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Such the sounds she uttered, wailing from her womanly

roseate lips. Straight her moaning reached the god's ears, wild sounds

strange and unexpected. Then her lions great Cybelle from her chariot unyoked, With her goad the flock-destroyer yoked on the left she struck

and urged him, “ Rouse thee, rouse thee in thy fierceness, go, and that wretch

with fury maddening With the stroke of frantic madness, drive to the forest hence

departing Who in freedom from my service now dares hope to be

liberated. Rouse thee, goad thyself to anger, lash thine own sides furiously, Let the vales resound on all sides with thy roars reverberated, Shake thy tawny mane terrific on thy sinewy neck to fright him.” Thus Cybelle threatening uttered loosing the yoke with rapid

gesture, Then the lion roused to wildness spurred himself to raging

frenzy, Started roaring, burst the brushwood with feet flying

precipitously. Soon he came to where the sea-waves dashed on the whitening

coast in foam, There he saw the tender Atys standing hard by the plain of Launched himself upon him bounding, but to the forest wild


with terror Atys darted, there his whole life served as a votary to Cybele. O divine and awful mother, mighty mistress of Dindymus, From my house be kept the frenzy, terrible goddess, by thee

inspired, Others hound thou on to madness, others to dire insanity



Of old, as bards relate, a ship of pine,
Grown where the lofty crest of Pelion stands,
Traversed the realm of Neptune, waste of brine,
To Phasis' waves, and great Aetes' lands. (1)
A chosen band of youths, an Argive crew,
To win the Fleece, and Colchian scenes to view,
Dared through the salt sea waves undaunted sweep
With oars of pine ploughing the azure deep.
Pallas herself who ever doth retain
In each proud citadel her sacred fane,
The car which flew before the scudding breeze
Constructed, welding to the curvéd keel
The pine-beams, thus the inexperienced seas
First taught the rapid rush of barks to feel

When through the crestéd waves the ship's prow broke,
And seethed the foam beneath the rowers' stroke.
Then eager faces peered from billows white,
Faces of Nereids wondering at the sight,
And then it was that mortal eyes could scan
-Such sight had ne'er before been seen by man-
Fair naked forms, round which the billows rave,
With white breasts glistening o'er the tossing wave,
And then for love of Thetis Peleus burned,
Nor was his mortal love by Thetis spurned,
Great Jove himself assented to the tie,
Such was the grace of gods who dwelt on high.
O race of heroes, whom the earth did bear
In golden ages, blest beyond compare,
Hail thou great race of ancestry divine !
All hail thou our mother earth benign,
Full oft will I accost ye in my strain,
Thee, too, great guardian of Thessalia's plain
Peleus, most honoured in thy marriage when
Great Jove himself the king of gods and men
Gave up to thee his claim to Thetis' love
And thee a mortal matched with gods above. (2)
Didst thou that lovely offspring of the sea
Possess, and Tethys give her child to thee,
And Ocean who surrounds the earth's wide plain
Consent that thou his daughter's love should'st gain?

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When the revolving year brought round the time
For Peleus' nuptials, then Thessalia's clime
Poured forth her joyous throngs. The palace stands
Crowded with guests and mirthful wedding bands.
Rich gifts they bring : joy shines in every face,
All come the marriage of their prince to grace.
Scyros they leave, and Tempe's lovely glen,
Larissa, Crannon are deserted then. (3)
Pharsalus sees them crowding through her gate :
The land lies fallow : lazy steers await
At ease the unused yoke ; no pruner now
Checks the wild growth of leafy forest bough.
No gardener now the vine with curved prong clears,
No ox deep furrows through the upland tears,
Rotted with rust the plough-shares idle stand,
No sound of toil is heard throughout the land.
But in the palace what a splendour glows !
Rich gold and silver in refulgent rows
In every furthest nook, while thrones gleam white
With ivory, and cups reflect the light
In glittering order on the festive board
Brilliant with treasure such as kings afford.
And in the mansion's centre, lo! there stands
The genial couch, the work of cunning hands,
Whose polished ivory attracts the view,
O’erlaid with cloth of brilliant purple hue.

Here on the coverlet's rich ample fold
Figures of men are seen, heroes of old,
And deeds performed by mighty ones of yore
Enwrought with art. Here on the Naxian shore (4)
Lone Ariadne watches Theseus' sails
Sink on the ocean, borne by favouring gales :
Scarce can she trust her eyes, which see her guest
Faithless departing, and her maddened breast
Throbs with despairing rage, while round her lies
The beach which met her half-awakened eyes
Deserted, when she first from treacherous sleep
Arose in loneliness; but on the deep
Meanwhile the flying traitor plies the oar,
His vows are scattered to the careless wind.
She stands amid the sea-weed on the shore
Like some carved stone Bacchante, while her mind
Tosses on waves of woe which ever rise,
Still gazing seawards with despairing eyes;
Her yellow hair streams wild, the coif unbound,
Her sashes loosed her swelling bosom show,
Her garments slip unheeded to the ground,
The salt waves catch and toss them to and fro;
What recks she of her coif or loosened zone ?
Theseus and her sad fate she heeds alone.
Her mind distracted no fair hope can show,
Her soul is lost in labyrinths of woe.

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