University of Virginia Library

[Book I.]

THE Metamorphosis of Love.

Vertumnus and Pomona.

VVhilst Peace o'er Latium spreads it's gentle Wings,
And each pleas'd Swain amidst his labours Sings;
In her own Orchards, undisturb'd with care,
Pomona flourisht, and was counted fair;
Her blooming Beauty still the same appears,
Not Blossom'd only in the Spring, like theirs.
She Loves no hunting, she admires no Game,
Covets no Groves, nor any Silver Stream;
Her happy Pleasures with her Fortunes suit,
She prunes her Trees, and she preserves her fruit,
Knows nought of Love, but what Tradition told,
And fears such Rapes as she had heard of old.
Therefore her Orchards with a Wall defends,
And lets in none but those she thinks her Friends.
Oft did the Satyrs, oft in vain, essay,
To make the Virgin to their lust a prey,
And force her thence, to be enjoy'd, away.
Oft too did Pan attempt the Charming Maid,
And oft Silenus made the Nymph afraid.
Priapus too, who others Fruits secures,
Longs most, Pomona, but to rifle yours.
Yet more than all the sweet Vertumnus blooms,
Drest in his Charms, where'er the Virgin comes.
He could all shapes, whate'er he fancy'd wear,
Would now a Souldier with his Arms appear,
An Angler next, and like a Reaper soon,
Chang'd as he pleas'd, and made all forms his own.
Hopeless to gain, now each disguise he fears,
And seems a Matron in declining Years.
To his own Godhead he the Maid prefers,
And quits his Beauties, but to gaze on her's.
Born on a staff, with creeping Feet he moves
To the fair object he so fiercely Loves.
Salutes her first, then eagerly he prest,
And claspt her closely to his Throbbing Breast.
Fond tho' he was, tho' his desires were strong,
He Lov'd too well, the Charming fair to wrong,
Tho' all-o'er Innocence, all soft, and Young.
The Vertuous Maid receives her Lover's Kiss,
And thought old Women's were the same as his.
Kindly she Thanks him for his Courteous care,
Welcomes his visit, bids him welcome there.
Prays him sit down on the next Bank, and view
Her rip'ning Fruits, where all the choicest grew.
Around he looks, around the Pregnant Trees,
And praises lavishly each plant he sees.
Observes a Vine, how with the Elm it spread,
Commends both that, and the industrious Maid,
Who gave its Clusters so secure a shade.
Then tells her, she should by such sights be led,
To Love the Pleasures of the Nuptial Bed.
How many Swains for her a Flame had born!
How had she rack'd them with continu'd scorn!
Gods in the Skies, and Demi-Gods below,
Have quit their Heav'n, and all the Joys they know,
To look, and gaze (my Beauteous Maid!) on you.
But, trust me, child, my kind advice receive,
And what I tell you for a truth believe;
The fair Vertumnus all your Charms approves,
And out of force he must confess he Loves.
He, only he, shall be my choice for you,
And you your self, I hope, will choose him too.
None knows him more than I, the Youth still blooms,
Sweet is his own, yet he all shapes assumes.
Wish what you will, he puts on every form,
And each he Wears, has some peculiar Charm.
He dwells in Gardens, and has charge of bow'rs,
His whole delight the very same with yours.
None is more Beauteous, none than he more strong,
The smiling God is thro' all Ages young.
To him First Fruits of all your Trees are due,
Which Joyful he receives each Year from you.
But now not those he will accept, but thee,
Thou must thy self, the next, blest Off'ring be.
Believe this Courtship from himself, suppose
What I have said the fair Vertumnus knows.
Shew then your Pity, be no more severe,
The God himself will soon be present here.
So may your Fruits survive the Winter Frost,
So may you ever the same Beauties boast,
And may nor they, nor ought of yours be lost.
Thus when he said, himself again he grew,
And stood all Charms before the Virgin's view.
Thro' Clouds of Age he darts his youthful rays,
And now the Glories of his Face displays.
All o'er Divine, he stands transported there,
And gains a Conquest o'er the wond'ring fair.

Venus and Adonis.

The Queen of Love is by her Son inflam'd,
And hates those places for her presence fam'd.
Paphos, Cythera, no, nor Heav'n can please,
Her only Heaven the fair Adonis is.
To all things else the Goddess him prefers,
And her whole care is to confirm him her's.
She fears her Charms boast not the Pow'r to move,
(Tho' Beauty's Goddess) her Adonis Love.
With all her Arts she decks her sparkling Eyes,
With all Attractions which make Passions rise.
Now, like Diana, does her game pursue,
Nor heeds what ways she passes swiftly thro'.
Hurts her soft Limbs on the unfriendly thorn,
Her tender Limbs, too Beauteous to be torn.
She hunts the Hare, and the more Stately Deer,
But fears the Boars, and bids Adonis fear;
Would have him bold to follow those that fly,
But shun pursuers, and be swift as they.
Those Men are brave, who fight their equal foes,
You shew but rashness, to encounter those.
I beg you ne'er those Salvage Beasts engage,
By Nature arm'd, and which by Nature rage;
Your Youth and Beauties please the Queen of Love,
But their rough Hearts your Charms can never move.
Let not your Goddess stand expos'd in you,
For, with Adonis they wound Venus too.
Come my sweet Boy, my weary toil perswades,
And yonder Poplar Courts us to it's Shades.
Thence strait the Lovers to their Joys withdrew,
And blest Adonis, Charms Immortal knew.
How did he there of her Dear Flames approve!
A Heav'n of Beauty, and a Heav'n of Love!
Lost in their Pleasures, for a while they lay,
And those too, soon were lost, as well as they.
In smiles, and blushes, they at length arise,
And dart soft looks, one at the other's Eyes.
She leaves him there, drawn by her Snowy Swans,
And Waves an Airy Farewel from her hands.
A Boar appears, soon as the Queen was gone;
Advice is lost, where Courage urges on.
The Lovely Boy starts up, nor knows to fear,
And feels a Passion too to Conquer there.
With his strong Dart he wounds his flying foe,
Not Phæbus certain hands strike with a surer blow.
The raging Beast the Bearded Javelin drew,
And with his Open Mouth, upon him flew.
His monstrous tusks the fair Adonis wound,
And leave him bleeding on the reeking ground.
His dying Groans the wretched Goddess hears,
But her own Shrieks more loudly pierce her Ears.
She drives her Chariot to the dismal sound,
And in his Pangs her Dear Adonis found.
Ah! who can tell the griefs which Venus move!
Now Queen of sorrow, not the Queen of Love.
She calls aloud, ah! my Adonis stay,
Thus, is it thus, you my Commands obey?
Ah! cruel Boy! you have my Peace betray'd,
If you had Lov'd me, you had sure obey'd.
Then her rich Garments, with her Hair, she tore,
And Wip'd his flowing Wound with Robes she wore.
Beating her Breast, and Bathing it in Tears,
Fast with his Flood she sadly mingles her's.
To breath new Life, surpast her Female Pow'r,
She chang'd his Blood into a Fragrant Flow'r.

Perseus and Andromeda.

The Conqu'ring Perseus now his Wings had ty'd,
To his swift Feet, his Faulchion to his side;
When, thro' the Air the dauntless Hero flies,
Free as the Birds, who cut the liquid Skies.
Now far beneath him he perceives a Maid,
On the hard shore, in Iron Fetters lay'd.
A monster's prey was the fair Virgin brought,
The fairest piece, that ever Nature wrought.
Chain'd to a Rock, she waited there her Doom,
Naked, and Whiter than the Snowy foam.
The flying Hero now descends from high,
Where he had cours'd along the Airy Sky.
With a fixt look he views the Virgin there,
Amaz'd, and wond'ring he admires the fair,
'Till he forgot to fly, forgot he was in Air.
Had he not view'd her Hair, which flow'd behind,
Held loosely waving by the gentle Wind,
Had she not wept, and he her sorrows seen,
He would have thought she had some Statue been.
Strait he descends from where he lately flew,
Impatient now to get a nearer view;
Closer, and closer to the Maid he came,
And all at once he feels a raging Flame.
With Love, and fear, with wonder, and with awe,
By slow degrees he does towards her draw.
With his Eyes fixt, all motionless he stands,
Then, why she wore those Fetters he demands;
He thought her worthy most of Marriage bands.
Declare, he crys, thou matchless, Charming fair;
Why thus in Chains? What are thy Crimes? declare.
Who us'd thee thus, and tell me Justly why?
How can such Beauty be condemn'd to die!
Thou shalt by me, thy Champion, be restor'd,
For thee the Thund'rer's Off-spring draws his Sword.
Say, if deliver'd by the Son of Jove,
Shall your Life purchase, in return, your Love?
Say, Charmer, speak; me thro' a brazen hold,
He got, descending in a show'r of Gold.
The bashful Virgin still persists to mourn,
And for his Words, she does her sighs return.
Her growing shame still more her sorrow moves,
She weeps, and blushes, while with Joy he Loves.
In Chains extended at their length, she lies,
While he, in transport, feeds his longing Eyes,
Fain would she hide her blushes from his view,
But that her Fetters hinder'd her to do.
With deep regret her shame the Virgin bears,
And hides her Eyes with constant Floods of Tears.
Oft tho' he urg'd her, she kept silent long,
But thus, at last, unlock'd her trembling Tongue.
My conscious Mother, fatal too, as fair,
Her's with proud Juno's Beauties would compare.
Who, in her Vengeance, most unjust, decreed,
That I unboasting, for her Crime should bleed.
A dreadful monster from the Seas will rise,
And I, 'tis I, must be that monster's prize.
With his broad Breast he will the Surges Plow,
O there, there, there, I see him issuing now.
Save me, ah! save me, hast with all your Pow'rs,
And, gen'rous Youth, I will be ever yours.
Thus spoke the fearful, Lovely, Charming Maid,
Who sigh'd, and wept, for she was still afraid.
And now the Seas began aloud to roar,
With the apparent Monster hast'ning to the shore.
When the bold Hero o'er the Billows flies,
And Tow'rs above him, up, tow'rds Silver Skies.
The furious Beast his gliding shadow views,
Which, chacing eager, he o'er Waves pursues.
As Jove's strong Bird, who has a Dragon seen.
Siezes, his neck, and strikes his Talons in;
So, the descending Perseus Sheath'd his Sword
In the vast Beast, who like the Oceans roar'd.
The wounded Monster o'er the Billows bounds,
And turns fierce on him, to give larger wounds.
Now far beneath the Waves he dives, and now,
Rises again, and does the Surges Plow;
Vast as some Island, does he wildly Play,
And from his Mouth pours out a bloody Sea.
His dreadful Jaws the flying Hero shuns,
And his bright Sword, thro' his thick Neck he runs.
Loudly he roars, the Maid the Eccho heard,
And some new Monster on the shore she fear'd.
Mad with the anguish of the wound, he raves,
And lashes with his tayl the suff'ring Waves.
High in the Air he spouts such Wat'ry Clouds,
The Hero thought he was beneath the Floods.
His wings now wet, and flagging, down he falls,
And is receiv'd upon the Monster's scales.
Now with his Faulchion does he bruise his sides,
And, as in Triumph, on his foe he rides,
Who Mad, and Rabid, turns his angry head,
On tow'rds the Hero with wide Jaws he fled,
Caught in his Throat his Sword, and with the wound lay dead.
Strait from the Beast Victorious Perseus flies,
In hast, unloos'd, and so receiv'd his prize.

Picus and Canens.

Saturnian Picus in Ausonia Reign'd,
Who gen'rous Horses for the Battle train'd.
The Prince was born, and bred in Latian plains,
The Joy of all the Nymphs, and Envy of the Swain.
He slights their Wishes, but for Canens burn'd;
Canens he lov'd and she his Flames return'd.
This Beauteous Maid alone can claim his Loves,
In Woods, and Rocks, her Voice compassion moves.
Swift Rivers stop their course, whene'er she sings,
And Birds neglect the labours of their Wings.
While her sweet tunes Celestial Musick yields,
Young Picus hunts in the Laurentian Fields:
Follow'd by Courtiers, he pursues with speed,
Arm'd with two darts, upon a fiery Steed.
O'er Hills, and Vales, he courses swiftly bold,
In Tyrian clad, and buckled close with Gold.
When now, fam'd Circe wand'ring on those Hills,
Her sacred lap, with Magick simples fills.
Picus she sees, and with the sight amaz'd,
The gather'd Herbs fell from her, as she gaz'd.
Swiftly he past, yet that she Loves she finds,
Resolv'd to meet him, were he wing'd with Winds.
An Airy Boar she forms, which takes it's course,
Far off to thickets, which no Steed could force;
Which Picus sees, and quits his foaming Horse.
On Foot he follows the deceitful shade,
When strait the Day is darken'd by the Maid.
Such Charms she uses as might force the Moon,
Or Cloud her Father's Splendour, ev'n at Noon.
Now, Picus far from all his Gards remov'd,
The Charming Maid thus tells him how she Lov'd.
By those fair Eyes, which have such Pow'r on mine,
And by that dear, alluring Face of thine.
Hear, when a Goddess sues, nor rigid prove,
Phæbus his Off-spring offers thee her Love.
My Parent Sun I darken in the Skies,
Yet have no Charm to sheild me from your Eyes:
They, brighter far, shoot out more shining Flames
His Radiant Chariot bears less burning Beams.
Pity that Nymph who is your suppliant grown,
And to those Fires you kindled, add your own.
Thus wooes the Maid—but he reply'd, in vain,
With Am'rous Words, you tell your Am'rous pain,
Me Canens Loves, Canens belov'd again.
Scorn'd, and repuls'd, thus threats she loud-I'll prove
What Woman's hatred dares, when wrong'd in Love
Thrice to the East, thrice to the West she turn'd,
Thrice touch'd him with her Wand, and thrice the Earth she spurn'd
Strait, with unwonted speed, he swiftly flies,
Chang'd to a Bird, and cuts the liquid Skies.
His wings the Purple of his Cloak assume,
The Gold, which claspt his Garments, turns to Plume
The day grows clear, and hunting all abroad,
The Guards, and Courtiers call aloud their Lord.
Circe they find, and while they threatning stand,
Them too she changes, with her Pow'rful Wand.
In dreadful sounds, she all her Charms repeats,
And raises Woods, and Forests from their Seats.
Their leaves look pale, Herbs blush with drops of gore,
Earth Groans, Dogs howl, Eccho repeats it o'er,
And hollow Rocks in murmurs hoarsly roar.
Thro' all the Air unbodied Spirits glide,
And on the tainted ground black, slimy Serpents slide,
Now Night comes on, and gloomy fears it brings,
To Canens mind, upon it's Cloudy Wings.
Confus'd, thro' Woods, with lights her Servants fled,
In quest of Picus, whom she fancies dead.
They not returning, from the Court she strays,
And, as chance led her, follow'd wand'ring ways.
On Tyber's Banks she sits, in sad Despair,
Spent with a tedious search, and Melancholy care.
There pining, still she weeps, and weeping Sings,
With sweetest Voice, the softest, mournful things.
So, to Mæander's Streams Swans slowly fly,
Sing their own Breath away, and Charming die.
Not long she liv'd, yet ever lives in Fame,
And still the place she mourn'd in, bears her name.

Jupiter and Europa.

Humble and soft must the Swain's Passion prove,
Greatness can never well agree with Love.
Chang'd to a Bull on the Sydonian shore,
The Thund'rer now does in new Thunder roar.
The flesh in swelling rolls his Neck adorns,
All Snowy White, he stood with peaceful Horns.
Made smooth as Gemms, tho' small, they glitter'd bright,
He seem'd for Beauty form'd, and not for fight.
His Eyes no Wrath, his Brows no Terrour wear,
His milder Aspect does no threat'nings bear;
Europa views him strait, nor knows to fear.
With inward Joy, he sees the Royal Maid,
By whom, he soon with choicest flow'rs is fed.
In her fair Hands the grateful Food she bore,
Which oft he kist—ah! scarce deferring more.
And now he rowls along the Golden Sands,
The Virgin sees him, and delighted stands.
Oh tow'rds him near, and nearer still she drew,
And now he sports, and wantons in her view.
Extreamly pleas'd, she stroaks his proffer'd Breast,
And his rich Horns with Flow'ry Garlands Drest;
The Maid's behaviour did more Courteous prove,
Than it had been, if she had known him Jove.
Half kneeling now, the Am'rous Bull bends down.
And the Maid mounts his Back, ah, too too vent'rous grown.
Strait, by degrees, on tow'rds the Seas he flies,
Then, rushing thro' the Floods, bears fast his Royal prize.
Shrieking she turns, to view her Native shores,
Whilst the Triumphant Bull, loud as the Oceans roars.
The frighted Maid, held, with one hand, his horn,
While her loose Robes were in the other born.
With constant Eyes, she view'd the shore behind,
Her lighter Garments flying with the Wind;
Trembling her self, and as they flutt'ring flew,
The very Garments seem'd to tremble too.

Boreas and Orythia.

The fair Orythia still remain'd unmov'd,
Tho' she by Boreas had been long belov'd.
No kindled Flame he in the Maid could find,
Nor raise one spark with all his force of Wind.
His colder blasts all Am'rous heat supprest,
And chill'd the warmth of the Young Virgin's Breast.
So much he Lov'd, he but in sighs could blow,
Which spread his Fires and made them fiercer glow,
'Till at the last, when he all means had try'd,
Had often ask'd, and been as oft deny'd.
Vex'd, and inrag'd at her unkind disdain,
And rack'd to find that he had burn'd in vain.
Storming aloud, all Furious does he move,
Incens'd, with Anger much, but more with Love,
In show'rs of Tears, he sheds his wat'ry store,
Yet all can't lay the Tempests rais'd before.
In Blustring sounds he does aloud Proclaim,
With all his Breath, his Lov'd Orythia's Name,
Wildly, from place to place in hast he roves,
Tells all the Vallies his rejected Loves,
Then Whispers soft Orythia to the bending Groves
As thro' the Forests in Despair he flies,
Each Tree that he Salutes, for his scorn'd Passion sighs,
Ah! Charming Maid, he crys, too late I find,
That you are deafer than my Northern Wind;
Will nothing move you, nothing make you kind?
Where can your Favours be by you bestow'd,
When you refuse them proudly to a God?
Alas! you know not, beauteous, scornful fair,
How I make War in our wide Field, the Air.
There I my Breth'ren in a storm assail,
And Fight with Oaks, and beat the Earth with Hail.
I meet all Winds with such impetuous shock,
That Thund'ring Skies with our encounters rock.
I toss the Billows, and I dash the Floods,
And force out Light'nings from the bursting Clouds.
Tow'rs I throw down, and fly thro' hollow Caves,
Driving pale Ghosts, all trembling; to their Graves.
Whene'er I shake my horrid Wings around,
Their Airy motion strikes with Blasts, the ground.
I trail my dusky Mantle on the shore,
And, when I please, I make the Ocean roar.
Fierce as I am, where ever else I flee,
Yet, soft as Zephyrs, do I play with thee.
This said—he strait the Lovely Maid beheld,
And he resolves she shall be now compell'd.
In Clouds of dust, which he had rais'd, he hid,
And there observ'd whate'er Orythia did.
Soon she perceives him, and not yet grown kind,
Out-fled the God, tho' the swift God of Wind.
His speedy flight his fiercer Fires had spread,
Fleet, as Love's shafts which wounded him, he fled,
And, now he overtakes, now ravishes the Maid.
Vain might his Wings, with all their Fleetness prove,
Unless assisted by the Wings of Love.

Iphis and Janthe.

Lygdus and Telethusa, free from care,
Had long together liv'd a happy pair.
Blest with such stock, as might themselves maintain,
And bring content, while childless they remain.
But now, her time of Labour drawing nigh,
The Child, if Female, Lygdus dooms to die.
A Girl, he says, too great a charge would prove,
For, 'tis the Portion gains the Suitor's Love.
Sad Telethusa, griev'd at what he said,
And greatly fear'd the Child would prove a Maid.
She from the curse fain would her off-spring free,
But his Commands had past his firm decree.
And now the helpful Goddess, Isis, came,
To comfort Telethusa in a dream.
To her, a sacred Promise there she made,
Bids her rely on her alone for aid,
And Nurse the doubtful Off-spring of her Bed.
Now from the Room the pitying Goddess flew,
When, stretcht, tow'rds Heav'n, her Hands the Woman threw,
And strives, awake, to think her Vision true.
Encreasing throes at length a Girl disclos'd,
But, by the Father, still a Boy suppos'd.
So close the cheat was hid, that it was known
But to the Mother, and the Nurse alone.
The happy Lygdus feels an inward Joy,
And gives the Name of Iphis to his fancy'd Boy,
Now thrice five fleeting, happy Years were fled,
And his Young heir must fair Janthe wed.
Together still at their own sports they play'd,
And Iphis Lov'd her, tho' her self a Maid.
Like Darts, at once, their simple Bosoms strike,
In all alas! but in their hopes, alike.
The Nuptial day, appointed, now draws nigh;
Janthe thinks the hours too slowly fly.
Her Charming Lover she believes a Boy,
And hopes in her to find unpractis'd Joy.
But wretched Iphis, tho' belov'd, Despairs,
And utters thus, in sad complaints, her cares.
No Maid, like me, did e'er so ruin'd prove,
For I am lost in strange, prodigious Love.
The Gods, in pity, should this form destroy,
Iphis can ne'er be chang'd into a Boy,
Nor can Janthe give a Virgin Joy.
Compose thy Mind, curb in thy wild desires,
Think of thy Sex, and quench thy Foolish Fires.
Some other object for thy Passion choose,
Reform thy will, and Love as Females use,
Alas! I can't,—For then, I should Janthe lose.
There lies my woe, that causes all my care,
And what should bless me, drives me to Despair.
Of all the Creatures plac'd beneath the Sky,
The beasts that tread the Earth, the Birds that fly,
None ever yet was greatly curs'd, as I.
Of all Created things that live, and move,
No Female suffers for a Female Love.
What comfort now to wretched me remains?
'Tis only hope which Cupid's flight sustains.
Lovely I seem, and Charming to my fair,
Each for the other does a passion bear,
Ev'n in our Sex alike—ah! would we differ'd there.
Then with our wishes all would soon comply,
Nor do our Parents, nor our Friends deny,
The longing Virgin too, fond to be blest as I.
But now alas! thou canst not happy be,
Nor she enjoy'd, tho' Men and Gods agree,
Alas! she may, she will—by others—not by me.
All, but the greatest bliss, from Heav'n I prove,
Far as they could, the Gods have crown'd my Love,
And now the wish'd for day will quickly shine,
When dear Janthe will be ever mine.
Alas! I rave, and shall distracted grow,
In spight of Heav'n, she cannot e'er be so.
With this dire curse, my fatal Nuptial hasts,
To thirst in Rivers, and to starve at Feasts.
Let no glad Hymen at these Rites appear,
We both are Brides, there is no Bridegroom here.
This, and much more the Mournful Virgin said;
But diff'rent griefs perplext the other Maid,
Who for her long-delay'd embraces pray'd.
Still Telethusa new excuses Frames,
Fancies, and Notions, Auguries, and dreams.
But now no longer are the Rites delay'd,
And the next Night, Maid must be Join'd with Maid.
The Mother now lost in her Just Despair,
Unbinds her own, and her sad Daughter's Hair,
And to Propitious Isis offers up her Pray'r.
Bowing, towards the Altar, first she came,
Then, kneeling, does the sacred promise claim;
The Altar shook, and flash'd out awful Flame.
Loud Timbrels rung, the great successful sign,
And Telethusa bows, and leaves the Shrine.
Whom Iphis follows with a larger pace,
Short, curling locks, and a more Manly Face.
For their chang'd Child his Parents Praises sing,
And sacred gifts to Isis Temple bring.
This Verse, writ o'er the Altar, was display'd;
What Iphis Vow'd, a Girl, a Boy, he pay'd.
Next Morn, they both to their wish'd Nuptials move,
At Night, his Sex the vig'rous Boy does prove,
And both are happy in their Mutual Love.

Tereus and Philomela.

Five Winters now, Wing'd with their Storms, were fled,
Since Progne first did Royal Tereus wed.
When thus the Artful fair her suit did move,
Urg'd, as a proof of his continu'd Love.
If yet, my dearest consort is not cloy'd,
Nor slights those sweets he has so oft enjoy'd.
If, but the least soft Passion yet remains,
If yet, free Love springs from your Nuptial Chains,
If, any Fires, yet kept alive you bear,
Or value these Embraces, grant my Pray'r;
Grant, on some Terms, I may my Sister see,
Send me to her, or else bring her to me.
Promise my Father she shall soon return,
He shall not long his Philomela Mourn.
All Bars, which hinder his assent, confound,
And then my wishes, and my Joys are Crown'd.
Tereus, well pleas'd, without the least Dispute,
Commends her Fondness, and approves her suit.
The Seas now past, and all the danger o'er,
He lands, successful, on the wish'd for shore.
And now, Pandion Welcomes there his Son,
Who tells him why he thro' such hazards run,
And strait, his Progne's urgent suit begun.
At first, small warmth his kind entreaties show,
But Philomela seen, more fierce they grow.
Richly Attir'd, the Charming Virgin came,
And from her Eyes, each glance is Flash'd, like Flame.
The Youthful King strait burns with fond desire,
Like Sun-dry'd Reeds, which, at each spark, take Fire,
The Lustful Passion can't be long withstood,
For now it Rages in his boiling Blood,
And, like some Rapid Torrent, swells the Flood.
His rising sighs, like Boist'rous Tempests blow,
And Passion's Seas all Reason's bounds o'erflow.
Some Thoughts, like Waves prest by the tides, are gone,
But still, full, Foaming, new desires come rolling on.
Sometimes, he thinks, to make her Maids his Friends,
And with large gifts to Bribe them to his ends,
Again, resolves to use unlawful force,
As if the safest, and the surest course.
Vows, he will soon remove each Anxious Bar;
If not by Love; possess, by bolder War.
And now, perplext with long delays, he sues,
And, much more urgent, his Request renews,
Still, on his Wife's behalf he seem'd to press,
While his fond Words flew to a vast excess.
Whene'er his speech did into transports break,
He said, she weeping, charg'd me thus to speak.
So, with close Arts successfully he pleads,
And the Maid follows, as the Lover leads.
Fond of her Sister, she too wish't to go,
Kisses her Father, and intreats him so.
While Tereus Thus perceives the Virgin sue,
Pleas'd, and o'erjoy'd, he does his speech renew,
Still more, and more inflam'd, at every view.
Her soft Embraces set his Soul on Fire,
He does each Action, and each word admire,
All spreads his Loves, and raises new desire,
No longer now the good, old King denies,
But gives consent at last, with weeping Eyes.
The Night comes on, and with it, Peaceful rest,
To all alas! But to the Lover's Breast.
In Am'rous Murmurs Tereus does complain,
Bright Philomela caus'd his Anxious pain.
Sleep shuns his Soul, and it's kind ease denies;
Like a coy Maid, when courted most, it flies.
The Charming fair does all his Thoughts possess,
Great was his Love, which yet he wisht not less.
His fancy brings her still before his view,
His very fancy does his Flames renew,
And as he thinks he sees her, he begins to sue.
Then, as from Dreams, wak'd from those Thoughts, he turns,
Reflects on real Charms, and fiercer burns.
Those he has seen, his whole Idea fill,
But ah! he thinks—he knows, there must be greater still.
Thus does he pass the tedious Hours of Night,
With Am'rous, painful Thoughts, which yield a Nice Delight.
Oft does he wish for the approach of Day,
That he may hast, with his Lov'd prize, away.
And now, at last, the wish'd-for Morn appears,
When old Pandion, thus with streaming Tears,
Parts with the last dear hope of his declining Years.
My Son, since Piety this due requires,
I yield to yours, and Progne's fond desires.
But oh! I charge you by the Gods above,
Guard, and defend her, with a Father's Love.
You, Daughter, leave me not too long alone,
How shall I live, when my last comfort's gone!
You know I Love you, tenderly I do,
My Heart, my Life, my very Soul's in you,
I cannot speak for Tears,—soon, soon return—adieu.
Thus the good King does his Just sorrows tell;
He might alas! have bid a long farewel.
For now, the flying Ship had left the shore,
And he must never see his Daughter more.
Tereus, exulting Cries, she's now my own,
And I shall soon my earnest wishes Crown.
With constant Eyes the Charming Maid he views,
With loose behaviour, and lew'd carriage wooes,
And his designs, ev'n there, far as he could, pursues.
But now, at length, on his own Lands he Treads,
And, to a close recess, fair Philomela leads.
Trembling she stood, lost in distracting fears,
And for her Sister now enquires with Tears.
He, in full rage of Lust, delays not long,
But, with fierce Kisses, stays her Charming Tongue.
Tells his designs, and her consent requires;
Refus'd, more high he Foams, with wild desires,
And ravishes the Maid, and quenches so, his Fires.
In vain, alas! she Shriek'd in her distress,
Sister, nor Father, could her wrongs redress,
On them, and Gods she crys, but all without success.
And now deflow'r'd, from his loath'd Arms she breaks,
And thus upbraids him, while inrag'd she speaks.
How shall I term thee, since thy Lust began!
Vile, Treach'rous Tyrant! Barb'rous Monster! Man,
Thee, nor my Father's Tears, nor Progne's Love,
Nor my Chast, Virgin Innocence could move.
Gods! What a wild confusion hast thou bred!
I an Adultress to my Sister's Bed!
Would I had dy'd, e'er I my honour lost,
I had departed with a spotless Ghost.
Yet, if the Gods my wrongs, and suff'ring see,
(Sure they will Punish too, if Gods they be.
Thus having said, in hast she strove to run,
And thought, by flight, the Tyrant's rage to shun.
But he, provok'd by her reveal'd Despair,
Quickly surpriz'd, and seiz'd the injur'd fair;
And threw her on the ground, and drag'd her by the Hair.
Strongly he binds her tender, helpless Arms,
Resolv'd once more to rifle all her Charms.
Loudly she Shrieks, and so Proclaims her wrong,
Disarm'd of all Resistance—but her Tongue.
And that, his Sword cuts from the panting Root,
Which trembling falls, and murmurs at his Foot.
And like a Serpent's Tail dissever'd, leaps,
And for a while, pursues the Tyrant's steps.
Yet, after this, he oft, and oft enjoy'd,
Nor was his horrid Lust with the Fruition cloy'd.

Pluto and Proserpina.

A Lake there is which Stately Woods surround,
Where constant Flocks of Silver Swans abound.
A blooming Spring upon the Banks appears,
And the Fair Trees create refreshing Airs.
Here strays Proserpina thro' Fragrant Groves,
And gathers Flow'rs her Nicer fancy Loves.
With pretty Pains a Childish care she shows,
And picks, and chooses, all the way she goes.
Behind her Young Companions now she stay'd,
Too long, her pleasing Pastime Charm'd the Maid.
Urg'd by a fond desire to gather on,
That by her pains the rest might be outdone.
Here Pluto sees her, and admires her form,
Her every Gesture shew'd the God some Charm.
Fierce to enjoy, his Love Brooks no delay,
He boldly carries her by force away.
No Words he uses to the trembling Maid,
Who calls her Dear Companions to her aid.
Now born by strength, with Shrieks, and Weeping Eyes
She thinks he means to make her Flow'rs his prize.
Those, while she strugles thro' excess of fear,
Fall to the ground, for which she Tears her Hair,
And simply Cries to see them scatter'd there.

Alphæus and Arethusa.

Of Arethusa's change I Mourning Sing,
And how the Nymph became a sacred Spring.
To Hunt, and Toil, her dear Diversions were,
And yet she Justly was reputed fair.
The Virgin griev'd her Beauties did excel,
And thought it infamy to please too well.
As from the Woods, tir'd with the chace she came,
She found a silent, and a Silver stream.
Securely close, and so exceeding clear,
That every smallest Pebble wou'd appear.
Pleas'd with the coolness of the Place she Wades,
And makes the Waters brighter where she treads.
Then, leaves her Robes upon a Sallow's Top,
And swims, and plunges still, to bear her up.
Now, to the further side she gently rows,
And plays, and sports, and wantons as she goes;
When, all amaz'd, she heard a stranger's Tongue,
And, in Confusion, to the Bank she Sprung.
Whither so fast? Alphæus loudly Cries;
She makes no Answer, but all trembling flies.
He fleetly hasts to Seize his Beauteous prey,
Who seem'd, when leaping from the Streams away,
A Venus rising from a Silver Sea.
Wing'd with her fear, fair Arethusa flew,
While fierce Alphæus did as fast pursue.
The more he hasts, the more he sees her fly,
And still he catches, when he thinks her nigh.
Nearer, much nearer he desires to see,
And grieves to find he is not swift as she.
As Doves do Hawks, she shuns him, all amaz'd,
And almost thinks she is already seiz'd.
The Lover still his hot pursuit maintains
Thro' Craggy Mountains, over Hills, and Plains.
Follows all eager, nor would e'er forbear,
And almost now o'ertakes the flying fair.
She sees his shadow, and his steps she hears,
Feels his warm Breath, and now, and now she fears,
Quite spent, she Cries, your aid Diana send,
Hast, Chastest Goddess, and a Nymph befriend.
When a thick Mist the helpless Virgin shrouds,
And the sad Maid is vail'd with pitchy Clouds.
The wond'ring Lover searches all around,
But she must never, never more be found.
That Sun of Beauty by the Fogs o'ercast,
Must shine no more, but set in Floods at last.
He ranges on, and every means he tries,
Then, Lovely Arethusa, loudly Cries.
As a poor Lamb grows stupid with her fears,
When howling Wolves about the fold she hears.
So, all amaz'd, the Maid stands trembling there,
And Begs protection from the Gods by Pray'r.
She sighs, and weeps, cold sweats come o'er her Face,
And trickling drops run down her Limbs apace.
Her Beauteous Hair dissolves to Fragrant dew,
And all consum'd, a Silver stream she grew.

Jupiter and Calisto.

When now the Thund'rer walkt the Heav'nly round,
And all there safe from the late burnings found.
The Fields, the Groves, and Streams he next survey'd,
Where passing to and fro he sees a Lovely Maid.
Tho' there no ruines in her way were strow'd,
The Nymph, the Charming Nymph, inflam'd the God.
Warm'd by her looks, and brighter Glances, more
Than when the Sun fir'd all his Skies before.
She with a Zone her looser Garments ty'd,
Her painted Quiver hanging by her side.
Her flowing Tresses o'er her Shoulders spread,
And her warm Face glow'd with unusual Red.
Thus tir'd with hunting, she to shades retires,
To cool her own, but raise the Thund'rer's Fires.
On flow'ry Banks her Beauteous Limbs she lays,
And to the God a tempting Heav'n displays.
Thus loosely stretch'd upon the Fragrant Bed,
Her Arms thrown wide, her Quiver bears her Head,
While Jove beheld, admir'd, and Lov'd the Maid.
Diana like, strait from his Heav'n he flies
For her cool Shades, he quits his shining Skies,
And stands before the Virgin, as she lies.
My huntress, says he, while he fondly view'd,
What Game hast thou, this Lovely morn, pursu'd?
Strait did the rising Virgin tow'rds him move,
And thus reply'd; hail, Pow'r more great than Jove.
This the fond God, with smiles, delighted heard,
Pleas'd that himself was to himself prefer'd.
She strait about to Answer more, in hast,
The pressing Lover clasps about her wast,
And Kist her fiercely, and embrac'd her fast.
Just as the Thunder, from his own abode,
With inward struglings flies, so flew the God.
Soon more inflam'd, his Kisses eager grow;
Not such as Maids on their own Sex bestow;
He now would further sweets, and greater transports know.
Impatient grown, he forces her to yield,
And gains by strength, the long disputed Field.
In vain, exerting all her Pow'rs, she strove,
Alas! What Woman can contend with Jove!
Enjoy'd, he leaves the Nymph, who well might know,
The Chastest Goddess could not use her so.
Rising in hast, strait from the Woods she sprung,
And left her Bow, her useless Bow, unstrung.
She sees Diana, but she dreads the shape,
And Blushing flies her fast, and fears a second Rape.

Pigmalion and his Iv'ry Statue.

In a lewd Age Pigmalion spent his times,
Women debauch'd themselves with Monstrous Crimes.
No vertuous Virgin in his Days was known,
All the Chast, Female Modesty was gone,
Therefore a long, long time he liv'd alone.
An Iv'ry Statue now at last he Frames,
And from the Maid he form'd, he gathers Flames.
In every part, the Virgin did excel,
Which Limb was best, the Artist could not tell,
It was all Lovely, and he Lov'd it well.
Curious her shape, so sparkling were her Eyes,
Such quick, such glancing brightness in them lies,
They would have roll'd, but that her shame denies.
Such lively strokes he to the Maid did give,
That, tho' a Statue, she appear'd to live.
The Artist's self that she had Life believ'd,
And fondly was by his own Art deceiv'd.
He felt her flesh, for he suppos'd it such,
And fear'd to hurt her, with too rude a touch.
Often he Kiss'd her, while he madly burn'd,
And fancy'd now, how she the like return'd.
He Wooes her, Sighs, and her fair Hands does press,
And tells his Passion in a Dear Address.
Till at the last, his Notions grew so vain,
That he believ'd she sigh'd, and prest again.
He sends her presents, Gums, and precious Stones,
The choicest Bracelets, and bright, glitt'ring Zones.
Soft singing Birds, which flutt'ring all around,
With pretty Notes, rais'd a delightful sound.
Rich Pendants, Rings, and Gums he sends the Maid,
With Wreaths of flow'rs adorns her Lovely Head,
And lays her now, soft on a Downy Bed.
In Pompous Robes he does his Idol Dress;
Much so she Charms, but not, when naked, less.
Now was the time, when Venus kept her Feast,
And Love-sick Youths to her fam'd Temple prest.
There to be offer'd, Snowy Heifers come,
And the rich Altar smoaks with pretious Gum.
Among the Crowd the hopeless Lover goes,
Tho' no Just reason, or pretence he knows.
Before the Altar, now he weeping stands,
And Bows, with Off'rings in his careful hands.
Fiercer, and Fiercer his desires grow there,
And rise more furious, from his wild Despair.
A long, long time does he forbear to pray,
For still his doubts deny'd his Speech the way,
Yet wish'd (altho' he knew not why) to stay.
At last, his fearful silence now he Breaks,
And thus, but still in mighty fear, he speaks.
If you, Love's Beauteous, Charming Goddess, have,
And can bestow what Mortal suppliants Crave.
Shew now your Pow'r, on me your Blessings shed,
Grant me the Wife I wish, one like, he said,
But durst not say, grant me my Iv'ry Maid.
This done, he thrice percieves the flashing Fires,
The happy Omen blest his fond desires,
And to the Maid he now with doubtful Joy retires.
With wond'rous longings he in hast returns,
And now, more fiercely than before, he burns,
Closely he claspt her to his panting Breast,
And felt her softer still, the more he prest.
Now, all at once, with a surprize of bliss,
He finds her Lips grow warmer with his Kiss,
He finds them Moist, and Soft, and Red as his.
Her throbbing Breasts heav'd now, and gently swell'd,
While he with wonder the Lov'd sight beheld.
The Maid, now Fairer, in his Arms he bore,
Tho' fram'd of Iv'ry, polish'd fine before.
Let none henceforth of wish'd success Despair,
When Statues soften'd by our Passions are.
The happy Artist, now perceives his Wife
With beating Pulses, and with perfect Life.
And, for a while, as Motionless he stood,
As she had done, e'er she grew Flesh and Blood.
Her Lover first she with the light descrys,
For which she Checks, and turns her bashful Eyes,
While in her blooming Face her Beauteous Blushes rise.

Salmacis and Hermaphroditus.

The Beauteous Salmacis, who Lov'd her ease,
By her own Fountain Passes happy Days.
There she delights, there do her wishes please.
This Nymph was still unpractis'd in the chace,
She ne'er contended in a painful race.
Lov'd not to mingle with Diana's Train,
Nor draw the Bow, nor Hunt upon the Plain.
Oft her laborious Sisters bid her rise,
To Join with them, and get some stately Prize.
They urg'd her oft with Words repeated o'er,
To follows Staggs, or to pursue the Boar.
All would not do, she would no Quiver seize,
Nor for their toil forgo her pleasant ease.
But in her Fountain she delights to play,
By Night rests there, and there she Bathes by Day.
Still in that liquid Glass she drest her Charms,
And her fair Eyes with Loving glances Arms.
There still she learnt what Gesture best became,
There practic'd Charms, such as could raise a Flame.
Oft from one side she to the other Swims,
Then in fine Lawn arrays her Beauteous Limbs.
Oft, on soft Moss, stretcht at their length they lay,
And thro' the White, transparent Robes their Lovely shape display.
To the full view she leaves her Bosom bare,
Spreads o'er her Shoulders her loose, flowing Hair,
And shews her Face, her Neck, and Breasts exceeding fair.
Languishing now, on blooming Banks she lies,
And plucks such Flow'rs as please her Curious Eyes.
When she perciev'd, as she was busy'd there,
The Charming Son of Hermes coming near,
Who, soon as seen, the Virgin's wishes mov'd,
For he deserv'd to be by all belov'd.
His blooming Beauties she admir'd much more,
Than the fair Flow'rs for which she long'd before.
At the first sight, her wishes fill'd her Soul,
While soft Emotions in her Bosom rowl.
Her Fires grew fiercer, as he nearer came,
And now she fondly burns with glowing Flame.
Much she desir'd, yet still conceal'd she lies,
Till with soft looks she deckt her sparkling Eyes.
'Till she appear'd with all her utmost Art;
'Till all her Beauties bloom'd in every part,
That she might win the Charmer, and surprize a Heart.
With all her skill she does each Feature Arm,
And sets her Dress, who of her self might Charm.
She now at last in all her Robes applies,
To the dear Youth in looks, and moving sighs,
And by her melting Words she shews him how she dies.
With gaining ways, and soft, bewitching snares,
Her Passion thus she to the Swain declares.
Such are your Charms, dear Boy, your Beauties such,
All Nymphs must Love you, none can Love too much.
Pleasing your form, sure you are all Divine,
All Hearts you Conquer, as you Conquer mine.
Such are the wond'rous glories of your Face,
You were not born sure of a Mortal race.
Such, such the sparkling brightness of your Eyes,
Such the strange force which in their glances lies,
You are some God descended from the Skies.
Ah! you so much can on a suddain move,
I know, I know that you were born above,
You are the Son to the fair Queen of Love.
If I mistake, if then you are not so,
But the sweet Off-spring of some Prince below.
Happy, ah! thrice, thrice happy must they be,
Who are related, and ally'd to thee.
Blest are thy Parents: and that Woman's Breast,
Which gave thee Food, is infinitely blest,
But the fair Partn'r of thy Bed much more than all the rest.
If such there be, ah! do but grant me this,
Let me Embrace thee, let me fondly Kiss,
And by close stealth deprive her of her Bliss.
But if you yet from Nuptial vows are free,
Make me your Joyful Bride, ah! seal them now with me
The Love-sick Nymph thus far her Passion mov'd,
Thus told the Charming Youth how well she Lov'd
When fierce desires her farther Speech debarr'd,
And the Youth Blush'd for the fond things he heard
Still in his Blushes did he Lovelier seem,
Still more she wish'd to be belov'd by him.
So Apples blush upon the Sunny side,
Or polish'd Iv'ry with Vermillion dy'd.
So in Eclipses does the Moon appear,
When stains of Red her strugling Face does wear.
Closer she comes, and now in Am'rous pain,
She thinks to seize upon the Lovely Swain.
With bashful Anger her Embrace he shuns,
And from the Maid disdaining proudly, runs.
With nice reserve he flies the tempting snare,
Forbear, he cries, loose idle Nymph, forbear,
Or I'll forsake the place, and leave you there.
She, at this Menace from the Youth, reply'd.
'Tis yours, fair Swain, and so she stept aside.
Yet in a thicket of close, shrubby Trees,
She hides secure, and all his Actions sees.
He now believing there was none to view,
To the fair Banks of the Nymph's Fountain drew.
And sporting now, trips nimbly back again,
With bolder steps o'er all the Flow'ry plain.
Now, growing warm, he crosses o'er the Meads,
Comes to the Stream, and to the Knees he wades.
Then, to the Greens he takes the nearer ways,
His Silken Garments on the ground he lays.
And to the longing Maid, all, all the Man displays.
His Naked Beauties her fond sight amaz'd,
Who with impatient, eager wishes gaz'd.
Her sparkling Eyes, while she the Youth desires,
Glow with bright Beams, and shoot out shining Fires.
Their rays the Sun's on Silver streams surpass,
Or when reflected by a Chrystal Glass.
Mad to possess, and to enjoy the Swain,
She almost thinks to tell her Loves again,
So very much she burns with the transporting pain.
Now, from the Flow'ry Bank, to which he came,
The Lovely Boy leapt down into the Stream.
Then, with his Snowy Arms he loosely plays,
And sports, and wantons thro his liquid ways.
Still as he swims, his glitt'ring Limbs appear,
Thro' the smooth Streams, so undisturb'd, and clear.
Like Iv'ry Statues, which the Life surpass,
Or like a Lilly in a Chrystal Glass.
The ravish'd Virgin Cries, he's now my own,
And, strait disrob'd of all, impatient grown,
Pursues her eager Joys, and plunges to him down.
About his Neck, and o'er his strugling Wast,
Her circling Arms with longing folds she cast.
On ev'ry side she clasps him, as he swims,
And locks him closely with her twining Limbs.
So, when an Eagle with a Serpent flies,
Fast in his Talons, and then Mounts the Skies.
Around his Head, and Feet the Serpent clings,
And wreaths her tail about his spacious Wings.
Still, tho' detain'd, and forc'd, the strugling Boy
With all his Pow'rs resists the Virgin's Joy.
In vain, ingrateful, foolish Youth, she cries,
In vain, your scornful Pride my coming bliss denies.
Grant, grant ye Pow'rs! that no unhappy day,
May snatch this youth from my embrace away.
Propitious Pow'rs to the Nymph's Pray'rs incline,
For strait in one their diff'rent Figures twine.
And as their Souls Join'd when their transports flew,
Their Bodies mingled with each other too.

Cephalus and Procris.

Two fleeting Months blest Cephalus had past,
Who now may grieve they did not longer last.
While he has Procris, swift each Minute flies,
They Count no time, who cannot Count their Joys.
Those pleasing hours, wing'd with their transports, flew,
When fair Aurora saw, and Lov'd him too.
Tho' on her Throne she had the Pow'r to sway,
The dewy confines of the Night, and Day.
He was her greatest Pride, her only care,
While deeper Blushes in her Cheeks appear,
And shew her shame, because she thinks him Dear,
On steep Hymettus she her Flames declar'd,
But happy Procris is to her prefer'd.
She had his Heart, she had his Soul before,
He gave her all he could, and wish'd to give her more.
This when Aurora knew, inrag'd she said,
Keep then your Procris, prize your Nuptial Bed.
But if I fate, or her proceedings know,
You soon will wish you had not Lov'd her so.
He leaves the Goddess, but her Words he bears,
Which rack his Mind with Thousand Anxious fears.
Sometimes he thinks she might his honour wrong,
And then concludes her Vertuous, tho' she's young.
Yet oft he doubts, where the surmize was vain,
And must himself be Author of his pain.
Chang'd by Aurora, a new form he wears,
And, as a stranger, at his House appears.
All there was silent, he could find no Crime,
As if with Procris all had mourn'd for him.
With all his Arts he does the cheat pursue,
And seem'd to fear that they were all too few.
At length he sees her, and amaz'd he stood,
New Beams of Beauty pierc'd her sorrow's Cloud.
Scarce from due Kisses could he there refrain,
And almost thought to grow himself again.
For him alone was all fair Procris care,
Absent to her, altho' she saw him there.
Oft he attempts her Chastity to try,
He asks her oft, who does as oft deny.
She yet does faithful to her Nuptials prove,
Nor dares ev'n fancy she can wrong her Love.
Presents he sends, and by the Gods he swears,
She must be his, for he is only hers.
Seduc'd by these, she knows not what to do,
Nor can she tell would she be Chast, or no,
Fears she is lost, for Oh! she finds it so.
Her Eyes with Tears, her Cheeks with Blushes fill'd,
She shews, by silence, she at length might yield.
Then, he inrag'd in his own form appear'd,
She saw her Lord, and as she saw, she fear'd.
He loudly storm'd, and like a Tempest flew,
She prest with shame; in silence, strait withdrew.
Ran to the Woods, nor would return again,
No Beast so Salvage; so abhorr'd, as Men.
He soon repents the mischiefs he has done,
And says himself the fault was all his own.
Forgives his Procris, who again return'd,
And owns, he, so, had for Aurora burn'd.
Their Love more firm, by being broken, grows,
They both resolve to keep their Nuptial vows,
He in a Wife was blest, and she a Spouse.
In their Chast Breasts so Just a Passion moves,
He priz'd her Bed above the Queen of Love's,
Nor would she change her Husband's ev'n for Jove's.
Now with his Dart he Traces o'er the plain,
And haunts the Forests, and the Woods again.
After his toil, he does to Shades repair,
Where the cool Vallies Breath refreshing air.
Come, Air, he cry'd, (as he was us'd to say)
O come, and Kiss my glowing heat away.
Oft did he call it with such Words as those,
And Court it so, while he more fiercely glows.
Some busy Fool heard all that he had said,
And told his Procris he had wrong'd her Bed.
She, Jealous she, was with the story mov'd,
And fears some Dryad, above her belov'd.
Condemns her Lord as most inconstant now,
She says he is, but yet she knows not how.
The following Day he does his game pursue,
And Courts the Air, as he was wont to do.
When a loud sigh among the Woods he hears,
Then strait a rustling, and in hast he stirs.
Throws his strong Dart at the imagin'd Beast,
And Wounds his Procris on the tender Breast.
Ay me! She cry'd; her Voice too well he knew,
And in distraction to her aid he flew;
Found her all Bloody with the wound he made,
Faint with the blow, and half already dead.
O live, said he, leave me not guilty here,
To smart for ever for the Wound you bear,
The Wound I gave that Breast I Love so Dear.
Dying, she cry'd, by all the Gods above,
By all the Gods that have a sense of Love.
By all the Pow'rs that have Command below,
To whose infernal Regions I must go,
By all the blest—by Procris, and by you.
I charge you, ne'er let your desires be mov'd,
Nor let lew'd Ayre be after me belov'd.
Just as she dy'd, he did her fate unfold,
And told it Mourning, since too late he told.

Phæbus and Leucothoe.

Of Phæbus Loves, and of their cause I sing,
Of that Just cause, from which his sorrows spring.
Alike, fierce Flames, and equal Passions move,
The God of Battles, and the Queen of Love.
They both alike resolve to quench the Fire,
And now in secret to their Joys retire;
This Phæbus sees, as on his Course he goes,
And to wrong'd Vulcan does their stealth disclose.
Fine, Brazen Nets, by his directions made,
Are gently clos'd about the injur'd Bed.
So slender wrought, they could the Eye deceive,
More curious far than those the Spiders weave.
Thus strictly bound, they had not Pow'r to move,
The God of War was then Compell'd to Love.
Now Vulcan tells the sports that he had seen,
Acquaints the Gods with what had lately been,
And at his Ivory Doors they all come laughing in.
Thus Mars Triumphant in his Chariot rode,
Scoff'd at, yet envy'd by each wishing God.
For this, from Venus, Phæbus Passion came,
From hence it was he felt his fatal Flame.
His longing Eyes alone Leucothoe view,
And give to her what to the World is due.
He sees alas! yet tho' all Eye he be,
If he is blest, he must do more than see.
He rises Early, and desires to stay,
Beyond the usual Limits of the Day.
In his sad Face his raging griefs appear,
Which strike the World with an amazing fear.
Thus an Eclipse could ne'er his light remove;
These Paler looks are the effects of Love.
As when great Fires upon the smaller beat,
They dim their brightness with a Conqu'ring heat.
So the Sun's-Beams, when Am'rous Flames he bore,
Lost all that Lustre which they shew'd before.
Leucothoe he to all the World prefers,
And all it's Beauties are despis'd for her's.
Her Royal Father Persia's Scepter sway'd,
Yet, not her Birth, but Charms, endear'd the Maid.
He now dismounts his glorious, shining throne,
And puts her Mother's awful likeness on,
Whilst by a Lamp the Beauteous Virgin spun.
He Kist her first, and scarce could more forbear,
Then bid the Maids withdraw, & leave them there,
He had a secret, that they must not hear.
Now the bold God his brightness reassumes,
And tells her who he is, and why he comes.
Tho' he sees all, and by him all things see,
By her Dear self he swears, there's none so bright as she.
Not his own rays such Radiant Lustre wear,
As her Lov'd Eyes in their swift glances bear.
Amaz'd she seems, nor has she Pow'r to stir,
The God as stedfast too admiring her.
Stupid, and senseless with her fear she stands,
And drops her distaff from her trembling hands.
Her Beauteous fright his fiercer Passion fed,
And, now he Conquers, now enjoys the Maid.
This Clytie knew, nor could she long conceal,
She was her Rival, and she Joys to tell.
Her Salvage Father hears her fatal Crime,
And her excuses do but harden him.
His Beauteous Child he does alive inter,
And throws a Mountain on the injur'd fair.
This Phæbus sees, and would new Life beget,
While his bright Beams do at the Mountain beat,
In vain, alas! she cannot feel their heat.
How does he grieve at his too feeble Pow'r!
He ne'er so truly did Lament before.
Not his lost Son made him so sadly Mourn,
He scorch'd the World, but she made Phæbus burn.

Hippomenes and Atalanta.

To Shady Woods fair Atalanta fled,
Resolv'd to shun the fatal Marriage Bed.
Warn'd by Apollo, she prepares to flee
From every Suitor not so swift as she.
Replies to all, she must be first outrun,
Or else she Lives to be enjoy'd by none.
Declares besides, who thro' presumption tries
To Conquer her, if unsuccessful, dies.
Thus, many swains Love's, and Death's pangs did bear,
Their hazard noble, as the Maid was fair.
Whilst others fear'd to seek the Beauteous prize,
What her Eyes urg'd, her fatal tongue denies.
Now some bold Youth, who long a Flame had born,
Nor could expect, or hope a kind return,
Prefer'd her Conquest far before her scorn.
And begs a race, nor does he know to fear,
'Tis less, much less to die, than languish in Despair.
Here Young Hippomenes by chance appears,
And of the Lover, and his Flame, he hears.
It first his pity, then his Anger mov'd,
He crys the Maid is too, too much belov'd.
But in the race, when he her form beheld,
He was with fonder Admiration fill'd.
He gaz'd with wonder, nor could Justly tell,
Which did, her Beauty, or her speed, excel.
Swift as a Scythian shaft the Virgin flew,
Scarce could her Lover within sight pursue.
With a Wing'd hast she nimbly seem'd to fly,
Her Feet outran the quick Spectator's Eye.
Now growing warm he still admires her more,
Her motion fann'd those Fires, which her Eyes caus'd before.
Whilst the fond Winds bear back the purple strings
Which bind her Legs, and seem like looser wings.
Tossing her Hair on her fair Shoulders spread,
And all her snowy skin grows Beauteous Red.
Carnation Curtains so on Walls display'd,
Die their pure whiteness with a fainting shade.
All this he sees, and he admires it all,
And almost fears that thus himself must fall.
Praises the Maid, and is Enamour'd grown,
Wishes she now may be o'ercome by none.
He is resolv'd his better fates to try,
And must enjoy her, or he vows to die.
Thus while he Thought; the fatal race was run,
And the lost Lover's Life fair Atalanta won.
The bold Spectator from the Crowd appears,
And humbly bowing Darts his Eyes at hers.
His Love he does above his Life esteem,
And owns the Conquest she has gain'd of him.
Tells her she must her Victory pursue,
And, as with Beauty, kill with swiftness too.
Demands a race, not fainting, or afraid,
But slights all dangers for the Beauteous Maid.
Bids her contend with him, nor seek to raise
By meaner Conquests, but a meaner praise.
Sprung from great Neptune, he assures her so,
She will be Victor in her overthrow.
The Boy she hears, and does his Beauties view,
She would not have him his designs pursue,
And scarce, ah! scarce she wishes to subdue.
What God she says would such a Youth destroy,
Who thro' these dangers would my Charms enjoy!
What! what's his Mien! what is he all I see!
Such sparkling glories so despis'd for me!
Must those bright looks, those shining Beauties fall,
My Merit never could reward them all.
Ah! Charming Boy! shun my deluding Bed,
You cannot Conquer; and I must not Wed.
Your worth you know not, and you doat on mine,
There is no Virgin who would not be thine.
In vain, I speak, and I advise in vain,
In vain alas! you hear of Numbers slain.
O I could wish you would the danger shun,
Or, since resolv'd, would you could faster run.
Thou, Beauteous Boy! art the dear Youth alone,
To whom my Charms should be intirely known,
And should be mine, were I my self my own.
Would Heav'n had Order'd that I ne'er had been,
Or that you ne'er had Atalanta seen.
Thus far her new born Passion urg'd the Maid,
He hears it all, and as he hears, is glad.
Perceives her Flames, tho' to her self unknown,
And hopes e'er long to Crown them with his own.
The Numerous Crowds do now impatient grow,
With Murmurs of a race, and swarm to know.
The eager Boy calls Venus to his Aid,
That, as he Loves, he may enjoy the Maid.
From her, three Golden Apples he receives,
Who tells the use of the Rich Fruit she gives.
Now both the Lovers at the Barrier stand,
And the loud Trumpets Sound on either Hand.
They start at once, who might be safely born
O'er Autumn Fields, nor hurt the standing Corn.
A thousand Cries rise from the Noisy Crowd,
The Goal is yours, hast, hast, they shout aloud.
Ill with his Feet the Boy's desires comply,
He sees the maid, but ah! he sees her fly.
How did she stay, when she might oft o'ergo,
And look, and grieve, that she out-strip'd him so?
Now the tir'd Youth one of the Apples threw,
In quest of which the greedy Virgin flew.
Behind her far the rowling Gold was thrown,
Which she admires, for which she Deigns to run.
The glowing Youth now swiftly passes by,
And the loud Field resounds with shouts of Joy,
Yet soon again she overtakes the Boy.
The other two with greater force he throws,
By which the Virgin does the Conquest lose.
For each she turns, and lets her Lover run,
Who now was foremost, when the race was done,
And Atalanta by the Youth was won.

Eccho.

The Vocal Nymph the Young Narcissus views,
As he his prey into the toils pursues.
Tho' she her self could not her silence break,
She Answer'd others, when she heard them speak.
Revengeful Juno, Jealous of her Jove,
Might have surpriz'd him oft in Lawless Love,
But still this Nymph with cunning Wiles deferr'd
The Goddess's progress, till her talk she heard.
So that her Rivals by this Crafty slight,
Escap'd her fury in their speedy flight.
Which when she knew, for such a wrong, she said,
Thy Tongue small Pow'r shall boast, deluding Maid,
She threatens high, while she who hears the threats,
The self same things in the same Words repeats.
Now the fair Youth she saw, and strait admires,
She follows silently with fond desires,
Where'er he goes, and still she gathers Fires.
Nearer, and nearer in his steps she moves,
And still pursuing, still the more she Loves.
Her wishes fir'd, when closer now she came,
As Sulph'rous Torches catch approaching Flame.
Often she strove, but strove in vain to tell
The Charming Youth she Lov'd him too, too well.
To her fond mind a Thousands things she brought,
Moving, and melting was her tender Thought,
But all conceal'd; for she could utter nought.
The Pow'r of speaking was deny'd the Maid,
But still, to hear his Speech, she longing stay'd,
That she might Answer to whate'er he said.
His Young Companions gone, the Boy complains,
And calls, and calls them in continu'd strains.
Where do you fly? Fond Eccho hears him cry,
And straits she Answers him, where do you fly?
Around he looks, but he can nothing see,
And much he wonders whence the Voice could be.
Is any near? He crys, she pleas'd to hear
Those Joyful Words, returns, is any near!
Once more the Huntsman hollows o'er the plain,
And utters sounds, which she returns again.
More loud he calls, she of the Office proud,
In hasty Accents, made replies as loud.
Then let us Join, he said, her Thoughts combine,
And all consent, she Answers—let us Join.
Soon as she spoke, strait from the Woods she flew,
And round his Neck her Arms, transported, threw.
With close Embraces fondly lock'd him fast,
Who strugling broke from her weak hold at last.
And proudly crys, rather I'll cease to be,
Than you, loose Nymph, shall have your will on me.
Shall have your will on me? the Nymph returns,
To the ingrateful Boy for whom so much she burns.
Mean-while he flies; disdainful, from her view;
Now, so repuls'd, she will no more pursue.
With all her speed she runs to gloomy Groves,
And grieves to think he should despise her Loves.
Her Flames rejected, she Laments, and Mourns,
And Weeps, and Blushes, with the shame, by turns.
Alone she Pines with her excess of Woe,
But Loves him still, who made her Wretched so.
Her raging Passion, and her fonder grief,
Torment her so, she can have no relief.
Thoughts of her slight the Virgin waking keep,
Restless, and Languishing, for want of sleep.
Now she consumes with her continu'd care,
And all her Moisture is dissolv'd to Air.
Nought of her now remains but empty sound,
Her Voice still heard in Caves, and Hollow ground.
Thus her the Cruel, Young Narcissus's Pride,
Had kill'd, with many other Nymphs beside.
Some born in Rivers, and on Mountains some,
Sure still to ruine, where his Beauties come.
When one who suffer'd by his proud disdain,
Despairing pray'd, when she did long complain,
Thus may he Love himself, and thus in vain.
Her wish was Just, and met with great regard,
She fell reveng'd, for soon Rhamnusia heard.

Narcissus.

Beginning with the Description of a Spring.

Pan and Syrinx.

Ye haughty Maids, let this example warn,
And fright you all from your injurious scorn.
Fair Syrinx liv'd on sweet Arcadia's plains,
The Joy, and Torment of the wondring Swains.
Belov'd by all, yet no one's Flames return'd,
For her the Rival Gods, for her the Sylvans burn'd.
Nay, the rough Satyrs lay their rudeness by,
Such was her Form! And gaze when she is nigh.
For, thro' the Woods oft with her Bow she came,
And like Diana, chac'd the flying game.
At her approach the yielding Branches Bow,
And hasty twigs bend till she passes through.
The darkest Groves are on a suddain bright,
And seem to smile at their new Robe of light.
The Am'rous Trees Bow their Officious heads,
And strew their willing leaves, where'er fair Syrinx Treads.
All who behold her, are her Suitors grown,
But the Chast Nymph resolves to live alone,
To live a Maid, and therefore pities none.
Unhappy fair! By her own Charms betray'd,
Such Beauties sure were for enjoyment made.
Her eager Lovers now in vain pursue,
And strive to Ravish, since in vain they wooe.
Untouch'd, till now, she sported all abroad,
But now is Courted by the Shepherd's God.
As, Crown'd with Pines, Pan from Lycæus came,
He saw the Nymph at her delightful game,
He saw, he Lov'd, and must reveal his Flame.
And with such Words as these, he urg'd her stay,
Why from a God do you thus hast away?
Sweating, and spent, he follows still the fair,
Sees the blest Zephyrs wanton in her Hair,
And all her flying Garments loosely bear.
Her growing Beauties now inflame him more,
And his fresh Crown he from his Temples tore,
A Crown he always much esteem'd before.
Now, to smooth Ladon's Sandry Banks they flew,
She shuns him fast, who does more fast pursue,
In the God's reach the Nymph does now appear,
The Wings of Love out-fly the Wings of fear.
With longing Arms he strives to seize his prey,
Which from his cheated Arms escapes as oft away.
Thus the balk'd Hound snaps at the Hare in vain,
Deceiv'd, Posts on, and is deceiv'd again.
But now the Nymph no more has Pow'r to run,
Nor knows she how the eager God to shun.
She strait the watry Deity adores,
Desires their pity, and their aid implores.
Her Pray'rs are heard, and she is caught at last,
Whom, chang'd to Reeds, the wond'ring Pan embrac't.
Amaz'd, he now for his lost Mistress Mourns,
And speaks her praises, and his griefs by turns.
Stirr'd with his sighs, the Reeds with tremblings move,
And in short Murmurs make complaints of Love.
Pleas'd with the Sound, the God, all Ravish'd cries,
Tho' thee in Person Rigid fate denies,
Thy sweet, thy Charming Musick never dies.
Still shall such converse by thy change be found,
And her own Pipe shall Syrinx praises Sound.

Jupiter and Semele.

Beginning with the Description of Fame and her Palace.

Glaucus and Scylla.

Repuls'd by Scylla, Love-Sick Glaucus flies
To try what Pow'r in Crice's Magick lies.
And now at length, to Flaming Ætna came,
Ætna and he Burnt with an equal Flame.
Thence, soon arriv'd at the design'd abode,
The fair Enchantress welcomes there the God.
To whom in moving Words his Flames he proves,
And sadly thus Reveals his slighted Loves.
'Twas Scylla's Beauty rais'd my fond desires,
And in the Waters kindled raging Fires
On a high Rock close to the Seas she stood,
And cast her Eyes down tow'rds the rising Flood.
There first I saw her, there I Lov'd her too,
Courted, she fled, nor could I fast pursue,
So, to implore your aid, I came to you.
This favour, Goddess, you may soon confer,
Quench not my Fires, but raise the like in her.
To whom thus Circe speaks with taking Air,
Be well assur'd you may enjoy the fair.
I, sprung from Sol, to your Embraces run,
With Radiant Charms, bright as my Parent Sun.
Meet her who seeks thee, her, who flies thee, shun.
Thus let thy fairer suppliant's Pray'rs be heard,
My Love must sure be to her scorn prefer'd.
Glaucus replies to her who Courts him so,
First shady Groves shall on the Billows grow.
Birds thro' the Seas, Fish thro' the plains shall move,
E'er I, while Scylla lives, estrange my Love.
Know then, she Crys, I shall not tamely bear
Your proud repulse, nor fall to vain Despair.
No, there's a Beauty you to me prefer,
To ruin thee, I'll be reveng'd on her.
Thence, utt'ring Charms, strait to a Sandy Bay,
In hast she flies; there Beauteous Scylla lay.
Sad Glaucus too towards the shore return'd,
His Mistress, chang'd into a Rock, he Mourn'd,
Circe refus'd, and still for Scylla Burn'd.

Diana and Actæon.

Beginning with the Description of a Cave.

Coronis and Neptune.

From Royal Blood the fair Coronis came.
As great by Beauty, as by Birth in fame.
From both alike she has a Pow'r to move,
From both alike she draws Spectators Love.
Her awful Charms make suppliant Princes Kneel,
And quit their Crowns to shew the Pangs they feel.
Belov'd by all, none dare her Laws oppose,
Sure still to Triumph, and enslave her foes.
The Neighb'uring Kings, who by their Arms might rise,
Dread less—her Father's Scepter, than her Conqu'ring Eyes.
While now the Maid walks on the nearer shore,
To view the Floods, and hear the Billows roar.
While now she steps upon the Sandy Bay,
And seems another Venus of the Sea.
The Am'rous Fish approach the harder strand,
Most now delighted on the Happy land.
No scaly Armour from her Beauties Saves.
With their short Wings they cut the brighter Waves.
The Sea Nymphs float upon the swelling Flood,
Like Fancy seated on a moving Cloud.
Now Neptune too thro' Waters feels a Flame.
And owns Love's Mother from the Ocean came.
At first he sees the Maid, Serene, and fair,
And tells his suff'rings with a Lover's care.
But now more rough with swelling Passions grown,
When she, his Heav'n, pour'd angry Tempests down.
Like his own Waves, he does to ruine move,
And, all inrag'd, chafes with the storms of Love.
The frighted Virgin from the Ocean flew,
And, swift as Winds, he does in hast pursue.
Tir'd in the Sands, the God approaching near,
She Cries for aid, and Begs the Heav'ns to hear.
As to the Skies her trembling Arms she threw.
On their chang'd skin Black Plumes of Feathers grew.
Turn'd to a Crow, she cuts the upper Air
And leaves her Lover, who stands wond'ring there.

Orpheus and Eurydice.

The Widow'd Orpheus for the Bride he lost,
Undaunted hastens to the Stygian Coast.
Thinking to Charm with Verse the Powers below,
And hopes his Wife may be recover'd so.
Already now the Courts of Death he past,
And mov'd all Hell with his soft Songs at last.
The Fiends with silent Admiration heard,
The Mornful Musick of the Artful Bard.
His Harp and Tongue did Joy to all afford,
While the Black roofs the wond'rous Song restor'd.
No more does Tantalus in vain essay,
To tast the streams which ran too fast away,
Now, ev'n the floods their rapid torrents stay.
The wretch forgets what he desir'd so long,
And only thirsts to hear the charming Song.
The fifty Maids no longer fill their Urn,
Nor the quick'loss of their spilt Waters mourn.
Ixion now does a short respit feel,
And leans, and listens on his quiet Wheel.
The rav'nous Vulture now torments no more,
And Titius Liver is no longer sore.
The Fiends to torture Wretched Souls forbear,
And Furies Weep with a relenting care.
All Hell Harmonious with his Voice appears,
Of equal sweetness with the moving Spheres.
Nor was the Musick, which he made, in vain,
All Hell consents to give his Bride again.
But a short time she with the Youth remain'd,
His Passion loses what his Poem gain'd.
The Pow'rs below did on these Terms restore
His Wretched Wife to leave the Stygian shore.
If, till he quite the Shades of Night had past,
And reach'd the clear Ætherial light at last,
He turn'd his Eyes, his longing Eyes, to see
His doubtful prize, it should for ever flee.
Long now he wanders, and Extreamly burns,
Long he forbears, but urg'd at last, he turns.
And now arriv'd to a faint, glimm'ring light,
Where the Sun's rays pierc'd thro' the gloomy Night,
He casts his eager Eyes, to see the wish'd-for sight.
His Wretched Wife can now no longer stay,
From his last look she fleets in hast away.
In vain he thought to catch the Shade again,
She too bent Backwards, to be caught, in vain.
Her double Death could not her anger move,
He had no fault but his excess of Love.
Gods! What curs'd Thoughts urg'd his rais'd Passions on,
When he perceiv'd she was forever gone!
Fled from his hold, and must return no more;
He thinks he's now in Hell, and was in Heav'n before.
What Anxious ills did in his fancy rowl,
And what Tumultuous Pangs perplext his Soul!
In vain he wish'd he might with her return,
But that deny'd, he could do nought but Mourn.
In vain he Sung, his Notes were all in vain,
No Verse, no Charm could bring her back again.
Stay, dear Eurydice, Ah! Stay, he Cries,
How fast the Lovely, fleeting Shadow flies!
How fast she shuns me, tho' I can't pursue!
This were not Hell, should it receive me too.
She's now already on the farther Coast,
Lost is Eurydice, my Wife is lost.
No track of time again can set her free,
She's gone for ever, ever gone from me.
No Charms a second time Hell's Pow'rs can move,
Oh! They will ne'er release my Wretched Love.
No sacred Verse, no sacred Pray'rs will do,
Hell has her now, would Hell had Orpheus too.
In Titius Place let me his torments bear,
Love's a worse Vulture than that gnaws him there.
It preys, alas! On a much Nicer part,
That hurts the Liver, but this hurts the Heart.
Is this your goodness then? ye Hellish Pow'rs!
Yes, it may easily be known for yours.
Some spightful Fiend releas'd her from the shore,
But with design to make my suff'rings more.
For on such Terms you gave me back my Wife,
You knew I must lose her, and she her Life.
Thus is your Nature plainly understood,
You ne'er intended to be wholly good.
By some damn'd Pow'r contriv'd, I know not how,
You blest a short, short while, to curse me now.
Ah! Yet be kind, and my dear Bride restore,
Let me enjoy the Blessing, yet, once more.
Let my fond Eyes once more their Pleasure boast,
Which but for too much Love had ne'er been lost.
By that dread sway, that horrour which I view,
By those vast Realms which were allotted you,
By that unquestion'd right you rule them too.
By these my Pray'rs, and Tears, which once had Charms,
Once more restore her to my longing Arms.
A little while let her on Orpheus smile,
And she is yours, within a little while.
Life is but short, and when you please to call,
You can have her, you can have me, and all.
Thus Sung the Youth, but had not Pow'r to move,
No Charm the second time could gain his Love.
Rack'd with Despair, he quits the Stygian Coast,
Nor could he stay where his dear Wife was lost.
Back to the light he takes his mournful way,
But was not Chear'd at the approach of Day.
In sad complaints he does his griefs rehearse,
And tells his Sorrows in his moving Verse.
He Sings incessantly in Charming strains,
And draws Stones to him o'er the flow'ry plains.
His Pipe brings Herds, and their pleas'd Flocks along,
Which leave their pasture, to admire his Song.
The Trees Dance round, as if they understood,
By wond'rous Sympathy, the Voice of Wood.
His lays the Nymphs, and Sylvans did rejoice,
And ravish'd Maids lay melting at his Voice.
So much the Poet with his notes could move,
That all who heard them were engag'd in Love.
The wishing Virgins all their Pow'rs bestow,
To Charm the Youth who had o'ercome them so.
But still Eurydice his Thoughts does fill,
Her 'tis he Loves, to her he's constant still.
They, vex'd to bear their fond desires in vain,
Hate where they Lov'd, and furious o'er the plain,
Pursue the Youth, who by their Hands is slain.