by Nonnus
90 καὶ τὰ μὲν εἰν ἑνὶ πάντα παρέστιχεν ἄστατος Ὥρη,
εἰσόκε χῶρον ἵκανεν, ὅπῃ πυρόεις Ὑπερίων
σύμβολα μαντοσύνης ἀνεμώδεϊ πέφραδε κούρῃ,
ἧχι Λέων ἐτέτυκτο σελασφόρος, ἧχι καὶ αὐτὴ
παρθένος ἀστερόεσσα νόθῃ ποικίλλετο μορφῇ
95 οἴνοπα βότρυν ἔχουσα, θερειγενὲς ἄνθος ὀπώρης:
κεῖθι Χρόνου θυγάτηρ πόδας εὔνασε, ταῦτα δ᾽ ἀνέγνω:
[90] The Season passed restless over all these on one tablet, until she came to the place where fiery Hyperion indicated the signs of prophecy to the wind-swept maiden. There was drawn the shining Lion, there the starry Virgin was depicted in mimic shape, holding a bunch of grapes, the summergrown flower of fruitage: there the daughter of Time stayed her feet, and this is what she read:
‘Κισσὸς ἀερσιπότης, ἐρόεις νέος, εἰς φυτὸν ἕρπων
ἔσται κισσὸς ἕλιξ καὶ ἐν ἔρνεσιν: ἠιθέου δὲ
ὄρθιος ἐκ Καλάμοιο δόναξ κυρτούμενος αὔραις
100 λεπτὸν ἀεξιφύτοιο φανήσεται ἔρνος ἀρούρης,
ἡμερίδων στήριγμα: καὶ εἰς φυτὸν εἶδος ἀμείψας
ἄμπελος ἀμπελόεντι χαρίζεται οὔνομα καρπῷ.’
[97] “Cissos, the lovely youth, shall creep into a plant, and he shall be the highflying ivy that entwines about the branches. From young Calamos will spring a reed rising straight and bending to the breeze, a delicate sprout of the fruitful soil, to support the tame vine. Ampelos shall change form into a plant and give his name to the fruit of the vine.”
ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε θέσφατα ταῦτα θαλυσιὰς ἔδρακε κούρη,
δίζετο χῶρον ἐκεῖνον, ὅπῃ παρὰ γείτονι τοίχῳ
105 ποιητῇ κεχάρακτο τύπῳ Γανυμήδεος εἰκὼν
ἰκμάδα νεκταρέην χρυσέῳ στάζουσα κυπέλλῳ,
ἧχι χαρασσομένων ἐπέων τετράζυγος ὀμφή:
κεῖθι θεὰ φιλόβοτρυς ἐκώμασεν, εὗρε δὲ νύμφη
θέσφατα κισσοφόρῳ πεφυλαγμένα ταῦτα Λυαίῳ:
110 ‘Φοίβῳ Ζεὺς ἐπένευσεν ἔχειν μαντώδεα δάφνην,
καὶ ῥόδα φοινίσσοντα ῥοδόχροϊ Κυπρογενείῃ,
γλαυκὸν Ἀθηναίῃ γλαυκώπιδι θαλλὸν ἐλαίης,
καὶ στάχυας Δήμητρι, καὶ ἡμερίδας Διονύσῳ.’
[103] But when the harvest-home maiden had seen all these prophecies, she sought the place where hard by on the neighbouring wall was engraved the figure of Ganymedes pouring the nectar-juice into a golden cup. There was an oracle engraved in four lines of verse. There the grape-loving goddess revelled, for she found this prophecy, kept for Lyaios Ivy-bearer,
Zeus gave to Phoibos the prophetic laurel,
Red roses to the rosy Aphrodite,
The grayleaf olive to Athena Greyeyes,
Corn to Demeter, vine to Dionysos.
τοῖα μὲν ἐν γραφίδεσσι φιλεύιος ἔδρακε κούρη:
115 τερπομένη δ᾽ ἤιξε, κασιγνήτας δὲ λαβοῦσα
εἰς ῥόον ἠῴοιο διέστιχεν Ὠκεανοῖο
[114] That is what the Euain maiden saw on the tablets. She departed joyful, and with her Sisters was away to the stream of the eastern Ocean, moving along with Phaëthon’s team.
ἱπποσύνῃ Φαέθοντος ὁμόδρομος. — οὐ δὲ Λυαίῳ
φάρμακον ἦν ἑτάροιο δεδουπότος, οὐδὲ χορείης
μνῆστις ἔην: φιλίῳ δὲ νόον δεδονημένος οἴστρῳ
120 αἴλινα πικρὰ λίγαινεν, ἀκηδέστῳ δὲ σιωπῇ
χάλκεα νῶτα λέλοιπεν ἀδουπήτοιο βοείης:
οὐδέ ἑ πηκτὶς ἔτερπεν. ἀμειδήτῳ δὲ προσώπῳ
οἰκτρὰ κινυρομένοιο φιλοστόργου Διονύσου,
ἔσχετο μὲν Λυδοῖο ῥόος δονακώδεος Ἕρμου
125 κραιπνὰ κυλινδομένου προχοῆς ἀνεμώδεϊ παλμῷ,
οὐδὲ ῥέειν μενέαινε: βαθυκτεάνῳ δὲ ῥεέθρῳ
Πακτωλὸς κροκόεις ἀνεσείρασε πένθιμον ὕδωρ
ἀνδρὸς ἔχων μίμημα κατηφέος: ἀμφὶ δὲ νεκρῷ
πηγαίων ἀνέκοψε παλίσσυτον ὁλκὸν ἐναύλων
130 Σαγγάριος προχέων Φρύγιον ῥόον: αἰνοτόκου δὲ
Τανταλίδος στοναχῇσι διάβροχος ἄπνοος εἰκὼν
διπλόα δάκρυα χεῦεν, ὀδυρομένου Διονύσου:
καὶ πίτυς αἰάζουσα συνέμπορος ἥλικι πεύκῃ
λεπταλέον ψιθύριζεν: ἀκερσικόμου δὲ καὶ αὐτὴ
135 Φοίβου δένδρον ἐοῦσα κόμην ἀπεσείσατο δάφνη
πενθαλέοις ἀνέμοις: λιπαρὴ δ᾽ ἄτμητος ἐλαίη
φύλλα χαμαὶ κατέχευε, καὶ εἰ φυτὸν ἦεν Ἀθήνης.
[117] But Dionysos had no healing physic for his comrade fallen, of dancing he thought no more. Shaken to the heart by his loving passion, he sounded bitter laments; he left to uncaring silence the bronze back of the timbrel unbeaten, and had no joy in the cithern. Before the unsmiling countenance of Dionysos, full of love and piteous pining, the reedy Lydian Hermos held up his course, and his fastrolling waves which poured on with weatherbeaten throb – he cared no more to flow; Pactolos yellow as saffron with the wealth deep under his flood, stayed his water in mourning, like the image of a sorrowful man; Sangarios the Phrygian stream, in honour of the dead, checked back the course of his banked fountains; the unbreathing image of Tantalos’s daughter, the unhappy mother drowned in sighs, wept double tears for mourning Dionysos. The fir whispered softly, moaning to its young friend the pine; even the tree of unshorn Phoibos himself, the laurel, shook her foliage to sorrowful winds; the glossy olive never felled shed her leaves on the ground, for all that she was Athena’s tree.
τοῖα πόθῳ στενάχοντος ἀδακρύτου Διονύσου
φρικτὰ μετετρέψαντο παλίλλυτα νήματα Μοίρης:
140 καὶ γόον ἀχνυμένοιο παραιφαμένη Διονύσου
Ἄτροπος ἐμπεδόμυθος ἀνήρυγεν ἔνθεον ὀμφήν:
[138] Since then Dionysos, who never wept, lamented thus in his love, the awful threads of Fate were unloosened and turned back; and Atropos Neverturnback, whose word stands fast, uttered a voice divine to console Dionysos in sorrow:
‘Ζώει τοι, Διόνυσε, τεὸς νέος, οὐδὲ περήσει
πικρὸν ὕδωρ Ἀχέροντος: ἀκαμπέα δ᾽ εὗρεν ὀλέσσαι
σὸς γόος ἀτρέπτου παλινάγρετα νήματα Μοίρης:
145 ἄμπελος οὐ τέθνηκε, καὶ εἰ θάνεν: ἱμερόεν γὰρ
εἰς ποτόν, εἰς γλυκὺ νέκταρ ἐγὼ σέο κοῦρον ἀμείψω:
τὸν μὲν ἐυτρο
χάλου παλάμης βητάρμονι παλμῷ
δόρπιον ἁρμονίην διδυμόθροος αὐλὸς ἀράσσων
ὑμνήσει, Φρύγα ῥυθμὸν ἔχων ἤ Δωρίδα μολπήν:
150 ἠέ μιν ἐν θυμέλῃσιν ἀνὴρ εὔρυθμος ἀείσει
Ἀονίου καλάμοιο χέων Ἰσμήνιον ἠχὼ
ἢ ναέταις Μαραθῶνος: ἀνευάξουσι δὲ Μῦσαι
ἄμπελον ἱμερόεντα σὺν ἀμπελόεντι Λυαίῳ.
καὶ σκολιὴν πλοκάμοιο λιπὼν ὀφιώδεα μίτρην
155 στέμματα βοτρυόεντα περιπλέξεις σέο χαίτῃ,
Φοίβῳ ζῆλον ἄγων, ὅτι πένθιμα χειρὶ τιταίνει
αἴλινα δενδρήεντα φιλοκλαύτων ὑακίνθων,
καὶ σὺ ποτὸν μεθέπεις, βροτέης ἄμπαυμα γενέθλης,
νέκταρος οὐρανίου χθόνιον τύπον, ἀνθεμόεν δὲ
160 παιδὸς Ἀμυκλαίοιο τεὸς νεὸς νέος εὖχος ἐλέγξει:
εἰ δὲ πόλις κείνοιο μαχήμονα χαλκὸν ἀείρει,
καὶ σέθεν ἠιθέοιο φεραυγέα πατρὶς ἀέξει
ὑγρὸν ἐρευθομένης ποταμηίδος ὄμβρον ἐέρσης,
χρυσῷ ὅλη κομόωσα, καὶ οὐ χαίρουσα σιδήρῳ:
165 εἰ ποταμοῦ κελάδοντος ἀγάλλεται ἀμφὶ ῥεέθρῳ,
φέρτερον Εὐρώταο πέλει Πακτώλιον ὕδωρ.
Ἄμπελε, πένθος ὄπασσας ἀπενθήτῳ Διονύσῳ,
ὄφρα μελιρραθάμιγγος ἀεξομένου σέθεν οἴνου
τερπωλὴν ὀπάσειας ὅλῳ τετράζυγι κόσμῳ
170 καὶ σπονδὴν μακάρεσσι καὶ εὐφροσύνην Διονύσῳ:
Βάκχος ἄναξ δάκρυσε, βροτῶν ἵνα δάκρυα λύσῃ.’
[142] “He lives, I declare, Dionysos; your boy lives, and shall not pass the bitter water of Acheron. Your lamentation has found out how to undo the inflexible threads of unturning Fate, it has turned back the irrevocable. Ampelos is not dead, even if he died; for I will change your boy to a lovely drink, a delicious nectar. He shall be worshipt with dancing beat of tripling fingers, when the double-sounding pipe shall strike up harmony over the feast, be it in Phrygian rhythm of Dorian tune; or on the boards a musical man shall sing him, pouring out the voice of Aonian reeds for Ismenians or the burghers of Marathon. The Muses shall cry triumph for Ampelos the lovely with Lyaios of the Vine. You shall throw off the twisting coronal of snakes from your head, and entwine your hair with tendrils of the vine; you shall make Phoibos jealous, that he holds out his melancholy iris with its leafy dirge. You too dispense a drink, the earthly image of heavenly nectar, the comfort of the human race, and your young friend shall eclipse the flowery glory of the Amyclaian boy: if his country produces the bronze of battle, your boy’s country too increases the shining torrent of red juice like a river – she is all proud of her gold, and she likes not steel. If one boasts of a roaring river, Pactolos has better water than Eurotas. Ampelos, you have brought mourning to Dionysos who never mourns – yes, that when your honeydropping wine shall grow, you may bring its delight to all the four quarters of the world, a libation for the Blessed, and for Dionysos a heart of merry cheer. Lord Bacchos has wept tears, that he may wipe away man’s tears!”
ὣς φαμένη γνωτῇσι συνέμπορος ἔστιχε δαίμων.
[172] Having spoken thus, the divinity departed with her sisters.
καὶ κινυρῷ μέγα θάμβος ἐφαίνετο μάρτυρι Βάκχῳ:
καὶ γὰρ ἀναΐξας ἐρόεις νέκυς ὡς ὄφις ἕρπων
175 ἄμπελος αὐτοτέλεστος ἑὴν ἠλλάξατο μορφήν,
καὶ πέλε νήδυμον ἄνθος: ἀμειβομένοιο δὲ νεκροῦ
γαστὴρ θάμνος ἔην περιμήκετος, ἄκρα δὲ χειρῶν
ἀκρεμόνες βλάστησαν, ἐνερρίζωντο δὲ ταρσοί,
βόστρυχα βότρυες ἦσαν, ἐμορφώθη δὲ καὶ αὐτὴ
180 νεβρὶς ἀεξομένης πολυδαίδαλον ἄνθος ὀπώρης,
ἀμπελόεις δὲ κόρυμβος ἔην δολιχόσκιος αὐχήν,
ἰσοφυὴς δ᾽ ἀγκῶνι τιταίνετο καμπύλος ὄρπηξ
οἰδαίνων σταφυλῇσιν, ἀμειβομένου δὲ καρήνου
γναμπτῆς κυρτὰ κόρυμβα τύπον μιμεῖτο κεραίης.
185 κεῖθι φυτῶν στίχες ἦσαν ἀπείρονες: αὐτοτελὴς δὲ
ὄρχατος ἀμπελόεις χλοεροὺς ὄρπηκας ἑλίσσων
οἴνοπι γείτονα δένδρα νέῳ μιτρώσατο καρπῷ.
[173] Then a great miracle was shown to sorrowful Bacchos witnessing. For Ampelos the lovely dead rose of himself and took the form of a creeping snake, and became the healtrouble flower. As the body changed, his belly was a long long stalk, his fingers grew into toptendrils, his feet took root, his curlclusters were grapeclusters, his very fawnskin changed into the manycoloured bloom of the growing fruit, his long neck became a bunch of grapes, his elbow gave place to a bending twig swollen with berries, his head changed until the horns took the shape of twisted clumps of drupes. There grew rows of plants without end; there selfmade was an orchard of vines, twining green twigs round the neighbouring trees, with garlands of the unknown wineblushing fruit.
καὶ νέον ἔπλετο θάμβος, ἐπεὶ τότε κοῦρος ἀθύρων,
εἰς φυτὸν ὑψιπέτηλον ἑὸν πόδα λοξὸν ἑλίσσων,
190 κισσὸς ἀερσιπότητος ἑὴν δενδρώσατο μορφήν,
καὶ πέλεν ἀγκύλον ἔρνος ἐπώνυμον, ἀρτιφυῆ δὲ
ὄρχατον ἡμερίδων σκολιῷ μιτρώσατο δεσμῷ.
[188] And a new miracle was then seen! since young Cissos in his play, climbing with legs across the branches high in a leafy tree, changed his form and took the air as another plant; he became the twining ivy plant which bears his name, and encircled the newgrown orchard of tame vines with slanting knots.
καὶ φιλίοις πετάλοισι κατάσκιον ἔσκεπε κόρσην,
καὶ πλοκάμους ἐμέθυσσε φιλακρήτων ἀπὸ φύλλων
195 κυδιόων Διόνυσος: ἀεξιφύτοιο δὲ κούρου
ἄρτι πεπαινομένης ἐδρέψατο καρπὸν ὀπώρης.
καὶ θεὸς αὐτοδίδακτος ἄτερ ποδὸς ἔκτοθι ληνοῦ,
βότρυν ἐπισφίγγων παλάμης βεβριθότι καρπῷ,
χερσὶ περιπλεκέσσι μέθης ὠδῖνα πιέζων
200 πορφυρέης ἀνέφηνε νεόρρυτον ὄγκον ὀπώρης,
καὶ γλυκερὸν ποτὸν εὗρε: οἰνοχύτου Διονύσου
λευκὰ διαινομένων ἐρυθαίνετο δάκτυλα χειρῶν.
καὶ δέπας ἀγκύλον εἶχε βοὸς κέρας: ἡδυπότου δὲ
χείλεσιν ἀκροτάτοισιν ἐγεύσατο Βάκχος ἐέρσης,
205 γεύσατο καὶ καρποῖο, καὶ ἀμφοτέροις φρένα
τέρπων
μῦθον ἀγηνορέοντος ἀνήρυγεν ἀνθερεῶνος:
[193] Then Dionysos triumphant covered his temples with the friendly shady foliage, and made his tresses drunken with the toper’s leaves. Now the boy grown plant was quickly ripening, and he plucked a fruit of the vintage. The god untaught, without winepress and without treading, squeezed the grapes firmly with hand against wrist, interlacing his fingers until he pressed out the inebriating issue, and disclosed the newflowing load of the purple fruitage, and discovered the sweet potation: Dionysos Tapster found his white fingers drenched in red! For goblet he held a curved oxhorn. Then Bacchos tasted the sweet sap with sipping lips, tasted also the fruit; and both so delighted his heart, that he broke out into speech with proud throat:
‘ Ἀμβροσίην καὶ νέκταρ ἐμοῦ Διός, Ἄμπελε, τίκτεις:
ἔρνεα δισσὰ φέρων πεφιλημένα καρπὸν Ἀπόλλων
οὐ φάγε δαφνήεντα καὶ οὐ πίεν ἐξ ὑακίνθου:
210 οὐ στάχυς ὠδίνει γλυκερὸν ποτόν: ἵλαθι, Δηώ:
εἶδαρ ἐγὼ μερόπεσσι καὶ οὐ πόμα μοῦνον ὀπάσσω.
Ἄμπελε, καὶ σέο πότμος ἐπήρατος: ἦ ῥα καὶ αὐτῆς
εἰς σὲ καὶ εἰς σέο κάλλος ἐθηλύνθη λίνα Μοίρης,
εἰς σὲ καὶ οἰκτίρμων Ἀίδης πέλεν, εἰς σέ καὶ αὐτὴ