University of Virginia Library

“Why these Complaints, and whence that dreadful Sigh?
“Why on thy Cheek do thus the Roses die?
“Is it to see thy glorious Son sustain,
“From worthless Hands, Pre-eminence of Pain?
“A Lion tortur'd by a Fawn!—Great Jove!
“Why such injurious Treatment must I prove?
“Why with such adverse Omens was I born?
“Wretch that I am! E'er since the nuptial Morn
“When to my Arms my matchless Lord was given,
“Dear have I priz'd him as the Light of Heaven;
“And prize him still—Sure none has suffer'd more,
“Or drank such Draughts of Sorrow's Cup before.
“With Phœbus' Gift, his Bow, he pierc'd the Hearts
“Of his own Sons; or rather, arm'd with Darts
“Which Fates or Furies furnish'd, every Child
“In his own House he slew, with Frenzy wild.
“Than Dreams more dreadful, with these streaming Eyes,
(“While to their Mother, with incessant Cries,
“Their helpless Mother, they exclaim'd in vain)
“By their own Sire I saw the Children slain.
“But as a Bird bewails her callow Brood,
“While in the Brake a Serpent drains their Blood,
“And, all too weak the wish'd Relief to bring,
“Twittering her shrill Complaints, on feeble Wing
“At Distance hovers, nor will venture near
“The fell Destroyer, chill'd with conscious Fear;
“So I, all frantic, the wide Mansion o'er,
“Unhappy Mother! my lost Sons deplore.
“O blest, Diana, Goddess of the Chace,
“Tyrant confess'd o'er Woman's helpless Race,
“With my dear Sons had thy envenom'd Dart
“Kindly transfix'd their Mother's bleeding Heart,
“Then my sad Parents might, with friendly Care,
“Have seen one Pile our breathless Bodies bear,
“At once, with many a Tear, to every Shade
“The decent Rites of Sepulture have paid,
“And in one golden Urn that sacred Earth
“Our Ashes have receiv'd, which gave us Birth.
“But Thebes they now inhabit, fam'd for Steeds,
“Or toilsome till Aönia's fruitful Meads:
“While to my Sorrows no Relief is given,
“At Tiryns, sacred to the Queen of Heaven,
“In Tears unnumber'd wasting Life away,
“To Joy a Stranger, to Despair a Prey.
“But soon my Lord will bless my Eyes again,
“For various Labours he must yet sustain
“By Land and Sea, like Iron or a Rock
“Unmov'd, and still superior to the Shock:
“While like a Stream thy Sorrows ever flow,
“By Day, by Night, alike dissolv'd in Woe.
“Of all to me by Tyes of Kindred join'd,
“Thou only now canst chear my anxious Mind:
“Far from this Mansion, though in Blood ally'd,
“Beyond the pine-clad Isthmus they reside.
“Not one remains who can console my Grief,
“Or to a wretched Woman give Relief,
“Except my Sister Pyrrha; all the Day
“She too bewails her Husband snatch'd away,
“Thy Son Iphiclus: Wretched all thy Line,
“Whether their Sire be mortal or divine!”

Fast, while she spoke, th'o'erflowing Tears distill'd
Adown her Cheeks, and her fair Bosom fill'd;
Her Sons, her Parents rising to her View:
In sad Society, Alcmena too
Roll'd the big Tear; and from her heaving Breast,
In Accents sage, her Daughter thus addrest:

“Why, hapless Parent, should thine Eyes o'erflow?
“Why should Remembrance thus renew thy Woe?
“Why thus afflict us both? or why once more
“Repeat the Loss we oft have wept before?
“Sure each sad Day sufficient Sorrows bears;
“And none but Wretches would recount our Cares!
“Be chear'd, my Daughter, and, these Ills forgot,
“Think that the Gods a happier Doom allot.
“And though on Grief thy Thoughts are all employ'd,
“I no Excuse require, with Pleasure cloy'd.
“Much I lament, that thou so vast a Weight
“Of Woe should'st share in our disastrous Fate.
“For, O blest Proserpine and Ceres, know,
(“Powers justly dreaded by the perjur'd Foe)
“That I not more could love thee, if my Womb
“With thee had teem'd, or had thy Virgin-bloom
“Alone remained a Parent's Hope to crown:
“A Truth, Megara, not to thee unknown!
“Then think I view thee with no careless Eye;
“No, though in grief with Niobe I vye:
“Grief for a Son Indulgence sure may gain,
“To me endear'd by ten long Months of Pain;
“And, ere I brought him to the Realms of Day,
“My Life by Pangs was nearly snatch'd away.
“Sent on new Toils he to a distant Shore
“Now roams, and I may ne'er behold him more.
“Besides, I lately saw, with wild Affright,
“A direful Vision in the Dead of Night:
“Some great impending Ill, if right I deem,
“Awaits my Sons, from this mysterious Dream.
“In Sleep, methought, my Hercules I spy'd,
“His Garments like a Labourer, thrown aside,
“And, Spade in Hand, employ'd, with arduous Toil,
“To delve a Ditch in some well-cultur'd Soil.
“But when his Task the wish'd Success had crown'd,
“And his wide Fence had girt the Vineyard round,
“He left his Spade fix'd deeply in the Plain,
“And strait prepar'd to cloath his Limbs again;
“When, quick as Thought, above the Trench, behold
“Destructive Flames, which round the Hero roll'd!
“From these resistless Foes alarm'd he flew,
“With Foot-steps swift; as swiftly they pursue:
“While, like a Shield, the Spade now serves to guard
“His half-scorch'd Body, and the Fire to ward.
“At length Iphiclus, running to his Aid,
(“Such was my Vision) by his Feet betray'd,
“Before he reach'd him, fell, with headlong Force,
“And there, unable to resume his Course,
“Lay stiff and prostrate; like a feeble Sage,
“Who, falling to the Ground through helpless Age,
“There fix'd remains, till by some Stranger rear'd,
“Pitying his hoary Hairs, and silver Beard:
“So on the Plain was brave Iphiclus thrown.
“To see my Sons unaided and alone,
“Fast flow'd my Tears, till Morn with roseate Ray
“Dispell'd my Slumbers, and restor'd the Day.

“Such were the Visions of this Night of Dread!
“Far from our House, on curs'd Eurystheus' Head
“These Omens turn! Be my Presages true,
“And him, O Fate, with Vengeance just pursue!”