DUST, WATER AND SWEAT: THE STATIAN PUER 209
cum remeat tardumque ferit delphina Palaemon.
Arma decent umeros, clipeusque insignis et auro
lucidus Aoniae caelatur origine gentis.
Sidonis hic blandi per candida terga iuuenci,
iam secura maris, teneris iam cornua palmis
non tenet, extremis adludunt aequora plantis;
ire putes clipeo fluctusque secare iuuencum.
Adiuuat unda fidem pelago, nec discolor amnis.
Tunc audax pariter telis et uoce proterua
Hippomedonta petit: “Non haec fecunda ueneno
Lerna, nec Herculeis haustae serpentibus undae:
sacrum amnem, sacrum (et miser experiere!) deumque
altrices inrumpis aquas.” Nihil ille, sed ibat
comminus; opposuit cumulo se densior amnis
tardauitque manum; uulnus tamen illa retentum
pertulit atque animae tota in penetralia sedit.
Horruit unda nefas, siluae fleuistis utraeque,
et grauiora cauae sonuerunt murmura ripae.
Vltimus ille sonus moribundo emersit ab ore,
“Mater!”, in hanc miseri ceciderunt flumina uocem.
(Theb. 9.319–51)
Callow Crenaeus, born of Faunus and the nymph Ismenis, rejoiced to
wage war in his mother’s waters—Crenaeus, whose first day dawned in
that trusted stream, whose native river it was, and whose cradle was its
green banks. Thinking therefore that the Elysian sisters had no power
there, joyfully now from this bank, now from that, he makes his way
across his caressing grandfather: the waves bear up his steps, whether
he go downstream or on a slanting path; nor when he goes against the
current did the pools make any delay, and the river goes backwards
with him. Not more gentle the sea that covers the waist of the Anthedo-
nian guest, nor does Triton rise higher from the sea in the summer, or
Palaemon when he returns in haste to his dear mother’s kisses and
strikes his laggard dolphin. His weapons adorn his shoulders and his
shield, glorious and gleaming with gold, is engraved with the origins of
the Aonian race. Here is the Sidonian maid upon the winsome bullock’s
brilliant white back, now fearless of the sea, and now holding no more
his horns in her delicate hands, while the sea plays around the extremi-
ties of her feet; you would think the bullock moved upon the shield and
cut through the waves. The water adds credence, nor is the river a dif-
ferent colour from the graven sea. Then boldly he attacks Hippomedon
with spears and insolent words alike: “This is not Lerna teeming with
poison, nor are these the waters that were drunk by Hercules’ snakes:
sacred is the river, yes sacred—and so you shall find it, poor fool!—on
which you trespass, and its waters have nursed gods.” The other made
no reply, but went on to meet him; the river reared up in a denser mass
