CARMEN LXIII.-ATYS. Atys borne in swiftly-flying bark over depths unfathomable Reached the Phrygian grove with eager footstep hurrying passionately, And approached the haunt of Cybele girt about with forests darkening. There with furious madness raging all his mind bewildered wandering He with flintstone sharpened cut and dashed to the ground his part of manhood: Then a woman made, she felt her limbs grow weak with effeminacy, While the ground with gore bedabbled showed the red bloodstain freshly shed, She with snow-white hands the timbrel seized, O thou mighty mother Cybele, Thine the timbrel, thine the trumpet, symbols of thy initiation, And with tender fingers smiting on the hollow resonant bull's hide, Thus began to her companions with wild tones thrillingly quivering: "Come ye Gallæ, me attend ye to the groves of great Cybele, Go ye, too, wild wandering herds of our dread goddess Din dymian, Ye who, as a tribe of exiles seek far regions inhospitable, Have my rule and guidance followed, O my comrades to me devoted, Who have crossed careering billows, and the boisterous waste of sea, And from utter hate of Venus have your bodies emasculated. Now rejoice our mighty mistress with your gyrations impetuous, Thoughts of slow delay abandon, come, and follow me as your guide, To the Phrygian home of Cybele, to the Phrygian goddess' grove, Where the clash of cymbals call you, where the timbrels echo afar, Where the Phrygian through the curved reed whistles low with his droning flute, Where the Mænads wildly dancing toss abroad their heads ivy-crowned, Where they ply their hallowed mysteries with ear-piercing ululations, Where the train of great Cybelle flit like birds wheeling aerially, Thither must we hasten, thither in quick-dancing mystic measure." Thus she sung to her companions, Atys the woman newly made. Of a sudden all the rout with quivering tongues began their yelling, Bellow back the timbrels light, the hollow cymbals echoing ring, And with eager feet the chorus rush to ascend green Ida's hill. With them raging, breathless, wandering, all her mind distraught with madness Atys with the timbrel hurries through all darkening groves their guide, As the steer unbroken flees the burden ponderous of the yoke. Her their leader quick the Gallæ follow with feet rapidly hastening, So o'erwearied, spent with labour, reach they Cybele's sanctuary, Then they sink in heavy slumber, fasting, fainting with a dire hunger. O'er their eyes a drowsy torpor sinks with languor over powering, Rest in placid sleep their bosoms from the fury which had possessed them. But when rose the golden sun with bright orb gleaming radiantly, Lighting up the æther white, hard ground, and sea ruthlessly ravening Trampling out the shades of night with his fresh horses thunderous-hoofed, Atys woke, and sleep departed, rapidly vanishing away, And Pasithea's trembling bosom once more received the drowsy god. (1) Then thus wakened from her quiet rest her raging frenzy assuaged To her mind the act of madness, all the deed she had done returned, Then unblinded saw she where her dwelling, what her ignominy, Bent again her footsteps seaward, her soul seething piteously. Then with streaming eyes beholding ocean's plain illimitable, Thus with mournful voice addressed her country, moaning miserably, "O my country who didst bear me, thou my country who didst beget me, I, poor wretch, I thee abandoned, as his lord a fugitive slave, And to wooded heights and groves of Ida hurried precipitously, There to dwell in snowy regions, ice-frozen haunts of beasts wild-roving. All their savage lairs to visit, driven by madness deliriously. Where art thou my country, 'neath what point of sky shall I picture thee? For my very eyeballs long to bend their agonized gaze towards thee, While my mind from raging frenzy is but a moment respited. Far from home I loved so dearly shall I then through these forests wander From my country, wealth, and friends, and parents ever separated, Parted from the forum's triumphs, from the race course ever and aye, Parted, too, from the palæstra, from the gymnasium, ah, the misery! Woe on woe, my soul must ever pour forth in anguish lamentations, All the charms of manly beauty once were mine, my body gracing Youth and boyhood, age and manhood all were forms most lovely in me. (2) Me the flower of the palæstra, me the gymnasium's pride and glory. Mine the portals crowded ever, mine the thresholds hospitable, Mine the house o'erhung with garlands, lovers' flowery memorials, When the sun arose in heaven, and from my chamber forth I sallied. Now shall I to gods devoted stray the bondsman of Cybele? I drag out a weary lifetime under the lofty Phrygian hill-crags ? |
