Book 6
She seemed a feeble woman, very old,
1
and quavered as she said, “Old age is not
the cause of every ill; experience comes
with lengthened years; and, therefore, you should not
despise my words. It is no harm in you
to long for praise of mortals, when
your nimble hands are spinning the soft wool,—
but you should not deny Minerva's art—
and you should pray that she may pardon you,
for she will grant you pardon if you ask.”
Arachne, scowling with an evil face.
Looked at the goddess, as she dropped her thread.
She hardly could restrain her threatening hand,
and, trembling in her anger, she replied
to you, disguised Minerva:
worn out and witless in your palsied age,
a great age is your great misfortune!— Let
your daughter and your son's wife—if the Gods
have blessed you—let them profit by your words;
within myself, my knowledge is contained
sufficient; you need not believe that your
advice does any good; for I am quite
unchanged in my opinion. Get you gone,—
advise your goddess to come here herself,
and not avoid the contest!”
the goddess said, “Minerva comes to you!”
And with those brief words, put aside the shape
of the old woman, and revealed herself,
and matrons of Mygdonia worshiped her;
but not Arachne, who defiant stood;—
although at first she flushed up—then went pale—
then blushed again, reluctant.—So, at first,
the sky suffuses, as Aurora moves,
and, quickly when the glorious sun comes up,
