Liv Reads Statius: The Thebaid (Part 4)
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Hello, this is Let's Talk About Myths, baby, and I am your host, Liv, here with that reading episode that I promised. We are back to going through this slow but very fascinating and weird reading of Statius's Thebiad, which is that...

Roman epic about a distinctly Greek myth and also one of the only surviving sources for all the details on that distinctly Greek myth but again told through a Roman's eyes and during the Roman period of Greece. It's a little confusing but this epic is so worth the read.

Anyway, like normal reading episodes, remember this is lacking in some of the context that I would normally bring you just because it is just me reading the text. I do try to kind of adjust the language where possible to make it a little bit more understandable, but this...

This epic is old. This translation is unfortunately fairly old, but still, gods, it's worth it. I love reading this stuff to you guys. So it's been a while. These episodes are coming out really piecemeal just because I have so many amazing conversations to share with you. So just a reminder that this is the epic about the aftermath of Oedipus and his family and all of the horrors that happen in the play by Sophocles and presumably in the myth's

that preceded it. It is a little bit the story also of The Seven Against Thebes, which is the famous play by Aeschylus. But this epic is like kind of taking all of that stuff and like just exploding it into this really, really enormous epic scale that spans mythology in a much bigger way. And that's why it's so interesting because we really do get this kind of like, we get this kind of really expansive idea of...

Thebes and this sort of mythological time period in Thebes because it's Roman, right? So because it's being written so late at this time when these stories are so solidified into like the public kind of consciousness, because of that, it's able to touch on like every little bit of mythological, you

anything really that that they that you know statious could find to put into this or might have been connected to it in ways that don't survive for us all of this type of thing it's a bit like wider reaching and really covers like countless amounts of greek mythology but like in this roman epic it's confusing but i mean it's worth it again we'll get to it um but in our last book

We were dealing with these two brothers, right? Ateocles and Polyneices. These are the sons of Oedipus, the brothers of the surviving daughters, Ismene and Antigone. And one of the brothers, Ateocles, is currently king of Thebes. Sort of what happened was after Oedipus died, it...

through various machinations, it was determined that these brothers would share the kingship, sort of like one on, one off. And Ateocles gets the kingship first, but when he is supposed to kind of bail out and swap with his brother, he refuses. And so this is what spawns this sort of

epic familial anger between the two brothers and which will eventually spawn the war that Polynices, the other brother, is kind of working on conspiring to start with the help of the kingdom of Argos. So in this case, Polynices and hero Tydeus have both ended up in Argos. They're going to help, but also Argos is going to help Polynices wage a war against

Thebes. There is reference to the necklace of Harmonia, which is really cool and not referenced all that often. It's sort of this concept of an ongoing curse of this family that started with Harmonia, my favorite gal, and thus the reason why I mention her. And then there's already been a bit of a spat

and Polynices and Tydeus have married these daughters of Drastus who is ruling Argos. There's like a lot of, there's a lot of things going on here, but essentially, you know,

there is this debate about whether or not they're going to war and so where we last left off um adrastus this king of argos is kind of uncertain about the war but they're sort of pushing for it and eventually we're looking to these two seers amphiarius and melampus to figure out

whether or not it's a good idea to go to war. And while the last time I read it was the last time you all heard it, I have referred to Wikipedia for this recap and hopefully have done it justice. And without further ado, let's dive right back in to book four of The Thebiad by Statius.

This is The Thebiad by Statius, translated by J. H. Mosley, book four. Three times had Phoebus loosened stark winter with the Zephyrs and was constraining the scanty day to move in its vernal path with a longer course, when counsellings yielded to the shock of fate and pitiful war was given at last an ample field.

first from the larissian height bellona displayed her ruddy torch and with right arm drove the spear shaft whirling hissing it flew through the clear heaven and stood fixed on the high rampart of ionian

Then to the camp she goes, and, mingling with the heroes that glittered in gold and steel, shouts like a squadron. She gives swords to hurrying warriors, claps their steeds, and beckons gateward. The brave anticipate her promptings, and even the timid are inspired to short-lived valour.

The appointed day had come, a mighty herd falls in due sacrifice to the thunderer and to Mars. The priest, cheered by no favoring entrails, pales and feigns hope before the host. And now around their kinsmen sons and brides and fathers poor mingled, and from the summit of the gates would fain delay them.

"'No stint is there of tears. Beduud are the shields and helmet crests of these who make their sad farewell, and the household, the object of their sighs, clings to every weapon. They delight to find and trance for their kisses through the closed visors, and to draw down the grim helmet peaks to their embrace.'

they who of late took pleasure in the sword yes in death itself now groan and shake with sobbing their warlike temper broken

Even so, when men are about to go, perchance on some long voyage over the sea, and already the south winds are in the sails and the anchor rises from its torn bed, the loving band clings fast and enlaces their necks with eager arms, and their streaming eyes are dimmed, some with kisses, some with the sea's vast haze.

at last they are left behind yet stand upon a rock and rejoice to follow the swift flying canvas with their gaze while they grieve that their native breezes are blowing ever stronger yet still they stand and beckon to the ship from the well-known rock

now fame of olden time and you dark antiquity of the world whose care it is to remember princes and to make immortal the story of their lives recount the warriors and you calliope queen of the groves of song uplift your lyre and begin the tale

what troops of arms gratovus roused what city he laid waste of their people for to none comes loftier inspiration from the fountain's draught

The king Adrastus, sick with misgiving beneath the burden of his cares, and drawing nigh his life's departure, walked scarce of his own will amongst the applauding people, content to be girt but with his sword. Attendants bear his arms behind him, his charioteer tends the swift horses close by the gates, and already is Arion struggling against the yoke.

To support their king Larissa and high Prasimna arm their men, and Medea, fitter home of herds and Phleas rich in cattle, and Nerys that quails at Charadros, foaming down his valley's length, Cleone, with her piled mass of towers, and Theria destined one day to reap a harvest of Spartan gore.

To them are joined men who remember the king sent thence in early days, men who cultivate the rocky heights of Drapanum and olive-bearing Sicyon, and whom Strangilla laves with lazy, silent stream, and Elison winding through its curving banks.

an awful privilege has that river it cleanses so it is said with its austere waters the stygian eumenides

Here are they want to dip their faces and the horned snakes that gasp from drinking Phlegathon, whether they have ruined Thracian homes or Mycenae's impious palace or Cadmus's dwelling. The river itself flees from them as they bathe and its pools grow livid with countless poisons.

Ephiri, who consoled the weeping Aino, lends her company, and Cancrii, where the river, struck by the gorgon-quelling steed, owns the presence of the bard, and where Ipsmus lies athwart the deep and wards off from the land the sloping seas. This troop in all three thousand followed in Adrastus's train exultant."

some bore pikes in their hand some stakes long hardened in the fire for neither blood nor custom are shared by all their bands some are wont to whirl firmly woven slings and gird the air with a trackless circle

the king himself moves venerable alike in years and rank as a tall bull goes amid the pastures he has long possessed his neck and shoulders now drooping and void of strength yet the leaders still no courage have the steers to try him in the fight for they see the horns that many a blow has broken and huge scars of wounds upon his breast

Next, to the aged Adrastus his Durkian son-in-law brings forth his standards. To his cause the war does service, to him the whole army lends its martial ire. For him even from his native home have men come gladly, whether those whom his exile moves, and in whom loyalty has stood sure strengthened by adversity, or those in whom desire to change their ruler is uppermost.

many again whom the better cause makes favourable to his complaint moreover his father-in-law had given him aegion and irene to rule and all the wealth that treason famous for theseus brings lest with scant following he should go inglorious and feel the loss of his native honours

the hero wears the same dress and carries the same arms as on that winter's night when he owed the duty of a guest a tumesian lion covers his back and the twin points of javelins glitter while by his side a cruel sphinx rises stiff on his wound dealing sword

Already in his hopes and prayers he is master of his realm and holds his mother and faithful sisters in his embrace. Yet he looks back upon distraught Argia as she stands on the high tower against the sky. She draws back to herself, her husband's eyes and thoughts, and drives pleasant Thebes from out his mind.

lo in the midst tydeus flashing bright leads on his native squadrons glad already and hale of limb so soon as the first bugle sounded

Even so a slippery snake raises itself from the deep earth at the coaxing breath of the vernal sun, freed of its eld and the unsightly years put off, and gleams, a bright green danger, in the lush herbage. Unhappy the husband's man who meets its gaping mouth in the grass and spoils its fangs of their new venom.

To him also the rumor of war brings present help of warriors from the Aetolian cities. Rocky Pylene heard the tidings and pleuron of Meliagor wept for by his sister birds. Steep Caledon and Olenos, whose Jove does challenge Ida, and Calchas welcome Haven from Ionian billows, and the river whose face the athlete Hercules did marr.

even yet scarce dares he raise his stricken visage from the water's depths but mourns with head sunk far below in his green cave while the river banks pant and sicken with dust all these defend their bodies with bronze-bound targis and bear fierce halberds in their hands while native mars stands erect upon their helms

chosen youths surround the great-hearted son of neas high-spirited for battle and in all the glory of his well-known scars no meaner he in threatening ire than polymches it is doubtful even for whom the war is waged

But mightier comes thereon the Dorian array new-armed, they whose numerous plows take up your banks, Lyrcius, and your shores, Inachus, prince of Achaean streams. For no more tempestuous torrent flows from Persean land when he is drunk deep of Taurus, or the watery Pleiades foaming high and swollen with Jove, his daughter's lover.

they two whom swift asterion encircles and erasinus sweeping on his floor dryopian harvests and they who tame the fields of epidaurus favourable to iacus are those hillsides but they give denial to ceres of henna desolate dimae sends aid and neleon pelas her swarming squadrons

Not yet renowned was Pelas, and Nestor was as yet in the prime of his second age, but would not join a host doomed to perish. These does tall Hippomadon excite and teach the love of glorious valour, and on his head a brazen helm does shake with triple tear of snow-white plume.

Beneath his armor iron mail fits close upon his flanks, his shoulders and breast a wide flaming circle covers, whereon the knight of Danius lives in the gold handiwork. The fifty guilty chambers blaze with furies, murky torch, the father himself on the blood-stained threshold praises the crime and views the swords.

Anemion Steed in terror of the fight bears the hero from the citadel of Pallas and fills the fields with a huge flying shadow and the long trail of dust rises upon the plain. Not otherwise crashing through the forest with shoulders and either breast does two formed Hylias speed headlong from his mountain cave.

osa trembles at his going and beasts and cattle fall in terror yes even his brethren are affrighted till with a great leap he plunges into the waters of peneus and with thwarting bulk dams back the mighty flood

who could describe in mortal speech that numerous armament its peoples and their valiant might ancient tiryns is roused by her own god to arms not barren of brave men nor degenerate from her tremendous sons renown but desolate and her day of fortune past

nor has she the power that wealth can give the scanty dweller in her empty fields points out the towers raised by the sweat of cyclopean brows

yet she sends three hundred manly hearts a company undisciplined for war without javelin throngs or the surly gleam of swords on their heads and shoulders the tawny spoil of lions their tribe's adornment a pine-wood stake their weapon and shafts crammed tight in inexhaustible quivers

they sing the paean of hercules and the world swept clear of monsters the god listens from afar on lepheita nymia gives them comrades and all the might that the sacred vineyards of cleonian malorchus summoned to war

well known is the glory of that cottage pictured upon its willow doors are the arms of the god who was its guest and in the humble field it is shown where he laid his club and under what home-oak he reposed his limbs at ease and where yet the ground bears traces of his lying

but capaneus on foot and looking down by a whole head's height upon the host wields the burden of four hides torn from the backs of untamed steers and stiffened above with a covering of massy bronze

There lies the Hydra with triple-branching crown, lately slain and foul in death. Part embossed in silver, glitters fierce with moving snakes. Part by a cunning device is sunken and grows dark in the death agony against the tawny gold. A

A round in dark blue steel runs the torpid stream of Lerna. His long flanks and spacious breast are guarded by a corslet woven of iron threads innumerable, a work inspiring terror. No mother's task, a giant rises from the summit of his flashing helm. His spear, that he alone can throw, is a cypress, standing stripped of leaves and pointed with iron.

assigned in fealty to him are they whom fertile amphigania nourishes and messines plain and mountainous ithame threon and epe high piled on mountain tops

Helos too, and Petelion and Dorion that bewails the Gettic bard. Here Thamaris made bold to surpass in song the skilled daughters of Ionia, but doomed to a life of silence fell on the instant mute with voice and harp alike, who may despise deities met face to face. For

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and now even the fate foretelling augur's resolve begins to weaken under strong assault he saw indeed what should befall and the dread signs thereof but atropos herself had made violent attack upon his doubting will and overwhelmed the god within him nor is wifely treachery absent and already the house sparkles with forbidden gold

From that gold dyed the fates bowed destruction to the Argive seer, yes, and she knew it, ah, impious crime, but the perfidious wife would fain barter her husband for a gift, and yearns to gain the spoils of the princess Argia, and to excel her in the stolen finery.

she not unwilling for she sees that the spirit of the princes and the resolve of war must fail should not the foreseeing hero join their enterprise herself put off from her bosom the fatal ornament of her beloved polymeches

nor grieved thereat but says moreover no fit times these to deck myself in shining jewellery nor without you let me take delight in adorning my hapless beauty enough to beguile my doubts and fears with the solace of my maidens and trail my unkempt tresses at the altars

Shall I, O thought unspeakable, shall I wear rich Harmonia's dower of gold, while you are shut within your threatening helmet, and as clang in arms of steel? More fitly mayhap will heaven grant me that boon, and I outdo the argolic brides in apparel, when I am queen indeed, and must fill the temples with votive choirs upon your safe return.

now let her put it on who desires it and can rejoice while her husband is at war thus the fatal gold made entry to the chambers of eryphilae and set in motion the beginnings of great crimes and tisiphone laughed loud exulting in what should come to pass

aloft behind cnarian steeds whom cialaris unknown to castor had begotten on mars of meaner stock he makes earth tremble the adornment of parnassian wool betrays the prophet sprays of olive wreath his helmet and the white fillet intertwines the scarlet crest

he handles at once his weapons and the reins held tight upon the yoke on either side there is a shelter from darts and an iron forest trembles on his chariot far seen he stands conspicuous and terrible with stern spear and flashes the conquered python on his shield

Amicli, Apollo's town, bears his car company and the bands of Pylos and Malia shunned by doubting keels, and Cariae, skilled to raise the hymn that wins Diana's applause, and Phaeris and Citherian Messi, mother of doves, the phalanx of Tigetus and the hardy troop of swan-nurturing Eurotas.

The Arcadian God himself trains them in the dust of combat and implants in them the ways of naked valour and warlike temper. Hence, dauntless courage and the welcome consecration of a glorious death. Their parents rejoice in their children's fate and urge them on to die, and while the whole band of youths make lamentation, the mother is content with the wreath that crowns the victim.

they hold the reins and two javelins with thong attached barred are their mighty shoulders from which a rough cloak hangs a lydian crest is on their helms not these alone amphiarius are in your service the slopes of elis swell your array and low-lying pissa's folk who swim your waters

Yellow Alpheus, you who fares in Sicanian lands, yet are never tainted by so long a passage through the deep.

countless chariots vex their crumbling fields far and wide their breasts are broken to war that glory of the race endures even from the impious ways and broken axles of oenomaus the champed bits foam between the jaws and the white spume bedews the churned earth

you too parthenopious unknown to your mother unschooled alas in arms such lure has young ambition speed onward your parrhasian coharts your warlike parent so it is chanced not otherwise could the boy have left her was bringing peace with her bow to distant glades and the farther slopes of cool lycaeus

No fairer face was there of any marching to the grim hazard of war, none winds such favour for pre-eminent beauty, nor lacks he courage so he but come to sterner years. What forest queens and spirits enshrined in rivers, what nymphs of the glade has he not fired with consuming passion?

Diana herself, when she saw the boy beneath the shade of Menalius, steeping, youthful over the grass, forgave her comrade, so they say, and with her own hand fitted to his shoulders the Dictean shafts and Amiclean quiver. Smitten by dauntless love of war, he dashes to the front, burning to hear the clash of arms and bray of trumpets,

to soil his fair hair with the dust of battle and to ride home on a foeman's captive steed he is wary of the woodlands and ashamed that he knows not the arrow's baneful boast of human blood foremost he shines ablaze with purple and gold his streaming cloak furrowed by iberian cords and his innocent shield adorned with his mother's caledonian battles

Fierce sounds the bow at his left side and on his back, plumed with feathery shafts, rattles the quiver set with pale electrum and brilliant eastern jasper, full of Caedonian arrows.

his charger accustomed to outstrip the flying stags was covered with two lynxes hides and marvelled upon by his armed master's heavier weight him he loftily bestrode comely to look upon from the pleasant flush of youth upon his cheeks

to him the arcadians an ancient people older than the moon and stars give trusty cohorts they were born it is said of the hard trunks of forest trees when the wandering earth first bore the print of feet

not yet were fields or houses or cities or ordinance of marriage oaks and laurels suffered rude childbirth and the shady mountain ash peopled the earth and the young babe fell from the pregnant ash trees womb it is said that struck with terror at the change from light to murky darkness they followed far the setting titan despairing of the day

the husbandmen grow few on high menalus the forests of parthenius are deserted rpe and strati and windy enespi give their troops to aid the war

Neither Tagea nor Caelini, blessed by the winged god, stand idle, nor Alia, woodland shrine of Minerva, nor swift Clytor, nor Laodon, almost. O Pythian, the father of your bride! Nor yet Lampia with her shining snow-white ridges, nor Phineas, believed to send down Styx to swarthy Disse.

Azan, that can rival the howling mobs of Ida, came, and the Tparhacian leaders, and the Nonacrian countryside wherein the thunderer, quiver-clad, took delight, and furnished laughter for you, you loves, and Orchomenos, rich in cattle, and Kynosura, abounding in wild beasts."

the same ardour lays bare the fields of epitus and lofty psophis and the mountains famed for hercules might aramanthus home of monsters and stymphalos with its clanging bronze all arcadians these one race of men but sundered by differing customs

These bend back Paffian myrtle saplings and practice warfare with pastoral staves. Some have bows, some pikes for weapons, some cover their hair with helmets, while that one keeps the fashion of the Arcadian hat, and another makes his head terrible with the jaws of the Lycanian she-bear.

this warlike gathering of hearts sworn true to mars mycenae neighbour though she was helped with no soldiery for then was the deadly banquet and the sun's mid-day withdrawing and there too was a feud of warring brothers and now the tidings had filled the ears of atalanta that her son was going to a captain to the war and rousing all arcadia

her steps faltered and the darts fell by her side swifter than the winged wind she fled from the woodland over rocks and brimming rivers that would stay her just as she was with snatched up raiment and her fair hair streaming behind her on the breeze

Even as a tigress bereft of her cubs fiercely tracks the horse of him that robbed her, when she halted and pressed her bosom on the reins that met her, he pale with eyes downcast. Whence comes this mad desire, my son? Whence this reckless valour in your young breast? Can you drill men to war? Can you bear the burdens of Mars and go among the sword-bearing companies?'

yet would that you were able lately i paled to see you plying the hunting lance in close conflict with a struggling boar forced back upon bent knee and almost fallen and had i not drawn my bow and sped an arrow where now would be your wars naught will my shafts avail you nor my shapely bows nor this black-spotted steed in whom you trust

"'Mighty are the endeavors to which you hasten, and you a boy scarce ripe for the embraces of dryads or the passions of Aramanthian nymphs!' "'Omens tell true. I wondered why Diana's temple seemed to me of late to tremble, and the goddess herself to frown upon me, and why the votive spoils fell from her roof. This was that made my archery slack and my hands to falter and never to strike true.'

No, wait till your prowess is greater, your years more firm, till the shadow comes upon your rosy cheeks and my likeness fades from your face. Then I myself will give you the battles and the sword for which you do burn, and no mother's tears shall call you back. Now take your weapons home. But you, will you suffer him to go to war, you Arcadians, oh, born assuredly of rock and oak?

more would she fain entreat her son and the chieftain's thronging round console her and lessen her feels and already the bugle's horrid signal blares forth she cannot loose her son from her loving embrace and commends him earnestly to his leader adrastus

but in another region the martian folk of cadmus dismayed by the madness of the king and terrified by news that is grave indeed for it is spread abroad how argos is making descent in force tardily in truth for shame of the monarch and his cause nevertheless prepare for war

none rush to draw the sword or take pleasure in covering their shoulders with their father's shield or making trim the harness of wing footed horses delights such as war affords despondent without resolve or warlike temper they vouchsafe a timorous aid this one bewails a loving parent in his evil case another his wife's pleasant youth and the hapless babes ripening in her womb

in none does the war-god wax hot even the walls crumbling with age-long neglect and amphion's mighty towers lay bare their worn and ancient sides and a mean and unresponsive toil repairs those parapets once raised to heaven by the inspired harp

yet the boeotian cities are moved by the avenging lust of battle and are stirred in behalf of their kindred race rather than to aid the unjust king like is he to a wolf that has forced an entrance to a rich fold of sheep and now his breast all clotted with foul corruption and his gaping bristly mouth unsightly with blood-stained wool

hies him from the pens turning this way and that his troubled gaze should the angry shepherds find out their loss and follow in pursuit and flees all conscious of his bold deed

disturbing rumour heaps panic upon panic one says that scattered cavalry of lerna wander upon asopus's bank one tells of your capture kithiron of the revels another reports tumesis taken and plataea's watch-fires burning through the darkness of night

and to whom throughout the land has not knowledge yes sight been granted of the tyrian walls a sweat and dirce stained with blood of monstrous births and sphinx yet once more speaking from her rock and to crown all a new fear confounds their anxious hearts

Of a sudden, the queen of the woodland dance is frenzied by desire, and scattering the sacred baskets runs down to the plain from the Ogygian heights, and bloodshot eyes wave fiercely to and fro a triple pine torch and fills the alarmed city with wild, distracted cries.

Almighty father of Nyssa, who long has ceased to love your ancestral nation, swift-born beneath the frozen north, you are shaking warlike Ismara now with your iron-pointed Thersis and bidding the vine groves creep over Lycurgus' realm.

or you are rushing in mad and flaring triumph by swelling ganges in the farthest confines of red tethys and the eastern lands or issuing golden from the springs of hermes

but we your progeny have laid aside our country's weapons that do you festal honour and have our portion of war and tears and terror and kindred crime the cruel burdens of this unrighteous reign

rather o bacchus take and set me among the eternal frosts beyond caucasus that rings with the war-cry of the amazons than that i should tell the horrors of our rulers and their unnatural brood

Lo, you drive me! Far different was the frenzy I vowed to you, O Bacchus. I behold two similar bulls engage, alike in honour and sharing one inherited blood. With budding foreheads and lofty horns they close in fierce struggle and perish in the violence of their mutual wrath.

you are the villain do you give way who wrongfully seek all alone to hold ancestral pastures and the hills you both do own ah miserable and wicked such bloodshed have your wars cost you and another champion is master of your meadow so spoke she and as the god withdrew his presence fell mute with ice-cold face

but the king affrighted by the portent and a prey to various terrors in sick despair such is the way of those who fear they know not what seeks aid from the long-lived seer and the clear-sighted blindness of tiresias

He replies that heaven shows not its will so clearly by lavish slaughter of steers or nimble feathered wing or the truthful leap of entrails, not by means of garlanded tripod or star-determined numbers or by the smoke that hovers about the altar's frankincense as by the ghosts called up by death's stern barrier.

Then he prepares the rites of Lethe and makes ready beforehand to evoke the monarch sunk below the confines of Ismenos, where it mingles with the deep and makes purgation all around with the torn entrails of sheep and the strong smell of sulfur and with fresh herbs and the long mutterings of prayers.

there stands a wood enduring of time and strong and erect in age with foliage yes unshorn nor pierced by any suns no cold of winter has injured it nor has the south wind power thereon nor boreas swooping down from the gettick bare

Beneath is sheltered quiet, and a vague, shuddering awe guards the silence. And the phantom of the banished light gleams pale and ominous. Nor do the shadows lack a divine power. Latonia's haunting presence is added to the grove. Her effigies wrought in pine or cedar and wood or very tree are hidden in the hallowed gloom of the forest.

her arrows whistle unseen through the wood her hounds bay nightly when she flies from her uncle's threshold and resumes afresh diana's kindlier shape or when she is weary from her ranging on the hills and the sun high in heaven invites sweet slumber here does she rest with head flung back carelessly on her quiver while all her spears stand fixed in the earth around

outside of vast extent stretches the martial plain the field that bore its harvest to cadmus hardy was he who first after the kindred warfare and the crime of those same furrows dared with the ploughshare till the soil and upturned the blood-soaked meads

Even yet the accursed earth breathes mighty tumults at midday and in the lonely night's dim shadows, when the black suns of earth arise to phantom combat. With trembling limbs the husbandman flees and leaves the field unfinished, and his oxen hie them to their stalls, distraught.

here the aged seer for well suited is the ground to stygian rites and the soil rich with living gore delighted him bids dark fleeced sheep and black oxen be set before him all the finest heads that the herd can show deerkay and gloomy kitharon wailed aloud and the echoing valleys shuddered at the sudden silence

"'Then he entwined their fierce horns with wreaths of dusky hue, "'handling them himself, "'and first at the edge of that well-known wood "'he nine times spills lavish draughts of bacchus "'into a hollowed trench, "'and gifts of vernal milk and attic rain "'and propitiatory blood to the shades below. "'So much is poured out as the dry earth will drink.'

then they roll tree trunks there and the sad priests bid them be three altar fires for hecate and three for the maidens born of cursed asheron for you lord of avernus a heap of pine wood though sunk into the ground yet towers high into the air

next to this an altar of lesser bulk is raised to cary's of the underworld in front and on very side the cypress of lamentation intertwines them

and now their lofty heads marked with the sword and the pure sprinkled meal, the cattle fell under the stroke, then the virgin manto, catching the blood in bowls, makes first libation, and moving thrice round all the pyres as her holy father commands, offers the half-dead tissues and yet living entrails, nor delays to set the devouring fire to the dark foliage.

And when Tiresias heard the branches crackling in the flames and the grim piles roaring, for the burning heat surges before his face and the fiery vapor fills the hollows of his eyes, he exclaimed and the pyres trembled and the flames cowered at his voice.

"'Abodes of Tartarus and awful realms of insatiable death, and you, most cruel of the brothers, to whom the shades are given to serve you, and the eternal punishments of the damned obey you, and the palace of the underworld thrown open in answer to my knocking the silent places, an empty void of stern Persephone, and send forth the multitude that lurk in hollow night.'

let the ferrymen row back across the styx with groaning bark haste you all together nor let there be for the shades but one fashion of return to the light do you daughter of perseus and the cloud-wrapped arcadian with rod of power lead in separate throng the pious denizens of elysium

But for those who died in crime, who in Erebus as among the seed of Cadmus are most in number, be you their leader. To Siphony, go on before the snake thrice brandished and blazing you branch, and throw open the light of day, nor let Cerberus interpose his heads, and turn aside the ghosts that lack the light.

He spoke, and together the aged man and Phoebus' maiden waited in rapt attention. Not, feared they, for their hearts were inspired by the god, only the son of Oedipus was overcome by a great terror, and in agony he grasps, now the shoulders, now the hands and sacred fillets of the seer as he chants his awful strain, and would fain leave the rites unfinished.

"'Even so, a hunter awaits a lion, "'roused by long shouting from his lair "'in the brushwood of a Githulian forest, "'stealing his courage and holding his spear "'in a perspiring grip. "'His face is frozen in terror and his steps tremble. "'What beast approaches?' he wonders. "'And how mighty! "'And he hears the roar that gives ominous signal "'and measures the growing sound in blind anxiety.'

Then Tiresias, as the ghosts did not yet draw night,

I bear you witness, goddesses, for whom we have drenched these flames and poured propitious goblets upon the rent earth. I can endure no delay no longer. Am I heard in vain, priest though I be? Or if a hag of Thessaly bid you with her frenzied chant, will you then go? Or so often as a Colchian witch drives you with the Scythian drugs and poisons, will Tartarus grow pale and stir affrighted?

but of me have you less regard if i care not to raise bodies from the balm and bring forth urns crammed with ancient bones and profane the gods of heaven and erebus alike or hunt with the sword the bloodless faces of the dead and pluck out their sickly tissues

despise not these frail years nor the cloud that is upon my darkened brow despise it not i warn you i too can vent my wrath i know the name whose knowing and whose speaking you so dread even hecate i can confound feared i not you o thimbrian and the high lord of the triple world who may not be known

him but i am silent peaceful old age forbids now will i but manto votary of phoebus eagerly cries you are oh father the pale ghost draws nigh the elysian void is flung open the spacious shadows of the hidden region are rent the groves and black rivers lie clear to view and asheron belches forth noisome mud

Smokey Phlegathon rolls down his streams of murky flame, and Styx, interfluent, sets a barrier to the sundered ghosts. Himself I behold all pale upon his throne, with furies ministering to his fell deeds about him, and the remorseless chambers and gloomy couch of Stygian Juno.

Black Death sits upon an eminence and numbers the silent peoples for their lord, yet the greater part of the troop remains. The Gortinian judge shakes them in his inexorable urn, demanding the truth with threats, and constrains them to speak out their whole life story, and at last confess their extorted gains.

Why should I tell you of hell's monsters, of Scylla's and the empty rage of centaurs, and the giant's twisted chains of solid adamant, and the diminished shade of hundredfold Egeon? Even so, said he, O guide and strength of my old age, tell me not things well known.

Who knows not the eye returning rock, and the deceiving waters, and Tityos' food of vultures, and Ixion swooning on the long circlings of the wheel? I myself in the years of stronger manhood beheld the hidden realms with Hecate as my guide, before heaven whelmed my vision and drew all my light within my mind.

rather summon you here with your prayers the argive and the theban souls the rest my daughter bid you with milk four times sprinkled to avert their steps and to leave the dreary grove then tell me pray the dress and the countenance of each how great their desire for the spilled blood which folk draw nigh more haughtily and thus of each several thing inform my darkness

She obeys and weaves the charm wherewith she disperses the shades and calls them back when scattered, potent but without their crimes, as the Colchian Medea or the enchantress Circe on her Aeian strand. Then with these words she addressed her priestly father. First from the blood-red lake does Cadmus raise his strengthless head, and the daughter of Citheria follows hard upon her spouse.

And from their head twin serpents drink The earth-born company seed of Mars Throng round them Whose span of life one day did measure And every hand is on its weapon Yes, on the sword-hilt They repel and bar approach And rush to combat With the fury of living men Nor care they to stop the gloomy trench But thirst to drain each other's blood

Nearby is a band of Cadmus's daughters and the sons they mourned. Here we behold bereaved Ataunoe and panting Aino, looking back at the bow and pressing her sweet pledge to her bosom. And Semele with arms held out to protect her womb, with shivered wands and bosom bare and bleeding, the frenzy of the god now spent, does his mother, Cadmus's daughter, follow Pentheus with wailing cries.

But he flees by Lethe's pathless region even beyond the Stygian lakes, where his kindlier father Echeon weeps over him and tends his mangled body.

Sad Lycus, too, I recognize in the son of Aeolus, his right arm bent behind him and a corpse thrown upon his laden shoulder. Nor yet does that one change his appearance or the reproach of his transformation. Even Aristaius's son, the horns rough in his brow, while spear in hand he repels the hounds agape to rend him.

But lo, with numerous train comes the jealous tantalid, and proud in her grief counts over the bodies. Not humbled by her woes, she rejoices to have escaped the power of heaven, and now to give freer reign to her mad tongue. While the chaste priestess thus recounts the tale to her father, his hoary locks trembling rise erect with lifted chaplet, and his pale visage throbs with a rush of blood.

no longer rests he on the supporting staff or faithful maiden but standing upright cries cease thy song my daughter enough have i of eternal light the sluggish mists depart black night flees from my face comes it from the shades or from apollo on high this flooding inspiration

Lo, I behold all that you did tell me. Behold, there mourn the Argive ghosts with eyes downcast.

grim abbas guilty pretus and gentle pharaonius and pelops maimed and oenomaias soiled with cruel dews all bedew their faces with plenteous tears hence do i prophesy for thebes a favouring issue of the war but what means this dense throng of warrior souls for such their wounds and weapons prove them

why show they gory faces and breasts and with unsubstantial clamour raise and shake at me threatening arms do i err o king or are these that band of fifty chthonius does behold and chromis and phgeas and maion distinguished by my laurel

Rage not you chieftains, no mortal, believe me, dared that enterprise. It was iron Atropos span you those destined years. You have fulfilled your fate for us. Cruel war remains in Tydeus yet again. He spoke, and as they swarmed upon his wool-bound chaplets, he drove them off and pointed them to the blood.

Reft of his comrade ghosts stood Laius on Cocytus's dreary strand, for already had the winged god restored him to unpitying Avernus, and glancing sidelong at his dire grandson, for he knew him by his face, came not like the rest of the multitude to drink the blood or the other outpourings, but breathed immortal hatred.

but the Aeonian seer delays not to lure him forward. Renowned prince of Tyrian Thebes, since whose death no day has looked with kindly aspect on Amphion's citadel, O you who has now enough avenged your bloody murder, O shade to whom you issue have made full atonement, to whom do you fly, unhappy one?

he against whom rages lies a living corpse and feels death joined with him in linked companionship his sunken visage besmeared with blood and filth and all the light of the day put out trust me it is a fate far worse than any dying

What cause have you to shun your innocent grandson? Turn your gaze here and take your fill of sacrificial blood. Then tell the chances that be and the wars of victims, whether you are in hostile mood or pitying your kindred's fortunes. Then will I grant you to cross forbidden Lethe in the bark you do desire and set you again at peace in the blessed land, in the safekeeping of the gods of Styx.

Soothed is he by the proffered honour and brings the colour to his cheeks, then thus replies, Why, when you were marshalling the spirits, O prophet equal to me in years, why was I chosen, first out of so many shades, to speak augury and to foretell what shall befall? It is enough to have remembrance of the past. Seek you my counsel, illustrious grandsons?

No, shame upon you him summons you him to your unhallowed rights, who gladly pierces his father with the sword, who turns him to the place of his begetting and casts back upon his innocent mother her own dear pledge of love. And now he wearies the gods and the dark counsels of the furies and supplicates my shade for the coming strife.

But if I have found such favour as a prophet of these times, of woe, I will speak, so far as Lachesis and grim Megira suffer me. War comes from every side, war of countless hosts, Grativus sweeps on the sons of Lerna before the gods of fate. Them there await portents of the earth and weapons of heaven and glorious deaths and unlawful withholdings from the final fire.

Victory is sure for Thebes, doubt it not, nor shall your fierce kinsmen have your realm, but furies shall possess it, and twofold impious crime, and alas, in your unhappy swords your cruel father triumphs. So speaking, he faded from their sight and left them in doubt at his mazy, riddling words.

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Meanwhile, the sons of Anakis with scattered troop had reached cool Nemea and the glades that witnessed to Hercules' renown.

Already they burn with eagerness to drive off Sidonian plunder, to destroy and ravage homesteads. Say you, O Phoebus, who turned them from their path of anger, whence came their staying, and how in mid-course they wandered from the way to us but scant beginnings of the tale remain. In drunken languor Liber was bringing back his array of war from conquered Haemus.

There had he taught the warrior Getai two winters through to hold the orgies, and white Othris to grow green along his ridges, and Rhodope to bear Ikarian shade. Already he draws nigh in his chariot decked with vine leaves to his mother's city. Wild lynxes bear him company to right and left, and tigers lick the wine-soaked reins.

in his train exulting bacchanals carry their spoil of beasts half-dead wolves and mangled she-bears no sluggish retinue is his anger and fury are there and fear and valour and ardour never sober and steps that stagger an army most like to its prince

But when he sees the cloud of dust surge up from Nemea, and the sun kindling on the flashing steel, and Thebes not yet marshalled for battle, horror struck at the sight, though faint and reeling, he commands the brazen cymbals and the drums and the noise of the double pipe, screaming loudest about his astonished ears, to be silent, and thus speaks.

Against me and my race does that host plan destruction. After long time their rage gains violence anew. Savage Argos and my stepmother's indomitable wrath are stirring up this war. Does it not even yet suffice, my mother's cruel burning, that natal pyre, and the lightning flash that I myself perceived?

No, even against the relics and the tomb of her consumed rival, against idle Thebes does she make impious attack. By craft will I contrive delay, hasten then, there, oh, my comrades, there to that plain. At the signal, the Hyrcanian team pricked up their crests, and the word, scarce spoken, he halted at his goal.

it was the hour when panting day uplifts the sun to the mid-summit of the world when the languid heat hangs over the gaping fields and all the groves let in the sky he summons the spirits of the water and as they throng round him in silence he begins

you rustic nymphs deities of the streams no small portion of my train fulfil the task that i do now set you stop fast with earth awhile the argolic river springs i beg and the pools and running brooks and in nymia most of all whereby they pass to attack our walls

let the water flee from the depth phoebus himself still at the summit of his path do aid you but so but your own will fail not the stars lend their strong influence to my design and the heat bringing hound of my origany is foaming

go then of your good will go into the hidden places of earth afterwards will i coax you forth with swelling channels and all the choicest gifts at my altar shall be for your honour and i will drive afar the nightly raids of the shameless horn-footed ones and the lustful rapine of the fauns

He spoke, and at a faint blight seemed to overspread their features and the moist freshness withered from their hair. Straightway fiery thirst drains the Anakian fields. The streams are gone, fountains and lakes are parched and dry, and the scorched mud hardens in the riverbeds.

a sickly drought is upon the soil the crops of tender springing wheat droop low at the edge of the bank the flock stands baffled and the cattle seek in vain the rivers where they bathed

even so when ebbing nile buries itself in mighty caverns and gathers into its mouth the life-giving streams of eastern winters the flood deserted valleys steam egypt gapes wide and waits expectant for the roar of her father's waves till by dint of many prayers he gives sustenance to the fairy and fields and brings on a great year of harvest

Dry is guilty Lerna, dry Lyrekius, and great Inachus, Caradhras that rolls down boulders on his stream, bold Erasinus whom his banks never contain, and Asterion like a billowy sea. Often has he been heard on pathless uplands, often known to break the repose of distant shepherds.

but langia alone and she by the gods command preserves her waters in the silence of a secret shade not yet had slaughtered archimoras brought her sorrowful renown no fame had come to the goddess nevertheless in far seclusion she maintains her spring and grove

great glory awaits the nymph when the toiling contests of the achaean princes and the four-yearly festival of woe shall do honour to sad hypsipyle and holy

So then neither burning shields nor close-fitting breastplates have they power to carry. So fiercely does fiery thirst scorch them. Not only their mouths and the throat's passage are parched, but a fever rages within. Their hearts beat heavily, the veins are thick, congealed, and the tainted blood cleaves to the dried-up tissues. Then the crumbling, sun-burnt earth exhales a hot vapour.

no rain of foam from the horses mouths their jaws close on dry bits and far out hang their bridled tongues no restraint of their masters do they suffer but scour the plain maddened by the fiery heat

this way and that adrastus sends scouts to discover if the lachymenian lakes yet remain or aught of amymenes waters but all lie drained by fire unseen nor is there hope of moisture from olympus as though they ranged yellow libya and africa's desert sand and syene shaded by no cloud

at length wandering in the woodland for so had eugeus himself devised they behold on a sudden hipposipoli beauteous in her grief at her breast opheltes hangs not her own child but the ill-starred offspring of enachian lycurgus dishevelled is her hair and poor her raiment yet in her countenance are marks of kingly birth and dignity not yet overwhelmed by a bitter lot

Then Adrastus, awestruck, thus addressed her.

Goddess, Queen of the Woodlands, for your countenance and honourable bearing proclaim you of no mortal birth. You who beneath this fiery vault are blessed in needing not to search for water, Socorran neighbouring people, whether the wielder of the bow or Latona's daughter has set you in the bridal chamber from her chaste company, or whether it be no lowly passion but one from on high does make you fruitful,

For the ruler of the gods himself is no stranger to archive bowers. Look upon our distressed ranks. We have the resolve to destroy guilty Thebes with the sword brought here. But the unwarlike doom of cruel drought does bow our spirits and drain our exhausted strength.

do you help our failing fortunes whether you of some turbid river or a stagnant marsh not as to be held shameful not too mean in such a pass as ours you now in place of the winds and rainy jupiter do we supplicate do you restore our ebbing might and fill again our spiritless hearts so may you charge grow under suspicious stars

only let jupiter grant us to return what high-piled booty of war shall you be given with the blood of numerous herds of deer kay will i recompense you o goddess and a mighty altar shall mark this grove

he spoke but a fevered gasping makes havoc of his words even in mid utterance and with the rush of breath his dry tongue stutters a like pallor holds all his warriors and like panting of the hollow cheeks with downcast eyes the lemnian makes answer no goddess indeed am i to help you though of heaven be my descent would that my griefs were not more than mortal

tis an entrusted pledge you behold me nursing and a nurse herself bereaved but whether my sons found any lap or breast to suckle them heaven knows and yet i had once a kingdom and a mighty father but why do i speak thus and stay you in your weariness from the waters you desire

come now with me perchance langia's stream yet runs unfailing for even beneath the path of the furious crab it is ever wont to flow yes through the shaggy hide of the acharian star be blazing

forthwith lest she prove a tardy guide to the pelasgians she sets down the clinging infant alas poor child on the grass near by so willed the fates and when she would not be put down consoled his pretty tears with flowers heaped around and coaxing murmurs like

the barakintian mother while she bids the curates leap in excited dance around the infant thunderer their cymbals crash in emulous frenzy but ida resounds with his loud wailings

But the child, lying in the bosom of the vernal earth and deep in herbage, now crawls forward on his face and crushes the soft grasses. Now in clamors thirst for milk cries his beloved nurse. Again he smiles and would feign utter words that wrestle with his infant lips and wonders at the noise of the woods or plucks at aught he meets or with open mouth drinks in the day and strays in the forest all ignorant of his dangers.

carelessness profound. Such was the young Mars amid Odrysian snow, such the winged boy on the house of Menalus, such was the rogue Apollo when he crawled up Ortigia's shore and set her side a tilt. They go through the coppices and by devious dusky waters of shadowy green some cluster round their guide, some throng behind, others outstrip her.

In the midst of the band she moves with proud, mean, and hurrying step, and now the veil echoes loud as they approach the stream, and the splashing of water upon rocks assails their ears. Then first from the column's head, just as he was with banner raised high for the nimble companions, Argus, exultant, cries, "'Water!' And through the warriors' mouths ran the long-drawn shout of, "'Water!'

Even so, along the shores of the Ambracian Sea sounds forth of the helmsman's prompting, the shout of the seamen at the oars, and in turn the smitten land sends back the echo when Apollo, with their salutation, brings Lucas into view. Into the stream the host plunged, indiscriminate and disordered, chieftains alike and common soldiers, levelling thirst makes no distinction in their confused ranks."

bridled horses with their chariots chargers with armed riders all dash madly in some the floods whirl away some lose their footing on the slippery rocks nor have they shame to trample their princes as they wrestle with the torrent or to sink beneath the stream the face of a friend who cries for mercy

Loud roar the waves, while far from the fountain-head is the river plundered, that once flowed green and clear with gentle lucid waters, but now from the depths of its channel is muddied and befouled. Then the sloping banks and torn herbage are mingled with the stream, and now, though it be stained and filthy with mire and earth, and though their thirst be quenched, yet they drink still.

One would think armies strove in fight or a pitched battle raged in the flood or the conquerors were looting a captured city. And one of the princes, standing in the midst of the streaming river, cried, "'Nemia, noblest by far of verdant glades, chosen seed of Jove, not even the toils of Hercules, were you more cruel?' When he strangled the furious monster's shaggy neck and throttled the breath within its swollen limbs."

So far let it suffice you to have vexed your people's enterprise. And you, whom no sons are wont to tame, O horned one, so lavish of never-failing waters, flow with prosperous current. From whatsoever storehouse you set free your cooling springs, immortality replenished. For hoary winter pours not out from you her laid-up snows, nor does the rainbow shed waters stolen from another fount.

nor do the pregnant storm clouds of chorus show you favor but you flow all on your own and no star can overcome you or destroy

You, neither Ladon, Apollo's river, shall surpass, nor either Xanthus, nor threatening Spurcius, nor Lycormus, of Centaur's fame. You will I celebrate in peace, you beneath the very cloud of war, and at the festal banquet, oh, honor you next to Jove himself, but so gladly receive our triumphing arms, and again be pleased to give the welcome of your streams to our tired warriors."

and recognize of your grace the host once did say oh nerds thank you so much as always for listening this is always the time when i so i feel like i go on a roll and then as soon as i do this like weird little blip i i have for like the final bits then my voice is like i'm gone i'm leaving

In any case, I'm also slightly losing my mind. That was really fun to read. I always... I'm always surprised by these. Honestly, like, a lot of it is, like, really dense and confusing, even for me. A lot of it I really want to, like, break down as I'm going, just, like, explain everything, but then that would defeat this episode and it would have to be scripted and it's a whole thing. But...

The more we get into this, the more interested I am. Like, that whole bit with, I mean, one, why was Hypsipoli there? Now I have to look into, like, why Theseus' ex, Hypsipoli, was, like, in Nemea and, like, by a river. So interesting. But the whole, like, the bit with Theseus and speaking with the shades in the underworld, like, that's straight out of the Odyssey. But Theseus doing the talking rather than Odysseus talking to Theseus. There's just so much happening. Yeah.

This is a really fun epic and I'm hoping to do a little bit more, maybe definitely one a month ideally so that you guys don't get lost and maybe every once in a while we'll have two a month. But I'm really glad we have this to keep going because there's so much going on in this epic and it's really interesting.

I will say this is less helpful because it's coming at the end. But for future references, there is a list. We have a very old list of like Roman names for some of the Greek gods referenced in here, just if you're confused. But one of the other things that I keep noticing coming up is that we're regularly referring to both the Furies and the Fates by each of their names, which is really interesting, but maybe confusing if you don't know their names.

So we've regularly heard of Tisiphone and Magira. They are both Furies, with the third one being a name I've forgotten, but I know connects to that terrible human being who once wrote popular children's books, but now is a vile piece of human garbage. Anyway...

The third Fury's name is in those books, and that's apparently the only thing I can say to you. This is a rambling ending. And for the Fates, though, just keeping track of the name Atropos is probably the most... And Clotho...

And not even I'm going to forget the third, but I think Atropos and Clotho are the ones that have come up with us most in this. So just I think it's really interesting that we're using those characters' names. But also maybe this is a nudge if you're curious to go like dig deeper into these individuals. There's not a lot to them individually, but I do like when we get their names instead of this kind of collective noun for them.

And I'm not going to edit this. I'm just going to say that the third fate is Lachesis. It came to me because I'm hellbent on remembering them myself. So we have Atropos, Clotho, and Lachesis. Those are the three fates. And then the main Furies. The main Furies referenced here...

it's regularly, it seems to be mostly to Tiffany, but also my gear. Um, but those are, it's just, there's just so much, there's just so much depth. And at the same time, there's like a bunch of Roman references that I don't always get. Um, and so I just think it's really interesting to kind of like dig into this and, and slowly, uh,

put together what's going on. So I hope you're enjoying. Let's Talk About Myths with me is written and produced by me, Liv Albert. Michaela Panguish is the Hermes to my Olympians, my incredible producer. Select Music by Luke Chaos. And the podcast is part of the Memory Collective, a group of creators and educators dedicated to sharing knowledge that is accessible, contextualized, socially conscious, and inclusive.

To find more of The Memory Collective, visit collectivemem.com. And again, this website is really, really minor right now. And unfortunately, we're kind of like locked in time on it. And the podcast network page is like missing the partial historian. So I apologize for that. The website is going to become something much more intricate very soon. I'm just working on finalizing that bit. And then it's gonna be like a pop. Oh my God, it's a brand new site. It's gonna be so pretty. And until then...

Just stay tuned. Just stay tuned. But check out the other Memory Collective podcasts if you want to hear more. The other podcasts officially on the network are Movies We Dig, The Partial Historians, and Sweet Better. And separately, they're not officially on the network, but they're part of the collective because they're my besties, Ancient History Fangirl. Check out all of those shows for more

of everything. I am Liv and I absolutely love this shit even when it means that I'm just speaking for an hour and a half straight into a microphone watching my voice slowly disintegrate into nothing but oh my god it's fun. It's fun. I love this shit. Thanks. G'day America. It's Tony and Ryan from the Tony and Ryan podcast from Down Under. Today we want to talk to you about Boost Mobile, the newest 5G network in the country. These guys are no longer

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