The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase Part 8

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 s.p.a.ce 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 pa.s.sion 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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, s.h.i.+ne 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 friends.h.i.+p and affection nearer bound; He left the cities and the realms he owned, Through pathless fields and lonely sh.o.r.es 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 l.u.s.tre of his brows decayed) _20 Indulging sorrow, sickens at the sight Of his own suns.h.i.+ne, 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 G.o.ds 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 gra.s.s.

No tracks of heaven's destructive fire remain, The fields and woods revive, and nature smiles again.

_10 But as the G.o.d 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, gra.s.sy 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 gra.s.s, 'All hail, bright deity, whom I prefer To Jove himself, though Jove himself were here.'

The G.o.d 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 G.o.d.

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 G.o.d retired.

The lovely huntress, rising from the gra.s.s, With downcast eyes, and with a blus.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.ddess ran, As once she used, the foremost of the train.

Her looks were flushed, and sullen was her mien, That sure the virgin G.o.ddess (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 refres.h.i.+ng streams _80 That in soft murmurs through the forest flow'd, And a smooth bed of s.h.i.+ning gravel show'd.

A covert so obscure, and streams so clear, The G.o.ddess 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 blus.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.ddess 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 G.o.ddess 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 G.o.d, 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 s.h.a.ggy, 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 G.o.d, 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 hoa.r.s.e pa.s.sage 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 s.h.a.ggy 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed them through the air _140 In whirlwinds up to heaven, and fixed them there: Where the new constellations nightly rise, And add a l.u.s.tre 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 G.o.ds.

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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d and triumphant wh.o.r.e 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 G.o.ddess has transformed the beast; This, this was all my weak revenge could do: But let the G.o.d 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 G.o.ddess ended, and her wish was given.

Back she returned in triumph up to heaven; Her gaudy peac.o.c.ks 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 s.h.i.+ned, 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed, But for my pains, discarded and disgraced, The frowning G.o.ddess 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 sh.o.r.es I went to rove, Observed me in my walks, and fell in love.

He made his courts.h.i.+p, 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 G.o.ds and men; nor G.o.d nor man was there: A virgin G.o.ddess 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 sh.o.r.e; 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 pa.s.sionate, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d! though I have justly died, What has, alas! my unborn infant done, That he should fall, and two expire in one?