Once they say pine-trees born on the heights of Pelion

floated through Neptune’s clear waves,^[1]

to the River Phasis and Aeetes’s borders,

with chosen men, oaks of the Argive people,

hoping to steal the Golden Fleece of Colchis

daring to course the salt deeps in their swift ship,

sweeping the blue waters with fir-wood oars.

The goddess [Athena] herself who guards the heights of the city,

who joined the curving fabric to pinewood keel,

made their ship speed onwards with light winds.

That vessel was first to explore the unknown sea:

so, as she ploughed the windblown waters with her prow,

and whitened the churning waves with foam from the oars,

the Nereids lifted themselves from the dazzling white

depths of the sea, amazed at this wonder of ocean.

In those, and other days, mortal eyes saw the sea-nymphs

raise themselves, bodies all naked, as far as their nipples,

from the white depths.

Then Peleus, they say, was inflamed with love of Thetis,

then Thetis did not despise marriage with a mortal,^[2]

then [Zeus] himself agreed to Thetis’s marriage.

O heroes, born in a chosen age, hail, godlike race!

O offspring of a blessed mother, hail once more.

Often I’ll address you, in my song.

And I address you, so blessed in your fortunate marriage,

chief of Pelian Thessaly, to whom [Zeus] himself

creator of gods, yielded his beloved:

did not Thetis possess you, loveliest of Nereids?

Did not Tethys allow you to lead off her grand-daughter,

and Oceanus, who embraces the whole world with sea?

When at the time appointed the longed-for flames arise,

all of Thessaly crowds together to the palace,

the halls are filled with a joyful assembly:

they bring gifts with them, declaring their joy in their looks.

Cieros is deserted: they leave Pthiotic Tempe,

Crannon’s houses, and Larissa’s walls,

they gather in Pharsalia, crowd under Pharsalia’s roofs.

No one farms the fields, the necks of bullocks soften,

nor does the curved hoe clear beneath the vines,

nor does the ox drag earth outward with the blade,

nor does the sickle thin the shade of leafy trees,

coarse rust attacks the neglected plough.^[3]

But the palace gleams bright with gold and silver

through all the rich receding halls.

The ivory chairs shine, cups glisten on tables,

the whole palace gladdened with splendour of royal wealth.

In the midst of the palace a sacred [bed], truly joyful

for the marriage of the goddess, gleaming with Indian ivory,

stained with the red dyes won from purple murex.

The cloth depicts in ancient forms, with marvellous art,

in all their variety, the excellence of gods and men^[4].

Here are seen the wave-echoing shores of Naxos,

Theseus, aboard his ship, vanishing swiftly, watched

by Ariadne, ungovernable passion in her heart,

not yet believing that she sees what she does see,

still only just awoken from deceptive sleep,

finding herself abandoned wretchedly to empty sands.

But uncaring the hero fleeing strikes the deep with his oars,

casting his vain promises to the stormy winds.

The Minoan girl goes on gazing at the distance,

with mournful eyes, like the statue of a Maenad,

gazes, alas, and swells with great waves of sorrow,

no longer does the fine turban remain on her golden hair,

no longer is she hidden by her lightly-concealing dress,

no longer does the shapely band hold her milk-white breasts

all of it scattered, slipping entirely from her body,

plays about her feet in the salt flood.

But, not caring now for turban or flowing dress, the lost girl

gazed towards you, Theseus, with all her heart, spirit, mind.

Wretched thing, for whom bright Aphrodite reserved the thorny

cares of constant mourning in your heart,

from that time when it suited warlike Theseus,

leaving the curving shores of Piraeus,

to reach the Cretan regions of the unbending king.

For then forced by cruel plague, they say,

as punishment, to absolve the murder of Androgeos

ten chosen young men of Athens and ten unmarried girls

used to be given together as sacrifice to the Minotaur.

With which evil the narrow walls were troubled until

Theseus chose to offer himself for his dear Athens

rather than such Athenian dead be carried un-dead to Crete.

And so in a swift ship and with gentle breezes

he came to great Minos and his proud halls.

As soon as the royal girl cast her eye on him with desire,

she whom the chaste bed nourished, breathing

sweet perfumes in her mother’s gentle embrace ...

she did not turn her blazing eyes away from him,

till she conceived a flame through her whole body

that burned utterly to the depths of her bones.

Ah sadly the Boy [Cupid] incites inexorable passion

in chaste hearts, he who mixes joy and pains for mortals,

and Aphrodite who rules Golgos and leafy Idalia,

even she, who shakes the mind of a smitten girl,

often sighing for a blonde-haired^[5] stranger!

How many fears the girl suffers in her weak heart!

How often she grows pallid: more so than pale gold.

As Theseus went off eager to fight the savage monster

either death approached or fame’s reward!

Promising small gifts, not unwelcome or in vain,

she made her prayers to the gods with closed lips.

Now as a storm uproots a quivering branch of oak,

or a cone-bearing pine with resinous bark, on the heights

of Mount Taurus, twisting its unconquered strength

in the wind (it falls headlong, far off, plucked out

by the roots, shattering anything and everything in its way)

so Theseus upended the conquered body of the beast

its useless horns overthrown, emptied of breath.

Then he turned back, unharmed, to great glory,

guided by the wandering track of fine thread,

so that his exit from the fickle labyrinth of the palace

would not be prevented by some unnoticed error.

But what should I relate, digressing further

from my poem’s theme: the girl, abandoning

her father’s sight, her sisters’ embraces, and lastly

her mother’s, she wretched at her lost daughter’s joy

in preferring the sweet love of Theseus to all this:

or her being carried by ship to Naxos’s foaming shore,

or her consort with uncaring heart vanishing,

she conquered, her eyes softening in sleep?

Often loud shrieks cried the frenzy in her ardent heart

poured out from the depths of her breast,

and then she would climb the steep cliffs in her grief,

where the vast sea-surge stretches out to the view,

then run against the waves into the salt tremor

holding her soft clothes above her naked calves,

and call out mournfully this last complaint,

a frozen sob issuing from her wet face:

“False Theseus, is this why you take me from my father’s land,

faithless man, to abandon me on a desert shore?

Is this how you vanish, heedless of the god’s power,

ah, uncaring, bearing home your accursed perjuries?

Nothing could alter the measure of your cruel mind?

No mercy was near to you, inexorable man,

that you might take pity on my heart?

Yet once you made promises to me in that flattering voice,

you told me to hope, not for this misery

but for joyful marriage, the longed-for wedding songs,

all in vain, dispersed on the airy breezes.

Now, no woman should believe a man’s pledges,

or believe there’s any truth in a man’s words:

when their minds are intent on their desire,

they have no fear of oaths, don’t spare their promises:

but as soon as the lust of their eager mind is slaked

they fear no words, they care nothing for perjury.

Surely I rescued you from the midst of the tempest

of fate, and more, I gave up my half-brother,

whom I abandoned to you with treachery at the end.

For that I’m left to be torn apart by beasts, and a prey

to sea-birds, unburied, when dead, in the scattered earth.

What lioness whelped you under a desert rock,

what sea conceived and spat you from foaming waves,

what Syrtis, what fierce Scylla, what vast Charybdis,

you who return me this, for the gift of your sweet life?

If marriage with me was not in your heart,

because you feared your old father’s cruel precepts,

you could still have led me back to your house,

where I would have served you, a slave happy in her task,

washing your beautiful feet in clear water,

covering your bed with the purple fabric.^[6]

But why complain to the uncaring wind in vain?

It is beyond evil, and without senses, unable

to hear what is said, without voice to reply.

It is already turning now towards mid-ocean,

and nothing human appears in this waste of weed.

So cruel chance taunts me in my last moments,

even depriving my ears of my own lament.

All-powerful Zeus, if only the Athenian ships

had not touched the shores of Cnossos, from the start,

carrying their fatal cargo for the ungovernable bull,

a faithless captain mooring his ropes to Crete,

an evil guest, hiding a cruel purpose under a handsome

appearance, finding rest in our halls!

Now where can I return? What desperate hope

depend on? Shall I seek out the slopes of Ida?

But the cruel sea with its divisive depths

of water separates me from them.

Or shall I hope for my father’s help? Did I not leave him,

to follow a man stained with my brother’s blood?

Or should I trust in a husband’s love to console me?

Who hardly bends slow oars in running from me?

More, I’m alive on a lonely island without shelter,

and no escape seen from the encircling ocean waves.

No way to fly, no hope: all is mute,

all is deserted, all speaks of ruin.

Yet still my eyes do not droop in death,

not till my senses have left my weary body,

till true justice is handed down by the gods,

and the divine help I pray for in my last hour.

So you Eumenides who punish by avenging

the crimes of men, your foreheads crowned

with snaky hair, bearing anger in your breath,

here, here, come to me, listen to my complaints,

that I, wretched alas, force, weakened, burning,

out of the marrow of my bones, blind with mad rage.

Since these truths are born in the depths of my breast,

you won’t allow my lament to pass you by,

but as Theseus left me alone, through his intent,

goddesses, by that will, pursue him and his with murder.”

When these words had poured from her sad breast,

the troubled girl praying for cruel actions,

the chief of the gods nodded with unconquerable will:

at which the earth and the cruel sea trembled

and the glittering stars shook in the heavens.

Now Theseus’s mind was filled with a dark mist

and all the instructions he had held fixed in memory

before this, were erased from his thoughts,

failing to raise the sweet signal to his mourning father,

when the harbour of Athens safely came in sight.

For they say that when Aegeus parted from his son,

as the goddess’s ship left the city, he yielded him

to the wind’s embrace with these words:

“Son, more dear to me than my long life,

son, whom I abandoned through chance uncertainty,

lately returned to me in the last days of my old age,

since my fate and your fierce virtue tear you away

from me, against my will, whose failing eyes

are not yet sated with my dear son’s face,

I don’t send you off happily with joyful heart,

or allow you to carry flags of good fortune,

but start with the many sorrows in my mind,

marring my white hairs with earth and sprinkled ashes,^[7]

then hang unfinished canvas from the wandering mast,

so the darkened sail of gloomy Spanish flax^[8]

might speak the grief and passion in my mind.

But if the one who dwells in sacred Iton, who promised

to defend the people and city of Erectheus, allows you

to wet your hand with the blood of the bull,

then make sure this command is done, buried in your

remembering heart, not to be erased by time:

that as soon as you set eyes on our hills,

strip the dark fabric fully from the yards,

and hoist white sails with your twisted ropes,

so that seeing them from the first, I’ll know joy

in my glad heart, when a happy time reveals your return.”

These words to Theseus, once held constantly in mind,

vanished like clouds of snow struck by a blast of wind

on the summits of high mountains.^[9]

But when his father, searching the view from the citadel’s height,

endless tears flooding his anxious eyes,

first saw the sails of dark fabric,

he threw himself head first from the height of the cliff,

believing Theseus lost to inexorable fate.

So fierce Theseus entered the palace in mourning

for his father’s death, and knew the same grief of mind

that he had caused neglected Ariadne,

she who was gazing then where his ship had vanished

pondering the many cares in her wounded heart.

But bright Dionysus hurries from elsewhere

with his chorus of Satyrs and Silenes from Nysa,

seeking you, Ariadne, burning with love for you.

……………………………………………..^[10]

……………………………………………..

In rapture his [ Maenads ] raved madly, crazed in mind,

with cries of “euhoe“ and tossing heads,

some brandished the thyrsus with hidden tip,

some flourished the torn limbs of bullocks,

some wreathed themselves with twining snakes,

some celebrated the secret rites of the hollow box,^[11]

rights they wished the profane to hear in vain:

others beat the drums with the flat of their hands,

or raised a clear ringing from rounded cymbals:

they blew endless strident calls on the horns

and the barbarous flute shrilled with fearful tunes.

Such the splendid workings of figured tapestry

covering the sacred [bed] its cloth embraced.

The people of Thessaly after gazing eagerly

were satisfied, they began to leave the goddess’s sanctuary.

As Zephyr stirs the willing waves, ruffling

the placid sea with morning breeze,

while Aurora rises to the wandering Sun’s threshold,

so that at first they move slowly struck by a gentle blast,

and their splashing resounds with slight lamentation,

while afterwards they increase, swelling more and more,

and reflect the red of the sunrise far-off as they rise:

so, here and there, with wandering feet the crowd disperse

to their homes, leaving the courtyard of the royal palace.

After their departure Chiron, the Centaur’s leader,

arrived from steep Pelion carrying woodland gifts:

since what the fields bear, whatever the country of Thessaly

yields on high peaks, whatever the flowers by the river’s waves

the fecund breath of the warm west wind produces,

he brought woven together in confused garlands,^[12]

so that the palace smiled, charmed by happy fragrances.

At once [the river] Peneus came to green Tempe,

Tempe, whose hanging woods encircle it above,

leaving Pasiphae^[13] to be honoured by the sea’s dance:

not empty-handed, since he carried a tall beech

by the roots, and long-leafed laurel from a straight trunk,

and was not without nodding plane, and pliant poplar,

scorched Phaethon’s sister, and airy cypress.

He placed them woven, here and there, round the house

till the courtyard was green, veiled with fresh foliage.

Prometheus followed after him, skilled in mind,

showing faint traces of his ancient punishment,

when once he suffered, hung in tight chains

from the high ledge of rock.

Then the father of the gods with his sacred consort,

and his sons, came down from the heavens,

leaving behind only you, Apollo, and the one born

together with you, she [Artemis] who lives on the slopes of Ida:

Peleus is still disdained by both you and your sister,

and you will not celebrate Thetis’s wedding torches.

Then the gods seated their limbs at the white benches,

at tables richly heaped with various foods,

while, moving their bodies in trembling dance,

the Fates began to utter their prophetic song.

Quivering seized their bodies, their white ankles

wholly covered by the red hem of their dresses,

and a red headband circling their white hair,

and their hands were busy, as ever, at their eternal work.

The left hand held the distaff, wound with soft wool,

then the right, drawing out the thread lightly, shaped it

with upturned fingers, then, twisting it under the thumb,

turned the level spindle in smooth rotation,

and often a plucking tooth made the strands equal,

and fragments of wool, that once projected

from the light threads, clung to their dry lips:

and, before their feet, bright wool from a soft fleece

was guarded by a basket woven of willow.^[14]

Then in a clear voice, pushing away the fleece,

they poured out these prophecies in divine song,

song not to be proven wrong, by any amount of years.

“Defence of Thessaly, dearest of Zeus’s scions,

adding marvellous glory to your great powers,

accept what the glad sisters bring to the light,

true oracles: but you who accompany fate,

fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

Now Hesperus comes to you bearing the longed-for

bride, the wife approaches beneath a fortunate star,

who pours out her heart to you with tender love,

and prepares to lie with you in languid sleep,

spreading her delicate arms beneath your strong neck.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

No house has ever sheltered such love,

no love has ever joined lovers in such a union,

even as harmony comes to Thetis, and Peleus.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

A child Achilles is born to you, free of fear,

noted for never turning his back on an enemy,^[15] strong

of heart, who, often the victor in the fickle foot-race,

outstrips the swift deer with fiery hooves.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

No hero dare confront him in battle,

when the Phrygian rivers flow with the blood of Teucer’s people,

and the third heir of deceitful Pelops lays waste

the walls of Troy, besieged in the weary war.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

Often women at the funerals of their sons lament

his illustrious powers and bright deeds,

as neglected hair streams down from their white heads,

and weak hands mark their withered breasts.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

Now, as a reaper prematurely mowing the dense stalks,

scythes the golden fields under his eager feet,

he destroys the Trojan bodies with his fierce blade.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

[The River] Scamander’s waves that pour down in cascade to the swift

Hellespont will bear witness to his great courage,

its passage narrowed by the heaped bodies of the dead,

the deep waters mixed with warm blood.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

At last it will be witness also to a death-prize paid,

when a heaped tomb by the high rampart receives

the smooth white body of a sacrificed virgin girl.^[16]

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

Then as luck grants the riches of the Trojan city

to the weary Greeks, loosening Neptune’s bond,

the high mound will be soaked with Polyxena’s blood:

who bowing like a sacrifice to the two-edged blade

will fall to her knees, a maimed corpse.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

So perform the wishes of your hearts, join in love.

Let the husband accept his goddess in joyful contract,

now the bride be given to her loving partner.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.

The nurse returning at daybreak will not

encircle her neck with yesterday’s ribbon,

nor the anxious mother by the sad bed of a troubled daughter,

forgo the hope of dear grandchildren.

Fly, guiding threads: fly, spindle.”

Such the song once sung of happy prophecy

to Peleus, from the Parcae’s divine hearts.

Once the gods in person visited the pure houses of heroes,

and showed themselves to the mortal crowd,

the gods were not yet used to men’s scorn for piety.

Often the father of the gods revisiting his bright temple,

when the annual rites came round on the holy days,

saw a hundred bulls lying on the ground.

Wandering Dionysus often led the shouting Maenads,

with their flowing hair, on the high peak of Parnassus,

when all rushing in emulation from the happy town

of Delphos received the god with smoking altars.

Often in the fatal struggles of war, Ares, or swift Athena

the lady of Lake Tritonis, or virgin Artemis

appeared to exhort the crowds of armed men.

But afterwards earth was tainted by impious wickedness

and all fled from justice with eager minds,

the brother’s hand was stained with a brother’s blood,

the child ceased to mourn for its dead parents,

the father chose the younger son’s death to acquire

a single woman in her prime, the impious mother

spread herself beneath the unknowing son,

not afraid of desecrating the household shrine.

All piety was confused with impiety in evil frenzy

turning the righteous will of the gods from us.

So such as they do not visit our marriages,

nor allow themselves to approach us, in the light of day.