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Bk IV:214-255 The transformation of Leucothoë.
"Under western skies are the fields of the horses of the Sun: they have ambrosia to crop not grass. It nourishes their weary legs after the day's work, and refreshes them for their labours. While his horses browse on celestial food and while night carries out her role, the god enters his loved one's room, taking on the shape of her mother, Eurynome. There he finds Leucothoëin the lamplight, amongst her twelve maids, drawing out fine threads, winding them on her spindle. So he gives her a kiss, just as a mother her dear daughter, and says, 'This is secret: servants, depart, and don't rob a mother of the power to speak in private.' They obey, and when there are no witnesses left in the room, the god speaks.
"'Who measures the long year, I am he. I see all things, earth sees all things by me, I, the world's eye. Trust me, you please me.' She is afraid, and, in her fear, distaff and spindle fall from her lifeless fingers. Her fear enhances her, and he, waiting no longer, resumes his true form, and his accustomed brightness. And, though the girl is alarmed by this sudden vision, overwhelmed by his brightness, suppressing all complaint, she submits to the assault of the god.
"Clytie was jealous (there were no bounds to her love for Sol), and goaded by anger at her rival, she broadcast the adultery, and maligning the girl, betrayed her to her father. He in his pride and savagery, buried her deep in the earth, she praying, stretching her hands out towards Sol's light, crying, 'He forced me, against my will,' and he piled a heavy mound of sand over her.
"Poor nymph, Hyperion's son dispersed this with shafts of light, and gave you a way to show your buried face, but you could not lift your head, crushed by the weight of earth, and lay there, a pale corpse. They say the god of the winged horses had seen nothing more bitter than this, since Phaethon's fiery death. He tried to see if he could recall life to those frozen limbs, with his powerful rays. But since fate opposed such efforts, he sprinkled the earth and the body itself with fragrant nectar, and, after much lamenting, said, 'You will still touch the air.' Immediately the body, soaked through with heavenly nectar, dissolved, steeping the earth in its perfume. Tentatively, putting out roots, the shoot of a tree, resinous with incense, grew through the soil, and pierced the summit of the mound.
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