HKB
sat down with them, he observed that the grandson of Æolus[107] was holding in his hand a javelin made of an unknown wood, the point of which was of gold.
Having first spoken a few words in promiscuous conversation, he said, “I am fond of the forests, and of the chase of wild beasts; still, from what wood the shaft of the javelin, which thou art holding, is cut, I have been for some time in doubt; certainly, if it were of wild ash, it would be of brown color; if of cornel-wood, there would be knots in it. Whence it comes I am ignorant, but my eyes have not looked upon a weapon used for a javelin, more beautiful than this.” One of the Athenian brothers replied, and said, “In it, thou wilt admire its utility, {even} more than its beauty. Whatever it is aimed at, it strikes; chance does not guide it when thrown, and it flies back stained with blood, no one returning it.” Then, indeed, does the Nereian youth[108] inquire into all particulars, why it was given, and whence {it came}? who was the author of a present of so great value? What he asks, {Cephalus} tells him; but as to what he is ashamed to tell, {and} on what condition he received it, he is silent; and, being touched with sorrow for the loss of his wife, he thus speaks, with tears bursting forth: “Son of a Goddess, this weapon (who could have believed it?) makes me weep, and long will make me do so, if the Fates shall grant me long to live. ’Twas this that proved the destruction of me and of my dear wife. Would that I had ever been without this present! Procris was (if perchance {the fame of} Orithyïa[109] may have more probably reached thy ears) the sister of Orithyïa, the victim of violence. If you should choose to compare the face and the manners of the two, she was the more worthy to be carried off. Her father Erectheus united her to me; love, {too}, united her to me. I was pronounced happy, and {so} I was. Not thus did it seem {good} to the Gods; or even now, perhaps, I should be {so}. The second month was now passing, after the marriage rites, when the saffron-colored Aurora, dispelling the darkness in the morn, beheld me, as I was planting nets for the horned deer, from the highest summit of the ever-blooming Hymettus,[110] and carried me off against my will. By the permission of the Goddess, let me relate what is true; though she is comely with her rosy face, {and} though she possesses the confines of light, and possesses {the confines} of darkness, though she is nourished with the draughts of nectar, {still} I loved Procris; Procris was {ever} in my thoughts, Procris was ever on my lips. I alleged the sacred ties of marriage, our late embraces, and our recent union, and the prior engagements of my forsaken bed. The Goddess was provoked, and said, ‘Cease thy complaints, ungrateful man; keep thy Procris; but, if my mind is gifted with foresight, thou wilt wish that thou hadst not had her;’” and {thus}, in anger, she sent me back to her.