All Lydia was astonished at her fate
the Rumor spread to Phrygia, soon the world
was filled with fear and wonder. Niobe
had known her long before,—when in Maeonia
near to Mount Sipylus; but the sad fate
which overtook Arachne, lost on her,
she never ceased her boasting and refused
to honor the great Gods.
So many things
increased her pride: She loved to boast
her husband's skill, their noble family,
the rising grandeur of their kingdom. Such
felicities were great delights to her;
but nothing could exceed the haughty way
she boasted of her children: and, in truth,
Niobe might have been adjudged on earth,
the happiest mother of mankind, if pride
had not destroyed her wit.
It happened then,
that Manto, daughter of Tiresias,
who told the future; when she felt the fire
of prophecy descend upon her, rushed
upon the street and shouted in the midst:
“You women of Ismenus! go and give
to high Latona and her children, twain,
incense and prayer. Go, and with laurel wreathe
your hair in garlands, as your sacred prayers
arise to heaven. Give heed, for by my speech
Latona has ordained these holy rites.”
At once, the Theban women wreathe their brows
with laurel, and they cast in hallowed flame
the grateful incense, while they supplicate
all favors of the ever-living Gods.
And while they worship, Niobe comes there,
surrounded with a troup that follow her,
and most conspicuous in her purple robe,
bright with inwoven threads of yellow gold.
Beautiful in her anger, she tosses back
her graceful head. The glory of her hair
shines on her shoulders. Standing forth,
she looks upon them with her haughty eyes,
and taunts them, “Madness has prevailed on you
to worship some imagined Gods of Heaven,
which you have only heard of; but the Gods
that truly are on earth, and can be seen,
are all neglected! Come, explain to me,
why is Latona worshiped and adored,
and frankincense not offered unto me?
For my divinity is known to you.
“Tantalus was my father, who alone
approached the tables of the Gods in heaven;
my mother, sister of the Pleiades,
was daughter of huge Atlas, who supports
the world upon his shoulders; I can boast
of Jupiter as father of my sire,
I count him also as my father-in-law.
The peoples of my Phrygia dread my power,
and I am mistress of the palace built
by Cadmus. By my husband, I am queen
of those great walls that reared themselves
to the sweet music of his sounding lyre.
We rule together all the people they
encompass and defend. And everywhere
my gaze is turned, an evidence of wealth
is witnessed.
“In my features you can see
the beauty of a goddess, but above
that majesty is all the glory due
to me, the mother of my seven sons
and daughters seven.
And the time will come
when by their marriage they will magnify
the circle of my power invincible.
“All must acknowledge my just cause of pride
and must no longer worship, in despite
of my superior birth, this deity,
a daughter of ignoble Coeus, whom
one time the great Earth would not even grant
sufficient space for travail: whom the Heavens,
the Land, the Sea together once compelled
to wander, hopeless on all hostile shores!
Throughout the world she found herself rebuffed,
till Delos, sorry for the vagrant, said,
‘Homeless you roam the lands, and I the seas!’
And even her refuge always was adrift.
“And there she bore two children, who, compared
with mine, are but as one to seven. Who
denies my fortunate condition?—Who
can doubt my future?—I am surely safe.
“The wealth of my abundance is too strong
for Fortune to assail me. Let her rage
despoil me of large substance; yet so much
would still be mine, for I have risen above
the blight of apprehension. But, suppose
a few of my fair children should be taken!
Even so deprived, I could not be reduced
to only two, as this Latona, who,
might quite as well be childless.—Get you gone
from this insensate sacrifice. Make haste!
Cast off the wreathing laurels from your brows!”
They plucked the garlands from their hair, and left
the sacrifice, obedient to her will,
although in gentle murmurs they adored
the goddess Niobe had so defamed.
Latona, furious when she heard the speech,
flew swiftly to the utmost peak of Cynthus,
and spoke to her two children in these words:
“Behold your mother, proud of having borne
such glorious children! I will yield
prestige before no goddess—save alone
immortal Juno! I have been debased,
and driven for all ages from my own—
my altars, unto me devoted long,
and so must languish through eternity,
unless by you sustained. Nor is this all;.
That daughter of Tantalus, bold Niobe,
has added curses to her evil deeds,
and with a tongue as wicked as her sire's,
has raised her base-born children over mine.
Has even called me childless! A sad fate
more surely should be hers! Oh, I entreat”—
But Phoebus answered her, “No more complaint
is necessary, for it only serves
to hinder the swift sequel of her doom.”
And with the same words Phoebe answered her.
And having spoken, they descended through
the shielding shadows of surrounding clouds,
and hovered on the citadel of Cadmus.
There, far below them, was a level plain
which swept around those walls; where trampling steeds,
with horny hoofs, and multitudinous wheels,
had beaten a wide track. And on the field
the older sons of Niobe on steeds
emblazoned with bright dyes and harness rich
with studded gold were circling.—One of these,
Ismenus, first-born of his mother, while
controlling his fleet courser's foaming mouth,
cried out, “Ah wretched me!”
A shaft had pierced
the middle of his breast; and as the reins
dropped slowly on the rapid courser's neck,
his drooping form fell forward to the ground.
Not far from him, his brother, Sipylus,
could hear the whistling of a fatal shaft,
and in his fright urged on the plunging steed:
as when the watchful pilot, sensible
of storms approaching, crowds on sail,
hoping to catch a momentary breeze,
so fled he, urging an impetuous flight;
but, while he fled the shaft, unerring, flew;
transfixed him with its quivering death; struck where
the neck supports the head and the sharp point
protruded from his throat. In his swift flight,
as he was leaning forward, he was struck;
and, rolling over the wild horse's neck
pitched to the ground, and stained it with his blood.
Unhappy Phaedimus, and Tantalus,
(So named from his maternal grandsire) now
had finished coursing on the track, and smooth.
Shining with oil, were wrestling in the field;
and while those brothers struggled—breast to breast—
another arrow, hurtling from the sky,
pierced them together, just as they were clinched.
The mingled sound that issued from two throats
was like a single groan.
Convulsed with pain,
the wrestlers fell together on the ground,
where, stricken with a double agony,
rolling their eyeballs, they sobbed out their lives.
Alphe nor saw them die—beating his breast
in agony—ran to lift in his arms
their lifeless bodies cold—while doing this
he fell upon them. Phoebus struck him so,
piercing his midriff in a vital part,
with fatal shot, which, when he pulled it forth,
dragged with its barb a torn clot of his lung—
his blood and life poured out upon the air.
The youthful Damasicthon next was struck,
not only once; an arrow pierced his leg
just where the sinews of the thigh begin,
and as he turned and stooped to pluck it out,
another keen shaft shot into his neck,
up to the fletching.—The blood drove it out,
and spouted after it in crimson jets.
Then, Ilioneus, last of seven sons,
lifted his unavailing arms in prayer,
and cried, “O Universal Deities,
gods of eternal heaven, spare my life!”—
Besought too late, Apollo of the Bow,
could not prevail against the deadly shaft,
already on its way: and yet his will,
compellant, acted to retard its flight,
so that it cut no deeper than his heart.
The rumors of an awful tragedy,—
the wailings of sad Niobe's loved friends,—
the terror of her grieving relatives,—
all gave some knowledge of her sudden loss:
but so bewildered and enraged her mind,
that she could hardly realize the Gods
had privilege to dare against her might.
Nor would she, till her lord, Amphion, thrust
his sword deep in his breast, by which his life
and anguish both were ended in dark night.
Alas, proud Niobe, once haughty queen!
Proud Niobe who but so lately drove
her people from Latona's altars, while,
moving majestic through the midst, she hears
their plaudits, now so bitterly debased,
her meanest enemy may pity her!—
She fell upon the bodies of her sons,
and in a frenzy of maternal grief,
kissed their unfeeling lips. Then unto Heaven
with arms accusing, railed upon her foe:
“Glut your revenge! Latona, glut your rage!
Yea, let my lamentations be your joy!
Go—satiate your flinty heart with death!
Are not my seven sons all dead? Am I
not waiting to be carried to my grave?—
exult and triumph, my victorious foe!
Victorious? Nay!—Much more remains to me
in all my utmost sorrow, than to you,
you gloater upon vengeance—Undismayed,
I stand victorious in my Field of Woe!”
no sooner had she spoken, than the cord
twanged from the ever-ready bow; and all
who heard the fatal sound, again were filled
with fear,—save Niobe, in misery bold,—
defiant in misfortune.—Clothed in black,
the sisters of the stricken brothers stood,
with hair disheveled, by the funeral biers.
And one while plucking from her brother's heart
a shaft, swooned unto death, fell on her face—
on her dear brother's corpse. Another girl,
while she consoled her mother, suddenly,
was stricken with an unseen, deadly wound;
and doubled in convulsions, closed her lips,
tight held them, till both breath and life were lost.
Another, vainly rushed away from death—
she met it, and pitched head-first to the ground;
and still another died upon her corse,
another vainly sought a secret death,
and, then another slipped beyond's life's edge.
So, altogether, six of seven died—
each victim, strickened in a different way.
One child remained. Then in a frenzy-fear
the mother, as she covered her with all
her garments and her body, wailed—“Oh, leave
me this one child! the youngest of them all!
My darling daughter—only leave me one!”
But even while she was entreating for its life—
the life was taken from her only child.
Childless— she crouched beside her slaughtered sons,
her lifeless daughters, and her husband's corpse.
The breeze not even moved her fallen hair,
a chill of marble spread upon her flesh,
beneath her pale, set brows, her eyes moved not,
her bitter tongue turned stiff in her hard jaws,
her lovely veins congealed, and her stiff neck
and rigid hands could neither bend nor move.—
her limbs and body, all were changed to stone.
Yet ever would she weep: and as her tears
were falling she was carried from the place,
enveloped in a storm and mighty wind,
far, to her native land, where fixed upon
a mountain summit she dissolves in tears,—
and to this day the marble drips with tears.
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