Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Acontius to Cydippe.

Argument.

In a religious assembly at the temple of Diana in Delos, Acontius was much enamour'd with Cydippe, a lady of remarkable wit and beauty. Besides this, her fortune and family were much above his own: which made him solicitous hovv to discover his Passion in a successful manner. At last he procured a very beautiful apple, upon which he wrote a dystick to this purpose, “I swear by chaste Diana I will for ever be thy Wife.” So soon as he had written it, he threw the apple directly at the feet of Cydippe, who imagining nothing of the deceit, took it up, and having read the inscription, found her self obliged by a solemn oath to marry Acontius. For in those times all oaths which were made in the temple of Diana, were esteemed inviolable. Some time afterwards, her father who knew no-

thing of what had happen'd, espous'd her to another lover. The marriage was just upon the point of celebration, when Cydippe was seized with a violent fever. Acontius writes to her, he reminds her of a former solemn obligation, and artfully insinuates that her distemper is inflicted as a just punishment from Diana.

[_]

From OVID.

Once more, Cydippe, all thy fears remove,
'Tis now too late to dread a cheat in love.
Those rosy lips in accents half divine,
Breath'd the soft promise in the Delian shrine;
Dear awful oath! enough Cydippe swore,
No human ties can bind a virgin more.
So may kind heav'n attend a lover's pray'r,
Soften thy pains, and comfort my despair.
See, the warm blush your modest cheeks enflame;
Yet is there cause for anger or for shame!
Recal to mind those tender lines of love,
Deny you cannot—tho' your heart disprove.

Still must I waste in impotent desires,
And only hope revive the fainting fires?
Yet did'st thou promise to be ever mine—
A conscious horrour seem'd to shake the shrine,
The pow'r consenting bow'd; a beam of light
Flash'd from the skies, and made the temple bright.
Ah! then Cydippe, dry thy precious tears:
The more my fraud, the more my love appears.
Love ever-watchful, ev'n by nature charms;
Enflames the modest, and the wise disarms;
Fair yet dissembling, pleasing but to cheat
With tender blandishment, and soft deceit,
Kind speaking motions, melancholy sighs,
Tears that delight, and eloquence of eyes.
Love first the treach'rous dear design inspir'd,
My hopes exalted, and my genius fir'd:
Ah! sure I cannot—must not guilty prove;
Deceit it self is laudable in love!

Once more inspir'd such tender lines I send,
See, my hand trembles lest my thoughts offend.
Heroes in war enflam'd by beauty's charms,
Tear the sad virgin from her parents arms;
I too, like these, feel the fierce flames of love,
Yet check my rage, and modestly reprove.
Ah, teach me, heav'n, some language to persuade,
Some other vows to bind the faithless maid;
O Love all-eloquent, you only know
To touch the soul with elegies of woe!
If treach'ry fail, by force I urge my right,
Sheath'd in rough armour, formidably bright:
So Paris snatch'd his Spartan bride away,
A half denying, half consenting prey;
I too resolve—whate'er the dangers be,
For death is nothing when compar'd to thee.
Were you less fair, I then might guiltless prove,
And moderate the fury of my love;

But ah! those charms for ever must inspire,
Each look, each motion sets my soul on fire.
Heav'ns! with what pleasing extasies of pain
Trembling I gaze, and watch thy glance in vain.
How can I praise those golden curls that deck
Each glowing cheek, or wave around thy neck:
Thy swelling arms, and forehead rising fair,
Thy modest sweetness, and attractive air;
Adjoin to these a negligence of grace,
A winning accent, and enchanting face.
Dear matchless charms! I cease to name the rest,
Nor wonder thou that love inflames my breast.

Since all alike to Hymen's altars bend,
Ah, bless at once the lover, and the friend!
Let envy rage, and int'rest disapprove,
Envy and int'rest must submit to love.

By pray'rs and vows Hesione was won
To share the joys of hostile Telamon.
Soft gen'rous pity touch'd the captive dame
Who warm'd Achilles with a lover's flame.
To bless the wretched, shows a soul divine—
Be ever angry—but be ever mine.
Yet can no pray'rs thy firm resentment move?
Wretch that I was so ill to fix my love!
See, at thy feet despairing, wild I roul,
Grief swells my heart, and anguish racks my soul,
There fix my doom; relentless to my sighs,
And lifted hands, and supplicating eyes.
Then wilt thou say (for pity sure must move
A virgin's breast) “how patient is his love!
“Ev'n my heart trembles, as his tears I see;
“The youth who serves so well, is worthy me.

Still must I then in sad distraction moan?
My cause unheeded, and my grief unknown.
Ah, no—Acontius cannot write in vain;
Sure ev'ry wretch has licence to complain!
But if you triumph in a lover's woe,
Remember still Diana is your foe:
Diana listen'd to the vows you made,
And trembled at the change her eyes survey'd.
Ah, think, repent, while yet the time is giv'n,
Fierce is the vengeance of neglected heav'n!
By Dian's hand the Phrygian matron fell,
Sent with her race, an early shade to hell.
Chang'd to a stag, Acteon pour'd away,
In the same morn the chaser and the prey.
Althea rag'd with more than female hate,
And hurl'd into the flames the brand of fate.
Like these offensive, punish'd too like these,
Heav'n blasts thy joys, and heightens the disease.

Nor think Cydippe, (as my fears foresee)
A thought unworthy of thyself, or me!
Think not I frame this seeming truth, to prove
Thy stern disdain, a pious fraud in love;
Rather than so, I yet abjure thy charms,
And yield thee scornful, to another's arms!
Alas, for this pale sickness haunts thy bed,
And shooting aches seem to tear thy head;
A sudden vengeance waits thy guilty loves;
Absent is Hymen, Dian disapproves.
Think then, repent—recal the parting breath
O'er thy lips hov'ring in the hour of death.
See, on thy cheeks the fading purple dies,
And shades of darkness settle on thy eyes.
But whence, ye pow'rs, or wherefore rose that pray'r?
Still must I mourn in absence, or despair;
Forc'd, if she dies, the promise to resign—
Ev'n if she lives, I must not call her mine!

Like some pale ghost around thy house I rove,
Now burn in rage, and now relent with love;
A thousand needless messages I make,
A thousand mournful speeches give, and take.
O that my skill the sov'reign virtues knew
Of ev'ry herb that drinks the early dew,
Then might I hear thy moans, thy sickness see,
Nor were it sure a crime to gaze on thee.
Perhaps ev'n now, (as fear foresees too well)
The wretch I curse, detest, avoid like hell,
Beside thee breathes a love-dejected sigh,
And marks the silent glances of thy eye.
Some faint excuse he raises, to detain
Thy swelling arm, and press the beating vein:
Now o'er thy neck his glowing fingers rove,
Too great a pleasure for so mean a love!

Villain beware! the sacred nymph resign,—
Avoid, detest her, dread whate'er is mine;
Elsewhere a lover's preference I give,
But cease to rival here, or cease to live.
The vows you claim by right of human laws,
At best but serve to vindicate my cause.
To thee alone by duty is she kind;
Can parents alienate a daughter's mind?
First weigh the crime, the vengeance next explore,
The father promis'd, but the daughter swore:
That merely vain on human faith relies;
But this obtests the sanction of the skies.

Here cease my woes—ah, whither am I born
A woman's triumph, and a rival's scorn?
Vain are my vows, unheeded is my pray'r,
The scatt'ring winds have lost 'em all in air;

Yet think Cydippe, e'er thy lover dies!
Banish that wretch for ever from thy eyes;
Scorn, envy, censures are conferr'd on me,
And pain,—and death is all he brings to thee.
Gods! may some vengeance crimes like these attone,
And snatch his life, to mediate for thy own!

Nor think to please avenging Cynthia's eyes
With streams of blood in holy sacrifice:
Heav'n claims the real, not the formal part,
A troubled spirit, and repenting heart.
For ease, and health the patient oft requires
The piercing steel, and burns alive in fires;
Not so with you—ah, but confirm the vow!
One look, one promise can restore thee now;
Again thy smiles eternal joys bestow,
And thy eyes sparkle, and thy blushes glow.

Suppose from me for ever you remove,
Once must you fall a sacrifice to love;
And then, ah, then will angry Cynthia close
Thy wakeful eyes, or ease a matron's throes?
Yet wilt thou ever find a cause for shame?
No sure—a mother cannot, must not blame.
Tell her the vow, the place, the sacred day
I gaz'd on thee, and gaz'd my heart away:
Then will she surely say (if e'er she knew
But half that tender love I feel for you)
“Ah, think Cydippe, and his consort be;
“The youth who pleas'd Diana, pleases me!
Yet if she asks (as women oft enquire)
Tell her my life, my nation, and my sire:
Not void of youthful vanities I came,
Nor yet inglorious in the world of fame;

From ancient race I drew my gen'rous blood,
Where Cea's isle o'erlooks the watry flood:
Add, that I study ev'ry art to please,
Blest in my genius, born to live at ease.
Wit, merit, learning cannot fail to move,
And all those dearer blessings lost in love!
Ah! had you never sworn, 'twere hard to chuse
A love like mine—and will you now refuse?

In midnight dreams when wakeful fancy keeps
Its dearest thoughts, and ev'n in slumber weeps,
Diana's self these mournful strains inspir'd,
And Cupid when I wak'd, my genius fir'd.
Methinks, ev'n now, his piercing arrows move
My tender breast, and spread the pains of love.
Like me beware, unhappy as thou art!
Direct at thee Diana aims her dart
To drink the blood that feeds thy faithless heart.

The loves thou never can'st enjoy, resign;
Nor rashly lose another life with thine.
Then will we, eager as our joys, remove
To Dian's shrine, the patroness of love!
High o'er her head in triumph shall be plac'd
The golden fruit, with this inscription grac'd;
“Ye hapless lovers, hence, for ever know
“Acontius gain'd the nymph who caus'd his woe!
Here cease my hand—I tremble, lest each line
Should wound a soul so griev'd, so touch'd as thine.
No more my thoughts th' ungrateful toil pursue;
Pleasure farewel, and thou, my dear, adieu!

Part of Pindar's first Pythian Ode paraphrased.

Χρυσεα φορμιγξ Απολλω------

Argument.

This ode is address'd to Hieron king of Sicily, as is also the first of the Olympics. Pindar takes occasion to begin with an encomium on Music, finely describing its effects upon the passions. We must suppose this art to be one of his hero's more distinguishable excellencies; as it appears from several passages in the ode above. From thence he expatiates in the praise of Poetry; and inveighs very severely upon those who either contemn, or have no taste for that divine science. Their misfortunes and punishments are instanc'd

by those of Typhœus: whom the poets imagine to be imprisoned by Jupiter under mount Ætna. The digressions in this ode are the most inartificial and surprising of any in the whole author. We are once more in the hero's native country; every thing opens agreeably to the eye, and the poem proceeds after Pindar's usual manner.

Strophe I.

Gentle lyre, begin the strain;
Wake the string to voice again.
Music rules the world above;
Music is the food of love.
Soft'ned by the pow'r of sound,
Human passions melt away:
Melancholy feels no wound,
Envy sleeps, and fears decay.
Entranc'd in pleasure Jove's dread eagle lies,
Nor grasps the bolt, nor darts his fiery eyes.

Antistrophe I.

See, Mars awak'd by loud alarms
Rouls o'er the field his sanguine eyes,
His heart tumultuous beats to arms,
And terrours glare, and furies rise!
Hark the pleasing lutes complain,
In a softly-breathing strain;
Love, and slumber seal his eye
By the gentle charms opprest:
From his rage he steals a sigh,
Sinking on Dione's breast.

Epode I.

Verse, gentle verse from heav'n descending came,
Curst by the wicked, hateful to the vain:
Tyrants and slaves profane its sacred name,
Deaf to the tender lay, or vocal strain. . . .

In fires of hell Typhœus glows,
Imprison'd by the wrath of Jove;
No ease his restless fury knows,
Nor sounds of joy, nor pleasing love.
Where, glitt'ring faintly on the eye,
Sicilian Ætna props the sky
With mountains of eternal snow;
He darts his fiery eyes in vain,
And heaves, and roars, and bites his chain
In impotence of woe.

Strophe II.

Angry flames like scarlet glowing
Fiery torrents ever flowing,
Smoak along the with'ring plain
E'er they rush into the main.
When the sable veil of night
Stretches o'er the shaded sky.

Fires of sulphur gleam with light,
Burning rocks disparted fly.
Sudden, by turns the flashing flames arise,
Pour down the winds, or tremble up the skies.

Antistrophe II.

In fair Sicilia's rich domain,
Where flow'rs and fruits eternal blow,
Where plenty spreads her peaceful reign,
And seas surround, and fountains flow,
Bright religion lifts her eye,
Wand'ring thro' the kindred-sky.
Hail thou, everlasting Jove,
Parent of th' Aonian quire;
Touch my raptur'd soul with love,
Warm me with celestial fire!

Epode II.

The pious mariner when first he sweeps
The foaming billows, and exalts his sails,
Propitiates ev'ry pow'r that rules the deeps,
Led by new hopes, and born by gentle gales.
So e'er the muse disus'd to sing,
Emblazons her fair Hero's praise:
(What time she wakes the trembling string,
Attemper'd to the vocal lays)
Prostrate in humble guise she bends,
While some celestial pow'r descends
To guide her airy flights along;
God of the silver bow, give ear;
(Whom Tenedos, and Chrysa fear)
Observant of the Song!

Strophe III.

Gentle wishes, chaste desires,
Holy Hymen's purer fires:
Lives of innocence and pleasure,
Moral virtue's mystic treasure;
Wisdom, eloquence, and love,
All are blessings from above.
Hence regret, distaste, dispraise,
Guilty nights, uneasy days:
Repining jealousies, calm friendly wrongs,
And fiercer envy, and the strife of tongues.

Antistrophe III.

When virtue bleeds beneath the laws,
Or ardent nations rise in arms,
Thy mercies judge the doubtful cause,
Thy courage ev'ry breast alarms.

Kindling with heroic fire
Once again I sweep the lyre.

Fair as summer's evening skies,
Ends thy life serene, and glorious;
Happy hero, great and wise,
Oe'r thy foes, and self victorious.

THE EPISODE OF Orpheus and Eurydice

[_]

Translated from the Fourth Georgic of Virgil.

At chorus æqualis Dryadum------

Her sudden death the Mountain-Dryads mourn'd,
And Rhodope's high brow the dirge return'd:
Bleak Orythŷa trembled at their woe,
And silver Hebrus murmur'd in his flow.

While to his mournful harp, unseen, alone,
Despairing Orpheus warbled out his moan.
With rosy dawn his plaintive lays begun,
His plaintive voice sung down the setting sun.

Now in the frantic bitterness of woe
Silent he treads the dreary realms below,
His loss in tender numbers to deplore,
And touch the souls who ne'er were touch'd before.
Mov'd with the pleasing harmony of song,
The shadowy spectres 'round the poet throng:
Num'rous as birds that o'er the forest play,
(When evening Phœbus rouls the light away:
Or when high Jove in wintry seasons pours
A sudden deluge from descending show'rs.)
The mother's ghost, the father's rev'rend shade,
The blooming hero, and th' unmarry'd maid:

The new-born heir who soon lamented dies,
And feeds the flames before his parent's eyes;
All whom Cocytus' sable water bounds,
And Styx with thrice three wand'ring streams surrounds.

See, the dread regions tremble and admire!
Ev'n Pain unmov'd stands heark'ning to the lyre.
Intent, Ixion stares, nor seems to feel
The rapid motions of the whirling wheel.
Th' unfolding snakes around the furies play,
As the pale sisters listen to the lay.

Nor was the poet's moving suit deny'd,
Again to realms above he bears his bride.
When (stern decree!) he turns his longing eyes. . .
'Tis done, she's lost, for ever ever flies—
Too small the fault, too lasting was the pain,
Could love but judge, or hell relent again!

Amaz'd he stands, and by the glimpse of day
Just sees th' unbody'd shadow flit away.
When thus she cry'd—ah, too unthoughtful spouse
Thus for one look to violate thy vows!
Fate bears me back, again to hell I fly,
Eternal darkness swims before my eye:
Again the melancholy plains I see,
Ravish'd from life, from pleasure, and from thee!
She said, and sinking into endless night,
Like exhalations vanish'd from the sight.
In vain he sprung to seize her, wept, or pray'd,
Swift glides away the visionary shade.

How wilt thou now, unhappy Orpheus, tell
Thy second loss, and melt the pow'rs of hell?
Cold are those lips that blest thy soul before,
And her fair eyes must roul on thine no more.

Sev'n tedious moons despairing, wild he stood,
And told his woes to Strymon's freezing flood.
Beneath his feet eternal snows were spread,
And airy rocks hang nodding o'er his head,
The savage beasts in circles round him play,
And rapid streams stand list'ning to the lay.

So when the shepherd-swain with curious eyes
Marks the fair nest, and makes the young his prize:
Sad Philomel, in poplar shades alone,
In vain renews her lamentable moan.
From night to morn she chaunts her tender love,
And mournful music dies along the grove.

No thoughts of pleasure now his soul employ,
Averse to Venus and the nuptial joy:
Wild as the winds o'er Thracia's plains he roves,
O'er the bleak mountains, and the leafless groves.

When stung with rage the Bacchanalian train
Rush'd to the Bard, and stretch'd him on the plain;
(Nor sounds, nor pray'rs their giddy fury move,
And he must cease to live, or learn to love)
See, from his shoulders in a moment flies
His bleeding head, and now, ah now he dies!
Yet as he dy'd, Eurydice he mourn'd,
Eurydice, the trembling banks return'd;
Eurydice, with hollow voice he cry'd,
Eurydice, ran murm'ring down the tide.

To the Right Honourable Lady Hertford, Upon the BIRTH OF Lord BEAUCHAMP.

Once more inspir'd, I touch the trembling string;
What muse for Hertford will refuse to sing?
Thine are the fav'rite strains, and may they be
Sacred to praise, to beauty, and to Thee!

Sudden, methinks, in vision I survey
The glorious triumphs of th' expected day:
Fair lovely sights in opening scenes appear,
And airy music trembles on my ear;
Surrounding eyes devour the beauteous boy,
And ev'ry bosom beats with sounds of joy.

Rise from thy slumbers, gentle infant, rise!
Lift thy fair head, unfold thy radiant eyes,
Whose lovely light must other courts adorn,
And wound the hearts of Beauties yet unborn
Subdue the sex, that triumphs in its pride,
And humble those, who charm the world beside.

Descend ye gentle Nine! descend, and spread
Laurels and bays around his infant-head.

Bid noble passions in his bosom roul,
And beams of fancy dawn upon his soul;
In soften'd music bid his accents flow,
Piercing, and gentle as descending snow;
Bid him be all that can his birth commend:
The daring patriot, and unshaken friend:
Admir'd, yet humble, modest, tho' severe,
Abroad obliging, and at home sincere;
Good, just, and affable in each degree:
Such is the father, such the son shall be!

These humble strains, indulgent Hertford, spare;
Forgive the Muse, O fairest of the fair!
First in thy shades (where silver Kennet glides,
Fair Marlbro's turrets trembling in his tides:
Where peace and plenty hold their gentle reign,
And lavish nature decks the fruitful plain:

Where the fam'd mountain lifts its walks on high,
As varying prospects open on the eye)
To love's soft theme I tun'd the warbling lyre,
And borrow'd from thy eyes poetic fire.

September the 30th. 1725. W. Harte.

THE Army of Adrastus, and his Allies, marching from Argos to the Siege of Thebes.

[_]

From the 4th Thebaid of Statius.

Iamq; suos circum------

Around the pomp in mourning weeds array'd,
Weeps the pale father, and the trembling maid:
The screaming infants at the portals stand,
And clasp, and stop the slow-proceeding band.

Each parting face a settled horrour wears,
Each low-held shield receives a flood of tears.
Some with a kiss (sad sign of future harms)
Round the clos'd beaver glue their clasping arms,
Hang on the spear, detain 'em as they go
With lifted eyes, and eloquence of woe.
Those warlike chiefs, whom dread Bellona steel'd,
And arm'd with souls unknowing once to yield,
Now touch'd with sorrows, hide their tear-ful eyes,
And all the hero melts away and dies.

So the pale sailor launching from the shore,
Leaves the dear prospects that must charm no more:
Here shrieks of anguish pierce his pitying ears.—
There strangely wild, a floating world appears—
Swift the fair vessel wings her watry flight,
And in a mist deceives the aking sight:

The native train in sad distraction weep,
Now beat their breasts, now tremble o'er the deep,
Curse ev'ry gale that wafts the fleet from land,
Breath the last sigh, and wave the circling hand.

You now, fair ancient truth! conduct along
Th' advent'rous bard, and animate his song:
Each godlike man in proper lights display,
And open all the war in dread array.
You too, bright mistress of th' Aonian quire,
Divine Calliope! resume the lyre:
The lives and deaths of mighty chiefs recite,
The waste of nations, and the rage of fight.

A SIMILIE,

UPON A Set of Tea-Drinkers.

So Fairy Elves their morning-table spread
O'er a white mushroom's hospitable head:
In acorn cups the merry goblins quaff
The pearly dews, they sing, they love, they laugh;
Melodious music trembles thro' the sky,
And airy sounds along the green-wood die.

The same:

Diversifyed in Auncient Metre.

So, yf deepe clerkes in tymes of yore saine trew,
Or poets eyne, perdie, mought sothly vew,
The dapper Elfins theyr queint festes bedight
Wyth mickle plesaunce on a mushrome lite:
In acorne cuppes they quaffen daint liquere,
And rowle belgardes, and defflie daunce yfere;
Ful everidele they makin musike sote,
And sowns aeriall adowne the grene woode flote.

A SOLILOQUY,

OCCASION'D By the Chirping of a Grasshopper.

Happy Insect! ever blest
With a more than mortal rest,
Rosy dews the leaves among,
Humble joys, and gentle song!
Wretched Poet! ever curst,
With a life of lives the worst,

Sad despondence, restless sears,
Endless jealousies and tears.

In the burning summer, thou
Warblest on the verdant bough,
Meditating chearful play,
Mindless of the piercing ray;
Scorch'd in Cupid's fervors, I
Ever weep, and ever die.

Proud to gratify thy will,
Ready nature waits thee still:
Balmy wines to thee she pours,
Weeping thro' the dewy flow'rs:
Rich as those by Hebe giv'n
To the thirsty sons of heav'n.

Yet alas! we both agree,
Miserable thou like me!
Each alike in youth rehearses
Gentle strains, and tender verses;
Ever wand'ring far from home;
Mindless of the days to come,
(Such as aged winter brings
Trembling on his icy wings)
Both alike at last we die;
Thou art starv'd, and so am I!

THE STORY OF ARETHUSA.

Connexion to the former.

The Poet describes Ceres wandering over the World in great affliction, to search after her daughter Proserpina, who was then lost. At last Arethusa (a river of Sicily) informs the goddess that her daughter was stolen away by

Pluto, and carried down into hell. Now it was ordained by fate, that Proserpine should return again, if she tasted not of any fruit in the other world. But temptations were strong, and the woman could not resist eating six or seven kernels of a pomgranate. However, to mitigate the sentence, Jupiter decreed that she should reside but half the year with Pluto, and pass the rest with her mother: Upon these terms Ceres is very well pacifyed, and in complaisance desires Arethusa to relate her life, and for what reasons she was changed into a river.

[_]

Translated from the 5th Book of Ovid's Metamorph.

Hush'd in suspence the gath'ring waters stood,
When thus began the Parent of the flood:
What time emerging from the wave, she prest
Her verdant tresses dropping on her breast.

Of all the nymphs Achaia boasts, (she said)
Was Arethusa once the fairest maid.

None lov'd so well, to spread in early dawn
The trembling meshes o'er the dewy lawn:
Tho' dress and beauty scarce deserv'd my care,
Yet ev'ry tongue confess'd me to be fair.
The charms which others strive for, I resign,
And think it ev'n a crime to find them mine!

It chanc'd one morn, returning from the wood,
Weary I wander'd by a silver flood:
The gentle waters scarce were seen to glide,
And a calm silence still'd the sleeping tyde;
High o'er the banks a grove of watry trees
Spread its dark shade, that trembled to the breeze.
(My vest suspended on the boughs) I lave
My chilly feet, then plunge beneath the wave;

A ruddy light my blushing limbs dispread,
And the clear stream half glows with rosy-red.
When from beneath in awful murmurs broke
A hollow voice, and thus portentous spoke:

“My lovely nymph, my Arethusa stay,
“Alpheüs calls; it said, or seem'd to say—

Naked and swift I flew, (my cloaths behind)
Fear strung my nerves, and shame enrag'd my mind.
So wing'd with hunger the fierce eagle flies,
To drive the trembling turtles thro' the skies:
So wing'd with fear the trembling turtles spring,
When the fierce eagle shoots upon the wing.

Swift-bounding from the God, I now survey
Where breezy Psophis and Cyllenè lay:
Elis' fair structures open'd on my eyes;
And waving Erymanthus cools the skies.
At length unequal for the rapid chase
Tremble my limbs, the God maintains the race:
O'er hills and vales with furious haste I flew;
O'er hills and vales the God behind me drew.
Now hov'ring o'er, his length'ning shadow bends,
(His length'ning shadow the low sun extends)
And sudden now, his sounding steps drew near;
At least I seem'd his sounding steps to hear.
Now sinking, in short sobs I gasp'd for breath,
Just in the jaws of violence and death.
Ah, Cynthia help! ('twas thus in thought I pray'd,
Ah, help a ravish'd, miserable maid!

The virgin-pow'r consenting to my pray'r,
Diffus'd around a veil of clouded air:
Lost in the gloom he wanders o'er the plain,
And Arethusa calls, but calls in vain;
In misty steams th' impervious vapours rise,
Perplex his guesses, and deceive his eyes.

What fears I felt as thus inclos'd I stood,
What chilling horrours trembled thro' my blood?
So pants the fawn in silence and despair,
When the grim wolf runs howling thro' the lair:
So sits the lev'ret, when the hound pursues
His trembling prey, and winds the tainted dews.

Sudden my cheek with flashing colour burns,
Pale swoons, and sickly fears succeed by turns:
Cold creeps my blood, its pulses beat no more:
Big drops of sweat ascend from ev'ry pore;

Adown my locks the pearly dews distill,
And each full eye pours forth a gushing rill;
Now all at once my melting limbs decay,
In one clear stream dissolving fast away.

The God soon saw me floating o'er the plain,
And strait resum'd his watry form again—
Instant, Diana smote the trembling ground;
Down rush my waters with a murm'ring sound;
Thence darkling thro' th' infernal regions stray,
And in the Delian plains review the day.

Cupid Mistaken.

FROM THE Sports of CUPID, Written by Angerianus.

[_]

Imitated and Enlarged.

I

As fast beside a murm'ring stream,
In blissful visions Cupid lay,
Chloë, as she softly came,
Snatch'd his golden shafts away.

II

From place to place in sad surprize
The little angry godhead flew:
Trembling in his ruddy eyes
Hung the pearly drops of dew.

III

So on the rose (in blooming May,
When purple Phœbus rises bright)
Liquid gems of silver lay,
Pierc'd with glitt'ring streams of light.

IV

Fair Venus with a tender languish
Smiling, thus her son addrest,
As he murmur'd out his anguish
Trembling on her snowy breast:

V

Peace, gentle infant, I implore,
Nor lavish precious tears in vain;
Chloë, when the jest is o'er,
Brings the useless shafts again.

VI

Can Chloë need the shafts of love,
Young, blooming, witty, plump, and fair?
Charms and raptures round her move,
Murm'ring sighs, and deep despair.

VII

Millions for her unheeded die,
Millions to her their blessings owe;
Ev'ry motion of her eye
Murders more than Cupid's bow.

TO A Young LADY,

WITH Mr. Fenton's Miscellany.

These various strains, where ev'ry talent charms,
Where humour pleases, or where passion warms:
(Strains! where the tender and sublime conspire,
A Sappho's sweetness, and a Homer's fire).
Attend their doom, and wait with glad surprize
Th' impartial justice of Cleora's eyes.

'Tis hard to say, what mysteries of fate,
What turns of fortune on good writers wait.

The party-slave will wound 'em as he can,
And damns the merit, if he hates the man.
Nay, ev'n the Bards with wit and laurels crown'd,
Bless'd in each strain, in ev'ry art renown'd:
Misled by pride, and taught to sin by pow'r,
Still search around for those they may devour;
Like savage monarchs on a guilty throne,
Who crush all might that can invade their own.

Others who hate, yet want the soul to dare,
So ruin bards—as beaus deceive the fair:
On the pleas'd ear their soft deceits employ;
Smiling they wound, and praise but to destroy.
These are th' unhappy crimes of modern days,
And can the best of poets hope for praise?

How small a part of human blessings share
The wise, the good, the noble, or the fair!

Short is the date unhappy wit can boast,
A blaze of glory in a moment lost.
Fortune still envious of the great man's praise,
Curses the coxcomb with a length of days.
So (Hector dead) amid the female quire,
Unmanly Paris tun'd the silver lyre.

Attend ye Britons! in so just a cause
'Tis sure a scandal, to with-hold applause;
Nor let posterity reviling say,
Thus unregarded Fenton pass'd away!
Yet if the muse may faith or merit claim,
(A muse too just to bribe with venal fame)
Soon shalt thou shine “in majesty avow'd;
“As thy own goddess breaking thro' a cloud.”

Fame, like a nation-debt, tho' long delay'd,
With mighty int'rest must at last be paid.

Like Vinci's strokes, thy verses we behold;
Correctly graceful, and with labour bold.
At Sappho's woes we breathe a tender sigh,
And the soft sorrow steals from ev'ry eye.
Here Spenser's thoughts in solemn numbers roll,
Here lofty Milton seems to lift the soul.
There sprightly Chaucer charms our hours away
With stories queint, and gentle roundelay.

Muse! at that name each thought of pride recall,
Ah, think how soon the wise and glorious fall!
What tho' the Sisters ev'ry grace impart,
To smooth thy verse, and captivate the heart:
What tho' your charms, my fair Cleora! shine
Bright as your eyes, and as your sex divine:

Yet shall the verses, and the charms decay,
The boast of youth, the blessing of a day!
Not Chaucer's beauties could survive the rage
Of wasting envy, and devouring age:
One mingled heap of ruin now we see;
Thus Chaucer is, and Fenton thus shall be!

To Mr. Pope.

To move the springs of nature as we please,
To think with spirit, but to write with ease:
With living words to warm the conscious heart,
Or please the soul with nicer charms of art,
For this the Grecian soar'd in Epic strains,
And softer Maro left the Mantuan plains:
Melodious Spenser felt the lover's fire,
And awful Milton strung his heav'nly lyre.

'Tis yours, like these, with curious toil to trace
The pow'rs of language, harmony, and grace,
How nature's self with living lustre shines;
How judgment strengthens, and how art refines,

100

How to grow bold with conscious sense of fame,
And force a pleasure which we dare not blame:
To charm us more thro' negligence than pains,
And give ev'n life and action to the strains:
Led by some law, whose pow'rful impulse guides
Each happy stroke, and in the soul presides:
Some fairer image of perfection, giv'n
T'inspire mankind, itself deriv'd from heav'n.

O ever worthy, ever crown'd with praise;
Blest in thy life, and blest in all thy lays!
Add that the Sisters ev'ry thought refine:
Or ev'n thy life be faultless as thy line;
Yet envy still with fiercer rage pursues,
Obscures the virtue, and defames the muse.
A soul like thine, in pains, in grief resign'd,
Views with vain scorn the malice of mankind:

101

Not critics, but their planets prove unjust:
And are they blam'd who sin because they must?

Yet sure not so must all peruse thy lays;
I cannot rival—and yet dare to praise.
A thousand charms at once my thoughts engage,
Sappho's soft sweetness, Pindar's warmer rage,
Statius' free vigour, Virgil's studious care,
And Homer's force, and Ovid's easier air.

So seems some Picture, where exact design,
And curious pains, and strength and sweetness join:
Where the free thought its pleasing grace bestows,
And each warm stroke with living colour glows:
Soft without weakness, without labour fair;
Wrought up at once with happiness and care!

How blest the man that from the world removes
To joys that Mordaunt, or his Pope approves;

102

Whose taste exact each author can explore,
And live the present and past ages o'er:
Who free from pride, from penitence, or strife,
Move calmly forward to the verge of life:
Such be my days, and such my fortunes be,
To live by reason, and to write by thee!

Nor deem this verse, tho' humble, thy disgrace;
All are not born the glory of their race:
Yet all are born t' adore the great man's name,
And trace his footsteps in the paths to fame.
The Muse who now this early homage pays,
First learn'd from thee to animate her lays:
A Muse as yet unhonour'd, but unstain'd,
Who prais'd no vices, no preferment gain'd:
Unbyass'd or to censure or commend,
Who knows no envy, and who grieves no friend;
Perhaps too fond to make those virtues known,
And fix her fame immortal on thy own.

103

THE SIXTH THEBAID OF STATIUS.

Curritur ad vocem jucundam, & carmen amicæ
Thebaïdos, lætam fecit cum Statius urbem,
Promisitque diem: tantâ dulcedine captos
Afficit ille animos------

Juv. Sat. 7.

105

ARGUMENT
To the whole Thebaid.

Oedipus the son of Laius, king of Thebes, was in his infancy expos'd to wild beasts upon the mountains; but by some miraculous preservation he escap'd this danger, and afterwards, by mistake, slew his own father, as they contended for the way. He then married Jocasta, queen of Thebes, whom he knew not to be his mother, and had by her two sons, Etheocles and Polynices; who, after their father had put out his eyes, and banish'd himself from Thebes, agreed between themselves to govern year by year interchangeably. But this agreement was ill observ'd. Etheocles, when his date of government was expir'd, refus'd to resign

106

it to Polynices: who, in his rage, fled to Adrastus, king of Argos, to implore assistance against his brother. Adrastus receiv'd the young prince with all imaginable tenderness, and gave him in marriage to his fair daughter Deipyle, as the oracles had appointed. He then, with the assistance of his allies, undertakes to settle Polynices on the throne, and to depose Etheocles. Upon this, Thebes is besieg'd, and after several encounters, the difference is at last decided by the duel and death of the two brothers. This is the main Action of the Poem.

Besides this, by way of an under-action, the Poet has interwoven another distinct story. The Goddess Venus is resolved to revenge her self upon the Lemnians, because they neglected all sacrifices to her. She first disgusts the men with their wives, and then in return spirits up the women into a resolution of murdering their husbands. This horrible design was executed by each of them, except Hypsipyle, who saved her father Thoas. Sometime afterward this also was discover'd. Hypsipyle, to avoid the fury of the women fled to the sea-shore;

107

where she was taken by the pyrates, and presented by them to king Lycurgus, who made her nurse to his son Archemorus. The dominions of this prince lay directly in the way from Argos to Thebes. As Adrastus and his allies were marching thither, the troops were ready to perish for want of water. They chanc'd in a wood to meet Hypsipyle, who pitying their misfortunes, lays down in haste her young child, and shews them a spring that could never be drained. She receives the thanks of Adrastus, and having at his request recited her own adventures, returns back, and finds the young infant Archemorus just kill'd by a serpent. Her confusion and fears are described in an excellent speech upon that occasion. The Grecians kill the serpent, and in honour of the dead prince perform all the rites of burial; which is the subject of this present book.

First of all it begins with an historical account of the Nemeæan games, then follows the funeral, with a more particular description of hewing the forests, and offering their hair to the deceas'd. The anguish of Adrastus, the lamentations of Eurydice, and the silence of Hypsipyle, are extremely well

108

adapted to nature. A monument is erected to the memory of Archemorus, which is ornamented with the whole story in sculpture. After this succeed the funeral games; the chariot-race, the foot-race, the Discus, the fight with the Cæstus, the wrestling, and shooting of arrows; which last ends with a prodigy, foreboding that none of the confederate princes should return from the war, except Adrastus.

[_]

Translated into English; With NOTES.[Notes omitted.]

109

Soon mournful fame thro' ev'ry town proclaims
The rites of sepulture, and Grecian games:
What mighty chiefs should glory give or gain,
Prepar'd to combat on the listed plain.
These honours first the great Alcides paid
To please old Pelops' venerable shade:
What time near Pisa he inhum'd the dead,
And bound with olive-wreaths his dusty head.
These, with new hopes glad Phocis next bestow'd,
When Python sunk beneath her bowyer God.

110

These still religion to Palæmon pays,
(Religion blinded with a length of days)
When hanging o'er the deep in anguish raves
His royal mother to the sounding waves;
O'er either Isthmus floats the mingled moan,
And distant Thebè answers groan for groan.

The pious games begin, with loud alarms,
Here the young warriors first prelude in arms:
Each blooming youth Aonia sends to fame,
And each dear object to the Tyrian dame;
Who once embru'd in blood, shall heap around
High hills of slain, and deluge all the ground.

The youthful sailors thus with early care
Their arms experience, and for sea prepare:
On some smooth lake their lighter oars essay,
And learn the dangers of the watry way;

111

But once grown bold, they launch before the wind
Eager and swift, nor turn their eyes behind.

Aurora now, fair daughter of the day,
Warm'd the clear orient with a blushing ray;
Swift from mankind the pow'r of Slumbers flew:
And the pale moon her glimm'ring beams withdrew.
O'er the long woods the matin dirges run,
And shrieks of sorrow wake the rising sun.

Th' unhappy father, father now no more,
His bosom beat, his aged hairs he tore:
Beside him lay each ornament of state,
To make him wretched, as they made him great.
With more than female grief the mother cries,
And wringing both her hands, obtests the skies;
Bending she weeps upon th' extended slain,
Bathes ev'ry wound, returns, and weeps again.

112

But when the kings in sad and solemn woe,
Enter'd the dome, majestically slow:
(As if just then the trembling babe was found,
And life's last blood came issuing thro' the wound)
Breast took from breast the melancholy strain,
And pausing nature wept, and sob'd again.
Confus'd each Grecian hangs his guilty head,
And weeps a flood of tears to wail the dead.

Mean while Adrastus bears the friendly part,
And with kind words consoles the father's heart.
He marks th' eternal orders of the sky,
And proves that man was born to grieve and die;
Now tells him heav'n will future children send
To heir his kingdom, and his years defend.

113

In vain the charmer pleads, unbounded flow
The parent's tears, in violence of woe.
He hears no more than storms that thundring rise,
Regard the sailors vows, or piercing cries,
And the wild horrour of their stony eyes.

Apart, a croud of friends the bier bestrow
With cypress-boughs: Then place the straw below.
The second rank with short-liv'd flow'rs they spread,
Which soon must fade, and wither like the dead.
Arabian odours from the third diffuse
A grateful smoke, and weep in fragrant dews.
Above from heaps of gold bright colours stream,
And deeper purple shoots a sanguine gleam.

Inwoven on the pall, young Linus lay
In lonely woods, to mangling dogs a prey.

114

Heart-wounded at the sight, in anguish stands
Eurydice, and spreads her trembling hands;
Then turns her eyes, half dying with a groan,
For kindred miseries so like her own.
Arms, scepters, jewels, on the dead they throw,
And sacrifice all grandeur to their woe.
As if the hero, deck'd with warlike spoil,
Was born in triumph to the fun'ral Pyle.
Yet as due rites with kind affection paid,
Can add some honours to the infant-shade;
Hence rose magnificence, and solemn tears,
With presents suited to maturer years.

Long time with early hopes Lycurgus fed
A breed of coursers sacred to the dead.
A glitt'ring helm was safely plac'd apart,
And purple trappings of Sidonian art:

115

And consecrated spears, (a deadly store)
Radiant and keen, as yet unstain'd with gore.
The pious mother thus, deceiv'd too late
Like her fond spouse, reserv'd a crown of state,
And royal robes, o'erwrought with rising flow'rs;
The silent growth of solitary hours.
These and the rest at once, the furious sire
Dooms in distraction to the greedy fire.

Mean while, assembled by the Seer's commands,
To raise the Pyre, croud thick the Grecian bands,
From Nemee these, and Tempe's lofty crown,
Tumble whole heaps of crashing forests down:
Their airy brows the naked hills display,
And earth once more beholds the face of day.
Deep groan the groves: On russling pinions rise
Birds after birds; the angry salvage flies.

116

Sacred thro' time, from age to age it stood,
A wide-spread, gloomy, venerable wood:
Older than man, and ev'ry sylvan maid,
Who haunts the grot, or skims along the glade.
Stretch'd o'er the ground the tow'ring oaks were seen,
The foodful beech, and cypress ever green:
The nuptial elm, and mountain-holm entire,
The pitchy tree that feeds the fun'ral fire:
The resin soft, and solitary yew,
For ever dropping with unwholesome dew;
The poplar trembling o'er the silver flood,
The warrior ash that reeks in hostile blood,
Th' advent'rous firr that sails the vast profound,
And pine, fresh bleeding from th' odorous wound—
All at one time the nodding forests bend,
And with a crash together all descend.
Loud as when blust'ring Boreas issues forth,
To bring the sweeping whirlwind from the north:

117

Sudden and swift as kindling flames arise,
Float o'er the fields, and blaze unto the skies.
The sinking grove resounds with frequent groans,
Sylvanus starts, and hoary Pales moans.
Trembling and slow the guardian-nymphs retire,
Or clasp the tree, and perish in the fire.

So when some chief, (the city storm'd) commands
Revenge and plunder to his furious bands:
E'er yet he speaks the domes in ruin lay;
They strike they level, seize and bear away.

Sacred to heav'n and hell, the mourners rear
Two massy altars, pointing in the air.
The pious rites begin, in mournful strains
The music of the Phrygian fife complains;
Whose pow'rful sounds th' unwilling ghosts obey,
And pale, and shiv'ring mount the realms of day.

118

First Pelops taught these melancholy strains,
When Niobe's fond offspring prest the plains;
Six blooming youths, and six fair virgins fell,
Sent by fierce Cynthia to the shades of hell.

Incense and oil upon the Pyle they throw,
And mighty monarchs mighty gifts bestow.
High-rais'd in air the mournful bier is born,
Dejected chiefs Lycurgus' train adorn;
The female sex around the mother croud,
And weep and sob, and vent their griefs aloud:
Behind Hypsipyle's soft sorrows flow
Silent, and fast, in eloquence of woe.
Each heaving bosom draws a deeper sigh,
And the big passion bursts from ev'ry eye.
Thus while the crystal tears unbounded ran,
In piercing shrieks Eurydice began.

119

Ah! dearest child! amid these mournful dames
I never thought to give thee to the flames!
How could I dream of sorrows and of death,
In the first moments of thy infant breath?
How could I dread these bloody wars to see;
Or deem that Thebes should ever murder thee?
What sudden vengeance wing'd with wrath divine
Pursues me still, and curses all my line?
Yet Cadmus' sons in ease and plenty live,
Blest with each joy th' indulging pow'rs can give;
No mourning dames in sable weeds appear,
To bathe the last cold ashes with a tear.

Wretch that I was, too fondly to believe
A faithless slave, a wand'ring fugitive!
Pious she told the melancholy tale
With fair invention, pow'rful to prevail;

120

Is this that guardian of the Lemnian state,
Who snatch'd her father from the jaws of fate?

Ah no! herself the bloody furies join'd,
And vow'd like those, destruction to mankind!
Is this her care; to leave in woods alone
Her prince, nay more, an infant not her own?
Suppose thro' pity or neglect she stray'd,
(While my dear child lay trembling in the shade)
Unknowing of the monsters wild and vast,
Who haunt the gloomy groves, or dreary wast;
Each murm'ring fount that quivers to the breeze,
Each dying gale that pants upon the trees,
Sudden by turns distract an infant's ears,
And death attends th'imaginary fears.

Hail thou dear infant! wretched, early ghost,
Murder'd by her who ought to love thee most.

121

Whose hands sustain'd thee, and whose music charm'd,
Whose eye o'ersaw thee, and whose bosom warm'd:
Who dry'd thy cheeks with streams of crystal drown'd,
And taught thy voice to frame the fault'ring sound.
Ungrateful wretch, may grief thy years consume,
And pains eternal bend thee to the tomb!
Tear her, ye warriors, tear her from my eyes,
Deaf to her vows, her penitence, or cries:
Deep in her bosom drive th' avenging dart,
To drink the blood that feeds her faithless heart.
In the same moment I'll resign my breath,
Satiate with fury, and content in death!

She spake, and starting saw the Lemnian maid,
As in the silence of her soul she pray'd:
Sudden her rage rekindles at the view,
And trickling down her cheeks descend the drops of dew.

122

Bear, oh ye chiefs, this female curse away,
Who adds a horror to the fun'ral day,
Who with a smile profanes the matron's moan,
And triumphs in misfortunes not her own.
She said, and sinking drew a fainter sigh,
Rage stop'd her voice, and grief o'erwhelm'd her eye;
Thence slowly moving thro' the croud she went
By silent steps, in sullen discontent.

So when the holy priest with curious eyes,
Dooms some fair heifer to the sacrifice,
Or the gaunt lion bears her thro' the wood,
As down her side distils the life-warm blood:
The mother-beast dejected, and alone
Pours to the winds her lamentable moan,
With mournful looks she paces from the plain,
And often goes, and often turns again.

123

The father now unbares his rev'rend head;
His silver locks he scatters o'er the dead:
Then with a sigh, the venerable man
Thus to the parent of the gods began.

If Jove's almighty wisdom can deceive,
Curst is the man who fondly will believe!
These sacred hairs, long from the razor free,
Ibore, a pious gift reserv'd for thee:
What time Opheltes' youthful cheeks resign
Their tender down, an off'ring at thy shrine.
In vain—the sullen priest refus'd my pray'r,
And scatt'ring winds disperst it all in air.
Tear them my fingers, tear them from my head,
The last sad office to the worthy dead!

124

Mean while the kindling brand awakes the fire,
Th' unwilling parents silently retire:
High-lifted shields, that intercept the light
In one dark circle, hide the mournful sight.
The flying em'ralds crackle in the blaze,
And fiery rubies stream with sanguine rays.
In shining rills the trembling silver flows,
And clearer gold with flaming lustre glows.
In balmy clouds Arabia's odours rise,
To waft their grateful fragrance to the skies.
Rich urns of milk, tott'ring, their streams incline,
Mingling with blood, and ting'd with sable wine.

Sev'n mournful cohorts (as their chieftains lead)
With arms reverst pace slowly round the dead;
Now moving to the left, enclose the Pyre,
And scatter heaps of dust to sink the fire;

125

Thrice join their spears, thrice clash their sounding shields;
Four times the females shriek, and clamour fills the fields.

Remote from these, another fire they feed
With firstling victims of the woolly breed.
Intent in thought the pious Augur stands,
Approves the rites, inspires the fainting bands:
Calmly dissembling in his anxious mind
Each sad presage of miseries behind.

Returning from the right with loud alarms,
Again the warriors beat their clatt'ring arms:
Shields, lances, helms, the sinking flames o'erspread,
A friend's last pledges to the warlike dead.
Full on the winds the swelling music floats,
And Nemee's shades pour back the length'ning notes.

126

So when the trumpeter with lab'ring breath
Shakes the wide fields, and sounds the charge of death:
The blood fermenting feels a gentle heat,
Quick roul the eyes, and fast the pulses beat:
E'er yet their rage the martial god controuls,
Nor swells their nerves, nor rushes on their souls.

Now careful night in sober weeds array'd,
O'er the clear skies extends her dusky shade.
They bend the copious goblet o'er the Pyre,
And quench with wine the yet-remaining fire.

Nine times his course bright Lucifer had roll'd,
And ev'ning Vesper deck'd his rays with gold:
Now o'er the urn the sacred earth they spread,
And raise a monument to grace the dead.

127

Here in reliefe the Lemnian virgin stands,
Who points the grateful spring to Grecia's bands:
There young Opheltes breathes his dying moan,
And seems to shiver, and turn pale in stone;
In waving spires the Serpent floats along,
And rouls his eyes in death, and darts his forky tongue.

By this, the pleas'd spectators in a row,
Throng the green Circus, and enjoy the show.
Deep in the bosom of a vale it stood,
Sacred to sports, and overhung with wood:
A darker green its grassy surface crowns,
And smoothly swims the car along the downs.
Long e'er the dawn of morn the mingling throng
Spreads o'er the plain, and man bears man along:
(Not half such numbers croud the sacred space,
Where yearly honours dead Palæmon grace;)

128

Confus'd delight! the fair, the gay, the sage,
And boastful youth, and deep-discerning age.

Twice fifty steers along the plains they drew,
As many mother-cows of sable hue;
As many heifers raise their youthful horns,
Whose front as yet, no blaze of white adorns.

High o'er the people, wrought with lively grace,
Shine the fair glories of their ancient race:
Each speaking figure seems to touch the soul,
And life and motion animate the whole.
Here lab'ring Hercules with anguish prest
The roaring lion to his manly breast.
Inspir'd with art th' historic figures rise,
And ev'n in sculpture live, and meet the eyes.
Here rev'rend Inachus extends his side
O'er the green margin of his silver tyde:

129

Transform'd, behind him fearful Iö stood,
And cropt the grass besides her father's flood;
She mixes with the herd her mournful cries,
And often turns, and watches Argus' eyes.
Her, from the Pharian coast indulging Jove
Transferr'd immortal, to the realms above:
Still in her fanes the sable Memphian bows,
And eastern Magi pay their early vows.
Here Tantalus amid the pow'rs divine
Lifts the deep goblet crown'd with sparkling wine:
Nor stands (as Poets sing) in streams below,
Still curst with life, yet fated still to woe,
The wretch for ever pines, the streams for ever flow.

There Pelops lashes on with loos'ned reins
Neptune's fleet coursers o'er the smoking plains:
Behind his rival o'er the rapid steed
Hangs imminent------and drives with equal speed.

130

Acrysius here in thoughtful posture stands:
There brave Choræbus lifts his bleeding hands.
Here am'rous Jove descending as of old,
Impregnates Danae with a show'r of gold.
Her blushes Amymône strives to hide,
Comprest by Neptune in the silver tide.
Alcmena there young Hercules admires,
As her head blazes with three lambent fires.

Here Belus' sons at Hymen's altars stand,
And join with hearts averse the friendly hand:
A faithless smile of ill-dissembled grace
Seem'd most to flatter in Egysthus' face:
As the calm villain with severe delight
Acts in his mind the murders of the night.

Now ev'ry bosom beats with hopes, or fear,
The clamours thicken, and the croud draws near.

131

Inspire the muse, to sing each hero's deeds,
O Pow'r of verse! and name, and gen'rous steeds.

Before, afar, Arion beats the plain;
Loose to the breeze high-danc'd his floating mane:
Immortal steed! whom first th' earth-shaker's hand
Tam'd to the lash, and drove along the strand:
Tho' restless as the wintry surges roul,
And furious still, and unsubdu'd of soul.
Mix'd with his watry steeds the god he bore
To Lybian Syrtes, or th' Ionian shore:
Swift flew the rapid car, and left behind
The noise of tempests, and the wings of wind.
To glory next great Hercules he drew,
O'er hills, and vales, and craggy rocks he flew:
Then to Adrastus' government was giv'n
Th' immortal courser, and the gift of heav'n.

132

The royal hand by due degrees reclaim'd,
And length of years his stubborn spirit tam'd:
Him now with many a wish, and many a pray'r,
Adrastus lends to Polynices' care;
Shows him to urge his fiery soul along
With tim'rous hand, and gentleness of tongue:
The reins to guide, the circling lash to wield,
And drive victorious o'er the dusty field.

So sad Apollo with a boding sigh
Told his fond child the dangers of the sky:
Careful the parent, such advice to give!
Could fate be chang'd, or headstrong youth believe!

Th' O Ebalian Priest moves second o'er the plain,
Who boasts his coursers of immortal strain:
Sprung from fair Cyllarus in days of yore:
(The guilty product of a stol'n amour)

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When Castor griev'd in bitterness of soul,
Where seas scarce flow beneath the Scythian po le.
White were the steeds that drew him o'er the field,
White was his helm, his ribbands, and his shield.

Next, bold Admetus whirling from above
The sounding scourge, his female coursers drove:
Nor strokes, nor blandishment their rage controuls,
They bound, and swell with more than female souls,
Sprung from the cloud-born Centaurs, such their force,
Their lustful heat, and fury in the course.

Then fair Hypsipile's bold offspring came,
Two lovely twins, alike intent on fame,
Their steeds, their chariots, and their arms the same.
(This Thoas call'd, the name his grandsire bore;
And Euneos that, to sail from shore to shore)

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Each wish'd the glorious victory his own,
If not—his brother to be blest alone.

Last Chromis and Hippodamus succeed,
Each checks the reins, and each inspires his steed:
Alike with martial eminence they shone,
O Enomäus' this, and that Alcides' son;
One drove the coursers e'rst at Pisa bred,
And one the savage steeds of Diomed.

Whence first they start, a stony fragment stands,
Of old, a limit to contiguous lands.
An aged oak, of leaves and branches bare,
Presents a goal to guide the circling car.
Their distance such, as the wing'd arrow flies
Thrice from the bow sent hissing thro' the skies.

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Mean while, high-thron'd amid th' Aonian quire
Divine Apollo strikes the silver lyre;
He sung the wars on Phlegra's fatal plain,
And Python, o'er Castalia's fountain slain.
He sung what order rules the worlds on high,
Who bids the thunder roar, and lightning fly:
Who feeds the stars, or gave the winds to blow:
What springs eternal swell the seas below;
Who spread the clouds, who rouls the lamp of light
O'er heav'ns blue arch, or wraps the world in night.

Here ceas'd th' harmonious God, his lyre he laid
With decent care beneath a laureat shade;
Then in rich robes his beauteous limbs he drest:
A starry zone hung blazing o'er his breast.
Sudden a shout confus'dly strikes his ears—
He bends his awful eyes, the croud appears.

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Each chief he knows, and honours each, but most
The priest, and ruler of Thessalia's host.
What pow'r, (he cries) has fir'd with thirst of fame
These two adorers of Apollo's name?
Equally dear and good, alike renown'd
For piety, alike with favours crown'd.
When once a swain the lowing herds I drove,
(Such was the doom of fate, and wrath of Jove)
Still did Admetus' pious altars blaze,
And ev'ry temple rung with hymns of praise;
While at my shrine Amphiaräus stands,
And lifts his eyes, and spreads his trembling hands;
O dearest, best of men; alas no more—
Black fate impends, and all thy joys are o'er.
Soon must the Theban earth in sunder rend
Her opening jaws, and thou to hell descend!

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Admetus' life to distant times shall last,
And ev'ry year add glories to the past:
Unknowing of repentance, cares, and strife,
These hands shall guide him to the verge of life.
Each bird of omen told the fatal day—
He said, and weeping turn'd his eyes away:
Then sudden from Olympus' airy height,
To Nemee's shade precipitates his flight;
Swift, as a sudden flash of light'ning flies,
Bending he shoots adown the shining skies:
Ev'n while on earth the God pursues his way,
Behind, aloft the streams of glory play,
Dance on the winds, or in a blaze decay.

Now in his helm impartial Prothöus throws
The flying lots, and as the lots dispose,
Around him rang'd in beauteous order came
Each ardent youth, a candidate for fame.

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Here wild mistrust, and jealousies appear,
And pale surprise, and self-suspecting fear:
Restless impatience, cold in ev'ry part,
And a sad dread that seems to sink the heart.
There shouts of triumph rend the vaulted sky,
And fame and conquest brighten ev'ry eye.
“Th' impatient coursers pant in ev'ry vein,
“And pawing seem to beat the distant plain:
The burning foam descends, the bridles ring,
And from the barrier-bounds in thought they spring;
“The vales, the floods appear already crost,
“And e'er they start, a thousand steps are lost.
T' exalt their pride, a croud of servants deck
Their curling manes, and stroke the shining neck.

Instant, (the signal giv'n) the rival throng
Starts sudden with a bound—and shoots along.

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Swift as a vessel o'er the waters flies,
Swift as an arrow hisses thro' the skies:
Swift as a flame devours the crackling wood,
Swift as the headlong torrents of a flood.

Now in one cloud they vanish from the eye,
Nor see, nor know their rivals as they fly:
They turn the goal: again with rapid pace
The wheels roul round, and blot their former trace;
Now on their knees they steer a bending course,
Now hang impatient o'er the flying horse.
From groaning earth the mingling clamours rise,
Confusion fills their ears, and darkness blinds their eyes.

Instinct with prescience, or o'eraw'd by fear,
Arion feels an unknown charioteer

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Poiz'd on the reins; to sudden thought restor'd,
He dreads the fury of his absent lord:
Enrag'd now runs at random, and disdains
To bear a stranger: wonder fills the plains.
All think the steed too eager for the prize;
The steed breathes vengeance, from the driver flies,
And seeks his master round with wishful eyes.

The next, tho' mighty far the next, succeeds
Amphiaräus with his snow-white steeds:
Close by his side Admetus whirls along,
Euneos and Thoas join the flying throng:
Next Chromis and Hippodamus appear,
Who wage a dreadful conflict in the rear:
Skill'd of themselves, in vain they urge the chase,
(Their steeds too heavy for so swift a race)
Hippodamus flew first, and full behind
Impatient Chromis blows the sultry wind.

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Admetus now directs the side-long horse
To turn the goal, and intercept the course:
His equal art the priest of Phœbus tries,
The goal he brushes, as his chariot flies;
While mad Arion wanders o'er the plain,
Nor minds the race, nor hears the curbing rein.
Unable to controul, the trembling chief
Sits sadly silent, and indulges grief:
Pleas'd with his liberty the sea-born horse
Springs with a bound, and thunders o'er the course:
Loud shouts the multitude; in wild debate
Of fears and terrors Polynices sate,
Flings up the reins, and waits th' event of fate.

So spent with toils, and gasping after breath,
Pants the pale sailor in the arms of death;
In sad despair gives ev'ry labour o'er,
And marks the skies and faithless winds no more.

Now horse with horse, to chariot chariot clos'd,
Wheels clash'd with wheels, and chief to chief oppos'd.
War, war it seemd'd! and death ten thousand ways—
So dreadful, is the sacred lust of praise!
Each chief by turns his panting coursers fires,
With praise now pleases, now with rage inspires.
By fair address Admetus sooths along
Iris the swift, and Pholöe the strong.
Amphiaräus hastens with a blow
Fierce Aschetos to rush before the foe,
And Cycnus whiter than the new-fal'n snow.
With vows and pray'rs Hippodamus excites
Slow-moving Calydon, renown'd in fights:
Strimon encourag'd by bold Chromis flies,
And swift Æchion starts at Euneos' cries:
And fair Podarcè fleck'd with purple stains,
By Thoas summon'd, beats the sounding plains.

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In silence Polynices drives alone,
Sighs to himself, and trembles to be known.

Three times the smoking car with rapid pace
Had turn'd the goal, the fourth concludes the race.
Fast and more fast the panting coursers blow,
And streams of sweat from ev'ry member flow.

Now fortune first the crown of conquest brings,
(Suspending in mid air her trembling wings)
In act to hurl Admetus to the plain,
Revengeful Thoas gives up all the rein;
Hippodamus survey'd the fraud from far:
Full in its course he met the driving car,
Loud clash'd the wheels; Hippodamus withdrew,
To turn the chariot, ardent Chromis flew
Instant before, in angry fight oppos'd,
Chief strove with chief, to chariot chariot clos'd.

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In vain th' impatient coursers urge along,
Lock'd in th' embrace, indissolubly strong.

So when the summer winds in silence sleep,
And drowsy Neptune stills the watry deep:
O'er the clear verdant wave extended lies
Th' unmoving vessel, till the gales arise.

Again the warriors strive, the fields resound:
Hippodamus, all sudden with a bound
Shock'd—from his chariot tumbled to the ground.
The Thracian coursers, (but their chief withstood)
Spring to devour his limbs, and drink his blood:
Instant the gen'rous victor turn'd away,
And gain'd more glory tho' he lost the day.

Mean while the god, who gilds th' ethereal space
Descends, himself a partner of the race:

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(Just where the steeds their stretching shade extend,
And the long labours of the Circus end)
A Gorgon's head aloft in air he bore,
Horrid with snakes, and stain'd with human gore:
One ghastly look were able to dismay
The steeds of Mars, or those that lead the day;
Ev'n hell's grim guardian might surcease to roar;
And Furies fear, unknown to fear before.

Sudden Arion ey'd the sight from far,
And loudly snorting stop'd the driving car:
Cold darts of ice shot thrilling thro' his blood,
His fearful flesh all trembled as he stood:
Abruptly shock'd, and mindless of the rein,
Th' Aonian hero tumbled to the plain;
Again recover'd, fleeter than the wind
Arion flies, and leaves his chief behind.

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Beside the prostrate chief, the rival throng
Obliquely bending, swiftly rush'd along.
Slow from the dust he rose, and sadly went
Thro' the long croud in sullen discontent.
O happy hour! had fate but deign'd to close
Thy eyes in death; the period of our woes!
Thee Thebes should honour, and her tyrant shed
Some tears in publick to bewail the dead.
Larissa's groves should fall, to raise thy Pyre:
And Nemee's woods augment the fun'ral fire.
All Greece a nobler monument should raise
Than this, now sacred to Opheltes' praise.

Furious the Prophet drove with rapid pace,
Sure of the prize, yet second in the race:
Before, afar the sea-born courser drew
His empty chariot rat'ling as he flew.

147

Yet still the Prophet thunders o'er the plain,
Eager of praise, amaz'd, enrag'd, ------ in vain;
The Pow'r of wisdom more than mortal strong,
Swells ev'ry nerve to lash the steeds along:
Instinct with rage divine his steeds renew
The rapid labour bath'd in streams of dew.
The glowing axle kindles as they fly,
And drifts of rising dust involve the sky.
Earth opening seems to groan, (a fatal sign!)
Still they rush on, advancing in a line:
Now with redoubled swiftness Cycnus flies,
But partial Neptune the whole palm denies:
Arion won the race, the prophet bore the prize.

A massy bowl (the pledge design'd to grace
The gen'rous chief victorious in the race)
Two youths present him: antique was the mold,
Blazing with gems, and rough with rising gold:

148

In this, Alcides each revolving night
Was wont to drown the labours of the fight:
Grav'd on the sides was seen the dreadful fray
When brutal Centaurs snatch'd the bride away.
With living terrours stare the chiefs around,
These aim the dart, and those receive the wound:
Each in distorted postures heaves for breath,
And seems to threaten in the pangs of death.

A costly vesture was reserv'd to grace
Admetus, next in merit as in place;
Embroider'd figures o'er the texture shine,
And Tyrian purple heightens the design.
Here pale and trembling with the wintry air,
Leander stands, an image of despair.
Now bending from the beach, he seems to glide
With eyes up-lifted thro' the rolling tyde;

149

Aloft, alone the melancholy dame
Eyes the rough waters, and extends the flame.
Half-weeping Polynices takes his prize,
A beauteous handmaid with celestial eyes.

August rewards are destin'd next to grace
The spritely youth contending in the race.
A blameless sport! and sacred sure the praise
To grace a festival in peaceful days:
Nor yet unuseful in th' embattel'd plain
When death is certain, and resistance vain.

First chearful Idas in the lists appears,
Idas, a lovely boy in blooming years
(Idas who late his honour'd temples bound
With palms that flourish'd on th' Olympian ground)
Loud shouts each chief that from high Elis leads
His native train, and Pisa's watry meads:

150

Then Phædimus proclaim'd in Isthmian games,
And Alcon first of Sicyonian names;
Next aged Dymas rose, whose youthful speed
Surpass'd the swiftness of the flying steed:
And last in infamous disorder came
A clam'rous multitude unknown to fame.

But ev'ry voice chears Atalanta's son,
And ev'ry eye devours him e'er they run.
Lives there a warrior in the world of fame,
Who never heard of Atalanta's name?
Like Cynthia's self she seem'd, a sylvan Grace:
Matchless alike in beauty or the race.
The mother's glories all their thoughts employ,
And raise expectance from the lovely boy.
He too in speed out-strips the wings of wind,
As thro' the lawns he drives the panting hind:

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Or when he catches sudden with a bound
The flying jav'lin e'er it touch the ground.

The modest youth unbinds with decent care
His damask vesture dancing to the air:
Then by degrees unveils to publick view
His snowy limbs like marble, vein'd with blue.
His rosy cheeks that glow'd with warmth before,
His tresses wav'd in ringlets please no more;
A thousand charms appear! in stupid gaze
The croud devours him, silent with amaze.
Conscious he stands, his head declining down,
And blushes oft; and chides them with a frown:
Decent confusion! mindful of the toil
He bathes his shining limbs in streams of oil;
Alike the chiefs—Intent, th' encircling host
Admires 'em all, Parthenopæus most.

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So when the night in solemn silence reigns,
And once clear blue o'erspreads th' ethereal plains:
The glitt'ring stars with living splendors glow,
And dance, and tremble on the seas below;
High o'er them all exalted Hesper rolls,
It self a sun, and gilds the distant poles.

The next in beauty, as in speed appears
Fair Idas in the strength of youthful years:
A party-colour'd down but just began
To shade his chin, the promise of a man.

A signal sounds. The ready racers start,
Double their speed, and summon all their art.
Low at each step their straining knees they bend,
Then springing with a bound, again ascend,
Swifter than thought; nor seem to run, but fly,
Stretch'd on the winds, half-vanish'd from the eye.

153

Now side by side, or breast to breast they close,
While each alike by turns outstrips his foes.
Scarce half so swiftly o'er the Nemean plains
Just now, the courser pour'd with loos'ned reins.
Each like an arrow from the Parthian yew
Sent with full force, along the Circus flew.

So when a tim'rous herd of list'ning deer
The roaring lion hears, or seems to hear:
(What time the lordly savage haunts the wood,
And longs to bathe his thirsty jaws in blood)
Close and more close they join, a trembling train,
And wildly stare, and scour along the plain.

Yet furious still, Parthenopæus flies;
Him step by step impatient Idas plies,
And pants aloud, with vengeance in his eyes;

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Now hanging o'er, his hov'ring shade is seen,
That lengthens still, and floats along the green:
And sudden now, by unperceiv'd degrees
Full on his neck he blows the sultry breeze.
Next Phædimus and aged Dymas past
Along the Circus, Alcon came the last.

As the fair offspring of the sylvan Grace
With matchless swistness speeds along the race:
His golden tresses wav'd in curls, behind
Flow loosely down, and dance upon the wind:
(These from a child with pious hopes he bore
Sacred to her who treads the Delian shore;
What time from Thebè's distant plains he came
Renown'd for conquests of immortal fame:
Too fondly pious! in a Theban urn
Soon must thou sleep, ah, never to return!)

155

These vengeful Idas saw with ardent eyes:
Resolv'd by force or fraud t'obtain the prize;
Sudden he stretch'd his impious arm, and drew
Supine on earth the stripling, as he flew:
Then starting reach'd the goal, and claim'd the prize.
Arms! arms! aloud th' Arcadian nation cries:
Vengeance at once they vow, or else prepare
To leave the Circus and renounce the war.
Tumultuous murmurs echo thro' the croud,
Those praise the fraud, and these detest aloud.

Slow-rising from the plains the youth appears,
His eyes half angry, and half drown'd with tears,
He bends his head, the tears in silence flow;
A mournful image, beautiful in woe!
Now beats his bosom, frantic with despair:
And rends the ringlets of his golden hair.

156

A busy murmur deafens ev'ry ear,
Nor yet the croud the royal judgment hear.
At last Adrastus rose with awful grace,
And thus bespoke the rivals in the race.

Cease gen'rous youths! once more your fortunes try,
In sep'rate paths each starting from the eye.

So spake the king: and sudden from the view,
In sep'rate paths the ready racers flew.
But first th' Arcadian youth with lifted eyes
Thus sent his soul in whispers to the skies.

Queen of the silver bow, and wood-land glades;
The heav'ns fair light, and empress of the Shades:

157

Sacred to thee alone, with decent care
I nurs'd these curls of long-descending hair;
At thy desires I fell, yet hear my pray'r!
If e'er my mother pleas'd thee in the chase,
If e'er I pleas'd thee—banish my disgrace;
Nor let these omens prophesy my fall
(As sure they must) beneath the Theban wall!

So pray'd the youth. The goddess heard his pray'r,
Rapid he shot along, half poiz'd in air:
Fast and more fast the flying fields withdrew;
Scarce rose the dust beneath him as he flew.
Shouting, he reach'd the goal, with transport fir'd
Soon sought Adrastus, and his right requir'd.
Panting and pale he seiz'd the palm. At hand
To close the game the ready prizes stand.

158

Th' Arcadian youth a brass-hoof'd courser gain'd:
A buckler fraudful Idas next obtain'd,
But Lycian quivers for the rest remain'd.

Adrastus next demands what chiefs prepare
To whirl the massy Discus thro' the air.
A herald bending with the burthen, threw
Th' enormous circle down in public view.
Starts ev'ry Grecian speechless with surprize;
Much wond'ring at the weight and shapeless size.
First two Achaians round the labour came
With ardent Phlegyas, candidates for fame:
An Acarnanian next accepts the toil,
And three brave chieftains from Ephyre's soil,
With numbers more—but eager of renown,
Sudden Hippomedon flings thund'ring down
A disk of double weight; amaz'd they stand,
The vast orb rings, and shakes the trembling land.

159

Warriors (he cries) in fighting fields renown'd,
Whose arms must strike Thebe's bulwarks to the ground:
On tasks like these your mighty prowess try,—
Boastful he spoke, and whirl'd it up the sky.

Amaz'd each chief the wond'rous cast admires,
And conscious of th' event betimes retires.

Pisæan Phlegyas only keeps the field,
With great Menestheus, yet untaught to yield:
Brave warriors each, too noble to disgrace
By one mean act the glories of their race.
The rest inglorious leave the listed ground,
And tremble to survey th' enormous round.

First Phlegyas rose the mighty toil to try:
Dumb was each voice, attentive ev'ry eye;

160

He rouls the quoit in dust with prudent care,
And poises oft, and marks its course in air.
Ev'n from a child, (where old Alphëus leads
His mazy stream thro' Pisa's lowly meads)
Not only when with mighty chiefs he strove
At sacred games to please Olympian Jove:
Thus with full force the massy weight he threw
Far o'er the stream, half-shaded, as it flew.
At first he marks the skies and distant plain,
Then summons all his strength from ev'ry vein.
Couch'd on his knees the pond'rous orb he swung
High o'er his head, along the air it sung.
Now wasting by degrees, with hollow sound
Fell heavily, and sunk beneath the ground.

Fond of his art and strength in days of yore,
Well-pleas'd he stands, and waits th' event once more:

161

Loud shout the Greeks, and dwell on Phlegyas' praise.
Hippomedon with scorn the chief surveys.
Some nobler arm the pond'rous orb must throw
With care, directly in a line below.
But fortune soon his mighty hopes withstood,
Fortune still envious to the brave or good!
Alas, can man confront the pow'rs on high?
While distant fields are measur'd in his eye,
Just when his arm he stretch'd at full extent:
Couch'd on one knee, his side obliquely bent.
Struck by some force unseen, th' enormous round
Dropt from his hand, and idly prints the ground.
Much griev'd the pitying host, yet griev'd not all:
Some inly smil'd to see the Discus fall.

Next, sage Menestheus stands prepar'd to fling
The disk, and rouls it in the dusty ring:

162

Intent of mind he marks its airy way,
And much implores the progeny of May.
Well-aim'd it flew half o'er the Cirque; at last
Heavy it fell. An arrow mark'd the cast.

Slow rose Hippomedon, and e'er he rose
Much weigh'd the fate and fortune of his foes.
He pois'd, and rear'd the mighty orb on high;
Swung round his arm, and whirl'd it thro' the sky,
Forth-springing with the cast. Aloft it sung
Far o'er the mark where er'st Menestheus flung:
And o'er those hills with grassy verdure crown'd,
Whose airy summits shade the Circus round—
There sunk, and sinking shook the trembling ground.

So Polyphemus more than mortal strong,
Hurl'd a huge rock to crush th' Ulyssean throng:

163

Blind as he was, the vengeful weight he threw,
The vessel trembled, and the waters flew.

Soon good Adrastus rises, to repay
With sumptuous gifts the labours of the fray.
Safe for Hippomedon apart was roll'd
A tyger's skin, the paws o'er wrought with gold.
His Gnossian bows and darts Menestheus took;
Then thus to Phlegyas with a mournful look
He said. This sword, unhappy chief, receive;
(A boon so just Hippomedon might give:)
This sword which once immortal honours gain'd,
Which sav'd Pelasgus, and his pow'r maintain'd.

A warlike toil Adrastus next demands,
In iron gloves to sheath their hardy hands:
First Capaneus prepar'd for combat stands;
A mighty giant, large, and tow'ring high,
Dreadful in fight, and hideous to the eye.

164

Around his wrists the hard bull-hides he binds,
And vaunts his strength, and deals his blows in winds:
Stand forth some chief, he cries, (if such there be,
Who dares oppose an enemy like me!)
Yet might some Theban sink beneath my blow;
Glorious and sweet is vengeance on a foe.

So spake the chief. Half-trembling with amaze,
In speechless horrour all the circle gaze.
At last Alcidimas, with gen'rous ire
Sprung forth, unask'd. The Doric bands admire.
All but his friends. They knew the daily care
Which Pollux us'd, to train him to the war.
(He taught him first to bind the gauntlets round
His nervous wrists, and aim the crashing wound:
Oppos'd in fight, he heav'd him high, or prest
The youth loud-panting on his naked breast.)

165

Him Capaneus survey'd with scornful eyes,
Insults his years, and claims a nobler prize.
Provok'd, he turns to fight. Each warrior stands
At full extent, and lifts his iron hands.
Well-temper'd casques their hardy brows surround,
To break at least the fury of the wound.
This towr'd like Tytius on the Stygian shore,
When the fierce vultures cease to drink his gore:
So high in air his spreading shoulders rise,
So swell his muscles, and so flame his eyes;
That at his side in blooming youth appears,
Yet promis'd wonders from maturer years:
The favours of the croud alike succeed
On either side: none wish'd the chiefs to bleed.

Low'ring at first they met, nor silence broke,
Each lifts his arm, and only aims the stroke.

166

Some moments thus they gaz'd in wild surprize,
A hasty fury sparkled in their eyes;
Now conscious fear succeeds. The chiefs essay
Their arms, and slowly first provoke the fray.

This on nice art and diffidence relies,
That on mere courage, and stupendous size;
Void of all fear, and without conduct brave,
He wastes that strength himself has pow'r to save:
Still blindly drives where fury leads the way,
And storms, and falls the victor and the prey.
With steadfast glances this surveys his foe,
And either shuns, or wards th' impending blow:
Now lowly bends (his elbow o'er him spread)
The stroke impetuous sings above his head.
Now nearer draws, the more he seems to fly;
So much his motion varies from his eye!

167

Now with full force he aims a pond'rous blow,
And tow'ring high o'ershades his mighty foe.
Thus in some storm the broken billows rise
Round the vast rock, and thunder to the skies.

Once more with wary foot-steps wheeling round,
Full on his front he deals a mortal wound:
Crashing it falls—unfelt the trickling blood
Spreads o'er his helmet in a crimson flood.
A sudden whisper murmurs round; alone
To Capaneus the cause remains unknown.
At last he lifts his hand on high, the gore
Forth-welling fast, distains his Cœstus o'er.
Grief swells his heart, and vengeance and disdain—
So foams the lion, monarch of the plain:
And loudly roaring with indignant pride,
Gnaws the barb'd jav'lin griding in his side:

168

Now springs with rage; supine along the ground
Pants the bold youth whose hand infix'd the wound.

Fast and more fast his lifted arms he throws
Around his head, and doubles blows on blows.
Part waste in air, part on the Cœstus fall
With mighty force; his foe returns 'em all.
Still seems to fear him with dissembling eyes,
Yet still persists, and combats, while he flies.
Panting they reel; the youth retreats more slow,
The weary giant scarcely aims a blow,
They sink at once—So sailors on the main
Who long have toil'd thro' adverse waves in vain,
All drop their hands. The signal sounds once more,
Again they start, and stretch the lab'ring oar.

169

Thus rose the chiefs, with recollected might
Rush'd Capaneus like thunder to the fight.
Low bends Alcidimas with watchful eyes:
Short of his aim the giant o'er him flies;
Up starts the youth, and as he stagger'd round
Clasp'd firm his neck, and bow'd him to the ground.
As rising from th' inglorious plain contends
Fierce Capaneus, a second blow descends
Full on his head: beneath the stroke he bent;
The youth turn'd pale, and trembled at th' event.

Loud shout the Greeks: The shore and forest rings.
Then thus in haste exclaims the king of kings.
(As from the ground the furious Argive rose,
And vow'd, and aim'd intolerable blows)

170

Seize him, ye chiefs, his bloody hands restrain,
Give all the palm, but lead him from the plain.
Haste, see, he raves! ah, tear him from my eyes,
He lives, he rises, the Laconian dies!

He said: Hippomedon, and Tydeus rose:
Scarce both their hands restrain his mighty blows.
Then thus they spoke. The prize is thine, forgive:
'Tis double fame to bid the vanquish'd live;
A friend, and our allie—he storms the more,
Rejects the prize, and thus devoutly swore.
By all this blood, at present my disgrace:
These hands shall crush that more than female face;
These hands shall dash him headlong to the plain—
To Pollux then he weeps, but weeps in vain.
He said. By force they turn'd his steps away.
Stubborn he still persists, nor yields the day.

171

Far off in secret, the Laconian host
Smile at his fury, and their hero boast.

Mean while with conscious virtue Tydeus burns,
Renown and praise enflame his heart by turns:
Swift in the race he still the guerdon bore,
Now toss'd the Discus, now the gauntlets wore;
But most for Pales' active arts renown'd,
To hurl his foe supine along the ground.
By Hermes tutor'd, on th' O Etolian plain,
He made whole nations bite the dust in vain.

Full terrible he look'd. For arms he wore
The savage trophies of a mountain-boar,
Once Calydonia's dread! the bristly hide
Broad o'er his shoulders hung, with barb'rous pride.
Unbound, he flings it down, then waits his foes.
Besides him tow'ring, huge Agylleus rose,

172

A monstrous giant, dreadful to mankind;
Yet weak he seem'd, his limbs were loosely join'd.
Low Tydeus was. What nature there deny'd,
Strong nerves, and mighty courage well supply'd;
For nature never since the world began,
Lodg'd such a spirit in so small a man!

Soon as their shining limbs are bath'd in oil,
Down rush the heroes to the wrestling toil.
Deform'd with dust (their arms at distance spread)
Each on his shoulder half reclines his head.

Now bending 'till he almost touch'd the plain,
Tydeus the giant heav'd, but heav'd in vain,

The mountain-cypress thus, that firmly stood
From age to age, the empress of the wood,

173

By some strong whirlwind's sudden blast declin'd,
Bends arching down, and nods before the wind:
The deep roots tremble till the gust blows o'er,
And then she rises, stately as before.

So vast Agylleus scarcely mov'd below,
Hangs imminent upon th' O Etolian foe.
Breasts, shoulders, thighs, with mighty strokes resound,
And all appears an undistinguish'd wound.
On tiptoe rais'd, their heads obliquely bent,
Each hangs on each, stretch'd out at full extent.

Not half so bloody, or with half such rage,
Two furious monarchs of the herd engage.
Apart the milk-white heifer views the fight,
And waits to crown the victor with delight.
Their chests they gore, the mighty shock resounds;
Love swells their hate, and heals the gaping wounds.

174

So shaggy bears in strict embraces roul,
And from each corse squeeze forth th' unwilling soul.

Thus Tydeus storm'd; nor heats nor toils assuage
His furious strength, or mitigate his rage.
Agylleus pants aloud, nor scarce contends;
Black'ned with dust a stream of sweat descends.
Tydeus press'd on, and seem'd to aim a blow
Full at his neck: the force was meant below
Where well-knit nerves the knees firm strength supply;
Short of their reach, his hands the blow deny.
He sinks; o'er him, like some vast mountain fell
Agylleus, and half squeez'd his soul to hell.

175

So when th' Iberian swain in search of oar
Descends, and views the light of heav'n no more:
If some strong earthquake rocks the mould'ring ground,
(High o'er him hung) down rush the ruins round;
Deep under earth his batter'd carcase lies,
Nor breathes its spirit to congenial skies.

Full of disdain O Etolian Tydeus rose;
No peace, no bounds his fierce resentment knows:
Swift from th' inglorious hold he springs like wind,
And circles round, then firmly fix'd behind.
His hand embrac'd his side, his knees surround
The giant's knees, and bend 'em to the ground.

Nought boots resistance now. Agylleus makes
One more essay. That moment Tydeus takes,

176

And rears him high. The mingling shouts arise,
And loud applause runs rattling thro' the skies.

So Hercules, who long had toil'd in vain,
Heav'd huge Anthëus from the Lybian plain;
Erect in air th' expiring savage hung,
Nor touch'd the kindred earth, from whence he sprung.

Long Tydeus held him thus. At length he found
The point of time, and hurl'd him to the ground
Side-long—Himself upon the giant lies,
And grasps his neck, and firmly locks his thighs.

Prone o'er th' inglorious dust, Agylleus quakes
Half-dead: his shame alone resistance makes:
Then rose at last, and stagg'ring thro' the throng
Slowly he trail'd his feeble legs along.

177

When Tydeus thus. (His nobler hand sustain'd
The palm, his left the warlike gifts he gain'd:)
What tho' my blood oe'rflow'd yon guilty ground,
When singly arm'd, whole numbers press'd me round;
(So prov'd all contracts with the Theban name,
Their honour such) yet Tydeus lives the same.
He spoke, and speaking sent the prize away,
Aside, a breast-plate for the vanquish'd lay.

Others in arms their manly limbs enclose;
To combat Epidaurian Agreus rose:
Him with his shining blade the Theban waits,
An exile still by unrelenting fates.

Then thus Adrastus. Gen'rous youths give o'er;
Preserve all rage: and thirst for hostile gore.

178

Ye Gods! what slaughter and what combats call;
Then waste your fury, Thebes demands it all!
But you, O prince! a kinsman, and our friend!
Whose cause such numbers with their lives defend:
For whom, our native towns, and countries lay
Unpeopled half, to other foes a prey;
Trust not th' event of fight; nor bleed, to please
Th' inhuman hopes of base Etheocles!
Avert it heav'n! the ready chiefs obey'd.
Their brave attempt a glitt'ring helm repaid.

Howe'er in sign of conquest and renown,
He bids the warriours Polynices crown
With wreaths, and hail him victor—no portent,
(So will'd the Sisters) prophesy'd th' event.

Him too the chiefs with kind persuasions pray
To rise, and close the honours of the day:

179

(And left one victory be lost) to throw
The missile lance, or bend the Lycian bow.
Well-pleas'd Adrastus to the plain descends
In pomp, his steps a youthful croud attends.
Behind, a squire the royal quiver bore,
Deep fill'd with shafts, a formidable store.

'Tis plain. Shall man deny? Each human cause
Proceeds unseen, from heav'n's eternal laws.
All fate appear'd: the chiefs perversely blind
Neglect the sign, nor see th' event behind.
We deem from chance unerring omens flow;
While fate draws near, and aims a surer blow.

By this the monarch strain'd the bending yew:
Full on its mark the feather'd weapon flew,
Nor enter'd there. Th' impassive ash resounds:
Again with double force the shaft rebounds,

180

In the same line wing'd back its airy way,
Then prone on earth before Adrastus lay.

Each reasons, as his wayward thoughts decree;
These think the shaft rebounded from the tree;
And those, that winds with unresisted force
Drove clouds on clouds, to intercept its course.
Mean while th' event and dreadful omen lies
Deep wrapt in night, nor seen by human eyes.
Once chief in safety must return alone,
Thro' woes, and blood, and dangers yet unknown.

University of Virginia Library

Acontius to Cydippe.

Argument.

Part of Pindar's first Pythian Ode paraphrased.

Argument.

Strophe I.

Antistrophe I.

Epode I.

Strophe II.

Antistrophe II.

Epode II.

Strophe III.

Antistrophe III.

THE EPISODE OF Orpheus and Eurydice

To the Right Honourable Lady Hertford, Upon the BIRTH OF Lord BEAUCHAMP.

THE Army of Adrastus, and his Allies, marching from Argos to the Siege of Thebes.

A SIMILIE,

UPON A Set of Tea-Drinkers.

The same:

Diversifyed in Auncient Metre.

A SOLILOQUY,

OCCASION'D By the Chirping of a Grasshopper.

THE STORY OF ARETHUSA.

Connexion to the former.

Cupid Mistaken.

FROM THE Sports of CUPID, Written by Angerianus.

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

TO A Young LADY,

WITH Mr. Fenton's Miscellany.

To Mr. Pope.

THE SIXTH THEBAID OF STATIUS.

ARGUMENT To the whole Thebaid.

ARGUMENT
To the whole Thebaid.