Tales from Olympus

By M B O'Reilly

A gentle introduction to, or a happy reminder of, some of the many wonderful stories and characters from the works of Ovid, Homer and other ancient Greek scholars.

M B O’Reilly retells these stories in verse, using language which is meaningful to a modern audience while retaining the excitement and the colour of the original. These poems were made to be read out loud for young and old alike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Imprimata Publishers
• Release date: Dec 3, 2009
• ISBN: 9781906192396

M B O'Reilly

M B O'Reilly is a classics scholar turned full time mother. She lives in Glasgow. This is her first book.

Book preview

TALES FROM OLYMPUS

M.B. O’Reilly

Published by Imprimata

Copyright © M.B. O’Reilly 2007

M.B. O’Reilly has asserted her right under the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical or otherwise and whether invented now or subsequently) without the prior written permission of the publisher or be otherwise circulated in any form, other than that in which it is published, without a similar including this condition being imposed on any subsequent publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil action.

A CIP Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-906192-27-3

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Contents

Book 1 — The Golden Apples

The Story of Atalanta

The Judgement of Paris

The Eleventh Labour of Hercules

Book 2 — Echo and Narcissus

The Story of Echo

Echo and Narcissus

The Story of Narcissus

Book 3 — Cretan Tales

The Minotaur

Theseus and the Minotaur

Daedalus and Icarus

Contextual Notes

Glossary

Greek and Roman Gods

Book 1

THE GOLDEN APPLES

The Story of Atalanta

In Greece, in the southerly Peloponnese,

Cooled by a Mediterranean breeze,

Arcadia’s vibrant and sun-dappled city

Somehow produced many girls who were pretty.

No one knew why all the maids from that place

Were pleasantly slender and so fair of face.

Perhaps its rich soil or its pure filtered air

Had nurtured the beauty of girls living there.

Or maybe its climate, with winds warm and fresh,

Had polished, like pumice, their lightly-browned flesh.

Their lifestyle as well, being outdoors and active,

May too account for their being attractive.

Arcadia, then, possessed more than its share

Of maidens whose faces and figures were fair.

One girl, however, was specially blessed

With splendid good looks that outshone all the rest.

Just as a bride, on the day she is wed,

Stands out from her guests in her veil dyed with red;

Or just as the sun, since it dazzles the eye,

Is seen before all other stars in the sky;

This glorious girl was more amply endowed

With beauty that set her apart from the crowd.

With sparkling blue eyes and with long golden hair,

Indeed Atalanta was famously fair.

It was no surprise, then, that all through the land

This unmarried maiden was in great demand.

Suitors on horseback, on cart or on foot

Would come to her father and set forth their suit.

From parts of the civilised world and beyond

They’d travel, desiring to marry this blonde.

For from chilly Colchis to warm Asia Minor,

No girl could be found whose appearance was finer.

So from far and wide, then, they came on their mission,

To meet with and ask for her father’s permission.

Iasus, however, with standard reply,

Spoke thus to each of the men who dropped by:

"I know it’s the duty and place of a dad

To find for his daughter a suitable lad;

A chap who has prospects, who’d richly provide

And care for his dear and expensive new bride.

I know that’s my role, but you must understand

I don’t have the power to promise her hand.

Like Venus, who rose from the wild, choppy sea,

With long, briny locks flowing down to her knee,

Who modestly posed there on top of a shell,

My daughter’s enchanting, but wilful as well.

She simply rejects and sees fit to disparage

My efforts to plan and arrange her a marriage.

For still she is eager to pass through her life

A maiden, instead of becoming a wife."

* * *

After a while, though, as time hurried past,

He thought this affair should be settled at last.

He therefore rushed off to the courtyard to find

That headstrong young maiden, who knew her own mind.

Finding his daughter engaged in a game,

He coughed, cleared his throat and then called out her name.

When she raced over, as quick as a shot,

He brought up the subject of tying the knot.

But still unconvinced by this marriage proposal,

She used all the charms that were at her disposal

To try to explain why she wanted to stay

Unmarried and therefore she spoke in this way:

"My wonderful father, you’re worldly and wise,

So surely you see when you look in my eyes

A reluctance to wed, to become someone’s spouse,

For marriage would mean leaving you and this house.

Also, it’s known through this gossiping court,

My love for athletics, for games and for sport.

No man could vie with the love that I bear

For hunting and racing around everywhere.

I’d no more be able to roam as I please

Or hunt, like a lion, through shadowy trees.

For wives are domestic; they’re timid and tame:

They are not allowed to go hunting for game!

No man could accept that, so please do not force

A marriage that’s likely to end in divorce."

* * *

Iasus was moved by this heartfelt appeal;

His mind, as a consequence, spun like a wheel.

On one hand, he cared for his daughter’s contentment

And so he was keen not to cause her resentment.

Yet being unmarried was different and odd

And might cause offence to some spirit or god.

(For Venus, the goddess of love, had been known

To greatly dislike those who stayed on their own.)

He therefore considered the answer must lie

With knowing Apollo who lights up the sky.

* * *

Alone Atalanta went off to the shrine

At Delphi, to pray to the god for a sign.

She raced off quite quickly and covered much ground

And soon was in sight of Parnassus’s mound,

And passing that mountain, she knew she was near

The place where she’d meet with the Sibylline seer.

She came to the cave, that was creepy and hollow,

And entered the shrine of prophetic Apollo,

And there, in that sulphurous, vaporous cave,

The priestess approached her and started to rave.

Possessed by the god then, she lost self-control;

Her keen eyes proceeded to swivel and roll;

Her hair stood on end; her whole chest inflated

And thus the response of the god was related:

"Iasus’s daughter, you must not get wed;

Remain independent and single instead.

Yet if your resolve should first waver, then bend,

Your human existence will come to an end."

The maiden was warned and this awesome prediction

Served only to strengthen her former conviction.

Indeed she was grateful and highly relieved

That this was the prophecy she had received.

So blessing the priestess’s most scared mouth,

She thanked her again and then headed south.

* * *

She reached home by nightfall, when all earth was hushed,

When all the world slumbered, and instantly rushed

To Iasus, and finding him lying in bed,

She woke him and told what Apollo had said.

They talked ‘til the cockerel signalled the morning,

Discussing the oracle’s terrible warning.

Iasus now knew that his popular daughter

Would have to reject all those fellows who sought her.

The thing must be done but he knew very well

Those adamant men would be hard to repel.

For such was his daughter’s attractive physique

That no man would leave what he’d come here to seek.

He pondered and then he tried over again

To think of a plan to dispose of those men.

Then thinking his daughter would surely outpace

Any young man she should meet in a race,

Iasus in this way came up with his plan

To scare and discourage each love-struck young man.

He presently gathered those men in one room

And set out his terms to each starry-eyed groom:

"Unfortunate suitors, I’ll once more explain

Why all of your hopes for a bride are in vain:

My unwilling daughter will stubbornly spurn

Each of your offers of marriage in turn.

Yet if you persist with this futile romance,

There’s only one way that you might have a chance.

For only the man who can play at her game

And beat her, can hope to succeed in his aim.

My daughter will race anyone who’ll compete,

And marry whoever can cause her defeat.

That task is not easy; feel free to refuse,

For racing against her, you’ll probably lose.

You’ll finish behind her and, still out of breath,

You’ll get second prize, and that prize is death.

The choice now is yours; the risk is immense;

So give up, and go home; you know that makes sense."

* * *

Some of the suitors, a mere one or two,

Left when they heard what he’d asked them to do.

The rest of the group, to the father’s surprise,

Agreed to compete for that valuable prize.

For though it was risky, the girl was so