Heathen mythology Part 25

The Syrens were three in number, and were companions of Proserpine, at the time of her being carried off; they prayed for wings from the G.o.ds, to unite their efforts with those of Ceres. {147}

In despair at the uselessness of their search, they retired to the sea sh.o.r.e, where, in the midst of desolate rocks, they sang songs of the most enchanting and attractive nature, while those who were drawn by their beauty to listen to them, perished on the spot.

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"Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul, And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause."

OVID.

Charybdis was an avaricious woman, who, stealing from Hercules, was slain by him, and became one of the divinities of the sea.

Scylla, daughter of Hecate and of Phorcys, was a beautiful nymph, greatly beloved by Glaucus, also one of the deities of the sea. Scylla scorned his addresses, and the G.o.d, to render her propitious, sought the aid of Circe, who no sooner saw him than she became enamoured, and, instead of a.s.sisting him, tried to win his love to herself tho' in vain. To punish her rival, Circe poured the juice of poisonous herbs into the waters of the fountain where Scylla bathed, and no sooner had the nymph entered, than her body, below the {148} waist, was changed into frightful monsters, like dogs, which never ceased barking, while the remainder of her form a.s.sumed an equally hideous appearance, being supported by twelve feet, with six different heads, each bearing three rows of teeth. This sudden metamorphose so alarmed her, that she threw herself into that part of the sea which separates the coast of Italy and Sicily, where she was changed into rocks which continue to bear her name, and which were deemed as dangerous to sailors, as the whirlpool of Charybdis, on the coast of Sicily, and from which has arisen the proverb, "By avoiding Charybdis we fall upon Scylla!"

"Upon the beech a winding bay there lies, Sheltered from seas, and shaded from the skies; This station Scylla chose; a soft retreat From chilling winds and raging cancer's heat.

The vengeful sorceress visits this recess, Her charm infuses, and infects the place.

Soon as the nymph wades in, her nether parts Turn into dogs, then at herself she starts.

A ghastly horror in her eyes appears But yet she knows not what it is she fears, In vain she offers from herself to run, And drag's about her what she strives to shun.

"Oppressed with grief the pitying G.o.d appears, And swells the rising surges with his tears; From the detested sorceress he flies, Her art reviles, and her address denies, Whilst happless Scylla, changed to rocks, decrees Destruction to those barks that beat the seas."

GARTH.

The Harpies were monsters with the faces of old women, the wings and body of a vulture, the ears of a bear, having claws on their feet and hands, and spreading famine wherever they made their hideous appearance.

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DIVINITIES OF THE INFERNAL REGIONS.

The Parcae or Fates, were three powerful G.o.ddesses, who presided over the birth and life of mankind. Clotho, the youngest of the sisters, governed the moment of birth, and held a distaff in her hand: Lacheses spun out all the events and actions in the time; and Atropos, the eldest, cut the thread of humanity with her scissors.

------"The fates, in vengeance pitiless; Who at the birth of men dispense the lot Of good and evil. They of men and G.o.ds The crimes pursue, nor ever pause from wrath Tremendous, till destructive on the head Of him that sins the retribution falls."

HESIOD.

Their powers were great and extensive, and they are represented by some as sitting at the foot of the throne of the King of h.e.l.l; while others make them appear on radiant seats amidst the celestial spheres, clothed in robes spangled with stars, and wearing crowns on their heads.

Their dresses are differently described by some authors.

Clotho has on a variegated robe, and on her head a crown of seven stars.

She holds a distaff in her hand, reaching from heaven to earth. The garment which Lacheses wore was variegated with a great number of stars, and near her a variety of spindles. Atropos was clothed in black; she held scissors in her hand, with clues of threads of various sizes, according to the length or shortness of the lives whose destinies they were supposed to contain.

"The three Parcae, Fates fair offspring born, The world's great spindle as its axle turn; Round which eight spheres in beauteous order run, And as they turn, revolving Time is spun, Whose motions all things upon earth ordain, Whence revolutions date their fickle reign.

These robed in white, at equal distance throned, Sit o'er the spheres, and twirl the spindle round, On each of which a syren loudly sings, As from the wheel the fatal thread she flings; The Parcae answer, in the choir agree And all those voices make one harmony."

The wors.h.i.+p of the Parcae was well established in some parts of Greece, and though mankind knew they were inexorable, and that {150} it was impossible to mitigate their decrees, yet they evinced a respect for their divinity, by raising statues to them.

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NIGHT.

Nox, one of the most ancient deities among the heathens, was the daughter of Chaos. From her union with her brother Erebus, she gave birth to day and light: she is called by some of the poets, the mother of all things, of G.o.ds no less than of men, and was wors.h.i.+pped with great solemnity by the ancients, who erected to her a famous statue in Diana's temple at Ephesus.

The c.o.c.k was offered to her, as the bird which proclaims the coming of the day. She is drawn mounted on a chariot, and covered with a veil bespangled with stars, and the constellations preceded her as her messengers.

Sometimes she is seen holding two children under her arms, one of which is dark like night, and the other light like day.

"Night, when like perfumes that have slept All day within the wild flower's heart, Steal out the thoughts the soul has kept In silence and apart: And voices we have pined to hear, Through many a long and lonely day, Come back upon the dreaming ear, From grave lands far away, And gleams look forth of spirit eyes Like stars along the darkening skies!"

HERVEY.

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She has been described by some of the modern writers, as a woman clothed in mourning, crowned with poppies, and drawn in a chariot by owls and bats.

SONG OF NIGHT.

"I come to thee, O Earth!

With all my gifts; for every flower, sweet dew In bell, and urn, and chalice, to renew The glory of its birth.

I come with every star; Making thy streams, that on their noon-day track, Give but the moss, the reed, the lily back, Mirrors of world's afar.

I come with peace; I shed Sleep through the wood walks, o'er the honey bee, The lark's triumphant voice, the fawn's young glee, The hyacinth's meek head.

On my own heart I lay The weary babe; and sealing with a breath Its eyes of love, send fairy dreams, beneath The shadowing lids to play.

I come with mightier things!

Who calls me silent? I have many tones-- The dark skies thrill with low mysterious moans, Borne on my sweeping wings.

I waft them not alone From the deep organ of the forest shades, Or buried streams, unheard amidst their glades Till the bright day is done.

But in the human breast, A thousand still, small voices I awake, Strong in their sweetness, from the soul to shake The mantle of its rest.

I bring them from the past, From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn, From crushed affections, which, though long o'erborne, Make their tones heard at last.

I bring them from the tomb!

O'er the sad couch of late repentant love They pa.s.s--though low as murmurs of a dove-- Like trumpets through the gloom.

I come with all my train; Who calls me lonely? Hosts around me tread, The intensely bright, the beautiful, the dead, Phantoms of heart and brain.

Looks from departed eyes-- These are my lightnings! fill'd with anguish vain, Or tenderness too precious to sustain, They smite with agonies.

{152} I that with soft control, Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song, I am the avenging one! the arm'd, the strong, The searcher of the soul.