Book I

The tribes of the sea and the far scattered ranks of all manner of fishes, the swimming brood of Amphitrite, will I declare, O Antoninus, sovereign majesty of earth; all that inhabit the watery flood and where each dwells, their mating in the waters and their birth, the life of fishes, their hates, their loves, their wiles, and the crafty devices of the cunning fisher's art — even all that men have devised against the baffling fishes. Over the unknown sea they sail with daring heart and they have beheld the unseen deeps and by their arts have mapped out the measures of the sea, men more than human. The mountain-bred Boar and the Bear the hunter sees, and, when he confronts him watches him openly, whether to shoot him afar or slay him at close quarters. Both beast and man fight securely on the land, and the hounds go with the hunter as guides to mark the quarry and direct their masters to the very lair and attend close at hand as helpers. To them winter brings no great fear, nor summer brings burning heat; for hunters have many shelters — shady thickets and cliffs and caves in the rock self-roofed; many a silvery river, too, stretching through the hills to quench thirst and dispense a never-failing bath; and by the green-fringed streams are low beds of grass, a soft couch in sunny weather for sleep after toil, and seasonable repast to eat of woodland fruits which grow abundant on the hills. Pleasure more than sweat attends the hunt. And those who prepare destruction for birds, easy for them too and visible is their prey. For some they capture unawares asleep upon their nests; others they take with limed reeds; others fall of themselves into the fine-plaited nets, seeking for a bed, and a woeful roost they find. But for the toilsome fishermen their labours are uncertain, and unstable as a dream is the hope that flatters their hearts. For not upon the moveless land do they labour, but always they have to encounter the chill and wildly raging water, which even to behold from the land brings terror and to essay it only with the eyes. In tiny barks they wander obsequious to the stormy winds, their minds ever on the surging waves; always they scan the dark clouds and ever tremble at the blackening tract of sea; no shelter have they from the raging winds nor any defence against the rain nor bulwark against summer heat. Moreover, they shudder at the terrors awful to behold of the grim sea, even the Sea-monsters which encounter them when they traverse the secret places of the deep. No hounds guide the fishers on their seaward path — for the tracks of the swimming tribes are unseen — nor do they see where the fish will encounter them and come within range of capture; for not by one path does the fish travel. In feeble hairs and bent hooks of bronze and in reeds and nets the fishers have their strength.

Yet not bereft of pleasure art thou, if pleasure thou desirest, but sweet is the royal sport. A ship well-riveted, well-benched, light exceedingly, the young men drive with racing oars smiting the back of the sea; and at the stern the best man as steersman guides the ship, steady and true, to a wide space of gently heaving waves; and there feed infinite tribes of feasting fishes which thy servants ever tend, fattening them with abundant food, a ready choir of spoil for thee, O blessed one, and for thy glorious son, the flock of your capture. For straightway thou lettest from thy hand into the sea the well-woven line, and the fish quickly meets and seizes the hook of bronze and is speedily haled forth — not all unwilling — by our king; and thy heart is gladdened, O Lord of earth. For great delight it is for eye and mind to see the captive fish tossing and turning.

But be thou gracious unto me, thou who art king in the tract of the sea, wide-ruling son of Cronus, Girdler of the earth, and be gracious thyself, O Sea, and ye gods who in the sounding sea have your abode; and grant me to tell of your herds and sea-bred tribes; and do thou, O lady Goddess, direct all and make these gifts of thy song well pleasing to our sovereign lord and to his son.

Infinite and beyond ken are the tribes that move and swim in the depths of the sea, and none could name them certainly; for no man hath reached the limit of the sea, but unto three hundred fathoms less or more men know and have explored the deep. But, since the sea is infinite and of unmeasured depth, many things are hidden, and of these dark things none that is mortal can tell; for small are the understanding and the strength of men. The briny sea feeds not, I ween, fewer herds nor lesser tribes than earth, mother of many. But whether the tale of offspring be debatable between them both, or whether one excels the other, the gods know certainly; but we must make our reckoning by human wits.

Now fishes differ in breed and habit and in their path in the sea, and not all fishes have like range. For some keep by the low shores, feeding on sand and whatever things grow in the sand; to wit, the Sea-horse, the swift Cuckoo-fish, the yellow Erythinus, the Citharus and the Red Mullet and the feeble Melanurus, the shoals of the Trachurus, and the Sole and the Platyurus, the weak Ribbon-fish and the Mormyrus of varied hue and the Mackerel and the Carp and all that love the shores.

Others again feed in the mud and the shallows of the sea; to wit, the Skate and the monster tribes of the Ox-ray and the terrible Sting-ray, and the Cramp-fish truly named, the Turbot and the Callarias, the Red Mullet and the works of the Oniscus, and the Horse-mackerel and the Scepanus and whatsoever else feeds in mud.

On the weedy beach under the green grasses feeds the Maenis and the Goat-fish and the Atherine, the Smaris and the Blenny and the Sparus and both sorts of Bogue and whatsoever others love to feed on sea-weed.

The Grey Mullets — Cestreus and Cephalus — the most righteous race of the briny sea, and the Basse and the bold Amia, the Chremes, the Pelamyd, the Conger, and the fish which men call Olisthus — these always dwell in the sea where it neighbours rivers or lakes, where the sweet water ceases from the brine, and where much alluvial silt is gathered, drawn from the land by the eddying current. There they feed on pleasant food and fatten on the sweet brine. The Basse does not fail even from the rivers themselves but swims up out of the sea into the estuaries; while the Eels come from the rivers and draw to the flat reefs of the sea.

The sea-girt rocks are of many sorts. Some are wet and covered with seaweed and about them grows abundant moss. About these feed the Perch and the Rainbow-wrasse and the Channus and withal the spangled Saupe and the slender Thrush-wrasse and the Phycis and those which fishermen have nicknamed from the name of an effeminate man.

Other rocks are low-lying beside the sandy sea and rough; about these dwell the Cirrhis and the Sea-swine and the Basiliscus and withal the Mylus and the rosy tribes of the Red Mullet.

Other rocks again whose wet faces are green with grasses have for tenant the Sargue and the Sciaena, the Dory, and the Crow-fish, named from its dusky colour, and the Parrot-wrasse, which alone among all the voiceless fishes utters a liquid note and alone rejects its food back into its mouth, and feasts on it a second time, throwing up its food even as sheep and goats.

Those rocks again which abound in Clams or Limpets and in which there are chambers and abodes for fish to enter — on these abide the Braize and the shameless Wild Braize and the Cercurus and the gluttonous and baleful Muraena and the Horse-mackerel and the race of the late-dying Merou, which of all others on the earth remain longest alive and wriggle even when cut in pieces with a knife.

Others in the deeps under the sea abide in their lairs; to wit, the Sea-sheep and the Hepatus and the Prepon. Strong and large of body are they, but slowly they roll upon their way; wherefore also they never leave their own cleft, but just there they lie in wait beside their lair for any fish that may approach, and bring sudden doom on lesser fishes. Among these also is numbered the Hake, which beyond all fishes shrinks from the bitter assault of the Dog-star in summer, and remains retired within his dark recess and comes not forth so long as the breath of the fierce star prevails.

A fish there is which haunts the sea-washed rocks, yellow of aspect and in like build unto the Grey Mullet; some men call him Adonis; others name him the Sleeper-out, because he takes his sleep outside the sea and comes to the land, alone of all them that have gills, those folds of the mouth, on either side. For when calm hushes the works of the glancing sea, he hastes with the hasting tide and, stretched upon the rocks, takes his rest in fine weather. But he fears the race of sea-birds which are hostile to him; if he sees any of them approach, he hops like a dancer until, as he rolls on and on, the sea-wave receives him safe from the rocks.

Others live both among the rocks and in the sands; to wit, the Gilt-head, named from its beauty, and the Weever and the Simus and the Glaucus and the strong Dentex, the rushing Scorpion, a double race, and both sorts of the long Sphyraena and therewithal the slender Needle-fish; the Charax likewise is there and the nimble tumbling Goby and the savage tribe of Sea-mice, which are bold beyond all other fishes and contend even with men; not that they are so very large, but trusting chiefly to their hard hide and the serried teeth of their mouth, they fight with fishes and with mightier men.

Others roam in the unmeasured seas far from the dry land and companion not with the shores; to wit, the dashing Tunny, most excellent among fishes for spring and speed, and the Sword-fish, truly named, and the huge race of the Orcynus and the Premas and the Cybeia and the Coly-mackerel and the Scytala and the tribes of the Hippurus. Among these, too, is the Beauty-fish, truly named, a holy fish; and among them dwells the Pilot-fish which sailors revere exceedingly, and they have given him this name for his convoying of ships. For they delight exceedingly in ships that run over the wet seas, and they attend them as convoyers, voyaging with them on this side and on that, gambolling around and about the well-benched chariot of the sea, about both sides and about the controlling helm at the stern, while others gather round the prow; not of their own motion thou wouldst say that they voyage, but rather entangled in the well-riveted timbers are pulled against their will as in chains and carried along perforce; so great a swarm does their passion for hollow ships collect. Even as a city-saving king or some athlete crowned with fresh garlands is beset by boys and youths and men who lead him to his house and attend him always in troops until he passes the fencing threshold of his halls, even so the Pilot-fishes always attend swift-faring ships, so long as no fear of the earth drives them away. But when they mark the dry land — and greatly do they abhor the solid earth — they all turn back again in a body and rush away as from the starting-post and follow the ships no more. This is a true sign to sailors that they are near land, when they see those companions of their voyage leaving them. O Pilot-fish, honoured of seafarers, by thee doth a man divine the coming of temperate winds; for with fair weather thou dost put to sea and fair weather signs thou showest forth.

Companion of the open seas likewise is the Echeneïs. It is slender of aspect, in length a cubit, its colour dusky, its nature like that of the eel; under its head its mouth slopes sharp and crooked, like the barb of a curved hook. A marvellous thing have mariners remarked of the slippery Echeneïs, hearing which a man would refuse to believe it in his heart; for always the mind of inexperienced men is hard to persuade, and they will not believe even the truth. When a ship is straining under stress of a strong wind, running with spread sails over the spaces of the sea, the fish gapes its tiny mouth and stays all the ship underneath, constraining it below the keel; and it cleaves waves no more for all its haste but is firmly stayed, even as if it were shut up in a tideless harbour. All its canvas groans upon the forestays, the ropes creak, the yard-arm bends under the stress of the breeze, and on the stern the steersman gives every rein to the ship, urging her to her briny path. But she nor heeds the helm nor obeys the winds nor is driven by the waves but, fixed fast, remains against her will and is fettered for all her haste, rooted on the mouth of a feeble fish. And the sailors tremble to see the mysterious bonds of the sea, beholding a marvel like unto a dream. As when in the woods a hunter lies in wait for a swift-running Deer and smites her with winged arrow on the leg and stays her in her course; and she for all her haste, transfixed with compelling pain, unwillingly awaits the bold hunter; even such a fetter doth the spotted fish cast about the ship which it encounters, and from such deeds it gets its name.

The Pilchard again and the Shad and the Abramis move in shoals, now in one path of the sea, now in another, round rocks or in the open sea, and they also run to the long shores, ever changing to a strange path like wanderers.

The range of the Anthias is most familiar to the deep rocks; yet no wise do they always dwell among these, but wander everywhere as they are bidden by their jaws, their belly and their gluttonous desire insatiate of food; for beyond others a voracious passion drives those fishes, albeit the space of their mouth is toothless. Four mighty tribes of the Anthias inhabit the sea, the yellow, the white, and, a third breed, the black; others men call Euopus and Aulopus, because they have a circular dark brow ringed above their eyes.

Two fishes whose limbs are fenced with hard coats swim in the gulfs of the sea; to wit, the Spiny Crayfish and the Lobster. Both these dwell among the rocks and among the rocks they feed. The Lobster again holds in his heart a love exceeding and unspeakable for his own lair and he never leaves it willingly, but if one drag him away by force and let him go again in the sea, in no long time he returns to his own cleft eagerly, and will not choose a strange retreat nor does he heed any other rock but seeks the home that he left and his native haunts and his feeding-ground in the brine which fed him before, and leaves not the sea from which seafaring fishermen estranged him. Thus even to the swimming tribes their own house and their native sea and the home place where they were born instil in their hearts a sweet delight, and it is not to mortal men only that their fatherland is dearest of all; and there is nothing more painful or more terrible then when a man perforce lives the grievous life of an exile from his native land, a stranger among aliens bearing the yoke of dishonour.

In that kind are also the wandering Crab and the herds of the Prawn and the shameless tribes of the Pagurus, whose lot is numbered with the amphibians.

All those whose body is set beneath a shell put off the old shell and another springs up from the nether flesh. The Pagurus, when they feel the violence of the rending shell, rush everywhere in their desire for food, that the separation of the slough may be easier when they have sated themselves. But when the sheath is rent and slips off, then at first they lie idly stretched upon the sands, mindful neither of food nor of aught else, thinking to be numbered with the dead and to breathe warm breath no more, and they tremble for their new-grown tender hide. Afterwards they recover their spirits again and take a little courage and eat of the sand; but they are weak and helpless of heart until a new shelter is compacted around their limbs. Even as when a physician tends a man who is laden with disease, in the first days he keeps him from tasting food, blunting the fierceness of his malady, and then he gives him a little food for the sick, until he has cleared away all his distress and his limb-devouring aches and pains; even so they retire, fearing for their new-grown shells, to escape the evil fates of disease.

Other reptiles dwell in the haunts of the sea, the crooked Poulpe and the Water-newt and the Scolopendra, abhorred by fishermen, and the Osmylus. These also are amphibious; and some rustic tiller of the soil, I ween, who tends a vineyard by the sea, has seen an Osmylus or a Poulpe twining above the fruit-laden branches and devouring the sweet fruit off the trees. The same way as these reptiles have also the crafty Cuttle-fish. But other tribes dwell in the waves which have a hard shell, many among the rocks and many amid the sands; to wit, the Nerites and the race of the Strombus and the Purple-shells themselves and the Trumpet-shells and the Mussel and the truly-named Razor-shell and the dewy Oysters and the prickly Sea-urchins, which, if one cut them in small pieces and cast them into the sea, grow together and again become alive.

The Hermit-crabs have no shell of their own from birth but are born naked and unprotected and weak; yet they devise for themselves an acquired home, covering their feeble bodies with a bastard shelter. For when they see a shell left all desolate, the tenant having left his home, they creep in below the alien mantle and settle there and dwell and take it for their home. And along with it they travel and move their shelter from within — whether it be some Nerites that hath left the shell or a Trumpet or a Strombus. Most of all they love the shelters of the Strombus, because these are wide and light to carry. But when the Hermit-crab within grows and fills the cavity, it keeps that house no longer, but leaves it and seeks a wider shell-vessel to put on. Ofttimes battle arises and great contention among the Hermit-crabs about a hollow shell and the stronger drives out the weaker and herself puts on the fitting house.

One fish there is covered with a hollow shell, like in form to the Poulpe, which men call the Nautilus, so named because it sails of itself. It dwells in the sands and it rises to the surface of the water face downwards, so that the sea may not fill it. But when it swims above the waves of Amphitrite, straightway it turns over and sails like a man skilled in sailing a boat. Two feet it stretches aloft by way of rigging and between these runs like a sail a fine membrane which is stretched by the wind; but underneath two feet touching the water, like rudders, guide and direct house and ship and fish. But when it fears some evil hard at hand, no longer does it trust the winds in its flight, but gathers in all its tackle, sails and rudders, and receives the full flood within and is weighed down and sunk by the rush of water. Ah! whosoever first invented ships, the chariots of the sea, whether it was some god that devised them or whether some daring mortal first boasted to have crossed the wave, surely it was when he had seen that voyaging of a fish that he framed a like work in wood, spreading from the forestays those parts to catch the wind and those behind to control the ship.

The Sea-monsters mighty of limb and huge, the wonders of the sea, heavy with strength invincible, a terror for the eyes to behold and ever armed with deadly rage — many of these there be that roam the spacious seas, where are the unmapped prospects of Poseidon, but few of them come nigh the shore, those only whose weight the beaches can bear and whom the salt water does not fail. Among these are the terrible Lion and the truculent Hammer-head and the deadly Leopard and the dashing Physalus; among them also is the impetuous black race of the Tunny and the deadly Saw-fish and the dread gape of the woeful Lamna and the Maltha, named not from soft feebleness, and the terrible Rams and the awful weight of the Hyaena and the ravenous and shameless Dog-fish. Of the Dog-fish there are three races; one fierce race in the deep seas is numbered among the terrible Sea-monsters; two other races among the mightiest fishes dwell in the deep mud; one of these from its black spines is called Centrines, the other by the general name of Galeus; and of the Galeus there are different kinds, to wit, the Scymnus, the Smooth Dog-fish, the Spiny Dog-fish; and among them are the Angel-shark, the Fox-shark and the Spotted Dog-fish. But the works and the feeding of them all is alike and they herd together.

The Dolphins both rejoice in the echoing shores and dwell in the deep seas, and there is no sea without Dolphins; for Poseidon loves them exceedingly, inasmuch as when he was seeking the dark-eyed daughter of Nereus who fled from his embraces, the Dolphin marked her hiding in the halls of Ocean and told Poseidon; and the god of the dark hair straightway carried off the maiden and overcame her against her will. Her he made his bride, queen of the sea, and for their tidings he commended his kindly attendants and bestowed on them exceeding honour for their portion.

There are also those among the stern Sea-monsters which leave the salt water and come forth upon the life-giving soil of the dry land. For a long space do Eels consort with the shores and the fields beside the sea; so too the shielded Turtle and the woeful, lamentable Castorids, which utter on the shores their grievous voice of evil omen. He who receives in his ears their voice of sorrow, shall soon be not far from death, but that dread sound prophesies for him doom and death. Nay, even the shameless Whale, they say, leaves the sea for the dry land and basks in the sun. And Seals in the night-time always leave the sea, and often in the day-time they abide at their ease on the rocks and on the sands and take their sleep outside the sea.

O Father Zeus, in thee and by thee are all things rooted, whether thou dwellest in the highest height of heaven or whether thou dwellest everywhere; for that is impossible for a mortal to declare. With what loving-kindness, although thou hast marked out and divided the bright sky and the air and the fluid water and earth, mother of all, and established them apart each from the other, yet hast thou bound them all one to another in a bond of amity that may not be broken and set them perforce under a common yoke not to be removed! For neither is the sky without air nor the air without water nor is the water sundered from the earth, but they inhere each in the other, and all travel one path and revolve in one cycle of change. Therefore also they pledge one another in the common race of the amphibians; of whom some come up from the sea to the land; others again go down from the air to consort with the sea; to wit, the light Gulls and the plaintive tribes of the Kingfisher and the strong rapacious Sea-eagle, and whatsoever others there be that fish and seek their prey in the water. Others again, though they are dwellers in the sea, plough the air; to wit, the Calamaries and the race of Sea-hawks and the Swallow of the deep. These, when they fear a mightier fish at hand, leap from the sea and fly in the air. But while the Calamaries ply the wing high and far — a bird would you think you were seeing, not a fish, when they set themselves in shoals to fly — the Swallows keep a lower path and the Hawks fly close to the very sea, grazing the surface of the water, seeming, to behold, as if they swam at once and flew.

These are the city-states, as it were, among fishes, these the various communities of the sea-wandering race. And of these some roam all together in their various tribes, like flocks of sheep or like armies, and these are called shoaling fishes; others again move in files; others like platoons or sections of ten; another goes on his own course all alone and apart from others; yet others travel in pairs; while some again remain at home in their own lairs.

In winter all dread exceedingly the terrible eddies of the storm-winds and the billows of the evil-sounding sea itself: for beyond all else the fishy tribes abhor their beloved sea when it rages. Then do some with their fins scrape the sand together and skulk like cowards beneath it, others creep below the rocks where they huddle together, others flee down to the nether depths of the deepest seas; for those seas neither roll overmuch nor are stirred to the bottom by the winds and no blast penetrates the nether foundation of the sea; and the great depth protects the fishes from the pangs of cold and the cruel assault of winter. But when the flowery hours of spring smile brightly on the earth and with fine weather the sea has respite from winter and there is calm water with a gentle swell, then from this quarter and from that the fishes come trooping joyfully nigh the land. As when, happily escaped from the cloud of ruinous war, some city dear to the deathless gods, which long time the brazen storm of foemen beset as with a flood, at last ceases gladly from strife and recovers her breath; she rejoices and takes her delight in the eager labours of peace and in calm weather holds festival, full of the dancing of men and women; even so the fishes, gladly escaped from sorrowful affliction and rough seas, rush exultant over the wave, leaping like dancers. And in spring the sweet goad of compelling desire and mating and mutual love are in season among all that move upon the fruitful earth and in the folds of air and in the bellowing sea. In spring the Birth-goddesses deliver most part of the fishes from the heavy travail of spawning. The female, in their desire to give birth and to bring forth, rub their tender bellies in the sand; for the eggs do not part easily but are closely entangled together within the belly, confusedly cohering — how could they bring forth the mass? — and, painfully straitened, they with difficulty pass their spawn. So not even on the fishes have the Fates bestowed easy birth, and not alone to women upon earth are there pains, but everywhere the birth-pangs are grievous. As for the males, on the other hand, some hasten to approach the shores, bringing doom to other fishes on which they feast; others again run before the shoals of females by whom they are pursued, since drawn by the passion of desire the females haste after the males with rush incontinent. Then the males, rubbing belly against belly, discharge behind them the moist milt; and the females, goaded by desire, rush to gobble it up with their mouths; by such mating they are filled with roe. This is the most common custom among fishes, but others there are which have separate and apart their own beds and bridal chambers and wedded wives; for there is much Passion among fishes and Desire and Jealousy, that grievous god, and all that hot Love brings forth, when he stirs fierce tumult in the heart. Many quarrel with one another and fight over a mate, like unto wooers who about a bride gather many and well-matched and contend in wealth and beauty. These weapons the fish have not, but strength and jaws and sawlike teeth within: with these they enter the lists and arm themselves to win a mate; and he who excels with these, wins at once both victory and mate. And some delight in more mates than one to share their bed, to wit, the race of the Sargue and the dusky Merle; others love and attend a single mate, as the Black Sea-bream and the Aetnaeus and delight not in more than one.

But neither Eels nor Turtles nor Poulpes effect their mating in this fashion, nor the dark Muraena, but they have an unusual mode of union. Eels coil round one another and closely entwined they writhe their moist bodies, and from them a fluid like foam flows and is covered by the sands; and the mud receives it and conceives, and gives birth to the trailing Eel. Such also is the generation of the slippery Conger.

The Turtles greatly fear and hate their mating; for they have no delight or pleasure in union, as other creatures have, but they have far more pain. For the organ of the male is very hard, an unyielding bone, which is whetted in a joyless union. Therefore they fight and rend each other with their bent teeth, when they come together: the females seeking to avoid the rough mating, the males eager to mate, willing bridegrooms of unwilling brides; until the male by his strength prevails and makes her perforce his mate, like a captive bride, the prize of war. The mating of Dogs on land is similar to that of Turtles in the sea: similar also is that of Seals; for all of those remain a long time coupled rearwards, fast bound as by a chain.

For the Poulpe his deadly mating goes with bitter destruction and union consummated is consummated death: for he does not abstain or cease from his desire, until he is spent and strength forsakes his limbs and he himself falls exhausted on the sand and perishes. For all that come nigh devour him — the timid Hermit-crab and the Crabs and other fishes which he himself formerly was wont to banquet on, easily stealing upon them; by these he is now devoured, still alive but lying helplessly, and making no resistance, until he dies. By such a death, the sad fruit of desire, he perishes. And even so the female likewise perishes, exhausted by the travail of birth. For their eggs do not issue forth separately, as with other fishes, but, clustered together like grapes, they pass with difficulty through the narrow channel. Wherefore the Poulpes never live beyond the measure of a year; for always they perish by dreadest mating and dreadest travail of birth.

Touching the Muraena there is a not obscure report that a Serpent mates with her, and that the Muraena herself comes forth from the sea willingly, eager mate to eager mate. The bitter Serpent, whetted by the fiery passion within him, is frenzied for mating and drags himself nigh the shore; and anon he espies a hollow rock and therein vomits forth his baneful venom, the fierce bile of his teeth, a deadly store, that he may be mild and serene to meet his bride. Standing on the shore he utters his hissing note, his mating call; and the dusky Muraena quickly hears his cry and speeds swifter than an arrow. She stretches her from the sea, he from the land treads the grey surf, and, eager to mate with one another, the two embrace, and the panting bride receives with open mouth the Serpent's head. Then, exulting over their union, she goes back again to her haunts in the sea, while he makes his trailing way to the land, where he takes in again his venom, lapping up that which before he shed and discharged from his teeth. But if he find not that bile — which some wayfarer, seeing it for what it is, has washed away with torrents of water — then indignant he dashes his body, till he finds the doom of a sad and unthought-for death, ashamed to be a Serpent when he is left defenceless of the weapons in which he trusted, and on the rock with his lost venom he loses his life.

Dolphins mate after the manner of men, and the organs with which they are equipped are quite human-like; the male organ is not always visible but is hidden within and extended on occasion of mating.

Such are the loves and mating among fishes. And others at other season they desire to mate and bring forth their young; for some summer, some winter, for others spring or waning autumn brings birth. And some — the greatest part — are in travail of a single brood a year, but the Basse is twice burdened by the pangs of birth; the Red Mullet gets its name Trigla from its triple brood; the Scorpion again endures the pang of four labours; the Carps alone bear five times; and the Oniscus is the only fish, they say, whose breeding no one has ever remarked, but that is still a mystery among men.

When in spring the oviparous fishes are full of roe, some of them remain quietly in their homes, each tribe in its own place; but many gather together and pursue a common path to the Euxine Sea, that there they may bring forth their brood. For that gulf is the sweetest of all the sea, watered as it is by infinite rivers of abundant water; and it has soft and sandy bays; therein are goodly feeding-grounds and waveless shores and caverned rocks and silty clefts and shady headlands and all that fish most love; but no fierce Sea-monster inhabits there not any deadly bane of the finny race nor any of those which prey upon the smaller fishes — no coiling Poulpe nor Lobster nor Crab; Dolphins, indeed, dwell there but few, and feebler even these than the Sea-monster breed and harmless. Wherefore to fishes that water is pleasant exceedingly and they greatly haste to come to it. All together they set forth in company, gathering to one place from their several haunts, and all have one path, one voyage, one course, even as again all have the same impulse of return. And the swarms of various tribe make the Thracian Ford of the Cow, past the Bebrycian Sea and the narrow mouth of Pontus traversing a long course of the ocean. And as when from the Ethiopians and the streams of Egypt there comes the high-flying choir of clanging Cranes, fleeing from winter and the snowy Mount of Atlas and the weak race of the feeble Pygmies: as they fly in ordered ranks their broad swarms shadow the air and keep unbroken line; even so in that season those myriad-tribed phalanxes of the sea plough the great waves of the Euxine; and the sea is full to overflowing and rough with the beating of many fins, till eagerly they win rest from their long journey and their spawning. But when the term of autumn passes, they bethink them of their homeward way, since chillier than all other is the winter that rages on that eddying sea; for it is not deep offshore but is easily buffeted about by the winds which beat upon it violent and deadly. Wherefore they slip away from the Amazonian mere and with their young travel home again, and scatter over the sea, each tribe to the place where they are to feed.

Now those which are called Molluscs, whose limbs are bloodless and boneless, and those tribes that are covered with close-set scales or armed with scutes, are all alike oviparous; but from the fierce Dog-fish and the Eagle-ray and all the tribes that are called Selachians and from the kingly Dolphins which lord it among fishes and from the ox-eyed Seal spring children who straightway from birth are like their parents.

Now all the viviparous denizens of the sea love and cherish their young but diviner than the Dolphin is nothing yet created; for indeed they were aforetime men and lived in cities along with mortals, but but by the devising of Dionysus they exchanged the land for the sea and put on the form of fishes; but even now the righteous spirit of men in them preserves human thought and human deeds. For when the twin offspring of their travail come into the light, straightway, soon as they are born they swim and gambol round their mother and enter within her teeth and linger in the maternal mouth; and she for her love suffers them and circles about her children gaily and exulting with exceeding joy. And she gives them her breasts, one to each, that they may suck the sweet milk; for god has given her milk and breasts of like nature to those of women. Thus for a season she nurses them; but, when they attain the strength of youth, straightway their mother leads them in their eagerness to the way of hunting and teaches them the art of catching fish; nor does she part from her children nor forsake them, until they have attained the fulness of their age in limb and strength, but always the parents attend them to keep watch and ward. What a marvel shalt thou contemplate in thy heart and what sweet delight, when on a voyage, watching when the wind is fair and the sea is calm, thou shalt see the beautiful herds of Dolphins, the desire of the sea; the young go before in a troop like youths unwed, even as if they were going through the changing circle of a mazy dance; behind and not aloof their children come the parents great and splendid, a guardian host, even as in spring the shepherds attend the tender lambs at pasture. As when from the works of the Muses children come trooping while behind there follow, to watch them and to be censors of modesty and heart and mind, men of older years: for age makes a man discreet; even so also the parent Dolphins attend their children, lest aught untoward encounter them.

Yea and the Seal also tends her young no less well; for she too has breasts, and in the breasts streams of milk. But not amid the waves but when she comes up on the dry land is she delivered of the burden of her womb in seasonable travail. For twelve days in all she remains with her children there upon the dry land; but with the thirteenth dawn she takes in her arms her young cubs and goes down into the sea, glorying in her children and showing them, as it were, their fatherland. Even as a woman that has borne a child in an alien land comes gladly to her fatherland and to her own home; and all day long she carries her child in her arms and hugs him while she shows him the house, his mother's home, with sateless delight; and he, though he does not understand, gazes at each thing, the hall and the haunts of his parents; even so that wild thing of the sea brings her children to the water and shows them all the works of the deep.

Ye gods, not alone then among men are children very dear, sweeter than light or life, but in birds also and in savage beasts and in carrion fishes there is inbred, mysterious and self-taught, a keen passion for their young, and for their children they are not unwilling but heartily eager to die and to endure all manner of woeful ill. Ere now on the hills a hunter has seen a roaring Lion bestriding his young, fighting in defence of his offspring; the thick hurtling stones he heeds not nor recks of the hunter's spear but all undaunted keeps heart and spirit, though hit and torn by all manner of wounds; nor will he shrink from the combat till he die, but even half-dead he stands over his children to defend them, and not so much does he mind death as that he should not see his children in the hands of the hunters, penned in the rude wild-beast den. And ere now a shepherd, approaching the kennel where a bitch nursed her new-born whelps, even if he were acquainted with her before, has drawn back in terror at her yelping wrath; so fiercely she guards her young and has no regard for any but is fearful of approach for all. How, too, around calves when they are dragged away do their grieving mothers make lament, not unlike the mourning of women, causing the very herdsmen to share their pain. Yea and a man hears at morn the shrill plaint for her children of Gier or many-noted Nightingale, or in the spring chances on the Swallows wailing for their young, which cruel men or snakes have harried from the nest. Among fishes again the Dolphin is first in love for its children, but others likewise care for their young.

Here is the marvel of the sea-roaming Dog-fish. Her new-born brood keep her company and their mother is their shield; but when they are affrighted by any of the infinite terrors of the sea, then she receives her children within her loins by the same entry, the same path, by which they glided forth when they were born. And this labour, despite her pain, she endures gladly, taking her children back within her body and putting them forth again when they have recovered from their fear.

A like defence also does the Angel-shark furnish for her young; but it is not into her womb that her children enter, as with the Dog-fish, but on either side below her fins she has slits, like the jaws of other fishes, wherewith she covers the terror of her frightened children.

Others again protect their children by taking them into the mouth as it were into a house or nest; as, for example, the Glaucus which loves its children beyond all other fishes that are oviparous. For it both remains sitting by until the young come forth from the eggs and always swims beside them; and when it sees them afraid of a strange fish it opens its gape and takes them into its mouth until the terror has withdrawn, and then again ejects them from its throat.

Than the Tunny I deem there is no fish that dwells in the brine more lawless or which exceeds it in wickedness of heart; for when she has laid her eggs and escaped from the grievous travail of birth, the very mother that bare them devours all that she can overtake: pitiless mother who devours her own children while yet they are ignorant of flight and hath no compassion on her brood.

There are also those which are not produced by bridal or birth — races self-created and self-made: even all the Oysters, which are produced by the slime itself. Of these there is no female sex nor, in turn, are there any males, but all are of one nature and alike.

So also the weak race of the feeble Fry are born of no blood and of no parents. For when from the clouds the wisdom of Zeus draws rain, fierce and incontinent, upon the deep, straightway all the sea, confounded by the eddying winds, hisses and foams and swells up and, by what manner of mating is beyond ken or guess, the Fry in shoals are born and bred and come to light, numberless and feeble, a hoary brood; and from the manner of their birth they are nicknamed the Daughters of the Foam. And others of the Fry spring from alluvial slime; for when in the eddies and tides of the sea a medley mass of scum is washed up by the driving wind, then all the slimy silt comes together and when calm is spread abroad, straightway the sand and the infinite refuse of the sea ferment and therefrom spring the Fry innumerable like worms. There is not surely any other race more feeble than the poor Fry; for all fishes they are a goodly feast, but themselves they lick each the body of the other: that is their food and livelihood. And when in their shoals they beset the sea, seeking haply a shady rock or covert of the sea and watery shelter, then all the grey deep shows white. As when the swift might of Zephyrus from the West shadows with snow-flakes a spacious garden and nothing of the dark earth appears to the eye, but all is white and covered with snow on snow; even so in that season, full to overflowing with the infinite shoals of Fry, white shines the garden of Poseidon.