Page:Statius (Mozley 1928) v1.djvu/499

But Ide^[1] wanders through the thickets and on the open dusty plain—Ide, mighty mother of twin heroes, twinned now in death—with dishevelled hair all flowing, and nails piercing deep her livid cheeks; no more unhappy or pitiable is she, but terrible in her grief; and everywhere by weapons and by bodies she strews on the dire ground her white uncombed locks, and in helpless plight seeks her sons and over every corpse makes lamentation. Not otherwise does the Thessalian witch, whose race’s hideous art it is to charm back men to life by spell of song, rejoice in warfare lately ended, and holding high her faggot-torch of ancient cedar nightly haunt the fields, while she turns the slain folk over in their blood, and tries the dead, to see to which corpse she shall give many a message for the world above; the gloomy councils of the shades complain,^[2] and black Avernus’ sire waxes indignant.

Together they were lying, apart from the rest beneath a rock, fortunate, that one day, one hand had wrought their doom; their wound-pierced breasts are knit fast by the uniting spear. She saw them, and her eyes made passage for the streaming tears: “Is it so ye embrace, my sons, is it so ye kiss, before your mother’s eyes? Is it so that Death’s cruel cunning at the final hour hath bound you? Which wounds shall I first touch, which face caress? Are ye those strong defenders of your mother, that glory of my womb, whereby I thought to touch the gods, and surpass the mothers of Ogygia in renown? How much better far, how happy in their union are they whose chamber is barren, whose house Lucina never visited at the cry of travail! Nay, to me my labour hath brought but sorrow.