But when Bacchos had ended the wrestling-match for his bride, still dripping with the sweat of his wedding contest he struck down Sithon with a stab of his sharp thyrsus, Sithon the murderer of wooers ; and as the father rolled in the dust he gave his daughter the thyrsus that slew him, as a love-gift. That was a wedding of many songs : the bridechamber was never silent, Seilenoi chanted, Bacchants danced, drunken Satyrs wove a hymn of love and sang the alliance which came of this victorious match. Companies of Nereids under the foothills of the neighbouring isthmus encircled Dionysos with wedding dances and warbled their lay ; beside the Thracian sea danced old Nereus, who once had Bromios for a guest ; Galateia tript over the wedding-sea and carolled Pallene joined with Dionysos ; Thetis capered although she knew nothing of love ; Melicertes crowned the seagirt wedding-reef of the isthmus chanting Euoi for Pallene’s bridal ; many a Hamadryad of Athos kindled a Thracian torch for the bridal in fiery Lemnos close by. And while the bride mourned her father, the Euian bridegroom comforted her with lover’s tender talk : —
S Maiden, lament not for your father so wicked in his love ! Maiden, lament not for one that wooed your maidenhood ! What father ever begat and then married his own daughter ? Leave your empty mourning, because now that Sithon your father is slain Justice dances and laughs, and kindles a wedding-torch with her virgin hands ; she who knows not marriage still is singing your marriage, as she beholds a new Oinomaos dead. Oinomaos died indeed, but although her father had perished, Hippodameia took her joy with her husband newly-wedded. Then you too must throw to the winds your regret for your father, and take your joy united with your vinegod lover, now that you have escaped a father’s disgrace. I need not tell you of Sithon’s hateful love and your marriage delayed ; how he took in hand a murderous blade to kill your wooers, and let you grow old without a taste of Aphrodite, scattered your hopes of a husband and left your bed solitary. Look at the rotting relics of your pretenders’ bodies, whom the Paphian adorned and the furious Avenger slew ! See those heads hung before your doors like firstfruits of harvest, still dripping with the gore of those inhospitable bridal feasts ! You are no mortal daughter of Sithon. I believe a heavenly being begat you, your own Thracian Ares. I believe Cythereia brought you to birth ; and you have marks of both parents imprinted, the temper of Ares and the radiance of Aphrodite. Or I believe your father was Lord Hermes of the ring, when he entered the delicate bed of Peitho who brings marriage to pass, and he taught you the wrestling which leads the way to love.”
So he consoled her with words that healed her sorrow, and stilled the lovely tears of the mourning maiden. And he lingered for some time beside his wedded bride, taking his joy in the love of this new marriage.
Then he left the halls of Pallene and Thracian Boreas, and went on to Rheia’s house, where the divine court of the prolific Cybele stood on Phrygian soil. There grew Aura the mountain maiden of Rhyndacos, and hunted over the foothills of rocky Dindymon. She was yet unacquainted with love, a comrade of the Archeress. She kept aloof from the notions of unwarlike maids, like a younger Artemis, this daughter of Lelantos ; for the father of this stormfoot girl was ancient Lelantos the Titan, who wedded Periboia, a daughter of Oceanos ; a manlike maid she was, who knew nothing of Aphrodite. She grew up taller than her yearsmates, a lovely rosy-armed thing, ever a friend of the hills. Often in hunting she ran down the wild bear, and sent her swift lance shooting against the lioness, but she slew no prickets and shot no hares. No, she carried her tawny quiver to shoot down hillranging tribes of i: ravening lions, with her shafts that were death to wild beasts. Her name was like her doings : Aura the Windmaid could run most swiftly, keeping pace with the highland winds.
One day in the scorching season of thirsty heat the maiden was asleep, resting from her labours of hunting. Stretching her body on Cybele’s grass, and leaning her head on a bush of chaste laurel, she slept at midday, and saw a vision in her dreams which foretold a delectable marriage to come — how the fiery god, wild Eros, fitted shaft to burning string and shot the hares in the forest, shot the wild beasts in a row with his tiny shafts ; how Cypris came, laughing, wandering with the young son of Myrrha as he hunted, and Aura the maiden was there, carrying the quiver of huntsman Eros on the shoulder which was ere now used to the bow of Artemis. But Eros went on killing the beasts, until he was weary of the bowstring and hitting the grim face of a panther or the snout of a bear ; then he caught a honess alive with the allbe witching cestus, and dragging the beast away showed her fettered to his merry mother. The maiden saw in the darkness how mischievous Eros teased herself also as she leaned her arm on Cythereia and Adonis, while he made his prey the proud lioness, bend a slavish knee before Aphrodite, as he cried loudly, “Garlanded mother of the loves ! I lead to you Aura, the maiden too fond of maidenhood, and she bows her neck.” Now you dancers of lovestricken Orchomenos, crown this cestus, the strap that waits on marriage, because it has conquered the stubborn will of this invincible lioness ! ” Such was the prophetic oracle which Aura the mountain maiden saw. Nor was it vain for the loves, since they themselves bring a man into the net and hunt a woman.
The maiden awoke, raved against the prudent laurel, upbraided Eros and the Paphian — but bold Sleep she reproached more than all and threatened the Dream : she was angry with the leaves and thought, though she spoke not,
“Daphne, why do you persecute me ? What has your tree to do with Cypris ? I was deluded when I slept under your neighbouring branches, because I thought yours was a plant of chastity ; but I found nothing of your reputation or my hope. And so. Daphne, when you changed your shape you found how to change your mind ? Surely you are not the servant of conjugal Aphrodite after your death ? This is not the tree of a decent girl but of a bride newly wed. One might expect to see such dreams near a myrtle : this dream is worthy of a harlot. Did Peitho plant you, did your laurel- Apollo plant you with his own hand ?
She spoke thus, angry at the plant and Eros and Sleep all together.
And once it happened that Artemis queen of the hunt was hunting over the hills, and her skin was beaten by the glow of the scorching heat, in the middle of glowing summer, at midday, when Helios blazed as he whipt the Lion’s back with the fire of his rough whistling whip ; so she got ready her car to cool her hot frame along with the Naiad Nymphs in a bath in some hill burn. Then Artemis hillranger fastened her prickets under the yokestraps. Maiden Aura mounted the car, took reins and whip and drove the horned team like a tempest. The unveiled daughters of everflowing Oceanos her servants made haste to accompany the Archeress : one moved her swift knees as her queen’s forerunner, another tucked up her tunic and ran level not far off, a third laid a hand on the basket of the swiftmoving car and ran alongside. Archeress diffusing radiance from her face stood shining above her attendants, as when Selene in her heavenly chariot sends forth the flame of her ever-wakeful fires in a shower of cloudless beams, and rises in full refulgence among the firefed stars, obscuring the whole heavenly host with her countenance : radiant like her, Archeress traversed the forest, until she reached the place where the heavenfallen waters of Sangarios river are drawn in a murmuring stream.
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