Ovid's Metamorphoses Translated from the Latin, by Dr. Garth and Others
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*r v - 4 > Y f f V. * ' *“ • • *. 77“ F ■i i ~. OX MX • ' IK ** \ ■«<•»* \ r - • ■« -j sit tl)t *.«• <i «i • / « 7 "/ t- * • ■• , , a' tav: • »: \>J. : . • ; I — — lt:\« i Digitized by Google Digitized by Google OVID'S METAMORPHOSES TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN, ■Y DRYDEN, GARTH, CROXALL, AND OTHERS. VOL. III. LONDON: printeb at ttje %tan&ope prtjW, BY WHITT1NGHAM AND ROWLAND, Garun ll Street i PUBLISHED BY SUTTABY, EVANCE, AND FOX, STATIONERS' COURT, LUDGATE STREET; SHARPE AND HAILES, PICCA* DILLY; AND TAYLOR AND HESSEY, FLEET STREET. 1812. Digitized by Google • • Digitized By GoSgl CONTENTS. VOL. III. BOOK X. “ Page The Story of Orpheus and Eurydice, by Congreve Tbe Fable of Cyparissus, by the same . oontinued by Croxall Hyacinthus transformed into a Flower, by Ozell The Transformation of the Cerasta and Propoetides, by the same The Story of Pygmalion and the Statue, by Dryden .... The Story of Cinyras and Myrrha, by the same The Story of Venus and Adonis, by Eusden BOOK XI. The Death of Orpheus, by Croaall .............. The Thracian Women transformed to Trees, T>y the same The Fable of Midas, by the same The Building of Troy, by the same... The Story of Thetis and'Pelcus, &c. by the same The Transformation of Daedalion, by the same A Wolf turned into Marble, by the same The Story ofCeyx and Alcyone, by Dryden The House of Sleep, by the same.. .. .ffisacus transformed into a Cormorant, by the same .... BOOK XII. BY DRYDEN. The Trojan War The House of Fame The Story of Cygnus The Story of Cseneua The Skirmish between the Centaurs and Lapithites The Story of Cyllarus and Hylonome Cseneus transformed to an Eagle The Fate of Periclymenos The Death of Achilles 10| Digitized by Google CONTENTS. BOOK XIII. Pas The Speeches of Ajax and Ulysses, by Dryden 104 The Death of Ajax, by the same. . . 122 The Story of Polyxena and Hecuba, by Temple Stanyan lb. The Funeral of Memnon, by Croxali . ... 129 The Voyage of /Eneas, by Catcot. 13 2 The Story of Acis, Polypneunus, and Galatea, by Dryden 137 The Story of Glaucus and Scylla, by Kowe ............. jg BOOK XIV. The Transformation of Scylla 148 The Voyage of /Eneas continued 150 The Transformation of Cercopians into Apes lb. /Eneas descends to Hell I'll The Story of the Sibyl 152 The Adventures of Achsemenides The Adventures of Macareus 154 The Enchantments of Circe ib. The Story of Picus and Canens 156 /Eneas arrives in Italy 160 The Adventures of Diomedes 161 The Transformation of Appulus 162 The Trojan Ships transformed to Sea-Nymphs ib. The Deification of /Eneas 164 The Line of the Latian Kings 165 The Story of Vertumnus and Pomona 166 The Story of Iphis and Anaxarete 168 The Latian Line continued 170 The Assumption of Romulu3 171 The Assumption of Hersilia. 172 BOOK XV. The Pythagorean Philosophy, by Dryden 174 The Story of Hippolytus, by Catcot 196 Egeria transformed to a Fountain, by the tame The Occasion of /Esculapius being brought to Rome, by 198 Welsted 90 1 The Deification of Julius Caesar, by the same 206 The Reign of Augustus, in which Ovid flourished, by the same 211 The Poet concludes, by the same.... 9lQ Digitized by Google OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. BOOK X. TRANSLATED BY DRY DEN AND OTHERS. THE STORY OF ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. BY CONGREVE. Thence, in his saffron robe, for distant Thrace, Hymen departs through air's unmeasur’d space ; By Orpheus call’d, the nuptial power attends, But with ill-omen'd augury descends; Nor cheerful look’d the god, nor prosperous spoke, Nor blaz’d his torch, but wept in hissing smoke. In vain they whirl it round, in vain they shake, No rapid motion can its flames awake. With dread these inauspicious signs were view’d, And soon a more disastrous end ensued; For as the bride, amid the Naiad train, Ran joyful, sporting o'er the flowery plain, A venom’d viper bit her as she pass’d ; Instant she fell, and sudden breath’d her last. When long his loss the Thracian had deplor’d, Not by superior powers to be restor’d ; Inflam’d by love, and urg’d by deep despair, He leaves the realms of light, and upper air ; Daring to tread the dark Tenarian road, And tempt the shades in their obscure abode VOL. in. b Digitized by Google )6 OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. Book 10. Through gliding spectres of the’ interr’d to go. And phantom people of the world below : Persephone he seeks, and him who reigns O’er ghosts, and hell’s uncomfortable plains. Arriv’d, he, tuning to his voice his strings, Thus to the king and queen of shadows sings : — ‘ Ye powers, who under earth your realms extend, To whom all mortals must one day descend ; If here ’tis granted sacred truth to tell, I come not, curious, to explore your hell ; Nor come to boast (by vain ambition fir’d) How Cerberus at my approach retir’d. My wife alone I seek ; for her lov’d sake These terrors I support, this journey take. She luckless wandering, or by fate misled, Chanc’d on a lurking viper’s crest to tread ; The vengeful beast inflam'd with fury starts, And through her heel his deathful venom darts. Thus was she snatch’d untimely to her tomb ; Her growing years cut short, and springing bloom. Long I my loss endeavour’d to sustain, And strongly strove, but strove, alas ! in vain : At length I yielded, won by mighty love : Well known is that omnipotence above ! But here, I doubt, his unfelt influence fails; And yet a hope within my heart prevails, That here, ev’n here, he has been known of old ; At least if truth be by tradition told ; If fame of former rapes belief may find, You both by love, and love alone, were join’d. Now by the horrors which these realms surround; By the vast chaos of these depths profound ; By the sad silence which eternal reigns P’er all the waste of these wide-stretching plains ; Digitized by Google Book 10. OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. 7 Let me again Eurydice receive, Let fate her qnickspun thread of life re-weave. All onr possessions are bnt loans from you, And soon or late you must be paid your due : Hither we haste to human-kind’s last seat, Your endless empire, and our sure retreat. She too, when ripen’d years she shall attain, Must, of avoidless right, be yours again : I, but the transient use of that require, Which soon, too soon, I must resign entire. But if the destinies refuse my vow, And no remission of her doom allow ; Know, I’m determin’d to return no more ; So both retain, or both to life restore.’ Thus, while the bard melodiously complains, And to bis lyre accords his vocal strains, The very bloodless shades attention keep, And, silent, seem compassionate to weep ; Ev’n Tantalus his flood unthirsty views, Nor flies the stream, nor he the stream pursues; Ixiou’s wondering wheel its whirl suspends. And the voracious vulture, charm’d, attends ; No more the Belides their toil bemoan. And Sisyphus, reclin’d, sits listening on his stone. Then first (’tis said) by sacred verse subdued, The Furies felt their cheeks with tears bedew’d. Nor could the rigid king or queen of hell, The’ impulse of pity in their hearts repel. Now, from a troop of shades that last arriv’d, Eurydice was call’d, and stood reviv’d : Slow she advauc’d, and halting seem’d to feel The fatal wound, yet painful in her heel. Thus he obtains the suit so much desir’d, On strict observance of the terms requir’d ; Digitized by Google 8 oyid’s metamorphoses. Book 10. For if, before he reach the realms of air, He backward cast his eyes to view the fair. The forfeit grant, that instant, void is made. And she for ever left a lifeless shade. Now through the noiseless throng their way they bend, And both with pain the ragged road ascend ; Dark was the path, and difficult, and steep, And thick with vapours from the smoky deep. They well nigh now had pass’d the bounds of night, And just approach'd the margin of the light, Wheu he, mistrusting lest her steps might stray, And gladsome of the glimpse of dawning day, His longing eyes, impatient, backward cast, To catch a lover’s look, but look’d his last ; For, instant dying, she again descends, While he to empty air his arm extends. Again she died, nor yet her lord reprov’d ; What could she say, but that too well he lov’d ? One last ‘ farewell’ she spoke, which scarce he heard; So soon she drop’d, so sudden disappear’d. All stun’d he stood, when thus bis wife he view’d By second fate and double death subdued : Not more amazement by that wretch was shown, Whom Cerberus beholding turn’d to stone ; Nor Ollenus could more astonish’d look, When on himself Lethea’s fault he took, His beauteous wife, who too secure had dar'd Her face to vie with goddesses compar’d : Once join’d by love, they stand united still, Turn’d to contiguous rocks on Ida’s hill. Now to repass the Styx in vain he tries; Charon, averse, his pressing suit denies, Digitized by Google Book 10. ovm’s metamorphoses. 9 Seven days entire, along the’ infernal shores, Disconsolate, the bard Eurydice deplores ; Defil’d with filth his robe, with tears his cheeks, No sustenance but grief and cares he seeks : Of rigid fate incessant he complains, And hell’s inexorable gods arraigns. This ended, to high Rhodope he hastes, And Hxmus’ mountain, bleak with northern blasts. And now his yearly race the circling sun Had thrice complete through watery Pisces run, Since Orpheus fled the face of womankind, And all soft nnion with the sex declin’d. Whether his ill success this change had bred, Or binding vows made to his former bed : Whate’er the cause, in vain the nymphs contest, With rival eyes, to warm his frozen breast ; For every nymph with love his lays inspir’d, But every nymph, repuls’d, with grief retir’d. A hill there was, and on that hill a mead, With verdure thick, but destitnte of shade, Where now the Muse’s son no sooner sings. No sooner strikes his sweet resounding strings, But distant groves the flying sounds receive, And listeuing trees their rooted stations leave : Themselves transplanting, all around they grow, And various shades their various kinds bestow. Here, tall Chaonian oaks their branches spread, While weeping poplars there erect their head : The foodful Esculus here shoots his leaves ; That turf soft lime-tree ; this, fat beech receives : Here brittle hazels, laurels here advance, And there tough ash to form the hero’s lance ; Here silver firs with knotless trunks ascend, There scarlet oaks beneath their acorns bend. Digitized by Google 10 OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. Book 10. That spot admits the hospitable plane ; On this, the maple grows with clouded grain ; Here watry willows are with lotus seen ; There tamarisk and box for ever green. With double hue here myrtles grace the ground, And laurestines with purple berries crown’d. With pliant feet now ivies this way wind, Vines yonder rise, and elms with vines entwin’d. Wild Ornus now, the pitch-tree next takes root, And Arbutus adorn’d with blushing fruit. Then easy-bending palms, the victor’s prize, And pines erect with bristled tops arise. For Rhea grateful still the pine remains, For Atys still some favour she retains ; He once in human shape her breast had warm’d, And now is cherish’d, to a tree transform’d. THE FABLE OF CYPARISSUS. Amid the throng of this promiscuous wood, With pointed top, the taper cypress stood ; A tree, which once a youth, and heavenly fair, Was of that deity the darling care, Whose hand adapts, with equal skill, the strings To bows with which he kills, and harps to which he sings. For heretofore a mighty stag was bred, Which on the fertile fields of Czea fed; In shape and size he all his kind excell'd, And to Carthap.an nymphs was sacred held. His beamy head, with branches high display’d, Afforded to itself an ample shade ; His horns were gilt, and his smooth neck was grac’d With silver collars thick with gems enchas’d : Digitized by Google Book 10. OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. ll A silver boss upon his forehead hung, And brazen pendants in his ear-rings rung. Frequenting houses, he familiar grew, And learnt by custom nature to subdue ; Till by degrees, of fear and wildness broke, Ev’n stranger hands his proffer’d neck might stroke* Much was the beast by Caea’s youth caress’d, But thou, sweet Cyparissus ! lov’dst him best : By thee to pastures fresh he oft was led, By thee oft water’d at the fountain's head : His horns with garlands now by thee were tied, And now thou on his back wouldst wanton ride : Now here, now there, wouldst bound along th<f plains, Ruling his tender mouth with purple reins. ’Twas when the summer sun, at noon of day; Through glowing Cancer shot his burning ray, Twas then the favourite stag, in cool retreat, Had sought a shelter from the scorching heat; Along the grass his weary limbs he laid, Inhaling freshness from the breezy shade ; When Cyparissus with his pointed dart, Unknowing, pierc’d him to the panting heart. But when the youth, surpris’d; his error found, And saw him dying of the cruel wound, Himself he would have slain through desperate grief; What said not Phoebus; that might yield relief! To cease his mourning he the boy desir’d, Or mourn no more than such a loss requir’d. But he incessant griev’d : at length address’d To the superior powers a last request ; Praying, in expiation of his crime, Thenceforth to mourn to all succeeding timd Digitized by Google 12 OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. Book 1#. And now, of blood exhausted he appears, Drain’d by a torrent of continual tears ; The fleshy colour in his body fades, And a green tincture all his limbs invades ; From his fair head, where curling locks late hung, A horrid bush with bristled branches sprung, Which, stiffening by degrees, its stem extends, Till to the starry skies the spire ascends. Apollo sad look’d on, and sighing cried, ‘ I'hen be for ever what thy prayer implied : Bemoan’d by me, in others grief excite ; And still preside at every funeral rite.’ CONTINUED BY CRUX ALL. Thus the sweet artist, in a wondrous shade Of verdant trees which harmony had made, Encircled sat, with his own triumphs crown’d, Of listening birds, and savages around. Again the trembling strings he dextrous tries, Again from discord makes soft music rise. Then tunes his voice : * O muse ! from whom I sprung, Jove be my theme, and thou inspire my song. To Jove my grateful voice I oft have rais’d, Oft his almighty power with pleasure prais’d. I sung the giants in a solemn strain, Blasted and thunderstruck on Phlegra’s plain. Now be my lyre in softer accents mov’d, To sing of blooming boys by gods belov’d ; And to relate what virgins, void of shame, Have suffer’d vengeance for a lawless flame. ( The king of gods once felt the burning joy, And sigh’d for lovely Ganymede of Troy : Long was he puzzled to assume a shape Most fit, and expeditious for the rape ; Digitized by Google Book 10. OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. IS A bird’s was proper, yet he scorns to wear Any but that which might his thunder bear. Down with his masquerading wings he flies, And bears the little Trojan to the skies; Where now, in robes of heavenly purple dress’d, He serves the nectar at the’ almighty’s feast, To slighted Juno an unwelcome guest.’ HYACINTHUS TRANSFORMED INTO A FLOWER. BY OZELL. Phoebus for thee too, Hyacinth ! design’d A place among the gods, had fate been kind : Yet this he gave ; as oft as wintry rains Are past, and vernal breezes soothe the plains, From the green turf a purple flower you rise, And with your fragrant breath perfume the skies. You when alive were Phoebus’ darling boy ; In you he plac'd his heaven, and fix’d his joy ; Their god the Delphic priests consult in vain ; Eurotas now he loves, and Sparta’s plain : His hands the use of bow and harp forget, And hold the dogs, or bear the corded net; O’er hanging cliffs swift he pursues the game ; Each hour his pleasure, each augments his flame. The mid-day sun now shone with equal light Between the past and the succeeding night ; They strip ; then, smooth’d with suppling oil, essay To pitch the rounded quoit, their wonted play : A well-pois’d disk first hasty Phoebus threw. It cleft the air, and whistled as it flew : It reach’d the mark, a most surprising length ; Which spoke an equal share of art and strength. Scarce was it fall’n, when with too eager hand Young Hyacinth ran to snatch it from the sand ; Digitized by Google 14 OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. Book 10. But the curs’d orb, which met a stony soil, Flew in his face with violent recoil. Both faint, both pale, and breathless, now appear, The boy with pain, the amorous pod with fear. He ran and rais’d him bleeding from the ground, Chafes his cold limbs, and wipes the fatal wound : Then herbs of noblest juice in vain applies; The wound is mortal, and his skill deties. As in a water’d garden's blooming walk. When some rude hand has bruis’d its tender stalk, A fading lily droops its languid head, And bends to earth, its life and beauty fled : So Hyacinth with head reclin’d decays, And, sickening, now no more his charms displays. * O thou art gone, my boy !’ Apollo cried, ‘ Defrauded of thy youth in all its pride ; Thou, once my joy, art all my sorrow now, And to my guilty hand my grief I owe. Yet from myself I might the fault remove, 'i Unless to sport and play a fault should prove, > Unless it too were call’d a fault to love. ) Oh could I for thee, or but with thee die ! But cruel fates to me that power deny. Yet on my tongue thou slialt for ever dwell ; Thy name my lyre shall sound, my verse shall tell ; And to a flower transform’d, unheard of yet, Stamp’d on thy leaves my cries thou shalt repeat. The time shall come, prophetic I foreknow, I When, join’d to thee, a mighty chief 1 shall grow, > And with my plaints his name thy leaf shall show.’ ) While Phoebus tlms the laws of fate reveal’d, Behold, the blood which stain'd the verdant field Is blood no longer ; but a flower full-blown, Far brighter than the Tyrian scarlet, shone. 1 Ajax. Digitized by Google Book 10. OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. 15 A lily’s form it took ; its purple hue Was all that made a difference to the view. Nor stop’d he here; the god upon its leaves The sad expression of his sorrow weaves; And to this hour the mournful purple wears Ai, Ai, inscrib’d in funeral characters. Nor are the Spartans, who so much are fam’d For virtue, of their Hyacinth asham’d ; But still with pompous woe, and solemn state, The Hyacinthian Feasts they yearly celebrate. THE TRANSFORMATIONS OF THE CERASTiE AND PROPjETIDES. Inquire of Amathus, whose wealthy ground With .veins of every metal does abound, If she to her Propaetides would, show The honour Sparta does to him allow ; No more, she’d say, such wretches would we} grace, [face, ^ Than those whose crooked horns deform’d their i From thence Cerastae call’d, an impious race : 3 Before whose gates a reverend altar stood, To Jove inscrib’d, the hospitable god ! This had some stranger seen with gore besmear’d, } The blood of lambs and bulls it had appear’d : f Their slaughter’d guests it was ; not flock nor herd. ) Venus these barbarous sacrifices view’d With just abhorrence, and with wrath pursued : At first, to punish such nefarious crimes, [climes; Their towns she meant to leave, her once-lov’d * But why,’ said she, ‘ for their offence should I My dear delightful plains and cities fly ? No ; let the impious people, who have sin’d, A punishment in death or exile find : Digitized by Google 16 OVID*S METAMORPHOSES. Book 10. If death or exile too severe be thought, Let them in some vile shape bemoan their fault.’ While next her mind a proper form employs, Admonish’d by their horns, she fix’d her choice : Their former crest remains upon their heads, And their strong limbs an ox’s shape invades. The blasphemous Propaetides denied Worship of Venus, and her power defied : But soon that power they felt, the first that sold Their lewd embraces to the world for gold. Unknowing how to blush, and shameless grown, A small transition changes them to stone. THE STORY OF PYGMALION AND THE STATUE. BY DllYDEN. Pygmalion, loathing their lascivious life, Abhor’d all womankind, but most a wife : So single chose to live, and shun’d to wed, Well pleas’d to want a consort of his bed. Yet fearing idleness, the nurse of ill, In sculpure exercis’d his happy skill ; And carv’d in ivory such a maid, so fair, As nature could not with his art compare, Were she to work ; but in her own defence Must take her pattern here, and copy hence. Pleas’d with his idol, he commends, admires, Adores j and, last, the thing ador’d desires. A very virgin in her face was seen, And had she mov’d, a living maid had been : One would have thought she could have stirr’d, but strove With modesty, and was asham’d to move. Art hid with art so well perform’d the cheat, It caught the carver with his own deceit : Digitized by Google Book 10. OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. 17 He knows ’tis madness, yet he must adore, And still the more he knows it loves the more. The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft, Which feels so smooth that he believes it soft. Fir’d with this thought, at once he strain’d the breast, And on the lips a burning kiss impress'd. ’Tis true, the harden’d breast resists the gripe. And the cold lips return a kiss unripe : But when, retiring back, he look’d again, To think it ivory was a thought too mean ; So would believe she kiss’d ; and, courting more, Again embrac’d her naked body o’er ; And straining hard the statue, was afraid His hands had made a dint, and hurt his maid : Explor’d her limb by limb, and fear’d to find So rude a gripe bad left a livid mark behind. With flattery now he seeks her mind to move, And now with gifts (the powerful bribes of love) He furnishes her closet first; and fills The crowded shelves with rarities of shells ; Adds orient pearls, which from the conchs he drew, And all the sparkling stones of various hue ; And parrots, imitating human tongue, And singing birds in silver cages hung ; And every fragrant flower, and odorous green, Were sorted well, with lumpsof amber laid between: Rich fashionable robes her person deck : Pendants her ears, and pearls adorn her neck : Her taper’d fingers too with rings are grac’d, And an embroider’d zone surrounds her slender waist. Thus like a queen array’d, so richly dress’d, Beauteous she show’d, but naked show’d the best. Then, from the floor, he rais’d a royal bed, With coverings of Sid 0n ian purple spread. Digitized by Google 18 OVID’9 METAMORPHOSES. Book 10. The solemn rites perform’d, he calls her bride, With blandishments invites her to his side ; And as she were with vital sense possess’d, Her head did on a plumy pillow rest. The feast of Venus came, a solemn day, To which the Cypriots due devotion pay ; With gilded horns the milk-white heifers led, Slaughter’d before the sacred altars bled. Pygmalion offering, first approach’d the shrine, And then with prayers implor’d the powers divine : ‘ Almighty gods ! if all we mortals want, If all we can require, be yours to grant ; Make this fair statue mine; (he would have said, ) But chang’d his words for shame ; and only pray’d) C Give me the likeness of my ivory maid.’ S The golden goddess, present at the pray’r, Well knew he meant the’ inanimated fair, And gave the sign of granting his desire ; For thrice in cheerful flames ascends the fire. The youth, returning, to his mistress hies, } And impudent in hope, with ardent eyes, V And beating breast, by the dear statue lies. ) He kisses her white lips, renews the bliss, And looks, and thinks they redden at the kiss : He thought them warm before; nor longer stays, But next his hand on her hard bosom lays : Hard as it was, beginning to relent, It seem’d the breast beneath his fingers bent ; He felt again, his fingers made a print, [dint : ’Twas flesh, but flesh so firm, it rose against the The pleasing task he fails not to renew ; Soft, and more soft at every touch it grew; Like pliant wax, when chafing hands reduce The former mass to form, and frame for use. Digitized by Google Book 10. OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. 19 He would believe, but yet is still in pain, 7 And tries his argument of sense again, v Presses the pulse, and feels the leaping vein. ) Convinc’d, o’erjoy’d, his studied thanks and praise To her who made the miracle he pays : Then lips to lips he join'd j now freed from fear, He found the savour of the kiss sincere. At this the waken’d image op’d her eyes, And view’d at once the light and lover with surprise. The goddess, present at the match she made, So bless’d the bed, such fruitfulness convey’d, That ere ten months had sharpen’d either horn, To crown their bliss, a lovely boy was born : Paphos his name, who, grown to manhood, wall’d The city Paphos, from the founder call’d. THE STORY OF CINYRAS AND JV1YRRHA, Nor him alone produc’d the fruitful queen ; But Cinyras, who like his sire had been A happy prince, had he not been a sire. Daughters and fathers from my song retire j I sing of horror ; and could I prevail, You should not hear, or not believe my tale. Yet if the pleasure of my song be such, That you will bear, and credit me too much j Attentive listen to the last event, And with the sin believe the punishment. Since nature could behold so dire a crime, I gratulate at least my native clime. That such a land, which such a monster bore, So far is distant from our Thracian shore. Let Araby extol her happy coast, Her cinnamon and sweet Amorouin boast, Digitized by Google fO ovid’s metamorphoses. Book 10. Herfragrantflowers, her trees with precious tears, } Her second harvests, and her double years ; f How can the land be call’d so bless’d that Myrrha l bears ? ; Nor all her odorous tears can cleanse her crime ; Her plant alone deforms the happy clime : Cupid denies to have inflam’d thy heart, Disowns thy love, and vindicates his dart. Some fury gave thee those infernal pains, And shot her venom’d vipers in thy veins. To hate thy sire had merited a curse ; But such an impious love deserv’d a worse. The neighbouring monarchs, by thy beauty led, Contend in crowds, ambitious of thy bed : The world is at thy choice ; except but one, Except but him, thou canst not choose alone. She knew it too, the miserable maid, Ere impious love her better thoughts betray’d, And thus within her secret soul she said : ‘ Ah Myrrha ! whither would thy wishes tend P ; Ye gods, ye sacred laws, my soul defend From such a crime as all mankind detest, And never lodg’d before in human breast ! But is it sin? or makes my mind alone The’ imagin’d sin ? for nature makes it none. What tyrant then these envious laws began, Made not for any other beast but man ! The father-bull his daughter may bestride, The horse may make his mother-mare a bride ; What piety forbids the lusty ram, Or more salacious goat, to rut their dam ? The hen is free to wed the chick she bore, And make a husband whom she hatch’d before. Digitized by Google Book 10. OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. 2 1 All creatures else are of a happier kind, Whom Hor ill-natur’d laws from pleasure bind, , Nor thoughts of sin disturb their peace of mind. But man a slave of his own making lives ; The fool denies himself what nature gives : Too busy senates, with an over-care, To raaKS us better than our kind can bear, Have dash’d a spice of envy in the laws, And, straining up too high, have spoil’d the cause. Yet some wise nations break their cruel chains, And own no laws but those which love ordains ; Where happy daughters with their sires are join’d, And piety is doubly paid in kind. Oh, that I had been born in such a clime ; Not here, where ’tis the country makes the crime f But whither would my impious fancy stray ? Hence hopes, and ye forbidden thoughts, away! His worth deserves to kindle my desires, But with the love that daughters bear to sires. Then had not Cinyras my father been, What hinder’d Myrrha’s hopes to be his queen ? But the perverseness of my fate is such, That he’s not mine, because he’s mine too much : Our kindred-blood debars a better tie j He might be nearer were lie not so nigh. Eyes, and their objects, never must unite ; Some distance is requir’d to help the sight : Fain would I travel to some foreign shore, ! »•* Never to see my native country more, So might I to myself myself restore ; So might my mind these impious thoughts remove, And, ceasing to behold, might cease to love. But stay 1 must, to feed my famish'd sight, To talk, to kiss, and more, if more I might.’ vol. m. c Digitized by Google - 2 L 1 OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. Book 10. More, impious maid! what more canst thoul design? ( To make a monstrous mixture in thy line, f And break all statutes human and divine ! 3 Cau’st thou be call’d (to save thy wretched life) Thy mother’s rival, and thy father’s wife ? Confound so many sacred names in one, ’ Thy brother’s mother ! sister to thy son ! And fear’st thou not to see the’ infernal bands, Their heads with snakes, with torches arm’d their hands ; Full at thy face the’ avenging brands to bear, And shake the serpents from their hissing hair ? But thou in time the’ increasing ill control, Nor first debauch the body by the soul; Secure the sacred quiet of thy mind, And keep the sanctions nature has design’d. Suppose I should attempt, the’ attempt were vain, No thoughts like mine his sinless soul profane ; Observant of the right : and oh, that he Could cure my madness, or be mad like me 1’ Thus she : — but Cinyras, who daily sees A crowd of noble suitors at his knees, Among so many knew not whom to choose, Irresolute to grant, or to refuse ; But having told their names, inquir'd of her Who pleas’d her best, and whom she would prefer, The blushing maid stood silent with surprise, And on her father fix’d her ardent eyes, And looking sigh’d, and as she sigh’d began Round tears to shed, that scalded as they ran. The tender sire, who saw’ her blush and cry, Ascrib’d it all to maiden modesty, And dried the falling drops, and, yet more kind, He strok’d her cheeks, and holy kisses join’d. Digitized by Google 23 Book 10. OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. She felt a secret venom fire her blood, And found more pleasure than a daughter should And, ask’d again what lover of the crew She lik’d the best ; she answer’d, * One like you.’ Mistaking what she meant, her pious will He prais'd, and bid her so continue still : The word of pious heard, she blush’d with shame Of secret guilt, and could not bear the name. ’Twas now the mid of night, when slumbers close Our eyes, and soothe our cares with soft repose : But no repose could wretched Myrrha find, Her body rolling, as she roll’d her mind. Mad with desire, she ruminates her sin, And wishes all her wishes o’er again : Now she despairs, and now resolves to try ; Would not, and would again, she knows not why ; Stops, and returns ; makes and retracts the vow ; Fain would begin, but understands not how. As when a pine is hew’d upon the plains, And the last mortal stroke alone remains, Labouring in pangs of death, and threat’ning all, This way and that she nods, considering where to So Myrrha’s mind, impell’d on either side, [fall : Takes every bent, but cannot long abide : Irresolute on which she should rely, At last, unfix'd in all, is only fix’d to die. On that sad thought she rests, resolv'd on death, She rises, and prepares to choke her breath : Then while about the beam her zone she ties, ‘ Dear Cinyras, farewell!’ she softly cries ; For thee I die, and only wish to be Not hated, when thou know’st I die for thee ; Pardon the crime, in pity to the cause.’ — This said, about her neck the noose slie draws Digitized by Google g 4 OVID’S metamorphoses. Book 10. The nurse, who lay without, her faithful guard, Though not the words, the murmurs overheard. And sighs, and hollow sounds; surpris’d with fright, She starts, and leaves her bed, and springs a light; Unlocks the door, and, ent’ring out of breath, The dying saw, and instruments of death ; She shrieks, she cuts the zone with trembling haste, And in her arms her fainting charge embrac’d : Next, (for she now had leisure for her tears) She weeping ask’d, in these her blooming years, What unforeseen misfortune caus’d her care, To loath her life, and languish in despair ? The maid with downcast eyes, and mute with grief, For death untinish’d, and ill-tim’d relief, Stood sullen to her suit ; the beldam press’d The more to know, and bar’d her wither’d breast, Adjur’d her by the kindly food she drew From these dry founts, her secret ill to shew. Sad Myrrha sigh’d, and turn’d her eyes aside : The nurse still urg’d, and would not be denied : Nor only promised secresy, but pray’d She might have leave to give her offer’d aid. * Good-will,’ she said , 4 my wantof strength supplies, And diligence shall give what age denies : If strong desires thy mind to fury move, With charms and med’cines I can cure thy love ; If envious eyes their hurtful rays have cast, More powerful verse shall free thee from the blast: If Heaven, offended, sends thee this disease, Offended Heaven with prayers we can appease. What then remains, that can these cares procure ? Thy house is flourishing, thy fortune sure : Thy careful mother yet in health survives, And, to thy comfort, thy kind father lives.’ Digitized by Google Book 10. ovin’s metamorphoses. 25 The virgin started at her father’s name, And sigh’d profoundly, conscious of the shame : Nor yet the nurse her impious love divin’d, But yet surmis’d that love disturb'd her mind : Thus thinking, she pursued her point, and laid, And lull’d within her lap, the mourning maid ; Then softly sooth’d her thus : ‘ I guess your grief : You love, my child ; your love shall find relief. My long experienc’d age shall be your guide ; Rely on that, and lay distrust aside : No breath of air shall on the secret blow, Nor shall (what most you fear) your father know.* Struck once again, as with a thunder-clap, The guilty virgin bounded from her lap, And threw her body prostrate on the bed, And, to conceal her blushes, hid her head : There silent lay, and warn’d her with her hand To go : but she receiv’d not the command ; Remaining still importunate to know : Then Myrrha thus : ‘ Or ask no more, or go: — I pry’thee go, or staying spare my shame ; What thou would’st hear is impious ev’n to name.’ At this, on high the beldam holds her hands, And trembling both with age and terror stands ; Adjures, and falling at her feet intreats, [threats, Soothes her with blandishments, and frights with To tell the crime intended ; or disclose What part of it she knew, if she no further knows. And last ; if conscious to her counsel made, Confirms anew the promise of her aid. Now Myrrha rais’d her head, but soon, oppress’d ) With shame, reclin’d it on her nurse’s breast ; > Bath’d it with tears, and strove to have confess’d : j Twice she began, and slop’d : again she tried; The faltering tongue its office still denied. Digitized by Google 26 OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. Book 10. At last her veil before her face she spread, 1 And drew a long preluding sigh, and said, > * O happy mother, in thy marriage bed !’ ) Then groan’d, and ceas’d. The good old woman shook ; Stiff were her eyes, and ghastly was her look : Her hoary hair upright with horror stood. Made (to her grief) more knowing than she wou’d. Much she reproach'd, and many things she said, To cure the madness of the’ unhappy maid, In vain : for Myrrha stood convict of ill ; Her reason vanquish’d, but unchang’d her will : Perverse of mind, unable to reply ; She stood resolv’d, or to possess or die. At length the fondness of a nurse prevail'd Against her better sense, and virtue fail’d : ‘ Enjoy, my child, since such is thy desire, Thy love,’ she said ; (she durst not say, thy sire :) ‘ Live, though unhappy, live on any terms Then with a second oath her faith confirms. The solemn feast of Ceres now was near, When long white linen stoles the matrons wear ; Rank’d in procession walk the pious train, Offering first-fruits, and spikes of yellow grain : For nine long nights the nuptial-bed they shun, And, sanctifying harvest, lie alone. [lord, Mix’d with the crowd, the queen forsook her And Ceres’ power with secret rites ador’d : The royal couch, now vacant for a time, The crafty crone, officious in her crime, The first occasion took. The king she found Easy with wine, and deep in pleasures drown’d, Prepar'd for love : the beldam blew the flame, Confess’d the passion, but conceal’d the name. Digitized by Google Book 10 . OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 27 ‘ Her form she prais’d : the monarch ask’d her years ? And she replied, 1 The same thy Myrrha bears.’ Wine, and commended beauty, fir’d his thought ; Impatient, he commands her to be brought, [home, Pleas’d with her charge perform’d, she hies her And gratulates the nymph, the task was overcome. Myrrha was joy’d the welcome news to hear; But, clog’d with guilt, the joy was unsincere : So various, so discordant is the mind. That in our will a different will we find. Ill she presag’d, and yet pursued her lust ; For guilty pleasures give a double gust. ’Twas depth of night : Arctophylax had driv’n His lazy wain half-round the northern heav’n, When Myrrha hasten’d to the crime desir’d : The moon beheld her first, and first retir’d ; The stars, amaz’d, ran backward from the sight, And (shrunk within their sockets) lost their light. Icarius first withdraws his holy flame : The virgin sign, in Heaven the second name, Slides down the belt, and from her station flies; And night with sable clouds involves the skies. Bold Myrrha still pursues her black intent ; 1 She stumbled thrice (an omen of the’ event) ; > Thrice shriek’d the funeral owl ; yet on she went, \ Secure of shame, because secure of sight ; Ev’n bashful sins are impudent by night. Link’d band in hand, the’ accomplice and the dame, Their way exploring, to the chamber came : The door was ope, they blindly grope their way, Where dark in bed the’ expecting monarch lay. Thus far her courage held, but here forsakes ; Her faint knees knock at every step she makes. Digitized by Google 28 OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. Book 19. The nearer to her crime, the more within She feels remorse, and horror of her sin ; Repents too late her criminal desire, And wishes that unknown she could retire. Her, lingering thus, the nurse (who fear’d delay The fatal secret might at length betray) Pull’d forward, to complete the work begun, And said to Cinyras, ‘ Receive thy own.’ Thus saying, she deliver’d kind to kind, Accurs’d, and their devoted bodies join'd. The sire, unknowing of the crime, admits His bowels, and profanes the hallow’d sheets : He found she trembled, but believ’d she strove 1 With maiden modesty against her love, [move. > And sought with flattering words vain fancies to re- j Perhaps he said, ‘ My daughter, cease thy fears,’ (Because the title suited with her years) ; And, ‘ Father,’ she might whisper him again, That names might not be wanting to the sin. Full of her sire, she left the’ incestuous bed. And carrying in her womb the crime she bred. Another and another night she came ; For frequent sin had left no sense of shame : Till Cinyras desir’d to see her face Whose body he had held in close embrace, And brought a taper: the revealer, light, Expos’d both crime and criminal to sight. Grief, rage, amazement, could no speech afford, put from the sheath he drew the’ avenging sword : The guilty fled : the benefit of night. That favour’d first the sin, secur’d the flight. Long wandering through the spacious fields, she bent jFJer voyage to the’ Arabian continent ; Digitized by Google Book 10. ovid’b metamorphoses. 29 Then pass'd the region which Panchaea join'd, And, flying, left the palmy plains behind. Nine times the moon had mew’d her horns; at length With travel weary, unsnpplied with strength, And with the burden of her womb oppress'd, Sabaean fields afford her needful rest ; There loathing life, and yet of death afraid, In anguish of her spirit thns she pray’d : * Ye powers ! if any so propitious are To’ accept my penitence, and hear my pray’r ; Your judgments, I confess, are justly sent; Great sins deserve as great a punishment : Yet since my life the living will profane, And since my death the happy dead will stain, A middle state your mercy may bestow, Betwixt the realms above, aud those below : Some other form to wretched Myrrha give, Nor let her wholly die, nor wholly live.’ The prayers of penitents are never vain : At least she did her last request obtain ; For while she spoke, the ground began to rise, And gather’d round her feet, her legs, and thiglis ; Her toes in roots descend, and, spreading wide, A firm foundation for the trunk provide : Her solid bones convert to solid wood, To pith her marrow, and to sap her blood : Her arms are boughs, her fingers change their kind, Her tender skin is harden’d into rind. And now the rising tree her womb invests, Now shooting upwards still invades her breasts, And shades the neck; when, weary with delay* She sunk her head within, and met it half the way. And though with outward shape she lost her sense, With bitter tears she wept her last offence ; Digitized by Google 30 OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. Book 10. And still she weeps, nor sheds her tears in vain : For still the precious drops her name retain. Meantime the misbegotten infant grows, And, ripe for birth, distends with deadly throes The swelling rind, with unavailing strife. To leave the wooden womb, and pushes into life. The mother-tree, as if oppress’d with pain, Writhes here and there, to break the bark, in vain ; And, like a labouring woman, would have pray’d, ' But wants a voice to call Lucina’s aid : The bending bole sends out a hollow sound. And trickling tears fall thicker on the ground. The mild Lucina came uncall’d, and stood Beside the struggling boughs, and heard the groan- ing wood : Then reach’d her midwife hand to speed her throes, And spoke the powerful spells, that babes to birth The bark divides, the living load to free, [disclose. And safe delivers the convulsive tree. The ready nymphs receive the crying child, And wash him in the tears the parent-plant distiil’d. They swath’d him with their scarfs; beneath him spread The ground with herbs ; with roses rais’d his head. The lovely babe was bom with every grace, Ev’n envy must have prais’d so fair a face : Such was his form, as painters, when they show Their utmost art, on naked loves bestow : And that their arms no difference might betray, Give bim a bow, or his from Cupid take away. Time glides along with undiscover’d haste, The future but a length behind the past ; ’ So swift are years. The babe, whom just before His grandsire got, and whom his sister bore : Digitized by Google Book 10 . OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. 31 The drop, the thing, which late the tree inclos’d, And late the yawning bark to life expos’d j A babe, a boy, a beauteous youth appears, And lovelier than himself at riper years. Now to the queen of love he gave desires, And with her pains reveng’d his mother’s fires. THE STORY OF VENUS AND ADONIS. BY EUSDEN. Tor Cytherea’s lips while Cupid press’d. He with a heedless arrow raz’d her breast. The goddess felt it, and, with fury stung, The wanton mischief from her bosom flung ; Yet thought at first the danger slight, but found The dart too faithful, and too deep the wound. Fir’d with a mortal beauty, she disdains To haunt the’ Idalian mount, or Phrygian plains. She seeks not Cnidos, nor her Paphian shrines, Nor Amatlius, that teem3 with brazen mines : Ev’n heaven itself with all its sweets unsought, Adonis far a sweeter heaven is thought, On him she hangs, and fonds with every art, And never, never knows from him to part. She, whose soft limbs had only been display’d On rosy beds beneath the myrtle shade, Whose pleasing care was to improve each grace, And add more charms to an unrival’d face, Now buskin’d, like the virgin huntress, goes Through woods, and pathless wilds, and mountain- snows, With her own tuneful voice she joys to cheer The panting hounds, that chase the flying deer. She runs the labyrinth of fearful hares, But fearless beasts and dangerous prey forbears ; Digitized by Google 32 OVID’S METAMORPHOSES. Book 10. Hunts not the grinning wolf, or foamy boar, And trembles at the lion’s hungry roar. Thee too, Adonis, with a lover’s care She warns, if w arn’d thou wouldst avoid the snare. * To furious animals advance not nigh, Fly those that follow, follow those that fly ; ’Tis chance alone must the survivors save, Whene’er brave spirits will attempt the brave. 