“. . . with melting wax and loosened stringsSunk hapless Icarus on unfaithful wings;Headlong he rushed through the affrighted air,With limbs distorted and dishevelled hair;His scattered plumage danced upon the wave,And sorrowing Nereids decked his watery grave;O’er his pale corse their pearly sea-flowers shed,And strewed with crimson moss his marble bed;Struck in their coral towers the passing bell,And wide in ocean tolled his echoing knell.”
“. . . with melting wax and loosened stringsSunk hapless Icarus on unfaithful wings;Headlong he rushed through the affrighted air,With limbs distorted and dishevelled hair;His scattered plumage danced upon the wave,And sorrowing Nereids decked his watery grave;O’er his pale corse their pearly sea-flowers shed,And strewed with crimson moss his marble bed;Struck in their coral towers the passing bell,And wide in ocean tolled his echoing knell.”
“. . . with melting wax and loosened stringsSunk hapless Icarus on unfaithful wings;Headlong he rushed through the affrighted air,With limbs distorted and dishevelled hair;His scattered plumage danced upon the wave,And sorrowing Nereids decked his watery grave;O’er his pale corse their pearly sea-flowers shed,And strewed with crimson moss his marble bed;Struck in their coral towers the passing bell,And wide in ocean tolled his echoing knell.”
“. . . with melting wax and loosened strings
Sunk hapless Icarus on unfaithful wings;
Headlong he rushed through the affrighted air,
With limbs distorted and dishevelled hair;
His scattered plumage danced upon the wave,
And sorrowing Nereids decked his watery grave;
O’er his pale corse their pearly sea-flowers shed,
And strewed with crimson moss his marble bed;
Struck in their coral towers the passing bell,
And wide in ocean tolled his echoing knell.”
Castor and Pollux were the offspring of Leda and the Swan, under which disguise Jupiter had concealed himself. Leda gave birth to an egg from which sprang the twins. Helen, so famous afterwards as the cause of the Trojan war, was their sister.
When Theseus and his friend Pirithous had carried off Helen from Sparta, the youthful heroes Castor and Pollux, with their followers, hastened to her rescue. Theseus was absent from Attica and the brothers were successful in recovering their sister.
Castor was famous for taming and managing horses, and Pollux for skill in boxing. They were united by the warmest affection and inseparable in all their enterprises. They accompanied the Argonautic expedition. During the voyage a storm arose, and Orpheus prayed to the Samothracian gods, and played on his harp, whereupon the storm ceased and stars appeared on the heads of the brothers. From this incident, Castor and Pollux came afterwards to be considered the patron deities of seamen and voyagers, and the lambent flames, which in certain states of the atmosphere play round the sails and masts of vessels, were called by their names.
After the Argonautic expedition, we find Castor and Pollux engaged in a war with Idas and Lynceus. Castor was slain, and Pollux, inconsolable for the loss of his brother, besought Jupiter to be permitted to give his own life as a ransom for him. Jupiter so far consentedas to allow the two brothers to enjoy the boon of life alternately, passing one day under the earth and the next in the heavenly abodes. According to another form of the story, Jupiter rewarded the attachment of the brothers by placing them among the stars as Gemini the Twins.
They received divine honors under the name of Dioscuri (sons of Jove). They were believed to have appeared occasionally in later times, taking part with one side or the other, in hard-fought fields, and were said on such occasions to be mounted on magnificent white steeds. Thus in the early history of Rome they are said to have assisted the Romans at the battle of Lake Regillus, and after the victory a temple was erected in their honor on the spot where they appeared.
Macaulay, in his “Lays of Ancient Rome,” thus alludes to the legend:
“So like they were, no mortalMight one from other know;White as snow their armor was,Their steeds were white as snow.Never on earthly anvilDid such rare armor gleam,And never did such gallant steedsDrink of an earthly stream.. . . . . . .“Back comes the chief in triumphWho in the hour of fightHath seen the great Twin BrethrenIn harness on his right.Safe comes the ship to haven,Through billows and through gales,If once the great Twin BrethrenSit shining on the sails.”
“So like they were, no mortalMight one from other know;White as snow their armor was,Their steeds were white as snow.Never on earthly anvilDid such rare armor gleam,And never did such gallant steedsDrink of an earthly stream.. . . . . . .“Back comes the chief in triumphWho in the hour of fightHath seen the great Twin BrethrenIn harness on his right.Safe comes the ship to haven,Through billows and through gales,If once the great Twin BrethrenSit shining on the sails.”
“So like they were, no mortalMight one from other know;White as snow their armor was,Their steeds were white as snow.Never on earthly anvilDid such rare armor gleam,And never did such gallant steedsDrink of an earthly stream.. . . . . . .“Back comes the chief in triumphWho in the hour of fightHath seen the great Twin BrethrenIn harness on his right.Safe comes the ship to haven,Through billows and through gales,If once the great Twin BrethrenSit shining on the sails.”
“So like they were, no mortal
Might one from other know;
White as snow their armor was,
Their steeds were white as snow.
Never on earthly anvil
Did such rare armor gleam,
And never did such gallant steeds
Drink of an earthly stream.
. . . . . . .
“Back comes the chief in triumph
Who in the hour of fight
Hath seen the great Twin Brethren
In harness on his right.
Safe comes the ship to haven,
Through billows and through gales,
If once the great Twin Brethren
Sit shining on the sails.”
————
Bacchuswas the son of Jupiter and Semele. Juno, to gratify her resentment against Semele, contrived a plan for her destruction. Assuming the form of Beroë, her aged nurse, she insinuated doubts whether it was indeed Jove himself who came as a lover. Heaving a sigh, she said, “I hope it will turn out so, but I can’t help being afraid. People are not always what they pretend to be. If he is indeed Jove, make him give some proof of it. Ask him to come arrayed in all his splendors, such as he wears in heaven. That will put the matter beyond a doubt.” Semele was persuaded to try the experiment. She asks a favor, without naming what it is. Jove gives his promise, and confirms it with the irrevocable oath, attesting the river Styx, terrible to the gods themselves. Then she made known her request. The god would have stopped her as she spake, but she was too quick for him. The words escaped, and he could neither unsay his promise nor her request. In deep distress he left her and returned to the upper regions. There he clothed himself in his splendors, not putting on all his terrors, as when he overthrew the giants, but what is known among the gods as his lesser panoply. Arrayed in this, he entered the chamber of Semele. Her mortal frame could not endure the splendors of the immortal radiance. She was consumed to ashes.
Jove took the infant Bacchus and gave him in charge to the Nysæan nymphs, who nourished his infancy and childhood, and for their care were rewarded by Jupiter by being placed, as the Hyades, among the stars. When Bacchus grew up he discovered the culture of the vine and the mode of extracting its precious juice; but Juno struck him with madness, and drove him forth a wanderer through various parts of the earth. In Phrygiathe goddess Rhea cured him and taught him her religious rites, and he set out on a progress through Asia, teaching the people the cultivation of the vine. The most famous part of his wanderings is his expedition to India, which is said to have lasted several years. Returning in triumph, he undertook to introduce his worship into Greece, but was opposed by some princes, who dreaded its introduction on account of the disorders and madness it brought with it.
As he approached his native city Thebes, Pentheus the king, who had no respect for the new worship, forbade its rites to be performed. But when it was known that Bacchus was advancing, men and women, but chiefly the latter, young and old, poured forth to meet him and to join his triumphal march.
Mr. Longfellow in his “Drinking Song” thus describes the march of Bacchus:
“Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow;Ivy crowns that brow, supernalAs the forehead of Apollo,And possessing youth eternal.
“Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow;Ivy crowns that brow, supernalAs the forehead of Apollo,And possessing youth eternal.
“Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow;Ivy crowns that brow, supernalAs the forehead of Apollo,And possessing youth eternal.
“Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow;
Ivy crowns that brow, supernal
As the forehead of Apollo,
And possessing youth eternal.
“Round about him fair Bacchantes,Bearing cymbals, flutes and thyrses,Wild from Naxian groves of Zante’sVineyards, sing delirious verses.”
“Round about him fair Bacchantes,Bearing cymbals, flutes and thyrses,Wild from Naxian groves of Zante’sVineyards, sing delirious verses.”
“Round about him fair Bacchantes,Bearing cymbals, flutes and thyrses,Wild from Naxian groves of Zante’sVineyards, sing delirious verses.”
“Round about him fair Bacchantes,
Bearing cymbals, flutes and thyrses,
Wild from Naxian groves of Zante’s
Vineyards, sing delirious verses.”
It was in vain Pentheus remonstrated, commanded, and threatened. “Go,” said he to his attendants, “seize this vagabond leader of the rout and bring him to me. I will soon make him confess his false claim of heavenly parentage and renounce his counterfeit worship.” It was in vain his nearest friends and wisest counsellors remonstrated and begged him not to oppose the god. Their remonstrances only made him more violent.
But now the attendants returned whom he had despatched to seize Bacchus. They had been driven away by the Bacchanals, but had succeeded in taking one of them prisoner, whom, with his hands tied behind him, they brought before the king. Pentheus, beholding him with wrathful countenance, said, “Fellow! you shallspeedily be put to death, that your fate may be a warning to others; but though I grudge the delay of your punishment, speak, tell us who you are, and what are these new rites you presume to celebrate.”
The prisoner, unterrified, responded, “My name is Acetes; my country is Mæonia; my parents were poor people, who had no fields or flocks to leave me, but they left me their fishing rods and nets and their fisherman’s trade. This I followed for some time, till growing weary of remaining in one place, I learned the pilot’s art and how to guide my course by the stars. It happened as I was sailing for Delos we touched at the island of Dia and went ashore. Next morning I sent the men for fresh water, and myself mounted the hill to observe the wind; when my men returned bringing with them a prize, as they thought, a boy of delicate appearance, whom they had found asleep. They judged he was a noble youth, perhaps a king’s son, and they might get a liberal ransom for him. I observed his dress, his walk, his face. There was something in them which I felt sure was more than mortal. I said to my men, ‘What god there is concealed in that form I know not, but some one there certainly is. Pardon us, gentle deity, for the violence we have done you, and give success to our undertakings.’ Dictys, one of my best hands for climbing the mast and coming down by the ropes, and Melanthus, my steersman, and Epopeus, the leader of the sailor’s cry, one and all exclaimed, ‘Spare your prayers for us.’ So blind is the lust of gain! When they proceeded to put him on board I resisted them. ‘This ship shall not be profaned by such impiety,’ said I. ‘I have a greater share in her than any of you.’ But Lycabas, a turbulent fellow, seized me by the throat and attempted to throw me overboard, and I scarcely saved myself by clinging to the ropes. The rest approved the deed.
“Then Bacchus (for it was indeed he), as if shaking off his drowsiness, exclaimed, ‘What are you doing with me? What is this fighting about? Who brought me here? Where are you going to carry me?’ One of them replied, ‘Fear nothing; tell us where you wishto go and we will take you there.’ ‘Naxos is my home,’ said Bacchus; ‘take me there and you shall be well rewarded.’ They promised so to do, and told me to pilot the ship to Naxos. Naxos lay to the right, and I was trimming the sails to carry us there, when some by signs and others by whispers signified to me their will that I should sail in the opposite direction, and take the boy to Egypt to sell him for a slave. I was confounded and said, ‘Let some one else pilot the ship;’ withdrawing myself from any further agency in their wickedness. They cursed me, and one of them, exclaiming, ‘Don’t flatter yourself that we depend on you for our safety,’ took my place as pilot, and bore away from Naxos.
“Then the god, pretending that he had just become aware of their treachery, looked out over the sea and said in a voice of weeping, ‘Sailors, these are not the shores you promised to take me to; yonder island is not my home. What have I done that you should treat me so? It is small glory you will gain by cheating a poor boy.’ I wept to hear him, but the crew laughed at both of us, and sped the vessel fast over the sea. All at once—strange as it may seem, it is true,—the vessel stopped, in the mid sea, as fast as if it was fixed on the ground. The men, astonished, pulled at their oars, and spread more sail, trying to make progress by the aid of both, but all in vain. Ivy twined round the oars and hindered their motion, and clung to the sails, with heavy clusters of berries. A vine, laden with grapes, ran up the mast, and along the sides of the vessel. The sound of flutes was heard and the odor of fragrant wine spread all around. The god himself had a chaplet of vine leaves, and bore in his hand a spear wreathed with ivy. Tigers crouched at his feet, and forms of lynxes and spotted panthers played around him. The men were seized with terror or madness; some leaped overboard; others preparing to do the same beheld their companions in the water undergoing a change, their bodies becoming flattened and ending in a crooked tail. One exclaimed, ‘What miracle is this!’ and as he spoke his mouth widened, his nostrils expanded, and scales covered all his body. Another, endeavoring to pull the oar,felt his hands shrink up and presently to be no longer hands but fins; another, trying to raise his arms to a rope, found he had no arms, and curving his mutilated body, jumped into the sea. What had been his legs became the two ends of a crescent-shaped tail. The whole crew became dolphins and swam about the ship, now upon the surface, now under it, scattering the spray, and spouting the water from their broad nostrils. Of twenty men I alone was left. Trembling with fear, the god cheered me. ‘Fear not,’ said he; ‘steer towards Naxos.’ I obeyed, and when we arrived there, I kindled the altars and celebrated the sacred rites of Bacchus.”
Pentheus here exclaimed, “We have wasted time enough on this silly story. Take him away and have him executed without delay.” Acetes was led away by the attendants and shut up fast in prison; but while they were getting ready the instruments of execution the prison doors came open of their own accord and the chains fell from his limbs, and when they looked for him he was nowhere to be found.
Pentheus would take no warning, but instead of sending others, determined to go himself to the scene of the solemnities. The mountain Citheron was all alive with worshippers, and the cries of the Bacchanals resounded on every side. The noise roused the anger of Pentheus as the sound of a trumpet does the fire of a war-horse. He penetrated through the wood and reached an open space where the chief scene of the orgies met his eyes. At the same moment the women saw him; and first among them his own mother, Agave, blinded by the god, cried out, “See there the wild boar, the hugest monster that prowls in these woods! Come on, sisters! I will be the first to strike the wild boar.” The whole band rushed upon him, and while he now talks less arrogantly, now excuses himself, and now confesses his crime and implores pardon, they press upon him and wound him. In vain he cries to his aunts to protect him from his mother. Autonoë seized one arm, Ino the other, and between them he was torn to pieces, while his mother shouted, “Victory! Victory! we have done it; the glory is ours!”
So the worship of Bacchus was established in Greece.
There is an allusion to the story of Bacchus and the mariners in Milton’s “Comus,” at line 46. The story of Circe will be found inChapter XXIX.
“Bacchus that first from out the purple grapesCrushed the sweet poison of misused wine,After the Tuscan mariners transformed,Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the winds listedOn Circe’s island fell (who knows not Circe,The daughter of the Sun? whose charmed cupWhoever tasted lost his upright shape,And downward fell into a grovelling swine).”
“Bacchus that first from out the purple grapesCrushed the sweet poison of misused wine,After the Tuscan mariners transformed,Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the winds listedOn Circe’s island fell (who knows not Circe,The daughter of the Sun? whose charmed cupWhoever tasted lost his upright shape,And downward fell into a grovelling swine).”
“Bacchus that first from out the purple grapesCrushed the sweet poison of misused wine,After the Tuscan mariners transformed,Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the winds listedOn Circe’s island fell (who knows not Circe,The daughter of the Sun? whose charmed cupWhoever tasted lost his upright shape,And downward fell into a grovelling swine).”
“Bacchus that first from out the purple grapes
Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,
After the Tuscan mariners transformed,
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore as the winds listed
On Circe’s island fell (who knows not Circe,
The daughter of the Sun? whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,
And downward fell into a grovelling swine).”
We have seen in the story of Theseus how Ariadne, the daughter of King Minos, after helping Theseus to escape from the labyrinth, was carried by him to the island of Naxos and was left there asleep, while the ungrateful Theseus pursued his way home without her. Ariadne, on waking and finding herself deserted, abandoned herself to grief. But Venus took pity on her, and consoled her with the promise that she should have an immortal lover, instead of the mortal one she had lost.
The island where Ariadne was left was the favorite island of Bacchus, the same that he wished the Tyrrhenian mariners to carry him to, when they so treacherously attempted to make prize of him. As Ariadne sat lamenting her fate, Bacchus found her, consoled her, and made her his wife. As a marriage present he gave her a golden crown, enriched with gems, and when she died, he took her crown and threw it up into the sky. As it mounted the gems grew brighter and were turned into stars, and preserving its form Ariadne’s crown remains fixed in the heavens as a constellation, between the kneeling Hercules and the man who holds the serpent.
Spenser alludes to Ariadne’s crown, though he has made some mistakes in his mythology. It was at thewedding of Pirithous, and not Theseus, that the Centaurs and Lapithæ quarrelled.
“Look how the crown which Ariadne woreUpon her ivory forehead that same dayThat Theseus her unto his bridal bore,Then the bold Centaurs made that bloody frayWith the fierce Lapiths which did them dismay;Being now placed in the firmament,Through the bright heaven doth her beams display,And is unto the stars an ornament,Which round about her move in order excellent.”
“Look how the crown which Ariadne woreUpon her ivory forehead that same dayThat Theseus her unto his bridal bore,Then the bold Centaurs made that bloody frayWith the fierce Lapiths which did them dismay;Being now placed in the firmament,Through the bright heaven doth her beams display,And is unto the stars an ornament,Which round about her move in order excellent.”
“Look how the crown which Ariadne woreUpon her ivory forehead that same dayThat Theseus her unto his bridal bore,Then the bold Centaurs made that bloody frayWith the fierce Lapiths which did them dismay;Being now placed in the firmament,Through the bright heaven doth her beams display,And is unto the stars an ornament,Which round about her move in order excellent.”
“Look how the crown which Ariadne wore
Upon her ivory forehead that same day
That Theseus her unto his bridal bore,
Then the bold Centaurs made that bloody fray
With the fierce Lapiths which did them dismay;
Being now placed in the firmament,
Through the bright heaven doth her beams display,
And is unto the stars an ornament,
Which round about her move in order excellent.”
————
Pan, the god of woods and fields, of flocks and shepherds, dwelt in grottos, wandered on the mountains and in valleys, and amused himself with the chase or in leading the dances of the nymphs. He was fond of music, and as we have seen, the inventor of the syrinx, or shepherd’s pipe, which he himself played in a masterly manner. Pan, like other gods who dwelt in forests, was dreaded by those whose occupations caused them to pass through the woods by night, for the gloom and loneliness of such scenes dispose the mind to superstitious fears. Hence sudden fright without any visible cause was ascribed to Pan, and called a Panic terror.
As the name of the god signifiesall, Pan came to be considered a symbol of the universe and personification of Nature; and later still to be regarded as a representative of all the gods and of heathenism itself.
Sylvanus and Faunus were Latin divinities, whose characteristics are so nearly the same as those of Pan that we may safely consider them as the same personage under different names.
The wood-nymphs, Pan’s partners in the dance, were but one class of nymphs. There were beside them the Naiads, who presided over brooks and fountains, the Oreads, nymphs of mountains and grottos, and the Nereids, sea-nymphs. The three last named were immortal, but the wood-nymphs, called Dryads or Hamadryads, were believed to perish with the trees which had been their abode and with which they had come into existence. It was therefore an impious act wantonly to destroy a tree, and in some aggravated cases were severely punished, as in the instance of Erisichthon, which we are about to record.
Milton in his glowing description of the early creation, thus alludes to Pan as the personification of Nature:
“. . . Universal Pan,Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,Led on the eternal spring.”
“. . . Universal Pan,Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,Led on the eternal spring.”
“. . . Universal Pan,Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,Led on the eternal spring.”
“. . . Universal Pan,
Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,
Led on the eternal spring.”
And describing Eve’s abode:
“. . . In shadier bower,More sacred or sequestered, though but feigned,Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymphNor Faunus haunted.”—Paradise Lost, B. IV.
“. . . In shadier bower,More sacred or sequestered, though but feigned,Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymphNor Faunus haunted.”—Paradise Lost, B. IV.
“. . . In shadier bower,More sacred or sequestered, though but feigned,Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymphNor Faunus haunted.”—Paradise Lost, B. IV.
“. . . In shadier bower,More sacred or sequestered, though but feigned,Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymphNor Faunus haunted.”—Paradise Lost, B. IV.
“. . . In shadier bower,
More sacred or sequestered, though but feigned,
Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymph
Nor Faunus haunted.”
—Paradise Lost, B. IV.
It was a pleasing trait in the old Paganism that it loved to trace in every operation of nature the agency of deity. The imagination of the Greeks peopled all the regions of earth and sea with divinities, to whose agency it attributed those phenomena which our philosophy ascribes to the operation of the laws of nature. Sometimes in our poetical moods we feel disposed to regret the change, and to think that the heart has lost as much as the head has gained by the substitution. The poet Wordsworth thus strongly expresses this sentiment:
“. . . Great God, I’d rather beA Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn,So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,And hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”
“. . . Great God, I’d rather beA Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn,So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,And hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”
“. . . Great God, I’d rather beA Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn,So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,And hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”
“. . . Great God, I’d rather be
A Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,
And hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”
Schiller, in his poem “Die Götter Griechenlands,” expresses his regret for the overthrow of the beautiful mythology of ancient times in a way which has called forth an answer from a Christian poet, Mrs. E. Barrett Browning, in her poem called “The Dead Pan.” The two following verses are a specimen:
“By your beauty which confessesSome chief Beauty conquering you,By our grand heroic guessesThrough your falsehood at the True,We will weepnot! earth shall rollHeir to each god’s aureole,And Pan is dead.
“By your beauty which confessesSome chief Beauty conquering you,By our grand heroic guessesThrough your falsehood at the True,We will weepnot! earth shall rollHeir to each god’s aureole,And Pan is dead.
“By your beauty which confessesSome chief Beauty conquering you,By our grand heroic guessesThrough your falsehood at the True,We will weepnot! earth shall rollHeir to each god’s aureole,And Pan is dead.
“By your beauty which confesses
Some chief Beauty conquering you,
By our grand heroic guesses
Through your falsehood at the True,
We will weepnot! earth shall roll
Heir to each god’s aureole,
And Pan is dead.
“Earth outgrows the mythic fanciesSung beside her in her youth;And those debonaire romancesSound but dull beside the truth.Phœbus’ chariot course is run!Look up, poets, to the sun!Pan, Pan is dead.”
“Earth outgrows the mythic fanciesSung beside her in her youth;And those debonaire romancesSound but dull beside the truth.Phœbus’ chariot course is run!Look up, poets, to the sun!Pan, Pan is dead.”
“Earth outgrows the mythic fanciesSung beside her in her youth;And those debonaire romancesSound but dull beside the truth.Phœbus’ chariot course is run!Look up, poets, to the sun!Pan, Pan is dead.”
“Earth outgrows the mythic fancies
Sung beside her in her youth;
And those debonaire romances
Sound but dull beside the truth.
Phœbus’ chariot course is run!
Look up, poets, to the sun!
Pan, Pan is dead.”
These lines are founded on an early Christian tradition that when the heavenly host told the shepherds at Bethlehem of the birth of Christ, a deep groan, heard through all the isles of Greece, told that the great Pan was dead, and that all the royalty of Olympus was dethroned and the several deities were sent wandering in cold and darkness. So Milton in his “Hymn on the Nativity”:
“The lonely mountains o’er,And the resounding shore,A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;From haunted spring and dale,Edged with poplar pale,The parting Genius is with sighing sent;With flower-enwoven tresses torn,The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.”
“The lonely mountains o’er,And the resounding shore,A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;From haunted spring and dale,Edged with poplar pale,The parting Genius is with sighing sent;With flower-enwoven tresses torn,The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.”
“The lonely mountains o’er,And the resounding shore,A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;From haunted spring and dale,Edged with poplar pale,The parting Genius is with sighing sent;With flower-enwoven tresses torn,The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.”
“The lonely mountains o’er,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;
From haunted spring and dale,
Edged with poplar pale,
The parting Genius is with sighing sent;
With flower-enwoven tresses torn,
The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.”
Erisichthon was a profane person and a despiser of the gods. On one occasion he presumed to violate with the axe a grove sacred to Ceres. There stood in this grove a venerable oak so large that it seemed a wood in itself, its ancient trunk towering aloft, whereon votive garlands were often hung and inscriptions carved expressing the gratitude of suppliants to the nymph of the tree. Often had the Dryads danced round it hand in hand. Its trunk measured fifteen cubits round, and it overtopped the other trees as they overtopped the shrubbery. But for all that, Erisichthon saw no reason why he should spare it and he ordered his servants to cut it down. When he saw them hesitate he snatched an axe from one, and thus impiously exclaimed: “I care not whether it be a tree beloved of the goddess or not; were it the goddess herself it should come down if it stood in my way.” So saying, he lifted the axe and the oak seemed to shudder and utter a groan. When the first blow fell upon the trunk blood flowed from the wound. All the bystanders were horror-struck, and one of them ventured to remonstrate and hold back the fatal axe. Erisichthon, with a scornful look, said to him, “Receive the reward of your piety;” and turned against him the weapon which he had held aside from the tree, gashed his body with many wounds, and cut off his head. Then from the midst of the oak came a voice, “I who dwell in this tree am a nymph beloved of Ceres, and dying by your hands forewarn you that punishment awaits you.” He desisted not from his crime, and at last the tree, sundered by repeated blows and drawn by ropes, fell with a crash and prostrated a great part of the grove in its fall.
The Dryads in dismay at the loss of their companion and at seeing the pride of the forest laid low, went in a body to Ceres, all clad in garments of mourning, and invoked punishment upon Erisichthon. She nodded her assent, and as she bowed her head the grain ripe for harvest in the laden fields bowed also. She planned a punishment so dire that one would pity him,if such a culprit as he could be pitied,—to deliver him over to Famine. As Ceres herself could not approach Famine, for the Fates have ordained that these two goddesses shall never come together, she called an Oread from her mountain and spoke to her in these words: “There is a place in the farthest part of ice-clad Scythia, a sad and sterile region without trees and without crops. Cold dwells there, and Fear and Shuddering, and Famine. Go and tell the last to take possession of the bowels of Erisichthon. Let not abundance subdue her, nor the power of my gifts drive her away. Be not alarmed at the distance” (for Famine dwells very far from Ceres), “but take my chariot. The dragons are fleet and obey the rein, and will take you through the air in a short time.” So she gave her the reins, and she drove away and soon reached Scythia. On arriving at Mount Caucasus she stopped the dragons and found Famine in a stony field, pulling up with teeth and claws the scanty herbage. Her hair was rough, her eyes sunk, her face pale, her lips blanched, her jaws covered with dust, and her skin drawn tight, so as to show all her bones. As the Oread saw her afar off (for she did not dare to come near), she delivered the commands of Ceres; and, though she stopped as short a time as possible, and kept her distance as well as she could, yet she began to feel hungry, and turned the dragons’ heads and drove back to Thessaly.
Famine obeyed the commands of Ceres and sped through the air to the dwelling of Erisichthon, entered the bedchamber of the guilty man, and found him asleep. She enfolded him with her wings and breathed herself into him, infusing her poison into his veins. Having discharged her task, she hastened to leave the land of plenty and returned to her accustomed haunts. Erisichthon still slept, and in his dreams craved food, and moved his jaws as if eating. When he awoke, his hunger was raging. Without a moment’s delay he would have food set before him, of whatever kind earth, sea, or air produces; and complained of hunger even while he ate. What would have sufficed for a city or a nation, was not enough for him. The more he ate themore he craved. His hunger was like the sea, which receives all the rivers, yet is never filled; or like fire, that burns all the fuel that is heaped upon it, yet is still voracious for more.
His property rapidly diminished under the unceasing demands of his appetite, but his hunger continued unabated. At length he had spent all and had only his daughter left, a daughter worthy of a better parent.Her too he sold.She scorned to be the slave of a purchaser and as she stood by the seaside raised her hands in prayer to Neptune. He heard her prayer, and though her new master was not far off and had his eye upon her a moment before, Neptune changed her form and made her assume that of a fisherman busy at his occupation. Her master, looking for her and seeing her in her altered form, addressed her and said, “Good fisherman, whither went the maiden whom I saw just now, with hair dishevelled and in humble garb, standing about where you stand? Tell me truly; so may your luck be good and not a fish nibble at your hook and get away.” She perceived that her prayer was answered and rejoiced inwardly at hearing herself inquired of about herself. She replied, “Pardon me, stranger, but I have been so intent upon my line that I have seen nothing else; but I wish I may never catch another fish if I believe any woman or other person except myself to have been hereabouts for some time.” He was deceived and went his way, thinking his slave had escaped. Then she resumed her own form. Her father was well pleased to find her still with him, and the money too that he got by the sale of her; so he sold her again. But she was changed by the favor of Neptune as often as she was sold, now into a horse, now a bird, now an ox, and now a stag,—got away from her purchasers and came home. By this base method the starving father procured food; but not enough for his wants, and at last hunger compelled him to devour his limbs, and he strove to nourish his body by eating his body, till death relieved him from the vengeance of Ceres.
The Hamadryads could appreciate services as well as punish injuries. The story of Rhœcus proves this. Rhœcus, happening to see an oak just ready to fall, ordered his servants to prop it up. The nymph, who had been on the point of perishing with the tree, came and expressed her gratitude to him for having saved her life and bade him ask what reward he would. Rhœcus boldly asked her love and the nymph yielded to his desire. She at the same time charged him to be constant and told him that a bee should be her messenger and let him know when she would admit his society. One time the bee came to Rhœcus when he was playing at draughts and he carelessly brushed it away. This so incensed the nymph that she deprived him of sight.
Our countryman, J. R. Lowell, has taken this story for the subject of one of his shorter poems. He introduces it thus:
“Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece,As full of freedom, youth and beauty still,As the immortal freshness of that graceCarved for all ages on some Attic frieze.”
“Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece,As full of freedom, youth and beauty still,As the immortal freshness of that graceCarved for all ages on some Attic frieze.”
“Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece,As full of freedom, youth and beauty still,As the immortal freshness of that graceCarved for all ages on some Attic frieze.”
“Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece,
As full of freedom, youth and beauty still,
As the immortal freshness of that grace
Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze.”
Oceanus and Tethys were the Titans who ruled over the watery element. When Jove and his brothers overthrew the Titans and assumed their power, Neptune and Amphitrite succeeded to the dominion of the waters in place of Oceanus and Tethys.
Neptune was the chief of the water deities. The symbol of his power was the trident, or spear with three points, with which he used to shatter rocks, to call forth or subdue storms, to shake the shores and the like. He created the horse and was the patron ofhorse races. His own horses had brazen hoofs and golden manes. They drew his chariot over the sea, which became smooth before him, while the monsters of the deep gambolled about his path.
Amphitrite was the wife of Neptune. She was the daughter of Nereus and Doris, and the mother of Triton. Neptune, to pay his court to Amphitrite, came riding on a dolphin. Having won her he rewarded the dolphin by placing him among the stars.
Nereus and Doris were the parents of the Nereids, the most celebrated of whom were Amphitrite, Thetis, the mother of Achilles, and Galatea, who was loved by the Cyclops Polyphemus. Nereus was distinguished for his knowledge and his love of truth and justice, whence he was termed an elder; the gift of prophecy was also assigned to him.
Triton was the son of Neptune and Amphitrite, and the poets make him his father’s trumpeter. Proteus was also a son of Neptune. He, like Nereus, is styled a sea-elder for his wisdom and knowledge of future events. His peculiar power was that of changing his shape at will.
Thetis, the daughter of Nereus and Doris, was so beautiful that Jupiter himself sought her in marriage; but having learned from Prometheus the Titan that Thetis should bear a son who should grow greater than his father, Jupiter desisted from his suit and decreed that Thetis should be the wife of a mortal. By the aid of Chiron the Centaur, Peleus succeeded in winningthe goddess for his bride and their son was the renowned Achilles. In our chapter on the Trojan war it will appear that Thetis was a faithful mother to him, aiding him in all difficulties, and watching over his interests from the first to the last.
Ino, the daughter of Cadmus and wife of Athamas, flying from her frantic husband with her little son Melicertes in her arms, sprang from a cliff into the sea. The gods, out of compassion, made her a goddess of the sea, under the name of Leucothea, and him a god, under that of Palæmon. Both were held powerful to save from shipwreck and were invoked by sailors. Palæmon was usually represented riding on a dolphin. The Isthmian games were celebrated in his honor. He was called Portunus by the Romans, and believed to have jurisdiction of the ports and shores.
Milton alludes to all these deities in the song at the conclusion of “Comus”:
“. . . Sabrina fair,Listen and appear to us,In name of great Oceanus;By the earth-shaking Neptune’s mace,And Tethys’ grave, majestic pace,By hoary Nereus’ wrinkled look,And the Carpathian wizard’s hook,[20]By scaly Triton’s winding shell,And old soothsaying Glaucus’ spell,By Leucothea’s lovely hands,And her son who rules the strands.By Thetis’ tinsel-slippered feet,And the songs of Sirens sweet;” etc.
“. . . Sabrina fair,Listen and appear to us,In name of great Oceanus;By the earth-shaking Neptune’s mace,And Tethys’ grave, majestic pace,By hoary Nereus’ wrinkled look,And the Carpathian wizard’s hook,[20]By scaly Triton’s winding shell,And old soothsaying Glaucus’ spell,By Leucothea’s lovely hands,And her son who rules the strands.By Thetis’ tinsel-slippered feet,And the songs of Sirens sweet;” etc.
“. . . Sabrina fair,Listen and appear to us,In name of great Oceanus;By the earth-shaking Neptune’s mace,And Tethys’ grave, majestic pace,By hoary Nereus’ wrinkled look,And the Carpathian wizard’s hook,[20]By scaly Triton’s winding shell,And old soothsaying Glaucus’ spell,By Leucothea’s lovely hands,And her son who rules the strands.By Thetis’ tinsel-slippered feet,And the songs of Sirens sweet;” etc.
“. . . Sabrina fair,
Listen and appear to us,
In name of great Oceanus;
By the earth-shaking Neptune’s mace,
And Tethys’ grave, majestic pace,
By hoary Nereus’ wrinkled look,
And the Carpathian wizard’s hook,[20]
By scaly Triton’s winding shell,
And old soothsaying Glaucus’ spell,
By Leucothea’s lovely hands,
And her son who rules the strands.
By Thetis’ tinsel-slippered feet,
And the songs of Sirens sweet;” etc.
Armstrong, the poet of the “Art of preserving Health,” under the inspiration of Hygeia, the goddess of health, thus celebrates the Naiads. Pæon is a name both of Apollo and Æsculapius.
“Come, ye Naiads! to the fountains lead!Propitious maids! the task remains to singYour gifts (so Pæon, so the powers of HealthCommand), to praise your crystal element.O comfortable streams! with eager lipsAnd trembling hands the languid thirsty quaffNew life in you; fresh vigor fills their veins.No warmer cups the rural ages knew,None warmer sought the sires of humankind;Happy in temperate peace their equal daysFelt not the alternate fits of feverish mirthAnd sick dejection; still serene and pleased,Blessed with divine immunity from ills,Long centuries they lived; their only fateWas ripe old age, and rather sleep than death.”
“Come, ye Naiads! to the fountains lead!Propitious maids! the task remains to singYour gifts (so Pæon, so the powers of HealthCommand), to praise your crystal element.O comfortable streams! with eager lipsAnd trembling hands the languid thirsty quaffNew life in you; fresh vigor fills their veins.No warmer cups the rural ages knew,None warmer sought the sires of humankind;Happy in temperate peace their equal daysFelt not the alternate fits of feverish mirthAnd sick dejection; still serene and pleased,Blessed with divine immunity from ills,Long centuries they lived; their only fateWas ripe old age, and rather sleep than death.”
“Come, ye Naiads! to the fountains lead!Propitious maids! the task remains to singYour gifts (so Pæon, so the powers of HealthCommand), to praise your crystal element.O comfortable streams! with eager lipsAnd trembling hands the languid thirsty quaffNew life in you; fresh vigor fills their veins.No warmer cups the rural ages knew,None warmer sought the sires of humankind;Happy in temperate peace their equal daysFelt not the alternate fits of feverish mirthAnd sick dejection; still serene and pleased,Blessed with divine immunity from ills,Long centuries they lived; their only fateWas ripe old age, and rather sleep than death.”
“Come, ye Naiads! to the fountains lead!
Propitious maids! the task remains to sing
Your gifts (so Pæon, so the powers of Health
Command), to praise your crystal element.
O comfortable streams! with eager lips
And trembling hands the languid thirsty quaff
New life in you; fresh vigor fills their veins.
No warmer cups the rural ages knew,
None warmer sought the sires of humankind;
Happy in temperate peace their equal days
Felt not the alternate fits of feverish mirth
And sick dejection; still serene and pleased,
Blessed with divine immunity from ills,
Long centuries they lived; their only fate
Was ripe old age, and rather sleep than death.”
By this name the Latins designated the Muses, but included under it also some other deities, principally nymphs of fountains. Egeria was one of them, whose fountain and grotto are still shown. It was said that Numa, the second king of Rome, was favored by this nymph with secret interviews, in which she taught him those lessons of wisdom and of law which he imbodied in the institutions of his rising nation. After the death of Numa the nymph pined away and was changed into a fountain.
Byron, in “Childe Harold,” Canto IV., thus alludes to Egeria and her grotto:
“Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover,Egeria! all thy heavenly bosom beatingFor the far footsteps of thy mortal lover;The purple midnight veiled that mystic meetingWith her most starry canopy;” etc.
“Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover,Egeria! all thy heavenly bosom beatingFor the far footsteps of thy mortal lover;The purple midnight veiled that mystic meetingWith her most starry canopy;” etc.
“Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover,Egeria! all thy heavenly bosom beatingFor the far footsteps of thy mortal lover;The purple midnight veiled that mystic meetingWith her most starry canopy;” etc.
“Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover,
Egeria! all thy heavenly bosom beating
For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover;
The purple midnight veiled that mystic meeting
With her most starry canopy;” etc.
Tennyson, also, in his “Palace of Art,” gives us a glimpse of the royal lover expecting the interview:
“Holding one hand against his ear,To list a footfall ere he sawThe wood-nymph, stayed the Tuscan king to hearOf wisdom and of law.”
“Holding one hand against his ear,To list a footfall ere he sawThe wood-nymph, stayed the Tuscan king to hearOf wisdom and of law.”
“Holding one hand against his ear,To list a footfall ere he sawThe wood-nymph, stayed the Tuscan king to hearOf wisdom and of law.”
“Holding one hand against his ear,
To list a footfall ere he saw
The wood-nymph, stayed the Tuscan king to hear
Of wisdom and of law.”
When so many less active agencies were personified, it is not to be supposed that the winds failed to be so. They were Boreas or Aquilo, the north wind; Zephyrus or Favonius, the west; Notus or Auster, the south; and Eurus, the east. The first two have been chiefly celebrated by the poets, the former as the type of rudeness, the latter of gentleness. Boreas loved the nymph Orithyia, and tried to play the lover’s part, but met with poor success. It was hard for him to breathe gently, and sighing was out of the question. Weary at last of fruitless endeavors, he acted out his true character, seized the maiden and carried her off. Their children were Zetes and Calais, winged warriors, who accompanied the Argonautic expedition, and did good service in an encounter with those monstrous birds the Harpies.
Zephyrus was the lover of Flora. Milton alludes to them in “Paradise Lost,” where he describes Adam waking and contemplating Eve still asleep.
“. . . He on his sideLeaning half raised, with looks of cordial love,Hung over her enamored, and beheldBeauty which, whether waking or asleep,Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice,Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,Her hand soft touching, whispered thus: ‘Awake!My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,Heaven’s last, best gift, my ever-new delight.’ ”
“. . . He on his sideLeaning half raised, with looks of cordial love,Hung over her enamored, and beheldBeauty which, whether waking or asleep,Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice,Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,Her hand soft touching, whispered thus: ‘Awake!My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,Heaven’s last, best gift, my ever-new delight.’ ”
“. . . He on his sideLeaning half raised, with looks of cordial love,Hung over her enamored, and beheldBeauty which, whether waking or asleep,Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice,Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,Her hand soft touching, whispered thus: ‘Awake!My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,Heaven’s last, best gift, my ever-new delight.’ ”
“. . . He on his side
Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love,
Hung over her enamored, and beheld
Beauty which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice,
Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus: ‘Awake!
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,
Heaven’s last, best gift, my ever-new delight.’ ”
Dr. Young, the poet of the “Night Thoughts,” addressing the idle and luxurious, says:
“Ye delicate! who nothing can support(Yourselves most insupportable) for whomThe winter rose must blow, . . .. . . and silky softFavonius breathe still softer or be chid!”
“Ye delicate! who nothing can support(Yourselves most insupportable) for whomThe winter rose must blow, . . .. . . and silky softFavonius breathe still softer or be chid!”
“Ye delicate! who nothing can support(Yourselves most insupportable) for whomThe winter rose must blow, . . .. . . and silky softFavonius breathe still softer or be chid!”
“Ye delicate! who nothing can support
(Yourselves most insupportable) for whom
The winter rose must blow, . . .
. . . and silky soft
Favonius breathe still softer or be chid!”
HERCULES IN BATTLE WITH A CENTAUR.Florence. John of Bologna.
HERCULES IN BATTLE WITH A CENTAUR.Florence. John of Bologna.
PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.From painting by A. Maignan.
PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.From painting by A. Maignan.
————
Theriver-god Achelous told the story of Erisichthon to Theseus and his companions, whom he was entertaining at his hospitable board, while they were delayed on their journey by the overflow of his waters. Having finished his story, he added, “But why should I tell of other persons’ transformations when I myself am an instance of the possession of this power? Sometimes I become a serpent, and sometimes a bull, with horns on my head. Or I should say I once could do so; but now I have but one horn, having lost one.” And here he groaned and was silent.
Theseus asked him the cause of his grief, and how he lost his horn. To which question the river-god replied as follows: “Who likes to tell of his defeats? Yet I will not hesitate to relate mine, comforting myself with the thought of the greatness of my conqueror, for it was Hercules. Perhaps you have heard of the fame of Dejanira, the fairest of maidens, whom a host of suitors strove to win. Hercules and myself were of the number, and the rest yielded to us two. He urged in his behalf his descent from Jove and his labors by which he had exceeded the exactions of Juno, his stepmother. I, on the other hand, said to the father of the maiden, ‘Behold me, the king of the waters that flowthrough your land. I am no stranger from a foreign shore, but belong to the country, a part of your realm. Let it not stand in my way that royal Juno owes me no enmity nor punishes me with heavy tasks. As for this man, who boasts himself the son of Jove, it is either a false pretence, or disgraceful to him if true, for it cannot be true except by his mother’s shame.’ As I said this Hercules scowled upon me, and with difficulty restrained his rage. ‘My hand will answer better than my tongue,’ said he. ‘I yield to you the victory in words, but trust my cause to the strife of deeds.’ With that he advanced towards me, and I was ashamed, after what I had said, to yield. I threw off my green vesture and presented myself for the struggle. He tried to throw me, now attacking my head, now my body. My bulk was my protection, and he assailed me in vain. For a time we stopped, then returned to the conflict. We each kept our position, determined not to yield, foot to foot, I bending over him, clenching his hand in mine, with my forehead almost touching his. Thrice Hercules tried to throw me off, and the fourth time he succeeded, brought me to the ground, and himself upon my back. I tell you the truth, it was as if a mountain had fallen on me. I struggled to get my arms at liberty, panting and reeking with perspiration. He gave me no chance to recover, but seized my throat. My knees were on the earth and my mouth in the dust.
“Finding that I was no match for him in the warrior’s art, I resorted to others and glided away in the form of a serpent. I curled my body in a coil and hissed at him with my forked tongue. He smiled scornfully at this, and said, ‘It was the labor of my infancy to conquer snakes.’ So saying he clasped my neck with his hands. I was almost choked, and struggled to get my neck out of his grasp. Vanquished in this form, I tried what alone remained to me and assumed the form of a bull. He grasped my neck with his arm, and dragging my head down to the ground, overthrew me on the sand. Nor was this enough. His ruthless hand rent my horn from my head. The Naiades took it, consecrated it, and filled it with fragrant flowers. Plentyadopted my horn and made it her own, and called it ‘Cornucopia.’ ”
The ancients were fond of finding a hidden meaning in their mythological tales. They explain this fight of Achelous with Hercules by saying Achelous was a river that in seasons of rain overflowed its banks. When the fable says that Achelous loved Dejanira, and sought a union with her, the meaning is that the river in its windings flowed through part of Dejanira’s kingdom. It was said to take the form of a snake because of its winding, and of a bull because it made a brawling or roaring in its course. When the river swelled, it made itself another channel. Thus its head was horned. Hercules prevented the return of these periodical overflows by embankments and canals; and therefore he was said to have vanquished the river-god and cut off his horn. Finally, the lands formerly subject to overflow, but now redeemed, became very fertile, and this is meant by the horn of plenty.
There is another account of the origin of the Cornucopia. Jupiter at his birth was committed by his mother Rhea to the care of the daughters of Melisseus, a Cretan king. They fed the infant deity with the milk of the goat Amalthea. Jupiter broke off one of the horns of the goat and gave it to his nurses, and endowed it with the wonderful power of becoming filled with whatever the possessor might wish.
The name of Amalthea is also given by some writers to the mother of Bacchus. It is thus used by Milton, “Paradise Lost,” Book IV.: