rivers of Thrace, Thessaly, and Asia, on account of the darkness
of the color of their waters; the name was derived from the Greek
word μέλας, ‘black.’]

[Footnote 41: _Tænarian Eurotas._--Ver. 247. The Eurotas was a
river of Laconia, which flowed under the walls of the city of
Sparta, and discharged itself into the sea near the promontory of
Tænarus, now called Cape Matapan. The Eurotas is now called
‘Basilipotamo,’ or ‘king of streams.’]

[Footnote 42: _Orontes._--Ver. 248. The Orontes was a river of
Asia Minor, which flowed near Antioch.]

[Footnote 43: _Thermodon._--Ver. 249. This was a river of
Cappadocia, near which the Amazons were said to dwell.]

[Footnote 44: _Ganges._--Ver. 249. This is one of the largest
rivers in Asia, and discharges itself into the Persian Gulf; and
not, as Gierig says, in his note on this passage, in the Red Sea.]

[Footnote 45: _Phasis._--Ver. 249. This was a river of Colchis,
falling into the Euxine Sea.]

[Footnote 46: _Ister._--Ver. 249. The Danube had that name from
its source to the confines of Germany; and thence, in its course
through Scythia to the sea, it was called by the name of ‘Ister.’]

[Footnote 47: _Alpheus._--Ver. 250. It was a river of Arcadia, in
Peloponnesus.]

[Footnote 48: _Tagus._--Ver. 251. This was a river of Spain, which
was said to bring down from the mountains great quantities of
golden sand. The Poet here feigns this to be melted by the heat of
the sun, and in that manner to be carried along by the current of
the river.]

[Footnote 49: _Mæonian._--Ver. 252. Mæonia was so called from the
river Mæon, and was another name of Lydia. The Caÿster, famous for
its swans, flowed through Lydia.]

[Footnote 50: _Strymon._--Ver. 257. The Hebrus and the Strymon
were rivers of Thrace. Ismarus was a mountain of that country,
famous for its vines.]

[Footnote 51: _Hesperian._--Ver. 258. Hesperia, or ‘the western
country,’ was a general name of not only Spain and Gaul, but even
Italy. The Rhine is a river of France and Germany, the Rhone of
France. The Padus, or Po, and the Tiber, are rivers of Italy.]

[Footnote 52: _Cyclades._--Ver. 264. The Cyclades were a cluster
of islands in the Ægean Sea, surrounding Delos as though with a
circle, whence their name.]

[Footnote 53: _Her all-productive face._--Ver. 275. The earth was
similarly called by the Greeks παμμήτωρ, ‘the mother of all
things.’ So Virgil calls it ‘omniparens.’]

[Footnote 54: _Atlas._--Ver. 296. This was a mountain of
Mauritania, which, by reason of its height, was said to support
the heavens.]

[Footnote 55: _We are thrown._--Ver. 299. Clarke translates, ‘In
chaos antiquum confundimur,’ ‘We are then jumbled into the old
chaos again.’]

EXPLANATION.

If we were to regard this fable solely as an allegory intended to
convey a moral, we should at once perceive that the adventure of
Phaëton represents the wilful folly of a rash young man, who consults
his own inclination, rather than the dictates of wisdom and prudence.
Some ancient writers tell us that Phaëton was the son of Phœbus and
Clymene, while others make the nymph Rhoda to have been his mother.
Apollodorus, following Hesiod, says that Herse, the daughter of
Cecrops, king of Athens, was the mother of Cephalus, who was carried
away by Aurora; which probably means that he left Greece for the
purpose of settling in the East. Cephalus had a son named Tithonus,
the father of Phaëton. Thus Phaëton was the fourth in lineal descent
from Cecrops, who reigned at Athens about 1580, B.C. The story is most
probably based upon the fact of some excessive heat that happened in
his time. Aristotle supposes that at that period flames fell from
heaven, which ravaged several countries. Possibly the burning of the
cities of the plain, or the stay of the sun in his course at the
command of Joshua, may have been the foundation of the story. St.
Chrysostom suggests that it is based upon an imperfect version of the
ascent of Elijah in a chariot of fire; that name, or rather ‘Elias,’
the Greek form of it, bearing a strong resemblance to Ἥλιος, the Greek
name of the sun. Vossius suggests that this is an Egyptian history,
and considers the story of the grief of Phœbus for the loss of his son
to be another version of the sorrows of the Egyptians for the death of
Osiris. The tears of the Heliades, or sisters of Phaëton, he conceives
to be identical with the lamentations of the women who wept for the
death of Thammuz. The Poet, when he tells us that Phaëton abandoned
his chariot on seeing The Scorpion, probably intends to show that the
event of which he treats happened in the month in which the sun enters
that sign.

Plutarch and Tzetzes tell us that Phaëton was a king of the
Molossians, who drowned himself in the Po; that he was a student of
astronomy, and foretold an excessive heat which happened in his reign,
and laid waste his kingdom. Lucian, also, in his Discourse on
Astronomy, gives a similar explanation of the story, and says that
this prince dying very young, left his observations imperfect, which
gave rise to the fable that he did not know how to drive the chariot
of the sun to the end of its course.

FABLE II. [II.305-324]

Jupiter, to save the universe from being consumed, hurls his thunder
at Phaëton, on which he falls headlong into the river Eridanus.

But the omnipotent father, having called the Gods above to witness, and him, too, who had given the chariot {to Phaëton}, that unless he gives assistance, all things will perish in direful ruin, mounts aloft to the highest eminence, from which he is wont to spread the clouds over the spacious earth; from which he moves his thunders, and hurls the brandished lightnings. But then, he had neither clouds that he could draw over the earth, nor showers that he could pour down from the sky. He thundered aloud, and darted the poised lightning from his right ear against the charioteer, and at the same moment deprived him both of his life and his seat, and by his ruthless fires restrained the flames. The horses are affrighted, and, making a bound in an opposite direction, they shake the yoke from off their necks, and disengage themselves from the torn harness. In one place lie the reins; in another, the axle-tree wrenched away from the pole; in another part {are} the spokes of the broken wheels; and the fragments of the chariot torn in pieces are scattered far and wide. But Phaëton, the flames consuming his yellow hair, is hurled headlong, and is borne in a long tract through the air; as sometimes a star from the serene sky may appear to fall, although it {really} has not fallen. Him the great Eridanus receives, in a part of the world far distant from his country, and bathes his foaming face.

FABLE III. [II.325-366]

The sisters of Phaëton are changed into poplars, and their tears
become amber distilling from those trees.

The Hesperian Naiads[56] commit his body, smoking from the three-forked flames, to the tomb, and inscribe these verses on the stone:--“Here is Phaëton buried, the driver of his father’s chariot, which if he did not manage, still he miscarried in a great attempt.” But his wretched father had hidden his face, overcast with bitter sorrow, and, if only we can believe it, they say that one day passed without the sun.[57] The flames afforded light; and {so far}, there was some advantage in that disaster. But Clymene, after she had said whatever things were to be said amid misfortunes so great, traversed the whole earth, full of woe, and distracted, and tearing her bosom. And first seeking his lifeless limbs, {and} then his bones, she found his bones, however, buried on a foreign bank. She laid herself down on the spot; and bathed with tears the name she read on the marble, and warmed it with her open breast. The daughters of the Sun mourn no less, and give tears, an unavailing gift, to his death; and beating their breasts with their hands, they call Phaëton both night and day, who is doomed not to hear their sad complaints; and they lie scattered about the tomb.

The Moon had four times filled her disk, by joining her horns; they, according to their custom (for use had made custom), uttered lamentations; among whom Phaëthusa, the eldest of the sisters, when she was desirous to lie on the ground, complained that her feet had grown stiff; to whom the fair Lampetie attempting to come, was detained by a root suddenly formed. A third, when she is endeavoring to tear her hair with her hands, tears off leaves; one complains that her legs are held fast by the trunk of a tree, another that her arms are become long branches. And while they are wondering at these things, bark closes upon their loins; and by degrees, it encompasses their stomachs, their breasts, their shoulders, and their hands; and only their mouths are left uncovered, calling upon their mother. What is their mother to do? but run here and there, whither frenzy leads her, and join her lips {with theirs}, while {yet} she may? That is not enough; she tries to pull their bodies out of the trunks {of the trees}, and with her hands to tear away the tender branches; but from thence drops of blood flow as from a wound. Whichever {of them} is wounded, cries out, “Spare me, mother, O spare me, I pray; in the tree my body is being torn. And now farewell.” The bark came over the last words.

Thence tears flow forth; and amber distilling from the new-formed branches, hardens in the sun; which the clear river receives and sends to be worn by the Latian matrons.

[Footnote 56: _The Hesperian Naiads._--Ver. 325. These were the
Naiads of Italy. They were by name Phaëthusa, Lampetie, and
Phœbe.]

[Footnote 57: _Passed without the sun._--Ver. 331. There is,
perhaps, in this line some faint reference to a tradition of the
sun having, in the language of Scripture, ‘stood still upon
Gibeon, in his course, by the command of Joshua, when dispensing
the divine vengeance upon the Amorites,’ Joshua, x. 13. Or of the
time when ‘the shadow returned ten degrees backward’, by the
sun-dial of Ahaz, 2 Kings, xx. 11.]

FABLE IV. [II.367-400]

Cycnus, king of Liguria, inconsolable for the death of Phaëton, is
transformed into a swan.

Cycnus, the son of Sthenelus,[58] was present at this strange event; who, although he was related to thee, Phaëton, on his mother’s side, was yet more nearly allied in affection. He having left his kingdom (for he reigned over the people and the great cities of the Ligurians[59]) was filling the verdant banks and the river Eridanus, and the wood, {now} augmented by the sisters, with his complaints; when the man’s voice became shrill, and gray feathers concealed his hair. A long neck, too, extends from his breast, and a membrane joins his reddening toes; feathers clothe his sides, {and} his mouth holds a bill without a point. Cycnus becomes a new bird; but he trusts himself not to the heavens or the air, as being mindful of the fire unjustly sent from thence. He frequents the pools and the wide lakes, and abhorring fire, he chooses the streams, the {very} contrary of flames.

Meanwhile, the father of Phaëton, in squalid garb, and destitute of his comeliness, just as he is wont to be when he suffers an eclipse of his disk, abhors both the light, himself, and the day; and gives his mind up to grief, and adds resentment to his sorrow, and denies his services to the world. “My lot,” says he, “has been restless enough from the {very} beginning of time, and I am tired of labors endured by me, without end and without honor. Let any one else drive the chariot that carries the light. If there is no one, and all the Gods confess that they cannot do it, let {Jupiter} himself drive it; that, at least, while he is trying my reins, he may for a time lay aside the lightnings that bereave fathers. Then he will know, having made trial of the strength of the flame-footed steeds, that he who did not successfully guide them, did not deserve death.”

All the Deities stand around the Sun, as he says such things; and they entreat him, with suppliant voice, not to determine to bring darkness over the world. Jupiter, as well, excuses the hurling of his lightnings, and imperiously adds threats to entreaties. Phœbus calls together his steeds, maddened and still trembling with terror, and, subduing them, vents his fury both with whip and lash; for he is furious, and upbraids them with his son, and charges {his death} upon them.

[Footnote 58: _Sthenelus._--Ver. 367. He was a king of Liguria.
Commentators have justly remarked that it was not very likely that
a king of Liguria should be related to Clymene, a queen of the
Ethiopians, as Ovid, in the next line, says was the case. This
story was probably invented by some writer, who fancied that there
were two persons of the name of Phaëton; one the subject of eastern
tradition, and the other a personage of the Latin mythology.]

[Footnote 59: _The Ligurians._--Ver. 370. These were a people
situate on the eastern side of Etruria, between the rivers Var and
Macra. The Grecian writers were in the habit of styling the whole
of the north of Italy Liguria.]

EXPLANATION.

Plutarch places the tomb of Phaëton on the banks of the river Po; and
it is not improbable that his mother and sisters, grieving at his
fate, ended their lives in the neighborhood of his tomb, being
overcome with grief, which gave rise to the story that they were
changed into the poplars on its banks, which distilled amber. Some
writers say, that they were changed into larch trees, and not poplars.
Hesiod and Pindar also make mention of this tradition. Possibly,
Cycnus, being a friend of Phaëton, may have died from grief at his
loss, on which the poets graced his attachment with the story that he
was changed into a swan. Apollodorus mentions two other persons of the
name of Cycnus. One was the son of Mars, and was killed before Troy;
the other, as Hesiod tells us, was killed by Hercules. Lucian, in his
satirical vein, tells us, that inquiring on the banks of the Po for
the swans, and the poplars distilling amber, he was told that no such
things had ever been seen there; and that even the tradition of
Phaëton and his sisters was utterly unknown to the inhabitants of
those parts.

FABLE V. [II.401-465]

Jupiter, while taking a survey of the world, to extinguish the remains
of the fire, falls in love with Calisto, whom he sees in Arcadia; and,
in order to seduce that Nymph, he assumes the form of Diana. Her
sister Nymphs disclose her misfortune before the Goddess, who drives
her from her company, on account of the violation of her vow of
chastity.

But the omnipotent father surveys the vast walls of heaven, and carefully searches, that no part, impaired by the violence of the fire, may fall to ruin. After he has seen them to be secure and in their own {full} strength, he examines the earth, and the works of man; yet a care for his own Arcadia is more particularly his object. He restores, too, the springs and the rivers, that had not yet dared to flow, he gives grass to the earth: green leaves to the trees; and orders the injured forests again to be green. While {thus} he often went to and fro, he stopped short on {seeing} a virgin of Nonacris, and the fires engendered within his bones received {fresh} heat. It was not her employment to soften the wool by teasing, nor to vary her tresses in their arrangement; while a buckle fastened her garment, and a white fillet her hair, carelessly flowing; and at one time she bore in her hand a light javelin, at another, a bow. She was a warrior of Phœbe; nor did any {Nymph} frequent Mænalus, more beloved by Trivia,[60] than she; but no influence is of long duration. The lofty Sun had {now} obtained a position beyond the mid course, when she enters a grove which no generation had {ever} cut. Here she puts her quiver off from her shoulders, and unbends her pliant bow, and lies down on the ground, which the grass had covered, and presses her painted quiver, with her neck laid on it. When Jupiter saw her {thus} weary, and without a protector, he said, “For certain, my wife will know nothing of this stolen embrace; or, if she should chance to know, is her scolding, is it, {I say}, of such great consequence?”

Immediately he puts on the form and dress of Diana, and says, “O Virgin! one portion of my train, upon what mountains hast thou been hunting?” The virgin raises herself from the turf, and says, “Hail, Goddess! {that art}, in my opinion, greater than Jove, even if he himself should hear it.” He both smiles and he hears it, and is pleased at being preferred to himself; and he gives her kisses, not very moderate, nor such as would be given by a virgin. He stops her as she is preparing to tell him in what wood she has been hunting, by an embrace, and he does not betray himself without the commission {of violence}. She, indeed, on the other hand, as far as a woman could do (would that thou hadst seen her, daughter of Saturn, {then} thou wouldst have been more merciful), she, indeed, {I say}, resists; but what damsel, or who {besides}, could prevail against Jupiter? Jove, {now} the conqueror, seeks the heavens above; the grove and the conscious wood is {now} her aversion. Making her retreat thence, she is almost forgetting to take away her quiver with her arrows, and the bow which she had hung up.

Behold, Dictynna,[61] attended by her train, as she goes along the lofty Mænalus, and exulting in the slaughter of the wild beasts, beholds her, and calls her, thus seen. Being so called, she drew back, and at first was afraid lest Jupiter might be under her {shape}; but after she saw the Nymphs walking along with her, she perceived that there was no deceit,[62] and she approached their train. Alas! how difficult it is not to betray a crime by one’s looks! She scarce raises her eyes from the ground, nor, as she used to do, does she walk by the side of the Goddess, nor is she the foremost in the whole company; but she is silent, and by her blushes she gives signs of her injured honor. And Diana, but {for the fact}, that she is a virgin, might have perceived her fault by a thousand indications; the Nymphs are said to have perceived it.

The horns of the Moon were {now} rising again in her ninth course, when the hunting Goddess, faint from her brother’s flames, lighted on a cool grove, out of which a stream ran, flowing with its murmuring noise, and borne along the sand worn fine {by its action}. When she had approved of the spot, she touched the surface of the water with her foot; and commending it as well, she says, “All overlookers are far off; let us bathe our bodies, with the stream poured over them.” She of Parrhasia[63] blushed; they all put off their clothes; she alone sought {an excuse for} delay. Her garment was removed as she hesitated, which being put off, her fault was exposed with her naked body. Cynthia said to her, in confusion, and endeavoring to conceal her stomach with her hands, “Begone afar hence! and pollute not the sacred springs;” and she ordered her to leave her train.

[Footnote 60: _Trivia._--Ver. 416. This was an epithet of Diana,
as presiding over and worshipped in the places where three roads
met, which were called ‘trivia.’ Being known as Diana on earth,
the Moon in the heavens, and Proserpine in the infernal regions,
she was represented at these places with three faces; those of a
horse, a dog, and a female; the latter being in the middle.]

[Footnote 61: _Dictynna._--Ver. 441. Diana was so called from the
Greek word δικτὺς, ‘a net,’ which was used by her for the purposes
of hunting.]

[Footnote 62: _There was no deceit._--Ver. 446. Clarke translates
‘sensit abesse dolos,’ ‘she was convinced there was no roguery in
the case.’]

[Footnote 63: _She of Parrhasia._--Ver. 460. Calisto is so called
from Parrhasia, a region of Arcadia. Parrhasius was the name of a
mountain, a grove, and a city of that country and was derived from
the name of Parrhasus, a son of Lycaon.]

FABLES VI AND VII. [II.466-550]

Juno, being jealous that Calisto has attracted Jupiter, transforms her
into a Bear. Her son, Arcas, not recognizing his mother in that shape,
is about to kill her; but Jupiter removes them both to the skies,
where they form the Constellations of the Great and the Little Bear.
The raven, as a punishment for his garrulity, is changed from white to
black.

The spouse of the great Thunderer had perceived this some time before, and had put off the severe punishment {designed for her}, to a proper time. There is {now} no reason for delay; and now the boy Arcas (that, too, was a grief to Juno) was born of the mistress {of her husband}. Wherefore, she turned her thoughts, full of resentment, and her eyes {upon her}, and said, “This thing, forsooth, alone was wanting, thou adulteress, that thou shouldst be pregnant, and that my injury should become notorious by thy labors, and that {thereby} the disgraceful conduct of my {husband}, Jupiter, should be openly declared. Thou shalt not go unpunished; for I will spoil that shape of thine, on which thou pridest thyself, and by which thou, mischievous one,[64] dost charm my husband.”

{Thus} she spoke; and seizing her straight in front by the hair,[65] threw her on her face to the ground. She suppliantly stretched forth her arms; those arms began to grow rough with black hair,[66] and her hands to be bent, and to increase to hooked claws, and to do the duty of feet, and the mouth, that was once admired by Jupiter, to become deformed with a wide opening; and lest her prayers, and words not needed, should influence her feelings, the power of speech is taken from her; an angry and threatening voice, and full of terror, is uttered from her hoarse throat. Still, her former understanding remains in her, even thus become a bear; and expressing her sorrows by her repeated groans, she lifts up her hands, such as they are, to heaven and to the stars, and she deems Jove ungrateful, though she cannot call him so. Ah! how often, not daring to rest in the lonely wood, did she wander about before her own house, and in the fields once her own. Ah! how often was she driven over the crags by the cry of the hounds; and, a huntress herself, she fled in alarm, through fear of the hunters! Often, seeing the wild beasts, did she lie concealed, forgetting what she was; and, a bear herself, dreaded the he-bears seen on the mountains, and was alarmed at the wolves, though her father was among them.

Behold! Arcas, the offspring of the daughter of Lycaon, ignorant of who is his parent, approaches her, thrice five birthdays being now nearly past; and while he is following the wild beasts, while he is choosing the proper woods, and is enclosing the Erymanthian forests[67] with his platted nets, he meets with his mother. She stood still, upon seeing Arcas, and was like one recognizing {another}. He drew back, and, in his ignorance, was alarmed at her keeping her eyes fixed upon him without ceasing; and, as she was desirous to approach still nearer, he would have pierced her breast with the wounding spear. Omnipotent {Jove} averted this, and removed both them and {such} wickedness; and placed them, carried through vacant space with a rapid wind, in the heavens, and made them neighboring Constellations.