The whole mind of Persephoneia was perturbed while she spoke, babbling deceit as the false tears bedewed her cheeks. Goddess bowed assent to goddess, and gave her Megaira to go with her, that with her evil eye she might fulfil the desire of Hera’s jealous heart.
Hera then shot away with stormwinged shoe : three strides she made, and the fourth brought her to Ganges. She pointed out to unsmiling Megaira the crowd of dead Indians, the sweat of the army and the prowess of Dionysos. When the Fury beheld the deathdealing feats of Lyaios, her jealous heart was furious even more than heavenly Hera. Then Hera was glad ; and with a grim laugh she addressed the snakyhaired goddess in despondent voice :
“See how the young kings of Olympos triumph ! See how the bastards of Zeus ply the spear! Zeus has been delivered of one son from Semele, that he may destroy all the Indians in a mass, the gentle innocents! Let Zeus the lawbreaker learn, and Bacchos, how great is the strength of Megaira! For shame—what a lawless mind has Zeus ruling on high! He never attacks the lawbreaking Tyrsenians, because they learn thieves’ laws of violence, and sail the Sicilian Sea in their unfriendly ships, and rob other men of their own. He slew not the impious tribe of Dryopes, where life is sharp steel and murder ; but he did slay the Indians whose heart is set on piety, whom famous Themis herself, I think, nursed at her breast. For shame—what a lawless mind he has! when a mortal man has set on fire immortal Hydaspes, so noble and so great, a mortal man has set on fire him whose father was heavenly Zeus !
With these words, she flew away through the upper air ; and silently in a cave of the neighbouring Caucasian cliff, Megaira cast off the terrible serpent shape, and waited there in the form of an owl until she should see great Zeus fast asleep, for that was Queen Hera’s command.
Hera herself made her way brooding to the waters of Chremetes in the west, where that afflicted ancient, Libyan Atlas, wearily bends under the whirling heavens ; and she sought out the wife of jealous Zephyros,” Iris, the messenger of Zeus when he is in a hurry—for she wished to send her swift as the wind from heaven with a message for shadowy Sleep. She called Iris then, and coaxed her with friendly words :
“Iris, goldenwing bride of plantnourishing Zephyros, happy mother of Love! Hasten with stormshod foot to the home of gloomy Sleep in the west. Seek also about seagirt Lemnos, and if you find him tell him to charm the eyes of Zeus uncharmable for one day, that I may help the Indians. But change your shape, take the ugly form of Sleep’s mother the blackgirdled goddess Night ; take a false name and become darkness, since I also change my limbs into the aspect of Themis, of Cythereia, of Artemis when need compels. Promise him Pasithea for his bride, and let him do my need from desire of her beauty. I need not tell you that one lovesick will do anything for hope.”
At these words, Iris goldenwing flew away, peering through the air. To Paphos, to the land of Cyprus she directed her unwavering eye ; most of all she gazed above Byblos, on the wedding water of Assyrian Adonis, seeking the wandering track of vagrant Sleep. She found him on the slopes of nuptial Orchomenos; for there he delayed again and trailed his distracted foot, a frequent visitor at the door of his beloved Pasithea.
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