Works of Nonnus
Page 229
ῥύεο Δηριαδῆα, τεῆς βλάστημα γενέθλης,
Ἀστρίδος αἷμα φέροντα φατιζομένης σέο κούρης.
οὐ πιθόμην Βρομίῳ θηλύφρονι: μάρτυρας ἕλκω
ἠέλιον καὶ γαῖαν ἀτέρμονα καὶ θεὸν Ἰνδῶν,
285 ἁγνὸν ὕδωρ. σὺ δὲ χαῖρε, καὶ ἵλαος ἔσσο κυδοιμῷ
Ἰνδῶν μαρναμένων, καὶ ὀλωλότα θάψον Ὀρόντην.’
[271] “O Helios, cutting the air in your fiery chariot, pouring your light on the Caucasian plowland so near, stay your car I pray, and announce to Deriades how the Indian peoples are slaves, how Orontes has destroyed himself, how the little thyrsus has broken our men! Describe also the drugged victory of unwarlike Dionysos, the winesoaked stream of the delirious river. Tell how women with light bunches of leaves scatter the untiring host of steelclad Indians. And if you have not forgotten your Clymene’s bed, protect Deriades, a sprout of your own stock, who has in him the blood of Astris said to be your daughter. I never obeyed Bromios the womanhearted. I bring as witnesses the Sun, and the boundless Earth, and India’s god, holy Water.
“And now farewell. Be gracious on the battlefield to the fighting Indians, and bury Orontes dead.”
ὣς εἰπὼν ξίφος εἷλκε, μέσῃ δ᾽ ἐνὶ γαστέρι πήξας
αὐτοφόνῳ βαρύποτμος ἐπεσκίρτησε σιδήρῳ:
καὶ ποταμῷ κεκύλιστο καὶ οὔνομα δῶκεν Ὀρόντῃ.
[287] He spoke, and drew his sword, fixt it against his belly and leapt upon the blade, selfslain, a cruel fate; then rolled into the river and gave it his name Orontes.
290 καί οἱ, ἔτι πνείοντα καὶ ἀσπαίροντα δοκεύων,
Βάκχος ἄναξ ἀγόρευε χέων φιλοκέρτομον ἠχώ:
[290] Lord Bacchos looked on him yet breathing and struggling, and addressed him in contemptuous words:
‘κεῖσο, νέκυς, ξείνοισιν έν ὕδασιν: ὑμέτερον δὲ
Δηριάδην θνήσκοντα πατὴρ κρύψειεν Υδάσπης.
ὑμέας ἀμφοτέρους ἑκυρὸν καὶ γαμβρὸν ὀλέσσω,
295 ἀντὶ δορὸς φονίοιο καὶ εὐθήκτοιο μαχαίρης
σείων Εὔια θύρσα καὶ ἀμπελόεσσαν ἀκωκήν.
ἀλλὰ δαφοινήεντι κατακτείνων σε σιδήρῳ
οὐ πίες ἁβρὰ ῥέεθρα μελισταγέος ποταμοῖο:
καὶ ποταμός σε κάλυψε, καὶ ἤμβροτες ἡδέος οἴνου.
300 ἢν ἐθέλῃς, πίε μοῦνος ὅλον ῥόον: ἀλλὰ ῥεέθρων
οὐ χατέεις ποταμοῖο πιὼν Ἀχερούσιον ὕδωρ
λοίγιον: ἀνδροφόνῳ δέ ῥόῳ καὶ χεύματι πικρῷ
γαστέρα κυμαίνουσαν ἔχων ἐγκύμονα Μοίρης
γεύεο Κωκυτοῖο, καὶ ἢν ἐθέλῃς, πίε Λήθην,
305 Ἄρεος ὄφρα λάθοιο καὶ αἱμαλέοιο σιδήρου.’
[292] “Lie there, you corpse, in foreign waters; and may your father Hydaspes cover dying Deriades. I will destroy you both, goodfather and goodson, shaking my Euian thyrsus with point wreathed in vine, instead of bloodstained spear and wellsharpened sword. But you killed yourself with gory steel, and so you never drank the luxurious water of the honeydistilling river; a river has covered you, but you missed the delicious wine. Drink up the whole river alone, if you like; but you shall have river-water enough when you drink the fatal water of Acheron. Your belly swells already with the bitter water of a murdering stream, and teems quick with Fate; but taste of Cocytos, and drink Lethe if you like, that you may forget Ares and the bloody steel.”
ἔννεπε κερτομέων διερὸν νέκυν. οἰδαλέος δὲ
κύμασιν ἀσταθέεσσιν ἐσύρετο νεκρὸς Ὀρόντης:
καὶ ψυχροῖς μελέεσσι διαπλώοντα ῥεέθρῳ
ἄπνοον ἠρεύγοντο νέκυν ποταμηίδες ὄχθαι.
310 τὸν μὲν ἐταρχύσαντο καὶ ἔστενον αἴλινα Νύμφαι,
νύμφαι Ἁμαδρυάδες, χρυσέης παρὰ πυθμένα δάφνης
ἀμφὶ ῥοὰς ποταμοῖο, καὶ ἔγραφον ὑψόθι δέδρου:
‘Βάκχον ἀτιμήσας στρατιῆς πρόμος ἐνθάδε κεῖται,
αὐτοφόνῳ παλάμῃ δεδαϊγμένος Ἰνδὸς Ὀρόντης.’
[306] So he addressed the soaking corpse in contempt. But the dead body of Orontes was carried away swollen by the restless waters, until the stream vomited out the floating corpse upon the bank breathless and cold. There the Nymphs gave it burial and sang their dirges, the Hamadryad Nymphs, beside the stem of a golden laurel on the bank of the river stream, and inscribed upon the trunk above—” Here lies Indian Orontes, leader of the host, who insulted Bacchos and slew himself with his own hand.”
315 οὐδέ μόθου τέλος ᾖεν ἀτερπέος: ἡμιτελὴς γὰρ
ἦεν ἀγὼν καὶ δῆρις ἀνήνυτος: ὑψιφανὴς δὲ
Ἰνδὸς Ἄρης ἀλάλαζε: παλιννόστῳ δὲ κυδοιμῷ
Λυδὸν ἐρευγομένη μανιώδεος ὄγκον ἀτελῆς
Βακχιὰς εἰς μόθον ἄλλον ἐκώμασε θυιὰς Ἐνυώ,
320 δήιον ἀνδροφόνοισιν ἀκοντίζουσα κορύμβοις,
Αρεϊ βακχευθεῖσα: φιλοπτόρθου δὲ Λυαίου
δυσμενέες δρυόεντι κατεκτείνοντο σιδήρῳ
φοίνιον ἕλκος ἔχοντες: ἀθωρήκτοιο δὲ Βάκχης
ἔγχεϊ βοτρυόεντι δαϊζομένοιο σιδήρου
325 Ἰνδοὶ χαλκοχίτωνες ἐθάμβεον ὀξέι κισσῷ
στήθεα γυμνωθέντα νεούτατα: ῥηίτεροι γὰρ
ἀσκεπέων θώρηκος ὀιστεύοντο φορῆες.
ἄλλων δ᾽ ἄλλος ἔην φόνος ἄσπετος, ὧν ὑπὸ λύθρῳ
σχιζόμενοι πετάλοισιν ἐφοινίσσοντο χιτῶνες
330 μαρναμένων, ὅθι Ταῦρος: ἐκυκλώσαντο δέ Βάκχαι
ἀκλινέες στεφανηδὸν ὁμοζυγέων στίχας Ἰνδῶν.
καὶ θρασὺς αὐλὸς ἔμελπε φόνου μέλος: έν δὲ κυδοιμῷ
βάκχοι μὲν θεράποντες ἀπειρομόθου Διονύσου
τυπτόμενοι πελέκεσσι καί ἀμφιτόμοισι μαχαίραις
335 πάντες ἔσαν πυργηδὸν ἀπήμονες: ἁβροκόμοι δὲ
δυσμενέες λεπτοῖσι κατεκτείνοντο πετήλοις:
ἐξείης δ᾽ ἐπέπηκτο τανυπτόρθοις ἐνί δένδροις
Ἰνδῶν πυκνὰ βέλεμνα, καὶ ἔγχεϊ νύσσετο πεύκη
τηλεπόρῳ, βέβλητο πίτυς, τοξεύετο δάφνη,
340 Φοίβου δένδρον ἐοῦσα, καὶ αἰδομένοις ἐνὶ φύλλοις
πεμπομένων ἐκάλυπτε τανυπτερύγων νέφος ἰῶν,
μή μιν ἴδῃ βελέεσσιν ὀιστευθεῖσαν Ἀπόλλων.
κα�
� γυμνῇ παλάμῃ σακέων δίχα, νόσφι σιδήρου,
Βάκχη ῥόπτρα τίνασσε, καὶ ἤριπεν ἀσπιδιώτης:
345 τύμπανα δ᾽ ἐσμαράγησε, καὶ ὠρχήσαντο μαχηταί:
κύμβαλα δ᾽ ἐκροτάλιζε, καὶ αὐχένα κύψε Λυαίῳ
Ἰνδὸς ἀνὴρ ἱκέτης. ὀλίγῳ δ᾽ ἐνὶ δέρματι νεβρῶν
ἀρραγέες γλωχῖνες ἐδοχμώθησαν ἀκόντων:
χαλκοβαρὴς δ᾽ ἄγναμπτος ἐτέμνετο φυλλάδι πήληξ.
350 καί τις Ἀρειμανέων Σατύρων πρόμος ἀνέρα Βάλλων
εὔια ῥῖπτε πέτηλα, νεουτήτου δὲ φορῆος
χάλκεος ἀμπελόεντι χιτὼν ἐσχίζετο κισσῷ.
ἀθρήσας δὲ τάλαντα μάχης ἑτεραλκέι ῥιπῇ
νίκην Ἰνδοφόνοιο προθεσπίζοντα Λυαίου
355 Ἀστράεις ἀκίχητος ἐχάζετο, πότμον ἀλύξας,
ἐγχείην τανύφυλλον ὑποπτήσσων Διονύσου.
[315] But the cruel mellay was not ended yet: the struggle was only half done, the conflict unfinished. Indian Ares appeared on high and shouted loud; Bacchos’s mad Enyo marshalled them for another bout, belching a load of frenzied Lydian threats in the renewed battle, hurling on the foe volleys of deadly garlands, furious for war. The enemies of vineloving Lyaios were slain with bloody wounds from the wooden steel. Bronze-clad Indians marvelled, when steel was cleft by the viny spear of an unarmed Bacchant woman, and their chests were bared and freshly wounded by the sharp ivy; for those who wore the corselet were shot down more easily than the unprotected. Death took many shapes in that indescribable carnage on the Tauros, where the coats of the fighting men were sliced open by twigs and reddened with gore. The Bacchant women unconquerable surrounded in a ring the Indians huddled together, and the bold hoboy sang the call to kill. In that combat the Bacchoi, servants of unwarlike Dionysos, stood like a stone wall unhurt all by the blows of axes and two-edged swords; but their curlyheaded enemies were killed by little bunches of leaves. There were the Indian shafts stuck thick in rows on the tail-branching trees. The fir was pricked by the far-hurled spear, the pine was hit, the laurel though Phoibos’s tree was pierced by shots, and hid under its leaves in shame the cloud of feathered arrows flying upon it, that Apollo might not see how the shots hit it. A Bacchant woman without shield and without steel, shook her rattle with naked hand, and a shielded man fell; the drums banged, and the warriors danced; the cymbals clanged, and a man of India bent his neck to beg mercy of Lyaios. On a little fawnskin the unbreakable points of the arrows were bent; the heavy helmet of unyielding metal was cut through by a leaf. A leader of the warmad Satyrs threw Euian leafage and hit a man: his coat of mail was split by the ivy and vine, and the wearer was wounded. Astraeis saw the scale of war was dipping to one side and foretelling the victory of Lyaios the Indianslayer, so he fled untouched and saved his life, cowed by the long leafy spear of Dionysos.
τόφρα δ᾽ Ἀρισταῖος φυσίζοα φάρμακα πάσσων
Βασσαρίδων ὅλον ἕλκος ἀκέσσατο Φοιβάδι τέχνῃ.
τῆς μὲν ἐπὶ πληγῇσι βαλὼν Κενταυρίδα ποίην.
360 τῆς δὲ βαρυνομένης φονίην ἐκάθηρεν ἐέρσην
αἷμα περιθλίβων: κινυρὴν δ᾽ ἰήσατο Βάκχην
συντρίψας βοτάνας πολυειδέας ἕλκεσι κούρης,
ἢ ποδὸς ἢ παλάμης ἢ στήθεος ἢ κενεῶνος.
ἄλλου δὲ προμάχου φονίῳ βληθέντος ὀιστῷ
365 εἷλκε θοὴν γλωχῖνα, καὶ ἕλκεα χειρὶ πιέζων
αἱμαλέην κατὰ βαιὸν ἀνηκόντιζεν ἐέρσην:
ἄλλῳ χεῖρα πέλασσε, καὶ ἕλκεος ἄκρα χαράξας
ἰῷ φαρμακόεντι σεσηπότα τάμνε μαχαίρῃ,
ἀκροτάτῃ παλάμῃ πεφιδημένα δάκτυλα βάλλων:
370 καὶ χλοερῷ συνέμιξε βιαρκέος ἄνθεϊ γαίης
δαιδαλέας ὠδῖνας ἀλεξικάκοιο μελίσσης,
χειρὶ περιρραίνων ὀδυνήφατον ἰκμάδα βάκχου:
ἄλλους δ᾽ οὐταμένους ἰήσατο φοιβάδι φωνῇ,
φρικτὸν ὑποτρύζων πολυώνυμον ὕμνον ἀοιδῆς,
πατρῴης νοέων ζωαρκέος ὄργια τέχνης.
[357] Then Aristaios spread lifegiving simples on all the wounds of the Bassarids, and healed them by the art of Phoibos. For one he put centaury-plant on the cuts; for another in distress, he pressed with his fingers about the blood and cleaned away the gory dew. If a Bacchant whimpered, he pounded all manner of herbs to heal the girl’s wounds, of foot or hand or breast or flanks as it might be. If a warrior had been struck and blood drawn by an arrow, he pulled out the sharp point, and squeezing the Mound with his hand discharged the drops of blood little by little. Another struck by a poisoned arrow he laid hold of, and lanced the Mound cutting out the infected surface, with just a touch of the hand and gentle fingers. He mingled the artistic produce of the healbane bee with fresh flowers of the lifesufficing earth, and poured in Bacchos’s painkilling sap. Other Mounded men he made whole by some charm of Phoibos, humming over an awful ditty full of names which he knew among the secrets of his father’s life-saving art.
375 ὥς ὁ μέν αἰόλον ἕλκος ἀκέσσατο. μαρναμένων δὲ
ἤδη βαρβαρόφωνος ἐπαύσατο θῆλυς Ἐνυώ.
καὶ πολέας ζώγρησαν ἀπὸ πτολέμοιο μαχητὰς
Βασσαρίδες: πολλοὶ δὲ λελοιπότες οὔρεα ταύρου
380 δυσμενέες νόστησαν ἐς Ἰνδῴης κλίμα γαίης
ἐλπίσιν ἀπρήκτοισιν ἐς οἰκία Δηριαδῆος,
ἀμφιλαφεῖς ἐλατῆρες ἀμετροβίων ἐλεφάντων.
καὶ Σατύρους μετὰ δῆριν ἐποίνιον εἰς χορὸν ἕλκων
Πὰν νόμιος κελάδησε, χέων ἐπινίκιον ἠχώ.
[375] So he cured the diverse kinds of wounds. By this time the barbarian goddess Enyo had quieted her voice among the fighters, and the Bassarids had led away from the battlefield their crowd of captive warriors; many more of the enemy had left the Tauros mountains and returned, their hopes unfulfilled, to the mansion of Deriades in the Indian regions, crowds of men driving their longlived elephants. And herdsman Pan sang loudly, pouring out his victorious note, drawing on the Satyrs to dance drunkenly after their war.
385 καὶ Βλέμυς οὐλοκάρηνος, Ἐρυθραίων πρόμος Ἰνδῶν,
ἱκεσίης κούφιζεν ἀναίμονα θαλλὸν ἐλαίης,
Ἰνδοφόνῳ γόνυ δοῦλον ὑποκλίνων Διονύσῳ.
καὶ θεός, ἀθρήσας κυρτούμενον ἀνέρα γαίῃ,
χειρὶ λαβὼν ὤρθωσε, πολυγλώσσῳ δ᾽ ἅμα λαῷ
390 κυανέων πόμπευεν ἐρύκων τηλόθεν Ἰνδῶν,
κοιρανίην στυγέοντα καὶ ἤθεα Δηριαδῆος,
Ἀρραβίης ἐπί πέζαν, ὅπῃ παρὰ γείτονι πόντῳ
ὄλβιον οὖδας ἔναιε καὶ οὔνομα δῶκε πολίταις:
> καὶ Βλέμυς ὠκὺς ἵκανεν ἐς ἑπταπόρου στόμα Νείλου,
395 ἐσσόμενος σκηπτοῦχος ὁμόχροος Αἰθιοπήων:
καί μιν ἀειθερέος Μερόης ὑπεδέξατο πυθμήν,
ὀψιγόνοις Βλεμύεσσι προώνυμον ἡγεμονῆα.
[385] Now woollyhead Blemys, chief of the Erythraian Indians, bent a slavish knee before Dionysos Indianslayer, holding the suppliant’s unbloodied olivebranch. And the god when he saw the man bowed upon the earth, took his hand and lifted him up, and sent him far away with his polyglot people, putting a distance between him and the swarthy Indians, now hating the lordship and the manners of Deriades, away to the Arabian land, where beside the sea he dwelt on a rich soil and gave his name to his people. Blemys quickly passed to the mouth of sevenstream Nile, to be the sceptred king of the Ethiopians, men of colour like his. The ground of Meroe welcomed him, where it is always harvest, a chieftain who handed down his name to the Blemyes of later generations.
BOOK 18
ὀκτωκαιδεκάτῳ Στάφυλος καὶ Βότρυς ἱκάνει,
εἰς θαλίην καλέοντες ὀρίδρομον υἷα Θυώνης.
ἤδη δὲ πτερόεσσα πολύστομος ἵπτατο Φήμη
Ἀσσυρίης στίχα πᾶσαν ὑποτροχόωσα πολήων,
οὔνομα κηρύσσουσα κορυμβοφόρου Διονύσου,
καὶ θρασὺν Ἰνδὸν Ἄρηα καὶ ἀγλαόβοτρυν ὀπώρην.
BOOK XVIII
In the eighteenth come Staphylos and Botrys, inviting the mountainranging son of Thyone to a feast.
MEANTIME manytongued Rumour was on the wing; and she flew along the whole line of Assyrian cities, proclaiming the name of Dionysos with his gift of the vine, the glorious fruit of grapes, and his bold warfare with the Indians.
5 καὶ Στάφυλος Σατύρων στρατιὴν ἀσίδηρον ἀκούων
ὄργιά τ᾽ ἀμπελόεντα καὶ Εὔια θύσθλα Λυαίου