Memnonides

Ashes into Birds

 

Aurora, the goddess of the dawn, mourns the loss of her son Memnon and begs the gods for some relief for her grief as his body burns. Then things get weird (even by Ovid’s standards).

 

Jove nodded, round the lofty funeral pile

Of Memnon, rose th' aspiring flames; black clouds

Of smoke the day obscur'd. So streams exhale

The rising mists which Phœbus' rays conceal.

Mount the black ashes, and conglob'd in one

They thicken in a body, and a shape

That body takes, and heat and light receives

From the bright flames. Its lightness gave it wings:

Much like a bird at first, and soon indeed

A bird, its pinions sounded. And a crowd

Of sister birds, their pinions sounded too;

Their origin the same. Thrice they surround

The pile, and thrice with noisy clang the air

Resounds; the fourth time all the troop divide:

Then two and two, they furious wage the war

On either side; fierce with their crooked claws

And beaks, they pounce their adversary's breast,

And tire his wings. Each kindred body falls

An offering to the ashes of the dead,

And prove their offspring from a valiant man.

These birds of sudden origin receive

Their name, Memnonides, from him whose limbs

Produc'd them. Oft as Sol through all his signs

Has run, the battle they renew again,

To perish at their parent-warrior's tomb.

Thus, while all others Dymas' daughter weep

In howling shape, Aurora still on griefs

Her own sad brooding, her maternal tears

Sprinkles in dew o'er all th' extent of earth.