Philomela :: :: University of Virginia Library

With swelling Thoughts, fix'd on his great Intent,
Now Phaeton had climb'd the Sun's Ascent;
And to his radiant Father's Palace came,
Whose Heav'nly Seat look'd blazon'd all with Flame:
On stately Pedestals, erected high,
Above the Convex of the utmost Sky,
Its Glorious Front, dazel'd, yet pleas'd the Sight,
With vig'rous Sallies of Ætherial Light,
The Entrance, all, Divinely deck'd, was wrought,
Beyond th' Invention of a Human Thought:

With various Figures exquisite and bold,
As the amazing Novelties they told.
Here aweful Neptune rises from the Deep,
Around, the peaceful Billows seem to sleep:
Here dreadful Whales the blust'ring Tritons stride,
And raise a Silver Tempest as they glide:
In mighty Shells the lovely Nereids swim,
And blueish Gods the lofty Billows climb.
Wide from the Shore a pleasant Scene of Land,
With careless Beauty did itself expand:
Here Mountains, Valleys, Springs, and Sacred Groves,
Flocks, Herds, Unpolish'd Shepherds, and their Loves;
The Dryads, Satyrs, Sylvan-Gods, and Fawns,
Had here their Rural Palaces and Lawns.

Above all this, appear'd the blest Abodes,
And gay Pavillions of th' Immortal Gods:
Upon a Painted-Zodiac, brightly shone
With glitt'ring Emralds Sol's refulgent Throne.

Here sat in Purple the Bright God of Day,
(Whom Phaeton now trembles to survey:)
Smooth were his Cheeks, most lovely Eyes, his Brows
Adorn'd with Rays, and his own sacred Boughs:
Around, the Days, the Months, and Years attend,
While, at his Feet, the crooked Ages bend:
The beauteous Spring (more gay than all the rest,)
Stood smiling by, clad in a Flowry Vest:
Summer, with Ears of Corn, her Temples bound,
And Autumn with luxuriant Clusters crown'd:
In Order next old hoary Winter stood;
His Aspect horrid, and congeal'd his Blood.

Surrounded thus with Majesty and State,
Bold Phaeton's Illustrious Father sate,
The God his ven'trous Off-spring now espies,
Amaz'd! demands, What urg'd his Enterprize?
And what great Embassy cou'd bring him to the Skies?
Monarch of Light, the doubtful Youth returns,
Whose Absence Life itself and Nature mourns:

Most splendid Ruler of the welcome Day,
Serenest Spring of all that's fair and gay—
If bolder I may speak—O! Sire—if e'er
The Thoughts of Love and Clymene were dear;—
Then grant a certain Sign, which may on Earth
Resolve the question'd Grandeur of my Birth,
My best-lov'd-Son, great Phoebus made Reply,
(And back he cast the radiant Energy
Of his thick Beams) my Phaeton draw nigh:
And doubt no longer my Paternal Rights;
For, by Clymene, by th' intense Delights
That gave Thee Birth, so—now chuse out a Sign,
And by the dark Infernal Lake 'tis Thine.

Strait the ambitious Youth demands the Sway
Of his hot Steeds, and Chariot of the Day.
Amaz'd, the lucent Deity shook his Head,
Revolving his tremendous Oath, and said;
Unthinking Phaeton, what dost thou ask?
Not Jove himself durst undertake the Task:

Tho' not a God in the Blue Arch more great,
Yet even he'd decline our Flaming Seat.
Can'st thou, a Mortal, then supply my Throne?
Curb my fierce Steeds, and pass th' Intemp'rate Zone?
So hard and difficult, th' Ascent of Day,
Scarce, with fresh Horses, vanquish I the Way:
With Horror, on the distant Earth at Noon,
We from the Zenith's dismal Heighth look down
The steep Descent; from thence we swiftly roll:
Nor here our headlong Courses brook Controul.
E'en Lovely Thetis sees my Fall with Dread,
Tho' ev'ry Night she 'xpects me to her Bed.
Besides, thou'lt meet a Thousand rugged Jars,
From the encount'ring Motions of the Stars;
Scarce our Immortal Efforts stem their Force:
Betwixt the Bull's sharp Horns then lies thy Course,
By Sagitarius, and the Scorpion's Claws,
The ghastly Crab, and Leo's dreadful Jaws.

Expect no Groves, nor Flow'ry Mansions there,
Nor Gods, nor Nymphs; but Monsters ev'ry where.
Then let a Father's timely Care persuade,
And yet retract the dang'rous Choice Thou'st made;
Be wise, and urge no more this fatal Sign;
Alas, my Grief, too sadly, speaks Thee Mine.
Of all the Earth's, or Sea's rich Bosoms hide;
Or Treasures which in upper Air abide;
Ask what Thou wilt, or dar'st (besides) to wish;
Do, Phaeton, ask any thing but This;
And, by my former Sacred Oath, 'tis Thine.

But the hot Youth, fix'd on his rash Design,
With such an Enterprize, the more inflam'd,
His anxious Father's Oath, now boldly claim'd,
Who forc'd to yeild. The nimble Hours soon brought
His Chariot forth, in hot Vesuvio wrought,
By crafty Vulcan, and the Cyclops Art,
Who'ad shown immortal Skill in ev'ry Part:
The Wheels, and Axle-Tree, the purest Gold,
Bright as those lucid Tracts in which they roll'd:

The Harness all emboss'd with Crysolites,
And twinkling Sparks of wond'rous colour'd Lights.

But now Aurora from her Eastern Bed,
Had o'er th' Expanse her Dewy Mantle spread:
The sickly Moon the Hemisphere resigns;
And, with her Waning, Lucifer declines.
The Dawning grew more fair and ruddy still,
And Sol, officious now against his Will,
With Sacred Compounds his fierce Orb allays,
Then crowns the joyful Hero with his Rays:
With tender Speeches caution'd thus the while,
Let not Presumption thy fond Thoughts beguile,
To give my hot unruly Steeds their Course,
But use the Reins with utmost Care and Force,
Along a beaten, broad, and oblique Way,
Far from the Poles, now lies the Road of Day,
Avoid the Altar, and the hissing Snake,
Both opposite, betwixt them keep the Track;
Observe a careful Distance from the Skies,
Lest thou affront the aweful Deities;

Nor near the Earth approach, the Mean is best,
To Destiny, with Hope, I leave the rest.
For, lo the pale Commandress of the Night,
Resigns her Empire to th' expected Light.
Take up the Reins; my Son, or yet be wise,
And grasp a more proportion'd Enterprize.

But Phaeton, as resolute as great,
Undaunted, leaps into the Blazing Seat;
Pleas'd with his glorious Charge, nor doubts his Skill
To manage it, he mounts th' Olympic Hill.
Aloud th' Immortal Steeds begin to neigh,
And strike their Fiery Hoofs, and make new Day;
As thro' the Clouds they cut their sparkling Way:
And finding now the reeling Chariot freight
With nothing equal to celestial Weight,
Unruly grow; and heedless of the Rein,
Its feeble Cheeks, and trembling Guide disdain;
And, all disorder'd, careless of their Way,
Thro' Paths unknown to Sol himself, they stray:

Now near the Fair Triones, who in vain,
Implor'd more Temp'rate Quarters in the Main.
With Heat reviv'd, see the fierce Serpent roll,
Tho' fix'd his Station near the Frozen Pole.
Bootes sweats, and drives his lazy Team
A nimble Pace, untry'd before by them:
As much distress'd, unhappy Phaeton
From Great Olympus' arched Top looks down:
Black Horror now, and aggravating Fear,
Thro' all his conscious Thoughts triumphant were:
He curst his Pride, conspicuous Seat, and Birth,
And covets the obscurest Place on Earth;
To be the Son of Merops, safe below,
Unknown to Gods and Men, would please him now:
So, all confus'd, the hopeless Pilot raves,
And yeilds, at last, to the relentless Waves.
What can he do? much of the glowing East
Is yet unconquer'd; more he dreads the West,
That dang'rous Fall; nor one clear Track can find
In Heav'n; nor call his Horses Names to mind:

Who now, near where the dreadful Scorpion lay,
Hurry'd the shatter'd Chariot of the Day:
Proud of the Reins, which from his trembling Hands
Now faintly drop, no Obstacle withstands
Their furious Course; but thro' the blazing Sky
They foam, and rave, and all disorder'd fly,
Now upward, to the Stars, a Path they rend,
Then down again the frightful Steeps descend:
Below, her own Diana from afar,
With Wonder, views her radiant Brother's Car:
Th' exhaled Earth down to its Center dry,
Wants Juice, her fainting Products to supply:
Assaulted with the too prevailing Rays,
In fatal Flames, whole Towns and Mountains blaze:
High Athos, Oete, and the Piney Top
Of pleasant Ida into Cinders drop:
Old Tmolus, the Cilician Mount, and high
Parnassus, smoak, up to the darken'd Sky:

Vesuvio roars, more fierce its Entrails glow;
Nor work the Cyclops at their Anvils now,
Steep Othrys, Cynthus, Erix, Mimas, flame,
Nor Rhodopean Snows the fiercer Fire can tame.

Caucasus fries, Dindyma chaps, and burns
Her kindling Grove; fair Aphrodites mourns.
The Airy Alps, and Gloomy Appennine,
With Ossa, in the Conflagration shine:
Surrounded thus with Smoke, and wrathful Fires,
Unhappy Phaeton almost expires:
Despair within, and Terror all without,
By's furious Steeds, at Pleasure, hurl'd about;
Gasping, and faint, still hurried round, nor more,
Tho' prop'd by Fate, a Mortal could have bore:
They say, the Ethiopians now with Heat
Adust and scorch'd, diffus'd a Sable Sweat;
And all the wasted Fountains sadly ring
Of some fair Naiad mourning for her Spring.
Nor from the larger Streams the Flame recoils,
For in its Channel antient Tanais boils.

Xanthus, whose Waves again that Fate must know;
Mæander, whose wild Waters, circling flow.
Melas, Eurotas, Ister, and the fair
Euphrates Torrents, half exhausted are.
Orontes, Phasis, and the cooler Stream
Of Sperchius now like boiling Chaldron's steam;
Alpheus, Ganges, and the flowing Gold,
That in the rich Pactolus' Channel roll'd:
The Muses mourn, their Swans, who, as they die,
In charming Notes, Sing their own Elegy:
Deep, in his utmost subterranean Bed,
Great Nilus hides his undiscover'd Head.
Earth cracks, to Hell descend the hated Beams,
And plague the howling Ghosts with worse Extreams:
Th' exhausted Ocean leaves a Field of Sand,
Nor does vex'd Neptune one cool Wave command;
He 'as lost his Share of the grand Monarchy,
And vainly lifts his forked Trident high.
The Lovely Sisters melt upon the Rocks,
While aged Doris tears her Silver Locks:

The Phcæ die; the Dolphins vainly dive
In scalding Streams, to keep themselves alive.
As much the Goddess of the Earth distress'd,
With trembling Lips, the King of Gods address'd:

“If Thou the groaning World's Destruction mean,
“(Incensed Jove) why sleep thy Thunders then?
“If Thou the Cause of this Calamity,
“Or if 'tis some less potent God than Thee;
“Where's all thy Goodness, all thy gentle Care
“For Mortals now—that shou'd these Ills repair?
“Have I for this thy Sacred Victims fed
“In Hecatombs, to thy high Altars led?
“Those Altars, which with thy bright Temples smoke,
“While Jove, in vain, the gasping Priests invoke:
“And lo the mighty Poles begin to fume?
“And, where's thy Starry Seat, shou'd they consume?
“Tir'd Atlas sweating, of his Load complains,
“And scarce the burning Axle-Tree sustains.”
But, fainting here, she stopt, and shrinks her Head,
Below the gloomy Dwellings of the Dead.

Jove calls the Gods (with him, whose daring Son,
Too fond of Glory, had this Mischief done:)
To view the dreadful Flames; then mounts on high,
The loftiest Turret that commands the Sky:
From whence he us'd to shade the sultry Air,
And with kind Show'rs the parched Earth to chear:
But throws his Flood-gates open now in vain,
And press'd the light transparent Clouds for Rain:
At which incens'd, his ruddy Thunder glows,
Nor durst the God of Beams himself oppose.
See the wing'd Vengeance now, see where it breaks,
On the rash Cause of those lamented Wrecks;
And sends the bold Usurper breathless down
To the scorch'd Earth, from his affected Throne.

So, strike the Gallic Tyrant, who has hurl'd
As guilty Flames thro' the complaining World:
So aweful Jove, so strike him from his Seat,
And all his Aims, and all his Hopes defeat.

Lewis XIV.

The Second Book of Ovid's Metamorphoses, opens with this Fable. [N. B. A very Eminent Writer has borrowed largely from this Piece.]