The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase Part 11

The mortal dame, too feeble to engage The lightning's flashes and the thunder's rage, Consumed amidst the glories she desired, _90 And in the terrible embrace expired.

But, to preserve his offspring from the tomb, Jove took him smoking from the blasted womb; And, if on ancient tales we may rely, Enclosed the abortive infant in his thigh.

Here, when the babe had all his time fulfilled, Ino first took him for her foster-child; Then the Niseans, in their dark abode, Nursed secretly with milk the thriving G.o.d.

THE TRANSFORMATION OF TIRESIAS.

'Twas now, while these transactions pa.s.sed on earth, And Bacchus thus procured a second birth, When Jove, disposed to lay aside the weight Of public empire and the cares of state, As to his queen in nectar bowls he quaffed, 'In troth,' says he, and as he spoke he laughed, 'The sense of pleasure in the male is far More dull and dead than what you females share.'

Juno the truth of what was said denied; Tiresias therefore must the cause decide; _10 For he the pleasure of each s.e.x had tried.

It happened once, within a shady wood, Two twisted snakes he in conjunction viewed; When with his staff their slimy folds he broke, And lost his manhood at the fatal stroke.

But, after seven revolving years, he viewed The self-same serpents in the self-same wood; 'And if,' says he, 'such virtue in you lie, That he who dares your slimy folds untie Must change his kind, a second stroke I'll try.'

_20 Again he struck the snakes, and stood again New-s.e.xed, and straight recovered into man.

Him therefore both the deities create The sovereign umpire in their grand debate; And he declared for Jove; when Juno, fired More than so trivial an affair required, Deprived him, in her fury, of his sight, And left him groping round in sudden night.

But Jove (for so it is in heaven decreed, That no one G.o.d repeal another's deed) _30 Irradiates all his soul with inward light, And with the prophet's art relieves the want of sight.

THE TRANSFORMATION OF ECHO.

Famed far and near for knowing things to come, From him the inquiring nations sought their doom; The fair Liriope his answers tried, And first the unerring prophet justified; This nymph the G.o.d Cephisus had abused, With all his winding waters circ.u.mfused, And on the Nereid got a lovely boy, Whom the soft maids even then beheld with joy.

The tender dame, solicitous to know Whether her child should reach old age or no, _10 Consults the sage Tiresias, who replies, 'If e'er he knows himself, he surely dies.'

Long lived the dubious mother in suspense, Till time unriddled all the prophet's sense.

Narcissus now his sixteenth year began, Just turned of boy, and on the verge of man; Many a friend the blooming youth caressed, Many a love-sick maid her flame confessed: Such was his pride, in vain the friend caressed, The love-sick maid in vain her flame confessed.

_20 Once, in the woods, as he pursued the chase, The babbling Echo had descried his face; She, who in others' words her silence breaks, Nor speaks herself but when another speaks.

Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft, Of wonted speech; for though her voice was left, Juno a curse did on her tongue impose, To sport with every sentence in the close.

Full often, when the G.o.ddess might have caught Jove and her rivals in the very fault, _30 This nymph with subtle stories would delay Her coming, till the lovers slipped away.

The G.o.ddess found out the deceit in time, And then she cried, 'That tongue, for this thy crime, Which could so many subtle tales produce, Shall be hereafter but of little use.'

Hence 'tis she prattles in a fainter tone, With mimic sounds, and accents not her own.

This love-sick virgin, overjoyed to find The boy alone, still followed him behind; _40 When, glowing warmly at her near approach, As sulphur blazes at the taper's touch, She longed her hidden pa.s.sion to reveal, And tell her pains, but had not words to tell: She can't begin, but waits for the rebound, To catch his voice, and to return the sound.

The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move, Still dashed with blushes for her slighted love, Lived in the shady covert of the woods, In solitary caves and dark abodes; _50 Where pining wandered the rejected fair, Till hara.s.sed out, and worn away with care, The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft, Besides her bones and voice had nothing left.

Her bones are petrified, her voice is found In vaults, where still it doubles every sound.

THE STORY OF NARCISSUS.

Thus did the nymphs in vain caress the boy, He still was lovely, but he still was coy; When one fair virgin of the slighted train Thus prayed the G.o.ds, provoked by his disdain, 'Oh, may he love like me, and love like me in vain!'

Rhamnusia pitied the neglected fair, And with just vengeance answered to her prayer.

There stands a fountain in a darksome wood, Nor stained with falling leaves nor rising mud; Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests, _10 Unsullied by the touch of men or beasts: High bowers of shady trees above it grow, And rising gra.s.s and cheerful greens below.

Pleased with the form and coolness of the place, And over-heated by the morning chase, Narcissus on the gra.s.sy verdure lies: But whilst within the crystal fount he tries To quench his heat, he feels new heats arise.

For as his own bright image he surveyed, He fell in love with the fantastic shade; _20 And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmoved, Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he loved.

The well-turned neck and shoulders he descries, The s.p.a.cious forehead, and the sparkling eyes; The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show, And hair that round Apollo's head might flow, With all the purple youthfulness of face, That gently blushes in the watery gla.s.s.

By his own flames consumed the lover lies, And gives himself the wound by which he dies.

_30 To the cold water oft he joins his lips, Oft catching at the beauteous shade he dips His arms, as often from himself he slips.

Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue With eager clasps, but loves he knows not who.

What could, fond youth, this helpless pa.s.sion move?

What kindle in thee this unpitied love?

Thy own warm blush within the water glows, With thee the coloured shadow comes and goes, Its empty being on thyself relies; _40 Step thou aside, and the frail charmer dies.

Still o'er the fountain's watery gleam he stood, Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food; Still viewed his face, and languished as he viewed.

At length he raised his head, and thus began To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain.

'You trees,' says he, 'and thou surrounding grove, Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love, Tell me, if e'er within your shades did lie A youth so tortured, so perplexed as I?

_50 I who before me see the charming fair, Whilst there he stands, and yet he stands not there: In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost; And yet no bulwarked town, nor distant coast, Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen, No mountains rise, nor oceans flow between.

A shallow water hinders my embrace; And yet the lovely mimic wears a face That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine.

_60 Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint, Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant.

My charms an easy conquest have obtained O'er other hearts, by thee alone disdained.

But why should I despair? I'm sure he burns With equal flames, and languishes by turns.

Whene'er I stoop he offers at a kiss, And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his.

His eye with pleasure on my face he keeps, He smiles my smiles, and when I weep he weeps.

_70 Whene'er I speak, his moving lips appear To utter something, which I cannot hear.

'Ah wretched me! I now begin too late To find out all the long-perplexed deceit; It is myself I love, myself I see; The gay delusion is a part of me.

I kindle up the fires by which I burn, And my own beauties from the well return.

Whom should I court? how utter my complaint?

Enjoyment but produces my restraint, _80 And too much plenty makes me die for want.

How gladly would I from myself remove!

And at a distance set the thing I love.

My breast is warmed with such unusual fire, I wish him absent whom I most desire.

And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh; In all the pride of blooming youth I die.

Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve.

Oh, might the visionary youth survive, I should with joy my latest breath resign!

_90 But oh! I see his fate involved in mine.'

This said, the weeping youth again returned To the clear fountain, where again he burned; His tears defaced the surface of the well With circle after circle, as they fell: And now the lovely face but half appears, O'errun with wrinkles, and deformed with tears.

'All whither,' cries Narcissus, 'dost thou fly?

Let me still feed the flame by which I die; Let me still see, though I'm no further blessed.'

_100 Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast: His naked bosom reddened with the blow, In such a blush as purple cl.u.s.ters show, Ere yet the sun's autumnal heats refine Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.

The glowing beauties of his breast he spies, And with a new redoubled pa.s.sion dies.

As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run, And trickle into drops before the sun; So melts the youth, and languishes away, _110 His beauty withers, and his limbs decay; And none of those attractive charms remain, To which the slighted Echo sued in vain.

She saw him in his present misery, Whom, spite of all her wrongs, she grieved to see.

She answered sadly to the lover's moan, Sighed back his sighs, and groaned to every groan: 'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' Narcissus cries; 'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' the nymph replies.

'Farewell,' says he; the parting sound scarce fell _120 From his faint lips, but she replied, 'Farewell.'

Then on the unwholesome earth he gasping lies, Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes.

To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires, And in the Stygian waves itself admires.

For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn, Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn; And now the sister-nymphs prepare his urn: When, looking for his corpse, they only found A rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crowned.

_130

THE STORY OF PENTHEUS.

This sad event gave blind Tiresias fame, Through Greece established in a prophet's name.

The unhallowed Pentheus only durst deride The cheated people, and their eyeless guide, To whom the prophet in his fury said, Shaking the h.o.a.ry honours of his head; 'Twere well, presumptuous man, 'twere well for thee If thou wert eyeless too, and blind, like me: For the time comes, nay, 'tis already here, When the young G.o.d's solemnities appear; _10 Which, if thou dost not with just rites adorn, Thy impious carcase, into pieces torn, Shall strew the woods, and hang on every thorn.

Then, then, remember what I now foretell, And own the blind Tiresias saw too well.'

Still Pentheus scorns him, and derides his skill, But time did all the promised threats fulfil.

For now through prostrate Greece young Bacchus rode, Whilst howling matrons celebrate the G.o.d.

All ranks and s.e.xes to his orgies ran, _20 To mingle in the pomps, and fill the train.

When Pentheus thus his wicked rage express'd; 'What madness, Thebans, has your soul possess'd?

Can hollow timbrels, can a drunken shout, And the lewd clamours of a beastly rout, Thus quell your courage? can the weak alarm Of women's yells those stubborn souls disarm, Whom nor the sword nor trumpet e'er could fright, Nor the loud din and horror of a fight?

And you, our sires, who left your old abodes, _30 And fixed in foreign earth your country G.o.ds; Will you without a stroke your city yield, And poorly quit an undisputed field?

But you, whose youth and vigour should inspire Heroic warmth, and kindle martial fire, Whom burnished arms and crested helmets grace, Not flowery garlands and a painted face; Remember him to whom you stand allied: The serpent for his well of waters died.

He fought the strong; do you his courage show, _40 And gain a conquest o'er a feeble foe.

If Thebes must fall, oh might the Fates afford A n.o.bler doom from famine, fire, or sword!

Then might the Thebans perish with renown: But now a beardless victor sacks the town; Whom nor the prancing steed, nor ponderous s.h.i.+eld, Nor the hacked helmet, nor the dusty field, But the soft joys of luxury and ease, The purple vests, and flowery garlands, please.

Stand then aside, I'll make the counterfeit _50 Renounce his G.o.dhead, and confess the cheat.

Acrisius from the Grecian walls repelled This boasted power; why then should Pentheus yield?