by Nonnus
520 οὐκ ἄγαμαί ποτε τοῦτον ἐγὼ πρόμον: ἐν παλάμῃ γὰρ
ποῖον ἔχει δόρυ θοῦρον Ἀρήιον; ἴσχεο, Περσεῦ:
Γοργοφόνῳ δρεπάνῃ μὴ μάρναο θήλεϊ κισσῷ:
μὴ σέο χεῖρα μίαινε γυναικείοισι κοθόρνοις:
μὴ κυνέην Ἀίδαο τεοῖς κροτάφοισι τινάξῃς
525 στέμματος ἀμπελόεντος ἐναντίον: ἢν δ᾽ ἐθελήσῃς,
Ἀνδρομέδην θώρηξον ἀθωρήκτῳ Διονύσῳ:
χάζεό μοι, Διόνυσε, καὶ ἵππιον Ἄργος ἐάσας
Θήβης ἑπταπύλοιο πάλιν βάκχευε γυναῖκας:
κτεῖνε νέον Πενθῆα: τί Περσέι καὶ Διονύσῳ;
530 Ἴναχον ὠκυρέεθρον ἀναίνεο: καί σε δεχέσθω
Θήβης Ἀονίης ποταμὸς βραδύς: οὔ σε διδάξω
Ἀσωπὸν βαρύγουνον ἔτι ζείοντα κεραυνῷ.’
[520] “I do not admire this hero at all. For what lusty spear of war does he hold? Stay, Perseus, do not fight the woman’s ivy with your Gorgonslayer sickle, do not defile your hand with a woman’s buskins, do not shake the cap of Hades upon your brow against a wreath of vineleaves — but if you wish, arm Andromeda against unarmed Dionysos. Begone, Dionysos, I tell you; leave Argos and its horses and madden once more the women of sevengate Thebes. Find another Pentheus to kill — what has Perseus to do with Dionysos? Let be the swift stream of Inachos, and let the slow river of Aonian Thebes receive you. I need not remind you of heavyknee Asopos boiling still with the thunderbolt.”
τοῖον ἔπος κατέλεξεν ἐπεγγελόων Διονύσῳ.
Ἀργείην δὲ φάλαγγα Πελασγιὰς ὥπλισεν Ἥρη:
535 μαντιπόλῳ δ᾽ ἤικτο Μελάμποδι: χωομένη δὲ
Γοργοφόνῳ Περσῆι μαχήμονα ῥήξατο φωνήν:
[533] So the man spoke, deriding Dionysos. Meanwhile Pelasgian Hera equipped her Argive army; she took the shape of the seer Melampus, and angrily called to Perseus Gorgonslayer in martial words:
‘Οὐρανίης βλάστημα γονῆς, κορυθαιόλε Περσεῦ,
σὴν δρεπάνην ἀνάειρε, μὴ ἀπτολέμῳ τινὶ θύρσῳ
ἀδρανέες τεὸν Ἄργος ἀιστώσωσι γυναῖκες
540 μὴ τρομέοις ἔνα μοῦνον ὄφιν ζωστῆρα κομάων,
ὅττι δαφοινήεσσα τεὴ θηροκτόνος ἅρπη
λήια τοσσατίων ὀφίων ἤμησε Μεδούσης:
Βασσαρίδων δὲ φάλαγγι κορύσσεο: χαλκορόφου δὲ
μνώεο παρθενεῶνος, ὅπῃ Δανάης διὰ κόλπου
545 χρύσεον ὄμβρον ἔχευε γαμοκλόπον ὑέτιος Ζεύς,
μὴ Δανάη μετὰ λέκτρα, μετὰ χρυσέους ὑμεναίους
οὐτιδανῷ γόνυ δοῦλον ὑπογνάμψειε Λυαίῳ:
δεῖξον, ὅτι Κρονίωνος ἐτήτυμον αἷμα κομίζεις,
δεῖξον, ὅτι χρύσειον ἔχεις γένος, οὐρανίου δὲ
550 λέκτρα τεοῦ κήρυξον ἐχεκτεάνου νιφετοῖο:
καὶ Σατύροις πολέμιζε: κορυσσομένῳ δὲ Λυαίῳ
φοίνιον ὄμμα τίταινε δρακοντοκόμοιο Μεδούσης,
καὶ μετὰ πικρὸν ἄνακτα πολυκλύστοιο Σερίφου
λαΐνεον νέον ἄλλον ἐσαθρήσω Πολυδέκτην.
555 σὺν σοὶ πανδαμάτειρα κορύσσεται Ἀργολὶς Ἥρη
μητρυιὴ Βρομίοιο προασπίζων δὲ Μυκήνης
σὴν δρεπάνην κούφιζε σαόπτολιν, ὄφρα νοήσω
ἑσπομένην Περσῆι δορικτήτην Ἀριάδνην:
κτεῖνε βοοκραίρων Σατύρων στίχα: Βασσαρίδων δὲ
560 ὄμματι Γοργείῳ βροτέην μετάμειψον ὀπωπὴν
εἰς βρέτας αὐτοτέλεστον ὁμοίιον: ἀντιτύπῳ δὲ
κάλλεϊ πετρήεντι τεὰς κόσμησον ἀγυιάς,
Ἰναχίαις ἀγορῇσιν ἀγάλματα ποικίλα τεύχων.
τί τρομέεις Διόνυσον, ὄν οὐ Διὸς ἤροσαν εὐναί;
565 εἰπέ, τί σοι ῥέξειε;μετάρσιον ἠεροφοίτην
πεζὸς ὑπὲρ δαπέδοιο πότε πτερόεντα κιχήσει;’
[537] “Perseus Flashhelm, offspring of heavenly race! Lift your sickle, and let not weak women lay waste your Argos with an unwarlike thyrsus. Tremble not before only one snake wreathed in the hair, when your monsterslaying sickle reaped such a harvest as the vipers of Medusa! Attack the army of Bassarids; remember the brazen vault which was Danae’s chamber, where Rainy Zeus poured in her bosom a shower of bridestealing gold — let not Danae after that bed, after the wedding of gold, bend a slavish knee to that nobody Dionysos. Show that you have in you the true blood of Cronion, show that you have the golden breed, proclaim the bed that received that snowstorm of heavenly riches. Make war on the Satyrs too: turn towards battling Lyaios the deadly eye of snake hair Medusa, and let me see a new Polydectes made stone after the hateful king of wave washed Seriphos. By your side is Argive Hera in arms, all vanquishing, the stepmother of Bromios. Defend Mycene lift your sickle to save our city, that I may behold Ariadne captive of your spear following Perseus. Kill the array of bullhorned Satyrs, change with the Gorgon’s eye the human countenances of the Bassarids into like images selfmade; with the beauty of the stone copies adorn your streets, and make statues like an artist for the Inachian market-places. Why do you tremble before Dionysos, no offspring of the bed of Zeus? Tell me, what could he do to you? When shall a foot-farer on the ground catch a winged traveller of the air?”
ἔννεπε θαρσύνουσα: καὶ εἰς μόθον ἔπτατο Περσεύς.
καὶ ναέτας καλέουσα Πελασγιὰς ἔβρεμε σάλπιγξ,
ὧν ὁ μὲν αἰχμητῆρος ἐκούφισε Λυγκέος αἰχμήν,
570 ὅς δὲ παλαιοτέροιο Φορωνέος, ὅς δὲ Πελασγοῦ,
ἄλλος ἀνηέρταζεν Ἀβαντίδα χειρὶ βοείην
καὶ μελίην Προίτοιο, καὶ Ἀκρισίοιο φαρέτρην
ἄλλος ἀνὴρ κούφιζεν, ὁ δὲ θρασὺς εἰς μόθον ἔστη
ἆορ ἔχων Δαναοῖο, τὸ πέρ ποτε γυμνὸν ἀείρων
575 θυγατέρας θώρηξεν ἐς ἀνδροφόνους ὑμεναίους,
ἄλλος ἔην κρατέων πέλεκυν μέγαν, ὃν παρὰ βωμῷ
Ἴναχος ἀστυόχοιο θυηπόλος ἔνθεος Ἥρης
ἵστατο κουφίζων βοέων τμητῆρα μετώπων.
καὶ στρατὸς ἐγρεκύδοιμος ἀερσιπόδων ὑπὲρ ἵππων
580 ἔδραμε μαρναμένου μετὰ Περσέος: ὃς δὲ παρέστη
τρηχαλέοις στομάτεσσι μάχης ἀλαλαγμὸν ἰάλλων,
πεζὸς ἀνήρ, καὶ τόξα συνήρμοσε κυκλάδι νευρῇ,
καὶ γλαφυρ�
�ν ἤειρεν ὑπὲρ νώτοιο φαρέτρην:
καὶ πρόμος Ἀργείων δρεπανηφόρος ἔπλετο Περσεύς,
585 καὶ πόδας ἠερίοισιν ἐπεσφήκωσε πεδίλοις,
καὶ κεφαλὴν κούφιζεν ἀθηήτοιο Μεδούσης.
[567] So she encouraged him, and Perseus flew into the fray. The Pelasgian trumpet blared calling the people. They came, one lifting the spear of spearman Lynceus, one the spear of Phoroneus more ancient still, one that of Pelasgos, one carried on his arm the oxhide of Abas, and the ashplant of Proitos, another bore the quiver of Acrisios; this bold man stood up to fight holding the sword of Danaos, which once he raised naked when he armed his daughters for those husband-murdering bridals; another again grasped the great axe which Inachos held to strike the bulls’ foreheads, when he stood as the inspired priest of Hera Cityholder. The battlestirring host behind their prancing teams ran with Perseus to the field; and he stood before them shouting the warcry with harsh voice, on foot himself, and shook back the rounded quiver over his shoulder, and fitted arrows to curving bow. Perseus of the sickle was champion of the Argives; he fitted his feet into the flying shoes, and he lifted up the head of Medusa which no eyes may see.
Λυσικόμους δ᾽ Ἰόβακχος ἑὰς ἐκόρυσσε γυναῖκας
καὶ Σατύρους κερόεντας: ἐβακχεύθη δὲ κυδοιμῷ
ἠερίην πτερόεντος ἰδὼν προμάχοιο πορείην:
590 χειρὶ δὲ θύρσον ἄειρεν, ἑοῦ προβλῆτα προσώπου
κουφίζων ἀδάμαντα, Διὸς πετρούμενον ὄμβρῳ
λᾶαν, ἀλεξητῆρα λιθογλήνοιο Μεδούσης,
ὄφρα φύγῃ σέλας ἐχθρὸν ἀθηήτοιο προσώπου.
[587] But Iobacchos marshalled his women with flowing locks, and Satyrs with horns. Wild for battle he was when he saw the winged champion coursing through the air. The thyrsus was held up in his hand, and to defend his face he carried a diamond, the gem made stone in the showers of Zeus which protects against the stony glare of Medusa, that the baleful light of that destroying face may do him no harm.
Βασσαρίδων δὲ φάλαγγας ἰδὼν καὶ θύσθλα Λυαίου,
595 φρικαλέον γελόων κορυθαιόλος ἔννεπε Περσεύς:
[594] And Flashhelm Perseus when he saw the ranks of the Bassarids and the gear of Lyaios, laughed terribly and cried —
‘Ἡδὺς ὁ θύρσον ἔχων, χλοερὸν βέλος, εἰς ἐμὲ βαίνων
οὐτιδανοῖς πετάλοισι κορύσσεαι, Ἄρεα παίζων:
εἰ Διὸς ἔλλαχες αἷμα, τεὴν ἀνάφαινε γενέθλην:
εἰ ποταμοῦ χρύσειον ἔχεις Πακτώλιον ὕδωρ,
600 χρυσὸν ἔχω γενετῆρα, πατὴρ δ᾽ ἐμὸς ὑέτιος Ζεύς:
ἠνίδε φοινίσσοντα θεμείλια παρθενεῶνος,
λείψανα κεῖνα φέροντα ῥυηφενέος νιφετοῖο.
ἀλλὰ φύγε κλυτὸν Ἄργος, ἐπεὶ μενεδήιος Ἥρη
ἔλλαχεν ἕδρανα ταῦτα τεῆς ὀλέτειρα τεκούσης,
605 μή σε τὸν οἰστρήσαντα καὶ οἰστρηθέντα τελέσσῃ
μή σε πάλιν μανίῃ τεθοωμένον ὀψὲ νοήσω.’
[596] “It’s nice to see you there with that thyrsus, that greenleaf shaft, marching against me armed with your wretched foliage, playing at war! If you have in you the blood of Zeus, show your breeding! If you have the water of golden Pactolos River, I have a golden Father — my father is Zeus of the Rains. See the crimson foundations of my mother’s chamber, still keeping relics of that snowstorm of wealth! Go, flee now from famous Argos, since these buildings belong to steadfast Hera, your mother’s destroyer, lest she make you the maddener mad, lest I see you once more driven with frenzy at last.”
ὣς εἰπὼν προμάχιζεν: ἀνεπτοίησε δὲ Βάκχας
Ἄρεα θωρήξασα καὶ ἀμητῆρα Μεδούσης
Ἥρη πανδαμάτειρα: καταιθύσσουσα δὲ Βάκχου
610 ἀστεροπῆς μίμημα, θεόσσυτον ἁλλόμενον πῦρ,
ῥῖψε κατὰ Βρομίοιο σελασφόρον αἴθοπα λόγχην.
καὶ γελόων Διόνυσος ἀμείβετο θυιάδι φωνῇ:
[607] He spoke, and advanced to the fight. All-vanquishing Hera marshalled the battle, and scattered the Bacchants with Medusa’s reaper; she dashed upon Bacchos like the lightning, a godsent leaping fire, and cast at Bromios her gleaming flashing lance. But Dionysos laughing replied in a wild voice —
‘Οὐ τόσον ἀστράπτουσαν ἔχεις ἀσίδηρον ἀκωκήν:
οὐ δύνασαι κλονέειν με, καὶ εἰ λάχες ἔμπυρον αἰχμήν:
615 οὐδέ με πημαίνει στεροπὴ Διός: ἡμιτελῆ γὰρ
νήπιον εἰσέτι Βάκχον ἐχυτλώσαντο κεραυνοὶ
ἀφλεγὲς ἄσθμα χέοντες ἀδηλήτῳ Διονύσῳ.
καὶ σὺ μέγα φρονέων δρεπανηφόρε παύεο Περσεῦ:
Γοργόνος οὐ μόθος οὗτος ὀλίζονος, οὐ μία νύμφη
620 Ἀνδρομέδη βαρύδεσμος ἀέθλιον: ἀλλὰ Λυαίῳ
δῆριν ἄγεις, ὃς Ζηνὸς ἔχει γένος, ᾧ ποτε μούνῳ
Ῥείη μαζὸν ὄρεξε φερέσβιον, ὅν ποτε πυρσῷ
ἀστεροπῆς γαμίης μαιώσατο μειλιχίη φλόξ,
ὃν δύσις, ὃν θάμβησεν Ἑωσφόρος, ᾧ στίχες Ἰνδῶν
625 εἴκαθον, ὃν τρομέων καὶ Δηριάδης καὶ Ὀρόντης
ἠλιβάτων ἀπέλεθρον ἔχων ἴνδαλμα Γιγάντων
ἤριπεν, ᾧ θρασὺς Ἄλπος ὑπώκλασεν, υἱὸς Ἀρούρης,
ἀγχινεφὲς περίμετρον ἔχων δέμας, ᾧ γόνυ κάμπτει
λαὸς Ἄραψ, Σικελὸς δὲ μελίζεται εἰσέτι ναύτης
630 Τυρσηνῶν νόθον εἶδος ἁλίδρομον, ὧν ποτε μορφὴν
ἀνδρομέην ἤμειψα μετάτροπον, ἀντὶ δὲ φωτῶν
ἰχθύες ὀρχηστῆρες ἐπισκαίρουσι θαλάσσῃ.
[613] “Not so much of a flash you make in that blade of yours, with no iron; you cannot scare me, though your point is on fire! Even the lightning of Zeus does not hurt me; for when I was half-made and still a baby the thunders bathed me, pouring breath which burnt not upon inviolate Dionysos. You too, Perseus of the sickle, proud as you are, make an end! This is no battle for a feeble Gorgon, the prize is not a lone girl in heavy chains, Andromeda. Lyaios is your enemy, the offspring of Zeus, to whom alone long ago Rheia offered the life-giving breast; for whom long ago the flame of marriagelightning was a gentle midwife; the admiration of East and of West, before whom the armies of India gave way; at whom Deriades trembled, and Orontes with his towering giant-stature fell; to whom bold Alpos bent his knee, that son of Earth with huge body rising near the clouds; to whom the Arabian nation kneels down, and the Sicilian mariner still sings the changeling shape of sea-scouring Tyrrhenian pirates, when once I transformed their human bodies and now instead of men they are fishes dancing and leaping in the sea.
Θήβης δ᾽ ἑπταπύλου γόον �
�κλυες: οὔ σε διδάξω
αἰνομανῆ Πενθῆα καὶ ὠλεσίτεκνον Ἀγαύην:
635 φήμης δ᾽ οὐ χατέεις ἢ μάρτυρος, ὅττι Λυαίου
πειρήθη τεὸν Ἄργος, Ἀχαιιάδες δὲ καὶ αὐταὶ
σφωιτέρας ὠδῖνας ἔτι στενάχουσι γυναῖκες.
ἀλλὰ, φίλος, πολέμιζε, καὶ αἰχμάζοντα κορύμβοις
αἰνήσεις τάχα Βάκχον ὅτι πτερὰ σεῖο πεδίλων
640 ὄψεαι ἀρραγέεσσιν ἐμοῖς εἴκοντα κοθόρνοις:
οὔ ποτε Βασσαρίδων σκεδάσεις μόθον, οὔ ποτε λήξω
πέμπων οἴνοπα θύρσον, ἕως τεὸν Ἄργεϊ δείξω
ἔγχεϊ κισσήεντι πεπαρμένον ἀνθερεῶνα
καὶ δρέπανον πετάλοις νικώμενον: οὔ σε σαώσει
645 Ζεὺς ἐμός, οὐ γλαυκῶπις ὁμόγνιος, οὐ σέθεν Ἥρη,
καὶ μάλα περ κοτέουσα μενεπτολέμῳ Διονύσῳ:
ἀλλὰ κατακτείνω σε, καὶ αὐχήεσσα Μυκήνη
ὄψεται ἀμηθέντα τὸν ἀμητῆρα Μεδούσης:
ἤ σε περισφίγξας ἐνὶ λάρνακι μείζονι δεσμῷ
650 πλωτὸν ἀκοντίζω σε τὸ δεύτερον ἠθάδι πόντῳ:
ἢν δ᾽ ἐθέλῃς, ἐπίβηθι τεῆς πάλιν ὀψὲ Σερίφου.
ἢν δὲ τεῇ χρυσέῃ μεγαλίζεαι ἀμφὶ γενέθλῃ,
οὐτιδανὴν συνάεθλον ἔχε χρυσῆν Ἀφροδίτην.’
[633] “You have heard the groaning of sevengate Thebes; I need not remind you of Pentheus in dire madness and Agaue who slew her child; you need no tale or witness how your Argos has felt Lyaios, and the wives of Achaia themselves are still mourning for their children. Very well, fight, my friend, and soon you shall praise Bacchos with his weapons of leafage, when you see the wings of your shoes yielding to my unconquerable buskins. Never shall you scatter my battling Bassarids, never will I cease casting my vine-wand, until I show Argos your throat pierced by my spear of ivy and your sickle beaten by my leaves. Zeus my father will not save you, nor Brighteyes my sister, nor your own Hera, however she hates the steadfast Dionysos: but I will kill you, and boastful Mycene shall see beheaded the man who beheaded Medusa. Or I will bind you in a chest with greater bonds, and throw you to float again on the sea you know so well; you may land again at Seriphos by and by, if you like. If you are so proud of your golden birth, you may take the golden Aphrodite, that good-for-nothing, to help you.”