Ovid's metamorphoses in fifteen books :: :: University of Virginia Library

Æmonian Matrons, who their Absence mourn'd,
Rejoyce to see their prosp'rous Sons return'd:
Rich curling Fumes of Incense feast the Skies,
An Hecatomb of voted Victims dies,
With gilded Horns, and Garlands on their Head,
And all the Pomp of Death, to th'Altar led.
Congratulating Bowls go briskly round,
Triumphant Shouts in louder Musick drown'd.
Amidst these Revels, why that Cloud of Care
On Jason's Brow? (to whom the largest Share
Of Mirth was due)—His Father was not there.
Æson was absent, once the Young and Brave,
Now crush'd with Years, and bending to the Grave.
At last withdrawn, and by the Crowd unseen,
Pressing her Hand, (with starting Sighs between)
He supplicates his kind and skilful Queen.

O Patroness! Preserver of my Life!
(Dear when my Mistress, and much dearer Wife)
Your Favours to so vast a Sum amount,
'Tis past the Pow'r of Numbers to recount;
Or cou'd they be to Computation brought,
The History would a Romance be thought:
And yet, unless you add one Favour more,
Greater than all that you conferr'd before,
But not too hard for Love and Magick Skill,
Your past are thrown away, and Jason's wretched still.
The Morning of my Life is just begun,
But my declining Father's Race is run;
From my large Stock retrench the long Arrears,
And add 'em to expiring Æson's Years.

222

Thus spake the gen'rous Youth, and wept the rest.
Mov'd with the Piety of his Request,
To his ag'd Sire such filial Duty shown,
So diff'rent from her Treatment of her own;
But still endeav'ring her Remorse to hide,
She check'd her rising Sighs, and thus reply'd.

How cou'd the Thought of such inhuman Wrong
Escape (said she) from pious Jason's Tongue?
Does the whole World another Jason bear,
Whose Life Medea can to yours prefer?
Or cou'd I with so dire a Change dispence,
Hecat will never join in that Offence:
Unjust is the Request you make, and I
In Kindness your Petition shall deny;
Yet she that grants not what you do implore,
Shall yet essay to give her Jason more;
Find Means t'encrease the Stock of Æson's Years,
Without Retrenchment of your Life's Arrears;
Provided that the Tripple Goddess join
A strong Confed'rate in my bold Design.

Thus was her Enterprize resolv'd; but still
Three tedious Nights are wanting to fulfil
The circling Crescents of th'encreasing Moon;
Then, in the Height of her Nocturnal Noon,
Medea steals from Court; her Ankles bare,
Her Garments closely girt, but loose her Hair;
Thus sally'd, like a solitary Sprite,
She traverses the Terrors of the Night.

Men, Beasts, and Birds in soft Repose lay charm'd,
No boistrous Wind the Mountain-Woods alarm'd;
Nor did those Walks of Love, the Myrtle Trees,
Of am'rous Zephyr hear the whisp'ring Breeze;

223

All Elements chain'd in unactive Rest,
No Sense but what the twinkling Stars exprest;
To them (that only wak'd) she rears her Arms,
And thus commences her mysterious Charms.

She turn'd her thrice about, as oft she-threw
On her pale Tresses the Nocturnal Dew;
Then yelling thrice a most enormous Sound,
Her bare Knee bended on the flinty Ground,
O Night (said she) thou Confident and Guide
Of Secrets, such as Darkness ought to hide;
Ye Stars and Moon, that, when the Sun retires,
Support his Empire with succeeding Fires;
And thou, great Hecat, Friend to my Design;
Songs, mutt'ring Spells, your magick Forces join;
And thou, O Earth, the Magazine that yields
The Midnight Sorcerer Drugs; Skies, Mountains, Fields;
Ye watr'y Pow'rs of Fountain, Stream, and Lake;
Ye Sylvan Gods, and Gods of Night, awake,
And gen'rously your Parts in my Adventure take.

Oft by your Aid swift Currents I have led
Thro' wandring Banks, back to their Fountain Head;
Transform'd the Prospect of the briny Deep,
Made sleeping Billows rave, and raving Billows sleep;
Made Clouds, or Sunshine; Tempests rise or fall;
And stubborn lawless Winds obey my Call:
With mutter'd Words disarm'd the Viper's Jaw,
Up by the Roots vast Oaks and Rocks cou'd draw;
Make Forests dance, and trembling Mountains come,
Like Malefactors, to receive their Doom;
Earth groan, and frighted Ghosts forsake their Tomb.
Thee, Cynthia, my resistless Rhymes drew down,
When tinkling Cymbals strove my Voice to drown;

224

Nor stronger Titan could their Force sustain,
In full Career compell'd to stop his Wain:
Nor could Aurora's Virgin Blush avail,
With pois'nous Herbs I turn'd her Roses pale;
The Fury of the fiery Bulls I broke,
Their stubborn Necks submitting to my Yoke;
And when the Sons of Earth with Fury burn'd,
Their hostile Rage upon themselves I turn'd;
The Brothers made with mutual Wounds to bleed,
And by their fatal Strife my Lover freed;
And, while the Dragon slept, to distant Greece,
Thro' cheated Guards, convey'd the Golden Fleece.
But now to bolder Action I proceed,
Of such prevailing Juices now have need,
That wither'd Years back to their Bloom can bring,
And in dead Winter raise a second Spring.
And you'll perform't—
You will; for lo! the Stars, with sparkling Fires,
Presage as bright Success to my Desires:
And now another happy Omen see!
A Chariot drawn by Dragons waits for me.

With these last Words she leaps into the Wain,
Stroaks the Snakes Necks, and shakes the Golden Rein;
That Signal giv'n, they mount her to the Skies,
And now beneath her fruitful Tempè lies,
Whose Stores she ransacks, then to Crete she flies;
There Ossa, Pelion, Othrys, Pindus, all
To the fair Ravisher a Booty fall;
The Tribute of their Verdure she collects,
Nor proud Olympus Height his Plants protects.
Some by the Roots she plucks; the tender Tops
Of others with her culling Sickle crops.

225

Nor could the Plunder of the Hills suffice,
Down to the humble Vales and Meads she flies;
Apidanus, Amphrysus, the next Rape
Sustain, nor could Enipeus' Banks escape;
Thro' Beebe's Marsh, and thro' the Border rang'd
Whose Pasture Glaucus to a Triton chang'd.

Now the Ninth Day, and Ninth successive Night,
Had wonder'd at the restless Rover's Flight;
Mean while her Dragons, fed with no Repast,
But her exhaling Simples od'rous Blast,
Their tarnish'd Scales, and wrinkled Skins had cast.
At last return'd before her Palace Gate,
Quitting her Chariot, on the Ground she sate,
The Sky her only Canopy of State.
All Conversation with her Sex she fled,
Shun'd the Caresses of the Nuptial Bed:
Two Altars next of grassy Turf she rears,
This Hecat's Name, that Youth's Inscription bears;
With Forest-Boughs, and Vervain these she crown'd;
Then delves a double Trench in lower Ground,
And sticks a black-fleec'd Ram, that ready stood,
And drench'd the Ditches with devoted Blood:
New Wine she pours, and Milk from th'Udder warm,
With mystick Murmurs to compleat the Charm,
And subterranean Deities alarm.
To the stern King of Ghosts she next apply'd,
And gentle Proserpine, his ravish'd Bride,
That for old Æson with the Laws of Fate
They would dispense, and lengthen his short Date;
Thus with repeated Pray'rs she long assails
Th'Infernal Tyrant, and at last prevails;

226

Then calls to have decrepit Æson brought,
And stupifies him with a sleeping Draught;
On Earth his Body, like a Corpse, extends,
Then charges Jason and his waiting Friends
To quit the Place, that no unhallow'd Eye
Into her Art's forbidden Secrets pry.
This done, th'Inchantress, with her Locks unbound,
About her Altars trips a frantick Round;
Piece-meal the consecrated Wood she splits,
And dips the Splinters in the bloody Pits,
Then hurls 'em on the Piles; the sleeping Sire
She lustrates thrice, with Sulphur, Water, Fire.

In a large Cauldron now the Med'cine boils,
Compounded of her late collected Spoils,
Blending into the Mesh the various Pow'rs
Of Wonder-working Juices, Roots, and Flow'rs;
With Gems i'th'Eastern Ocean's Cell refin'd,
And such as ebbing Tides had left behind;
To them the Midnight's pearly Dew she flings,
A Screetch-Owl's Carcass, and ill boding Wings;
Nor could the Wizard Wolf's warm Entrails scape,
(That Wolf who counterfeits a Human Shape.)
Then, from the Bottom of her conj'ring Bag,
Snakes Skins, and Liver of a long-liv'd Stag;
Last a Crow's Head to such an Age arriv'd,
That he had now nine Centuries surviv'd;
These, and with these a thousand more that grew
In sundry Soils, into her Pot she threw;
Then with a wither'd Olive-Bough she rakes
The bubling Broth; the Bough fresh Verdure takes;
Green Leaves at first the perish'd Plant surround.
Which the next Minute with ripe Fruit were crown'd.

227

The foaming Juices now the Brink o'er-swell;
The barren Heath, where-e'er the Liquor fell,
Sprang out with vernal Grass, and all the Pride
Of blooming May—When this Medea spy'd,
She cuts her Patient's Throat; th'exhausted Blood
Recruiting with her new enchanted Flood;
While at his Mouth, and thro' his op'ning Wound,
A double Inlet her Infusion found;
His feeble Frame resumes a youthful Air,
A glossy Brown his hoary Beard and Hair.
The meager Paleness from his Aspect fled,
And in its Room sprang up a florid Red;
Thro' all his Limbs a youthful Vigour flies,
His empty'd Art'ries swell with fresh Supplies,
Gazing Spectators scarce believe their Eyes.
But Æson is the most surpriz'd, to find
A happy Change in Body, and in Mind;
In Sense and Constitution the same Man,
As when his Fortieth active Year began.

Bacchus, who from the Clouds this Wonder view'd,
Medea's Method instantly pursu'd,
And his indulgent Nurse's Youth renew'd.