“But if you ever chance to ask the city,
so rich with metals—Amathus—if she
would lay proud claim to the Propoetides
as daughters, she’d refuse to claim that brood.
And she is just as ready to disown
those other old inhabitants of hers
whose foreheads were disfigured by two horns—
from which they also took their name, Cerastes.
Before their doors, there used to stand an altar
of Jove, the god of hospitality;
a stranger—ignorant of what had caused
the bloodstains on that altar—might have thought
that was the blood of sacrifices brought
for Jove—of suckling calves or full-grown sheep
from Amathian herds. In fact it was
the blood of guests! Incensed, the generous
Latin [208–28]
Venus was ready to desert her Cyprus,
to leave her cities and her plains. ‘And yet,’
she said, ‘these sites are dear to me, these towns—
what crime is theirs? What evil have they done?
This sacrilegious race—they are the ones
to pay the penalty for profanation:
exile or death—or else a punishment
midway between their death or banishment.
Can that be any penalty except
a change of form?’ But even as she asked
that question, wondering what shape is best,
her eyes fell on their horns. These can be left—
so she reminds herself; and she transforms
their massive bodies into savage bulls.