Mixing both tamrisk and like-tamrisk sprays
In a most rare confusion, to raise
His footsteps up from earth. Of which sprays he
(His armful gathering fresh from off the tree)
Made for his sandals ties, both leaves and ties
Holding together; and then fear’d no eyes
That could affect his feet’s discoveries.
The tamrisk boughs he gather’d, making way
Back from Pieria, but as to convey
Provision in them for his journey fit,
It being long and, therefore, needing it.
An old man, now at labour near the field
Of green Onchestus, knew the verdant yield
Of his fair armful; whom th’ ingenious son
Of Maia, therefore, salutation
Did thus begin to: “Ho, old man! that now
Art crooked grown with making plants to grow,
Thy nerves will far be spent, when these boughs shall
To these their leaves confer me fruit and all.
But see not thou whatever thou dost see,
Nor hear though hear, but all as touching me
Conceal, since nought it can endamage thee.”
This, and no more, he said, and on drave still
His broad-brow’d oxen. Many a shady hill,
And many an echoing valley, many a field
Pleasant and wishful, did his passage yield
Their safe transcension. But now the divine
And black-brow’d Night, his mistress, did decline
Exceeding swiftly; Day’s most early light
Fast hasting to her first point, to excite
Worldlings to work; and in her watch-tow’r shone
King Pallas-Megamedes’ seed (the Moon);
When through th’ Alphæan flood Jove’s powerful son
Phœbus-Apollo’s ample-foreheaded herd
(Whose necks the lab’ring yoke had never sphered)
Drave swiftly on; and then into a stall
(Hilly, yet pass’d to through an humble vale
And hollow dells, in a most lovely mead)
He gather’d all, and them divinely fed
With odorous cypress, and the ravishing tree
That makes his eaters lose the memory
Of name and country. Then he brought withal
Much wood, whose sight into his search let fall
The art of making fire; which thus he tried:
He took a branch of laurel, amplified
Past others both in beauty and in size,
Yet lay next hand, rubb’d it, and straight did rise
A warm fume from it; steel being that did raise
(As agent) the attenuated bays
To that hot vapour. So that Hermes found
Both fire first, and of it the seed close bound
In other substances; and then the seed
He multiplied, of sere-wood making feed
The apt heat of it, in a pile combined
Laid in a low pit, that in flames straight shined,
And cast a sparkling crack up to the sky,
All the dry parts so fervent were, and high
In their combustion. And how long the force
Of glorious Vulcan kept the fire in course,
So long was he in dragging from their stall
Two of the crook-haunch’d herd, that roar’d withal,
And raged for fear, t’ approach the sacred fire,
To which did all his dreadful pow’rs aspire.
When, blust’ring forth their breath, he on the soil
Cast both at length, though with a world of toil,
For long he was in getting them to ground
After their through-thrust and most mortal wound.
But work to work he join’d, the flesh and cut,
Cover’d with fat, and, on treen broches put,
In pieces roasted; but in th’ intestines
The black blood, and the honorary chines,
Together with the carcases, lay there,
Cast on the cold earth, as no Deities’ cheer;
The hides upon a rugged rock he spread.
And thus were these now all in pieces shred,
And undistinguish’d from earth’s common herd,
Though born for long date, and to heaven endear’d,
And now must ever live in dead event.
But Hermes, here hence having his content,
Cared for no more, but drew to places even
The fat-works, that, of force, must have for heaven
Their capital ends, though stol’n, and therefore were
In twelve parts cut, for twelve choice Deities’ cheer,
By this devotion. To all which he gave
Their several honours, and did wish to have
His equal part thereof, as free and well
As th’ other Deities; but the fatty smell
Afflicted him, though he Immortal were,
Playing mortal parts, and being like mortals here
Yet his proud mind nothing the more obey’d
For being a God himself, and his own aid
Having to cause his due, and though in heart
He highly wish’d it; but the weaker part
Subdued the stronger, and went on in ill.
Even heavenly pow’r had rather have his will
Than have his right; and will’s the worst of all,
When but in least sort it is criminal,
One taint being author of a number still.
And thus, resolved to leave his hallow’d hill,
First both the fat parts and the fleshy all
Taking away, at the steep-entried stall
He laid all, all the feet and heads entire,
And all the sere-wood, making clear with fire.
And now, he leaving there then all things done,
And finish’d in their fit perfection,
The coals put out, and their black ashes thrown
From all discovery by the lovely light
The cheerful moon cast, shining all the night,
He straight assumed a novel voice’s note,
And in the whirl-pit-eating flood afloat
He set his sandals. When now, once again
The that-morn-born Cyllenius did attain
His home’s divine height; all the far-stretch’d way
No one bless’d God encount’ring his assay,
Nor mortal man; nor any dog durst spend
His born-to-bark mouth at him; till in th’ end
He reach’d his cave, and at the gate went in
Crooked, and wrapt into a fold so thin
That no eye could discover his repair,
But as a darkness of th’ autumnal air.
When, going on fore-right, he straight arrived
At his rich fane; his soft feet quite deprived
Of all least noise of one that trod the earth,
They trod so swift to reach his room of birth.
Where, in his swath-bands he his shoulders wrapt,
And (like an infant, newly having scap’t
The teeming straits) as in the palms he lay
Of his loved nurse. Yet instantly would play
(Freeing his right hand) with his bearing cloth
About his knees wrapt, and straight (loosing both
His right and left hand) with his left he caught
His much-loved lute. His mother yet was taught
His wanton wiles, nor could a God’s wit lie
Hid from a Goddess, who did therefore try
His answer thus: “Why, thou made-all-of-sleight,
And whence arriv’st thou in this rest of night?
Improvident impudent! In my conceit
Thou rather shouldst be getting forth thy gate,
With all flight fit for thy endanger’d state,
(In merit of th’ inevitable bands
To be impos’d by vex’d Latona’s hands,
Justly incens’d for her Apollo’s harms)
Than lie thus wrapt, as ready for her arms,
To take thee up and kiss thee. Would to heaven,
In cross of that high grace, thou hadst been given
Up to perdition, ere poor mortals bear
Those black banes, that thy Father Thunderer
Hath planted thee of purpose to confer
On them and Deities!” He returned reply:
“As master of the feats of policy,
Mother, why aim you thus amiss at me,
As if I were a son that infancy
Could keep from all the skill that age can teach,
Or had in cheating but a childish reach,
And of a mother’s mandates fear’d the breach?
I mount that art at first, that will be best
When all times consummate their cunningest,
Able to counsel now myself and thee,
In all things best, to all eternity.
We cannot live like Gods here without gifts,
No, nor without corruption and shifts,
And, much less, without eating; as we must
In keeping thy rules, and in being just,
Of which we cannot undergo the loads.
’Tis better here to imitate the Gods,
And wine or wench out all time’s periods,
To that end growing rich in ready heaps,
Stored with revenues, being in corn-field reaps
Of infinite acres, than to live enclosed
In caves, to all earth’s sweetest air exposed.
I as much honour hold as Phœbus does;
And if my Father please not to dispose
Possessions to me, I myself will see
If I can force them in; for I can be
Prince of all thieves. And, if Latona’s son
Make after my stealth indignation,
I’ll have a scape as well as he a search,
And overtake him with a greater lurch;
For I can post to Pythos, and break through
His huge house there, where harbours wealth enough,
Most precious tripods, caldrons, steel, and gold,
Garments rich wrought, and full of liberal fold.
All which will I at pleasure own, and thou
Shalt see all, wilt thou but thy sight bestow.”
Thus changed great words the Goat-hide-wearer’s son,
And Maia of majestic fashion.
And now the air-begot Aurora rose
From out the Ocean great-in-ebbs-and-flows,
When, at the never-shorn pure-and-fair grove
(Onchestus) consecrated to the love
Of round-and-long-neck’d Neptune, Phœbus found
A man whom heavy years had press’d half round,
And yet at work in plashing of a fence
About a vineyard, that had residence
Hard by the highway; whom Latona’s son
Made it not strange, but first did question,
And first saluted: “Ho you! aged sire,
That here are hewing from the vine the briar,
For certain oxen I come here t’ inquire
Out of Pieria; females all, and rear’d
All with horns wreath’d, unlike the common herd;
A coal-black bull fed by them all alone;
And all observ’d, for preservation,
Through all their foody and delicious fen
With four fierce mastiffs, like one-minded men.
These left their dogs and bull (which I admire)
And, when was near set day’s eternal fire,
From their fierce guardians, from their delicate fare,
Made clear departure. To me then declare,
O old man, long since born, if thy grave ray
Hath any man seen making steathful way
With all those oxen.” Th’ old man made reply:
“’Tis hard, O friend, to render readily
Account of all that may invade mine eye,
For many a traveller this highway treads,
Some in much ills search, some in noble threads,
Leading their lives out; but I this young day,
Even from her first point, have made good display
Of all men passing this abundant hill
Planted with vines, and no such stealthful ill
Her light hath shown me; but last evening, late,
I saw a thing that show’d of childish state
To my old lights, and seem’d as he pursued
A herd of oxen with brave heads endued,
Yet but an infant, and retain’d a rod;
Who wearily both this and that way trod,
His head still backwards turn’d.” This th’ old man spake;
Which he well thought upon, and swiftly brake
Into his pursuit with abundant wing,
That strook but one plain, ere he knew the thing
That was the thief to be th’ impostor born;
Whom Jove yet with his son’s name did adorn.
In study and with ardour then the King
(Jove’s dazzling son) placed his exploring wing
On sacred Pylos, for his forced herd,
His ample shoulders in a cloud enspher’d
Of fiery crimson. Straight the steps he found
Of his stol’n herd, and said: “Strange sights confound
My apprehensive powers, for here I see
The tracks of oxen, but aversively
Converted towards the Pierian hills,
As treading to their mead of daffodils:
But nor mine eye men’s feet nor women’s draws,
Nor hoary wolves’, nor bears’, nor lions’, paws,
Nor thick-neck’d bulls, they show. But he that does
These monstrous deeds, with never so swift shoes
Hath pass’d from that hour hither, but from hence
His foul course may meet fouler consequence.”
With this took Phœbus wing; and Hermes still,
For all his threats, secure lay in his hill
Wall’d with a wood; and more, a rock, beside,
Where a retreat ran, deeply multiplied
In blinding shadows, and where th’ endless Bride
Bore to Saturnius his ingenious son;
An odour, worth a heart’s desire, being thrown
Along the heaven-sweet hill, on whose herb fed
Rich flocks of sheep, that bow not where they tread
Their horny pasterns. There the Light of men
(Jove’s son, Apollo) straight descended then
The marble pavement, in that gloomy den.
On whom when Jove and Maia’s son set eye,
Wroth for his oxen, on then, instantly,
His odorous swath-bands flew; in which as close
Th’ impostor lay, as in the cool repose
Of cast-on ashes hearths of burning coals
Lie in the woods hid, under the controls
Of skilful colliers; even so close did lie
&n
bsp; Inscrutable Hermes in Apollo’s eye,
Contracting his great Godhead to a small
And infant likeness, feet, hands, head, and all.
And as a hunter hath been often view’d,
From chase retired, with both his hands embrued
In his game’s blood, that doth for water call
To cleanse his hands, and to provoke withal
Delightsome sleep, new-wash’d and laid to rest;
So now lay Hermes in the close-compress’d
Chace of his oxen, his new-found-out lute
Beneath his arm held, as if no pursuit
But that prise, and the virtue of his play,
His heart affected. But to Phœbus lay
His close heart open; and he likewise knew
The brave hill-nymph there, and her dear son, new-
Born, and as well wrapt in his wiles as weeds.
All the close shrouds too, for his rapinous deeds,
In all the cave he knew; and with his key
He open’d three of them, in which there lay
Silver and gold-heaps, nectar infinite store,
And dear ambrosia; and of weeds she wore,
Pure white and purple, a rich wardrobe shined.
Fit for the bless’d states of Pow’rs so divined.
All which discover’d, thus to Mercury
He offer’d conference: “Infant! You that lie
Wrapt so in swath-bands, instantly unfold
In what conceal’d retreats of yours you hold
My oxen stol’n by you; or straight we shall
Jar, as beseems not Pow’rs Celestial.
For I will take and hurl thee to the deeps
Of dismal Tartarus, where ill Death keeps
His gloomy and inextricable fates,
And to no eye that light illuminates
Mother nor Father shall return thee free,
But under earth shall sorrow fetter thee,
And few repute thee their superior.”
On him replied craft’s subtlest Counsellor:
“What cruel speech hath past Latona’s care!
Seeks he his stol’n wild-cows where Deities are?
I have nor seen nor heard, nor can report
From others’ mouths one word of their resort
To any stranger. Nor will I, to gain
A base reward, a false relation feign.
Nor would I, could I tell. Resemble I
An ox-thief, or a man? Especially
A man of such a courage, such a force
As to that labour goes, that violent course?
No infant’s work is that. My pow’rs aspire
To sleep, and quenching of my hunger’s fire
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 169