There was in ancient days a woman most renowned,
Who by her skill in weaving did all men astound.
Her fame was carried by the winds to every shore,
But when Athena heard, she could not bear it more.
For, she who wove declared her skill to be unmatched:
Athena did consider, and her plot was hatched.
She clothed herself as one whom age held in his grasp,
A wizened crone whose back was bent, whose voice did rasp,
And when she came she said the mortal should give praise
Unto Athena, who had first in ancient days
Created that fine art: from her had men received
The same as a divine gift: but the girl who weaved
Replied that she had naught but what her skill and mind
Had gotten her: the secret she herself did find,
And owed Athena nothing, not a word of thanks,
Not her nor any who held Olympian ranks.
She scorned the woman, and she mocked her for her age:
Athena then cast off her guise and shone with rage.
All of the holy nymphs who’d gathered all around,
They worshipped her and cast themselves upon the ground.
The weaver, who was called Arachne, did not bow,
But stood defiantly with pride upon her brow.
Deprived of wisdom and devoid of contrition,
She challenged Athena to a competition.
The goddess, instantly, accepted, and she wove
A tapestry that showed the sacred olive grove,
And it was springing up around Athena’s feet,
While a horse’s hooves with a pounding rhythm beat
Upon the earth, when it leapt from Poseidon’s spring,
Whose water to all the earth did refreshment bring;
And Zeus upon his throne, the goddess wove with skill;
With beauty did Athena weave as she did will.
Antigone and Pygmy did the goddess spin,
Who thought themselves the equals of the gods, which sin
Did cause them to be changed by Hera, who would not
Brook pride, and punished them when her fierce rage was hot.
Into a crane was Pygmy turned, and waged a war
Upon all those who had been her subjects before.
Into a stupid stork Antigone transformed,
Who praised herself, but who was ugly and deformed.
The mountains Rhodope and Haemus, mortals who
For their haughtiness and pride the gods overthrew,
Their folly by Athena’s tapestry was shown,
But still was wisdom by the mortal girl not known.
Arachne, for her work, wove gods in mortal guise,
Who thought she’d shame the gods and win herself the prize.
She wove Europa on the bull, but looking back,
As though she sorrowed and a mourning pain did wrack
Her soul, and she desired to return to that land,
And by force alone she was under Zeus’ command.
Seized by the eagle’s claws, she spun Asteria;
Seduced by the swan she wove the maiden Leda;
And Zeus in satyr form seeking Antiope;
And as a shepherd was Zeus with Mnemosyne;
To Alcmena as Amphitryon counterfeit,
To win her love with an illusion and deceit.
And chasing Danae was he a golden shower;
As serpent was Persephone in his power.
Poseidon in a multitude of forms she wove,
First as a bull when he was with Arne in love;
And as Enipeus begetting giant twins;
And sporting as a ram with Bisaltes in glens;
In love with fruitful Demeter he was a horse;
As a bird about Medusa he took his course;
As a dolphin, with Melantho Poseidon played:
These scenes Arachne on her tapestry arrayed.
She wove Erigone tricked by Dionysos,
And two-natured Chiron begotten by Kronos.
To border all, ivy leaves and flowers she spun,
And after this, Arachne’s tapestry was done.
But, when Athena saw her mock the gods, she took
The shuttle in her hand, and with an evil look
She struck the woman on her head, then struck again;
Four blows upon Arachne did Athena rain.
Arachne sighed with sorrow; pain weighed down her heart;
Like one who’s whipped, the shame did bruise her soul and smart.
Despairing of her life, with tears she took a thread
And sought to flee unto the land of all the dead.
She hung herself, but when Athena saw her plight,
She vivified again the poor, unhappy wight.
Into another form, did Athena change her:
To weave forever more, she made her a spider.