 | The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison |  |
139
Orpheus and Eurydice,
From Virgil's Fourth Georgick.
Incens'd, the raging Prophet thus replies,
Gnashes his Teeth, and rolls his azure Eyes.
No common Vengeance does your Crimes pursue,
Your Crimes, which well deserve their fatal due:
But humbly supplicate immortal Hate,
And wisely shun the threat'ning Rage of Fate;
O! think on Orpheus, and his injur'd Spouse,
And mark the wicked Author of their Woes;
When lawless Lust enflam'd thy boiling Blood,
To chace the flying Fair along the Flood:
Think, how the Snake, in verdant Ambush laid,
Unwarily surpriz'd the panting Maid;
Shrieking, she fell, resign'd her fainter Breath,
And sought the kinder Arms of icy Death:
The Nymphs, the Swains, the dying Virgin mourn'd
The River Deities, the Grief return'd;
The Winds, with sympathizing Sorrow, sigh'd,
And the sad Streams their trickling Tears supply'd.
Gnashes his Teeth, and rolls his azure Eyes.
No common Vengeance does your Crimes pursue,
Your Crimes, which well deserve their fatal due:
But humbly supplicate immortal Hate,
And wisely shun the threat'ning Rage of Fate;
O! think on Orpheus, and his injur'd Spouse,
And mark the wicked Author of their Woes;
When lawless Lust enflam'd thy boiling Blood,
To chace the flying Fair along the Flood:
140
Unwarily surpriz'd the panting Maid;
Shrieking, she fell, resign'd her fainter Breath,
And sought the kinder Arms of icy Death:
The Nymphs, the Swains, the dying Virgin mourn'd
The River Deities, the Grief return'd;
The Winds, with sympathizing Sorrow, sigh'd,
And the sad Streams their trickling Tears supply'd.
The wretched Husband, hopeless of Relief,
In tuneful Anguish sought to sooth his Grief;
But rising Sorrows all his Thoughts controul,
Flow in his Eyes, and melt his soft'ning Soul;
In plaintive Strains he mourns his Consort gone,
Sighs to the rising, and the setting Sun;
Till wildly lost in Solitude, and Woe,
Raving, he sought, the dreary Shades below,
Advent'rous by Despair, and dar'd to tread
The melancholly Mansions of the Dead;
With Songs to supplicate th' infernal Power,
And sooth the God, who ne'er was sooth'd before.
In tuneful Anguish sought to sooth his Grief;
But rising Sorrows all his Thoughts controul,
Flow in his Eyes, and melt his soft'ning Soul;
In plaintive Strains he mourns his Consort gone,
Sighs to the rising, and the setting Sun;
Till wildly lost in Solitude, and Woe,
Raving, he sought, the dreary Shades below,
Advent'rous by Despair, and dar'd to tread
The melancholly Mansions of the Dead;
141
And sooth the God, who ne'er was sooth'd before.
Lur'd by the Magick of the sacred Sound,
Swift-gliding Crouds of Spectres hover round;
Thick, as when Fowls obscure the Ev'ning Air,
And to their Groves in feather'd Clouds repair;
Men, Matrons, Maids, a visionary Throng,
Surround the Poet, and imbibe his Song;
With all those Multitudes of empty Ghosts,
Where Stygian Streams surround the squallid Coasts;
Heedless their own unhappy Fates to mourn,
Weeping, they make his Misery their own.
E'en Hell it self, with all its Fiends, was charm'd,
Its Terrors soften'd, and its Rage disarm'd;
The grinning Guardian loll'd his triple Tongue,
And fawning, lick'd the Poet, as he sung;
The very Furies heav'd away their Chains,
And sound their own too weak for Musick's Strains,
Ixion his eternal Toil forewent,
And list'ning, on his rolling Labour, leant.
Swift-gliding Crouds of Spectres hover round;
Thick, as when Fowls obscure the Ev'ning Air,
And to their Groves in feather'd Clouds repair;
Men, Matrons, Maids, a visionary Throng,
Surround the Poet, and imbibe his Song;
With all those Multitudes of empty Ghosts,
Where Stygian Streams surround the squallid Coasts;
Heedless their own unhappy Fates to mourn,
Weeping, they make his Misery their own.
E'en Hell it self, with all its Fiends, was charm'd,
Its Terrors soften'd, and its Rage disarm'd;
The grinning Guardian loll'd his triple Tongue,
And fawning, lick'd the Poet, as he sung;
The very Furies heav'd away their Chains,
And sound their own too weak for Musick's Strains,
142
And list'ning, on his rolling Labour, leant.
But now the tuneful Bard, his Bride restor'd,
Back to the Realms of Day, the Path explor'd;
Slowly she follow'd, as he led the Way,
Obedient to Proserpina's Decree:
For if, before the gloomy Shades were past,
He turn'd to Look, the Look must be his last,
A Fault which Hell might pass in Silence by,
Could Hell behold it with a Lover's Eye:
And now near travers'd o'er the Realms of Night,
They rose emergent on the Beams of Light;
When the poor Youth unfortunately kind,
Cast a too fond-conductive Glance behind:
But, as he turn'd, three Peals of Thunder spoke,
The dire conditionary Promise broke;
While thus the sadly sweet, reproving Maid,
Bespoke the Youth by too much Love betray'd.
Back to the Realms of Day, the Path explor'd;
Slowly she follow'd, as he led the Way,
Obedient to Proserpina's Decree:
For if, before the gloomy Shades were past,
He turn'd to Look, the Look must be his last,
A Fault which Hell might pass in Silence by,
Could Hell behold it with a Lover's Eye:
And now near travers'd o'er the Realms of Night,
They rose emergent on the Beams of Light;
When the poor Youth unfortunately kind,
Cast a too fond-conductive Glance behind:
But, as he turn'd, three Peals of Thunder spoke,
The dire conditionary Promise broke;
While thus the sadly sweet, reproving Maid,
Bespoke the Youth by too much Love betray'd.
143
Unhappy Orpheus! ah, unhappy Boy!
What mov'd thee thus to blast our bloomy Joy?
Alas! for ever lost, I leave Thee now!
This parting Kiss, to sooth eternal Woe—
Farewel—dim Shades of Horrour round me rise,
And sudden Night o'erwhelms my swimming Eyes.
What mov'd thee thus to blast our bloomy Joy?
Alas! for ever lost, I leave Thee now!
This parting Kiss, to sooth eternal Woe—
Farewel—dim Shades of Horrour round me rise,
And sudden Night o'erwhelms my swimming Eyes.
She said; and as she said, in Shades withdrew,
From his deluded Arms, the Vision flew;
With strict Embrace, in vain he stops her Stay,
Desolv'd to air, unfelt, she glides away;
In vain he seeks her with incessant Eyes,
In vain invokes her with imploring Cries;
What could he do? All Efforts are too late,
Again her Soul is summon'd down by Fate;
Th' infernal Ferry-man relents no more,
And e'en his Musick now forgets its Power!
From his deluded Arms, the Vision flew;
With strict Embrace, in vain he stops her Stay,
Desolv'd to air, unfelt, she glides away;
In vain he seeks her with incessant Eyes,
In vain invokes her with imploring Cries;
What could he do? All Efforts are too late,
Again her Soul is summon'd down by Fate;
Th' infernal Ferry-man relents no more,
And e'en his Musick now forgets its Power!
144
Seven Months, by Fame's Report, the lonesome Swain,
Devoted to his melancholly Pain:
Where Scythian Hills are bleak with drifted Snow,
And shiver in the frigid Floods below,
Distracted, with Indulgency of Grief,
In Soul-restoring Strains he sought Relief;
In Strains that e'en the barren Mountains charm'd,
And their eternal Frosts with Pity warm'd:
The list'ning Salvages his Power confess'd,
Their Rage he sooth'd, but could not sooth his Breast.
Devoted to his melancholly Pain:
Where Scythian Hills are bleak with drifted Snow,
And shiver in the frigid Floods below,
Distracted, with Indulgency of Grief,
In Soul-restoring Strains he sought Relief;
In Strains that e'en the barren Mountains charm'd,
And their eternal Frosts with Pity warm'd:
The list'ning Salvages his Power confess'd,
Their Rage he sooth'd, but could not sooth his Breast.
As the lamenting Nightingale complains,
Of cruel Spoilers, and destructive Swains,
When sad! she sees her Younglings borne away,
Her downy Darlings, an inhuman Prey!
Sunk in some Gloom, she darkling Pines alone,
Sighs out her Grief, and murmurs out her Moan.
Thus Orpheus sought to calm his peaceless Breast,
A Stranger to the Quietude of Rest;
Now wildly tortur'd by Despair, he goes,
O'er freezing Mountains of eternal Snows,
Delighted to the barren Rocks to tell,
The rigorous Benevolence of Hell;
Averse to Venus, and the Nuptial Joys,
In unavailing Grief his Life destroys;
Till frantick Bacchanals that madly strove
To warm his Bosom to a second Love,
With Rage, Revenge, and brutal Fury arm'd,
More Salvage, than those Salvages he charm'd,
Conspir'd against his Life, the Bard they slew,
And on cold Hebe's Streams his Head they threw;
Yet, e'en in Death, his Voice bewails his Woe,
And with the Streams his Strains in Anguish flow;
Eurydice! his dying Tongue deplores,
Eurydice! resounds along the length'ning Shores.
Of cruel Spoilers, and destructive Swains,
When sad! she sees her Younglings borne away,
Her downy Darlings, an inhuman Prey!
Sunk in some Gloom, she darkling Pines alone,
Sighs out her Grief, and murmurs out her Moan.
145
A Stranger to the Quietude of Rest;
Now wildly tortur'd by Despair, he goes,
O'er freezing Mountains of eternal Snows,
Delighted to the barren Rocks to tell,
The rigorous Benevolence of Hell;
Averse to Venus, and the Nuptial Joys,
In unavailing Grief his Life destroys;
Till frantick Bacchanals that madly strove
To warm his Bosom to a second Love,
With Rage, Revenge, and brutal Fury arm'd,
More Salvage, than those Salvages he charm'd,
Conspir'd against his Life, the Bard they slew,
And on cold Hebe's Streams his Head they threw;
Yet, e'en in Death, his Voice bewails his Woe,
And with the Streams his Strains in Anguish flow;
Eurydice! his dying Tongue deplores,
Eurydice! resounds along the length'ning Shores.
| The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison | |