Statius
Translated by William Lillington Lewis, 1767
The Aegean island of Lemnos, where Philoctetes was abandoned in the previous story, also features in the Thebaid of Statius (c. AD 45–c. 96). A Latin epic composed in the 80s or early 90s AD, the Thebaid retells the legend of the struggle of the sons of Oedipus for the throne of Thebes – dramatized some five centuries earlier by the Greek tragedian Aeschylus in his Seven Against Thebes. In Book V, Hypsipyle, daughter of the Lemnian king, tells her story to Adrastus, King of Argos. She describes how Venus took vengeance on the Lemnians for their failure to worship her by inspiring the women to murder the men. Hypsipyle alone saved her father. William Lillington Lewis’s verse translation of 1767, dedicated to Henry, Duke of Beaufort, brings out the sheer horror of the ensuing bloodbath.
Encircled by the Deep fair Lemnos lies;
Here weary Vulcan wastes his leisure Hours,
And recollects in Sleep his scatter’d Pow’rs.
The Cloud-capt Athos from his length’ning Steep
O’erlooks our Isle; his Groves o’ershade the Deep.
Each fronting Tract of Land the Thracian plows,
The Thracian, fatal to each Lemnian Spouse.
Once great in Arms and useful Arts it shone,
Fertile in Chiefs of Valour and Renown:
Not Delos, or the Samian Isle could claim
A greater Share of Riches and of Fame;
Till Heav’n to punish our Offence decreed.
Nor were we wanting to promote the Deed:
No Temples to the Queen of Love were rais’d,
Nor Incense on the sacred Altars blaz’d.
Thus sometimes Anger stings a heav’nly Mind,
And Vengeance sure, tho’ tardy, creeps behind.
From Paphos, where a hundred Altars smoke,
And love-sick Votaries her Aid invoke,
Careless of Dress and Ornament she moves,
And leaves behind her Cestus and her Doves.
The Moon had measur’d half the starry Frame,
When the fierce Goddess with the Furies came:
Far other Flames, than those of Love she bears,
And high in Air the Torch of Discord rears.
Soon as the Fiend-engendred Serpents roam,
Diffusing Terrors o’er each wrangling Dome,
The Loves, or willing, or compell’d by Force,
From guilty Lemnos bend their airy Course;
Lemnos, which dearer to her Consort stands
Than all the Cities rear’d by mortal Hands.
Thus
Urg’d by no Cause, the sullen Bridegroom fled
From blooming Beauty, and the genial Bed;
No more he pays the pleasing Debt of Love,
When conscious Cynthia rules the Realms above:
Nor Sleep surprizes with unnotic’d Pace
The clasping Pair, and strengthens their Embrace:
But Rage and Hate in every Breast arise,
And with his Torch inverted Hymen flies.
The Men (a Plea for Absence) oft complain
Of Thracian Insults, and demand the Plain:
And tho’ from Camp their Eyes with Ease command
Their native City, and the Lemnian Strand,
Tho’ Nature, oft recoiling, chides their Stay,
And their sad Children beckon them away;
Stretch’d on the Banks, they rather wish to bear
The wintry Storm, th’ Inclemencies of Air,
And listen to the hoarse-resounding Roar
Of nightly Surges, breaking on the Shore.
Our Sex in social Converse seek Relief,
And point to Thrace, the Object of their Grief:
From Morn to Night the Stream of Sorrow flows,
And Sol but sets to rise upon their Woes.
How blest was I, a Stranger then to Love,
And all the Pangs, which widow’d Matrons prove.
Now thro’ the Zenith flaming Sol had driv’n
His panting Steeds, and gain’d the middle Heav’n,
When, tho’ no gath’ring Clouds the Day controul
Thro’ Skies serene portentous Thunders roll;
And
The Caverns of the smoky God display
Thick-steaming Flames, and choak the Face of Day:
Tho’ mute each Blast, the rough Aegean roars,
And heavy Surges lash the plaintive Shores:
Then grave Polyxo thro’ the City roves,
And mourns her widow’d Bed and slighted Loves.
Mad as the Thracian Bacchanal appears,
When from afar the vocal Pipe she hears,
Evoe she cries, and shakes the solid Ground,
While ecchoing Mountains answer to the Sound.
Flush’d are her Cheeks, and haggard roll her Eyes,
She rends the desart Town with frantic Cries,
And, while the Gates resound beneath her Strokes,
To join in Aid th’ assembling Dames invokes,
Four death-devoted Babes, (sad Scene of Grief;)
Hung at her Side, and sought to give Relief.
Swift as our Leader, to Minerva’s Fane
We bend our Course, a wild disorder’d Train.
Silence enjoin’d, with Confidence arose
The daring Authoress of all our Woes;
Her better Hand a naked Dagger press’d,
And thus her Speech the wrathful Fair address’d.
Ye Lemnian Dames, dissolv’d in barren Ease,
If Venus yet retains the Pow’r to please,
If empty Marriage-Forms ye disapprove,
And hate the Name without the Joys of Love;
Hear and attend: when Fortune points the Way,
And Heav’n inspires, ’tis impious to delay:
To Vengeance rise; nor let your Sex be known
By Want of Courage, but by Form alone.
Yet Hymen’s Privilege we may regain,
And Love and genial Joys revive again,
Would each the Toil with just Division share,
And join her private with the public Care.
Three Years have past, since each deserted Bride
Has lost the sullen Partner of her Side:
No more each Debt of Love and Duty’s paid,
Nor more Lucina yields her timely Aid.
Prompted by Nature, and by Love inclin’d,
The Fishes, Birds, and Beasts increase their Kind.
Stern Danaus his Progeny could rouse
To Vengeance for the Breach of Marriage-Vows,
And, unrestrain’d with Fears, dismiss the Foe,
In Dreams of Terror, to the Shades below:
But we, a worthless, servile, heartless Train,
Had rather brook tyrannic Hymen’s Chain.
Yet should these old Examples fail to move
Your just Revenge of alienated Love;
Copy the Thracian Dame, who durst explore;
Her Spouse’s Heart, and drink the rushing Gore.
Each Doubt, and each Objection to remove,
Myself will first the guilty Labour prove.
Four Babes, the Boast and Solace of their Sire,
Shall first beneath the ruthless Sword expire:
Nor shall their Blandishments a Respite gain,
But interposing Nature plead in vain:
While yet they breath, the Author of their Birth
Shall crown the Heap, and stain the loaded Earth.
What Heroine dares thus far in Guilt engage,
And second my Design with equal Rage?
Mean while the Lemnian Fleet, in all the Pride
Of swelling Canvass, cleaves the yielding Tide.
This with pleas’d Eyes the fierce Polyxo view’d.
And thus in Height of Joy her Theme pursu’d.
When Fortune calls, what farther can detain,
And shall the Gods afford their Aid in vain.
Our Foes advance, impell’d by adverse Fate,
To stain the Sword, and glut in Death our Hate.
Late slighted Venus in a Dream appear’d,
And o’er my Head a naked Falchion rear’d.
Why waste thus the Bloom of Youth? (she said)
Arise, arise, and purge the Marriage Bed;
On me alone for other Flames rely;
Each vacant Bed will I myself supply.
The Goddess spoke, and on the Pillow laid
This same (believe me) this same vengeful Blade,
But linger on, when fair Occasion calls.
And their Ships ride in Prospect of our Walls:
At ev’ry Stroke they raise the briny Foam,
And bring, perhaps, their Thracian Consorts Home.
Her Words their Hearts with manly Rage inspire,
And spread from Breast to Breast the vengeful Fire.
Not greater Shouts the Plains of Scythia rend,
When the fierce Amazons to Fight descend,
When their stern Patron summons from afar
His Virgin-Troops, and frees th’ imprison’d War.
Nor Discord, rising from a various Choice,
Disturbs their Councils with tumultuous Voice;
But equal was their Will, the fame their Haste
To desolate, and lay each Mansion waste,
To strike the Youth, and Sire with Age opprest
To tear the wailing Infant from the Breast,
And subject to their unexcepting Rage
Each Stage of Life, and each Degree of Age.
There grew a Forest near Minerva’s Fane,
Whose gloomy Boughs obscure the subject Plain,
A steepy Mount o’erhangs the nether Glade,
And Sol is loft between the double Shade.
Here they repair, and at the Rites obscene
Attest Bellona, and the Stygian Queen.
From Acheron their Course the Furies bend,
And, uninvok’d, the Sacrifice attend.
The Paphian Goddess turns on ev’ry Side
Her Steps unknown, and fires each youthful Bride.
Spontaneous then fell Caropeia brought
Her Son (his Sex, alas, his only Fault)
A Throng of armed Priestesses surrounds,
The Victim falls beneath unnumber’d Wounds:
The Life-Blood issuing from a thousand Strokes,
With horrid Imprecations each invokes:
The recent Shade from its dark Prison springs,
And haunts the Mother with encircling Wings.
Struck at the Sight, my Limbs with Horror shook,
The Blood at once my ghastly Cheeks forsook.
Thus fares the Hind, by rav’ning Wolves pursu’d,
As first she seeks the Covert of the Wood;
Much she distrusts a safe Retreat in Flight,
But more her Strength and Fortune in the Fight.
Now, now she seems to feel her seizing Foes,
And hears with Dread their Jaws eluded close.
Mean while, their Anchors dropt, the Ships restore
The Lemnian Warriors to their native Shore:
With Emulation on the Deck they stand,
Contending, who should first attain the Strand.
Far happier! had they press’d the Thracian Plain,
Or sunk beneath the Fury of the Main,
The lofty Fanes are hid in ambient Smoke,
And votive Victims grace the fatal Stroke:
But the black Flame and unsound Entrails prove
Th’ unfav’ring Purpose of the Gods above.
Late and unwilling to his watry Bed
The Sun retir’d, and veil’d his radiant Head,
Detain’d by Jove; nor ever did the Day
So long before survive his letting Ray.
The Stars awhile withheld their gleamy Light,
And sicken’d to behold the fatal Night.
While other Isles enjoy their usual Share
Of Light, and glitter with the distant Glare,
O’er guilty Lemnos gath’ring Clouds arise,
And low-hung Vapours choak the lab’ring Skies.
Lemnos, in circling Darkness lost, alone
Was to the sorrowing Mariner unknown.
Now from the finish’d Rites they bend their Way,
To drown in Wine the Labours of the Day;
And, while the sprightly Essence of the Bowl
Glows in each Vein, and opens ev’ry Soul,
With Rapture they recount their recent Toils,
Their Victories, and long-contested Spoils.
Their Wives alike indulge the genial Hour,
Studious to please, and call forth Beauty’s Pow’r;
Then Love’s soft Queen (to crown the short Repast,
And bless the Night of all their Nights the last)
Breath’d in each Husband’s Breast a fierce Desire
Of am’rous Joys that quickly must expire.
T’was dead of Night; the Matrons cease to sing,
Dumb was each Voice, and mute the tuneful String;
When Sleep, Half-Brother of approaching Death,
Steep’d in soft Dews exhal’d from Styx beneath,
Safe under Covert of the silent Hours,
With lavish Hand his opiate Juices pours,
But not on all: their Ardour to destroy,
And watchful Cares the female Part employ.
At length, no longer patient of Delay,
They rush impetuous on their helpless Prey:
And each (a Fury lodg’d within her Breast,)
Invades her Man, with downy Sleep opprest.
Thus Scythian Tigresses the Herd surround,
And leap amidst them with a furious Bound,
When, press’d with Hunger, they desert the Wood,
Or their fierce Whelps demand the promis’d Food.
What Act of Guilt, or whose untimely Fate
Amidst a Thousand shall I first relate?
O’er Helimus, with leafy Honours crown’d,
Rash Gorge stands, and meditates a Wound.
Cloy’d with the Banquet, he retir’d to Rest,
And puff’d the fumy God from out his Breast;
But Sleep forsook him, e’er depriv’d of Breath,
And starting at the cold Approach of Death,
He wakes, confounded at the sudden View,
And round her Neck his Arms in Transport threw,
But mourns the social Greeting ill repaid,
As in his Chest he feels the driving Blade.
Nor yet resenting of his Wound, he prest
Th’ unworthy Object closer to his Breast,
And, struggling in the griping Arms of Death,
On Gorge dwells, and wastes his parting Breath.
Dire as they were, I cannot now relate
The Vulgar’s countless Deaths and various Fate:
Suffice it private Evils to disclose,
And measure by my own another’s Woes.
Craeneus fell, a Warrior fair and bold,
And youthful Cydon, grac’d with Locks of Gold.
With these, the Product of an Alien’s Bed,
I pass’d my early Days, together bred.
Next Gyas bled, design’d with me to prove,
Had Heav’n prolong’d his Date, the Joys of Love.
Then fair Aepopeus met his Mother’s Blade,
As at the Feast the wanton Stripling play’d.
Lycaste of her Rage disarm’d, appears
And sheds o’er Cydimus a Flood of Tears;
As she beheld a Face of her own Mold,
And Hair which she herself had trick’d with Gold,
Her Consort slain, her Mother near her Stands,
Impells with Threats, and arms her trembling Hands.
As when the Lion, or the spotted Pard,
Long from the Woods and Forests are debarr’d,
With equal Pain and Labour is renew’d
Their savage Nature, as at first subdu’d.
The fair Lycaste thus resists in vain;
She rushes on him, as he press’d the Plain.
Catches the welling Blood, and to renew
His Wounds, by the loose Hair his Body drew.
But as Alcimede I first survey’d,
Her Sire’s pale Visage fix’d upon the Blade,
Fear shrunk my Sinews, and congeal’d my Blood,
And on my Head my Hair erected stood.
My Father’s Image fill’d my pious Mind,
Lest equal Years might equal Fortune find.
From thence in Haste I seek the regal Seat;
Fear aids my Course, and wings my tardy Feet:
My Sire I found perplex’d with Doubts and Fears,
(For now the Shouts and Groans awak’d his Ears,
And broke his Slumbers, tho’ the Palace stood
Sequester’d, and encompass’d with a Wood)
The Motives of my Flight I soon disclose,
And all the Series of preceding Woes:
‘Arise, arise, or you for ever fall;
‘Our female Foes approach the regal Hall:
‘Nor on our utmost Speed I much rely;
‘The Shaft may yet arrest us as we fly.’
Struck at the News, the hoary King arose,
And left the silent Mansion of Repose.
Thro’ the least peopled Parts we speed our Way,
And, in a sable Cloud obscur’d, survey
The Passages, and Streets around dispread
With Streams of Blood and Mountains of the dead.
Salvation for the now partnerless women of Lemnos came with the arrival of the Argonauts, the subject of the next story.