Next her very image appeared in the mother’s dreams, announcing her fate in no uncertain manner. She saw Proserpine shut in the dark confines of a prison-house and bound with cruel chains. Yet not so had she entrusted her to the fields of Sicily, not so had the wondering goddesses beheld her in Etna’s flowery meadows. Foul was now that hair, more beauteous erstwhile than gold; night had dimmed the fire of her eyes and frost banished the roses from her pale cheeks. The gracious flush of her skin and those limbs whose whiteness matched the hoar-frost are alike turned to hell-tinctured * * * * * Page 352 ergo hanc ut dubio vix tandem agnoscere visu evaluit: “cuius tot poenae criminis?” inquit “unde haec informis macies? cui tanta potestas in me saevitiae? rigidi cur vincula ferri vix aptanda feris molles meruere lacerti? 95 tu mea, tu proles? an vana fallimur umbra?” Illa refert: “heu dira parens nataeque peremptae immemor! heu fulvas animo transgressa leaenas! tantane te nostri tenuere oblivia? tantum unica despicior? certe Proserpina nomen 100 dulce tibi, tali quae nunc, ut cernis, hiatu suppliciis inclusa teror! tu saeva choreis indulges? Phrygias vel nunc interstrepis urbes? quodsi non omnem pepulisti pectore matrem, si tua nata, Ceres, et non me Caspia tigris 105 edidit, his, oro, miseram defende cavernis inque superna refer, prohibent si fata reverti, vel tantum visura veni.” Sic fata trementes tendere conatur palmas. vis improba ferri impedit et motae somnum solvere catenae. 110 obriguit visis; gaudet non vera fuisse; complexu caruisse dolet. penetralibus amens prosilit et tali compellat voce Cybeben: “Iam non ulterius Phrygia tellure morabor, sancta parens: revocat tandem custodia cari 115 pignoris et cunctis obiecti fraudibus anni. * * * * * Page 353 grain. When, therefore, she was at last able to recognize her daughter, albeit with doubtful gaze, she cried: “What crime hath merited these many punishments? Whence comes this dreadful wasting away? Who hath power to wreak such cruelty upon me? How have thy soft arms deserved fetters of stubborn iron, scarce fitted for beasts? Art thou my daughter or does a vain shadow deceive me?”