Works of Nonnus

by Nonnus

  ἀλλὰ πάλιν κτείνωμεν Ἐρυθραίων γένος Ἰνδῶν:

  οὔ ποτε γὰρ μόθον ἄλλον ὁμοίιον ἔδρακεν αἰὼν

  Ἠῴου πρὸ μόθοιο, καὶ οὐ μετὰ φύλοπιν Ἰνδῶν

  25 ἄλλην ὀψιτέλεστον ἰσόρροπον εἶδεν Ἐνυώ,

  οὐδὲ τόσος στρατὸς ἦλθεν ἐς Ἴλιον, οὐ στόλος ἀνδρῶν

  τηλίκος, ἀλλὰ νέοισι καὶ ἀρχεγόνοισιν ἐρίζων

  εὐκαμάτους ἱδρῶτας ἀναστήσω Διονύσου,

  κρίνων ἠνορέην τεκέων Διός, ὄφρα νοήσω,

  30 τίς κάμε τοῖον ἀγῶνα, τίς εἵκελος ἔπλετο βάκχου.

  [22] Once more let us slay the race of Erythraian Indians: for Time never saw before another struggle like the Eastern War, nor after the Indian War in later days has Enyo seen its equal. No such army came to Ilion, no such host of men. But I will set up the toils and sweat of Dionysos in rivalry with both new and old; I will judge the manhood of the sons of Zeus, and see who endured such an encounter, who was like unto Bacchos.

  Περσεὺς μὲν ταχύγουνος, ἐύπτερον ἴχνος ἐλίσσων,

  ἀγχινεφῆ δρόμον εἶχεν ἐν ἠέρι πεζός ὁδίτης,

  εἰ ἐτεὸν πεπότητο. τί δὲ πλέον, εἰ σφυρὰ πάλλων

  ξείνην εἰρεσίην ἀνεμώδεϊ νήχετο ταρσῷ,

  35 ὅττι βαθυνομένης παλάμης ληίστορι καρτῷ

  Φορκίδος ἀγρύπνοιο λαβὼν ὀφθαλμὸν ἀλήτην,

  ἄψοφον ἀκροπόρων πεφυλαγμένος ἄλμα πεδίλων,

  ὄγμον ἐχιδνήεντα μιῆς ἤμησε Μεδούσης,

  ἦς ἔτι κυμαίνουσα γοναῖς ἐθλίβετο γαστὴρ

  40 Πήγασον ὠδίνουσα, καὶ ἔγκυον αὐχένα νύμφης

  Γοργόνος Εἰλείθυια μογοστόκος ἔθρισεν ἅρπη,

  αὐχένος ἱπποτόκοιο θαλύσιον; ἀπτολέμου δὲ

  Περσεὺς ὠκυπέδιλος ἐκούφισε σύμβολα νίκης

  ἄπνοα, Γοργείης ὀφιώδεα λήια χαίτης,

  45 αἱμαλέῃ ῥαθάμιγγι κατάρρυτα λείψανα κόρσης,

  ἡμιτελές σύριγμα νεοτμήτων ἀπὸ λαιμῶν

  λεπτὸν ὑποτρίζοντα: καὶ οὐ στίχεν ἄρσενι χάρμῃ,

  οὐ τότε χερσαίης ἐνοπῆς κτύπος, οὐδ᾽ ἐνὶ πόντῳ

  Περσέι μαρναμένῳ πολεμήια λαίφεα νηῶν

  50 ἐγρεμόθοις ἀνέμοισιν Ἄρης κολπώσατο ναύτης,

  οὐ φονίῃ ῥαθάμιγγι Λίβυς φοινίσσετο Νηρεύς,

  οὐ νέκυν αὐτοκύλιστον ἐδέξατο λοίγιον ὕδωρ:

  ἀλλὰ δρακοντείης τρομέων συριγμὸν ἐθείρης

  Σθεννοῦς μαινομένης πτερόεις ἐλελίζετο Περσεύς,

  55 καὶ κυνέην Ἀίδαο φέρων καὶ Παλλάδος ἅρπην,

  καὶ πτερὸν Ἑρμάωνος ἔχων καὶ Ζῆνα τοκῆα,

  ὠκυτέρῳ φύξηλις ἀνῃώρητο πεδίλῳ,

  Εὐρυάλης μύκημα καὶ οὐ σάλπιγγος ἀκούων,

  συλήσας Λιβύης ὀλίγον σπέος: οὐ στρατὸν ἀνδρῶν

  60 ἔκτανεν, οὐ φλογόεντι πόλιν τεφρώσατο δαλῷ.

  [31] Nimbleknee Perseus, waving his winged feet, held his course near the clouds, a wayfarer pacing through the air, if he really did fly. But what was the good if he swung his ankles and swam the winds with that strange oarage of legs? and then crept up on tiptoe, keeping his footfall noiseless, and with hollowed hand and robber’s fist caught the roving eye of Phorcys’ unsleeping daughter, then shore off the snaky swathe of one Medusa, while her womb was still burdened and swollen with young, still in foal of Pegasus; what good if the sickle played the part of childbirth Eileithyia, and reaped the neck of the pregnant Gorgon, firstfruits of a horsebreeding neck? There was no battle when swiftshoe Perseus lifted the lifeless token of victory, the snaky sheaf of Gorgon hair, relics of the head dripping drops of blood, gently wheezing a half-heard hiss through the severed throats: he did not march to battle with men, no din of conflict was there then on land, no maritime Ares on the sea with battle-rousing winds bellied the sails of ships of war against a warrior Perseus, no Libyan Nereus was reddened with showers of blood, no fatal water swallowed a dead body rolling helplessly. No! Perseus fled with flickering wings trembling at the hiss of mad Sthenno’s hairy snakes, although he bore the cap of Hades and the sickle of Pallas, with Hermes’ wings though Zeus was his father; he sailed a fugitive on swiftest shoes, listening for no trumpet but Euryale’s bellowing — having despoiled a little Libyan hole! He slew no army of men, he burnt no city with fiery torch.

  ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τοῖος ἔην Βρομίου μόθος: οὐ ποσὶν ἕρπων

  Βάκχος ἐθωρήχθη δολόεις πρόμος, οὐδὲ λοχήσας

  φρουρὸν ἀκοιμήτοιο μετήλυδα κύκλον ὀπωπῆς

  Φορκίδος ἀλλοπρόσαλλον ἀμειβομένης πτερὸν Ὕπνου

  65 ἤνυσε θῆλυν ἄεθλον ἀθωρήκτοιο Μεδούσης:

  ἀλλὰ διατμήγων δηίων στίχα δίζυγι νίκῃ

  χερσαίου πολέμοιο καὶ ὑγροπόροιο κυδοιμοῦ

  λύθρῳ γαῖαν ἔδευσε, καὶ αἵματι κῦμα κεράσσας

  Νηρεΐδας φοίνιξεν ἐρευθιόωντι ῥεέθρῳ,

  70 κτείνων βάρβαρα φῦλα: πολὺς δ᾽ ἐπὶ μητέρι Γαίῃ

  ὑψιλόφων ἀκάρηνος ἐτυμβεύθη στάχυς Ἰνδῶν,

  πολλοὶ δ᾽ ἐν πελάγεσσιν ὀλωλότες ὀξέι θύρσῳ

  αὐτόματοι πλωτῆρες ἐπορθμεύοντο θαλάσσῃ,

  Ἰνδῶν νεκρὸς ὅμιλος. ἀνικήτῳ δὲ Λυαίῳ

  75 ὕδασιν αἰχμάζοντος ἐγερσιμόθου ποταμοῖο

  Ἄρεα κυματόεντα παρέρχομαι, ὁππότε πεύκη

  Βακχιὰς αἰθαλόεσσα κατέφλεγε βάρβαρον ὕδωρ

  μυδαλέῳ σπινθῆρι, καὶ ἔζεε κύματι θερμῷ

  καπνὸν ἀναβλύζων ποταμήιον ὑγρὸς Ὑδάσπης.

  [61] Far other was the struggle of Bromios. For Bacchos was no sneaking champion, crawling along in his armour; he laid no ambush for the sentinel eye of Phorcys, the ball of the sleepless eye that passed from hand to hand, giving each her share under the wing of sleep in turn; he won no womanish match over a Medusa unarmed. But he cut the lines of his enemies in a double victory, battle on land and tumult at the ford; he soaked the earth with gore, he mingled the waves with blood, he dyed the Nereids purple in their reddened streams, as he killed the barbarian hordes. Great was the harvest of highcrested Indians buried headless in mother earth; shoals of dead Indians slain by the sharp thyrsus floated at random and voyaged over the deep, a multitude! I pass by that billowy warfare, when the battlestirring river hurled his waves against invincible Lyaios, when the blazing torch of Bacchos kindled the barbarian stream with a damp spark, an
d watery Hydaspes with waves boiling hot puffed out smoke from his depths.

  80 ἀλλ᾽ ἐρέεις, ὅτι ‘κῆτος ἁλίτροφον ἔκτανε Περσεύς:

  ὄμματι Γοργείῳ πετρώσατο θῆρα θαλάσσης.’

  τί πλέον, εἰ φονίης δεδοκημένος ὄμμα Μεδούσης

  ἀνδρομέων μελέων ἑτερότροπον εἶδος ἀμείψας

  εἰς λίθον αὐτοτέλεστον ἐμορφώθη Πολυδέκτης;

  85 Βάκχου δ᾽ Ἰνδοφόνου βριαρὸς πόνος οὐ μία Γοργώ,

  οὐ λίθος ἠερόφοιτος ἁλίκτυπος ἢ Πολυδέκτης:

  ἀλλὰ δρακοντοκόμων καλάμην ἤμησε Γιγάντων

  Βάκχος ἀριστεύων ὀλίγῳ ῥηξήνορι θύρσῳ,

  ὁππότε Πορφυρίωνι μαχήμονα κισσὸν ἰάλλων

  90 Ἐγκέλαδον στυφέλιξε καὶ ἤλασεν Ἀλκυονῆα

  αἰχμάζων πετάλοισιν: ὀιστεύοντο δὲ θύρσοι

  γηγενέων ὀλετῆρες, ἀοσσητῆρες Ὀλύμπου,

  χερσὶ διηκοσίῃσιν ἕλιξ ὅτε λαὸς Ἀρούρης

  θλίβων ἀστερόεσσαν ἴτυν πολυδειράδι κόρσῃ

  95 λεπταλέῳ γόνυ κάμψεν ἀκοντιστῆρι κορύμβῳ,

  ἔγχεϊ κισσήεντι, καὶ οὐ πυρόεντι κεραυνῷ

  τηλίκος ἐσμὸς ἔπιπτεν, ὅσος ῥηξήνορι θύρσῳ.

  [80] But you will say, “Perseus killed a monster of the sea; with the Gorgon’s eye he turned to stone a leviathan of the deep!” What was the good, if Polydectes, looking upon deadly Medusa’s eye, changed his human limbs to another kind and transformed himself into stone? The terrible exploits of Bacchos were not one Gorgon, not an airsoaring sea-beaten cliff, not a Polydectes. No, Bacchos reaped the stubble of snakehaired giants, a conquering hero with a tiny manbreaking wand, when he cast the battling ivy against Porphyrion, when he buffeted Encelados and drove off Alcyoneus with a volley of leaves: then the wands flew in showers, and brought the earthborn down in defence of Olympos, when the coiling sons of Earth with two hundred hands, who pressed the starry vault with manynecked heads, bent the knee before a flimsy javelin of vineleaves or a spear of ivy. Not so great a swarm fell to the fiery thunderbolt as fell to the manbreaking thyrsus.

  ἀλλά φίλοι, κρίνωμεν: ἐν ἀντολίῃ μὲν ἀρούρῃ

  Ἰνδοφόνους ἱδρῶτας ὀπιπεύων Διονύσου

  100 ἠέλιος θάμβησεν, ὑπὲρ δυτικοῖο δὲ κόλπου

  Εσπερίη Περσῆα τανύπτερον εἶδε Σελήνη,

  βαιὸν ἀεθλεύσαντα πόνον γαμψώνυχι χαλκῷ:

  καὶ Φαέθων ὅσον εὖχος ὑπέρτερον ἔλλαχε Μήνης,

  τόσσον ἐγὼ Περσῆος ἀρείονα Βάκχον ἐνίψω.

  105 Ἴναχος ἀμφοτέρων πέλε μάρτυρος, ὁππότε κισσῷ

  καὶ φονίῳ νάρθηκι Μυκηνίδες ἤρισαν αἰχμαὶ

  χαλκοβαρεῖς, Σατύρων δὲ φιλεύιον Ἄρεα φεύγων

  θυρσοφόρῳ Βρομίῳ δρεπανηφόρος εἴκαθε Περσεύς,

  καὶ δόρυ θοῦρον ἔπεμπε μαχήμονος ἀντὶ Λυαίου

  110 οὐτιδανὴν ἀσίδηρον ἀκοντίζων Ἀριάδνην:

  οὐκ ἄγαμαι Περσῆα μίαν κτείναντα γυναῖκα,

  εἵμασι νυμφιδίοισιν ἔτι πνείουσαν Ἐρώτων.

  [98] Let us compare them, friends. Helios marvelled when he saw the sweat of Dionysos, as he slew Indians on the eastern soil: over the western gulf, Selene in the evening saw Perseus on wings outspread, after he had had a small task to do with a curving piece of bronze: as much as Phaethon has glory above the Moon, so much better than Perseus I will declare Bacchos to be. Inachos was witness of both, when the heavy bronze pikes of Mycenai resisted the ivy and deadly fennel, when Perseus sickle in hand gave way to Bacchos with his wand, and fled before the fury of Satyrs crying Euoi; Perseus cast a raging spear, and hit frail Ariadne unarmed instead of Lyaios the warrior. I do not admire Perseus for killing one woman, in her bridal dress still breathing of love.

  εἰ δὲ Διὸς χρυσέων μεγαλίζεται εἵνεκα λέκτρων,

  οὐ Δανάην ἐκόμισσεν ἐς οὐρανὸν ὑέτιος Ζεύς,

  115 κυδαίνων γονίμης φιλοπάρθενον ὄμβρον ἐέρσης

  βαιῆς κλεψιγάμου: Σεμέλη δ᾽ ἐπέβαινεν Ὀλύμπου

  σὺν Διί, σὺν μακάρεσσι μιῆς ψαύουσα τραπέζης,

  υἱέι βοτρυόεντι παρεζομένη Διονύσῳ:

  οὐ Δανάη λάχεν οἶκον Ὀλύμπιον, ὑγροπόρου δὲ

  120 λάρνακος ἔνδον ἐοῦσα Διὸς ναυτίλλετο νύμφη,

  μεμφομένη ζυγίων ἀπατήλιον ὄμβρον Ἐρώτων,

  ἄστατον ὄλβον ἔχοντα μινυνθαδίου νιφετοῖο.

  [113] Is he proud of the golden wooing of Zeus? But rainy Zeus did not raise Danae to his heaven, to glorify a few loving drops of creative dew in that furtive union. Semele did mount into heaven to touch one table with Zeus and the Blessed, to sit beside her son Dionysos of the vine; but Danae received no home in Olympos. She the bride of Zeus went voyaging in a chest over the sea, regretting the deceitful rain of wedded love, after the unstable happiness of a passing shower.

  οἶδα μέν Ἀνδρομέδην, ὅτι φαίνεται ἐντὸς Ὀλύμπου,

  ἀλλὰ πάλιν μογέει καί ἐν αἰθέρι: καί τάχα δειλὴ

  125 πολλάκι τοῖον ἔλεξεν ἔπος νεμεσήμονι φωνῇ:

  [123] I know that Andromeda is to be seen in Olympos; but she is unhappy still even in the sky. Often the poor creature thus complained with reproachful voice:

  ‘τί πλέον, εἵ με κόμισσας ἐς αἰθέρα, νυμφίε Περσεῦ;

  καλὸν ἐμοὶ πόρες ἕδνον Ὀλύμπιον: ἀστερόεν γὰρ

  κῆτος ἔτι κλονέει με καὶ ἐνθάδε, καὶ νέον ἄλλον

  ἀντίτυπον προτέροιο μετά χθόνα καὶ φόβον ἅλμης

  130 εἰσέτι δεσμὸν ἔχω καὶ ὲν ἄστρασιν: οὐ σέθεν ἅρπη

  οὐρανίη με σάωσε: μάτην δέ μοι ἐντὸς Ὀλύμπου

  μείλιχον ἀστραίης ἀμαρύσσεται ὄμμα Μεδούσης:

  κῆτος ἔτι κλονέει με, καὶ οὐ πτερὰ κοῦφα τιταίνεις.

  μήτηρ ἀχνυμένη με βιάζεται, ὅττι καὶ αὐτὴ

  135 δειλὴ Κασσιέπεια δι᾽ αἰθέρος εἰς ἄλα δύνει

  Νηρεΐδας τρομέουσα, καὶ ὀλβίζει δρόμον Ἄρκτου

  ἄβροχον Ὠκεανοῖο καὶ οὐ ψαύοντα θαλάσσης:

  καὶ φόβον Ἀνδρομέδης ὁρόων καὶ Κῆτος Ὀλύμπου

  γηραλέος μετὰ γαῖαν ὀδύρεται ἐνθάδε Κηφεύς.’

  [126] “What good was it, bridegroom Perseus, that you brought me into the sky? A precious bridegift was your Olympos to me! The Seamonster chases me even here among the sta
rs! After earth and all that terror of the sea, I still have chains like the old ones, even among the stars! Your heavenly sickle has not saved me. In vain Medusa’s eye softens for me in Olympos as it shines among the stars. The Monster chases me still, and you do not stretch your light wings! my mother Cassiepeia is vexed and presses me, because the poor thing must dive herself through the air into the brine, trembling at the Nereids and she deems the Bear happy in his course, never drenched in the Ocean never touching the sea; old Cepheus is unhappy still, when he sees Andromeda’s fear, and the Monster of Olympos coming, after what happened here on earth!”

  140 τοῖον ἔπος βαρύδεσμος ἀνίαχε πολλάκι νύμφη,

  Περσέα κικλήσκουσα, καὶ οὐ χραίσμησεν ἀκοίτης.

  εἰ δέ καὶ Ἀνδρομέδης ἐπαγάλλεται ἄστρασι Περσεύς.

  δόχμιον ὄμμα τίταινε δι᾽ αἰθέρος, ἧχι φαείνει

  αἰγλήεις Ὀφιοῦχος Ὄφιν δινωτὸν ἀείρων,

  145 καὶ Στέφανον περίκυκλον ἐσαθρήσεις Ἀριάδνης

  σύνδρομον Ἠελίοιο, συναντέλλοντα Σελήνῃ,

  ἵμερον ἀγγέλλοντα φιλοστεφάνου Διονύσου.

  [140] Complaints like these the nymph often would utter in her heavy chains; she called on Perseus, and her husband helped her not. And if Perseus is proud of Andromeda too in the stars, do but cast your eye towards that side of the heavens, where the brilliant Ophiuchos is conspicuous holding up his encircling Serpent; and you will see the circlet of Ariadne’s Crown, the Sun’s companion, which rises with the Moon and proclaims the desire of crownloving Dionysos.