Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses A Collection of Poems. In Three Volumes. By Mr John Hopkins |
 | I. |
| II. |
 | III. |
| I. |
|
Diana and Actæon.
|
| II. |
| III. |
 | Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses |  |
77
Diana and Actæon.
Beginning with the Description of a Cave.
A Cave there is, deep in declining ground,
By Stately Pines, and Cypress Shaded round.
Tall Reeds, and Osiers at the Entrance grew,
And parted weeds with Riv'lets running through.
The rough, Arch'd Roof all form'd of Mossy Stone,
From which long Tufts of Shaggy Grass hung down.
Here, Chrystal Streams in the smooth Bottom flow,
And rise in Bubbles from their Springs below.
From it's Cleft sides in rills the Waters pour,
And in their constant Course trace one another o'er.
By Stately Pines, and Cypress Shaded round.
Tall Reeds, and Osiers at the Entrance grew,
And parted weeds with Riv'lets running through.
The rough, Arch'd Roof all form'd of Mossy Stone,
From which long Tufts of Shaggy Grass hung down.
Here, Chrystal Streams in the smooth Bottom flow,
And rise in Bubbles from their Springs below.
From it's Cleft sides in rills the Waters pour,
And in their constant Course trace one another o'er.
Here, with her Nymphs, the chast Diana came,
And, all undrest, bathes her soft Limbs with them.
Pleas'd with the grateful coolness of the Cave,
Her fatal Bow to her Lov'd Maid she gave.
When, led by fate, the tir'd Actæon too,
With wand'ring steps, to the same Cave withdrew.
The Nymphs all Shriek'd to see a Man appear,
And stood amaz'd, and senseless with their fear,
Like Iv'ry Pales about their Goddess there.
She saw him too, more Tall than all her Train,
And wish'd in hast she had her Bow again.
As a bright Cloud, by Sun-Beams pierc'd, appears,
Or a fair Morn, which Virgin Blushes wears,
So Chast Diana seem'd, for such were her's.
Dashing rude Water in his Face, she said,
Tell how you saw a Goddess dissarray'd,
Yes, tell aloud where you have boldly been,
I give you leave, speak all that you have seen.
Chang'd to a Stagg, now wing'd with fear he flies,
And is surpriz'd to see his swifter thighes.
But when his Head the next clear River shows,
And the proud Arms his Nature there bestows,
He starts with wonder, and himself he fears,
Tho' not his Form, yet his own Mind he bears,
And speaks his sorrows in his Groans and Tears.
What shall he do? Alas! He grieves, in vain,
Actæon ne'er must be himself again.
How shall he rest, how shall his change be born?
Shall he stay there, or shall he home return?
Thus while he thinks, his Dogs appear in view,
And he must run, for his own Hounds pursue.
O'er Craggy Cliffs, o'er Rocks they force their way,
And on a swifter Scent all chase the Princely prey.
The lost Actæon in his Anguish Cries,
And, where he us'd to follow, now he flies.
Fain would he tell them whom they sought to slay,
But oh! He could not speak, nor did he dare to stay.
They seize him now, and tear the stately foe,
Who were by him taught to be Cruel so.
With usual shouts their Dogs the Huntsmen chear.
And seek, and call their Lord, already too, too near.
In looks he Answers, yet is blam'd by all,
Because thought absent at his wond'rous fall.
And, all undrest, bathes her soft Limbs with them.
Pleas'd with the grateful coolness of the Cave,
Her fatal Bow to her Lov'd Maid she gave.
When, led by fate, the tir'd Actæon too,
With wand'ring steps, to the same Cave withdrew.
The Nymphs all Shriek'd to see a Man appear,
And stood amaz'd, and senseless with their fear,
Like Iv'ry Pales about their Goddess there.
78
And wish'd in hast she had her Bow again.
As a bright Cloud, by Sun-Beams pierc'd, appears,
Or a fair Morn, which Virgin Blushes wears,
So Chast Diana seem'd, for such were her's.
Dashing rude Water in his Face, she said,
Tell how you saw a Goddess dissarray'd,
Yes, tell aloud where you have boldly been,
I give you leave, speak all that you have seen.
Chang'd to a Stagg, now wing'd with fear he flies,
And is surpriz'd to see his swifter thighes.
But when his Head the next clear River shows,
And the proud Arms his Nature there bestows,
He starts with wonder, and himself he fears,
Tho' not his Form, yet his own Mind he bears,
And speaks his sorrows in his Groans and Tears.
What shall he do? Alas! He grieves, in vain,
Actæon ne'er must be himself again.
How shall he rest, how shall his change be born?
Shall he stay there, or shall he home return?
Thus while he thinks, his Dogs appear in view,
And he must run, for his own Hounds pursue.
O'er Craggy Cliffs, o'er Rocks they force their way,
And on a swifter Scent all chase the Princely prey.
79
And, where he us'd to follow, now he flies.
Fain would he tell them whom they sought to slay,
But oh! He could not speak, nor did he dare to stay.
They seize him now, and tear the stately foe,
Who were by him taught to be Cruel so.
With usual shouts their Dogs the Huntsmen chear.
And seek, and call their Lord, already too, too near.
In looks he Answers, yet is blam'd by all,
Because thought absent at his wond'rous fall.
| Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses | |