University of Virginia Library

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.