Cadmus and Hermione

Man and Woman into Snakes

 

Finally overcome by all the grief heaped on him and his family, Cadmus begs the gods to turn him into a serpent.

 

And serpent-like extended lies!

Scales he perceives, upon his harden'd skin;

And sees green spots on his black body form;

Prone on his breast he falls; together twin'd,

His legs commingling stretch, and gradual end

Lessen'd in rounded point; his arms remain

Still, and those arms remaining he extends;

While down his face yet human tears flow fast.

“O, hapless wife! approach,” he cries, “approach,

“And touch me now, while ought of me remains;

“Receive my hand, while yet a hand I bear;

“Ere to a serpent wholly turns my form.”—

More he prepar'd to utter, but his tongue,

Cleft sudden, to his wishes words refus'd:

And often when his sorrows sad he try'd

To wail anew, he hiss'd!—that sound alone,

Nature permitted. While her naked breast

With blows resounded, loud his wife exclaim'd;—

“Stay,—O, my Cadmus! hapless man, shake off

“This monstrous figure! Cadmus what is this?

“Where are thy feet,—and where thy arms and hands?

“Where are thy features,—thy complexion? Where,

“Whilst I bewail, art thou? Celestial powers!

“Why not this transformation work on me?”

She ended; he advancing, lick'd her face,

And creep'd, as custom'd, to her bosom dear,

And round her wonted neck embracing twin'd.

Now draw their servants nigh, and as they come

With terror start. The crested serpents play,

Smooth on their necks,—now two; and cordial slide,

In spires conjoin'd; then in the darksome shades

Th' adjoining woods afford them, close they hide.

Mankind they fly not, nor deep wounds inflict;

Harmless, their pristine form is ne'er forgot.