Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
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Repentance.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Repentance.
He heard her Falshood with a mournful Look,
The Wreath his Head, the Harp his Hand forsook:
Then kindling into Rage, his Bow he drew:
Swift the inevitable Arrow flew,
And deeply enter'd that soft tender Breast,
Which to his own so often had been prest.
A Groan she gave, when she the Mischief found,
And pull'd the Arrow reeking from the Wound.
O'er her fair Limbs the crimson Tide was shed,
And with the streaming Blood her Spirits fled.
The Wreath his Head, the Harp his Hand forsook:
Then kindling into Rage, his Bow he drew:
Swift the inevitable Arrow flew,
And deeply enter'd that soft tender Breast,
Which to his own so often had been prest.
A Groan she gave, when she the Mischief found,
And pull'd the Arrow reeking from the Wound.
O'er her fair Limbs the crimson Tide was shed,
And with the streaming Blood her Spirits fled.
The Lovesick God too late repents the Deed:
He hates the Bird that made her Falsehood known,
And hates himself for what himself had done:
The Bow, the Shaft that sent her to the Fates,
And his own Hand that sent the Shaft he hates:
Fain would he heal the Wound, and ease her Pain,
And tries the Compass of his Art in vain.
He hates the Bird that made her Falsehood known,
And hates himself for what himself had done:
The Bow, the Shaft that sent her to the Fates,
And his own Hand that sent the Shaft he hates:
Fain would he heal the Wound, and ease her Pain,
And tries the Compass of his Art in vain.
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But when he saw the lovely Nymph expire,
The Pile made ready, and the kindling Fire,
With Sighs, and Groans, her Obsequies he kept,
And, if a God could weep, the God had wept:
Her Corps he kiss'd, and heav'nly Incense brought,
And solemniz'd the Death himself had wrought.—
The Pile made ready, and the kindling Fire,
With Sighs, and Groans, her Obsequies he kept,
And, if a God could weep, the God had wept:
Her Corps he kiss'd, and heav'nly Incense brought,
And solemniz'd the Death himself had wrought.—
The Raven discovered to Apollo that his Mistress Coronis was false to him; upon which Apollo killed her with an Arrow; but afterwards repenting, he lamented his dead Mistress, and in Revenge made the Raven's Feathers black, which were always white before.
He saw the Earth, far, far below him, lie,
All pale with fear, and trembling at the Sight,
And scarce enduring such Excess of Light,
Too late he wish'd the fiery Steeds untry'd,
His Birth obscure, and his Request deny'd:
Gladly would Merops for his Father own,
And quit his boasted Kindred to the Sun.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |