The Plea of Pythagoras

[Translated from Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” Lib. xv., 72-126, 138-142.]

‘TWAS he that first bade humankind abstain
From tables laden with the blood of beasts,
And those wise words first spake, yet spake in vain:
“Mortals, forbear your bodies to pollute
With hateful carnage! Yours are fairer feasts,
Yours the rich crops, the boughs with friendly fruit
Down-drooping, and the grapes in clustered pride;
Ripe herbs are yours, yours all that flames transmute
To mild and mellow; nor is milk denied,
Nor honey fragrant from the thymy field:
So lavishly does Earth her dainties yield
A pure and bloodless banquet to provide.

“Flesh gluts the hungry beasts; yet some there be-
Horse, oxen, sheep-that thrive on gentler food:
‘Tis those inflamed with natural cruelty,
Fierce tigers, and the lion’s vengeful brood,
And wolves and bears, that feast with murderous glee.

“Ah, hideous crime, that flesh on flesh should prey,
And body on body batten with foul greed,
And living soul its living kindred slay !
What! ‘Midst this bounteous wealth that Earth has spread,
Can naught content her children but to feed
With gnashing teeth, like Ogres, on the dead?
Can naught suffice, unless a brother bleed,
Their wicked gluttonous hunger to allay?

“Yet those great days we call the Age of Gold
Knew not this taint of bloodshed, but were blest
With luscious fruits and herbage manifold:
The birds on fearless wing the heavens did cleave,
Unharmed the hare roamed o’er the land’s broad breast,
Nor treacherous hook did silly fish deceive;
The unruffled world lay guileless and at rest,
And peace crowned all things.

“Then some reckless fool,
Whoe’er he was, scorning that simple store,
And craving flesh to gorge his bellyful,
Pointed men’s path to crime. ‘Twas first the gore
Of savage beasts their steaming knives did stain;
Nor might we deem impious, had they then
Dealt death alone to deadly foes: but men
Did worse than slay-they feasted on the slain.

“Then quick the mischief spread; and soon the swine
They doomed to die for seedlings scattered wide
By her broad snout, and the year’s hopes o’erthrown,
And dragged the goat, who knawed the tender vine,
To the god’s altar. Those who trespassed died.

“But how sinned they the gentle flocks, who own
Sweet duties to mankind? whose udders swell
With the pure gift of milk, that nectar bright;
Who for our comfort their soft wool have lent,
And by their life, not death, still serve us well?
How sinned the ox-calm, peaceful, innocent-
Who lives to help us with his patient might?

“Shame on that thankless, undeserving wight,
Who, when the heavy harvest was at end,
Could slay the tiller of his land, whose toil
Had year by year redeemed the sluggish soil
For the new crops-yea, slay his faithful friend!

“Whence came on men this lawless lust of meat?
Have ye no reverence, mortals? Nay, refrain!
Touch not! but to my warning words give heed!
When on the limbs of oxen ye would feed,
Know this, and ponder it in heart and brain:-
‘Tis your own fellow-labourers that ye eat.”