Thrice had Phoebus loosened stark winter with the Zephyrs, 
	and was constraining the scanty day to move in its vernal path 
	with a longer course, when counsellings yielded to the shock of fate, 
	and pitiful war was given at last an ample field. 
5	First from the Larissaean height Bellona displayed 
	her ruddy torch, and with right arm drove the spear-shaft 
	whirling; hissing, it flew through the clear heaven, 
	and stood fixed on the high rampart of Aonian Dirce. 
	Then to the camp she goes and, mingling with the heroes that glittered 
10	in gold and steel, shouts like a squadron; she gives swords to hurrying warriors, 
	claps their steeds and beckons gateward; the brave anticipate 
	her promptings and even the timid are inspired to short-lived valour.
	
	The appointed day had come. A mighty herd falls in due sacrifice 
	to the Thunderer and to Mars; the priest, cheered by no favouring 
15	entrails, pales and feigns hope before the host. 
	And now around their kinsmen sons and brides and fathers 
	pour mingled, and from the summit of the gates would fain delay them. 
	No stint is there of tears: bedewed are the shields and helmet-crests 
	of those who make their sad farewell, and the household, the object of their sighs, 
20	clings to every weapon; they delight to find entrance for their kisses through 
	the closed visors, and to draw down the grim helmet-peaks to their embrace. 
	They who of late took pleasure in the sword, yea in death itself, 
	now groan and shake with sobbing, their warlike temper broken. 
	Even so, when men are about to go perchance on some long voyage o’er the sea, 
25	and already the south winds are in the sails and the anchor rises from its torn bed, 
	the loving band clings fast and enlaces their necks with eager arms, 
	and their streaming eyes are dimmed, some with kisses, 
	some with the sea’s vast haze; at last they are left behind, 
	yet stand upon a rock, and rejoice to follow the swift-flying canvas 
30	with their gaze, while they grieve that their native breezes are blowing ever stronger; 
	yet still they stand, and beckon to the ship from the well-known rock.
	
	Now, Fame of olden time, and thou, dark Antiquity of the world, 
	whose care it is to remember princes and to make immortal the story of their lives, 
	recount the warriors, and thou, Calliope, queen of the groves 
35	of song, uplift thy lyre and begin the tale, 
	what troops of arms Gradivus roused, what cities he laid waste 
	of their peoples; for to none comes loftier inspiration 
	from the fountain’s draught. The king Adrastus, sick with misgiving 
	beneath the burden of his cares, and drawing nigh his life’s departure, 
40	walked scarce of his own will amongst the applauding people, 
	content to be girt but with his sword1; attendants bear 
	his arms behind him, his charioteer tends the swift horses 
	close by the city gates, and already is Arion struggling against the yoke. 
	To support their king Larissa and high Prosymna arm 
45	their men, and Midea, fitter home of herds, and Phlius rich in cattle, 
	and Neris that quails at Charadros foaming down his valley’s 
	length, Cleonae with her piled mass of towers, and Thyrea2 
	destined one day to reap a harvest of Spartan gore.
	
	To them are joined men who remember the king sent thence 
50	in early days,3 men who cultivate the rocky heights of Drepanum 
	and olive-bearing Sicyon, and whom Strangilla laves with lazy, 
	silent stream, and Elisson winding through his curving banks. 
	An awful privilege has that river: it cleanses, so ‘tis said, with its 
	austere waters the Stygian Eumenides; here are they wont to dip 
55	their faces and the horned snakes that gasp from drinking Phlegethon, 
	whether they have ruined Thracian homes4 or Mycenae’s impious palace 
	or Cadmus’ dwelling; the river itself flees from them as 
	they bathe, and its pools grow livid with countless poisons. 
	Ephyre, who consoled the weeping Ino,5 lends her company, 
60	and Cenchreae, where the river, struck by the Gorgon-quelling 
	steed, owns the presence of the bard, and where Isthmos lies 
	athwart the deep and wards off from the land the sloping seas. 
	This troop, in all three thousand, followed in Adrastus’ train 
	exultant; some bore pikes in their hand, some stakes 
65	long hardened in the fire – for neither blood nor custom 
	are shared by all their bands – some are wont to whirl 
	firmly-woven slings and gird the air with a trackless circle. 
	The king himself moves venerable alike in years and rank: 
	as a tall bull goes amid the pastures he has long possessed, 
70	his neck and shoulders now drooping and void of strength, 
	yet the leader still; no courage have the steers to try him in the fight, 
	for they see the horns that many a blow has broken, 
	and huge scars of wounds upon his breast.
	
	Next to the aged Adrastus his Dircaean son-in-law brings forth 
75	his standards; to his cause the war does service, to him the whole army 
	lends it martial ire, for him even from his native home have men 
	come gladly, whether those whom his exile moves, and in whom 
	loyalty has stood sure strengthened by adversity, or those in whom desire 
	to change their ruler is uppermost, many again whom the better cause 
80	makes favourable to his complaint. Moreover, his father-in-law had given him 
	Aegion and Arene to rule, and all the wealth that Troezen, 
	famous for Theseus,6 brings, lest with scant following he should go 
	inglorious, and feel the loss of his native honours. 
	The hero wears the same dress and carries the same arms as 
85	on that winter’s night, when he owed the duty of a guest7: a Teumesian 
	lion covers his back, and the twin points of javelins glitter, 
	while by his side a cruel Sphinx rises stiff on his wound-dealing sword. 
	Already in his hopes and prayers he is master of his realm, and holds 
	his mother and faithful sisters in his embrace, yet he looks back upon 
90	distraught Argia as she stands on the high tower against the sky; 
	she draws back to herself her husband’s eyes and thoughts, 
	and drives pleasant Thebes from out his mind.
	
	Lo! in the midst Tydeus flashing bright leads on his 
	native squadrons, glad already and hale of limb,8 
95	so soon as the first bugles sounded: even so a slippery snake 
	raises itself from the deep earth at the coaxing breath of the 
	vernal sun, freed of its eld and the unsightly years put off, 
	and gleams, a bright green danger, in the lush herbage; 
	unhappy the husbandman who meets its gaping mouth 
100	in the grass, and spoils its fangs of their new venom! 
	To him also the rumour of war brings present help of warriors 
	from the Aetolian cities; rocky Pylene heard the tidings, 
	and Pleuron of Meleager, wept for by his sister-birds9; 
	steep Calydon, and Olenos whose Jove doth challenge Ide,10 
105	and Chalcis, welcome haven from Ionian billows, 
	and the river11 whose face the athlete Hercules did mar: 
	even yet scarce dares he raise his stricken visage from 
	the waters’ depth, but mourns with head sunk far below in his 
	green cave, while the river-banks pant and sicken with dust. 
110	All these defend their bodies with bronze-bound targes, and bear 
	fierce halberds in their hands, while native Mars stands erect upon their helms. 
	Chosen youths surround the great-hearted son of Oeneus, 
	high-spirited for battle and in all the glory of his well-known 
	scars; no meaner he in threatening ire than Polynices; 
115	‘tis doubtful even for whom the war is waged.
	
	But mightier comes thereon the Dorian12 array new-armed, 
	they whose numerous ploughs turn up thy banks, Lyrcius, 
	and thy shores, Inachus, prince of Achaean streams 
	– for no more tempestuous torrent flows forth from Persean13 land, 
120	when he has drunk deep of Taurus14 or the watery Pleiades, foaming high 
	and swollen with Jove, his daughter’s lover15 – they too whom swift Asterion 
	encircles and Erasinus sweeping on his flood Dryopian harvests, 
	and they who tame the fields of Epidaurus – favourable to Iacchus 
	are those hill-sides, but they give denial to Ceres of Henna16 – desolate Dyme 
125	sends aid, and Neleian Pylos her swarming squadrons; 
	not yet renowned was Pylos, and Nestor was as yet in the prime 
	of his second age, but would not join a host doomed to perish. 
	These doth tall Hippomedon excite and teach the love of 
	glorious valour; on his head a brazen helm doth shake with 
130	triple tier of snow-white plume, beneath his armour iron mail 
	fits close upon his flanks, his shoulders and breast a wide 
	flaming circle covers, whereon the night of Danaus17 lives in 
	the gold handiwork: the fifty guilty chambers blaze 
	with Furies’ murky torch, the sire himself on the blood-stained 
135	threshold praises the crime and views the swords. 
	A Nemean steed in terror of the fight bears the hero from the citadel 
	of Pallas,18 and fills the fields with the huge flying shadow, 
	and he long trail of dust rises upon the plain. 
	Not otherwise, crashing through the forests with shoulders 
140	and either breast, does twy-formed Hylaeus19 speed headlong 
	from his mountain cave; Ossa trembles at his going ,and beasts and cattle 
	fall in terror; yea, even his brethren are affrighted, 
	till with a great leap he plunges into the waters of Peneus, 
	and with thwarting bulk dams back the mighty flood.
	
145	Who could describe in mortal speech that numerous armament, 
	its peoples and their valiant might? Ancient Tiryns is roused by her 
	own god20 to arms, not barren of brave men, 
	nor degenerate from her tremendous son’s renown, 
	but desolate and her day of fortune past, nor hath she the power 
150	that wealth can give; the scanty dweller in her empty fields 
	points out the towers raised by the sweat of Cyclopean brows. 
	Yet she sends three hundred manly hearts, a company 
	undisciplined for war, without javelin-thongs or the surly 
	gleam of swords; on their heads and shoulders the tawny spoil 
155	of lions, their tribe’s adornment, a pinewood stake their weapon, 
	and shafts crammed tight in inexhaustible quivers. 
	They sing the paean of Hercules and the world swept clear 
	of monsters: the god listens from afar on leafy Oeta.21 
	Nemea gives them comrades and all the might that the sacred 
160	vineyards of Cleonaean Molorchus summon to war. 
	Well known is the glory of that cottage22; pictured upon its willow doors 
	are the arms of the god who was its guest, and in the humble field 
	‘tis shown where he laid his club, and under what holm-oak he reposed 
	his limbs at ease, and where yet the ground bears traces of his lying.
	
165	But Capaneus, on foot and looking down by a whole head’s height 
	upon the host, wields the burden of four hides torn from the backs 
	of untamed steers and stiffened above with a covering of 
	massy bronze; there lies the Hydra with triple-branching crown, 
	lately slain and foul in death: part, embossed in silver, glitters fierce 
170	with moving snakes, part by a cunning device is sunken, 
	and grows dark in the death agony against the tawny gold; 
	around, in dark-blue steel runs the torpid stream of Lerna. 
	His long flanks and spacious breast are guarded by a corselet 
	woven of iron threads innumerable, a work inspiring 
175	terror, no mother’s task; a giant rises from the summit of his 
	flashing helm; his spear, that he alone can throw, 
	is a cypress standing stripped of leaves and pointed with iron. 
	Assigned in fealty to him are they whom fertile Amphigenia nourishes, 
	and Messene’s plain and mountainous Ithome, 
180	Thryon and Aepy high-piled on mountain-tops, 
	Helos too and Pteleon and Dorion that bewails the Getic 
	bard: here Thamyris made bold to surpass in song the skilled 
	daughters of Aonia, but doomed to a life of silence fell on the instant mute 
	with voice and harp alike – who may despise deities met face to face? – 
185	for that he knew not what it was to strive with Phoebus, 
	nor how the hanging Satyr23 brought Celaenae fame.
	
	And now even the fate-foretelling augur’s resolve begins to weaken 
	under strong assault; he saw indeed what should befall and the 
	dread signs thereof, but Atropos herself had made violent attack 
190	upon his doubting will, and overwhelmed the god within him, nor is wifely 
	treachery absent, and already the house sparkles with forbidden gold. 
	From that gold died the fates bode destruction to the Argive seer, 
	yea, and she knew it – ah, impious crime! – but the perfidious wife 
	would fain barter her husband for a gift, and yearns to gain the spoils 
195	of the princess Argia, and to excel her in the stolen finery. 
	She not unwilling – for she sees that the spirit of the princes 
	and the resolve of war must fail, should not the foreseeing hero 
	join their enterprise – herself put off from her bosom the fatal ornament 
	of her beloved Polynices, nor grieved therat, but saith moreover: 
200	“No fit times these to deck myself in shining jewelry, 
	nor without thee let me take delight in adorning my hapless 
	beauty; enough to beguile my doubts and fears with the solace 
	of my maidens, and trail my unkempt tresses at the altars. 
	Shall I – oh! thought unspeakable! – shall I wear rich Harmonia’s 
205	dower of gold, while thou art shut within thy threatening helmet, 
	and dost clang in arms of steel? More fitly mayhap will heaven grant me 
	that boon, and I outdo the Argolic brides in apparel, 
	when I am queen indeed, and must fill the temples with 
	votive choirs, upon thy safe return. Now let her put it on 
210	who desires it, and can rejoice while her husband is at war.” 
	Thus the fatal gold made entry to the chambers of Eriphyle, 
	and set in motion the beginnings of great crimes, 
	and Tisiphone laughed loud, exulting in what should come to pass.
	
	Aloft behind Taenarian steeds, whom Cyllarus unknown 
215	to Castor had begotten on mars of meaner stock, 
	he makes earth tremble; the adornment of Parnassian wool 
	betrays the prophet, sprays of olive wreath his helmet, 
	and the white fillet intertwines the scarlet crest. 
	He handles at once his weapons and the reins held tight upon the yoke. 
220	On either side there is a shelter from darts, and an iron forest 
	trembles on his chariot; far seen he stands, conspicuous and terrible 
	with stern spear, and flashes the conquered Python on his shield. 
	Amyclae, Apollo’s town, bears his car company, 
	and the bands of Pylos, and Malea shunned by doubting keels, 
225	and Caryae skilled to raise the hymn that wins Diana’s applause, 
	and Pharis and Cytherean Messe, mother of doves, 
	the phalanx of Taygetus, and the hardy troop of swan-nurturing 
	Eurotas. The Arcadian god24 himself trains them in the dust 
	of combat, and implants in them the ways of naked valour and 
230	warlike temper; hence dauntless courage and the welcome consecration 
	of a glorious death. Their parents rejoice in their children’s fate 
	and urge them on to die; and while the whole band of youths makes 
	lamentation, the mother is content with the wreath that crowns the victim. 
	They hold the reins and two javelins with thong attached, 
235	bared are their mighty shoulders, from which a rough cloak hangs; 
	a Ledaean crest25 is on their helms. Not these alone, Amphiaraus, 
	are in thy service: the slopes of Elis swell they array, 
	and low-lying Pisa’s folk, who swim thy waters, 
	yellow Alpheus, thou who farest to Sicanian lands, yet art never 
240	tainted by so long a passage through the deep. 
	Countless chariots vex their crumbling fields far and wide, 
	their beasts are broken to war: that glory of the race 
	endures even from the impious ways and broken axles 
	of Oenomaus26; the champed bits foam between the jaws, 
245	and the white spume bedews the churned earth.
	
	Thou too, Parthenopaeus, unknown to thy mother – 
	unschooled alas! in arms, such lure hath young ambition – 
	speedest onward thy Parrhasian27 cohorts. Thy warlike parent,28 
	so it chanced – not otherwise could the boy have left her – was bringing peace 
250	with her bow to distant glades, and the farther slopes of cool Lycaeus. 
	No fairer face was there of any marching to the grim hazard 
	of war, none winds such favour for pre-eminent beauty; 
	nor lacks he courage, so he but come to sterner years. 
	What forest-queens and spirits enshrined in rivers, what nymphs 
255	of the glade hath he not fired with consuming passion? 
	Diana herself, when she saw the boy beneath the shade 
	of Maenalus steeping youthful o’er the grass, forgave her comrade, 
	so they say, and with her own hand fitted to his shoulders 
	the Dictean29 shafts and Amyclean quiver. 
260	Smitten by dauntless love of war he dashes to the front, 
	burning to hear the clash of arms and bray of trumpets, 
	to soil his fair hair with the dust of battle, and to ride home on a 
	foeman’s captive steed. He is weary of the woodlands, and ashamed 
	that he knows not the arrows’ baneful boast of human blood. 
265	Foremost he shines, ablaze with purple and gold, 
	his streaming cloak furrowed by Iberian cords,30 
	and his innocent shield adorned with his mother’s Calydonian 
	battles; fierce sounds the bow at his left side, and on his back, 
	plumed with feathery shafts, rattles the quiver set with pale electrum 
270	and brilliant Eastern jasper, full of Cydonian arrows. 
	His charger, accustomed to outstrip the flying stags, 
	was covered with two lynxes’ hides, and marvelled 
	at his armed master’s heavier weight; him he loftily bestrode, 
	comely to look upon from the pleasant flush of youth upon his cheeks.
	
275	To him the Arcadians31 an ancient people, older than the moon 
	and stars, give trusty cohorts; they were born, ‘tis said, of the hard trunks 
	of forest trees, when the wondering earth first bore the print 
	of feet; not yet were fields or houses or cities or ordinance 
	of marriage: oaks and laurels suffered rude 
280	child-birth, and the shady mountain-ash peopled the earth, 
	and the young babe fell from the pregnant ash-tree’s womb. 
	‘Tis said that, struck with terror at the change from light to 
	murky darkness, they followed far the setting Titan, 
	despairing of the day. The husbandmen grow few on high 
285	Maenalus, the forests of Parthenius are deserted, 
	Rhipe and Stratie and windy Enispe give their troops to aid the war. 
	Neither Tegea nor Cyllene blest by the winged god stand idle, 
	nor Alea, woodland shrine of Minerva, nor swift Clitor, 
	nor Ladon,32 almost, O Pythian, the father of thy bride; 
290	nor yet Lampia with her shining snow-white ridges, 
	nor Pheneos,33 believed to send down Styx to swarthy Dis. 
	Azan, that can rival the howling mobs of Ida,34 came, and the Parrhasian 
	leaders, and the Nonacrian countryside, wherein the Thunderer quiverclad35 
	took delight, and furnished laughter for you, ye Loves, 
295	and Orchomenos rich in cattle, and Cynosura abounding in wild beasts. 
	The same ardour lays bare the fields of Aepytus 
	and lofty Psophis and the mountains famed for Hercules’ might, 
	Erymanthos home of monsters, and Stymphalos with its clanging bronze.36 
	All Arcadians these, one race of men, but sundered by differing 
300	customs: these bend back Paphian myrtle-saplings, 
	and practise warfare with pastoral staves; 
	some have bows, some pikes for weapons; some cover their hair 
	with helmets, while that one keeps the fashion of the Arcadian hat, 
	and another makes his head terrible with the jaws of a Lycaonian she-bear.37 
305	This warlike gathering of hearts sworn true to Mars Mycenae, 
	neighbour though she was, helped with no soldiery; 
	for then was the deadly banquet and the sun’s midday withdrawing, 
	and there, too, was a feud of warring brothers.38
	
	And now the tidings had filled the ears of Atalanta, 
310	that her son was going a captain to the war, and rousing 
	all Arcadia; her steps faltered and the darts fell by her side; 
	swifter than the winged wind she fled from the woodland, 
	o’er rocks and brimming rivers that would stay her, 
	just as she was, with snatched-up raiment and fair hair 
315	streaming behind her on the breeze; even as a tigress, 
	bereft of her cubs, fiercely tracks the horse of him that robbed her. 
	When she halted and pressed her bosom on the reins that met her 
	(he pale, with eyes downcast): “Whence comes this mad desire, 
	my son, whence this reckless valour in thy young breast? 
320	Canst thou drill men to war, canst thou bear the burdens of Mars 
	and go among the sword-bearing companies? 
	Yet would that thou wert able! Lately I paled to see thee 
	plying the hunting-lance in close conflict with a struggling boar, 
	forced back upon bent knee and almost fallen, 
325	and had I not drawn my bow and sped an arrow, 
	where now would be thy wars? Nought will my shafts avail thee, 
	nor my shapely bows, nor this black-spotted steed 
	in whom thou trustest; mighty are the endeavours 
	to which thou hastenest, and thou a boy scarce ripe for the embraces 
330	of Dryads or the passions of Erymanthian Nymphs. Omens tell true: 
	I wondered why Diana’s temple seemed to me of late 
	to tremble, and the goddess herself to frown upon me, and why 
	the votive spoils fell from her roof; this it was that made my archery 
	slack and my hands to falter and never to strike sure. 
335	Nay, wait till thy prowess be greater, thy years more firm, 
	till the shadow come upon thy rosy cheeks and my likeness fade 
	from thy face. Then I myself will give thee the battles and the sword 
	for which thou dost burn, and no mother’s tears shall call thee back. 
	Now take back thy weapons home! But you, will you suffer him 
340	to go to war, ye Arcadians, O born assuredly of rock and oak?” 39 
	More would she fain entreat; her son and the chieftains thronging round 
	console her and lessen her fears, and already the bugles’ horrid signal 
	blares forth. She cannot loose her son from her loving embrace, 
	and commends him earnestly to his leader Adrastus.
	
345	But in another region the Martian folk of Cadmus, dismayed 
	by the madness of the king and terrified by news that is grave indeed – 
	for ‘tis spread abroad how Argos is making descent in force – 
	tardily in truth for shame of the monarch and his cause, 
	nevertheless prepare for war. None rush to draw the sword, 
350	or take pleasure in covering their shoulders with their father’s shield 
	or making trim the harness of wing-footed horses, delights such as 
	war affords; despondent, without resolve or warlike temper, 
	they vouchsafe a timorous aid; this one bewails a loving parent 
	in his evil case, another his wife’s pleasant youth 
355	and the hapless babes ripening in her womb. 
	In none does the war-god wax hot; even the walls crumbling 
	with age-long neglect and Amphion’s mighty towers lay bare 
	their worn and ancient sides, and a mean and unresponsive toil 
	repairs those parapets once raised to heaven by 
360	the inspired harp. Yet the Boeotian cities are moved 
	by the avenging lust of battle, and are stirred in behalf 
	of their kindred race rather than to aid the unjust king. 
	Like is he to a wolf that has forced an entrance to a rich fold of sheep, 
	and now, his breast all clotted with foul corruption 
365	and his gaping bristly mouth unsightly with blood-stained wool, 
	hies him from the pens, turning this way and that his troubled 
	gaze, should the angry shepherds find out their loss and follow 
	in pursuit, and flees all conscious of his bold deed.
	
	Disturbing Rumour heaps panic upon panic: 
370	one says that scattered cavalry of Lerna wander 
	upon Asopus’ bank, one tells of thy capture, Cithaeron of the revels, 
	another reports Teumesos taken, and Plataeae’s 
	watch-fires burning through the darkness of the night. 
	And to whom throughout the land hath not knowledge, 
375	yea sight been granted, of the Tyrian40 walls a-sweat 
	and Dirce stained with blood, of monstrous births and Sphinx yet once more 
	speaking from her rock? And to crown all, a new fear confounds 
	their anxious hearts: of a sudden the queen of the woodland dance41 
	is seized by frenzy, and scattering the sacred baskets runs down 
380	to the plain from the Ogygian heights, and bloodshot-eyed 
	waves fiercely to and fro a triple pine-torch, 
	and fills the alarmed city with wild distracted cries: 
	“Almighty Sire of Nysa,42 who long hast ceased to love 
	thy ancestral nation, swift-borne beneath the frozen North 
385	thou art shaking warlike Ismara now with thine iron-pointed thyrsus, 
	and bidding the vine-groves creep over Lycurgus’43 realm, 
	or thou art rushing in mad and flaring triumph by swelling Ganges 
	and the farthest confines of red Tethys44 and the Eastern lands, 
	or issuing golden from the springs of Hermus. 
390	But we, thy progeny, have laid aside our country’s weapons45 
	that do thee festal honour, and have our portion of war and tears, 
	and terror and kindred crime, the cruel burdens of this unrighteous reign. 
	Rather, O Bacchus, take and set me among the eternal frosts, 
	beyond Caucasus that rings with the war-cry of the Amazons, 
395	than that I should tell the horrors of our rulers and their unnatural 
	brood. Lo! thou drivest me! far different was the frenzy I vowed to thee, 
	O Bacchus: I behold two similar bulls engage, 
	alike in honour and sharing one inherited blood; 
	with butting foreheads and lofty horns they close in fierce struggle, 
400	and perish in the violence of their mutual wrath. 
	Thou art the villain! Do thou give way, who wrongfully seekest 
	all alone to hold ancestral pastures and the hills ye both do own. 
	Ah! miserable and wicked! such bloodshed have your wars cost you, 
	and another champion is master of your meadow.” So spake she, 
405	and as the god withdrew his presence fell mute with ice-cold face.
	
	But the king, affrighted by the portent and a prey to various terrors, 
	in sick despair – such is the way of those who fear they know not what – 
	seeks aid from the long-lived seer and the clear-sighted blindness 
	of Tiresias. He replies that heaven shows not its will so clearly 
410	by lavish slaughter of steers or nimble feathered wing or the truthful leap of entrails, 
	not by means of garlanded tripod or star-determined numbers, 
	or by the smoke that hovers about the altar’s frankincense, 
	as by the ghosts called up from Death’s stern barrier; 
	then he prepares the rites of Lethe,46 and makes ready 
415	beforehand to evoke the monarch sunk below the confines 
	of Ismenos where it mingles with the deep, and makes purgation 
	all around with the torn entrails of sheep and the strong smell 
	of sulphur, and with fresh herbs and the long mutterings of prayers.
	
	There stands a wood, enduring of time, and strong and erect 
420	in age, with foliage aye unshorn nor pierced by any suns; 
	no cold of winter has injured it, nor has the South wind 
	power thereon nor Boreas swooping down from the Getic Bear. 
	Beneath is sheltered quiet, and a vague shuddering awe guards the silence, 
	and the phantom of the banished light gleams pale and ominous. 
425	Nor do the shadows lack a divine power: Latonia’s haunting presence 
	is added to the grove; her effigies wrought in pine or cedar and wood 
	or very tree are hidden in the hallowed gloom of the forest. 
	Her arrows whistle unseen through the wood, 
	her hounds bay nightly, when she flies from her uncle’s 
430	threshold and resumes afresh Diana’s kindlier shape. 
	Or when she is weary from her ranging on the hills, and the sun high in heaven 
	invites sweet slumber, here doth she rest with head flung back carelessly 
	on her quiver, while all her spears stand fixed in the earth around. 
	Outside, of vast extent, stretches the Martian plain, 
435	the field that bore its harvest to Cadmus. Hardy was he who first 
	after the kindred warfare and the crime of those same furrows 
	dared with the ploughshare till the soil and upturned the blood-soaked 
	meads; even yet the accursed earth breathes mighty tumults 
	at midday and in the lonely night’s dim shadows, 
440	when the black sons of earth arise to phantom combat: 
	with trembling limbs the husbandman flees and leaves the field 
	unfinished, and his oxen hie them to their stalls, distraught.
	
	Here the aged seer – for well suited is the ground 
	to Stygian rites, and the soil, rich with living gore, delighted him – 
445	bids dark-fleeced sheep and black oxen be set 
	before him, all the finest heads that the herds can 
	show; Dirce and gloomy Cithaeron wailed aloud, 
	and the echoing valleys shuddered at the sudden silence. 
	Then he entwined their fierce horns with wreaths of dusky hue, 
450	handling them himself, and first at the edge of that 
	well-known wood he nine times spills lavish draughts of Bacchus 
	into a hollowed trench, and gifts of vernal milk 
	and Attic rain47 and propitiatory blood to the shades 
	below; so much is poured out as the dry earth will drink. 
455	Then they roll tree trunks thither, and the sad priest 
	bids there be three altar-fires for Hecate and three 
	for the maidens born of cursed Acheron; for thee, lord of Avernus, 
	a heap of pinewood though sunk into the ground yet towers high 
	in to the air; next to this an altar of lesser bulk is raised to Ceres 
460	of the underworld; in front and on very side the cypress of lamentation 
	intertwines them. And now, their lofty heads marked 
	with the sword and the pure sprinkled meal, 
	the cattle fell under the stroke; then the virgin Manto, 
	catching the blood in bowls, makes first libation, and moving 
465	thrice round all the pyres, as her holy sire commands, 
	offers the half-dead tissues and the yet living entrails, 
	nor delays to set the devouring fire to the 
	dark foliage.
	
				And when Tiresias heard 
	the branches crackling in the flames and the grim piles 
470	roaring – for the burning heat surges before his face, 
	and the fiery vapour fills the hollows of his eyes – he exclaimed, 
	and the pyres trembled, and the flames cowered at his voice: 
	“Abodes of Tartarus and awful realms of insatiable 
	Death, and thou, most cruel of the brothers,48 to whom 
475	the shades are given to serve thee, and the eternal punishments 
	of the damned obey thee, and the palace of the underworld, 
	throw open in answer to my knocking the silent places and empty void 
	of stern Persephone, and send forth the multitude that lurk 
	in hollow night; let the ferryman row back across the Styx with groaning bark. 
480	Haste ye all together, nor let there be fore the shades 
	but one fashion of return to the light; do thou, daughter of Perses,49 
	and the cloud-wrapt Arcadian with rod of power lead in separate throng 
	the pious denizens of Elysium; but for those who died in crime, 
	who in Erebus, as among the seed of Cadmus, are most in number, 
485	be thou their leader, Tisiphone, go on before with snake thrice brandished 
	and blazing yew-branch, and throw open the light of day, 
	nor let Cerberus interpose his heads, and turn aside the ghosts that lack the light.”
	
	He spoke, and together the aged man and Phoebus’ maiden 
	waited in rapt attention. Nought feared they, for their hearts 
490	were inspired of the god; only the son of Oedipus was overcome 
	by a great terror, and in agony he grasps, now the shoulders, 
	now the hands and sacred fillets of the seer as he chants his 
	awful strain, and would fain leave the rites unfinished. 
	Even so a hunter awaits a lion roused by long shouting 
495	from his lair in the brushwood of a Gaetulian forest, 
	steeling his courage and holding his spear in a perspiring grip; 
	his face is frozen in terror and his steps tremble; “what beast 
	approaches?” he wonders, and “how mighty?” and he hears the roar 
	that gives ominous signal, and measures the growing sound in blind anxiety.
	
500	Then Tiresias, as the ghosts did not yet draw night: 
	“I bear you witness, goddesses, for whom we have drenched these flames 
	and poured propitious goblets upon the rent earth, 
	I can endure delay no further. Am I heard in vain, priest though I be? 
	Or, if a hag of Thessaly bid you with her frenzied chant, 
505	will ye then go, or so often as a Colchian witch drives you 
	with Scythian drugs and poisons, will Tartarus grow pale and stir affrighted: 
	but of me have ye less regard, if I care not to raise bodies from 
	the tomb, and bring forth urns crammed with ancient bones, 
	and profane the gods of heaven and Erebus alike, 
510	or hunt with the sword the bloodless faces 
	of the dead and pluck out their sickly tissues?50 
	Despise not these frail years nor the cloud that is upon my darkened 
	brow, despise it not, I warn you! I, too, can vent my wrath. 
	I know the name whose knowing and whose speaking ye so dread, 
515	even Hecate I can confound, feared I not thee, O Thymbraean, 
	and the high lord of the triple world,51 who may not be known. 
	Him – but I am silent; peaceful old age forbids. 
	Now will I –“
	
		But Manto, votary of Phoebus, eagerly cries: 
	“Thou art heard, O father, the pale ghost draws nigh. 
520	The Elysian void is flung open, the spacious shadows 
	of the hidden region are rent, the groves and black rivers lie clear 
	to view, and Acheron belches forth noisome mud. 
	Smoky Phlegethon rolls down his streams of murky flame, 
	and Styx interfluent sets a barrier to the sundered ghosts. 
525	Himself I behold, all pale upon his throne, 
	with Furies ministering to his fell deeds about him, 
	and the remorseless chambers and gloomy couch of Stygian Juno.52 
	Black Death sits upon an eminence and numbers the silent peoples 
	for their lord; yet the greater part of the troop remains. 
530	The Gortynian judge53 shakes them in his inexorable urn, 
	demanding the truth with threats, and constrains them to speak out 
	their whole lives’ story and at last confess their extorted gains. 
	Why should I tell thee of Hell’s monsters, of Scyllas 
	and the empty rage of Centaurs, and the Giants’ twisted chains 
535	of solid adamant, and the diminished shade of hundredfold Aegaeon?”
	
	“Even so,” said he, “O guide and strength of my old age, 
	tell me not things well known. Who knows not the aye-returning rock, 
	and the deceiving waters, and Tityos food of vultures, 
	and Ixion swooning on the long circlings of the wheel? 
540	I myself in the years of stronger manhood beheld 
	the hidden realms with Hecate as my guide, before heaven 
	whelmed my vision, and drew all my light within my mind. 
	Rather summon thou hither with thy prayers the Argive 
	and the Theban souls; the rest, my daughter, bid thou with milk 
545	four times sprinkled to aver their steps, and to leave the dreary 
	grove. Then tell me, pray, the dress and countenance of each, 
	how great their desire for the spilled blood, which folk draw nigh more haughtily, 
	and thus of each several thing inform my darkness.”
	
	She obeys, and weaves the charm wherewith she disperses the shades 
550	and calls them back when scattered; potent (but without their crimes) 
	as the Colchian maiden, or the enchantress54 Circe on the Aeaean strand. 
	Then with these words she addressed her priestly sire: 
	“First from the blood-red lake doth Cadmus raise his 
	strengthless head, and the daughter of Cytherea55 follows hard 
555	upon her spouse, and from their head twin serpents drink. 
	The earth-born company, seed of Mars, throng round them, 
	whose span of life one day did measure, and every hand is on its weapon, 
	yea, on the sword-hilt; they repel and bar approach, and rush to combat 
	with the fury of living men, nor care they to stop to the gloomy trench, 
560	but thirst to drain each other’s blood. 
	Near by is a band of Cadmus’ daughters and the sons they mourned. 
	Here we behold bereaved Autonoë56 and panting Ino, 
	looking back at the bow and pressing her sweet pledge to 
	her bosom, and Semele with arms held out to protect her womb. 
565	With shivered wands and bosom bare and bleeding, 
	the frenzy of the god now spent, doth his mother, Cadmus’ daughter, 
	follow Pentheus with wailing cries; but he fleeth by Lethe’s pathless region 
	even beyond the Stygian lakes, where his kindlier sire Echion 
	weeps over him and tends his mangled body. 
570	Sad Lycus57 too, I recognize, and the son of Aeolus,58 his right arm 
	bent behind him, and a corpse thrown upon his laden shoulder. 
	Nor yet doth that one change his appearance or the reproach 
	of his transformation, even Aristaeus’ son59: the horns roughen his brow, 
	while spear in hand he repels the hounds agape to rend him. 
575	But lo! with numerous train comes the jealous Tantalid,60 
	and proud in her grief counts o’er the bodies, 
	nought humbled by her woes; she rejoices to have escaped 
	the power of heaven, and now to give freer rein to her mad tongue.”
	
	While the chaste priestess thus recounts the tale to her father, 
580	his hoary locks trembling rise erect with lifted chaplet, 
	and his pale visage throbs with a rush of blood. 
	No longer rests he on the supporting staff or faithful maiden, 
	but standing upright cries: “Cease they song, my daughter, 
	enough have I of external light, the sluggish 
585	mists depart, black night flees from my face. 
	Comes it from the shades or from Apollo on high, this flooding 
	inspiration? Lo! I behold all that thou didst tell me of. Behold! 
	there mourn the Argive ghosts with eyes downcast! 
	grim Abas, guilty Proetus and gentle Phoroneus, 
590	and Pelops maimed61 and Oenomaus soiled with cruel dust, 
	all bedew their faces with plenteous tears. Hence do I 
	prophesy for Thebes a favouring issue of the war. But what means 
	this dense throng of warrior-souls, for such their wounds 
	and weapons prove them? Why show they gory faces and breasts, 
595	and with unsubstantial clamour raise and shake at me 
	threatening arms? Do I err, O king, or re these that band 
	of fifty?62 Chthonius thou dost behold, and Chromis 
	and Phegeus and Maeon distinguished by my laurel. 
	Rage not, ye chieftains, no mortal, believe me, dared 
600	that enterprise; ‘twas iron Atropos span you those 
	destined years. Ye have fulfilled your fate; for us cruel war remains, 
	and Tydeus yet again.” He spake, and as they swarmed upon 
	his wool-bound chaplets he drove them off and pointed them to the blood.63
	
	Reft of his comrade ghosts stood Laius on Cocytus’ dreary strand – 
605	for already had the winged god restored him to unpitying Avernus64– 
	and glancing sidelong at his dire grandson, for he knew him 
	by his face, came not like the rest of the multitude to drink 
	the blood or the other outpourings, but breathed 
	immortal hatred. But the Aonian seer delays not to lure him 
610	forward: “Renowned prince of Tyrian Thebes, 
	since whose death no day has looked with kindly aspect 
	on Amphion’s citadel, O thou who hast now enough avenged 
	thy bloody murder, O shade to whom thy issue have made full atonement, 
	whom doest thou fly, unhappy one? He65 against whom thou ragest 
615	lies a living corpse, and feels Death joined with him in linked 
	companionship, his sunken visage besmeared with blood and filth, 
	and all the light of day put out. Trust me, ‘tis a fate far worse 
	than any dying! What cause hast thou to shun thy innocent 
	grandson? Turn thy gaze hither, and take thy fill of sacrificial blood; 
620	then tell the chances that shall be, and the war’s victims, 
	whether thou art in hostile mood or pityest thy kindred’s fortunes. 
	Then will I grant thee to cross forbidden Lethe in the bark 
	thou doest desire, and set thee again at peace in the blessed land, 
	in the safe keeping of the gods of Styx.”
	
						Soothed is he by 
625	the proffered honour, and brings the colour to his cheeks,66 then thus replies: 
	“Why, when thou wert marshalling the spirits, O prophet equal to me 
	in years, why was I chosen, first out of so many shades, to speak augury 
	and to foretell what shall befall? ‘Tis enough to have remembrance of the past. 
	Seek ye my counsel, illustrious grandsons? nay, shame upon you! 
630	Him summon ye, him, to your unhallowed rites, who gladly pierces 
	his father with the sword, who turns him to the place of his begetting, 
	and casts back upon his innocent mother her own dear pledge of love. 
	And now he wearies the gods and the dark councils of the Furies, 
	and supplicates my shade for the coming strife. 
635	But if I have found such favour as a prophet of these 
	times of woe, I will speak, so far as Lachesis and grim Megaera 
	suffer me: War cometh from every side, war of countless hosts, 
	Gradivus sweeps on the sons of Lerna67 before the goads 
	of fate; them there await portents of the earth, 
640	and weapons of heaven, and glorious deaths, and unlawful 
	withholdings from the final fire.68 Victory is sure for Thebes, 
	doubt it not, nor shall thy fierce kinsman have thy realm; 
	but Furies shall possess it, and twofold impious crime, 
	and alas, in your unhappy swords your cruel father triumphs.” So speaking 
645	he faded from their sight, and left them in doubt at his mazy riddling words.
	
	Meanwhile the sons of Inachus with scattered troop had reached 
	cool Nemea and the glades that witness to Hercules’ renown; 
	already they burn with eagerness to drive off Sidonian plunder, 
	to destroy and ravage homesteads. Say thou, O Phoebus, who turned them 
650	from their path of anger, whence came their staying, and how in mid course 
	they wandered from the way; to us but scant beginnings of the tale remain.
	
	In drunken languor Liber was bringing back his array of war from 
	conquered Haemus; there had he taught the warrior Getae, 
	two winters through to hold the orgies, and white Othrys to grow green 
655	along his ridges and Rhodope to bear Icarian shade69; 
	already he draws nigh in his chariot decked with vine-leaves 
	to his mother’s city; wild lynxes bear him company 
	to right and left, and tigers lick the wine-soaked reins. 
	In his train exulting Bacchanals70 carry their spoil of beasts, 
660	half-dead wolves and mangled she-bears. 
	No sluggish retinue is his: Anger and Fury are there, 
	and Fear and Valour, and Ardour never sober, 
	and steps that stagger, an army most like to its prince. 
	But when he sees the cloud of dust surge up from Nemea, 
665	and the sun kindling on the flashing steel, 
	and Thebes not yet marshalled for battle, horror-struck at the sight, 
	though faint and reeling, he commands the brazen cymbals 
	and the drums and the noise of the double pipe, 
	screaming loudest about his astonished ears, to be silent, 
670	and thus speaks: “Against me and my race doth that host plan 
	destruction; after long time their rage gains violence anew; savage 
	Argos and my stepmother’s indomitable wrath are stirring up this war. 
	Doth it not even yet suffice – my mother’s cruel burning, 
	the natal pyre, and the lightning-flash that I myself 
675	perceived? Nay, even against the relics and the tomb of her 
	consumed rival, against idle Thebes doth she make impious attack.71 
	By craft will I contrive delay; hasten then thither, ho! my comrades, 
	thither to yon plain!” At the signal the Hyrcanian72 team pricked up 
	their crests, and, the word scarce spoken, he halted at his goal.
	
680	It was the hour when panting day uplifts the sun to the 
	mid summit of the world, when the languid heat hangs over 
	the gaping fields, and all the groves let in the sky.73 
	He summons the spirits of the waters, and as they throng round him 
	in silence he begins: “Ye rustic Nymphs, deities of the streams, 
685	no small portion of my train, fulfil the task that I now do 
	set you. Stop fast with earth awhile the Argolic river-springs, 
	I beg, and the pools and running brooks, and in 
	Nemea most of all, whereby they pass to attack 
	our walls, let he water flee from the depth; Phoebus himself, 
690	still at the summit of his path, doth aid you, so but your own 
	will fail not; the stars lend their strong influence to my design, 
	and the heat-bringing hound of my Erigone74 is foaming. Go then of your 
	goodwill, go into the hidden places of earth; afterwards will I coax you forth 
	with swelling channels, and all the choicest gifts at my altar shall be 
695	for your honour, and I will drive afar the nightly raids of the shameless 
	horn-footed ones, and the lustful rapine of the Fauns.”
	
	He spoke, and a faint blight seemed to overspread their 
	features, and the moist freshness withered from their hair. 
	Straightway fiery thirst drains the Inachian fields: 
700	the streams are gone, fountains and lakes are parched 
	and dry, and the scorched mud hardens in the river-beds. 
	A sickly drought is upon the soil, the crops of tender springing 
	wheat droop low; at the edge of the bank the flock stands 
	baffled, and the cattle seek in vain the rivers where they bathed. 
705	Even so, when ebbing Nile buries itself in mighty caverns 
	and gathers into its mouth the life-giving streams of Eastern 
	winters, the flood-deserted valleys steam, 
	Egypt gapes wide and waits expectant for the roar 
	of her sire’s waves,75 till by dint of many prayers he give sustenance 
710	to the Pharian fields and bring on a great year of harvest.
	
	Dry is guilty Lerna, dry Lyrcius and great Inachus, 
	and Charadrus that rolls down boulders on his stream, 
	bold Erasinus whom his banks ne’er contain, and Asterion 
	like a billowy sea; oft hath he been heard on pathless uplands, 
715	oft known to break the repose of distant shepherds. 
723	But Langia alone – and she by the god’s command – 
	preserves her waters in the silence of a secret shade. 
725	Not yet had slaughtered Archemorus76 brought her sorrowful renown, 
	no fame had come to the goddess; nevertheless, in far seclusion, 
	she maintains her spring and grove. Great glory awaits the nymph, 
	when the toiling contests of Achaean princes and the four-yearly festival 
	of woe shall do honour to sad Hypsipyle and holy Opheltes.77
	
730	So then neither burning shields nor close-fitting breastplates 
	have they power to carry – so fiercely doth fiery thirst78 scorch them – 
	not only their mouths and the throat’s passage are parched, 
	but a fever rages within, their hearts beat heavily, 
	the veins are thick congealed, and the tainted blood cleaves to 
735	the dried-up tissues; then the crumbling, sunburnt earth 
	exhales a hot vapour. No rain of foam from the 
	horses’ mouths, their jaws close on dry bits, 
	and far out hang their bridled tongues; 
	no restraint of their masters do they suffer, but scour the plain, 
740	maddened by the fiery heat. This way and that Adrastus 
	sends scouts to discover if the Licymnian lakes yet remain, 
	or aught of Amymone’s waters, but all lie drained by 
	fire unseen, nor is there hope of moisture from Olympus, 
	as though they ranged yellow Libya and Africa’s 
745	desert sand and Syene shaded by no cloud.
	
	At length wandering in the woodland – for so had Euhius himself 
	devised – they behold on a sudden Hypsipyle, beauteous in 
	her grief; at her breast Opheltes hangs, not her own child, 
	but the ill-starred offspring of Inachian Lycurgus79; 
750	dishevelled is her hair and poor her raiment, yet in her countenance 
	are marks of kingly birth, and a dignity not overwhelmed 
	by a bitter lot. Then Adrastus, awestruck, thus addressed her: 
	“Goddess, queen of the woodlands80 – for thy countenance and honourable 
	bearing proclaim thee of no mortal birth – thou who beneath this 
755	fiery vault art blest in needing not to search for water, succour a neighbouring 
	people; whether the Wielder of the Bow or Latona’s daughter hath set thee 
	in the bridal-chamber from her chaste company, or whether it be no lowly passion 
	but one from on high doth make thee fruitful – for the ruler of the gods himself 
	is no stranger to Argive bowers – look upon our distressed ranks. 
760	Us hath the resolve to destroy guilty Thebes with the sword 
	brought hither, but the unwarlike doom of cruel drought 
	doth bow our spirits and drain our exhausted strength. 
	Help thou our failing fortunes, whether thou hast some turbid river 
	or a stagnant marsh; nought is to be held shameful, nought too mean 
765	in such a pass as ours. Thee now in place of the Winds and rainy Jupiter 
	do we supplicate, do thou restore our ebbing might and fill again 
	our spiritless hearts; so may thy charge grow under suspicious stars! 
	Only let Jupiter grant us to return, what high-piled 
	booty of war shalt thou be given! 
770	With the blood of numerous herds of Dirce will I recompense 
	thee, O goddess, and a mighty altar shall mark this grove.” 
	He spoke, but a fevered gasping makes havoc of his words even in 
	mid-utterance, and with the rush of breath his dry tongue stutters; 
	a like pallor holds all his warriors, and like panting of the hollow cheeks.
	
775	With downcast eyes the Lemnian makes answer: 
	“No goddess indeed am I, to help you, though of heaven be 
	my descent; would that my griefs were not more than mortal! 
	‘Tis an entrusted pledge you behold me nursing, and a nurse 
	herself bereaved. But whether my sons found any lap or breasts to suckle them, 
780	heaven knoweth, – and yet I had once a kingdom and a mighty father. 
	But why do I speak thus, and stay you in your weariness from the waters ye desire? 
	Come now with me, perchance Langia’s stream yet runs unfailing; 
	for even beneath the path of the furious Crab ‘tis ever wont to flow, 
	yea, through the shaggy hide of the Icarian star81 
785	be blazing.” Forthwith, lest she prove a tardy guide to 
	the Pelasgians, she sets down the clinging infant – alas! poor child! – 
	on the grass near by – so willed the Fates – and when she would not 
	be put down consoled his pretty tears with flowers heaped around 
	and coaxing murmurs: like the Berecyntian mother, 
790	while she bids the Curetes leap in excited dance around 
	the infant Thunderer; their cymbals clash in emulous frenzy, 
	but Ide resounds with his loud wailings.
	
	But the child, lying in the bosom of the vernal earth and deep 
	in herbage, now crawls forward on his face and crushes 
795	the soft grasses, now in clamours thirst for milk 
	cries his beloved nurse; again he smiles, 
	and would fain utter words that wrestle with his infant lips, 
	and wonders at the noise of the woods, or plucks at aught he meets, 
	or with open mouth drinks in the day, and strays in the forest all 
800	ignorant of its dangers, in carelessness profound. 
	Such was the young Mars amid Odrysian snow, such the winged boy 
	on the heights of Maenalus, such was the rogue Apollo when 
	he crawled upon Ortygia’s82 shore, and set her side atilt.
	
	They go through the coppices and by devious dusky ways 
805	of shadowy green; some cluster round their guide, some throng behind, 
	others outstrip her. In the midst of the band she moves 
	with proud mien and hurrying step; and now the vale echoes loud 
	as they approach the stream, and the plashing of water upon rocks 
	assails their ears: then first from the column’s head, just as he was, 
810	with banner raised high for the nimble companies, Argus exultant 
	cries “Water!” and through the warrior’s mouths ran the long-drawn 
	shout of “Water!” Even so, along the shores of the Ambracian sea, 
	sounds forth at the helmsman’s prompting the shout of the seamen 
	at the oars, and in turn the smitten land sends back the echo, 
815	when Apollo83 at their salutation brings Leucas into view. 
	Into the stream the host plunged, indiscriminate and disordered, 
	chieftains alike and common soldiers; levelling thirst makes no distinction 
	in their confused ranks; bridled horses with their chariots, 
	chargers with armed riders all dash madly in. 
820	Some the flood whirls away, some lose their footing on the slippery 
	rocks, nor have they shame to trample their princes as they wrestle 
	with the torrent, or to sink beneath the stream the face of a friend 
	who cries for succour. Loud roar the waves, while far from the fountain-head 
	is the river plundered, that once flowed green and clear, 
825	with gentle lucid waters, but now from the depths of its channel is muddied 
	and befouled. Then the sloping banks and torn herbage are mingled 
	with the stream; and now, though it be stained and filthy with mire and earth, 
	and though their thirst be quenched, yet they drink still. One would think 
	armies strove in fight, or a pitched battle raged in the flood, 
830	or the conquerors were looting a captured city.
	
	And one of the princes, standing in the midst of the streaming river, 
	cried: “Nemea, noblest by far of verdant glades, 
	chosen seat of Jove, not even the toils of Hercules wert thou 
	more cruel, when he strangled the furious monster’s shaggy 
835	neck, and throttled the breath within its swollen limbs. 
	So far let it suffice thee to have vexed thy people’s enterprise. 
	And thou,84 whom no suns are wont to tame, 
	O horned one, so lavish of never failing waters, flow with 
	prosperous current, from whatsoever storehouse thou settest free thy 
840	cooling springs, immortally replenished; for hoary Winter pours not out 
	for thee her laid-up snows, nor doth the rainbow shed waters stolen from 
	another fount,85 nor do the pregnant storm-clouds of Corus86 show thee favour, 
	but thou flowest all thine own, and no star can overcome thee or destroy. 
	Thee neither Ladon, Apollo’s river, shall surpass, nor either Xanthus,87 
845	nor threatening Spercheus, nor Lycormas88 of Centaur’s fame; 
	thee will I celebrate in peace, thee beneath the very cloud 
	of war, and at the festal banquet, ay, honour thee next to 
	Jove himself – so but thou gladly receive our triumphing 
	arms, and again be pleased to give the welcome of thy streams 
850	to our tired warriors, and recognize of thy grace the host thou once didst save.”