The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase Part 10

BOOK III.

THE STORY OF CADMUS.

When now Agenor had his daughter lost, He sent his son to search on every coast; And sternly bid him to his arms restore The darling maid, or see his face no more, But live an exile in a foreign clime: Thus was the father pious to a crime.

The restless youth searched all the world around; But how can Jove in his amours be found?

When tired at length with unsuccessful toil, To shun his angry sire and native soil, _10 He goes a suppliant to the Delphic dome; There asks the G.o.d what new-appointed home Should end his wanderings and his toils relieve.

The Delphic oracles this answer give: 'Behold among the fields a lonely cow, Unworn with yokes, unbroken to the plough; Mark well the place where first she lays her down, There measure out thy walls, and build thy town, And from thy guide, Boetia call the land, In which the destined walls and town shall stand.'

_20 No sooner had he left the dark abode, Big with the promise of the Delphic G.o.d, When in the fields the fatal cow he viewed, Nor galled with yokes, nor worn with servitude: Her gently at a distance he pursued; And, as he walked aloof, in silence prayed To the great power whose counsels he obeyed.

Her way through flowery Panope she took, And now, Cephisus, crossed thy silver brook; When to the heavens her s.p.a.cious front she raised, _30 And bellowed thrice, then backward turning, gazed On those behind, till on the destined place She stooped, and couched amid the rising gra.s.s.

Cadmus salutes the soil, and gladly hails The new-found mountains, and the nameless vales, And thanks the G.o.ds, and turns about his eye To see his new dominions round him lie; Then sends his servants to a neighbouring grove For living streams, a sacrifice to Jove.

O'er the wide plain there rose a shady wood _40 Of aged trees; in its dark bosom stood A bushy thicket, pathless and unworn, O'errun with brambles, and perplexed with thorn: Amidst the brake a hollow den was found, With rocks and shelving arches vaulted round.

Deep in the dreary den, concealed from day, Sacred to Mars, a mighty dragon lay, Bloated with poison to a monstrous size; Fire broke in flashes when he glanced his eyes; His towering crest was glorious to behold, _50 His shoulders and his sides were scaled with gold; Three tongues he brandished when he charged his foes; His teeth stood jagy in three dreadful rows.

The Tyrians in the den for water sought, And with their urns explored the hollow vault: From side to side their empty urns rebound, And rouse the sleepy serpent with the sound.

Straight he bestirs him, and is seen to rise; And now with dreadful hissings fills the skies, And darts his forky tongues, and rolls his glaring eyes.

_60 The Tyrians drop their vessels in their fright, All pale and trembling at the hideous sight Spire above spire upreared in air he stood, And gazing round him, overlooked the wood: Then floating on the ground, in circles rolled; Then leaped upon them in a mighty fold.

Of such a bulk, and such a monstrous size, The serpent in the polar circle lies, That stretches over half the northern skies.

In vain the Tyrians on their arms rely, _70 In vain attempt to fight, in vain to fly: All their endeavours and their hopes are vain; Some die entangled in the winding train; Some are devoured; or feel a loathsome death, Swoln up with blasts of pestilential breath.

And now the scorching sun was mounted high, In all its l.u.s.tre, to the noonday sky; When, anxious for his friends, and filled with cares, To search the woods the impatient chief prepares.

A lion's hide around his loins he wore, _80 The well-poised javelin to the field he bore, Inured to blood, the far-destroying dart, And, the best weapon, an undaunted heart.

Soon as the youth approached the fatal place, He saw his servants breathless on the gra.s.s; The scaly foe amid their corps he viewed, Basking at ease, and feasting in their blood, 'Such friends,' he cries, 'deserved a longer date; But Cadmus will revenge, or share their fate.'

Then heaved a stone, and rising to the throw _90 He sent it in a whirlwind at the foe: A tower, a.s.saulted by so rude a stroke, With all its lofty battlements had shook; But nothing here the unwieldy rock avails, Rebounding harmless from the plaited scales, That, firmly joined, preserved him from a wound, With native armour crusted all around. 97 The pointed javelin more successful flew, Which at his back the raging warrior threw; Amid the plaited scales it took its course, _100 And in the spinal marrow spent its force.

The monster hissed aloud, and raged in vain, And writhed his body to and fro with pain; And bit the spear, and wrenched the wood away; The point still buried in the marrow lay.

And now his rage, increasing with his pain, Reddens his eyes, and beats in every vein; Churned in his teeth the foamy venom rose, Whilst from his mouth a blast of vapours flows, Such as the infernal Stygian waters cast; _110 The plants around him wither in the blast.

Now in a maze of rings he lies enrolled, Now all unravelled, and without a fold; Now, like a torrent, with a mighty force, Bears down the forest in his boisterous course.

Cadmus gave back, and on the lion's spoil Sustained the shock, then forced him to recoil; The pointed javelin warded off his rage: Mad with his pains, and furious to engage, The serpent champs the steel, and bites the spear, _120 Till blood and venom all the point besmear.

But still the hurt he yet received was slight; For, whilst the champion with redoubled might Strikes home the javelin, his retiring foe Shrinks from the wound, and disappoints the blow.

The dauntless hero still pursues his stroke, And presses forward, till a knotty oak r.e.t.a.r.ds his foe, and stops him in the rear; Full in his throat he plunged the fatal spear, That in the extended neck a pa.s.sage found, _130 And pierced the solid timber through the wound.

Fixed to the reeling trunk, with many a stroke Of his huge tail, he lashed the st.u.r.dy oak; Till spent with toil, and labouring hard for breath, He now lay twisting in the pangs of death.

Cadmus beheld him wallow in a flood Of swimming poison, intermixed with blood; When suddenly a speech was heard from high, (The speech was heard, nor was the speaker nigh,) 'Why dost thou thus with secret pleasure see, _140 Insulting man! what thou thyself shalt be?'

Astonished at the voice, he stood amazed, And all around with inward horror gazed: When Pallas, swift descending from the skies, Pallas, the guardian of the bold and wise, Bids him plough up the field, and scatter round The dragon's teeth o'er all the furrowed ground; Then tells the youth how to his wondering eyes Embattled armies from the field should rise.

He sows the teeth at Pallas's command, _150 And flings the future people from his hand.

The clods grow warm, and crumble where he sows; And now the pointed spears advance in rows; Now nodding plumes appear, and s.h.i.+ning crests, Now the broad shoulders and the rising b.r.e.a.s.t.s: O'er all the field the breathing harvest swarms, A growing host, a crop of men and arms.

So through the parting stage a figure rears Its body up, and limb by limb appears By just degrees; till all the man arise, _160 And in his full proportion strikes the eyes.

Cadmus surprised, and startled at the sight Of his new foes, prepared himself for fight: When one cried out, 'Forbear, fond man, forbear To mingle in a blind, promiscuous war.'

This said, he struck his brother to the ground, Himself expiring by another's wound; Nor did the third his conquest long survive, Dying ere scarce he had begun to live.

The dire example ran through all the field, _170 Till heaps of brothers were by brothers killed; The furrows swam in blood: and only five Of all the vast increase were left alive.

Echion one, at Pallas's command, Let fall the guiltless weapon from his hand; And with the rest a peaceful treaty makes, Whom Cadmus as his friends and partners takes: So founds a city on the promised earth, And gives his new Boeotian empire birth.

Here Cadmus reigned; and now one would have guessed _180 The royal founder in his exile blessed: Long did he live within his new abodes, Allied by marriage to the deathless G.o.ds; And, in a fruitful wife's embraces old, A long increase of children's children told: But no frail man, however great or high, Can be concluded blessed before he die.

Actaeon was the first of all his race, Who grieved his grandsire in his borrowed face; Condemned by stern Diana to bemoan _190 The branching horns, and visage not his own; To shun his once-loved dogs, to bound away, And from their huntsman to become their prey.

And yet consider why the change was wrought, You'll find it his misfortune, not his fault; Or if a fault, it was the fault of chance: For how can guilt proceed from ignorance?

THE TRANSFORMATION OF ACTaeON INTO A STAG.

In a fair chase a shady mountain stood, Well stored with game, and marked with trails of blood.

Here did the huntsmen till the heat of day Pursue the stag, and load themselves with prey; When thus Actaeon calling to the rest: 'My friends,' says he, 'our sport is at the best.

The sun is high advanced, and downward sheds His burning beams directly on our heads; Then by consent abstain from further spoils, Call off the dogs, and gather up the toils; _10 And ere to-morrow's sun begins his race, Take the cool morning to renew the chase.'

They all consent, and in a cheerful train The jolly huntsmen, loaden with the slain, Return in triumph from the sultry plain.

Down in a vale with pine and cypress clad, Refreshed with gentle winds, and brown with shade, The chaste Diana's private haunt, there stood Full in the centre of the darksome wood A s.p.a.cious grotto, all around o'ergrown _20 With h.o.a.ry moss, and arched with pumice-stone.

From out its rocky clefts the waters flow, And trickling swell into a lake below.

Nature had everywhere so played her part, That everywhere she seemed to vie with art.

Here the bright G.o.ddess, toiled and chafed with heat, Was wont to bathe her in the cool retreat.

Here did she now with all her train resort, Panting with heat, and breathless from the sport; Her armour-bearer laid her bow aside, _30 Some loosed her sandals, some her veil untied; Each busy nymph her proper part undressed; While Crocale, more handy than the rest, Gathered her flowing hair, and in a noose Bound it together, whilst her own hung loose.

Five of the more ign.o.ble sort by turns Fetch up the water, and unlade their urns.

Now all undressed the s.h.i.+ning G.o.ddess stood, When young Actaeon, wildered in the wood, To the cool grot by his hard fate betrayed, _40 The fountains filled with naked nymphs surveyed.

The frighted virgins shrieked at the surprise, (The forest echoed with their piercing cries,) Then in a huddle round their G.o.ddess pressed: She, proudly eminent above the rest, With blushes glowed; such blushes as adorn The ruddy welkin, or the purple morn; And though the crowding nymphs her body hide, Half backward shrunk, and viewed him from aside.

Surprised, at first she would have s.n.a.t.c.hed her bow, _50 But sees the circling waters round her flow; These in the hollow of her hand she took, And dashed them in his face, while thus she spoke: 'Tell if thou canst the wondrous sight disclosed, A G.o.ddess naked to thy view exposed.'

This said, the man began to disappear By slow degrees, and ended in a deer.

A rising horn on either brow he wears, And stretches out his neck, and p.r.i.c.ks his ears; Rough is his skin, with sudden hairs o'ergrown, _60 His bosom pants with fears before unknown.

Transformed at length, he flies away in haste, And wonders why he flies away so fast.

But as by chance, within a neighbouring brook, He saw his branching horns and altered look, Wretched Actaeon! in a doleful tone He tried to speak, but only gave a groan; And as he wept, within the watery gla.s.s He saw the big round drops, with silent pace, Run trickling down a savage hairy face.

_70 What should he do? Or seek his old abodes, Or herd among the deer, and skulk in woods?

Here shame dissuades him, there his fear prevails, And each by turns his aching heart a.s.sails.

As he thus ponders, he behind him spies His opening hounds, and now he hears their cries: A generous pack, or to maintain the chase, Or snuff the vapour from the scented gra.s.s.

He bounded off with fear, and swiftly ran O'er craggy mountains, and the flowery plain; _80 Through brakes and thickets forced his way, and flew Through many a ring, where once he did pursue.

In vain he oft endeavoured to proclaim His new misfortune, and to tell his name; Nor voice nor words the brutal tongue supplies; From shouting men, and horns, and dogs he flies, Deafened and stunned with their promiscuous cries.

When now the fleetest of the pack, that pressed Close at his heels, and sprung before the rest, Had fastened on him, straight another pair _90 Hung on his wounded haunch, and held him there, Till all the pack came up, and every hound Tore the sad huntsman, grovelling on the ground, Who now appeared but one continued wound.

With dropping tears his bitter fate he moans, And fills the mountain with his dying groans.

His servants with a piteous look he spies, And turns about his supplicating eyes.

His servants, ignorant of what had chanced, With eager haste and joyful shouts advanced, _100 And called their lord Actaeon to the game: He shook his head in answer to the name; He heard, but wished he had indeed been gone, Or only to have stood a looker-on.

But, to his grief, he finds himself too near, And feels his ravenous dogs with fury tear Their wretched master, panting in a deer.

THE BIRTH OF BACCHUS.

Actaeon's sufferings, and Diana's rage, Did all the thoughts of men and G.o.ds engage; Some called the evils which Diana wrought, Too great, and disproportioned to the fault: Others, again, esteemed Actaeon's woes Fit for a virgin G.o.ddess to impose.

The hearers into different parts divide, And reasons are produced on either side.

Juno alone, of all that heard the news, Nor would condemn the G.o.ddess, nor excuse: _10 She heeded not the justice of the deed, But joyed to see the race of Cadmus bleed; For still she kept Europa in her mind, And, for her sake, detested all her kind.

Besides, to aggravate her hate, she heard How Semele, to Jove's embrace preferred, Was now grown big with an immortal load, And carried in her womb a future G.o.d.

Thus terribly incensed, the G.o.ddess broke To sudden fury, and abruptly spoke.

_20 'Are my reproaches of so small a force?

'Tis time I then pursue another course: It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die, If I'm indeed the mistress of the sky; If rightly styled among the powers above The wife and sister of the thundering Jove, (And none can sure a sister's right deny,) It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die.

She boasts an honour I can hardly claim; Pregnant, she rises to a mother's name; _30 While proud and vain she triumphs in her Jove, And shows the glorious tokens of his love: But if I'm still the mistress of the skies, By her own lover the fond beauty dies.'

This said, descending in a yellow cloud, Before the gates of Semele she stood.

Old Beroe's decrepit shape she wears, Her wrinkled visage, and her h.o.a.ry hairs; Whilst in her trembling gait she totters on, And learns to tattle in the nurse's tone.

_40 The G.o.ddess, thus disguised in age, beguiled With pleasing stories her false foster-child.

Much did she talk of love, and when she came To mention to the nymph her lover's name, Fetching a sigh, and holding down her head, ''Tis well,' says she, 'if all be true that's said; But trust me, child, I'm much inclined to fear Some counterfeit in this your Jupiter.

Many an honest, well-designing maid, Has been by these pretended G.o.ds betrayed.

_50 But if he be indeed the thundering Jove, Bid him, when next he courts the rites of love, Descend, triumphant from the ethereal sky, In all the pomp of his divinity; Encompa.s.sed round by those celestial charms, With which he fills the immortal Juno's arms.'

The unwary nymph, insnared with what she said, Desired of Jove, when next he sought her bed, To grant a certain gift which she would choose; 'Fear not,' replied the G.o.d, 'that I'll refuse _60 Whate'er you ask: may Styx confirm my voice, Choose what you will, and you shall have your choice.'

'Then,' says the nymph, 'when next you seek my arms, May you descend in those celestial charms, With which your Juno's bosom you inflame, And fill with transport heaven's immortal dame.'

The G.o.d surprised, would fain have stopped her voice: But he had swrorn, and she had made her choice.

To keep his promise he ascends, and shrouds His awful brow in whirlwinds and in clouds; _70 Whilst all around, in terrible array, His thunders rattle, and his lightnings play.

And yet, the dazzling l.u.s.tre to abate, He set not out in all his pomp and state, Clad in the mildest lightning of the skies, And armed with thunder of the smallest size: Not those huge bolts, by which the giants slain, Lay overthrown on the Phlegraean plain.

Twas of a lesser mould, and lighter weight; They call it thunder of a second-rate.

_80 For the rough Cyclops, who by Jove's command Tempered the bolt, and turned it to his hand, Worked up less flame and fury in its make, And quenched it sooner in the standing lake.

Thus dreadfully adorned, with horror bright, The ill.u.s.trious G.o.d, descending from his height, Came rus.h.i.+ng on her in a storm of light.