Met. 11.592Est prope Cimmeriōs longō spēlunca recessū,
mōns cavus, ignāvī domus et penetrālia Somnī:
quō numquam radiīs oriēns mediusve cadēnsve
595Phoebus adīre potest.Near the Cimmerians there is a cave with a deep recess, a hollow mountain, the home and inner sanctum of sluggish Sleep: where Phoebus can never come with his rays, whether rising, at midday or setting. Met. 11.595Nebulae cālīgine mīxtae
exhālantur humō dubiaeque crepuscula lūcis.Mists mingled with darkness are breathed out from the ground, and the twilight of a doubtful light. Met. 11.597Nōn vigil āles ibi cristātī cantibus ōris
ēvocat aurōram, nec vōce silentia rumpunt
sollicitīve canēs canibusve sagācior ānser.No wakeful bird with crested head calls forth the dawn with its song there, nor do watchful dogs, or the goose, keener than dogs, break the silence with their voice. Met. 11.600Nōn fera, nōn pecudēs, nōn mōtī flāmine rāmī
hūmānaeve sonum reddunt convīcia linguae:
mūta quiēs habitat;No wild beast, no cattle, no branches stirred by the breeze, no clamour of human tongues give out a sound: mute repose dwells there; Met. 11.602saxō tamen exit ab īmō
rīvus aquae Lēthēs, per quem cum murmure lābēns
invītat somnōs crepitantibus unda lapillīs.yet from the bottom of the rock comes a stream of Lethe's water, through which the wave, gliding with a murmur over crackling pebbles, invites sleep.
Met. 11.605Ante forēs antrī fēcunda papāvera flōrent
innumeraeque herbae, quārum dē lacte sopōrem
nox legit et spargit per opācās ūmida terrās.Before the doors of the cave fertile poppies bloom and countless herbs, from whose milk dewy Night gathers sleep and scatters it over the darkened lands. Met. 11.608Iānua nec versō strīdōrēs cardine reddit:
nūllā domō tōtā, custōs in līmine nūllus.No door gives out creaks from a turning hinge: there is none in the whole house, no guard on the threshold. Met. 11.610At mediō torus est ebenō sublīmis in antrō,
plūmeus, ūnicolor, pullō vēlāmine tēctus:
quō cubat ipse deus membrīs languōre solūtīs.But in the middle of the cave there is a high couch of ebony, downy, of one colour, covered with a dark coverlet: on it lies the god himself, his limbs relaxed in languor. Met. 11.613Hunc circā passim variās imitantia fōrmās
somnia vāna iacent totidem, quot messis aristās,
615silva gerit frondēs, ēiectās lītus harēnās.Around him everywhere lie empty dreams, imitating various forms, as many as the ears of corn the harvest bears, the leaves the wood, the sands the shore casts up.
Met. 11.616Quō simul intrāvit manibusque obstantia virgō
somnia dīmōvit, vestis fulgōre relūxit
sacra domus, tardāque deus gravitāte iacentēs
vix oculōs tollēns iterumque iterumque relābēns
620summaque percutiēns nūtantī pectora mentō,
excussit tandem sibi sē;As soon as the maiden entered there and brushed aside with her hands the dreams that stood in her way, the sacred house shone with the brightness of her robe, and the god, scarcely lifting his eyes heavy with sluggish weight, and sinking back again and again, and striking the top of his chest with his nodding chin, at last shook himself free of himself; Met. 11.621cubitōque levātus,
quid veniat (cognōvit enim), scītātur.and raising himself on his elbow, he asks why she has come (for he knew her). Met. 11.622At illa:
"Somne, quiēs rērum, placidissime, Somne, deōrum,
pāx animī, quem cūra fugit, quī corpora dūrīs
625fessa ministeriīs mulcēs reparāsque labōrī,
somnia, quae vērās aequent imitantia fōrmās,
Herculeā Trachīne iubē sub imāgine rēgis
Alcyonēn adeant simulācraque naufraga fingant.And she: 'Sleep, rest of all things, Sleep, gentlest of the gods, peace of the mind, from whom care flees, who soothe bodies weary with hard tasks and restore them for labour, bid dreams, which match true forms in their imitation, go to Alcyone in Herculean Trachis in the likeness of the king, and fashion the phantom of a shipwrecked man.
Met. 11.629Imperat hoc Iūnō."Juno commands this.' Met. 11.629Postquam mandāta perēgit,
630Īris abit (neque enim ulterius tolerāre sopōris
vim poterat), lābīque ut somnum sēnsit in artūs,
effūgit et remeat per quōs modo vēnerat arcūs.When she had carried out her orders, Iris departs (for she could no longer endure the power of slumber), and as she felt sleep gliding into her limbs, she flees and returns along the arch by which she had just come. Met. 11.633At pater ē populō nātōrum mīlle suōrum
excitat artificem simulātōremque figūrae
635Morphea: nōn illīc quisquam sollertius alter
exprimit incessūs vultumque sonumque loquendī.But the father, out of the crowd of his thousand sons, rouses Morpheus, a craftsman and imitator of shapes: no other there more skilfully reproduces gait and face and tone of speech. Met. 11.637Adicit et vestēs et cōnsuētissima cuique
verba;He adds both the clothes and the words most usual to each; Met. 11.638sed hic sōlōs hominēs imitātur, at alter
fit fera, fit volucris, fit longō corpore serpēns:
640hunc Icelon superī, mortāle Phobētora vulgus
nōminat.but he imitates only men, while another becomes a wild beast, becomes a bird, becomes a long-bodied serpent: the gods call him Icelos, the mortal crowd Phobetor.
Met. 11.641Est etiam dīversae tertius artis
Phantasos: ille in humum saxumque undamque trabemque
quaeque vacant animā, fallāciter omnia trānsit.There is also a third, of a different art, Phantasos: he passes deceptively into earth and rock and water and timber, all things that lack life. Met. 11.644Rēgibus hī ducibusque suōs ostendere vultūs
645nocte solent, populōs aliī plēbemque pererrant.These are wont to show their faces at night to kings and leaders; others roam among the peoples and the commons. Met. 11.646Praeterit hōs senior cūnctīsque ē frātribus ūnum
Morphea, quī peragat Thaumantidos ēdita, Somnus
ēligit: et rūrsus mollī languōre solūtus
dēposuitque caput strātōque recondidit altō.The old god passes these by and from all the brothers Sleep chooses Morpheus alone to carry out the commands of Thaumas' daughter: and again, relaxed in soft languor, he laid down his head and buried it in the deep bedding. Met. 11.650Ille volat nūllōs strepitūs facientibus alīs
per tenebrās intrāque morae breve tempus in urbem
pervēnit Haemoniam positīsque ē corpore pennīs
in faciem Cēycis abit sūmptāque figūrā
lūridus, exanimī similis, sine vestibus ūllīs,
655coniugis ante torum miserae stetit: ūda vidētur
barba virī, madidīsque gravis fluere unda capillīs.He flies on wings that make no sound through the darkness, and within a short space of time reaches the Haemonian city, and, laying aside the wings from his body, passes into the shape of Ceyx, and, having taken that form, pale, like a dead man, without any clothes, he stood before the bed of the unhappy wife: the man's beard seems wet, and water seems to stream heavily from his soaking hair.
Met. 11.657Tum lectō incumbēns, flētū super ōra profūsō,
haec ait: "Agnōscis Cēyca, miserrima coniūnx?Then, leaning over the bed, with tears streaming down his face, he says this: 'Do you recognise Ceyx, most wretched wife? Met. 11.659An mea mūtāta est faciēs?Or is my face changed? Met. 11.659Nunc respice!Look at me now! Met. 11.659nōscēs
660inveniēsque tuō prō coniuge coniugis umbram.you will know me and find, instead of your husband, your husband's shade. Met. 11.661Nīl opis, Alcyonē, nōbīs tua vōta tulērunt:
occīdimus!Your prayers, Alcyone, have brought me no help: I have perished! Met. 11.662Falsō tibi mē prōmittere nōlī!Do not falsely promise me to yourself! Met. 11.663Nūbilus Aegaeō dēprendit in aequore nāvem
auster et ingentī iactātam flāmine solvit,
665ōraque nostra, tuum frūstrā clāmantia nōmen,
implērunt flūctūs.The cloudy south wind caught my ship on the Aegean sea, tossed it with a huge blast and broke it apart, and the waves filled my mouth as it called your name in vain. Met. 11.666Nōn haec tibi nūntiat auctor
ambiguus, nōn ista vagīs rūmōribus audīs:
ipse ego fāta tibi praesēns mea naufragus ēdō.No doubtful source brings you this news, you do not hear it in wandering rumours: I myself, shipwrecked, present before you, tell you my fate.
Met. 11.669Surge, age, dā lacrimās lūgubriaque indue nec mē
670indēplōrātum sub inānia Tartara mitte."Rise, come, shed tears and put on mourning, and do not send me unlamented to empty Tartarus.' Met. 11.671Adicit hīs vōcem Morpheus, quam coniugis illa
crēderet esse suī: flētūs quoque fundere vērōs
vīsus erat, gestumque manūs Cēycis habēbat.Morpheus adds to these words a voice which she would believe to be her husband's: he seemed to shed real tears too, and he had the gestures of Ceyx's hands. Met. 11.674Ingemit Alcyonē, lacrimās movet atque lacertōs
675per somnum, corpusque petēns amplectitur aurās
exclāmatque "manē!Alcyone groans, weeps, and moves her arms in her sleep, and, reaching for his body, embraces the air and cries out: 'Wait! Met. 11.676quō tē rapis?where are you hurrying off to? Met. 11.676ībimus ūnā!"we will go together!' Met. 11.677Vōce suā speciēque virī turbāta sopōrem
excutit et prīmō, sī sit, circumspicit, illīc,
quī modo vīsus erat: nam mōtī vōce ministrī
680intulerant lūmen.Troubled by her own voice and the image of her husband, she shakes off sleep and first looks around to see if he is there, he who had just been seen: for the servants, roused by her voice, had brought in a light.
Met. 11.680Postquam nōn invēnit usquam,
percutit ōra manū laniatque ā pectore vestēs
pectoraque ipsa ferit, nec crīnēs solvere cūrat:
scindit et altrīcī, quae lūctūs causa, rogantī
"nūlla est Alcyonē, nūlla est!"When she does not find him anywhere, she strikes her face with her hand, tears her clothes from her breast and beats her breast itself, and does not trouble to loosen her hair: she tears it, and to her nurse, who asks what is the cause of her grief, 'Alcyone is no more, she is no more!' Met. 11.684ait.she says. Met. 11.684"Occīdit ūnā
685cum Cēyce suō!'She has died together with her Ceyx! Met. 11.685Sōlantia tollite verba!Take away your words of comfort! Met. 11.686Naufragus interiit!He has perished by shipwreck! Met. 11.686Vīdī agnōvīque manūsque
ad discēdentem cupiēns retinēre, tetendī.I saw him and knew him, and stretched out my hands to him as he went, longing to hold him back. Met. 11.688Umbra fuit, — sed et umbra tamen manifesta virīque
vēra meī!It was a shade, but even so a clear shade, and truly my husband's!
Met. 11.689Nōn ille quidem, sī quaeris, habēbat
690adsuētōs vultūs, nec quō prius, ōre nitēbat:
pallentem nūdumque et adhūc ūmente capillō
īnfēlīx vīdī.He did not have, it is true, if you ask, his usual looks, nor did his face shine as it did before: pale and naked and with hair still wet I saw him, unhappy woman that I am. Met. 11.692Stetit hōc miserābilis ipse
ecce locō!"Here in this very place he stood, pitiable, look!' Met. 11.693(et quaerit, vestīgia sīqua supersint)
"Hoc erat, hoc, animō quod dīvīnante timēbam,
695et nē mē fugerēs, ventōs sequerēre, rogābam.(and she looks for any footprints that might remain) 'This it was, this, that I feared with my foreboding mind, and I begged you not to flee from me and follow the winds. Met. 11.696At certē vellem, quoniam peritūrus abībās,
mē quoque dūxissēs!But surely, since you were going away to perish, I wish you had taken me too! Met. 11.697Multum fuit ūtile tēcum
īre mihi: neque enim dē vītae tempore quicquam
nōn simul ēgissem, nec mors discrēta fuisset.It would have been much to my good to go with you: for then I should have spent no part of my life's time apart from you, nor would death have parted us.
Met. 11.700Nunc absēns periī, iactor quoque flūctibus absēns,
et sine mē mē pontus habet.Now, absent, I have perished; absent, I too am tossed on the waves, and without me the sea holds me. Met. 11.701Crūdēlior ipsō
sit mihi mēns pelagō, sī vītam dūcere nītar
longius et tantō pugnem superesse dolōrī.My heart would be crueller than the sea itself, if I should strive to draw out my life any longer and struggle to survive such grief. Met. 11.704Sed neque pugnābō, nec tē, miserande, relinquam
705et tibi nunc saltem veniam comes, inque sepulcrō
sī nōn urna, tamen iunget nōs littera: sī nōn
ossibus ossa meīs, at nōmen nōmine tangam."But I shall neither struggle nor leave you, poor husband, and now at least I shall come as your companion, and in the tomb, if not the urn, yet the lettering shall join us: if not bone with bone, yet name with name I shall touch.'