Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
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Circe.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
153
Circe.
See. Enchantress. Magic Power.
—Now close by Circe's Shores they sail;Where she, the wealthy Daughter of the Sun,
With ceaseless Singing makes the Groves resound;
Groves inaccessible: and in the Rooms
Of her proud Palace, for nocturnal Light,
Sweet Cedar burns: While thro' the slender Web
Her whistling Shuttle flies along the Loom.
Hence Groans are heard: the Noise of Lions, fierce,
Rebellious to their Chains, and roaring loud
In Dead of Night: the Grunt of bristly Boars:
The Rage of Bears reluctant in their Stalls:
And huge portentous Forms of howling Wolves.
All which, with pow'rful Charms, from human Shapes
The cruel Goddess Circe had transform'd
To savage Beasts.—
Arriv'd, when near the Palace Gates we came,
A thousand Wolves, and Bears, and Lions rise,
And chill our Hearts with Horror and Surprize:
Yet soon we found there was no Cause to fear,
For none seem savage, or to wound prepare:
But courteous wag their Tails, and fawning greet;
And tame, and gentle, follow at our Feet:
Till a bright Train of She-attendants come,
And lead us up the lofty marble Dome;
To where retired, and in solemn State,
High, on her sumptuous Throne, their Mistress sat:
Her costly Robes with royal Splendor shone,
And over all a Veil of Gold was thrown.
Her Maids, the Nymphs, and Nereids, ne'er were bred
To card the Wool, or draw the flowing Thread:
But they in Baskets sort the mingled Flow'rs,
And Herbs of various Hues, and various Powers.
While She, their Mistress, who the Virtues knew
Of ev'ry Simple, and what each can do,
Alone, or mixt: the Herbs with Care inspects,
And the due Quantity or Weight directs.
A thousand Wolves, and Bears, and Lions rise,
And chill our Hearts with Horror and Surprize:
Yet soon we found there was no Cause to fear,
For none seem savage, or to wound prepare:
But courteous wag their Tails, and fawning greet;
And tame, and gentle, follow at our Feet:
Till a bright Train of She-attendants come,
And lead us up the lofty marble Dome;
To where retired, and in solemn State,
High, on her sumptuous Throne, their Mistress sat:
Her costly Robes with royal Splendor shone,
And over all a Veil of Gold was thrown.
Her Maids, the Nymphs, and Nereids, ne'er were bred
To card the Wool, or draw the flowing Thread:
But they in Baskets sort the mingled Flow'rs,
And Herbs of various Hues, and various Powers.
While She, their Mistress, who the Virtues knew
Of ev'ry Simple, and what each can do,
Alone, or mixt: the Herbs with Care inspects,
And the due Quantity or Weight directs.
155
Now to her Presence brought, she from her Throne
Our Compliments does courteously return:
And grants whate'er we ask, with such a Look,
As kindly Welcome, and fair Friendship spoke.
Then she commands, with Speed, her ready Train,
To bring the Honey, Curds, and Barley-Grain:
In gen'rous Wine th' Ingredients they infuse:
She to the Potion adds some secret Juice:
With her own execrable Hand she crown'd,
And dealt the unsuspected Goblet round.
Whilst gladly we, with Heat and Travel dry,
To our parch'd Lips the magic Draught apply,
Her potent Charms th' Enchantress strait prepares,
And o'er us waves her Wand, and strokes our Hairs.
(I blush to tell, and yet it must be told)
Soon rough'ning Bristles all my Form infold.
I strove to speak, and fain would have complain'd,
But Grunts were all the Language now remain'd:
Prone to the Earth my alter'd Aspect bends,
And a strange Snout my widen'd Jaws extends:
New Sinews swell my strong and harden'd Chest,
The bestial Nature was o'er all impress'd:
Those Hands which lately did the Bowl surround,
The Work of Feet perform, and tread the Ground.
Then with the rest whom Fate had thus unman'd,
(So great a Potency has magic Draughts)
I in a Stye was shut.—
Our Compliments does courteously return:
And grants whate'er we ask, with such a Look,
As kindly Welcome, and fair Friendship spoke.
Then she commands, with Speed, her ready Train,
To bring the Honey, Curds, and Barley-Grain:
In gen'rous Wine th' Ingredients they infuse:
She to the Potion adds some secret Juice:
With her own execrable Hand she crown'd,
And dealt the unsuspected Goblet round.
Whilst gladly we, with Heat and Travel dry,
To our parch'd Lips the magic Draught apply,
Her potent Charms th' Enchantress strait prepares,
And o'er us waves her Wand, and strokes our Hairs.
(I blush to tell, and yet it must be told)
Soon rough'ning Bristles all my Form infold.
I strove to speak, and fain would have complain'd,
But Grunts were all the Language now remain'd:
Prone to the Earth my alter'd Aspect bends,
And a strange Snout my widen'd Jaws extends:
New Sinews swell my strong and harden'd Chest,
The bestial Nature was o'er all impress'd:
Those Hands which lately did the Bowl surround,
The Work of Feet perform, and tread the Ground.
Then with the rest whom Fate had thus unman'd,
(So great a Potency has magic Draughts)
I in a Stye was shut.—
Eurylochus, alone, his Form retain'd:
He, only from the offer'd Cup refrain'd:
Which had he not rejected, with the rest
Himself had been transform'd, their Fellow-Beast.
Nor should Ulysses our Mishaps have known,
Or forc'd th' Enchantress to return his own.
He, only from the offer'd Cup refrain'd:
Which had he not rejected, with the rest
Himself had been transform'd, their Fellow-Beast.
Nor should Ulysses our Mishaps have known,
Or forc'd th' Enchantress to return his own.
Peace bearing Hermes gave him a white Flower,
Call'd Moly by the Gods, of wondrous Pow'r.
Safe in this Gift, and the conducting Gods,
The Hero enters Circe's dire Abodes:
Again she does th' enchanted Bowl demand,
Again prepares to wave her magic Wand:
But he her Charms prevents his Sabre draws,
And, brandishing aloft, th' Enchantress awes.
Struck with Amaze, her Hand and Faith she plights,
And to her Bed the Victor-Chief invites:
E'er he'll submit, the Terms of Peace he names,
And his chang'd Friends restor'd, in Dowry, claims.
Call'd Moly by the Gods, of wondrous Pow'r.
Safe in this Gift, and the conducting Gods,
The Hero enters Circe's dire Abodes:
Again she does th' enchanted Bowl demand,
Again prepares to wave her magic Wand:
157
And, brandishing aloft, th' Enchantress awes.
Struck with Amaze, her Hand and Faith she plights,
And to her Bed the Victor-Chief invites:
E'er he'll submit, the Terms of Peace he names,
And his chang'd Friends restor'd, in Dowry, claims.
Soon healing Herbs are brought; and o'er our Heads
Their safe and inoffensive Juice she sheds:
The Incantation backward she repeats,
Inverts her Rod, and what she did, defeats.
And now our Skin grows smooth, our Shape upright,
Our Arms stretch up, our cloven Feet unite:
Our Neck and Shoulders take their former Grace,
And, weeping, We our weeping Prince embrace:
Each hangs about his Neck: nor scarce a Word
Breaks thro' our Lips, but such as Thanks afford.—
'Twice turn'd she to the East, twice to the West,
Their safe and inoffensive Juice she sheds:
The Incantation backward she repeats,
Inverts her Rod, and what she did, defeats.
And now our Skin grows smooth, our Shape upright,
Our Arms stretch up, our cloven Feet unite:
Our Neck and Shoulders take their former Grace,
And, weeping, We our weeping Prince embrace:
Each hangs about his Neck: nor scarce a Word
Breaks thro' our Lips, but such as Thanks afford.—
Thrice touch'd him with her Wand, three Charms express'd.
He flies, and wondring why so fast he fled,
Beholds his Limbs with shining Plumes o'erspread.
Forthwith he seeks the Woods, and angry still,
Hard Oaks assails, and wounds them with his Bill.
His Wings the Purple of his Robe assume,
The Gold that clasp'd his Garment turns to Plume.
Around his Neck, a glitt'ring Circle glows:
And so compleat his Change,—
The Name alone he e'er was Picus shews.
And sprinkles baleful Venom o'er their Heads.
From Erebus, and Chaos' dire Abodes,
Conjures old Night, and all th' Infernal Gods:
While she with Howlings Hecate's Aid intreats,
Woods (wondrous to relate!) forsake their Seats:
Their Leaves look pale, Herbs blush with Drops of Gore;
Earth groans, Dogs howl, Rocks hoarsely seem to roar.
O'er all the tainted Soil black Serpents slide,
And thro' the Air unbody'd Spirits glide.
159
She strokes their Faces with her venom'd Wand.
Forthwith the Shapes of various Beasts invest
Their former Forms, nor one his own possess'd.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |