CHORUS.

Consecrate the place and day, To music and Cecilia. Let no rough winds approach, nor dare Invade the hallowed bounds, Nor rudely shake the tuneful air, Nor spoil the fleeting sounds. Nor mournful sigh nor groan be heard, But gladness dwell on every tongue; Whilst all, with voice and strings prepared, Keep up the loud harmonious song, And imitate the blest above, In joy, and harmony, and love.



AN ODE FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY.

SET TO MUSIC BY MR DANIEL PURCELL. PERFORMED AT OXFORD 1699.

Prepare the hallowed strain, my Muse, Thy softest sounds and sweetest numbers choose; The bright Cecilia's praise rehearse, In warbling words, and gliding verse, That smoothly run into a song, And gently die away, and melt upon the tongue. First let the sprightly violin The joyful melody begin, And none of all her strings be mute;

While the sharp sound and shriller lay _10 In sweet harmonious notes decay, Softened and mellowed by the flute. 'The flute that sweetly can complain, Dissolve the frozen nymph's disdain; Panting sympathy impart, Till she partake her lover's smart.'[4]

CHORUS.

Next, let the solemn organ join Religious airs, and strains divine, Such as may lift us to the skies, And set all Heaven before our eyes: _20 'Such as may lift us to the skies; So far at least till they Descend with kind surprise, And meet our pious harmony half-way.'

Let then the trumpet's piercing sound Our ravished ears with pleasure wound. The soul o'erpowering with delight, As, with a quick uncommon ray, A streak of lightning clears the day, And flashes on the sight. _30 Let Echo too perform her part, Prolonging every note with art, And in a low expiring strain Play all the concert o'er again.

Such were the tuneful notes that hung On bright Cecilia's charming tongue: Notes that sacred heats inspired, And with religious ardour fired: The love-sick youth, that long suppress'd His smothered passion in his breast, _40 No sooner heard the warbling dame, But, by the secret influence turn'd, He felt a new diviner flame, And with devotion burn'd.

With ravished soul, and looks amazed, Upon her beauteous face he gazed; Nor made his amorous complaint: In vain her eyes his heart had charm'd, Her heavenly voice her eyes disarm'd, And changed the lover to a saint. _50

GRAND CHORUS.

And now the choir complete rejoices, With trembling strings and melting voices. The tuneful ferment rises high, And works with mingled melody: Quick divisions run their rounds, A thousand trills and quivering sounds In airy circles o'er us fly, Till, wafted by a gentle breeze, They faint and languish by degrees, And at a distance die. _60

AN ACCOUNT OF THE GREATEST ENGLISH POETS

TO MR HENRY SACHEVERELL. APRIL 3, 1694.

Since, dearest Harry, you will needs request A short account of all the Muse-possess'd, That, down from Chaucer's days to Dryden's times, Have spent their noble rage in British rhymes; Without more preface, writ in formal length, To speak the undertaker's want of strength, I'll try to make their several beauties known, And show their verses' worth, though not my own.

Long had our dull forefathers slept supine, Nor felt the raptures of the tuneful Nine; _10 Till Chaucer first, the merry bard, arose, And many a story told in rhyme and prose. But age has rusted what the poet writ, Worn out his language, and obscured his wit; In vain he jests in his unpolished strain, And tries to make his readers laugh in vain. Old Spenser next, warmed with poetic rage, In ancient tales amused a barbarous age; An age that yet uncultivate and rude, Where'er the poet's fancy led, pursued _20 Through pathless fields, and unfrequented floods, To dens of dragons and enchanted woods. But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore, Can charm an understanding age no more; The long-spun allegories fulsome grow, While the dull moral lies too plain below. We view well-pleased at distance all the sights Of arms and palfreys, battles, fields, and fights, And damsels in distress, and courteous knights; But when we look too near, the shades decay, _30 And all the pleasing landscape fades away. Great Cowley then (a mighty genius) wrote, O'errun with wit, and lavish of his thought: His turns too closely on the reader press; He more had pleased us, had he pleased us less. One glittering thought no sooner strikes our eyes With silent wonder, but new wonders rise. As in the milky-way a shining white O'erflows the heavens with one continued light; That not a single star can show his rays, _40 Whilst jointly all promote the common blaze. Pardon, great poet, that I dare to name The unnumbered beauties of thy verse with blame; Thy fault is only wit in its excess, But wit like thine in any shape will please. What Muse but thine can equal hints inspire, And fit the deep-mouthed Pindar to thy lyre; Pindar, whom others, in a laboured strain And forced expression, imitate in vain? Well-pleased in thee he soars with new delight, _50 And plays in more unbounded verse, and takes a nobler flight. Blest man! whose spotless life and charming lays Employed the tuneful prelate in thy praise: Blest man! who now shalt be for ever known In Sprat's successful labours and thy own. But Milton next, with high and haughty stalks, Unfettered in majestic numbers walks; No vulgar hero can his Muse engage; Nor earth's wide scene confine his hallowed rage. See! see! he upward springs, and towering high, _60 Spurns the dull province of mortality, Shakes heaven's eternal throne with dire alarms, And sets the Almighty thunderer in arms. Whate'er his pen describes I more than see, Whilst every verse arrayed in majesty, Bold, and sublime, my whole attention draws, And seems above the critic's nicer laws. How are you struck with terror and delight, When angel with archangel copes in fight! When great Messiah's outspread banner shines, _70 How does the chariot rattle in his lines! What sounds of brazen wheels, what thunder, scare, And stun the reader with the din of war! With fear my spirits and my blood retire, To see the seraphs sunk in clouds of fire; But when, with eager steps, from hence I rise, And view the first gay scenes of Paradise, What tongue, what words of rapture, can express A vision so profuse of pleasantness! Oh, had the poet ne'er profaned his pen, _80 To varnish o'er the guilt of faithless men, His other works might have deserved applause; But now the language can't support the cause; While the clean current, though serene and bright, Betrays a bottom odious to the sight. But now, my Muse, a softer strain rehearse, Turn every line with art, and smooth thy verse; The courtly Waller next commands thy lays: Muse, tune thy verse with art to Waller's praise. While tender airs and lovely dames inspire _90 Soft melting thoughts, and propagate desire; So long shall Waller's strains our passion move, And Sacharissa's beauties kindle love. Thy verse, harmonious bard, and flattering song, Can make the vanquished great, the coward strong. Thy verse can show even Cromwell's innocence, And compliment the storms that bore him hence. Oh, had thy Muse not come an age too soon, But seen great Nassau on the British throne, How had his triumphs glittered in thy page, _100 And warmed thee to a more exalted rage! What scenes of death and horror had we view'd, And how had Boyne's wide current reeked in blood! Or, if Maria's charms thou wouldst rehearse, In smoother numbers and a softer verse, Thy pen had well described her graceful air, And Gloriana would have seemed more fair. Nor must Roscommon pass neglected by, That makes even rules a noble poetry: Rules, whose deep sense and heavenly numbers show _110 The best of critics, and of poets too. Nor, Denham, must we e'er forget thy strains, While Cooper's Hill commands the neighbouring plains. But see where artful Dryden next appears, Grown old in rhyme, but charming even in years. Great Dryden next, whose tuneful Muse affords The sweetest numbers, and the fittest words. Whether in comic sounds or tragic airs She forms her voice, she moves our smiles or tears. If satire or heroic strains she writes, _120 Her hero pleases and her satire bites. From her no harsh unartful numbers fall, She wears all dresses, and she charms in all. How might we fear our English poetry, That long has flourished, should decay with thee; Did not the Muses' other hope appear, Harmonious Congreve, and forbid our fear: Congreve! whose fancy's unexhausted store Has given already much, and promised more. Congreve shall still preserve thy fame alive, _130 And Dryden's Muse shall in his friend survive. I'm tired with rhyming, and would fain give o'er, But justice still demands one labour more: The noble Montague remains unnamed, For wit, for humour, and for judgment famed; To Dorset he directs his artful Muse, In numbers such as Dorset's self might use. How negligently graceful he unreins His verse, and writes in loose familiar strains! How Nassau's godlike acts adorn his lines, _140 And all the hero in full glory shines! We see his army set in just array, And Boyne's dyed waves run purple to the sea. Nor Simois choked with men, and arms, and blood; Nor rapid Xanthus' celebrated flood, Shall longer be the poet's highest themes, Though gods and heroes fought promiscuous in their streams. But now, to Nassau's secret councils raised, He aids the hero, whom before he praised. I've done at length; and now, dear friend, receive _150 The last poor present that my Muse can give. I leave the arts of poetry and verse To them that practise them with more success. Of greater truths I'll now prepare to tell, And so at once, dear friend and Muse, farewell.

A LETTER FROM ITALY,

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES LORD HALIFAX, IN THE YEAR 1701.

Salve magna parens frugum Saturnia tellus, Magna virum! tibi res antiquae laudis et artis Aggredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes. VIRG., Geor. ii.

While you, my lord, the rural shades admire, And from Britannia's public posts retire, Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please, For their advantage sacrifice your ease; Me into foreign realms my fate conveys, Through nations fruitful of immortal lays, Where the soft season and inviting clime Conspire to trouble your repose with rhyme. For wheresoe'er I turn my ravished eyes, Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise, 10 Poetic fields encompass me around And still I seem to tread on classic ground; For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung, That not a mountain rears its head unsung, Renowned in verse each shady thicket grows, And every stream in heavenly numbers flows. How am I pleased to search the hills and woods For rising springs and celebrated floods! To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course, And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source, 20 To see the Mincio draw his watery store Through the long windings of a fruitful shore, And hoary Albula's infected tide O'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide. Fired with a thousand raptures I survey Eridanus[5] through flowery meadows stray, The king of floods! that, rolling o'er the plains, The towering Alps of half their moisture drains, And proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows, Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows. 30 Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng I look for streams immortalised in song, That lost in silence and oblivion lie, (Dumb are their fountains and their channels dry,) Yet run for ever by the Muse's skill, And in the smooth description murmur still. Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire, And the famed river's empty shores admire, That, destitute of strength, derives its course From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source, 40 Yet sung so often in poetic lays, With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys; So high the deathless Muse exalts her theme! Such was the Boyne, a poor inglorious stream, That in Hibernian vales obscurely stray'd, And unobserved in wild meanders play'd; Till by your lines and Nassau's sword renowned, Its rising billows through the world resound, Where'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce, Or where the fame of an immortal verse. 50 Oh could the Muse my ravished breast inspire With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire, Unnumbered beauties in my verse should shine, And Virgil's Italy should yield to mine! See how the golden groves around me smile, That shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle, Or when transplanted and preserved with care, Curse the cold clime, and starve in northern air. Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents: 60 Even the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom, And trodden weeds send out a rich perfume. Bear me, some god, to Baia's gentle seats, Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats; Where western gales eternally reside, And all the seasons lavish all their pride: Blossoms, and fruits, and flowers together rise, And the whole year in gay confusion lies. Immortal glories in my mind revive, And in my soul a thousand passions strive, 70 When Rome's exalted beauties I descry Magnificent in piles of ruin lie. An amphitheatre's amazing height Here fills my eye with terror and delight, That on its public shows unpeopled Rome, And held uncrowded nations in its womb; Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies; And here the proud triumphal arches rise, Where the old Romans' deathless acts displayed, Their base, degenerate progeny upbraid: 80 Whole rivers here forsake the fields below, And wondering at their height through airy channels flow. Still to new scenes my wandering Muse retires, And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires; Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown, And softened into flesh the rugged stone. In solemn silence, a majestic band, Heroes, and gods, and Roman consuls stand; Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown, And emperors in Parian marble frown; 90 While the bright dames, to whom they humble sued, Still show the charms that their proud hearts subdued. Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse, And show the immortal labours in my verse, Where from the mingled strength of shade and light A new creation rises to my sight, Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow, So warm with life his blended colours glow. From theme to theme with secret pleasure toss'd, Amidst the soft variety I'm lost: 100 Here pleasing airs my ravish'd soul confound With circling notes and labyrinths of sound; Here domes and temples rise in distant views, And opening palaces invite my Muse. How has kind Heaven adorned the happy land, And scattered blessings with a wasteful hand! But what avail her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains and her sunny shores, With all the gifts that heaven and earth impart, The smiles of nature, and the charms of art, 110 While proud oppression in her valleys reigns, And tyranny usurps her happy plains? The poor inhabitant beholds in vain The reddening orange and the swelling grain: Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines, And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines: Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curs'd, And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst. O Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright, 120 Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train; Eased of her load, subjection grows more light, And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight; Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day. Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores; How has she oft exhausted all her stores, How oft in fields of death thy presence sought, Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought! 130 On foreign mountains may the sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine, With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olive swell with floods of oil: We envy not the warmer clime, that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies, Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine, Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine: 'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile. 140 Others with towering piles may please the sight, And in their proud aspiring domes delight; A nicer touch to the stretched canvas give, Or teach their animated rocks to live: 'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate, And hold in balance each contending state, To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war, And answer her afflicted neighbours' prayer. The Dane and Swede, roused up by fierce alarms, Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms: 150 Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease, And all the northern world lies hushed in peace. The ambitious Gaul beholds with secret dread Her thunder aimed at his aspiring head, And fain her godlike sons would disunite By foreign gold, or by domestic spite; But strives in vain to conquer or divide, Whom Nassau's arms defend and counsels guide. Fired with the name, which I so oft have found The distant climes and different tongues resound, 160 I bridle in my struggling Muse with pain, That longs to launch into a bolder strain. But I've already troubled you too long, Nor dare attempt a more adventurous song. My humble verse demands a softer theme, A painted meadow, or a purling stream; Unfit for heroes, whom immortal lays, And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, should praise.



MILTON'S STYLE IMITATED,

IN A TRANSLATION OF A STORY OUT OF THE THIRD AENEID.

Lost in the gloomy horror of the night, We struck upon the coast where AEtna lies, Horrid and waste, its entrails fraught with fire, That now casts out dark fumes and pitchy clouds, Vast showers of ashes hovering in the smoke; Now belches molten stones and ruddy flame, Incensed, or tears up mountains by the roots, Or slings a broken rock aloft in air. The bottom works with smothered fire involved In pestilential vapours, stench, and smoke. 10 'Tis said, that thunder-struck Enceladus Groveling beneath the incumbent mountain's weight, Lies stretched supine, eternal prey of flames; And, when he heaves against the burning load, Reluctant, to invert his broiling limbs, A sudden earthquake shoots through all the isle, And AEtna thunders dreadful under-ground, Then pours out smoke in wreathing curls convolved, And shades the sun's bright orb, and blots out day. Here in the shelter of the woods we lodged, 20 And frighted heard strange sounds and dismal yells, Nor saw from whence they came; for all the night A murky storm deep lowering o'er our heads Hung imminent, that with impervious gloom Opposed itself to Cynthia's silver ray, And shaded all beneath. But now the sun With orient beams had chased the dewy night From earth and heaven; all nature stood disclosed: When, looking on the neighbouring woods, we saw The ghastly visage of a man unknown, 30 An uncouth feature, meagre, pale, and wild; Affliction's foul and terrible dismay Sat in his looks, his face, impaired and worn With marks of famine, speaking sore distress; His locks were tangled, and his shaggy beard Matted with filth; in all things else a Greek. He first advanced in haste; but, when he saw Trojans and Trojan arms, in mid career Stopp'd short, he back recoiled as one surprised: But soon recovering speed he ran, he flew Precipitant, and thus with piteous cries 40 Our ears assailed: 'By heaven's eternal fires, By every god that sits enthroned on high, By this good light, relieve a wretch forlorn, And bear me hence to any distant shore, So I may shun this savage race accursed. 'Tis true I fought among the Greeks that late With sword and fire o'erturned Neptunian Troy And laid the labours of the gods in dust; For which, if so the sad offence deserves, 50 Plunged in the deep, for ever let me lie Whelmed under seas; if death must be my doom, Let man inflict it, and I die well-pleased.' He ended here, and now profuse to tears In suppliant mood fell prostrate at our feet: We bade him speak from whence and what he was, And how by stress of fortune sunk thus low; Anchises too, with friendly aspect mild, Gave him his hand, sure pledge of amity; When, thus encouraged, he began his tale. 60 'I'm one,' says he, 'of poor descent; my name Is Achaemenides, my country Greece; Ulysses' sad compeer, who, whilst he fled The raging Cyclops, left me here behind, Disconsolate, forlorn; within the cave He left me, giant Polypheme's dark cave; A dungeon wide and horrible, the walls On all sides furred with mouldy damps, and hung With clots of ropy gore, and human limbs, His dire repast: himself of mighty size, 70 Hoarse in his voice, and in his visage grim, Intractable, that riots on the flesh Of mortal men, and swills the vital blood. Him did I see snatch up with horrid grasp Two sprawling Greeks, in either hand a man; I saw him when with huge, tempestuous sway He dashed and broke them on the grundsil edge; The pavement swam in blood, the walls around Were spattered o'er with brains. He lapp'd the blood, And chewed the tender flesh still warm with life, 80 That swelled and heaved itself amidst his teeth As sensible of pain. Not less meanwhile Our chief, incensed and studious of revenge, Plots his destruction, which he thus effects. The giant, gorged with flesh, and wine, and blood, Lay stretched at length and snoring in his den, Belching raw gobbets from his maw, o'ercharged With purple wine and cruddled gore confused. We gathered round, and to his single eye, The single eye that in his forehead glared 90 Like a full moon, or a broad burnished shield, A forky staff we dexterously applied, Which, in the spacious socket turning round, Scooped out the big round jelly from its orb. But let me not thus interpose delays; Fly, mortals, fly this cursed, detested race: A hundred of the same stupendous size, A hundred Cyclops live among the hills, Gigantic brotherhood, that stalk along With horrid strides o'er the high mountains' tops, 100 Enormous in their gait; I oft have heard Their voice and tread, oft seen them as they passed, Sculking and cowering down, half dead with fear. Thrice has the moon washed all her orb in light, Thrice travelled o'er, in her obscure sojourn, The realms of night inglorious, since I've lived Amidst these woods, gleaning from thorns and shrubs A wretched sustenance.' As thus he spoke, We saw descending from a neighbouring hill Blind Polypheme; by weary steps and slow 110 The groping giant with a trunk of pine Explored his way; around, his woolly flocks Attended grazing; to the well-known shore He bent his course, and on the margin stood, A hideous monster, terrible, deformed; Full in the midst of his high front there gaped The spacious hollow where his eye-ball rolled, A ghastly orifice: he rinsed the wound, And washed away the strings and clotted blood That caked within; then, stalking through the deep, 120 He fords the ocean, while the topmost wave Scarce reaches up his middle side; we stood Amazed, be sure; a sudden horror chill Ran through each nerve, and thrilled in every vein, Till, using all the force of winds and oars, We sped away; he heard us in our course, And with his outstretched arms around him groped, But finding nought within his reach, he raised Such hideous shouts that all the ocean shook. Even Italy, though many a league remote, 130 In distant echoes answered; AEtna roared, Through all its inmost winding caverns roared. Roused with the sound, the mighty family Of one-eyed brothers hasten to the shore, And gather round the bellowing Polypheme, A dire assembly: we with eager haste Work every one, and from afar behold A host of giants covering all the shore. So stands a forest tall of mountain oaks Advanced to mighty growth: the traveller 140 Hears from the humble valley where he rides The hollow murmurs of the winds that blow Amidst the boughs, and at the distance sees The shady tops of trees unnumbered rise, A stately prospect, waving in the clouds.

THE CAMPAIGN, A POEM.

TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.

Rheni paeator et Istri. Omnis in hoc uno variis discordia cessit Ordinibus; laectatur eques, plauditque senator, Votaque patricio certant plebeia favori. CLAUD. DE LAUD. STILIC.

Esse aliquam in terris gentem quae sua impensa, suo labore ac periculo bella gerat pro libertate aliorum. Nec hoc finitimis, aut propinquae vicinitatis hominibus, aut terris continenti junctis praestet. Maria trajiciat: ne quod toto orbe terrarum injustum imperium sit, et ubique jus, fas, lex, potentissima sint. LIV. HIST. lib. 36.

While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim, Proud in their number to enrol your name; While emperors to you commit their cause, And Anna's praises crown the vast applause; Accept, great leader, what the Muse recites, That in ambitious verse attempts your fights. Fired and transported with a theme so new, Ten thousand wonders opening to my view Shine forth at once; sieges and storms appear, And wars and conquests fill the important year, _10 Rivers of blood I see, and hills of slain, An Iliad rising out of one campaign. The haughty Gaul beheld, with towering pride, His ancient bounds enlarged on every side, Pirene's lofty barriers were subdued, And in the midst of his wide empire stood; Ausonia's states, the victor to restrain, Opposed their Alps and Apennines in vain, Nor found themselves, with strength of rocks immured, Behind their everlasting hills secured; _20 The rising Danube its long race began, And half its course through the new conquests ran; Amazed and anxious for her sovereign's fates, Germania trembled through a hundred states; Great Leopold himself was seized with fear; He gazed around, but saw no succour near; He gazed, and half abandoned to despair His hopes on Heaven, and confidence in prayer. To Britain's queen the nations turn their eyes, On her resolves the Western world relies, _30 Confiding still, amidst its dire alarms, In Anna's councils and in Churchill's arms. Thrice happy Britain, from the kingdoms rent, To sit the guardian of the continent! That sees her bravest son advanced so high, And flourishing so near her prince's eye; Thy favourites grow not up by fortune's sport, Or from the crimes or follies of a court; On the firm basis of desert they rise, From long-tried, faith, and friendship's holy ties: _40 Their sovereign's well-distinguished smiles they share, Her ornaments in peace, her strength in war; The nation thanks them with a public voice, By showers of blessings Heaven approves their choice; Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost, And factions strive who shall applaud them most. Soon as soft vernal breezes warm the sky, Britannia's colours in the zephyrs fly; Her chief already has his march begun, Crossing the provinces himself had won, _50 Till the Moselle, appearing from afar, Retards the progress of the moving war. Delightful stream, had Nature bid her fall In distant climes, far from the perjured Gaul; But now a purchase to the sword she lies, Her harvests for uncertain owners rise, Each vineyard doubtful of its master grows, And to the victor's bowl each vintage flows. The discontented shades of slaughtered hosts, That wandered on her banks, her heroes' ghosts, _60 Hoped, when they saw Britannia's arms appear, The vengeance due to their great deaths was near. Our godlike leader, ere the stream he passed, The mighty scheme of all his labours cast, Forming the wondrous year within his thought; His bosom glowed with battles yet unfought. The long, laborious march he first surveys, And joins the distant Danube to the Maese, Between whose floods such pathless forests grow, Such mountains rise, so many rivers flow: _70 The toil looks lovely in the hero's eyes, And danger serves but to enhance the prize. Big with the fate of Europe, he renews His dreadful course, and the proud foe pursues: Infected by the burning Scorpion's heat, The sultry gales round his chafed temples beat, Till on the borders of the Maine he finds Defensive shadows and refreshing winds. Our British youth, with inborn freedom bold, Unnumbered scenes of servitude behold, _80 Nations of slaves, with tyranny debased, (Their Maker's image more than half defaced,) Hourly instructed, as they urge their toil, To prize their queen, and love their native soil. Still to the rising sun they take their way Through clouds of dust, and gain upon the clay; When now the Neckar on its friendly coast With cooling streams revives the fainting host, That cheerfully its labours past forgets, The midnight watches, and the noonday heats. _90 O'er prostrate towns and palaces they pass, (Now covered o'er with weeds and hid in grass,) Breathing revenge; whilst anger and disdain Fire every breast, and boil in every vein: Here shattered walls, like broken rocks, from far Rise up in hideous views, the guilt of war, Whilst here the vine o'er hills of ruin climbs, Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes, At length the fame of England's hero drew, Eugenio to the glorious interview. _100 Great souls by instinct to each other turn, Demand alliance, and in friendship burn; A sudden friendship, while with stretched-out rays They meet each other, mingling blaze with blaze. Polished in courts, and hardened in the field, Renowned for conquest, and in council skilled, Their courage dwells not in a troubled flood Of mounting spirits, and fermenting blood: Lodged in the soul, with virtue overruled, Inflamed by reason, and by reason cooled, _110 In hours of peace content to be unknown, And only in the field of battle shown: To souls like these, in mutual friendship joined, Heaven dares intrust the cause of humankind. Britannia's graceful sons appear in arms, Her harassed troops the hero's presence warms, Whilst the high hills and rivers all around With thundering peals of British shouts resound: Doubling their speed, they march with fresh delight, Eager for glory, and require the fight. _120 So the staunch hound the trembling deer pursues, And smells his footsteps in the tainted dews, The tedious track unravelling by degrees: But when the scent comes warm in every breeze, Fired at the near approach, he shoots away On his full stretch, and bears upon his prey. The march concludes, the various realms are past, The immortal Schellenberg appears at last: Like hills the aspiring ramparts rise on high, Like valleys at their feet the trenches lie; _130 Batteries on batteries guard each fatal pass, Threatening destruction; rows of hollow brass, Tube behind tube, the dreadful entrance keep, Whilst in their wombs ten thousand thunders sleep: Great Churchill owns, charmed with the glorious sight, His march o'erpaid by such a promised fight. The western sun now shot a feeble ray, And faintly scattered the remains of day; Evening approached; but, oh! what hosts of foes Were never to behold that evening close! _140 Thickening their ranks, and wedged in firm array, The close-compacted Britons win their way: In vain the cannon their thronged war defaced With tracts of death, and laid the battle waste; Still pressing forward to the fight, they broke Through flames of sulphur, and a night of smoke, Till slaughtered legions filled the trench below, And bore their fierce avengers to the foe. High on the works the mingling hosts engage; The battle, kindled into tenfold rage _150 With showers of bullets and with storms of fire, Burns in full fury; heaps on heaps expire; Nations with nations mixed confus'dly die, And lost in one promiscuous carnage lie. How many generous Britons meet their doom, New to the field, and heroes in the bloom! The illustrious youths, that left their native shore To march where Britons never marched before, (O fatal love of fame! O glorious heat, Only destructive to the brave and great!) _160 After such toils o'ercome, such dangers past, Stretched on Bavarian ramparts breathe their last. But hold, my Muse, may no complaints appear, Nor blot the day with an ungrateful tear: While Marlborough lives, Britannia's stars dispense A friendly light, and shine in innocence. Plunging through seas of blood his fiery steed Where'er his friends retire, or foes succeed; Those he supports, these drives to sudden flight, And turns the various fortune of the fight. _170 Forbear, great man, renowned in arms, forbear To brave the thickest terrors of the war, Nor hazard thus, confused in crowds of foes, Britannia's safety, and the world's repose; Let nations, anxious for thy life, abate This scorn of danger and contempt of fate: Thou liv'st not for thyself; thy queen demands Conquest and peace from thy victorious hands; Kingdoms and empires in thy fortune join, And Europe's destiny depends on thine. _180 At length the long-disputed pass they gain, By crowded armies fortified in vain; The war breaks in, the fierce Bavarians yield, And see their camp with British legions filled. So Belgian mounds bear on their shattered sides The sea's whole weight, increased with swelling tides; But if the rushing wave a passage finds, Enraged by watery moons, and warring winds, The trembling peasant sees his country round Covered with tempests, and in oceans drowned. _190 The few surviving foes dispersed in flight, (Refuse of swords, and gleanings of a fight,) In every rustling wind the victor hear, And Marlborough's form in every shadow fear, Till the dark cope of night with kind embrace Befriends the rout, and covers their disgrace. To Donawert, with unresisted force, The gay, victorious army bends its course. The growth of meadows, and the pride of fields, Whatever spoils Bavaria's summer yields, _200 (The Danube's great increase,) Britannia shares, The food of armies, and support of wars: With magazines of death, destructive balls, And cannons doomed to batter Landau's walls, The victor finds each hidden cavern stored, And turns their fury on their guilty lord. Deluded prince! how is thy greatness crossed, And all the gaudy dream of empire lost, That proudly set thee on a fancied throne, And made imaginary realms thy own! _210 Thy troops that now behind the Danube join, Shall shortly seek for shelter from the Rhine, Nor find it there: surrounded with alarms, Thou hopest the assistance of the Gallic arms; The Gallic arms in safety shall advance, And crowd thy standards with the power of France, While to exalt thy doom, the aspiring Gaul Shares thy destruction, and adorns thy fall. Unbounded courage and compassion joined, Tempering each other in the victor's mind, _220 Alternately proclaim him good and great, And make the hero and the man complete. Long did he strive the obdurate foe to gain By proffered grace, but long he strove in vain; Till fired at length, he thinks it vain to spare His rising wrath, and gives a loose to war. In vengeance roused, the soldier fills his hand With sword and fire, and ravages the land, A thousand villages to ashes turns, In crackling flames a thousand harvests burns. _230 To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat, And mixed with bellowing herds confus'dly bleat; Their trembling lords the common shade partake, And cries of infants sound in every brake: The listening soldier fixed in sorrow stands, Loth to obey his leader's just commands; The leader grieves, by generous pity swayed, To see his just commands so well obeyed. But now the trumpet, terrible from far, In shriller clangors animates the war, _240 Confederate drums in fuller consort beat, And echoing hills the loud alarm repeat: Gallia's proud standards, to Bavaria's joined, Unfurl their gilded lilies in the wind; The daring prince his blasted hopes renews, And while the thick embattled host he views Stretched out in deep array, and dreadful length, His heart dilates, and glories in his strength. The fatal day its mighty course began, That the grieved world had long desired in vain: _250 States that their new captivity bemoaned, Armies of martyrs that in exile groaned, Sighs from the depth of gloomy dungeons heard, And prayers in bitterness of soul preferred, Europe's loud cries, that Providence assailed, And Anna's ardent vows, at length prevailed; The day was come when heaven designed to show His care and conduct of the world below. Behold, in awful march and dread array The long-expected squadrons shape their way! _260 Death, in approaching terrible, imparts An anxious horror to the bravest hearts; Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife, And thirst of glory quells the love of life. No vulgar fears can British minds control: Heat of revenge and noble pride of soul O'erlook the foe, advantaged by his post, Lessen his numbers, and contract his host. Though fens and floods possessed the middle space, That unprovoked they would have feared to pass, _270 Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands, When her proud foe ranged on their borders stands. But, O my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find To sing the furious troops in battle joined! Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound The victor's shouts and dying groans confound, The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies, And all the thunder of the battle rise. 'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was proved, That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, _280 Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, Examined all the dreadful scenes of war; In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. So when an angel by divine command With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed,[6] Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; _290 And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, Hides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. But see the haughty household-troops advance! The dread of Europe, and the pride of France. The war's whole art each private soldier knows, And with a general's love of conquest glows; Proudly he marches on, and, void of fear, Laughs at the shaking of the British spear: Vain insolence! with native freedom brave, The meanest Briton scorns the highest slave; _300 Contempt and fury fire their souls by turns, Each nation's glory in each warrior burns, Each fights, as in his arm the important day And all the fate of his great monarch lay: A thousand glorious actions, that might claim Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame, Confused in clouds of glorious actions lie, And troops of heroes undistinguished die. O Dormer, how can I behold thy fate, And not the wonders of thy youth relate! _310 How can I see the gay, the brave, the young, Fall in the cloud of war and lie unsung! In joys of conquest he resigns his breath, And, filled with England's glory, smiles in death. The rout begins, the Gallic squadrons run, Compelled in crowds to meet the fate they shun; Thousands of fiery steeds with wounds transfixed Floating in gore, with their dead masters mixed, Midst heaps of spears and standards driven around, Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drowned, _320 Troops of bold youths, born on the distant Soane, Or sounding borders of the rapid Rhone, Or where the Seine her flowery fields divides, Or where the Loire through winding vineyards glides; In heaps the rolling billows sweep away, And into Scythian seas their bloated corps convey. From Blenheim's towers the Gaul, with wild affright, Beholds the various havoc of the fight; His waving banners, that so oft had stood, Planted in fields of death, and streams of blood, _330 So wont the guarded enemy to reach, And rise triumphant in the fatal breach, Or pierce the broken foe's remotest lines, The hardy veteran with tears resigns. Unfortunate Tallard![7] Oh, who can name The pangs of rage, of sorrow, and of shame, That with mixed tumult in thy bosom swelled! When first thou saw'st thy bravest troops repelled, Thine only son pierced with a deadly wound, Choked in his blood, and gasping on the ground, _340 Thyself in bondage by the victor kept! The chief, the father, and the captive wept. An English Muse is touched with generous woe, And in the unhappy man forgets the foe. Greatly distressed! thy loud complaints forbear, Blame not the turns of fate, and chance of war; Give thy brave foes their due, nor blush to own The fatal field by such great leaders won, The field whence famed Eugenio bore away Only the second honours of the day. _350 With floods of gore that from the vanquished fell, The marshes stagnate, and the rivers swell. Mountains of slain lie heaped upon the ground, Or 'midst the roarings of the Danube drowned; Whole captive hosts the conqueror detains In painful bondage and inglorious chains; Even those who'scape the fetters and the sword, Nor seek the fortunes of a happier lord, Their raging king dishonours, to complete Marlborough's great work, and finish the defeat. _360 From Memminghen's high domes, and Augsburg's walls, The distant battle drives the insulting Gauls; Freed by the terror of the victor's name, The rescued states his great protection claim; Whilst Ulm the approach of her deliverer waits, And longs to open her obsequious gates. The hero's breast still swells with great designs, In every thought the towering genius shines: If to the foe his dreadful course he bends, O'er the wide continent his march extends; _370 If sieges in his labouring thoughts are formed, Camps are assaulted, and an army stormed; If to the fight his active soul is bent, The fate of Europe turns on its event. What distant land, what region, can afford An action worthy his victorious sword? Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat, To make the series of his toils complete? Where the swoln Rhine, rushing with all its force, Divides the hostile nations in its course, _380 While each contracts its bounds, or wider grows, Enlarged or straitened as the river flows, On Gallia's side a mighty bulwark stands, That all the wide extended plain commands; Twice, since the war was kindled, has it tried The victor's rage, and twice has changed its side; As oft whole armies, with the prize o'erjoyed, Have the long summer on its walls employed. Hither our mighty chief his arms directs, Hence future triumphs from the war expects; _390 And though the dog-star had its course begun, Carries his arms still nearer to the sun: Fixed on the glorious action, he forgets The change of seasons, and increase of heats: No toils are painful that can danger show, No climes unlovely that contain a foe. The roving Gaul, to his own bounds restrained, Learns to encamp within his native land, But soon as the victorious host he spies, From hill to hill, from stream to stream he flies: _400 Such dire impressions in his heart remain Of Marlborough's sword, and Hochstet's fatal plain: In vain Britannia's mighty chief besets Their shady coverts, and obscure retreats; They fly the conqueror's approaching fame, That bears the force of armies in his name, Austria's young monarch, whose imperial sway Sceptres and thrones are destined to obey, Whose boasted ancestry so high extends That in the pagan gods his lineage ends, _410 Comes from afar, in gratitude to own The great supporter of his father's throne; What tides of glory to his bosom ran, Clasped in the embraces of the godlike man! How were his eyes with pleasing wonder fixed To see such fire with so much sweetness mixed, Such easy greatness, such a graceful port, So turned and finished for the camp or court! Achilles thus was formed with every grace, And Nireus shone but in the second place; _420 Thus the great father of almighty Rome (Divinely flushed with an immortal bloom, That Cytherea's fragrant breath bestowed) In all the charms of his bright mother glowed. The royal youth by Marlborough's presence charmed, Taught by his counsels, by his actions warmed, On Landau with redoubled fury falls, Discharges all his thunder on its walls, O'er mines and caves of death provokes the fight, And learns to conquer in the hero's sight. _430 The British chief, for mighty toils renowned, Increased in titles, and with conquests crowned, To Belgian coasts his tedious march renews, And the long windings of the Rhine pursues, Clearing its borders from usurping foes, And blessed by rescued nations as he goes. Treves fears no more, freed from its dire alarms; And Traerbach feels the terror of his arms, Seated on rocks her proud foundations shake, While Marlborough presses to the bold attack, _440 Plants all his batteries, bids his cannon roar, And shows how Landau might have fallen before. Scared at his near approach, great Louis fears Vengeance reserved for his declining years, Forgets his thirst of universal sway, And scarce can teach his subjects to obey; His arms he finds on vain attempts employed, The ambitious projects for his race destroyed, The work of ages sunk in one campaign, And lives of millions sacrificed in vain. _450 Such are the effects of Anna's royal cares: By her, Britannia, great in foreign wars, Ranges through nations, wheresoo'er disjoined, Without the wonted aid of sea and wind. By her the unfettered Ister's states are free, And taste the sweets of English liberty: But who can tell the joys of those that lie Beneath the constant influence of her eye! Whilst in diffusive showers her bounties fall, Like heaven's indulgence, and descend on all, _460 Secure the happy, succour the distressed, Make every subject glad, and a whole people blessed. Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse, In the smooth records of a faithful verse; That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail, May tell posterity the wondrous tale. When actions, unadorned, are faint and weak, Cities and countries must be taught to speak; Gods may descend in factions from the skies, And rivers from their oozy beds arise; _470 Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays, And round the hero cast a borrowed blaze. Marlborough's exploits appear divinely bright, And proudly shine in their own native light; Raised of themselves, their genuine charms they boast, And those who paint them truest praise them most.

COWLEY'S EPITAPH ON HIMSELF.

TRANSLATED BY MR ADDISON.

From life's superfluous cares enlarged, His debt of human toil discharged, Here Cowley lies! beneath this shed, To every worldly interest dead; With decent poverty content, His hours of ease not idly spent; To fortune's goods a foe profess'd, And hating wealth by all caress'd. 'Tis true he's dead; for oh! how small

A spot of earth is now his all: _10 Oh! wish that earth may lightly lay, And every care be far away; Bring flowers; the short-lived roses bring, To life deceased, fit offering: And sweets around the poet strow, Whilst yet with life his ashes glow.

PROLOGUE TO THE TENDER HUSBAND.[8]

SPOKEN BY MR WILKS.

In the first rise and infancy of Farce, When fools were many, and when plays were scarce, The raw, unpractised authors could, with ease, A young and unexperienced audience please: No single character had e'er been shown, But the whole herd of fops was all their own; Rich in originals, they set to view, In every piece, a coxcomb that was new. But now our British theatre can boast Drolls of all kinds, a vast, unthinking host! _10 Fruitful of folly and of vice, it shows Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, and beaux; Rough country knights are found of every shire; Of every fashion gentle fops appear; And punks of different characters we meet, As frequent on the stage as in the pit. Our modern wits are forced to pick and cull, And here and there by chance glean up a fool: Long ere they find the necessary spark, They search the town, and beat about the Park; _20 To all his most frequented haunts resort, Oft dog him to the ring, and oft to court, As love of pleasure or of place invites; And sometimes catch him taking snuff at White's. Howe'er, to do you right, the present age Breeds very hopeful monsters for the stage; That scorn the paths their dull forefathers trod, And wont be blockheads in the common road. Do but survey this crowded house to-night:— Here's still encouragement for those that write. _30 Our author, to divert his friends to-day, Stocks with variety of fools his play; And that there may be something gay and new, Two ladies-errant has exposed to view: The first a damsel, travelled in romance; The t'other more refined; she comes from France: Rescue, like courteous knights, the nymph from danger; And kindly treat, like well-bred men, the stranger.

EPILOGUE TO THE BRITISH

ENCHANTERS.[9]

When Orpheus tuned his lyre with pleasing woe, Rivers forgot to run, and winds to blow, While listening forests covered as he played, The soft musician in a moving shade. That this night's strains the same success may find, The force of magic is to music joined; Where sounding strings and artful voices fail, The charming rod and muttered spells prevail. Let sage Urganda wave the circling wand On barren mountains, or a waste of sand, 10 The desert smiles; the woods begin to grow, The birds to warble, and the springs to flow. The same dull sights in the same landscape mixed, Scenes of still life, and points for ever fixed, A tedious pleasure on the mind bestow, And pall the sense with one continued show; But as our two magicians try their skill, The vision varies, though the place stands still, While the same spot its gaudy form renews, Shifting the prospect to a thousand views. 20 Thus (without unity of place transgressed) The enchanter turns the critic to a jest. But howsoe'er, to please your wandering eyes, Bright objects disappear and brighter rise: There's none can make amends for lost delight, While from that circle we divert your sight.

PROLOGUE TO SMITH'S[10] PHAEDRA AND HIPPOLITUS.

SPOKEN BY MR WILKS.

Long has a race of heroes fill'd the stage, That rant by note, and through the gamut rage; In songs and airs express their martial fire, Combat in trills, and in a fugue expire: While, lull'd by sound, and undisturb'd by wit, Calm and serene you indolently sit, And, from the dull fatigue of thinking free, Hear the facetious fiddle's repartee: Our home-spun authors must forsake the field, And Shakspeare to the soft Scarletti yield. 10 To your new taste the poet of this day Was by a friend advised to form his play. Had Valentini, musically coy, Shunn'd Phaedra's arms, and scorn'd the proffer'd joy, It had not moved your wonder to have seen An eunuch fly from an enamour'd queen: How would it please, should she in English speak, And could Hippolitus reply in Greek! But he, a stranger to your modish way, By your old rules must stand or fall to-day, 20 And hopes you will your foreign taste command, To bear, for once, with what you understand.

HORACE.-ODE III., BOOK III.

Augustus had a design to rebuild Troy, and make it the metropolis of the Roman empire, having closeted several senators on the project: Horace is supposed to have written the following Ode on this occasion.

The man resolved, and steady to his trust, Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just, May the rude rabble's insolence despise, Their senseless clamours and tumultuous cries; The tyrant's fierceness he beguiles, And the stern brow, and the harsh voice defies, And with superior greatness smiles. Not the rough whirlwind, that deforms Adria's black gulf, and vexes it with storms, The stubborn virtue of his soul can move; 10 Not the red arm of angry Jove, That flings the thunder from the sky, And gives it rage to roar, and strength to fly. Should the whole frame of nature round him break, In ruin and confusion hurled, He, unconcerned, would hear the mighty crack, And stand secure amidst a falling world. Such were the godlike arts that led Bright Pollux to the blest abodes; Such did for great Alcides plead, 20 And gained a place among the gods; Where now Augustus, mixed with heroes, lies, And to his lips the nectar bowl applies: His ruddy lips the purple tincture show, And with immortal strains divinely glow. By arts like these did young Lyaeus [11] rise: His tigers drew him to the skies, Wild from the desert and unbroke: In vain they foamed, in vain they stared, In vain their eyes with fury glared; 30 He tamed them to the lash, and bent them to the yoke. Such were the paths that Rome's great founder trod, When in a whirlwind snatched on high, He shook off dull mortality, And lost the monarch in the god. Bright Juno then her awful silence broke, And thus the assembled deities bespoke. 'Troy,' says the goddess, 'perjured Troy has felt The dire effects of her proud tyrant's guilt; The towering pile, and soft abodes, 40 Walled by the hand of servile gods, Now spreads its ruins all around, And lies inglorious on the ground. An umpire, partial and unjust, And a lewd woman's impious lust, Lay heavy on her head, and sunk her to the dust. Since false Laomedon's tyrannic sway, That durst defraud the immortals of their pay, Her guardian gods renounced their patronage, Nor would the fierce invading foe repel; 50 To my resentment, and Minerva's rage, The guilty king and the whole people fell. And now the long protracted wars are o'er, The soft adulterer shines no more; No more does Hector's force the Trojans shield, That drove whole armies back, and singly cleared the field. My vengeance sated, I at length resign To Mars his offspring of the Trojan line: Advanced to godhead let him rise, And take his station in the skies; 60 There entertain his ravished sight With scenes of glory, fields of light; Quaff with the gods immortal wine, And see adoring nations crowd his shrine: The thin remains of Troy's afflicted host, In distant realms may seats unenvied find, And flourish on a foreign coast; But far be Rome from Troy disjoined, Removed by seas from the disastrous shore; May endless billows rise between, and storms unnumbered roar. 70 Still let the cursed, detested place, Where Priam lies, and Priam's faithless race, Be cover'd o'er with weeds, and hid in grass. There let the wanton flocks unguarded stray; Or, while the lonely shepherd sings, Amidst the mighty ruins play, And frisk upon the tombs of kings. May tigers there, and all the savage kind, Sad, solitary haunts and silent deserts find; In gloomy vaults, and nooks of palaces, 80 May the unmolested lioness Her brinded whelps securely lay, Or couched, in dreadful slumbers waste the day. While Troy in heaps of ruins lies, Rome and the Roman Capitol shall rise; The illustrious exiles unconfined Shall triumph far and near, and rule mankind. In vain the sea's intruding tide Europe from Afric shall divide, And part the severed world in two: 90 Through Afric's sands their triumphs they shall spread, And the long train of victories pursue To Nile's yet undiscovered head. Riches the hardy soldier shall despise, And look on gold with undesiring eyes, Nor the disbowelled earth explore In search of the forbidden ore; Those glittering ills concealed within the mine, Shall lie untouched, and innocently shine. To the last bounds that nature sets, 100 The piercing colds and sultry heats, The godlike race shall spread their arms; Now fill the polar circle with alarms, Till storms and tempests their pursuits confine; Now sweat for conquest underneath the line. This only law the victor shall restrain, On these conditions shall he reign; If none his guilty hand employ To build again a second Troy, If none the rash design pursue, 110 Nor tempt the vengeance of the gods anew. A curse there cleaves to the devoted place, That shall the new foundations raze: Greece shall in mutual leagues conspire To storm the rising town with fire, And at their armies' head myself will show What Juno, urged to all her rage, can do. Thrice should Apollo's self the city raise, And line it round with walls of brass, Thrice should my favourite Greeks his works confound, 120 And hew the shining fabric to the ground; Thrice should her captive dames to Greece return, And their dead sons and slaughtered husbands mourn.' But hold, my Muse, forbear thy towering flight, Nor bring the secrets of the gods to light: In vain would thy presumptuous verse The immortal rhetoric rehearse; The mighty strains, in lyric numbers bound, Forget their majesty, and lose their sound.



THE VESTAL.

FROM OVID DE FASTIS, LIB. III. EL. 1.

Blanda quies victis furtim subrepit ocellis, &c.

As the fair vestal to the fountain came, (Let none be startled at a vestal's name) Tired with the walk, she laid her down to rest, And to the winds exposed her glowing breast, To take the freshness of the morning-air, And gather'd in a knot her flowing hair; While thus she rested, on her arm reclined, The hoary willows waving with the wind, And feather'd choirs that warbled in the shade, And purling streams that through the meadow stray'd, _10 In drowsy murmurs lull'd the gentle maid. The god of war beheld the virgin lie, The god beheld her with a lover's eye; And by so tempting an occasion press'd, The beauteous maid, whom he beheld, possess'd: Conceiving as she slept, her fruitful womb Swell'd with the founder of immortal Rome.



OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

BOOK II.

THE STORY OF PHAETON.

The sun's bright palace, on high columns raised, With burnished gold and flaming jewels blazed; The folding gates diffused a silver light, And with a milder gleam refreshed the sight; Of polished ivory was the covering wrought: The matter vied not with the sculptor's thought, For in the portal was displayed on high (The work of Vulcan) a fictitious sky; A waving sea the inferior earth embraced, And gods and goddesses the waters graced. 10 AEgeon here a mighty whale bestrode; Triton, and Proteus, (the deceiving god,) With Doris here were carved, and all her train, Some loosely swimming in the figured main, While some on rocks their dropping hair divide, And some on fishes through the waters glide: Though various features did the sisters grace, A sister's likeness was in every face. On earth a different landscape courts the eyes, Men, towns, and beasts, in distant prospects rise, 20 And nymphs, and streams, and woods, and rural deities. O'er all, the heaven's refulgent image shines; On either gate were six engraven signs. Here Phaeton, still gaining on the ascent, To his suspected father's palace went, Till, pressing forward through the bright ahode, He saw at distance the illustrious god: He saw at distance, or the dazzling light Had flashed too strongly on his aching sight. The god sits high, exalted on a throne 30 Of blazing gems, with purple garments on: The Hours, in order ranged on either hand, And days, and months, and years, and ages, stand. Here Spring appears with flowery chaplets bound; Here Summer in her wheaten garland crowned; Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear; And hoary Winter shivers in the rear. Phoebus beheld the youth from off his throne; That eye, which looks on all, was fixed on one. He saw the boy's confusion in his face, 40 Surprised at all the wonders of the place; And cries aloud, 'What wants my son? for know My son thou art, and I must call thee so.' 'Light of the world,' the trembling youth replies, 'Illustrious parent! since you don't despise The parent's name, some certain token give, That I may Clymene's proud boast believe, Nor longer under false reproaches grieve.' The tender sire was touched with what he said. And flung the blaze of glories from his head, 50 And bid the youth advance: 'My son,' said he, 'Come to thy father's arms! for Clymene Has told thee true; a parent's name I own, And deem thee worthy to be called my son. As a sure proof, make some request, and I, Whate'er it be, with that request comply; By Styx I swear, whose waves are hid in night, And roll impervious to my piercing sight.' The youth transported, asks, without delay, To guide the Sun's bright chariot for a day. 60 The god repented of the oath he took, For anguish thrice his radiant head he shook; 'My son,' says he, 'some other proof require, Rash was my promise, rash is thy desire. I'd fain deny this wish which thou hast made, Or, what I can't deny, would fain dissuade. Too vast and hazardous the task appears, Nor suited to thy strength, nor to thy years. Thy lot is mortal, but thy wishes fly Beyond the province of mortality: 70 There is not one of all the gods that dares (However skilled in other great affairs) To mount the burning axle-tree, but I; Not Jove himself, the ruler of the sky, That hurls the three-forked thunder from above, Dares try his strength; yet who so strong as Jove? The steeds climb up the first ascent with pain: And when the middle firmament they gain, If downward from the heavens my head I bow, And see the earth and ocean hang below; 80 Even I am seized with horror and affright, And my own heart misgives me at the sight. A mighty downfal steeps the evening stage, And steady reins must curb the horses' rage. Tethys herself has feared to see me driven Down headlong from the precipice of heaven. Besides, consider what impetuous force Turns stars and planets in a different course: I steer against their motions; nor am I 89 Born back by all the current of the sky. 90 But how could you resist the orbs that roll In adverse whirls, and stem the rapid pole? But you perhaps may hope for pleasing woods, And stately domes, and cities filled with gods; While through a thousand snares your progress lies, Where forms of starry monsters stock the skies: For, should you hit the doubtful way aright, The Bull with stooping horns stands opposite; Next him the bright Haemonian Bow is strung; And next, the Lion's grinning visage hung: 100 The Scorpion's claws here clasp a wide extent, And here the Crab's in lesser clasps are bent. Nor would you find it easy to compose The mettled steeds, when from their nostrils flows The scorching fire, that in their entrails glows. Even I their headstrong fury scarce restrain, When they grow warm and restive to the rein. Let not my son a fatal gift require, But, oh! in time recall your rash desire; You ask a gift that may your parent tell, 110 Let these my fears your parentage reveal; And learn a father from a father's care: Look on my face; or if my heart lay bare, Could you but look, you'd read the father there. Choose out a gift from seas, or earth, or skies, For open to your wish all nature lies, Only decline this one unequal task, For 'tis a mischief, not a gift you ask; You ask a real mischief, Phaeton: Nay, hang not thus about my neck, my son: 120 I grant your wish, and Styx has heard my voice, Choose what you will, but make a wiser choice.' Thus did the god the unwary youth advise; But he still longs to travel through the skies, When the fond father (for in vain he pleads) At length to the Vulcanian chariot leads. A golden axle did the work uphold, Gold was the beam, the wheels were orbed with gold. The spokes in rows of silver pleased the sight, The seat with party-coloured gems was bright; 130 Apollo shined amid the glare of light. The youth with secret joy the work surveys; When now the morn disclosed her purple rays; The stars were fled; for Lucifer had chased The stars away, and fled himself at last. Soon as the father saw the rosy morn, And the moon shining with a blunter horn, He bid the nimble Hours without delay Bring forth the steeds; the nimble Hours obey: From their full racks the generous steeds retire, 140 Dropping ambrosial foams and snorting fire. Still anxious for his son, the god of day, To make him proof against the burning ray, His temples with celestial ointment wet, Of sovereign virtue to repel the heat; Then fixed the beaming circle on his head, And fetched a deep, foreboding sigh, and said, 'Take this at least, this last advice, my son: Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on: The coursers of themselves will run too fast, 150 Your art must be to moderate their haste. Drive them not on directly through the skies, But where the Zodiac's winding circle lies, Along the midmost zone; but sally forth Nor to the distant south, nor stormy north. The horses' hoofs a beaten track will show, But neither mount too high nor sink too low, That no new fires or heaven or earth infest; Keep the mid-way, the middle way is best. Nor, where in radiant folds the Serpent twines, 160 Direct your course, nor where the Altar shines. Shun both extremes; the rest let Fortune guide, And better for thee than thyself provide! See, while I speak the shades disperse away, Aurora gives the promise of a day; I'm called, nor can I make a longer stay. Snatch up the reins; or still the attempt forsake, And not my chariot, but my counsel take, While yet securely on the earth you stand; Nor touch the horses with too rash a hand. 170 Let me alone to light the world, while you Enjoy those beams which you may safely view.' He spoke in vain: the youth with active heat And sprightly vigour vaults into the seat; And joys to hold the reins, and fondly gives Those thanks his father with remorse receives. Meanwhile the restless horses neighed aloud, Breathing out fire, and pawing where they stood. Tethys, not knowing what had passed, gave way, And all the waste of heaven before them lay. 180 They spring together out, and swiftly bear The flying youth through clouds and yielding air; With wingy speed outstrip the eastern wind, And leave the breezes of the morn behind. The youth was light, nor could he fill the seat, Or poise the chariot with its wonted weight: But as at sea the unballast vessel rides, Cast to and fro, the sport of winds and tides; So in the bounding chariot tossed on high, The youth is hurried headlong through the sky. 190 Soon as the steeds perceive it, they forsake Their stated course, and leave the beaten track. The youth was in a maze, nor did he know Which way to turn the reins, or where to go; Nor would the horses, had he known, obey. Then the Seven Stars first felt Apollo's ray And wished to dip in the forbidden sea. The folded Serpent next the frozen pole, Stiff and benumbed before, began to roll, And raged with inward heat, and threatened war, 200 And shot a redder light from every star; Nay, and 'tis said, Bootes, too, that fain Thou wouldst have fled, though cumbered with thy wain. The unhappy youth then, bending down his head, Saw earth and ocean far beneath him spread: His colour changed, he startled at the sight, And his eyes darkened by too great a light. Now could he wish the fiery steeds untried, His birth obscure, and his request denied: Now would he Merops for his father own, 210 And quit his boasted kindred to the Sun. So fares the pilot, when his ship is tossed In troubled seas, and all its steerage lost, He gives her to the winds, and in despair Seeks his last refuge in the gods and prayer. What could he do? his eyes, if backward cast, Find a long path he had already passed; If forward, still a longer path they find: Both he compares, and measures in his mind; And sometimes casts an eye upon the east, 220 And sometimes looks on the forbidden west. The horses' names he knew not in the fright: Nor would he loose the reins, nor could he hold them tight. Now all the horrors of the heavens he spies, And monstrous shadows of prodigious size, That, decked with stars, lie scattered o'er the skies. There is a place above, where Scorpio, bent In tail and arms, surrounds a vast extent; In a wide circuit of the heavens he shines, And fills the space of two celestial signs. 230 Soon as the youth beheld him, vexed with heat, Brandish his sting, and in his poison sweat, Half dead with sudden fear he dropped the reins; The horses felt them loose upon their manes, And, flying out through all the plains above, Ran uncontrolled where'er their fury drove; Rushed on the stars, and through a pathless way Of unknown regions hurried on the day. And now above, and now below they flew, And near the earth the burning chariot drew. 240 The clouds disperse in fumes, the wondering Moon Beholds her brother's steeds beneath her own; The highlands smoke, cleft by the piercing rays, Or, clad with woods, in their own fuel blaze. Next o'er the plains, where ripened harvests grow, The running conflagration spreads below. But these are trivial ills; whole cities burn, And peopled kingdoms into ashes turn. The mountains kindle as the car draws near, Athos and Tmolus red with fires appear; 250 Oeagrian Haemus (then a single name) And virgin Helicon increase the flame; Taurus and Oete glare amid the sky, And Ida, spite of all her fountains, dry. Eryx, and Othrys, and Cithgeron, glow; And Rhodope, no longer clothed in snow; High Pindus, Mimas, and Parnassus sweat, And AEtna rages with redoubled heat. Even Scythia, through her hoary regions warmed, In vain with all her native frost was armed. 260 Covered with flames, the towering Apennine, And Caucasus, and proud Olympus, shine; And, where the long extended Alps aspire, Now stands a huge, continued range of fire. The astonished youth, where'er his eyes could turn, Beheld the universe around him burn: The world was in a blaze; nor could he bear The sultry vapours and the scorching air, Which from below as from a furnace flowed, And now the axle-tree beneath him glowed: 270 Lost in the whirling clouds, that round him broke, And white with ashes, hovering in the smoke, He flew where'er the horses drove, nor knew Whither the horses drove, or where he flew. 'Twas then, they say, the swarthy Moor begun To change his hue, and blacken in the sun. Then Libya first, of all her moisture drained, Became a barren waste, a wild of sand. The water-nymphs lament their empty urns, Boeotia, robbed of silver Dirce, mourns; 280 Corinth, Pyrene's wasted spring bewails, And Argos grieves whilst Aniymone fails. The floods are drained from every distant coast, Even Tanais, though fixed in ice, was lost. Enraged Caicus and Lycormas roar, And Xanthus, fated to be burned once more. The famed Meeander, that unwearied strays Through mazy windings, smokes in every maze. From his loved Babylon Euphrates flies; The big-swoln Ganges and the Danube rise 290 In thickening fumes, and darken half the skies. In flames Ismenos and the Phasis rolled, And Tagus floating in his melted gold. The swans, that on Cayster often tried Their tuneful songs, now sung their last, and died. The frighted Nile ran off, and under-ground Concealed his head, nor can it yet be found: His seven divided currents all are dry, And where they rolled seven gaping trenches lie. No more the Rhine or Rhone their course maintain, 300 Nor Tiber, of his promised empire vain. The ground, deep cleft, admits the dazzling ray, And startles Pluto with the flash of day. The seas shrink in, and to the sight disclose Wide, naked plains, where once their billows rose; Their rocks are all discovered, and increase The number of the scattered Cyclades. The fish in shoals about the bottom creep, Nor longer dares the crooked dolphin leap; Gasping for breath, the unshapen phocae die, 310 And on the boiling wave extended lie. Nereus, and Doris with her virgin train, Seek out the last recesses of the main; Beneath unfathomable depths they faint, And secret in their gloomy regions pant, Stern Neptune thrice above the waves upheld His face, and thrice was by the flames repelled. The Earth at length, on every side embraced With scalding seas, that floated round her waist, When now she felt the springs and rivers come, 320 And crowd within the hollow of her womb. Uplifted to the heavens her blasted head, And clapped her hands upon her brows, and said; (But first, impatient of the sultry heat, Sunk deeper down, and sought a cooler seat:) 'If you, great king of gods, my death approve, And I deserve it, let me die by Jove; If I must perish by the force of fire, Let me transfixed with thunderbolts expire. See, whilst I speak, my breath the vapours choke, 330 (For now her face lay wrapt in clouds of smoke,) See my singed hair, behold my faded eye And withered face, where heaps of cinders lie! And does the plough for this my body tear? This the reward for all the fruits I bear, Tortured with rakes, and harassed all the year? That herbs for cattle daily I renew, And food for man, and frankincense for you? But grant me guilty; what has Neptune done? Why are his waters boiling in the sun? 340 The wavy empire, which by lot was given, Why does it waste, and further shrink from heaven? If I nor lie your pity can provoke, See your own heavens, the heavens begin to smoke! Should once the sparkles catch those bright abodes, Destruction seizes on the heavens and gods; Atlas becomes unequal to his freight, And almost faints beneath the glowing weight. If heaven, and earth, and sea together burn, All must again into their chaos turn. 350 Apply some speedy cure, prevent our fate, And succour nature, e'er it be too late.' She ceased; for, choked with vapours round her spread, Down to the deepest shades she sunk her head. Jove called to witness every power above, And even the god whose son the chariot drove, That what he acts he is compelled to do, Or universal ruin must ensue. Straight he ascends the high ethereal throne, From whence he used to dart his thunder down, 360 From whence his showers and storms he used to pour, But now could meet with neither storm nor shower. Then aiming at the youth, with lifted hand, Full at his head he hurled the forky brand, In dreadful thunderings. Thus the almighty sire Suppressed the raging of the fires with fire. At once from life and from the chariot driven, The ambitious boy fell thunder-struck from heaven. The horses started with a sudden bound, And flung the reins and chariot to the ground: 370 The studded harness from their necks they broke, Here fell a wheel, and here a silver spoke, Here were the beam and axle torn away; And, scattered o'er the earth, the shining fragments lay. The breathless Phaeton, with flaming hair, Shot from the chariot, like a falling star, That in a summer's evening from the top Of heaven drops down, or seems at least to drop; Till on the Po his blasted corpse was hurled, Far from his country, in the western world. 380

PHAETON'S SISTERS TRANSFORMED INTO TREES.

The Latian nymphs came round him, and amazed On the dead youth, transfixed with thunder, gazed; And, whilst yet smoking from the bolt he lay, His shattered body to a tomb convey; And o'er the tomb an epitaph devise: 'Here he who drove the Sun's bright chariot lies; His father's fiery steeds he could not guide, But in the glorious enterprise he died.' Apollo hid his face, and pined for grief, And, if the story may deserve belief, 10 The space of one whole day is said to run, From morn to wonted even, without a sun: The burning ruins, with a fainter ray, Supply the sun, and counterfeit a day, A day that still did nature's face disclose: This comfort from the mighty mischief rose. But Clymene, enraged with grief, laments, And, as her grief inspires, her passion vents: Wild for her son, and frantic in her woes, With hair dishevelled, round the world she goes, 20 To seek where'er his body might be cast; Till, on the borders of the Po, at last The name inscribed on the new tomb appears: The dear, dear name she bathes in flowing tears, Hangs o'er the tomb, unable to depart, And hugs the marble to her throbbing heart. Her daughters too lament, and sigh, and mourn, (A fruitless tribute to their brother's urn,) And beat their naked bosoms, and complain, And call aloud for Phaeton in vain: 30 All the long night their mournful watch they keep, And all the day stand round the tomb, and weep. Four times revolving the full moon returned; So long the mother and the daughters mourned: When now the eldest, Phaethusa, strove To rest her weary limbs, but could not move; Lampetia would have helped her, but she found Herself withheld, and rooted to the ground: A third in wild affliction, as she grieves, Would rend her hair, but fills her hands with leaves; 40 One sees her thighs transformed, another views Her arms shot out, and branching into boughs. And now their legs and breasts and bodies stood Crusted with bark, and hardening into wood; But still above were female heads displayed, And mouths, that called the mother to their aid. What could, alas! the weeping mother do? From this to that with eager haste she flew, And kissed her sprouting daughters as they grew. She tears the bark that to each body cleaves, 50 And from their verdant fingers strips the leaves: The blood came trickling, where she tore away The leaves and bark: the maids were heard to say, 'Forbear, mistaken parent, oh! forbear; A wounded daughter in each tree you tear; Farewell for ever.' Here the bark increased, Closed on their faces, and their words suppressed. The new-made trees in tears of amber run, Which, hardened into value by the sun, Distil for ever on the streams below: 60 The limpid streams their radiant treasure show, Mixed in the sand; whence the rich drops conveyed, Shine in the dress of the bright Latian maid.

THE TRANSFORMATION OF CYCNUS INTO A SWAN.

Cycnus beheld the nymphs transformed, allied To their dead brother on the mortal side, In friendship and affection nearer bound; He left the cities and the realms he owned, Through pathless fields and lonely shores to range, And woods, made thicker by the sisters' change. Whilst here, within the dismal gloom, alone, The melancholy monarch made his moan, His voice was lessened, as he tried to speak, And issued through a long extended neck; 10 His hair transforms to down, his fingers mee In skinny films, and shape his oary feet; From both his sides the wings and feathers break; And from his mouth proceeds a blunted beak: All Cycnus now into a swan was turned, Who, still remembering how his kinsman burned, To solitary pools and lakes retires, And loves the waters as opposed to fires. Meanwhile Apollo, in a gloomy shade (The native lustre of his brows decayed) 20 Indulging sorrow, sickens at the sight Of his own sunshine, and abhors the light: The hidden griefs, that in his bosom rise, Sadden his looks, and overcast his eyes, As when some dusky orb obstructs his ray, And sullies in a dim eclipse the day. Now secretly with inward griefs he pined, Now warm resentments to his grief he joined, And now renounced his office to mankind. 'E'er since the birth of time,' said he, 'I've borne 30 A long, ungrateful toil without return; Let now some other manage, if he dare, The fiery steeds, and mount the burning car; Or, if none else, let Jove his fortune try, And learn to lay his murdering thunder by; Then will he own, perhaps, but own too late, My son deserved not so severe a fate.' The gods stand round him, as he mourns, and pray He would resume the conduct of the day, Nor let the world be lost in endless night: 40 Jove too himself descending from his height, Excuses what had happened, and entreats, Majestically mixing prayers and threats. Prevailed upon, at length, again he took The harnessed steeds, that still with horror shook, And plies them with the lash, and whips them on, And, as he whips, upbraids them with his son.

THE STORY OF CALISTO.

The day was settled in its course; and Jove Walked the wide circuit of the heavens above, To search if any cracks or flaws were made; But all was safe: the earth he then surveyed, And cast an eye on every different coast, And every land; but on Arcadia most. Her fields he clothed, and cheered her blasted face With running fountains, and with springing grass. No tracks of heaven's destructive fire remain, The fields and woods revive, and nature smiles again. _10 But as the god walked to and fro the earth, And raised the plants, and gave the spring its birth, By chance a fair Arcadian nymph he viewed, And felt the lovely charmer in his blood. The nymph nor spun, nor dressed with artful pride; Her vest was gathered up, her hair was tied; Now in her hand a slender spear she bore, Now a light quiver on her shoulders wore; To chaste Diana from her youth inclined, The sprightly warriors of the wood she joined. _20 Diana too the gentle huntress loved, Nor was there one of all the nymphs that roved O'er Maenalus, amid the maiden throng, More favoured once; but favour lasts not long. The sun now shone in all its strength, and drove The heated virgin panting to a grove; The grove around a grateful shadow cast: She dropped her arrows, and her bow unbraced; She flung herself on the cool, grassy bed; And on the painted quiver raised her head. _30 Jove saw the charming huntress unprepared, Stretched on the verdant turf, without a guard. 'Here I am safe,' he cries, 'from Juno's eye; Or should my jealous queen the theft descry, Yet would I venture on a theft like this, And stand her rage for such, for such a bliss!' Diana's shape and habit straight he took, Softened his brows, and smoothed his awful look, And mildly in a female accent spoke. 'How fares my girl? How went the morning chase?' _40 To whom the virgin, starting from the grass, 'All hail, bright deity, whom I prefer To Jove himself, though Jove himself were here.' The god was nearer than she thought, and heard, Well-pleased, himself before himself preferr'd. He then salutes her with a warm embrace, And, ere she half had told the morning chase, With love inflamed, and eager on his bliss, Smothered her words, and stopped her with a kiss; His kisses with unwonted ardour glow'd, _50 Nor could Diana's shape conceal the god. The virgin did whate'er a virgin could; (Sure Juno must have pardoned, had she view'd;) With all her might against his force she strove; But how can mortal maids contend with Jove! Possessed at length of what his heart desired, Back to his heavens the exulting god retired. The lovely huntress, rising from the grass, With downcast eyes, and with a blushing face By shame confounded, and by fear dismay'd, _60 Flew from the covert of the guilty shade, And almost, in the tumult of her mind, Left her forgotten bow and shafts behind. But now Diana, with a sprightly train Of quivered virgins, bounding over the plain, Called to the nymph; the nymph began to fear A second fraud, a Jove disguised in her; But, when she saw the sister nymphs, suppress'd Her rising fears, and mingled with the rest. How in the look does conscious guilt appear! _70 Slowly she moved, and loitered in the rear; Nor slightly tripped, nor by the goddess ran, As once she used, the foremost of the train. Her looks were flushed, and sullen was her mien, That sure the virgin goddess (had she been Aught but a virgin) must the guilt have seen. 'Tis said the nymphs saw all, and guessed aright: And now the moon had nine times lost her light, When Dian, fainting in the mid-day beams, Found a cool covert, and refreshing streams _80 That in soft murmurs through the forest flow'd, And a smooth bed of shining gravel show'd. A covert so obscure, and streams so clear, The goddess praised: 'And now no spies are near, Let's strip, my gentle maids, and wash,' she cries. Pleased with the motion, every maid complies; Only the blushing huntress stood confused, And formed delays, and her delays excused; In vain excused; her fellows round her press'd, And the reluctant nymph by force undress'd. _90 The naked huntress all her shame reveal'd, In vain her hands the pregnant womb conceal'd; 'Begone!' the goddess cries with stern disdain, 'Begone! nor dare the hallowed stream to stain:' She fled, for ever banished from the train. This Juno heard, who long had watched her time To punish the detested rival's crime: The time was come; for, to enrage her more, A lovely boy the teeming rival bore. The goddess cast a furious look, and cried, _100 'It is enough! I'm fully satisfied! This boy shall stand a living mark, to prove My husband's baseness, and the strumpet's love: But vengeance shall awake: those guilty charms, That drew the Thunderer from Juno's arms, No longer shall their wonted force retain, Nor please the god, nor make the mortal vain.' This said, her hand within her hair she wound, Swung her to earth, and dragged her on the ground. The prostrate wretch lifts up her arms in prayer; _110 Her arms grow shaggy, and deformed with hair, Her nails are sharpened into pointed claws, Her hands bear half her weight, and turn to paws; Her lips, that once could tempt a god, begin To grow distorted in an ugly grin. And, lest the supplicating brute might reach The ears of Jove, she was deprived of speech: Her surly voice through a hoarse passage came In savage sounds: her mind was still the same. The furry monster fixed her eyes above, _120 And heaved her new unwieldy paws to Jove, And begged his aid with inward groans; and though She could not call him false, she thought him so. How did she fear to lodge in woods alone, And haunt the fields and meadows once her own! How often would the deep-mouthed dogs pursue, Whilst from her hounds the frighted huntress flew! How did she fear her fellow-brutes, and shun The shaggy bear, though now herself was one! How from the sight of rugged wolves retire, _130 Although the grim Lycaon was her sire! But now her son had fifteen summers told, Fierce at the chase, and in the forest bold; When, as he beat the woods in quest of prey, He chanced to rouse his mother where she lay. She knew her son, and kept him in her sight, And fondly gazed: the boy was in a fright, And aimed a pointed arrow at her breast, And would have slain his mother in the beast; But Jove forbade, and snatched them through the air _140 In whirlwinds up to heaven, and fixed them there: Where the new constellations nightly rise, And add a lustre to the northern skies. When Juno saw the rival in her height, Spangled with stars, and circled round with light, She sought old Ocean in his deep abodes, And Tethys; both revered among the gods. They ask what brings her there: 'Ne'er ask,' says she, 'What brings me here, heaven is no place for me. You'll see, when night has covered all things o'er, _150 Jove's starry bastard and triumphant whore Usurp the heavens; you 'll see them proudly roll In their new orbs, and brighten all the pole. And who shall now on Juno's altars wait, When those she hates grow greater by her hate? I on the nymph a brutal form impress'd, Jove to a goddess has transformed the beast; This, this was all my weak revenge could do: But let the god his chaste amours pursue, And, as he acted after Io's rape, _160 Restore the adulteress to her former shape. Then may he cast his Juno off, and lead The great Lycaon's offspring to his bed. But you, ye venerable powers, be kind, And, if my wrongs a due resentment find, Receive not in your waves their setting beams, Nor let the glaring strumpet taint your streams.' The goddess ended, and her wish was given. Back she returned in triumph up to heaven; Her gaudy peacocks drew her through the skies, _170 Their tails were spotted with a thousand eyes; The eyes of Argus on their tails were ranged, At the same time the raven's colour changed.

THE STORY OF CORONIS, AND BIRTH OF AESCULAPIUS.

The raven once in snowy plumes was dress'd, White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast, Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl; His tongue, his prating tongue, had changed him quite To sooty blackness from the purest white. The story of his change shall here be told: In Thessaly there lived a nymph of old, Coronis named; a peerless maid she shined, Confessed the fairest of the fairer kind. 10 Apollo loved her, till her guilt he knew, While true she was, or whilst he thought her true. But his own bird, the raven, chanced to find The false one with a secret rival joined. Coronis begged him to suppress the tale, But could not with repeated prayers prevail. His milk-white pinions to the god he plied; The busy daw flew with him, side by side, And by a thousand teasing questions drew The important secret from him as they flew. 20 The daw gave honest counsel, though despised, And, tedious in her tattle, thus advised: 'Stay, silly bird, the ill-natured task refuse, Nor be the bearer of unwelcome news. Be warned by my example: you discern What now I am, and what I was shall learn. My foolish honesty was all my crime; Then hear my story. Once upon a time, The two-shaped Ericthonius had his birth (Without a mother) from the teeming earth; 30 Minerva nursed him, and the infant laid Within a chest, of twining osiers made. The daughters of King Cecrops undertook To guard the chest, commanded not to look On what was hid within. I stood to see The charge obeyed, perched on a neighbouring tree. The sisters Pandrosos and Herse keep The strict command; Aglauros needs would peep, And saw the monstrous infant in a fright, And called her sisters to the hideous sight: 40 A boy's soft shape did to the waist prevail, But the boy ended in a dragon's tail. I told the stern Minerva all that passed, But for my pains, discarded and disgraced, The frowning goddess drove me from her sight, And for her favourite chose the bird of night. Be then no tell-tale; for I think my wrong Enough to teach a bird to hold her tongue. 'But you, perhaps, may think I was removed, As never by the heavenly maid beloved: 50 But I was loved; ask Pallas if I lie; Though Pallas hate me now, she won't deny: For I, whom in a feathered shape you view, Was once a maid, (by heaven, the story's true,) A blooming maid, and a king's daughter too. A crowd of lovers owned my beauty's charms; My beauty was the cause of all my harms; Neptune, as on his shores I went to rove, Observed me in my walks, and fell in love. He made his courtship, he confessed his pain, 60 And offered force when all his arts were vain; Swift he pursued: I ran along the strand, Till, spent and wearied on the sinking sand, I shrieked aloud, with cries I filled the air To gods and men; nor god nor man was there: A virgin goddess heard a virgin's prayer. For, as my arms I lifted to the skies, I saw black feathers from my fingers rise; I strove to fling my garment to the ground; My garment turned to plumes, and girt me round: 70 My hands to beat my naked bosom try; Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I. Lightly I tripped, nor weary as before Sunk in the sand, but skimmed along the shore; Till, rising on my wings, I was preferred To be the chaste Minerva's virgin bird: Preferred in vain! I now am in disgrace: Nyctimene, the owl, enjoys my place. 'On her incestuous life I need not dwell, (In Lesbos still the horrid tale they tell,) 80 And of her dire amours you must have heard, For which she now does penance in a bird, That, conscious of her shame, avoids the light, And loves the gloomy covering of the night; The birds, where'er she flutters, scare away The hooting wretch, and drive her from the day.' The raven, urged by such impertinence, Grew passionate, it seems, and took offence, And cursed the harmless daw; the daw withdrew: The raven to her injured patron flew, 90 And found him out, and told the fatal truth Of false Coronis and the favoured youth. The god was wroth; the colour left his look, The wreath his head, the harp his hand forsook: His silver bow and feathered shafts he took, And lodged an arrow in the tender breast, That had so often to his own been pressed. Down fell the wounded nymph, and sadly groaned, And pulled his arrow reeking from the wound; And weltering in her blood, thus faintly cried, 100 'Ah, cruel god! though I have justly died, What has, alas! my unborn infant done, That he should fall, and two expire in one? This said, in agonies she fetched her breath. The god dissolves in pity at her death; He hates the bird that made her falsehood known, And hates himself for what himself had done; The feathered shaft, that sent her to the fates, And his own hand that sent the shaft he hates. Fain would he heal the wound, and ease her pain, 110 And tries the compass of his art in vain. Soon as he saw the lovely nymph expire, The pile made ready, and the kindling fire, With sighs and groans her obsequies he kept, And, if a god could weep, the god had wept. Her corpse he kissed, and heavenly incense brought, And solemnised the death himself had wrought. But, lest his offspring should her fate partake, Spite of the immortal mixture in his make, He ripped her womb, and set the child at large, 120 And gave him to the centaur Chiron's charge: Then in his fury blacked the raven o'er, And bid him prate in his white plumes no more.