Thus she showed her valiant lance to the foolish […]. But he, smitten with the maddening sweet sting, not understanding that the Amazon was so heartless, uttered […] a voice of unhappy passion, harbinger of his own death :
Aye, cast your beloved spear, I beseech you, and slay me with your snowy hand, and it is my joy ! I fear not your pike, I fear not you, wedlock-shirker ! So may it provide the quickest end, that I may escape at last the lasting sore of love, the fire that feeds under my heart! I, for that fate is my delight! But if you will follow Cypris, and yourself also shoot me a shot from the bow you bear, in the Paphian’s name, do not send it through the neck, but fix your shot in my heart, where now is the shot of love. Nay rather, let fly your lance at the neck, strike not the heart : I need no second wound. But if it gives you joy, I will endure another shot, that earth may cover me, both keeping the sore of the fire, wounded by the steel. Kill me the hapless lover, spare not your bowstring. But you put woman into the steel, when you handle the arrows. Here I stand, a willing butt, watching with joyous […] the fingers twinkling about the notches, and […] to its length your honeysweet string, drawing close to your right breast so rosy. I die Love’s willing carrion, by a sweet fate ; I care not about death, I tremble not before a cloud of arrows, watching for your bare hand like snow to touch bow and arrow that I desire. Let fly at me all the shots of your quiver, shoot at me your murdering shots: other and more bitter arrows already volley upon me fire-barbed.
But if you kill me outright with your heart-soothing bow, maiden, pray do not burn my body on the usual pile: no other pyre I need; do but sprinkle upon me in death, my girl, sweet dust with your own hand, the last little grace, that one may say, ‘ How the maiden pitied him whom she killed !’ And when I am dead, let not my fife, let not cithern lie on my barrow, cast not there my herdsman’s crook, witness of my trade ; but fix your weapon above the tomb of the slain, still drenched in the hapless lover’s gore. And give me another grace, the very last: above my tomb let there be flowers of passion-struck Narcissus or saffron full of desire, or love’s flower the bind-weed : and in the spring-time the soon-dying anemone, proclaiming to all my youth too soon cut short. And if you were not born of the unmerciful sea or the mountains, drop a few tears on me, enough to damp with dew the rosy surface of your precious cheek, and with your own hand grave these words with funeral carmine: Here lies oxherd Hymnos, whom the maiden Nicaia killed without share of her bed, and did the last rites for him when dead.”
He spoke, Nicaia grew angry. Madly she bared the baneful […] of the arrow-shooting quiver, and drew back a straight-coursing shot ; to its full length she rounded the curved horn of the back-bent bow, like the wind she let fly a shot into the herdsman’s throat while he was speaking ; irresistible the arrow sped, and in the midst of the stream of words sealed it with a fastening.
But the dead body was not without tears then. The Nymph of the mountain was sore offended at man-slaying Nicaia, and lamented over the body of Hymnos ; in her watery hall the girl of Rhyndacos groaned, carried along barefoot by the water; the Naiads wept, and up in Sipylos, the neighbouring rock of Niobe groaned yet more with tears that flow uncalled ; the youngest girl of all, still unacquainted with wedded love, not yet having come to Bucolion’s, the Naiad Abarbarea oft reproached the nymph ; in the heights of Didymos, gathering near the woods, the Astacides upbraided the nymph of Cybele with her ways, singing the dirge, and not so loudly had the daughters of the Sun wept at the flaring fate of Phaethon dead. And Eros, eyeing the untamed heart of the murderous girl, threw down his bow, and swore an oath by the oxherd, to bring the maiden unwilling under the yoke of Dionysos. Rheia Dindymis upon her lions’ car, with her tearless eyes, groaned for the gallant lad so heavily fallen, even the mother of Zeus, the queen; and maiden […] who hated marriage whimpered at the lot of Hymnos perishing. Even the trees uttered a voice : How did the oxherd offend you so much? May Cythereia never be merciful to you, Artemis never !”
Adrasteia saw the murderous girl, Adrasteia saw the body panting under the steel, and pointed out the newly slain corse to the Cyprian, and upbraided Eros himself. Hard by the leafy woods tears were shed by the bull in pity for Hymnos, the young calf wept for him, the cow groaned for grief over the panting herdsman, and seemed to cry out these words :
The handsome oxherd has perished, a handsome girl has killed him! A maiden has killed one who loved her instead of love-charms she gave him his fate, she bathed her bronze in the blood of the love-smitten oxherd, and quenched the torch of […]. The handsome oxherd has perished, a handsome girl has killed him! And she has pained the nymphs, she hearkened not to the mountain rock, she […] the elm, and regarded not the prayer of the pine. Shoot not your shot, slay not the oxherd ! Even the wolf groaned for Hymnos, the merciless bears did groan, even the lion with grim eyes mourned for the oxherd.
The handsome oxherd has perished, a handsome girl has killed him ! Look for another scaur, ye cattle, seek a strange mountain, ye bulls ; for my sweet oxherd is perished of love and mangled by a woman’s hand. To what woods shall I guide my track ? Farewell, our pastures, farewell our beds on the ground !
The handsome oxherd has perished, a handsome girl has killed him! Goodbye, mountains and […], goodbye, ye brooks, good-bye, Naiads, and my trees!” Both Pan of the pastures and Phoibos cried aloud : A curse on the fife ! Where is Nemesis ? Where is Cypris ? Eros, handle not your quiver; ye pipes, make music no more ; the […] oxherd has perished !
Apollo showed his sister the love-murder of the unhappy herdsman without blame; even Artemis herself groaned the dead love of Hymnos, although she was unacquainted with love.
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