Haste, from the bridal bower the bed translate,

Fram’d by his hand, and be it dress’d in state!”


Thus speaks the queen, still dubious, with disguise

Touch’d at her words, the king with warmth replies

“Alas for this! what mortal strength can move

The enormous burden, who but Heaven above?

It mocks the weak attempts of human hands!

But the whole earth must move if Heaven commands

Then hear sure evidence, while we display

Words seal’d with sacred truth, and truth obey:

This hand the wonder framed; an olive spread

Full in the court its ever verdant head.

Vast as some mighty column’s bulk, on high

The huge trunk rose, and heaved into the sky;

Around the tree I raised a nuptial bower,

And roof’d defensive of the storm and shower;

The spacious valve, with art inwrought conjoins;

And the fair dome with polished marble shines.

I lopp’d the branchy head: aloft in twain

Sever’d the bole, and smoothed the shining grain;

Then posts, capacious of the frame, I raise,

And bore it, regular, from space to space:

Athwart the frame, at equal distance lie

Thongs of tough hides, that boast a purple dye;

Then polishing the whole, the finished mould

With silver shone, with elephant, and gold.

But if o’erturn’d by rude, ungovern’d hands,

Or still inviolate the olive stands,

’Tis thine, O queen, to say, and now impart,

If fears remain, or doubts distract thy heart.”


While yet he speaks, her powers of life decay;

She sickens, trembles, falls, and faints away.

At length recovering, to his arms she flew,

And strain’d him close, as to his breast she grew.

The tears pour’d down amain, and “O (she cries)

Let not against thy spouse thine anger rise!

O versed in every turn of human art,

Forgive the weakness of a woman’s heart!

The righteous powers, that mortal lot dispose,

Decree us to sustain a length of woes.

And from the flower of life the bliss deny

To bloom together, fade away, and die.