When Clymené with all that sorrow couldTo ease her woes give utterance, loud had wail'dIn wild lament; all spark of reason fled,Her bosom tearing, through the world she roam'd.And now his limbs inanimate she sought;Then for his whiten'd bones: his bones she found,On banks far distant from his home inhum'd.Prone on his tomb her form she flung, and pour'dHer tears in floods upon the graven lines:And with her bosom bar'd, the cold stone warm'd.His sisters' love their fruitless offerings bring,Their griefs and briny droppings; cruel tearTheir beauteous bosoms; while they loudly callPhaëton, deaf to all their mournful cries.Stretch'd on his tomb, by night, by day they call'd.Till Luna's circle four times fill'd was seen;Their blows still given as 'custom'd, (use had madeTheir forms of grief as nature). Sudden plain'dFair Phaëthusa, eldest of the three,Of stiffen'd feet; as on the tomb she stroveTo cast her body prone. Lampetie bright,Rushing in hope to aid, a shooting rootAbruptly held. With lifted hands the thirdHer locks to tear attempted; but green leavesTore off instead. Now this laments her legs,Bound with thin bark; that mourns to see her armsShoot in long branches. While they wonder thus,Th' increasing bark their bodies upward veils,Their breasts, their arms, and hands, with gradual growth:Their mouths alone remain; which loudly callTheir mother. What a mother could, she did:What could she do? save, here and there to fly,Where blind affection dragg'd her; and while yet,'Twas given to join, join with them mouth to mouth.Nor this contents; she strives to tear the rind,Their limbs enwrapping; and the tender boughsPluck from their hands: but from the rended spotThe sanguine drops flow swift. Each suffering nymphCries,—“Spare me, mother!—spare your wounded child;“I suffer in the tree.—farewell!—farewell!”—For as they spoke the rind their mouths inclos'd.From these new branches tears were dropp'd, and shap'dBy solar heat, bright amber straight compos'd.Dropt in the lucid stream, the prize was borneTo Latium, and its gayest nymphs adorn'd.
This wonderous change Sthenelian Cycnus saw;To thee, O Phaëton, by kindred join'd,But by affection closer. He his realms,(For o'er Liguria's large and populous townsHe reign'd) had then relinquish'd. With his plaints,The Po's wide stream was fill'd; and fill'd the banksWith his lamentings; ev'n the woods, whose shadeThe sister poplars thicken'd. Soon he feelsHis utterance shrill and weak: his streaming locksSoft snowy plumes displace: high from his chest,His lengthen'd neck extends: a filmy webUnites his ruddy toes: his sides are cloth'dWith quills and feathers: where his mouth was seenExpanded, now a blunted beak obtains;And Cycnus stands a bird;—but bird unknownIn days of yore. Mistrustful still of Jove,His heaven he shuns; as mindful of the flamesFrom thence unjustly hurl'd. Wide lakes and pondsHe seeks to habit now;—indignant shunsWhat favors fire, and joys in purling streams.
Meantime was Phœbus dull, his blaze obscur'd,As when eclips'd his orb: his rays he hates;Himself; and even the day. To grief his soulHe gives, and anger to his grief he joins;Depriving earth of all its wonted light.“Troubled my lot has been,” he cry'd, “since first“Was publish'd my existence:—urg'd my toil“Endless,—still unremitted, still unprais'd.“Now let who will my furious chariot drive“Flammiferous! If every god shall shrink“Inadequate,—let Jove the task attempt:“Then while my reins he tries, at least those flames,“Which cause parental grief must peaceful rest.“Then when the fiery flaming coursers strain“His nervous arms, no more he'll judge the youth“Of death deserving, who could less control.”Sol, grieving thus, the deities surround,And suppliant beg that earth may mourn no more,By darkness 'whelm'd. Ev'n Jove concession gave,—And why his fiery bolts were launch'd explain'd;But threats and prayers majestically mix'd.The steeds with terror trembling, Phœbus seiz'd,Wild from their late affright, and rein'd their jaws;Furious he wields his goad and lash, and fierceHe storms, and their impetuous fury blamesAt every blow, as murderers of his son.
High heaven's huge walls the mighty sire explores,With eye close searching, lest a weakening flaw,Might hurl some part to ruin. All he foundFirm in its pristine strength;—then glanc'd his eyeAround the earth, and toils of man below.'Bove all terrestrial lands, Arcadia felt—His own Arcadia—his preserving care.Her fountains he restores; her streams not yetTo murmur daring; to her fields he givesSeed-corn; and foliage to her spreading boughs;And her scorch'd forests bids again look green.Through here as oft he journey'd, and return'd,A virgin of Nonacriné he spy'd,And instant inward fire the god consum'd.No nymph was she whose skill the wool prepar'd;Nor comb'd with art her tresses seem'd; full plain,Her vest a button held; a fillet whiteCareless her hair confin'd. Now pois'd her handA javelin light, and now a bow she bore:In Dian's train she ran, nor nymph more dearTo her the mountain Mænalus e'er trode.But brief the reign of favor! Sol had nowBeyond mid-heaven attain'd; Calistho soughtA grove where felling axe had never rung:Here was her quiver from her shoulder thrown;Her slender bow unstrung; and on the groundWith soft grass clad she rested: 'neath her neckWas plac'd the painted quiver. Jove, the maidWeary'd beheld, and from her wonted troopFar distant. “Surely now, my wife,” he cries,“This theft can ne'er discover. Should she know,“What is her rage with such a prize compar'd?”Then Dian's face and form the god conceal'd;Loud calling,—“Where, O virgin, hast thou stray'd?“What hills, my comrade, hast thou crost in chase?”Light springing from the turf, the nymph reply'd,—“Hail goddess, greater, if with me the palm,“Than Jove himself, though Jove himself should hear.”The feign'd Diana smil'd, and joy'd to hearHim to himself preferr'd; then press'd her lipsWith kisses, such as virgins never giveTo virgins. Her, prepar'd to tell the woodsWhere late she hunted, with a warm embraceHe hinder'd; and his crime the god disclos'd.Hard strove the nymph,—and what could female more?(O Juno, hadst thou seen her, less thy ire!)Long she resists, but what can nymph attain,Or any mortal, when to Jove oppos'd?Victor the god ascends th' ethereal court.
The groves and forests, conscious of the deed,Calistho hates; so swift she flies the spot,Her quiver, and her darts, and slender bowSuspended on the tree, through eager hasteWere nigh forgotten. Lo! Diana comes,By clustering nymphs attended, o'er the hillsOf lofty Mænalus, from slaughter'd beasts,Proudly triumphant. She Calistho sees,And calls her;—as the goddess calls she flies,Fearing another Jove disguis'd to meet.But when th' attendant virgin-troop appear'd,Fraud she no more suspected, but the trainJoin'd fearless. Hard the countenance to form,And not betray a perpetrated crime!Scarce from the ground she dar'd her looks to raise;Nor with her wonted ardor press'd before,First of the throng, close to Diana's side.Silent she moves; her blushes prove a woundHer modesty had felt. E'en Dian' might,(But that a virgin,) all the truth have known.By numerous proofs and strong. Nay, fame reportsHer sister-nymphs had long her shame perceiv'd.Nine times had Luna now her orb renew'd,When Dian' from the chase retreating faintBy Phœbus' rays, had gain'd a forest cool,Where flow'd a limpid stream with murmuring noise,The shining sand upturning. Much the spotThe goddess tempted, and her feet she dipp'dLight in the waves, as to the nymphs she cry'd:—“Hence far each prying eye, we'll dare unrobe“And lave beneath the stream.” Calistho blush'd;—Quick while the other nymphs their bodies bare,Protracting she undresses. From her limbs,Suspicious they the garments rend, and viewHer body naked, and her fault is plain.To her, confus'd, whose trembling hands essay'dHer shame to hide, Diana spoke;—“Hence fly,—“Far hence, nor more these sacred streams pollute.”And drove her instant from her spotless train.
Long time the mighty thunderer's queen had knownCalistho's state; but curb'd her furious ireTill ripe occasion suited: longer nowDelay were needless; now the nymph produc'dArcas; whom Juno more enrag'd beheld.With savage mind, and furious look she ey'dThe boy, and spoke;—“Adulteress! this alone“Was wanting! fruitful, harlot, hast thou prov'd?“Must by this birth my wrongs in public glare?“And what dishonor I from Jove receive“Be palpable to sight. Expect not thou“Impunity to find. Thy form I'll change,—“To thee so pleasing, and so dear to Jove.”She said; and on the flowing tresses seiz'dWhich o'er her forehead stream'd, and prostrate dragg'dThe nymph to earth. She rais'd her suppliant hands,—With black hairs cover'd, rough her arms appear'd;Bent were her hands, and, with her lengthen'd nailsTo claws transform'd, press'd on the ground as feet;Her mouth so beauteous, late of Jove admir'd,Yawn'd wide deformity;—and lest soft prayersAnd flowing words, might pity move, no powerTo speak she left. Now through her hoarse throat soundsAn angry threatening voice that fear instills;A bear becoming, though her sense the same:Her sufferings proving by her constant groans.Lifting to heaven such hands as lift she could,Jove she ungrateful found, but Jove to callUngrateful, strove in vain. Alas! how oftIn woods and solitudes, to sleep afraid,She roam'd around the house and fertile fieldsOf late her own!—-Alas, how oft thence drivenBy yelping hounds o'er craggy steeps she fled!Thou dread'st the hunters though an huntress thou!Oft was her form forgotten, and in fearFrom beasts she crouch'd conceal'd: the shaggy bearShudder'd to see the bears upon the hills;And at the wolves she trembled, though with wolvesHer sire Lycaön howl'd. Now Arcas comes;Arcas, her son, unconscious of his race.Near fifteen suns the youth had seen revolv'd;And while the game he chases, while he seeksThickets best suited for his sports, and roundThe Erymanthean woods his toils he sets,He meets his mother:—at his sight she stay'd,The well-known object viewing. Arcas fledTrembling, unconscious why those eyes were fix'dOn him immoveably. His spear, prepar'dTo pierce his mother's breast, as near she drawsThe youth protends. But Jove the deed prevents:Both bears away, and stays the matricide.Swept through the void of heaven by rapid whirlThey're borne, and neighbouring constellations made,Loud Juno rag'd, to see the harlot shine,Amid the stars; and 'neath the deep descends,To hoary Tethys, and her ancient spouse;Where reverence oft the host of heaven had shewn.And thus to them, who anxious seek the cause,Why there she journeys. “Wish ye then to know“Why I the queen of heaven, my regal seat“Now leave? Another fills my lofty throne!“Nor false I speak,—for when gray night shall spread“O'er all,—new constellations shall you see“Me irking,—on the utmost bounds of heaven,“Where the last shorten'd zone the axis binds.“Now surely none, t' insult shall rashly dare“The thunderer's spouse, but tremble at her frown;“For she who most offends is honor'd most!“Much has my power perform'd!—vast is my sway!“Her human form I chang'd,—and lo! she shines“A goddess;—thus the guilty feel my ire!“Thus potent I. Why not her form restore,“And change that beastly shape, as Iö once“In Argolis, the same indulgence felt.“Why drives he not his consort from his bed,“Calistho placing there;—for sire-in-law“The wolf Lycaön chusing? If to you“Your foster-daughter's insults ought import,“Forbid these stars to touch the blue profound:“Repel those constellations, plac'd in heaven,“Meed of adultery; lest the harlot dip“In your pure waves.”—The gods their promise gaveAnd through the liquid air Saturnia flies,Borne in her chariot by her peacocks bright;Their coats gay studded from fall'n Argus' eyes.
Less beauteous was the change, loquacious crow,Thy plumage suffer'd,—snowy white to black.With silvery brightness once his feathers shone;Unspotted doves outvying; nor to thosePreserving birds the capital whose voiceSo watchful sav'd;—nor to the stream-fond swans,Inferior seem'd his covering: but his tongue,His babbling tongue his ruin wrought; and chang'dHis hue from splendid white to gloomy black.
No fairer maid all Thessaly contain'd,Than young Coronis,—to the Delphic godMost dear while chaste, or while her fault unknown.But Corvus, Phœbus' watchman, spy'd the deedAdulterous;—and inexorably bentTo tell the secret crime, his flight directsTo seek his master. Him the daw pursues,On plumes quick waving, curious all to learn.His errand heard, she cries;—“Thy anxious task,“A journey vain, pursue not: mark my words;—“Learn what I have been;—see what now I am;“And hear from whence my change: a fault you'll find“Too much fidelity, which wrought my woe.
“Time was, when Pallas, Ericthonius took,“Offspring created motherless, and close“In basket twin'd with Attic twigs conceal'd.“The charge to keep, three sister-maids she chose,“Daughters of Cecrops double-form'd, but close,“Conceal'd what lodg'd within; and strict forbade“All prying, that her secret safe might rest.“On a thick elm, behind light leaves conceal'd,“I mark'd their actions. Two their sacred charge“Hold faithful; Pandrosos, and Hersé they:“Aglauros calls her sisters cowards weak;“The twistings with bold hand unloosening, sees“Within an infant, and a dragon stretch'd.“The deed I tell to Pallas, and from her“My service this remuneration finds:“Driven from her presence, she my place supplies“Of favorite with the gloomy bird of night.“All other birds my fate severe may warn,“To seek not danger by officious tales.“Pallas, perhaps you think, but lightly lov'd“One whom she thus so suddenly disgrac'd.“But ask of Pallas;—she, though much enrag'd“Will yet my truth confirm. A regal maid“Was I,—of facts to all well-known I speak:“Coroneus noble, of the Phocian lands“As sire I claim. Me wealthy suitors sought—“Contemn me not,—my beauty was my bane.“While careless on the sandy shore I roam'd,“With gentle pace as wont, the ocean's god“Saw me and lov'd: persuasive words in vain“Long trying, force prepar'd, and me pursu'd.“I fled; the firm shore left, and tir'd my limbs“Vainly, upon the light soft sinking sand.“There to assist me men and gods I call'd;“Deaf to the sound was every mortal ear:“But by a virgin's cries a virgin mov'd,“Assistance gave. Up to the skies my arms“I stretch'd; and black my arms began to grow,“With waving pinions. From my shoulders, back“My robes I strove to fling,—my robes were plumes;“Deep in my skin the quills were fix'd: I try'd“On my bare bosom with my hands to beat;“Nor hands nor naked bosom now were found:“I ran; the sand no longer now retain'd“My feet, but lightly o'er the ground I skimm'd;“And soon on pinions through the air was borne;“And Pallas' faultless favorite I became.“What now avail to me my pure deserts?“Nyctimené, whose horrid crime deserv'd“Her transformation, to my place succeeds.“The deed so wide through spacious Lesbos known,“Ere this has reach'd thee;—how Nyctimené—“Her father's bed defil'd,—a bird became.“Conscious of guilt, she shuns the sight of man;“Flies from the day, and in nocturnal shades“Conceals her shame; by every bird assail'd“And exil'd from the skies.” The crow in rageTo her still chattering, cry'd;—“May each delay“Thy babbling causes, prove to thee a curse.“I scorn thy foolish presages,”—and flewHis journey urging. When his master found,He told him where Coronis he had seenClaspt by a young Thessalian. Down he dropp'dHis laurel garland, when the crime he heardOf her he lov'd;—his harp away he flung;His countenance fell, and pale his visage grew.Now with fierce rage his swelling bosom fires;His wonted arms he seizes; draws his bow,Bent to the horns; and through that breast so oftEmbrac'd,—th' inevitable weapon drove.Deep groan'd the wounded nymph, and tearing outThe arrow from her breast, a purple floodGush'd o'er her shining limbs. She sighing cry'd,—“This fate, O Phœbus, I deserv'dly meet,“Were but thy infant born;—two now in one“Thy dart has slain!”—She spoke,—her vital bloodFast flow'd, and stay'd her voice. A deadly chillSeiz'd all her members, now of life bereft.Too late, alas! her sorrowing lover mournsHis cruel vengeance; and himself he hates,Too credulous listening, and too soon enflam'd:The bird he hates, who first betray'd the deedAnd caus'd him first to grieve: his bow he hates;His bowstring; arm; and with his arm the dart,Shot vengeful. Fond he clasps her fallen form;And strives by skill, by skill too late apply'dTo conquer fate:—his healing arts he tries,—All unavailing. Fruitless he beholdsHis each attempt, and sees the pile prepar'd;And final flames her limbs about to burn.Then from his deepest bosom burst his groans;(For tears on cheeks celestial ne'er are seen,)Such groans are utter'd when the heifer sees,The weighty mallet, from the right ear pois'd,Crush down the forehead of her suckling calf.And now his useless odors in her breastHe pour'd; embrac'd her; to her last rites gaveSolemnization due. The greedy firesHis offspring were not suffer'd to consume.Snatch'd from the curling flames, and from the wombOf his dead mother, he the infant boreTo double-body'd Chiron's secret cave.But bade the self-applauding crow, fill'd bigWith hopes of favor for his faithful tale,With snowy-plumag'd birds no more to join.
Meantime while Chiron, human half, half beast,Proud of his deity-descended charge,Joy'd in the honor with the task bestow'd:—Behold, her shoulders with her golden locksShaded, the daughter of the Centaur comes;Whom fair Chariclo, on a river's brinkSwift-rolling, bore, and thence Ocyrrhoë nam'd.She not content her father's arts to know,The hidden secrets of the fates disclos'd.Now was her soul with fate-foretelling soundsFill'd, and within her fiercely rag'd the god:The infant viewing;—“Grow,” she said, “apace,“Health-bearer through the world. To thee shall oft“Expiring mortals owe returning life!“To thee 'tis given to render souls again“Back to their bodies! Once thou'lt dare the deed;—“The angry god's forbidding flames, thy power“Further preventing:—and a bloodless corps“Heaven-born, thou ly'st;—-but what thy body form'd“A god becomes,—resuscitated twice.“Thou too, my dearest and immortal sire!“To ages never-ending, born to live,“Shalt wish for death in vain; when writhing sad“From the dire serpent's venom in thy limbs,“By wounds instill'd. The pitying gods will change“Thy destin'd fate, and let immortal die:“The triple sisters shall thy thread divide.“More yet untold remains;”—Deep from her chestThe sighs burst forth, and starting tears stream down,Laving her cheeks, while thus the maid pursues:“The fates prevent me, and forbid to tell“What more I would;—all power to speak deny.“Those arts, alas! heaven's anger which have drawn,—“What were they? Would I ne'er the future knew!“Now seems my human shape to leave me. Now“The verdant grass a pleasing food appears.“Now am I urg'd along the plain to bound;“Chang'd to a mare: unto my sire ally'd“In form,—but why sole chang'd? my father bears“A two-form'd body;”—Wailing thus, her wordsConfus'd and indistinct at length are heard.Next sounds are utter'd partly human, moreA mare's resembling:—then she neighs aloud;Treading with alter'd arms the ground: fast join'dHer fingers now become: a slender hoofHer toes connecting with continuous horn.Her head enlarges; and her neck expands;Her spreading garment floats a beauteous tail:Her scatter'd tresses o'er her shoulders flung,Form a thick mane to clothe her spacious neck:Her voice is alter'd with her alter'd shape:And change of name the wonderous deed attends.
Deep Chiron mourn'd, O Phœbus, and thy aidIn vain invok'd; for bootless was thy powerJove's mandate to resist; nor if thou could'stThen wast thou nigh to help. In Elis far,And fields Messenian then was thy abode.Then was the time when shepherd-like a robeOf skins enwrapp'd thee;—when thy left hand boreA sylvan staff;—thy right a pipe retain'd,Of seven unequal reeds. While love engag'dThy thoughts, and dulcet music sooth'd thy cares,'Tis said, thy herds without their herdsman stray'd,Far to the Pylian meadows. These the sonOf Atlantean Maiä espy'd;And, slily driven away, within the woodsThe cattle artful hid. None saw the deed,Save one old hoary swain, well known around,And Battus nam'd; whose post it was to guardThe groves, the grassy meads, and high-bred maresOf wealthy Neleus. Him the robber fear'd;Drew him aside, and coaxing thus address'd;—“Whoe'er thou art, good friend, if here perchance,“Someone should seek an herd,—say that thou here“No herd hast seen;—thou shall not lack reward:“Take this bright heifer:”—and the cow he gave.The bribe receiv'd, the shepherd thus replies;“Friend, thou art safe,—that stone shall sooner speak“And tell thy deed than I:”—and shew'd the stone.The son of Jove departs, or seems to go;But soon with alter'd form and voice returns.“Here, countryman,” he cries, “hast thou an herd“This way observ'd to pass?—no secret keep,“To aid the theft; an heifer with a bull“Await thy information.” Doubly brib'd,The hoary rogue betray'd his former trust.“Beneath those hills,” he said, “the herd you'll find.”Beneath the hills they were. Loud laugh'd the godAnd cry'd,—“Thou treacherous villain, to myself“Wouldst thou betray me? wouldst thou to myself“My deeds betray?” And to a flinty stoneHis perjur'd breast he chang'd, which still retainsThe name of Touchstone;—on the harmless rockHis infamous demerits firmly fix'd.
Hermes from hence, on waving wings upborneDarted, and in his flight beneath him sawThe Attic pastures,—the much-favor'd landOf Pallas; and Lyceum's cultur'd groves.It chanc'd that day, as wont, the virgins chaste,Bore on their heads in canisters festoon'd,Their offerings pure to Pallas' sacred fane.Returning thence the winged god espy'dThe troop, and straight his onward flight restrain'd;Wheeling in circles round. As sails the kite,Swiftest of birds, when entrails seen from farBy holy augurs thick beset,—he fearsA near approach, but circling steers his flightOn beating wings, around his hopes and round.So 'bove the Athenian towers the light-plum'd godSwept round in circles on the self-same air.As Phosphor far outshines the starry host;As silver Cynthia Phosphor bright outshines;So much did Hersé all the nymphs excel,The bright procession's ornament; the prideOf all th' accompanying nymphs. Her beauteous mienStagger'd Jove's son, who hovering in the airFierce burns with love. The Balearic sling,Thus shoots a ball; quick through the air it flies,Warms in its flight, and feels beneath the cloudsFlames hereto known not. Alter'd now his routeThe skies he leaves, and holds a different flight:Nor veils his figure,—such reliance gaveHis beauteous form: and beauteous though that form,Yet careful did the god his looks adorn;He smoothes his tresses, and his robe adjustsTo hang in graceful folds, and fair displayThe golden fringe; his round and slender wand,Of sleep-procuring, sleep-repelling power,His right hand bears; and on his comely feetHis plumed sandals shine. Within the houseThree separate chambers were secluded form'd,With tortoise and with ivory rich adorn'd.Thou, Pandrosos, within the right repos'd;And on the left hand thou Aglauros, slept;Fair Hersé in the midst. Aglauros firstThe god's approach descry'd, and daring ask'dWho he?—and what he sought?—To whom the god;“Him you behold, who through the air conveys“His sire's commands: Almighty Jove that sire.“Nor will I feign my errand. So may'st thou“True to thy sister prove, and soon be call'd“My offspring's aunt. 'Tis Hersé draws me here.“Help then a lover in his warm pursuit.”Aglauros bends on Mercury those eyes,Which yellow-hair'd Minerva's secret saw;And ponderous sums for her assistance claims;Driving the god meantime without the gates.With angry glare the warlike goddess view'dThe mercenary nymph, and angry sighs,Which shook her bosom heav'd; the Ægis shook,On that strong bosom fix'd. Now calls to mindMinerva how with hands prophane, the maidHer strict behests despising, daring pry'dTo know her secrets; and the seed beheldOf Vulcan, child without a mother form'd:Now to her sister and the god unkind;Rich with the gold her avarice had claim'd.To Envy's gloomy cell, where clots of goreThe floor defil'd, enrag'd Minerva flew:A darkened vale, deep sunk, the cavern held,where vivid sun ne'er shone, nor freshening breezeHealth wafted: torpid melancholy rul'd,And sluggish cold; and cheering light unknown,Damp darkness ever gloom'd. The goddess hereIn conflict dreaded came, but at the doorsHer footsteps staid, for entrance Fate forbade.The gates she strikes—struck by her spear, the gatesWide open fly, and dark within disclose,On vipers gorging, (her accustom'd feast,)The envious fiend: back from the hideous sightRecoils the goddess, and averts her eyes.Slow rising from the ground, her half chew'd foodShe quits, advancing indolently forth:The maid, in warlike brightness clad, she saw,In form divine, and heavy sighs burst forthDeep from her bosom's black recess: pale gloom.Dwells on her forehead; lean her fleshless form;Askaunce her eyes; encrusted black her teeth;Green'd deep with gall her breasts; her hideous tongueWith poisons lurid; laughter knows her not,Save woes and pangs unmerited she sees;Sleep flies her couch, by cares unceasing wrung;At men's success she sickens, pining sad;But stung herself, while others feel her stingHer torture closely grasps her.—Much the maidThe sight abhors; and thus in brief she speaks:—“Deep in the breast of Cecrops' daughter fix“Thy venom'd sting—Aglauros is the nymph.—“More needs not.”—Speaking so Minerva fled,Upbounding, earth she with her spear repell'd.Glancing asquint the fury saw her rise,And inly groan'd,—that she success should gain.Her staff with prickly thorns enwreath'd she takes,And forth she sallies, wrapp'd in gloomy clouds.Where'er she flies she blasts the flowery fields;Consumes the herbage; and the harvest blights.Her breath pestiferous felt the cities round,Houses and 'habitants where'er she flew.At length the towers of Athens she beheldWith arts and riches flourishing, and blestWith holy peace. Scarce could she tears withhold,No tearful eye throughout the place to see.Straight to the room of Cecrops' daughter nowHer route she urges, and her task performs:Her rusty hand upon the maiden's breastShe plants, and with sharp thorns that bosom fills;Breathes noxious poison through her frame; imbuesWith venom black her heart, and all her limbs.Lest from her eyes escap'd, the maddening sceneShould cease to vex her, full in view she plac'dHer sister, and her sister's nuptial rites;And Hermes beauteous in the bridal pomp:In beauty all, and splendor all increas'd.Mad with the imag'd sight, the maid is gnawnWith secret pangs;—deep groans the lengthen'd night,And deep the morning hears; she wastes awaySilently wretched, lingeringly slow.As Sol's faint rays the summer ice dissolves:So burns she to behold the envy'd lotOf Hersé; not with furious flames,—as weedsBlaze not when damp, but with slow heat consume.Oft would she wish to die: and oft the deedTo hinder, thinks to tell her rigid sireHer sister's fault. At length her seat she takesAcross the threshold, and th' approaching godRepuls'd; and to his blandishments, and wordsBeseeching fair, and soft-alluring prayers,She cry'd,—“Desist,—from hence I ne'er will move“Till thou art driven away.” Swift Hermes said.—“Keep firmly that resolve.” And with his wandThe sculptur'd portals touching, wide they flew.But when her limbs to raise, the virgin strove,A weighty numbness o'er the members creptWhich bend in sitting, and their movement staid.Strenuous she strives to raise her form erect,But stiffen'd feels her knees; chill coldness spreadsThrough all her toes; and, fled the purple stream,Her veins turn pallid: cruel cancer thus,Disease incurable, spreads far and wide,Sound members adding to the parts diseas'd.So gradual, o'er her breast the chilling frostCrept deadly, and the gates of life shut close.Complaint she try'd not; had she try'd, her voiceHad found no passage, for the stone had seiz'dHer throat,—her mouth; to marble all was chang'd.She sat a pallid statue;—all the stoneHer envy tainted with a livid hue.
His vengeance, when Jove's son complete had seen,Due to her avarice, and her envious soul;He left Minerva's land, and up the skyOn wafting pinions mounted. There his sire,Him from th' assembly drew; nor yet disclos'd,The object of his love:—“Son, quickly haste,—“Thou faithful messenger of my commands,“Urge rapid thy descending flight, and seek“The realm whose northern bounds thy mother star“O'erlooks,—the land by natives Sidon call'd.“There wilt thou pasturing find the royal herd,“'Neath hills not distant from the sea: turn down“This herd to meadows bordering on the beach.”He said;—the cattle tow'rd the sea shore move,Where sported with her Tyrian maids as wont,The monarch's daughter. Ill majestic stateAnd love agree; nor long combin'd remain.The sire and ruler of the gods resignsHis weighty sceptre: he whose right hand bearsThe three-fork'd fires; whose nod creation shakes,Assumes a bull's appearance:—with the herdMingles; and strolling lets the tender shrubsBrush his fair sides. Of snowy white his skin;Such snow as rugged feet has never soil'd,Nor southern showers dissolv'd: his brawny neck,Strong from his shoulders stands: beneath extendsThe dewlap pendulous: small are his horns;But smooth as polish'd by the workman's hand;—Pellucid as the brightest gems they shine:No threatenings wear his brow; no fire his eyesFlame fierce; but all his countenance peace proclaims.Him much Agenor's royal maid admir'd;—His form so beauteous, and his look so mild.Yet peaceful as he seem'd, she fear'd at firstA close approach;—but nearer soon she drew,And to his shining mouth the flowery foodPresented. Joy'd th' impatient lover stands,Her fingers kissing; and with sore restraintDefers his look'd for pleasures. Sportive nowHe wantons, frisking in the grass; now rollsHis snowy sides upon the yellow sand.Her apprehensions chas'd, by slow degrees,The virgin's fingers playful stroke his breast;Then bind with wreaths his horns: more daring nowUpon his back the royal maid ascends;—Witless a god she presses. From the fields,His steps deceitful gradual turn'd, he bends,And seeks the shore; then playful in the wavesJust dips his feet;—thence plunging deep, he swimsThrough midmost ocean with his ravish'd prize.Trembling the nymph beholds the lessening shore;——Firm grasps one hand his horn; upon his back,Secure the other resting: to the wind,Her fluttering garments floating as she sails.
Unsuccessful search of Cadmus for his sister. Death of his companions by the dragon. Overthrow of the dragon, and production of armed men from his teeth. Thebes. Actæon devoured by his hounds. Semelé destroyed by lightening, and the birth of Bacchus. The prophet Tiresias. Echo: and the transformation of Narcissus. Impiety of Pentheus. Change of the Tyrrhenian sailors to dolphins. Massacre of Pentheus.
Unsuccessful search of Cadmus for his sister. Death of his companions by the dragon. Overthrow of the dragon, and production of armed men from his teeth. Thebes. Actæon devoured by his hounds. Semelé destroyed by lightening, and the birth of Bacchus. The prophet Tiresias. Echo: and the transformation of Narcissus. Impiety of Pentheus. Change of the Tyrrhenian sailors to dolphins. Massacre of Pentheus.
And now the god, his bestial form resign'd,Shone in his form celestial as he gain'dThe Cretan shore. Meantime, the theft unknown,Mourn'd her sad sire, and Cadmus sent to seekThe ravish'd maid; stern threatening as he went,Perpetual exile if his searching fail'd:—Parental love and cruelty combin'd!All earth explor'd in vain, (for who shall findThe amorous thefts of Jove?) the exile shunsHis father's anger, and paternal soil.A suppliant bends before Apollo's shrine,To ask his aid;—what region he should chuseTo fix his habitation. Phœbus thus;—“A cow, whose neck the yoke has never prest,“Strange to the crooked plough, shall meet thy steps,“Lone in the desert fields: the way she leads“Chuse thou,—rand where upon the grass she rests,“Erect thy walls;—Bœotia call the place.”Scarce had the cave Castalian Cadmus left,When he an heifer, gently pacing, spy'dUntended; one whose neck no mark betray'dOf galling service. Closely treads the youth,Slow moving in her footsteps, and adoresIn silence Phœbus, leader of his way.Now had he pass'd the Cephisidian stream,And meads of Panopé, when stay'd the beast;Her broad front lifted to the sky; reverseHer lofty horns reclining, shook the airWith lowings loud; back then her face she bent,And saw the comrades following close behind:Down low she couch'd, and press'd the yielding grass,Glad thanks to Phœbus, Cadmus gave, and kiss'dThe foreign soil;—the unknown hills, and landSaluted. Then a sacrifice to JovePreparing, sent his followers to exploreStreams flowing from the living fountain clear.
An ancient forest hallow'd from the axe,Not far there stood; in whose dark bosom gloom'dA cavern:—twigs and branches thick inwoveWith rocky crags, a low arch'd entrance form'd;Where pure and copious, gush'd transparent waves.Deep hid within a monstrous serpent lay,Sacred to Mars. Bright shone his crested head;His eyeballs glow'd with fire; his body swell'dBloated with poison; o'er a threefold rowOf murderous teeth, three quivering tongues he shook.This grove the Tyrians with ill-fated feetNow enter'd; and now in the waters threw,With noisy dash, their urns. Uprears his head,The azure serpent from the cavern deep;And breathes forth hisses dire: their urns they drop;The blood forsakes their bodies; sudden fearChills their astonish'd limbs. He writhing quick,Forms scaly circles; spiral twisting round,Bends in an arch immense to leap, and rearsIn the thin air erect, 'bove half his height;All the wide grove o'erlooking. Such his size,Could all be seen, than that vast snake no less,Whose huge bulk lies the Arctic bears between.The Tyrians quick he seizes; some their armsVain grasping,—flying some,—and some through fearTo fight or fly unable:—these his jawsCrash murderous; those his writhing tail surrounds;Others his breath, with poison loaded, kills.
Now loftiest Phœbus shorten'd shadows gave,When Cadmus, wondering much why still his friendsTarried so long, their parting footsteps trac'd.His robe an hide torn from a lion's back;A dart and spear of shining steel his arms;With courage, arms surpassing. Now the groveHe enters, and their breathless limbs beholds;—Their victor foe's huge bulk upon them stretch'd;Licking with gory tongue their mournful wounds.“My faithful friends,” he cry'd, “I will avenge“Your fate,—or perish with you.” Straight a rockHis right hand rais'd, and with impetuous force,Hurl'd it right on. A city's lofty wallsWith all its towers, to feel the blow had shook!Yet lay the beast unwounded; safely sheath'dWith scaly armour, and his harden'd hide:—His skin alone the furious blow repell'd.Not so that hardness mocks the javelin,—fixtFirm in the bending of the pliant spineHis weapon stood,—and all the iron headDeep in his entrails sunk. Mad with the pain,Reverse he writhes his head;—beholds the wound;Champs the fixt dart;—by many forceful tugsLoosen'd at length, he tears the shaft away;But deep the steel within his bones remains.Now to his wonted fury fiercer flamesThis torture adding, big with poison swellsHis throat; and flowing, round his venom'd jaws,White foam appears; deep harrow'd with his scalesLoud sounds the earth; and vapours black, breath'd outHis mouth infernal, taint with death the air.Now roll'd in spires, he forms an orb immense:Now stretch'd at length he seems a monstrous beam:Now rushing forward with impetuous force,As sweeps a torrent swell'd by rain, his breastBears down th' opposing forest. Cadmus backA step recedes, and on his lion's hideThe shock sustains;—then with protended spearChecks his approaching jaws. Furious he strivesTo wound the harden'd steel;—on the sharp pointHe grinds his teeth: now from his poisonous mouth,Began the blood to flow, and sprinkling ting'dThe virid grass; but trivial still the hurt;For shrinking from the blow, and twisting backHis wounded neck, the stroke he still preventsDeeper to pierce, by yielding to its force.But pushing arduous on, Agenor's son,Fix'd in his throat the steel;—and the sharp pointForc'd through his neck: an oak oppos'd behind;—The tree and neck the spear at once transfix'd.Dragg'd by the monster's weight low bends the tree,And groans and cracks, as lashing blows, his tailImmense, deals round. Now whilst the victor standsAnd wondering views the conquer'd serpent's size,Sudden a voice is heard, (from whence unknown,—But plain the words he hears) “Why view'st thou thus,“Agenor's son, the foe by thee destroy'd?“Thou one day like this serpent shalt be seen.”Aghast he stood,—the warm blood fled his cheeks;His courage chang'd to terror; freezing fearRais'd his stiff locks erect. Lo! Pallas comes,Pallas, the known protectress of the brave.Smooth sliding from the higher clouds she comes;Bids him remove the soil, and place beneath,The serpent's fangs, a future offspring's pledge.The prince obeys; and as with crooked share,The ground he opens, in the furrows throwsThe teeth directed. Thence, (beyond belief!)The clods of earth at once began to move;Then in the furrows glitter'd, first, the pointsOf spears: anon fair painted crests arose,Above bright helmets nodding: shoulders next;And breasts; and arms, with javelins loaded came:Thickening the harvest grew of shielded men.Thus shews the glad theatric curtain; rais'dThe painted figures' faces first appear,Gradual display'd; and more by slow degrees;At length the whole stand forth, their feet all fix'dFirm on the lower margin. Wondering, heHis new-made foe beheld; and grasp'd his arms.But one whom earth had just produc'd, exclaim'd;—“Arm not, nor meddle in our civil broils.”He said,—an earth-born brother, hand to handWith sword keen-edg'd attacking; but from far,A javelin hurl'd, dispatch'd him. Short the boastOf him who sent it;—his death wound infix'd,—He breathes the air out he so late receiv'd.So rage the rest, and in the furious warThe new-made brethren fall by mutual wounds:And on their blood-stain'd mother, dash, the youthsTo short existence born, their damp cold breasts.Five only stand unhurt,—Echion one,—Who threw, by Pallas prompted, down his armsAnd peace propos'd: his brethren took his pledge.These join the Tyrian prince, and social aidHis efforts, when th' appointed walls he builds;Obedient to the Delphic god's commands.
The Theban walls now rais'd, thou, Cadmus seem'dBlest in thy exile. Mars and Venus gaveTheir daughter to thy wife. This spouse so fam'd,Thee daughters brought, and sons,—a numerous tribe;And grandsons, pledges dear of nuptial joys,Already risen to manhood. But too trueThat man should still his final day expect;Nor blest be deem'd till flames his funeral pyre.Thy grandson's fate, O, Cadmus! first with griefThy bosom wrung, amid thy prosperous state:The alien horns which nodded o'er his brow;And ye, voracious hounds, with blood full-gorg'd,Your master's life-stream. Yet by close research,We find unlucky chance, not vice, his crime.What sin in error lies?The hills were drench'dWith blood of numerous slaughter'd savage beasts;And objects shorten'd shadows gave: the sunExalted view'd each equi-distant goal;When the young Theban hunter thus address'd,His fellow sportsmen with a friendly call;As wide they rov'd the savage lairs among.“Our weapons, comrades, and our nets are moist“With blood of spoil; sufficient sport this day“Has given. But when Aurora next appears,“High on her saffron car, and light restores,“Then be our pleasing exercise resum'd.“Now Phœbus, distant far from west and east,“Cracks the parch'd ground with heat;—desist from toil,“And fold your knotted snares.” His words obey,His men, and from their sportive labor cease.
Near stood a vale, where pointed cypress form'dWith gloomy pines a grateful shade, and nam'dGargaphié;—sacred to the girded maid:Its deep recess a shrubby cavern held,By nature modell'd,—but by nature, artSeem'd equall'd, or excell'd. A native archOf pumice light, and tophus dry, was form'd;And from the right a stream transparent flow'd,Of trivial size, which spread a pool below;With grassy margin circled. Dian' here,The woodland goddess, weary'd with the chace,Had oft rejoic'd to bathe her virgin limbs.As wont she comes;—her quiver, and her dart,And unstrung bow, her armour-bearing nymphIn charge receives. Disrob'd, another's armsSustain her vest. Two from her feet unlooseHer sandals. Crocalé, Ismenian nymph,Than others more expert, her tresses binds,Loose o'er her shoulders floating, in a knot;Her own wild flowing still. Five more the streamsIn huge urns lifting; Hyalé, and Niphé,Phialé, Rhanis, Psecas, lave her limbs.Here while the goddess in the limpid waveWashes as 'custom'd,—lo! Actæon comes;—His sportive toil till morning dawn deferr'd:And roving through the vale with random steps,By hapless fate conducted, he arrivesClose to the sacred grove. Within the grotStream-pouring, when he stept, the naked nymphs,—Then first by man beheld,—their bosoms beat;Fill'd the deep grove with outcries loud; and roundDiana crowded, screening as they couldHer limbs with theirs. Yet high above them tower'dThe goddess, and her neck their heads o'erlook'd.As blush the clouds by Phœbus' adverse raysDeep ting'd;—or as Aurora in the morn;So blush'd the virgin-goddess, seen unrob'd.Sideway she stood, though closely hemm'd aroundBy clustering nymphs, and backward bent her face:Then anxious praying she could reach her darts,In vain,—she seiz'd the waters which she could,And dash'd them o'er his features:—as his locks,The vengeful drops besprinkled, thus in rage,She cry'd,—“Now tell thou hast Diana seen“Disrob'd;—go tell it, if thou canst,”—no more,With threatenings storm'd, but on his sprinkled head,The antlers of the long-liv'd stag are plac'd.His neck is lengthen'd; with a sharpen'd point,His upright ears are form'd; to feet his hands,—To long and slender legs his arms are chang'd;And round his body clings a dappled coat.Fear in his bosom she instils: the youth,The bold Actæon flies, and wondering feelsHis bounding feet so rapid in the race.But soon the waters shew'd his branching horns;And,—“ah unhappy me!” he strove to cry:His voice he found not; sighs and sobs were all;And tears fast streaming down his alter'd face.Still human sense remains. Where shall he turn?His royal palace seek,—or in the woodsSecluded hide?—To tarry fear forbids,And shame prevents returning. While he doubtsHis hounds espy him. Quick-nos'd Tracer first,And Blackfoot give the signal by their yell:Tracer of Crete, and Blackfoot Spartan bred.Swifter than air the noisy pack rush on;Arcadian Quicksight; Glutton; Ranger, stout;Strong Killbuck; Whirlwind, furious; Hunter, fierce;Flyer, swift-footed; and quick-scented Snap:Ringwood, late wounded by a furious bear;And Forester, by savage wolf begot:Flock-tending Shepherdess; with Ravener fierce,And her two whelps; and Sicyonian Catch:The thin flank'd greyhound, Racer; Yelper; Patch;Tiger; Robust; Milkwhite, with snowy coat;And coalblack Soot. First in the race, fleet Storm;Courageous Spartan Swift; and rapid Wolf;Join'd with his Cyprian brother, Snatch, well mark'dWith sable forehead on a coat of white:Blackcoat: and thickhair'd Shag: Worrier; and Wild,—Twins from a dam Laconian sprung, their sireDictæan: Babbler with his noisy throat:—But all to name were endless. Urg'd by hopeOf prey they crowd; down precipices rush;O'er rocks, and crags; through rugged paths, and waysUnpass'd before. His hounds he flies, where oftHis hounds he had pursu'd. Poor wretch! he fliesHis own domestics, striving hard to call,“Actæon am I!—villains, know your lord.”Words aid him not: loud rings the air with yells,Howlings, and barkings:—Blackhair first, his teethFix'd in his back; staunch Tamer fasten'd next;And Rover seiz'd his shoulder: tardy these,The rest far left behind, but o'er the hillsAthwart, the chase they shorten'd. Now the pack,Join'd them their lord retaining; join'd their teethTheir victim seizing:—now his body bleeds,A wound continuous: deep he utters groans,Not human, yet unlike a dying deer;And fills the well-known mountains with his plaint.Prone on his knees in suppliant form he bends;And low beseeching waves his silent head,As he would wave his hands. His witless friends,The savage pack with joyous outcries urge;Actæon anxious seeking: echoing loudEager his name as absent. At the name,His head he turns. His absence irks them sore,As lazy loitering, not the noble preyObtain'd, beholding. Joyful could he be,At distance now,—but hapless is too near:Glad would he see the furious dogs their fangs,On other prey than his torn limbs infix.On every side they crowd; their dying lord,A well-seem'd deer, they rend; their ravenous teethDeep tear his members. With a thousand wounds,(Dian's insatiate anger less despis'd)The hapless hunter yielded forth his breath.
Report flies dubious; some the goddess blameFor disproportion'd vengeance; others warmApplaud the deed as worthy one so pure;And reasons weighty either party urge:Jove's consort only silent: she nor blamesThe action, nor approves; but inward joys,Agenor's house should such misfortune feel.The hatred nourish'd for the Tyrian maid,Her brother's offspring visits. Now fresh causeOf wrath succeeds; enrag'd the goddess learnsThat Semelé, embrac'd by mighty Jove,Is pregnant. Straight broke loose her angry tongue,And loud she storm'd:—“Advantage much I gain“By endless railing at unfaithful Jove!“This harlot will I find,—and, if with truth“They potent Juno stile me, she shall die.“Destruction shall o'erwhelm her, if beseems“My hand the sparkling sceptre of the sky:“If queen I am to Jove;—if sister;—wife:—“His sister doubtless am I, if no more.“Content perchance is Semelé to joy“In pleasures briefly tasted; and my wrongs“Though deep, not lasting. No!—she must conceive“Foul aggravation of her shameless deed!“Her swelling womb unblushing proves her crime:“By Jove she longs to be a mother hail'd;“Which scarcely I can boast. Such faith her pride,“In conscious beauty places. Trust me not,“Or she mistaken proves. As I am child“Of hoary Saturn, she shall sink o'erwhelm'd“By her own Jove; and dip in Stygian waves.”
She said, and starting from her regal throne,Wrapt in a dusky cloud descended; o'erThe threshold stepp'd of Semelé, nor chas'dHer darkening veil, till like an ancient dameShe stood display'd. White hairs her temples strew'd;Deep furrows plough'd her skin; her bending limbsQuiver'd beneath her weight; her tremulous voiceExhausted age betray'd: she stood to viewOld Beroë, from Epidaurus come,The nurse of Semelé. With tedious talesShe garrulous amus'd:—when in her turnListening, the name of Jupiter she heardShe sigh'd, and said,—“May he be truly Jove!“But age is still suspicious. Chastest beds“Have been by these pretended gods defil'd:“For if the deity supreme he be,“Why comes he thus disguis'd? If true his love,“Why prove it not? Urge thou an anxious wish“To clasp him in his might, in such a sort,“As lofty Juno he embraces;—round“Begirt with all the ensigns of his power.”Thus Juno artful, Semelé's desiresApt moulded to her mind. From Jove she praysA nameless boon: the ready god consents;—“Chuse what thou wilt, nor least denial dread:“To prove my faith, I call the Stygian streams“To witness, terror of the god of gods.”Joy'd at her fatal prayer's too large success;And by her lover's prompt compliance, doom'dTo sure destruction;—“This,” said she, “I wish;—“When with me next you love's delights enjoy,“Appear as when Saturnia fills your arms.”Fain would the god have stopp'd her mouth:—too soonThe hasty words found entrance to his ears.Deep mourn'd he. Equal now the fates forbid,The wish retracted, or the oath absolv'd.Sorrowing he seeks the lofty heaven: his nodDark rolling clouds collects: here form black showers;And hurricanes; and flashing lightenings mixt;Thunders; and his inevitable bolt:Anxious he strives with all his power to damp,The fierceness of his flames: nor arm'd him now,With those dread fires that to the earth dash'd downThe hundred-handed foe:—too powerful they.He chose a milder thunder;—less of rage,Of fire, and fury, had the Cyclops givenThe mass when forg'd; a second-rated bolt.Clad in mild glory thus, the dome he seeksOf Semelé;—her mortal frame too weak,To bear th' ethereal shock, fierce scorcht she sunk,Beneath the nuptial grant. Th' imperfect babe,Snatcht from his mother's smoking womb, was sew'd(If faith the tale deserves) within his thigh;There to complete the period of his growth.Ino, his aunt maternal, then receiv'dThe boy; in private rear'd him, till the nymphsOf Nysa's mountains, in their secret cavesShelter'd, and fed with milk, th' entrusted charge.
While the rash promise caus'd on earth those deeds,And twice-born Bacchus' cradle safe was hid;'Tis said that Jove with heavenly nectar flush'd,All serious cares dismiss'd. With sportive jests,At ease conversing, he and Juno sate:When he:—“The thrilling ecstasies of love,“Are surely strongest on the female side.”She differs,—and the question both agreeTiresias, who each sex had prov'd, shall judge.Two mighty snakes he spy'd upon the grass,Twisted in Venus' wreaths; and with his staffHard smote them;—instant alter'd was his sex.Wonderous! he woman of a man became,Seven winters so he liv'd:—the eight, againHe spy'd the same; and cry'd,—“If such your power,“That whoso strikes you must their gender change,“Once more I'll try the spell.” Straight as the blowThe snakes receiv'd, his pristine form return'd:Hence was he chosen, in the strife jocose,As umpire; and the words of Jove confirm'd.
Much, say they, Juno rag'd; more than beseem'dThe trivial cause, or sentence justly given;And veil'd the judge's eyes in endless night.But Jove omnipotent, him gave to know,(For fate forbids to cancel others' deeds)What future times conceal; a light divine;An honor'd gift to mitigate his pain.
Fam'd far and wide through all Bœotia's towns,Unerring answers still the prophet gave,To all who sought him. Blue Liriopé,First prov'd his faith, and ne'er-deceiving words.Her once Cephisus, in his winding streamEntwin'd, and forceful in his waves enjoy'd.The beauteous nymph's full womb, in time produc'dA babe, whose features ev'n from birth inspir'dTh' attendant nymphs with love; Narcissus nam'd.For him enquiring, whether doom'd to see,The peaceful period of maturest age,The fate-foretelling prophet thus reply'd:—“Yes,—if himself he never knows.” The wordsWere long absurd esteem'd: but well th' eventTheir justice prov'd; his strange unheard of death;And love of object never lov'd before.
Now sixteen summers had Narcissus seen,A boy in beauty, but in growth a man;And crowds of youths his friendship sought, and crowdsOf damsels sought his love: but fiercely prideSwell'd in his snowy bosom; and he spurn'dHis friends' advances, and the love-sick maids.A chattering nymph, resounding Echo, sawThe youth, when in his toils the trembling deerHe drove;—a nymph who ne'er her words retain'd,Nor dialogue commenc'd. But then she boreA body palpable; and not, as now,Merely a voice:—yet garrulous, she thenThat voice, nor other us'd; 'twas all she could,The closing words of speakers to repeat.Juno had this ordain'd: for oft the dameThe frailer nymphs upon the hills had caught,In trespass with her Jove; but Echo slyWith lengthen'd speech the goddess kept amus'd,Till all by flight were sav'd. Soon Juno sawThe trick:—“The power of that delusive tongue,”—She cry'd, “I'll lessen, and make brief thy words;”Nor stay'd, but straight her threaten'd vengeance took.Now she redoubles (all she can) the wordsWhich end another's speech; reporting back,But only what she hears.Through pathless woodsAs roves Narcissus, Echo sees, and burns;Steals in his footsteps, following close, but flamesMore fierce, more near approaching. Sudden thus,The sulphurous daubing o'er the torches spread,Snatches th' approaching flame. How oft she wish'dWith bland and soothing words to hail the youth;But nature harsh forbids, nor grants to makeThe first commencement; what she grants she takes,And anxious waits to catch the wish'd-for sounds;And speak responsive. Chance the youth had ledFar from his social troop, and loud he cry'd,—“Who's he that hither comes?” Attentive she,—Reply'd, “O hither come!” Amaz'd he stood,Round searching whence the voice; and louder still,“Here come!” exclaim'd,—and Echo answer'd,—“Come!”To every part his eyes in vain are bent;And, “why,” laments he, “dost thou me avoid?”Again he hears her,—“dost thou me avoid?”Still he persists; th' alternate voice deceives,—And,—“come, approach, together let us join,”Impatient now he utters: ardent sheExclaims, in joyful accents,—“let us join!”Her wish in person urging, from the groveShe springs, and wide extends her arms to claspHis neck:—Narcissus flies, and flying calls,—“Desist!—hold off thy hands;—may sooner death“Me seize, than thou enjoy me.” Nought the maidRe-echoes, but,—“enjoy me.” Close conceal'd,By him disdain'd, amid the groves she hidesHer blushing forehead, where the leaves bud thick;And dwells in lonely caverns. Still her flameClings close around her heart; and sharper pangsRepulse occasions: cares unceasing wasteHer wretched form: gaunt famine shrivels upHer skin; and all the moistening juice which fedHer body, flies in air: her voice and bonesAlone are left: her voice, unchang'd;—her bonesTo craggy stones are harden'd. Still in grovesShe hides secluded; nor on hills appears:Heard frequent; only heard, and nought but sound.
Thus slighted he the nymph; nor her alone,But numbers else who o'er the mountains rov'd;Or sported in the waves. Nor less his pride,When more mature: keen smarting from his scorn,To heaven one rais'd her hands, and ardent pray'd;—“Ordain that he may love, but love like me“One ne'er to be enjoy'd!” Rhamnusia grantsTo prayers so just, th' assenting nod. There stood,A mudless pool, whose waters silvery bright,The shepherds touch'd not,—nor the mountain goats,Nor lowing herds: which birds, and fierce wild beasts,Dabbling disturb'd not:—nor a wither'd branch,Dropt from a tree o'erhanging. Round the brink,Fed by the moisture, virid grass arose;And trees impervious to the solar beam,Screen'd the cool surface. Weary'd with the chase,And faint with heat, here laid Narcissus down;Charm'd with the place, and tempted by the pool.Here as he seeks to quench his burning thirst,He burns with other fires: and while he drinks,Caught by the image of his beauteous face,He loves th' unbody'd form: a substance thinksThe shadow:—loves enraptur'd,—loves himself!Fixes with eager gaze upon the sightAs on a face in Parian marble wrought.Stretcht on the ground, his own bright eyes he views,Twin stars;—his fingers, such as Bacchus grace;His tresses like Apollo's;—downy cheeks,Unbearded yet; his neck as ivory white;The roseate blooming fading into snow:Each trait admiring which the hapless nymphs,In him admir'd. Unwitting youth, himselfHe wants;—at once beloving, and belov'd:Himself desiring, by himself desir'd:Burning with love, while by himself he burns.Oft, stooping, were his fruitless kisses given:Oft were his arms outstretch'd to clasp the neckSo plainly seen beneath the waters. No!—Himself he could not clasp. Whom he beholds,He knows not; but for whom he sees he burns.The error that his eye deceives, provokesHis rage. O, foolish youth! why vainly graspA fleeting shadow? What thou seek'st is not:—And what thou lov'st thou now destroy'st:—thou see'stA semblance only;—a reflected shade—Nought of itself: with thee it came;—with theeIt stays;—and with thee, if thou could'st, would go.Not hunger's power has force to drag him thence;Nor cares of sleep oppress him. Thrown alongThe shaded grass, he bends insatiate eyesTow'rds the fallacious beauty;—by those eyesHe perishes. Now half-uprais'd, his armsOutspread, to all the groves around he cry'd:—“Ye woods, whose darken'd shades so oft have given“Convenient privacies to lovers, say,“Saw you e'er one so cruelly who lov'd?“In ages heap'd on ages you have stood,“Remember ye a youth who pin'd as I?“Pleas'd with the object, I its form behold;“But what I see, and what so pleases flies.“I find it not: in such bewilder'd maze“The lover stands. And what my grief augments,“No mighty seas divide us; lengthen'd roads;“Nor lofty hills; nor high embattled walls,“With portals clos'd: asunder are we held“By trivial drops of water. It no less“Than I, would give th' embrace; for when I bend“My lips to kiss it in the limpid stream;“With rising lips to meet, it anxious strives:“Then might you think we touch, so faint a line“Sunders us lovers. Come! whate'er thou art,“Come hither! why thus mock me, dearest form?“Why fly my wooing thus? My beauty sure,“Nor youth are such as should provoke thy flight:“For numerous nymphs for me have burn'd. Some hope“Thy kindly sympathizing face affords;“And when my anxious arms I stretch,—thy arms“Advance to clasp me:—when I smile, thou smil'st:“And often have I noted, when the tears“Stream'd down my cheeks, a rivulet on thine:“I nod,—thou, answering, noddest: and those lips,“Those beauteous lips, whose movements plain I see,“Words utter sure to mine,—though I forbid,“The sounds to hear. In thee am I!—no more“My shadow me deceives: I see the whole;“Love for myself consumes me:—flames self-rais'd,“Myself torment. What hope? be woo'd,—or woo?“Wooing, or being woo'd, where is my gain?“Myself I wish, and plenty makes me poor.“Would that my body from itself could part!“Strange wish for lovers, what most dear they love,“Absent to pray. Grief undermines my strength;“Nor long my life can linger;—immature,“In youth I perish: but in me no fears,“Can death infuse, of all my woes the end;“Might I but leave this lovely object, still“Existing: now two images, alas!“Sink with one soul in death.” Narcissus wails;And raving turns to view the face again.His tears the waters trouble; and the faceSo beauteous, scarce is seen. Griev'd, he exclaims,When disappearing,—“Whither fly'st thou? stay—“Stay, I beseech thee; cruel, fly me not,—“Thy lover: grant me still to view the form,“To touch forbidden:—food, at least, afford“To this unhappy flame.” Lamenting thus,He from his shoulders tore his robe, and beatWith snow-white hands his bosom; at the blowHis bosom redden'd: so the cherry seems,Here ruddy blushing, there as fair as snow:Or grapes unripe, part purpling to the sun,In vary'd clusters. This he soon espy'd,Reflected in the placid pool; no moreHe bore it, but as gentle fire dissolvesThe yellow wax: as Phœbus' morning beamsMelt the light hoar;—so wasted he,—by loveGradual consum'd, as by a secret fire.No more the ruddy teints appear, with whiteSoft blended. All his active strength decays;And all that pleas'd so lately. Ev'n his formSo much by Echo lov'd, no more remains.
All Echo saw; and though of former slightsStill mindful, griev'd; and when the hapless youth“Alas!” exclaim'd; responsive sigh'd, “Alas!”When on his breast the blows resounded; blowsLoud answering his were heard. His final words,Gazing still earnest on the wonted wave,Were,—“dearest form, belov'd in vain!”—the wordsResounded from the grove: “farewel,” he cry'd,And Echo cry'd, “farewel.” Weary'd he threw,On the green turf his head. Night clos'd his eyes;Their owner fond admiring. Now retir'dTo regions far beneath, the Stygian lakeReflects his form. The Naiäd sisters wail,Shorn of their tresses, which to him they throw:The Dryads also mourn; their bosoms beat;And Echo answers every tearful groan.A pile they build; the high-tost torches bring;And funeral bier; but, lo! the corpse is gone:A saffron-teinted flower alone is found,Rising encircled with its snowy leaves.
Th' adventure spread through all the Achaian towns,And much repute th' unerring augur gain'd.Great now his prophesying fame. Alone,Pentheus despis'd him;—(he the gods despis'd)And only he;—he mock'd each holy wordSagely prophetic:—with his rayless eyesReproach'd him. Angrily, his temples hoarWith reverend locks, the prophet shook, and said;—“Happy for thee, if thus of light bereft,“The Bacchanalian orgies ne'er to see!“The day approaches, nor far distant now;“My sight prophetic tells,—when here will come“Bacchus new-born, of Semelé the son,“Whose rites, if thou with honor due, not tend'st“In temples worthy,—scatter'd far and wide,“Thy limbs dismember'd shall the ground bestrew:“Thy blood the forests shall distain;—thy gore“Thy aunts,—nay e'en thy mother, shall pollute:“For thou such honors, as immortals claim,“Shalt to the god deny; then wilt thou find“Beneath this darkness I but see too well.”Thus speaking, Echion's son the prophet push'dHarshly away; but his too faithful wordsTime prov'd;—the threaten'd deeds accomplish'd all.
Lo! Bacchus comes, and all the country ringsWith joyous outcries; crowds on crowds thick swarm;—Matrons, and wives new-wedded, mixt with men;Nobles, and commons; all the impulse bears,To join the stranger's rites. But Pentheus thus;—“Offspring of Mars! O nation, serpent born!“What madness fills your minds? Can piercing sounds“Of brass from brass rebounding; winding horns,“And magic cheatings, then possess such power?“You whom the warlike sword, the trumpet's clang,“And battle's edge, dread bristling close with arms,“Appal not; yield ye thus to female howls;“Wine's maddening fumes; a filthy shameless crowd;“And empty cymbals? In amaze, I see,“You venerable men who plough'd the seas,“And here, a refuge for your exil'd gods,“This second Tyre have built,—without a blow,“Yield it a spoil! Ye too, robuster youths,“Of hardier age, and years more near my own;—“Whom warlike arms, than Thyrsi more become;“And brows with helmets than with leaves comprest:“Think whence you sprang, and let the thought inspire“Your souls with all the dragon's fierceness: heSingly slew hosts: he for his fountain fell;You for your honor vanquish. He destroy'dThe valiant; you th' effeminate expel;And all the glory of your sire regain.“If fate to Thebes a speedy fall decrees,“May heroes, O, ye gods! with battering force“O'erturn her walls;—may the sword rage, and flames“Crackling, devour her. Wretched though our lot;“Not criminal: our fate, though much bemoan'd,“Would need concealment not: tears then might flow,“But not from shame. Now unresisting Thebes,“Yields to a boy unarm'd; who never joys“In armies, steeds, nor swords;—but more in locks“With myrrh moist-dropping, garlands soft, and robes“Of various teints, with gold and purple gay.“Rest ye but tranquil, and without delay,“Him will I force to own his boasted sire“Untrue; and forg'd those new invented rites.“Had not Acrisius bravery to despise“The counterfeited deity, and close“The gates of Argos on him? And must now“This wanderer come, and Pentheus terrify,“With all the power of Thebes! Haste, quickly haste,”—He bade his servants,—“hither drag, firm chain'd,“This leader. Quick, nor brook my words delay!”His grandsire, Athamas, and all the crowdReprove;—while thus he rails, with fruitless toilLabor to stop him. Obstinate he stands,More raging at remonstrance; and his ireRestrain'd, increases; goading more and more;Restraint itself enkindling more his rage.So may be seen a river rolling smooth,With murmuring nearly silent, while unchecked;But when by rocks, or bulky trees oppos'd,Foaming and boiling furious, on it sweepsImpetuous raging; fiercer, more withstood.
With blood besmear'd, his men return;—their lordFor Bacchus anxious asks;—but Bacchus they,To find, arriv'd too late;—“but here,” they cry,—“Here have we seiz'd his comrade;—one who joins“His train, and joins his rites.” (The Tuscans onceThe Bacchanalian orgies follow'd.) BoundBehind, his hands, their prisoner they present.Pentheus survey'd the stranger, while his eyesSparkled with rage terrific: with constraintHis torture so deferring, thus he spoke;—“Wretch! ere thou sufferest,—ere thy death shall give“A public warning,—tell thy name;—confess“Thy sire; declare thy country; and the cause“Those rites thou celebratest in a mode“Diverse from others.” Fearless, he reply'd;—“Acœtes is my name: my natal land,“Tyrrhenia: from an humble stock I spring.“Lands by strong oxen plough'd, or wool-clad flocks,“Or lowing herds my father left me none:“For poor was he;—his daily toil to catch“With nets and lines the fish, and as they leap'd,“Draw with his bending rod the prey to land:“His skill his sole estate. When unto me“This art he taught,—receive, said he, my wealth;“Such wealth as I possess; heir to my toil,“And to my toil successor: dying, he“To me bequeath'd the waters;—nothing more:“These only as paternal wealth I claim.“But soon, disliking on the self-same rock“To dwell, I learn'd the art to rule the track“Plough'd by the keel, with skilful guiding hand;“And learn'd th' Olenian sign, the showery goat;“Taygeté; and the Hyädes; the Bear;“The dwellings of the winds; and every port“Where ships could shelter. Once for Delos bound,“By chance, the shore of Chios' isle we near'd;“And when our starboard oars the beach had touch'd,“Lightly I leap'd, and rested on the land.“Now, night expir'd, Aurora warmly glow'd,“And rousing up from sleep, my men I bade“Supplies of living waters bring; and shew'd“What path the fountain led to. I meanwhile,“A lofty hill ascending, careful mark'd“The wish'd-for wind approaching;—loud I call'd“My fellows, and with haste the vessel gain'd.“Lo! cry'd Opheltes, chief of all my crew,—“Lo! here we come;—and from the desart fields,“(A prize obtain'd, he thought),—he dragg'd along“A boy of virgin beauty tow'rd the sands:“Staggering, the youth, with wine and sleep opprest,“With difficulty follow'd. Closely I“His dress, his countenance, and his gait remark;“And all I see, displays no mortal man.“Conscious, I speak my comrades thus:—Unknown“To me, what deity before us stands,“But sure I am, that form conceals a god.“O thou! whoe'er thou art, assist us;—aid“Our undertakings;—who have seiz'd thee, spare,“Unknowing what they did. Bold Dictys cries,—“Than whom none swifter gain'd the topmost yards,“Nor on the cordage slid more agile down;—“Prayers offer not for us. Him Lybis joins;“And brown Melanthus, ruler of the helm;“Alcimedon unites; Epopeus too,“Who rul'd the rowers, and their restings mark'd;“(Arduous they urg'd their sinews by his voice)—“Nay all Opheltes join,—the lust of gain,“So blinded all their judgments. Still I cry;—“Ne'er will I yield my vessel to behold“Burthen'd with such a sacrilegious load:“Pre-eminent is here my right. I stand“To those who strive to hoist him in, oppos'd.“Bold and outrageous, far beyond the rest,“Was Lycabas; from Tuscan shore exil'd“For deeds of murderous violence: he grasp'd“My throat with force athletic, as I stood,“And in the waves had flung me; but sore stunn'd,“A cable caught, and sav'd me. Loud the crew“The impious deed applauded. Bacchus rose,“(The boy was Bacchus!) with the tumult loud“Rous'd from his sleep;—the fumes of wine dispell'd,“His senses seem'd restor'd. What is't you do?“What noise is this? he cry'd;—What brought me here?“O, mariners! inform me;—tell me where“You carry me! Fear not,—the pilot said,—“Say but the port, where most thou'dst chuse to land;—“Thither we straight will steer. The god reply'd;—“To Naxos then your course direct; that isle“My native soil I call:—to you that isle“A friendly shore shall prove. False men, they swear,“By ocean, and by all the sacred gods,“This to perform; and order me to loose,“The painted vessel's sails. Full on the right“Stood Naxos. Loudly one to me exclaims;“As tow'rd the right I trim the sails to steer;—“What now, Acœtes? madman! fool! what now?“Art thou distracted? to the left we sail.—“Most nod significant their wishes: some“Soft whisper in my ear. Astounded, I“Let others guide!—exclaim,—and quit the helm;“Guiltless of aiding in their treacherous guile.“Loud murmurings sound from all; and loudly one,“Ethalion, cries;—in thee alone is plac'd“Our safety, doubtless!—forward steps himself;—“My station seizes; and a different course“Directs the vessel, Naxos left behind.“The feigning god, as though but then, the fraud“To him perceptible, the waves beholds“From the curv'd poop, and tears pretending, cries;—“Not this, O, seamen! is the promis'd shore:“Not this the wish'd-for land! What deed of mine“This cruel treatment merits? Where the fame“Of men, a child deceiving; numbers leagu'd“Misleading one? Fast flow'd my tears with his;“Our tears the impious mob deride, and press“The ocean with their strong-propelling oars.“Now by the god himself, I swear, (and none“To vows more ready listens) that the tale,“Though in appearance credence far beyond,“Is strictly true. Firm fixt amid the waves“The vessel stands, as in a harbour laid“Dry from the ocean! Wondering, they their oars,“With strokes redoubled ply; loose to the wind“More sails; and with this double aid essay“Onward to urge. Their oars with ivy twin'd,“Are clogg'd; the curving tendrils crooked spread;“The sails with clustering berries loaded hang.“His temples girded with a branchy crown,“Whence grapes hang dangling, stands the god, and shakes“A spear entwisted with the curling vine.“Round seem to prowl the tiger, and the lynx,“And savage forms of panthers, various mark'd.“Up leap'd the men, by sudden madness mov'd;“Or terror only: Medon first appear'd“Blackening to grow, with shooting fins; his form“Flatten'd; and in a curve was bent his spine.“Him Lycabas address'd;—what wonderous shape“Art thou receiving?—speaking, wide his jaws“Expanded; flatten'd down, his nose appear'd;“A scaly covering cloth'd his harden'd skin.“Lybis to turn the firm fixt oars attempts,“But while he tries, perceives his fingers shrink;“And hands, now hands no longer, fins he sees.“Another round the cordage strives his arms“To clasp,—but arms he has not,—down he leaps“Broad on his crooked back, and seeks the waves.“Forkt is their new-made tail; like Luna's form“Bent in the skies, ere half her orb is fill'd.“Bounding all round they leap;—now down they dash,“Besprinkling wide the foamy drops; now 'merge;“And now re-diving, plunge in playful sport:“As chorus regular they act, and move“Their forms in shapes lascivious; spouting high,“The briny waters through their nostrils wide.“Of twenty now, (our ship so many bore)“I only stand unchang'd; with trembling limbs,“And petrify'd with fear. The god himself,“Scarce courage in my mind inspires; when thus,—“Pale terror from thy bosom drive, and seek“The isle of Naxos.—Thither come, I tend“On smoking altars, Bacchus' sacred rites.”