University of Virginia Library

You silent People of the Shades below!
Ye Gods infernal! and dark Chaos; loe!
To you we bow; thou gloomy Mansion
Where sooty Dis resides! seated upon
The lowest Hell, the Den of squallid Death!
We you invoke: quit your Abodes beneath,
Leave your old Task of tort'ring Souls, and pack
To the new Nuptials. From his wheeling Rack
Releas'd, a while Rest let Ixion have,
And Tantalus sup free the fleeting Wave.
Whilst Creon feels more horrid Pains than these,
Let Sysiphus his Torments find no Ease.
You who in perforated Urns still vain
Successless Toil deludes, cease from your Pain,
And thither hie; this Day your Hands requires.
And thou, the Empress of Nocturnal Fires!
To these our Rites invoked, come; put on
Thy worst of looks, and with more Fronts than one
Menacing, appear! with loose Hairs thus display'd
(As thine becomes) we've searcht each secret shade,
With naked Feet; call'd from dry Clouds the Rain,
And to its Bottom forc'd the suff'ring Main.
Whilst old Oceanus affrighted, hides
Within his Waves Recess his vanquish'd Tides.
Heav'n's Laws inverted, shewn the World the Light
Of Sun and Stars at once, the Day and Night.
Drench'd both the Bears in the forbidden Deep.
And chang'd the Course the constant Seasons keep.
Cloath'd Earth in Summer with a Spring new-born,
Made Ceres see a Winter Crop of Corn.
Swift Phasis turn his Streams back to their Source.
And Ister, in seven Mouths divided, force
His Waters to a stand, his Spring confin'd.
And made Floods roar, Seas swell, without a Wind.
An antient Wood, whose Leaves its Covert made,
At our commanding Voice hath lost his Shade.
Phœbus his Course, Day left at Noon, forbears;
And when we sing the Stars drop from their Spheres.

'Tis time, dread Phœbe, at these Rites of thine
Thou present wert; to thee this Wreath of nine
Embraided Serpents, wrought with bloody hand,
We offer. Loe! his biform'd Limbs durst band
'Gainst Jove's high Empire, bold Typhæus! this
The pois'nous Blood of treach'rous Nessus is,
Giv'n by himself as he did Life expire.
These Ashes rak'd we from the Oetean Pyre,
Dryp'd with Herculean Foam. See, in this hand
The pious Sisters, impious Mothers Brand,
Vengeful Althæa! these Plumes found we cast
By rapeful Harpies, as by Zetes chas'd.
These are the Wings the wounded Stymphal'de bore
Slain by the Shafts dipt in Lernæan Gore.
The Altars sound! and our own Tripods, mov'd
B'our fav'ring Goddess, shew these Rites approv'd.
See Trivia's whirling Carr! not as when bright,
With a full Orb illuminating Night,
She drives; but such, when with a lured Face,
Vext with Thessalian Charms, a nearer Race,
To Earth she runs: so shine thy tristful Light
With pallid Ray, and with strange Horror fright
The World: whilst thy Extreams to ease, O Great
Dictynna! rich Corinthian Brass is beat.
Upon this blood-stain'd Turf our Sacrifice
To thee we make, this Funeral Torch supplies
Nocturnal Fires, snatch'd from the flaming Pile.
To thee our Head we toss, with Neck bow'd, while
Our Charms we utter; our Hairs loosely spread
A Fillet binds, as when we mourn the Dead.
To thee this wither'd Bough thus wave we round,
Brought from the dark Shades near the Stygian Sound.
To thee with bared Breast true Mænad like,
This rusty Knife thus in our Arms we strike.
Our streaming Blood down to the Altar flows;
Inure your selves, my Hands, such Wounds t'impose,
And learn the dearest Blood of thine to shed.
The hallowed Flood our pierced Veins have bled.
If thou complain'st thou art too often prest
B'our Orisons, pardon a forc'd Request.
That thus, O Persis! we thy Pow'rs implore,
The Cause is still the same as heretofore,
Still Jason: now infect the Bride's Attire,
That when put on, the close Serpentine Fire,
Her inmost Marrow may consume, within
The yellow Gold, couch'd lies the Flame unseen.
Which he who rues his heav'nly Theft, with still
Renewed Liver, gave; and taught the Skill
How to conceal its Force; Mulciber did
Give us these Fires, in subtle Sulphur hid.
This living flash of fatal Lightning, we
From Phaeton our Cousin took; here be
The Gifts the triple-shap'd Chimæra gave.
The Flames breath'd from the Bulls scorch'd Throats we have,
Which mixed with Medusa's Gall do serve,
So charg'd, the secret Mischief to conserve.
With Pow'r these Poisons, Hecate, inspire,
And guard the hidden Seeds of the close Fire
Lurks in these Gifts, let them deceive the Test
Of Sight and Touch; whilst in her Veins and Breast
The subtle Fervour spreads, and doth calcine
Her melting Limbs; in Smoak let her Bones pine,
And her inflamed Tresses, beam-like blaze,
And dim the Light her Nuptial Tapers raise.
—Our Pray'rs are heard; thrice Hecat' bark'd aloud,
Thrice with sad Flames her sacred Fires she show'd.
All's finish'd. Nurse, my Children call, that they
Unto Creusa may these Gifts convey.
Go Children; Issue of a hapless Mother;
Go, by your Pray'rs and Presents seek another,
Less kind t'appease. Back hither quickly hie,
That we your last Embraces may enjoy.

Whither runs bloody Mænas, drove
By the fierce Fury of her Love?
What Mischief with wild Rage intends!
In Frowns her wrinkled Forehead bends.
Shaking her Head, she proudly jets,
And menaces the King with Threats.
Who her an Exile would suppose?
The flushing Red in her Cheeks glows.
Now Paleness thence the Red does chace,
No Colour long her changing Face
Retains; now here she runs, now there,
Distracted as her Passions bear.
As Tygress of her young bereft,
With wild Speed prosecutes the Theft
Through Ganges Forest; so, nor Rage
Medea knows, nor Love t'asswage,
Now Wrath and Love their Pow'rs conjoin;
What will she do? to which incline?
When from Pelasgian Lands away
Will she her cursed self convey?
And by her wished Absence clear
The Kings and Kingdom of their Fear?

Now, Phœbus, drive with winged pace,
No curbing Reins retard thy Race.
In her dark shades let friendly Night,
Now hide the Lustre of the Light
And Hesperus, Night's Usher, steep
The fear'd Day in the Western Deep.