Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HYMN 6. ERYSICHTHON, by CALLIMACHUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HYMN 6. ERYSICHTHON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: There was a grove pelasgian men had planted
Last Line: Craving his orts and scullions' table-scraps.
Alternate Author Name(s): Kallimachos


THERE was a grove Pelasgian men had planted, --
Demeter's ground of beautiful trees wide-flung,
Whose length a bow-shot scarce had travelled through.
Pines grew within, and giant elms, and pears,
And rarest sweeting apples. Runnels leapt
With liquid amber; and she loved the place, --
Never Eleusis, Triopum, or Enna
Had moved the goddess to a madder love.
But when the House of Triopas fell from grace,
By will of Fortune came a wicked thought
On Erysichthon, and the worse prevailed.
Hot-foot he went with twenty serving-men,
All in the sap of youth, gigantic all,
-- A force to uproot a city. Armed they were
With double-axe and hatchet, making speed
Incontinently to Demeter's grove.
A poplar stood, a huge tree, heaven-reaching,
Where nymphs would often play towards the noon.
Stricken the first, a boding note it sang
Of death to others; and Demeter knew
The agony of that hallowed forester,
And cried in wrath 'Who cuts my beautiful trees?'
With that she vanished, hastening in disguise
Of one Nicippe, whom the people made
Her public votaress. Fillets and poppy-head
She bore, with temple-key from shoulder hung;
Then to that evil-doer lost to shame
Spoke gently: 'You, my child, who cut the trees
Given to god, -- I bid you, child, forbear.
Child of your parents' many prayers, have done,
And turn your men, fearing Demeter's wrath.
The grove you plunder is Our Lady's ground.'
He glowered down, with gaze unkinder yet
Than hunter meets on Tmarus' mountain-wold
When the cubbed lioness glares; than whom, men say,
No creature living has more terrible eyes.
'Begone,' he cried, 'or flesh this mighty axe!
These timbers build my house; and there, all weathers,
We'll feast to our hearts' content, my friends and I.'
The lad spoke ill: and Nemesis took note.

What tongue can tell Demeter's wrath? No more
She cloaked her godhead. Still on earth she trod,
But towered to heaven, touching Olympus' height.
And they, in deathly fear, left axe in tree,
Scattering on a sudden before her face.
The rest she suffered, -- underlings constrained
By sullen master. Him she answered back:
'So be it, dog, so be it! Go you and build!
Build, dog, and eat! There's many a feast to come.'
No more she said, but worked her grievous will,
And burning pains on Erysichthon came, --
A rampant fury of hunger ruled within,
Scruzing his vitals, making him sick to death.
O miserable man, no bite he took
But craved another, and as much again.
A score of cooks his table set; his wine
Twelve butlers drew; and double scourge he bore, --
For Dionysus with Demeter paired,
Sharing her anger, as her grove he shared.

From wake and festival for very shame
His parents kept him, fertile of excuse.
Came sons of Ormenus, to Pallas' games
Bidding him, at Itone. 'Sirs, replied
His mother, 'he's but yesterday gone out;
For Krannon owes us cattle -- a hundred head.'
Polyxo, mother to Actorion,
Would have him with old Triopas attend
Against the day that saw Actorion wed.
The other wept, -- 'Ay, Triopas will come;
But Erysichthon, wounded by a boar
Over on Pindus, in the valley covers,
Is keeping to his bed, these nine days gone.'
Unhappy mother, for your darling son
What lie was left unspoken? Never came
A feast, but -- 'Erysichthon's gone abroad';
No wedding came, but -- 'Erysichthon's wounded --
Hit by a quoit', or 'from his chariot fallen',
Or 'gone to count the flocks on Othrys hill'.

Then privily at daylong feast he sat,
Eating and eating. Rank as a weed outgrown
His belly thrusted, fed on more and more;
And all the meats down to a bottomless gulf
Huge as the sea, in thankless bounty poured.
Snow on Mount Mimas, waxen doll in the sun,
More slowly waste than fell his flesh away
Down to the sinews burning. Nothing remained
Of that unfortunate but fibre and bone.
His mother wept, two sisters deeply wailing
Mourned with his wet-nurse and the slave-girls ten;
And Triopas himself, his grey hair clutching,
Called on Poseidon, deaf to hear his call:
'This generation of thy sons behold
False father! -- if indeed thy son am I,
Born to thy AEolid Canace; and if
This most unfortunate child is child of mine.
Would that Apollo's arrow had shot him down
And I might bury him! For now he sits
The Curse of Famine incarnate in my sight.
Either remove his torment, or thyself
Take him and feed. My groaning board is bare,
My folds are stript, empty my cattle-yards,
Butcher and cook already say me no.'

But the great wains gave up their mules; and next
His mother's ox went down, the fatted ox
She kept for Hestia; down the horses went,
Winner and war-horse both; and last of all
The cat, whom little creatures shook to see.
Now while the house of Triopas could provide,
Only its chambers knew the plague within;
But when it failed of plenty, gnawed bone-dry,
The king's son at the cross-road sat and begged,
Craving his orts and scullions' table-scraps.





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