 | [Poems in] Poetical miscellanies |  |
259
FROM The NINTH THEBAIS. VERSE 570.
The Argument.
Polynices, aided by Tydeus, and Andrastus, and other
Princes of Greece, had rais'd an Army against
his Brother Eteocles for Usurping the Crown of
Thebes, contrary to their Agreement of reigning
Yearly by turns. Atalanta, Daughter to the King
of Arcadia, had devoted herself to Diana, but had
afterwards a Son called Parthenopæus by Meleager;
for which breach of her vow'd Virginity the
Goddess forgave her. Parthenopæus, tho' not above
Fifteen Years of Age, in the Absence of his Mother,
gathers together his Arcadians, who thought they at
first sprung from Trees, and marcheth to the Theban
War. His Mother o'ertakes him, and endeavours
in vain by Tears to bring him back. Then frighted
with Dreams and Visions, she prays to Diana to preserve
her Son. Thereupon the Goddess hastens to
Thebes, but meets her Brother Apollo in the way,
who foretells the Death of Parthenopæus, and laments
the Fate of his Augur Amphiaraus, who by
an Earthquake had been lately swallow'd up alive.
The Goddess comes to Thebes, rangeth her self in the
Battle; but is chid by Mars, and forced to retire.
Parthenopæus, supply'd by her with Darts, makes
cruel Slaughter among the Thebans, till at last Dryas
kills him, and dies immediately himself; as Diana had
threatned, that whoever mortally wounded Parthenopæus,
should not survive him.
260
260
While the young Hero thus with Glory burns,
At home the tender Atalanta mourns.
In broken Slumbers baleful Dreams arise,
And airy Spectres skim before her Eyes.
Up from the Bed she rose with Artless Care,
(Loose her Attire, dishevell'd was her Hair)
To Ladon's Streams she flew, e'er dawning Light,
To purge th'unwholsom Visions of the Night.
For to her Mind, opprest with pensive Thought,
Ten thousand frightful Images were brought.
Sometimes she saw the rural Trophies fall,
Which her own Hands fix'd on the Sacred Wall.
Sometimes, deserted by the Nymphs she stray'd,
A lonely Exile from the Sylvan Glade,
Or seem'd o'er op'ning Sepulchres to tread,
Lost in the dreary Mansions of the Dead.
Oft in the midnight Gloom, her Eyes begun
To view the fancy'd Triumphs of her Son;
His Arms, his Friends, his Courser known again,
For him she sought around, but sought in vain.
Oft she beheld her Quiver glow with Fire,
And her own Figure in the Flames expire.
One Vision ill presag'd above the rest,
And waken'd all the Mother in her Breast.
Far on th'Arcadian Hills an Oak there stood,
The lofty Monarch of the Subject Wood,
Which from Plebeian Trees she chose to raise,
And hallow to the great Diana's Praise.
Blest by the Deity, it proudly grew,
And spreading, Crowds of chaste Adorers drew.
Here from the Sun, when tir'd with Woodland Game,
For cool Repose, the daily Huntress came.
The Tusks of Boars aloft in rows she strung,
And Beams of Stags, and Hides of Lyons hung.
The Branches, thus enrich'd by Rural Toils,
Bend with their Load, and scarce sustain the Spoils.
Arrows, and Spears, and polish'd Arms display'd,
Chase the brown Horror of th'enlighten'd Shade.
Hither, it chanc'd, in Sleep her Fancy rov'd;
She dreamt of Pleasures, which awake she lov'd.
The Bear already seiz'd, she, faint with heat,
Sought the green Covert, and the known Retreat.
There saw, where late her fav'rite Tree had stood,
A naked Trunk remain, and stream with Blood.
The leafy Honours scatter'd all around,
And sapless Boughs lay with'ring on the Ground.
Speechless at first with Grief she stood, then cry'd,
Whence springs the Ruin? And a Nymph reply'd,
The Mænades in their mad Orgies show'd
This fury; Bacchus is th'avenging God.
Here from her inward Soul she sigh'd her Pain,
And beat her Breast with empty Blows in vain:
Confus'dly wak'd, she left her mournful Bed,
And look'd for Tears her Eyes had falsly shed.
Her Body thrice she plung'd in living Streams,
To cleanse the vile Pollution of her Dreams;
And added Mystick Words to ease her Grief,
But from Diana's Temple hop'd Relief.
Early she hasten'd, while the Morn was new,
No Eastern Ray had drunk the Pearly Dew.
Joyous she saw her Oak the Grove adorn,
Unlop'd its Branches, and its Leaves unshorn:
With fruitless Pray'rs, then, prostrate at the Shrine,
Implor'd th'Assistance of the Pow'r Divine.
At home the tender Atalanta mourns.
In broken Slumbers baleful Dreams arise,
And airy Spectres skim before her Eyes.
Up from the Bed she rose with Artless Care,
(Loose her Attire, dishevell'd was her Hair)
To Ladon's Streams she flew, e'er dawning Light,
To purge th'unwholsom Visions of the Night.
For to her Mind, opprest with pensive Thought,
Ten thousand frightful Images were brought.
Sometimes she saw the rural Trophies fall,
Which her own Hands fix'd on the Sacred Wall.
Sometimes, deserted by the Nymphs she stray'd,
A lonely Exile from the Sylvan Glade,
261
Lost in the dreary Mansions of the Dead.
Oft in the midnight Gloom, her Eyes begun
To view the fancy'd Triumphs of her Son;
His Arms, his Friends, his Courser known again,
For him she sought around, but sought in vain.
Oft she beheld her Quiver glow with Fire,
And her own Figure in the Flames expire.
One Vision ill presag'd above the rest,
And waken'd all the Mother in her Breast.
Far on th'Arcadian Hills an Oak there stood,
The lofty Monarch of the Subject Wood,
Which from Plebeian Trees she chose to raise,
And hallow to the great Diana's Praise.
Blest by the Deity, it proudly grew,
And spreading, Crowds of chaste Adorers drew.
Here from the Sun, when tir'd with Woodland Game,
For cool Repose, the daily Huntress came.
The Tusks of Boars aloft in rows she strung,
And Beams of Stags, and Hides of Lyons hung.
262
Bend with their Load, and scarce sustain the Spoils.
Arrows, and Spears, and polish'd Arms display'd,
Chase the brown Horror of th'enlighten'd Shade.
Hither, it chanc'd, in Sleep her Fancy rov'd;
She dreamt of Pleasures, which awake she lov'd.
The Bear already seiz'd, she, faint with heat,
Sought the green Covert, and the known Retreat.
There saw, where late her fav'rite Tree had stood,
A naked Trunk remain, and stream with Blood.
The leafy Honours scatter'd all around,
And sapless Boughs lay with'ring on the Ground.
Speechless at first with Grief she stood, then cry'd,
Whence springs the Ruin? And a Nymph reply'd,
The Mænades in their mad Orgies show'd
This fury; Bacchus is th'avenging God.
Here from her inward Soul she sigh'd her Pain,
And beat her Breast with empty Blows in vain:
Confus'dly wak'd, she left her mournful Bed,
And look'd for Tears her Eyes had falsly shed.
263
To cleanse the vile Pollution of her Dreams;
And added Mystick Words to ease her Grief,
But from Diana's Temple hop'd Relief.
Early she hasten'd, while the Morn was new,
No Eastern Ray had drunk the Pearly Dew.
Joyous she saw her Oak the Grove adorn,
Unlop'd its Branches, and its Leaves unshorn:
With fruitless Pray'rs, then, prostrate at the Shrine,
Implor'd th'Assistance of the Pow'r Divine.
O Virgin Goddess, whom the Woods obey,
Beneath whose stubborn Rule and hardy Sway
I live; my Soul her own soft Sex disdains,
And pamper'd Indolence of Grecian Trains.
Not Scythian Tribes, and Amazonian Bands
Yield with more Pleasure to thy rough Commands.
If not th'allurements of the Female Choir
Could love of Dance, and wanton Songs inspire;
If Men by Virtue strove in vain to melt,
(Tho' once surpris'd, ungrateful Joys I felt)
Yet did those Hands no feeble Distaff rear,
Nor with fond Ivy wreath th'unwarlike Spear.
Ev'n when no Place amid thy Pomp allow'd,
I beat the Thicket distant from the Crowd,
And ever seem'd, unwillingly betray'd,
A Huntress still, and still in Mind a Maid.
But if my Crime such Innocence deny'd,
I did not labour the sweet Crime to hide.
No dusky Cave the Searchers Care beguil'd,
But at your Feet I laid the trembling Child.
To you, and to the World I did proclaim
At once my Glory, and at once my Shame.
The lively Infant soon his Race did show,
And stretch'd unequal Hands to grasp the Bow;
Then wept, constrain'd from that loved hold to part,
And his first broken Accents lisp'd a Dart.
O! Goddess! to my Boy confirm this Pray'r,
(What would those Dreams, and nightly Forms declare?)
In you confiding to the War he run,
Approve his Confidence, and save my Son.
To my Embrace restore him; let him come,
If not a Victor, safe, tho' vanquish'd, home.
Here let him bear your Arms, securely sweat,
And pant with no less honourable Heat.
Far from our Woods dire Omens! but why seem
The Theban Deities to rule in Dream?
Avert, Imperial Queen, the fatal Stroke,
And let me fondly dread the wounded Oak.
But if these Visionary Scenes relate
Too true my hapless Son's untimely Fate;
If he must fall, e'er yet his Nerves be strung,
Think on thy Brother, ever fair and young:
O! by the tender Love a Sister knows
O! by the pity to a Parent's Throws,
Grant me, kind Goddess, an unenvy'd Doom,
Pierce with thy keenest Darts this guilty Womb.
The fruitful Source of Miseries destroy,
And let my Death first reach the weeping Boy.
Beneath whose stubborn Rule and hardy Sway
I live; my Soul her own soft Sex disdains,
And pamper'd Indolence of Grecian Trains.
Not Scythian Tribes, and Amazonian Bands
Yield with more Pleasure to thy rough Commands.
If not th'allurements of the Female Choir
Could love of Dance, and wanton Songs inspire;
264
(Tho' once surpris'd, ungrateful Joys I felt)
Yet did those Hands no feeble Distaff rear,
Nor with fond Ivy wreath th'unwarlike Spear.
Ev'n when no Place amid thy Pomp allow'd,
I beat the Thicket distant from the Crowd,
And ever seem'd, unwillingly betray'd,
A Huntress still, and still in Mind a Maid.
But if my Crime such Innocence deny'd,
I did not labour the sweet Crime to hide.
No dusky Cave the Searchers Care beguil'd,
But at your Feet I laid the trembling Child.
To you, and to the World I did proclaim
At once my Glory, and at once my Shame.
The lively Infant soon his Race did show,
And stretch'd unequal Hands to grasp the Bow;
Then wept, constrain'd from that loved hold to part,
And his first broken Accents lisp'd a Dart.
O! Goddess! to my Boy confirm this Pray'r,
(What would those Dreams, and nightly Forms declare?)
265
Approve his Confidence, and save my Son.
To my Embrace restore him; let him come,
If not a Victor, safe, tho' vanquish'd, home.
Here let him bear your Arms, securely sweat,
And pant with no less honourable Heat.
Far from our Woods dire Omens! but why seem
The Theban Deities to rule in Dream?
Avert, Imperial Queen, the fatal Stroke,
And let me fondly dread the wounded Oak.
But if these Visionary Scenes relate
Too true my hapless Son's untimely Fate;
If he must fall, e'er yet his Nerves be strung,
Think on thy Brother, ever fair and young:
O! by the tender Love a Sister knows
O! by the pity to a Parent's Throws,
Grant me, kind Goddess, an unenvy'd Doom,
Pierce with thy keenest Darts this guilty Womb.
The fruitful Source of Miseries destroy,
And let my Death first reach the weeping Boy.
266
She paus'd, and saw, what soon confirm'd her Fears,
The soft'ning Statue melted into Tears.
On the cold Earth lies the desponding Fair,
And sweeps the dusty Altar with her Hair.
To Thebes the vex'd Diana wings her flight,
And tow'rs above the steep Mænalian Height,
Tho' its bold Head th'aspiring Mountain shrouds,
And shoots whole shady Groves amid the Clouds.
Now on Parnassus she with Pride looks down,
From the last verging Circle of the Moon:
Thence glancing upwards, scarce her Brother knew,
For wrapt in Shades th'afflicted Phœbus flew.
But by her Presence cheer'd, unveil'd he shone,
The Gloom was scatter'd, and the God was known.
The Heav'n, all-conscious, blush'd from both Extremes
At kindred Glories, and united Beams.
Th'immortal Pair did mutual Grace bestow,
Quiver to Quiver answer'd, Bow to Bow.
The soft'ning Statue melted into Tears.
On the cold Earth lies the desponding Fair,
And sweeps the dusty Altar with her Hair.
To Thebes the vex'd Diana wings her flight,
And tow'rs above the steep Mænalian Height,
Tho' its bold Head th'aspiring Mountain shrouds,
And shoots whole shady Groves amid the Clouds.
Now on Parnassus she with Pride looks down,
From the last verging Circle of the Moon:
Thence glancing upwards, scarce her Brother knew,
For wrapt in Shades th'afflicted Phœbus flew.
But by her Presence cheer'd, unveil'd he shone,
The Gloom was scatter'd, and the God was known.
The Heav'n, all-conscious, blush'd from both Extremes
At kindred Glories, and united Beams.
Th'immortal Pair did mutual Grace bestow,
Quiver to Quiver answer'd, Bow to Bow.
He first: Too well, my Sister, I foresee,
How unsuccessful your Attempt must be.
You seek the Thebans, mad with War's Alarms,
And the brave Youth, too early sheath'd in Arms.
His Mother begs his Life; if Fate could give
A Life back, once condemn'd, the Boy should live.
E'en I but late (I speak it to my Shame)
With baffl'd Pow'r from those curs'd Tumults came.
I heard my Prophet, who my Garlands wore,
And sacred Boughs, in vain my Aid implore.
Prone thro' the Void, these Eyes saw disappear
At once the Chariot, and the Charioteer.
Down to the Stygian Shades alive he fell,
Nor could I hinder what I did foretell.
Sinking, he heav'd his Hands, and Phœbus own'd,
But Phœbus could not close the gaping Ground.
These the Rewards I to my Vot'ries pay!
Temptations sure to love my friendly Sway.
My best Endeavours ill his Merits suit:
Silence, my Oracles! with Grief be mute.
Learn, learn from me thy Labours to forbear;
Fruitless Essays, and fond Assistance spare.
Th'Arcadian Prince must wither in the Bloom,
The Fates have fix'd th'inexorable Doom.
No dubious Sentences his Death contain,
The melancholy Truth is here too plain.
How unsuccessful your Attempt must be.
267
And the brave Youth, too early sheath'd in Arms.
His Mother begs his Life; if Fate could give
A Life back, once condemn'd, the Boy should live.
E'en I but late (I speak it to my Shame)
With baffl'd Pow'r from those curs'd Tumults came.
I heard my Prophet, who my Garlands wore,
And sacred Boughs, in vain my Aid implore.
Prone thro' the Void, these Eyes saw disappear
At once the Chariot, and the Charioteer.
Down to the Stygian Shades alive he fell,
Nor could I hinder what I did foretell.
Sinking, he heav'd his Hands, and Phœbus own'd,
But Phœbus could not close the gaping Ground.
These the Rewards I to my Vot'ries pay!
Temptations sure to love my friendly Sway.
My best Endeavours ill his Merits suit:
Silence, my Oracles! with Grief be mute.
Learn, learn from me thy Labours to forbear;
Fruitless Essays, and fond Assistance spare.
268
The Fates have fix'd th'inexorable Doom.
No dubious Sentences his Death contain,
The melancholy Truth is here too plain.
Nor shall some Honour be at last deny'd
To grace his Fall, the Goddess stern reply'd.
The wretched Mother may this Comfort find,
Who kills her Son, shall not survive behind.
Th'audacious Hand that strikes the guiltless Boy,
Shall know no farther Pleasure to destroy:
So small a Punishment I sure may boast,
If not, the virtues of my Darts be lost.
Fiercely she spoke, and hast'ning to dismiss
Her Brother, parted with but half a Kiss.
Her secret Breast glow'd with revengeful Thought,
And anxious, the Cadmëan Tow'rs she sought.
To grace his Fall, the Goddess stern reply'd.
The wretched Mother may this Comfort find,
Who kills her Son, shall not survive behind.
Th'audacious Hand that strikes the guiltless Boy,
Shall know no farther Pleasure to destroy:
So small a Punishment I sure may boast,
If not, the virtues of my Darts be lost.
Fiercely she spoke, and hast'ning to dismiss
Her Brother, parted with but half a Kiss.
Her secret Breast glow'd with revengeful Thought,
And anxious, the Cadmëan Tow'rs she sought.
The Battle there grew warm; from slaughter'd Kings
Redoubled Rage, and wilder Frenzy springs.
These Troops, for Hipseus slain, come rushing on,
But swifter those, for lost Hippomedon.
Alternate Vengeance traverses the Field;
To pointed Swords their naked Breasts they yield.
The same mad Fury in each Heart was sown,
To seize another's Life, or lose his own.
Fearless the close, confronting Squadrons stood,
Eager of Death, and prodigal of Blood.
With adverse Wounds eternal Fame they buy,
And smile in Ruin, and with Pleasure die.
Redoubled Rage, and wilder Frenzy springs.
269
But swifter those, for lost Hippomedon.
Alternate Vengeance traverses the Field;
To pointed Swords their naked Breasts they yield.
The same mad Fury in each Heart was sown,
To seize another's Life, or lose his own.
Fearless the close, confronting Squadrons stood,
Eager of Death, and prodigal of Blood.
With adverse Wounds eternal Fame they buy,
And smile in Ruin, and with Pleasure die.
Diana now, an airy Journey past,
On the Dircëan Summit stoop'd at last.
The bending Forrest the fierce Goddess own'd,
And all the hoary Mountain shook around.
For here, when fruitful Niobe defy'd
The Virgin Queen, she sat, and check'd her Pride.
Destruction on her boasted Brood she sent,
Half-weary'd with th'unnumber'd Shafts, she spent.
On the Dircëan Summit stoop'd at last.
The bending Forrest the fierce Goddess own'd,
And all the hoary Mountain shook around.
For here, when fruitful Niobe defy'd
The Virgin Queen, she sat, and check'd her Pride.
Destruction on her boasted Brood she sent,
Half-weary'd with th'unnumber'd Shafts, she spent.
270
Th'Arcadian Leader she beheld from far,
Brightly distinguish'd in the Cloud of War.
Triumphant thro' the thickest Ranks he flew,
And rein'd a Courser to the Rein yet new.
A Tyger's party-colour'd Skin was spread
O'er the broad Back of the proud fiery Steed;
The golden Paws across his Shoulders hung,
With dreadful Grace, and sudden bounds he sprung.
His comely Mane, in artful Knots confin'd,
Eludes the wanton freedoms of the Wind.
Below his Breast, to mark the Hunter young,
With Iv'ry Teeth a bending Poitral hung.
His Surcoat twice had drunk the Tyrian Die,
His silken Tunick, dazzling to the Eye,
(The sole rich Work, which his fair Mother wrought,
And for a while the Woods and Lawns forgot)
Behind, collected in a Ribbon, flow'd:
His Sword it self prov'd a too pond'rous Load.
Brightly distinguish'd in the Cloud of War.
Triumphant thro' the thickest Ranks he flew,
And rein'd a Courser to the Rein yet new.
A Tyger's party-colour'd Skin was spread
O'er the broad Back of the proud fiery Steed;
The golden Paws across his Shoulders hung,
With dreadful Grace, and sudden bounds he sprung.
His comely Mane, in artful Knots confin'd,
Eludes the wanton freedoms of the Wind.
Below his Breast, to mark the Hunter young,
With Iv'ry Teeth a bending Poitral hung.
His Surcoat twice had drunk the Tyrian Die,
His silken Tunick, dazzling to the Eye,
(The sole rich Work, which his fair Mother wrought,
And for a while the Woods and Lawns forgot)
Behind, collected in a Ribbon, flow'd:
His Sword it self prov'd a too pond'rous Load.
The Field of Death he views with strange delight,
And Scenes of Horror thinks a pleasing Sight.
The Pomp of War his youthful Fancy fires,
And now th'embroider'd Trappings he admires.
Now grateful every harsher Sound appears,
And Musick in the clank of Arms he hears.
Sometimes his Morrion he with Pride surveys,
Enrich'd with Gemms, that mingle in a blaze.
But when the glowing Fight asks friendly Winds,
His cumbrous Casque for coolness he unbinds.
Confess'd to sight, and free to open show,
His golden Ringlets negligently flow.
His sparkling Eyes roll with a lively Grace,
And little Loves sport, flutt'ring round his Face.
Along his downy Cheeks, by Nature spread,
Is seen the purest white, and freshest red.
But he this Smoothness joyfully would spare
To look more manly, tho' he look'd less fair.
Yet while such Glories Admiration raise,
He shuns th'Admirers, and disdains their Praise.
His Beauty's just Encomiums he disowns,
And fain would cloud his Brow with borrow'd Frowns;
Nor can his native Sweetness discompose,
Anger in him has Charms, and lovely shows.
Where-e'er he moves, the Theban Fathers yield
An undisputed Passage o'er the Field.
Or if the Dart full-drawn its flight demands,
Their Children rise in Thought, and check their Hands.
But he, regardless of their Pity, pours
Destruction swift around in feather'd Show'rs.
Ev'n here the gazing Nymphs their Flames confess,
And from Theumesian Hills his Motions bless.
The Dust, and melting Heat new Grace bestow,
In the fair Youth is lost their Country's Foe.
For him they sigh, from Vow to Vow they run,
And wish Bæotia gloriously undone.
And Scenes of Horror thinks a pleasing Sight.
271
And now th'embroider'd Trappings he admires.
Now grateful every harsher Sound appears,
And Musick in the clank of Arms he hears.
Sometimes his Morrion he with Pride surveys,
Enrich'd with Gemms, that mingle in a blaze.
But when the glowing Fight asks friendly Winds,
His cumbrous Casque for coolness he unbinds.
Confess'd to sight, and free to open show,
His golden Ringlets negligently flow.
His sparkling Eyes roll with a lively Grace,
And little Loves sport, flutt'ring round his Face.
Along his downy Cheeks, by Nature spread,
Is seen the purest white, and freshest red.
But he this Smoothness joyfully would spare
To look more manly, tho' he look'd less fair.
Yet while such Glories Admiration raise,
He shuns th'Admirers, and disdains their Praise.
His Beauty's just Encomiums he disowns,
And fain would cloud his Brow with borrow'd Frowns;
272
Anger in him has Charms, and lovely shows.
Where-e'er he moves, the Theban Fathers yield
An undisputed Passage o'er the Field.
Or if the Dart full-drawn its flight demands,
Their Children rise in Thought, and check their Hands.
But he, regardless of their Pity, pours
Destruction swift around in feather'd Show'rs.
Ev'n here the gazing Nymphs their Flames confess,
And from Theumesian Hills his Motions bless.
The Dust, and melting Heat new Grace bestow,
In the fair Youth is lost their Country's Foe.
For him they sigh, from Vow to Vow they run,
And wish Bæotia gloriously undone.
With Contemplation of this mournful Scene,
Celestial Tears flow'd from the Delian Queen.
How thy fond Mother's Griefs shall I abate,
She said, or cancel the Decrees of Fate?
Why, cruel Boy, didst thou unbidden come
To lavish Life, and court a fatal Doom?
Too pregnant Vertue, mounted to a Flame,
Taught thee to stretch, and pant for early Fame.
Show'd, Cowards live not, by extent of Breath,
But Heroes are immortaliz'd in Death.
Yet the streight Bounds of the Mænalian Grove
Did lately a too spacious Circuit prove:
Not without Danger couldst thou range alone,
O'er Dens of Beasts, and Wilds of rugged Stone.
Thy Mother's Weapons still thy Weakness show,
Nor canst thou launch her Spear, or bend her Bow.
At my deaf Altars, bath'd in Tears, she lies,
And wearies Echo with repeated Cries.
While thee the sprightly Trumpet chears from far
With noble Noise, sweet Discord of the War.
Ah! heedless Youth, wilt thou unminded die,
And to thy Parent only Grief supply!
Celestial Tears flow'd from the Delian Queen.
How thy fond Mother's Griefs shall I abate,
She said, or cancel the Decrees of Fate?
273
To lavish Life, and court a fatal Doom?
Too pregnant Vertue, mounted to a Flame,
Taught thee to stretch, and pant for early Fame.
Show'd, Cowards live not, by extent of Breath,
But Heroes are immortaliz'd in Death.
Yet the streight Bounds of the Mænalian Grove
Did lately a too spacious Circuit prove:
Not without Danger couldst thou range alone,
O'er Dens of Beasts, and Wilds of rugged Stone.
Thy Mother's Weapons still thy Weakness show,
Nor canst thou launch her Spear, or bend her Bow.
At my deaf Altars, bath'd in Tears, she lies,
And wearies Echo with repeated Cries.
While thee the sprightly Trumpet chears from far
With noble Noise, sweet Discord of the War.
Ah! heedless Youth, wilt thou unminded die,
And to thy Parent only Grief supply!
But that all living Honours might be paid,
'Round her the Goddess cast a dusky Shade:
Shot from the Mount, and gliding chose to fall
In the mid Throng, unseen, yet seeing all.
From the Boy's Quiver, first, his Darts unknown
Gently she stole, and fill'd it with her own,
Which fram'd by Art divine, no Error knew,
And scatter'd certain Ruin where they flew.
Then to defend him from invading Force,
She sprinkled with Ambrosial Dews his Horse.
This, tho' unable to preserve his Breath,
Unharm'd secures him, till the Hour of Death.
She adds too Mystick Sounds, which never fail,
Sounds, which she teaches in th'Æmonian Vale,
When soft by Night the fell Magicians tread,
To drain the Poys'nous Herbs, or raise the Dead.
He with rich Stores of keener Arrows fraught,
Swells to a proud Extravagance of Thought:
Boldly the beaten Paths of Death forsakes,
And cross the Ranks uncommon Slaughter makes.
Of all forgetful, wantonly he strays,
And Heav'nly Mischief spreads ten thousand ways.
Thus, the Getulian Mother's Care succeeds,
The Lion young with hunted Blood she feeds.
But when by Age his Nerves their Vigour gain,
He sees his lengthen'd Paws, and rising Mane;
At home for Food he nobly scorns to stay,
And scours the Plain, and tears himself his Prey.
'Round her the Goddess cast a dusky Shade:
274
In the mid Throng, unseen, yet seeing all.
From the Boy's Quiver, first, his Darts unknown
Gently she stole, and fill'd it with her own,
Which fram'd by Art divine, no Error knew,
And scatter'd certain Ruin where they flew.
Then to defend him from invading Force,
She sprinkled with Ambrosial Dews his Horse.
This, tho' unable to preserve his Breath,
Unharm'd secures him, till the Hour of Death.
She adds too Mystick Sounds, which never fail,
Sounds, which she teaches in th'Æmonian Vale,
When soft by Night the fell Magicians tread,
To drain the Poys'nous Herbs, or raise the Dead.
He with rich Stores of keener Arrows fraught,
Swells to a proud Extravagance of Thought:
Boldly the beaten Paths of Death forsakes,
And cross the Ranks uncommon Slaughter makes.
Of all forgetful, wantonly he strays,
And Heav'nly Mischief spreads ten thousand ways.
275
The Lion young with hunted Blood she feeds.
But when by Age his Nerves their Vigour gain,
He sees his lengthen'd Paws, and rising Mane;
At home for Food he nobly scorns to stay,
And scours the Plain, and tears himself his Prey.
Muse, trace the Track of Death, in order tell,
What Numbers by the youthful Hero fell.
Choræbus the first Honour had to bleed,
Between his Shield and Bever pass'd the Reed.
Fix'd in his Throat th'evenom'd Arrow stood,
And Sacred Fire ran circling thro' his Blood.
But poor Eurytion felt more cruel Smart,
In his Left Eye deep sunk the deadly Dart.
The hooked Point out with the Ball he drew,
And with mad Fury on the Giver flew.
But who against Celestial Arms can fight?
Another Shaft soon drunk his other Light.
Involv'd in Darkness, still he hunts about,
And blindly gropes to find th'Arcadian out:
'Till, stumbling o'er dead Ida on the Ground,
With heaps of Slain he lay encompass'd round.
Stung with his bitter Anguish, loud he roar'd,
And Death for Ease from Friend or Foe implor'd.
The Sons of Abas next, a lovely Pair,
Brisk Argus, famous for his length of Hair,
And Cydon, fall, whose too sweet Looks could move
A Sister with a more than Sister's Love.
This, in his Side receiv'd the fatal Wound,
That, with a Dart transfix'd his Temples found,
Here shone the Point, the Feather there was spy'd,
But streaming Gore distill'd from either side.
Th'Inclement Victor's Rage no Charms appease;
Not Eamus 'scapes, by Nature form'd to please.
Lygdus, as vain, on holy Wreaths presum'd,
As Æolus with Flow'r of Beauty bloom'd.
Various the Shots, yet in one Ruin join,
Lamus his Mouth, and Lygdus mourns his Groin;
While springing Æolus, with silent Dread,
His snowy Front discolour'd sees with red.
Eubæa gave to the first Warrior Birth,
Eubæa, founded on a sloping Earth.
The second from well-peopled Thisbe came,
Where Milk-white Doves bestow an endless Fame.
The third, again on the green Spartan Mead
Shall ne'er the Chorus of the Dancers lead.
What Numbers by the youthful Hero fell.
Choræbus the first Honour had to bleed,
Between his Shield and Bever pass'd the Reed.
Fix'd in his Throat th'evenom'd Arrow stood,
And Sacred Fire ran circling thro' his Blood.
But poor Eurytion felt more cruel Smart,
In his Left Eye deep sunk the deadly Dart.
The hooked Point out with the Ball he drew,
And with mad Fury on the Giver flew.
But who against Celestial Arms can fight?
Another Shaft soon drunk his other Light.
276
And blindly gropes to find th'Arcadian out:
'Till, stumbling o'er dead Ida on the Ground,
With heaps of Slain he lay encompass'd round.
Stung with his bitter Anguish, loud he roar'd,
And Death for Ease from Friend or Foe implor'd.
The Sons of Abas next, a lovely Pair,
Brisk Argus, famous for his length of Hair,
And Cydon, fall, whose too sweet Looks could move
A Sister with a more than Sister's Love.
This, in his Side receiv'd the fatal Wound,
That, with a Dart transfix'd his Temples found,
Here shone the Point, the Feather there was spy'd,
But streaming Gore distill'd from either side.
Th'Inclement Victor's Rage no Charms appease;
Not Eamus 'scapes, by Nature form'd to please.
Lygdus, as vain, on holy Wreaths presum'd,
As Æolus with Flow'r of Beauty bloom'd.
Various the Shots, yet in one Ruin join,
Lamus his Mouth, and Lygdus mourns his Groin;
277
His snowy Front discolour'd sees with red.
Eubæa gave to the first Warrior Birth,
Eubæa, founded on a sloping Earth.
The second from well-peopled Thisbe came,
Where Milk-white Doves bestow an endless Fame.
The third, again on the green Spartan Mead
Shall ne'er the Chorus of the Dancers lead.
Thus he for Sport his Bow not idly bends,
But sure Destruction on each Dart attends.
Whizzing it cuts the Air, and scarcely gone,
Is by another urg'd more swiftly on.
To spread such Desolation might demand
A Legion's Labour, not a single Hand.
Now forwards he the winged Death directs,
Then glancing sideways, oblique Aim affects.
Sometimes, dissembling Fear, he seems to flie,
But shooting backwards, the Pursuers die.
But sure Destruction on each Dart attends.
Whizzing it cuts the Air, and scarcely gone,
Is by another urg'd more swiftly on.
To spread such Desolation might demand
A Legion's Labour, not a single Hand.
Now forwards he the winged Death directs,
Then glancing sideways, oblique Aim affects.
Sometimes, dissembling Fear, he seems to flie,
But shooting backwards, the Pursuers die.
278
The Thebans now with wrathful Wonder glow'd,
And Vengeance on the young Destroyer vow'd.
Amphion first to smother'd Rage gave vent,
Deriv'd from Jove, and vainly Insolent:
Nor saw, what future Causes he should yield
With Blood to fatten the Dircëan Field.
And Vengeance on the young Destroyer vow'd.
Amphion first to smother'd Rage gave vent,
Deriv'd from Jove, and vainly Insolent:
Nor saw, what future Causes he should yield
With Blood to fatten the Dircëan Field.
How long shall we thy Fate suspended keep,
Nor give thy Parents Privilege to weep?
From our Neglect, fond Boy, proud Fancies rise,
Swell in thy Breast, and sparkle in thy Eyes,
While each disdains to meet th'unequal Foe,
By Meanness safe, and despicably low.
Home to Arcadia's shady Groves retreat,
And in mock-fight thy raw Companions beat.
Here let grim Mars enjoy the Toils of War,
In dusty Triumph roul his Iron Car.
Go, with Rush-lances bloodless Conquest gain,
And drive th'unbearded Squadron o'er the Plain.
But if vain Greatness be thy mad Desire,
Amidst a Throng of Heroes to expire,
Thou of thy haughty Wish shalt be possest,
A manly Arm shall lull the Child to rest.
Nor give thy Parents Privilege to weep?
From our Neglect, fond Boy, proud Fancies rise,
Swell in thy Breast, and sparkle in thy Eyes,
While each disdains to meet th'unequal Foe,
By Meanness safe, and despicably low.
Home to Arcadia's shady Groves retreat,
And in mock-fight thy raw Companions beat.
Here let grim Mars enjoy the Toils of War,
In dusty Triumph roul his Iron Car.
Go, with Rush-lances bloodless Conquest gain,
And drive th'unbearded Squadron o'er the Plain.
279
Amidst a Throng of Heroes to expire,
Thou of thy haughty Wish shalt be possest,
A manly Arm shall lull the Child to rest.
Swift Atalanta's Son no more could hear,
But stop'd Amphion in his proud Career,
And cry'd, These Arms, long-practis'd, I employ;
'Tis not the giddy Onset of a Boy:
And yet what Boy, but seems a Match design'd
For your weak Race, the Dregs of Human-kind?
The vast Distinction is not understood
Between the Theban, and th'Arcadian Blood.
My Mother, never, with a drunken Throng,
To Jolly Bacchus squawl'd the Nightly Song.
Crown'd with uncomely Wreaths, ne'er led the Dance,
Nor, curl'd with Ivy, shook th'inglorious Lance.
My Infant Age with Exercise began,
Toil strung my Nerves, and early show'd the Man.
Naked I us'd to stem the foamy Tyde,
Or on the polish'd Mirror smoothly glide:
Rejoyc'd the tawny Tiger to out-brave,
And walk, untrembling, thro' the dreary Cave.
But why need I my hardy Deeds proclaim,
Acts, worthy Heroes, raise my Mother's Fame.
She whirls the Spear, or shoots the flying Prey,
While your enervate Sires on Timbrels play.
But stop'd Amphion in his proud Career,
And cry'd, These Arms, long-practis'd, I employ;
'Tis not the giddy Onset of a Boy:
And yet what Boy, but seems a Match design'd
For your weak Race, the Dregs of Human-kind?
The vast Distinction is not understood
Between the Theban, and th'Arcadian Blood.
My Mother, never, with a drunken Throng,
To Jolly Bacchus squawl'd the Nightly Song.
Crown'd with uncomely Wreaths, ne'er led the Dance,
Nor, curl'd with Ivy, shook th'inglorious Lance.
My Infant Age with Exercise began,
Toil strung my Nerves, and early show'd the Man.
280
Or on the polish'd Mirror smoothly glide:
Rejoyc'd the tawny Tiger to out-brave,
And walk, untrembling, thro' the dreary Cave.
But why need I my hardy Deeds proclaim,
Acts, worthy Heroes, raise my Mother's Fame.
She whirls the Spear, or shoots the flying Prey,
While your enervate Sires on Timbrels play.
These Taunts Amphion did too far provoke,
Impetuous he prepar'd a deadly Stroke:
But, starting sudden from the blazing Sword,
The Courser with himself preserv'd his Lord.
The Weapon slaunting fell; the harmless Blow
Balk'd the malicious Pleasure of the Foe.
Yet not discourag'd from his cruel Thought,
With double Fury he th'Arcadian sought;
When fierce Diana, now no more conceal'd,
Shone to his Eyes, at her full length reveal'd.
Mænalian Dorceus, by strict Friendship ty'd,
Was wont to close the tender Warrior's side:
Him Atalanta charg'd with all her Fears,
Impower'd to check the Youth's impetuous Years:
An anxious Government: the Goddess took
His Air and Figure, and her own forsook.
Impetuous he prepar'd a deadly Stroke:
But, starting sudden from the blazing Sword,
The Courser with himself preserv'd his Lord.
The Weapon slaunting fell; the harmless Blow
Balk'd the malicious Pleasure of the Foe.
Yet not discourag'd from his cruel Thought,
With double Fury he th'Arcadian sought;
When fierce Diana, now no more conceal'd,
Shone to his Eyes, at her full length reveal'd.
281
Was wont to close the tender Warrior's side:
Him Atalanta charg'd with all her Fears,
Impower'd to check the Youth's impetuous Years:
An anxious Government: the Goddess took
His Air and Figure, and her own forsook.
Enough, she cry'd, thy Prowess Thebes has felt,
Let the soft Mother the stern Hero melt:
For her vouchsafe to live; new Toils forbear,
And rest thy Guardian Gods awhile from Care.
Let the soft Mother the stern Hero melt:
For her vouchsafe to live; new Toils forbear,
And rest thy Guardian Gods awhile from Care.
Then he: Ah! let me but, my Friend, acquire
One other Lawrel; I no more desire.
The Fall of this Usurper is decreed,
Who proudly apes with his, my Motley'd Steed:
Who seems in Purple Furniture to vie,
And dares to brandish Rival Arms on high.
A Present to my Mother I'll bestow,
His gilded Quiver, and his sounding Bow.
His Courser shall for my own Use remain,
His Robes be offer'd in Diana's Fane.
One other Lawrel; I no more desire.
The Fall of this Usurper is decreed,
Who proudly apes with his, my Motley'd Steed:
Who seems in Purple Furniture to vie,
And dares to brandish Rival Arms on high.
A Present to my Mother I'll bestow,
His gilded Quiver, and his sounding Bow.
282
His Robes be offer'd in Diana's Fane.
She list'ning, heard; tho' griev'd, yet faintly smil'd
At the fond, pleasing Prattle of the Child.
At the fond, pleasing Prattle of the Child.
It chanc'd, that Mars observ'd the doubtful Fray,
While, secret, in a rosie Bow'r he lay,
Where Beauty's Queen, profuse of heav'nly Charms,
The conqu'ring God held Captive in her Arms.
Amid the Pleasures of a sweet Embrace,
She talk'd of Cadmus, and Harmonia's Race.
In those soft Minutes chose her Grief to sigh,
When he could nothing, she could ask, deny.
While, secret, in a rosie Bow'r he lay,
Where Beauty's Queen, profuse of heav'nly Charms,
The conqu'ring God held Captive in her Arms.
Amid the Pleasures of a sweet Embrace,
She talk'd of Cadmus, and Harmonia's Race.
In those soft Minutes chose her Grief to sigh,
When he could nothing, she could ask, deny.
Then thus begun: See, mighty Warrior, see!
The bold Atchievements of Virginity!
Not with the shock of charging Hosts dismay'd,
In the mid Battel glows the Martial Maid.
She sports in Mischief, bounteously enclin'd,
Our Race fall Victims to her Ways and Mind.
Are then your Virtues interchang'd of late?
Must she from bloody Fields return in State,
While you inglorious o'er the dewy Lawn
Chase the swift Stag, or pierce the trembling Fawn?
The bold Atchievements of Virginity!
Not with the shock of charging Hosts dismay'd,
In the mid Battel glows the Martial Maid.
283
Our Race fall Victims to her Ways and Mind.
Are then your Virtues interchang'd of late?
Must she from bloody Fields return in State,
While you inglorious o'er the dewy Lawn
Chase the swift Stag, or pierce the trembling Fawn?
To her Complaints a list'ning Ear he lent;
Then streight from Heav'n down rush'd th'Armipotent.
Anger alone attended on his Car,
Her Sister Furies labour'd in the War.
Thro' thickest Troops he to Diana broke,
And in a surly Tone, imperious, spoke.
Then streight from Heav'n down rush'd th'Armipotent.
Anger alone attended on his Car,
Her Sister Furies labour'd in the War.
Thro' thickest Troops he to Diana broke,
And in a surly Tone, imperious, spoke.
My Father gives not thee to sway the Fight,
Timely retire, and Safety seek by Flight:
Or else this Arm can ghastlier Terror spread,
Than Pallas, aided by her Gorgon Head.
Timely retire, and Safety seek by Flight:
Or else this Arm can ghastlier Terror spread,
Than Pallas, aided by her Gorgon Head.
What Course for Prudence shall the Delian steer?
The God of Battels, this way, shakes his Spear.
There Jove's Commands, if disobey'd, destroy,
And here, th'approaching Ruin of the Boy.
She blush'd for Sorrow, to be forc'd to yield,
And in disdainful Murmurs left the Field.
The God of Battels, this way, shakes his Spear.
284
And here, th'approaching Ruin of the Boy.
She blush'd for Sorrow, to be forc'd to yield,
And in disdainful Murmurs left the Field.
Gruff Mars survey'd the Theban Army 'round,
'Till from Orion sprung, he Dryas found:
Gigantick Dryas, prone to vengeful Ire,
E'er since the Scorpion bit his lustful Sire,
Who by Diana's Wrath receiv'd his Fate,
Thence he pursues her Friends with restless Hate.
None of Arcadian Growth he glad would spare,
And thins the Ranks, and leaves the Monarch bare.
They, who on cold Cyllene us'd to dwell,
Or on Tegëan Hills, promiscuous fell.
Th'Ægyptian Succours, part, ignobly flie,
And part maintain their Posts, and greatly die.
Still the young Leader thinks he can succeed,
With his weak Arm must the huge Dryas bleed:
Tho' much-fatigu'd, from Troop to Troop he roves,
And without Reason likes, or disapproves.
Fate would not seize him by a quick Surprise,
A thousand direful Presages arise,
And gloomy Vapours overspread his Mind,
Forerunning Omens, when Death stalks behind.
Now o'er his lessen'd Train his Eye he cast,
And the true Dorceus there beheld at last.
He longs for Rest, he finds his Strength decay,
And steal by sensible degrees away.
His Quiver, whose rich weight gave Pain before,
Gives greater now, exhausted of its Store.
No longer Dreams of Manhood feed his Joy,
But to himself he, sighing, owns the Boy.
A chilling Fear ran curdling thro' his Blood,
When Dryas rais'd his Shield, and threat'ning stood.
As the Strymonian Swan, while from above
Comes sousing down th'Imperial Bird of Jove,
Fain would in th'op'ning Bank its Body hide,
And claps its Pinions close on either side.
So he, confounded with the bulky sight
Of Dryas, trembled with no less a Fright.
Nor Rage ensu'd, but short he drew his Breath
With shiv'ring Horrors, such as wait on Death.
Howe'er to Trivia he begins to pray,
All-pale he shoots, and makes a faint Essay.
Then the tough Eugh he more intensely prest,
The distant Horns approach'd, and touch'd his Breast,
When a broad Spear, by his strong Foe apply'd,
Did his stretch'd Bow-string in the midst divide.
The Nerve thus broke, his Hands were useless grown,
And peaceful drop'd the feather'd Ruin down.
His Courser's Reins uncheck'd, his Arms aground,
He raves impatient of the yawning Wound,
Which his Right Shoulder show'd with griesly Grace,
And soon a second did his Left deface.
A third untoward Blow with deadly force,
Cut the hind Sinews of his bounding Horse.
Then Dryas dy'd, and what seems strange to tell,
Of Wounds unconscious wonder'd why he fell.
Long since the secret Author was too plain,
A Goddess rarely loves to threat in vain.
But the thin remnant of a num'rous Store,
Arcadians on their Shields their Master bore.
His simple Age his own Life fondly scorn'd,
But the maim'd Courser, as he fell, he mourn'd.
His loosen'd Helm his paler Cheeks display'd,
The Roses wither, and the Lillies fade.
Beauty by slow degrees, tho' forc'd, retires,
And ev'ry Grace unwillingly expires.
The fleeting Soul they labour'd to restrain,
Thrice pluck'd his Hair, thrice stretch'd his Neck in vain.
For the sweet Youth ev'n Thebans Tears bestow'd,
While purple Streams from his fair Bosom flow'd.
'Till from Orion sprung, he Dryas found:
Gigantick Dryas, prone to vengeful Ire,
E'er since the Scorpion bit his lustful Sire,
Who by Diana's Wrath receiv'd his Fate,
Thence he pursues her Friends with restless Hate.
None of Arcadian Growth he glad would spare,
And thins the Ranks, and leaves the Monarch bare.
They, who on cold Cyllene us'd to dwell,
Or on Tegëan Hills, promiscuous fell.
Th'Ægyptian Succours, part, ignobly flie,
And part maintain their Posts, and greatly die.
Still the young Leader thinks he can succeed,
With his weak Arm must the huge Dryas bleed:
285
And without Reason likes, or disapproves.
Fate would not seize him by a quick Surprise,
A thousand direful Presages arise,
And gloomy Vapours overspread his Mind,
Forerunning Omens, when Death stalks behind.
Now o'er his lessen'd Train his Eye he cast,
And the true Dorceus there beheld at last.
He longs for Rest, he finds his Strength decay,
And steal by sensible degrees away.
His Quiver, whose rich weight gave Pain before,
Gives greater now, exhausted of its Store.
No longer Dreams of Manhood feed his Joy,
But to himself he, sighing, owns the Boy.
A chilling Fear ran curdling thro' his Blood,
When Dryas rais'd his Shield, and threat'ning stood.
As the Strymonian Swan, while from above
Comes sousing down th'Imperial Bird of Jove,
Fain would in th'op'ning Bank its Body hide,
And claps its Pinions close on either side.
286
Of Dryas, trembled with no less a Fright.
Nor Rage ensu'd, but short he drew his Breath
With shiv'ring Horrors, such as wait on Death.
Howe'er to Trivia he begins to pray,
All-pale he shoots, and makes a faint Essay.
Then the tough Eugh he more intensely prest,
The distant Horns approach'd, and touch'd his Breast,
When a broad Spear, by his strong Foe apply'd,
Did his stretch'd Bow-string in the midst divide.
The Nerve thus broke, his Hands were useless grown,
And peaceful drop'd the feather'd Ruin down.
His Courser's Reins uncheck'd, his Arms aground,
He raves impatient of the yawning Wound,
Which his Right Shoulder show'd with griesly Grace,
And soon a second did his Left deface.
A third untoward Blow with deadly force,
Cut the hind Sinews of his bounding Horse.
Then Dryas dy'd, and what seems strange to tell,
Of Wounds unconscious wonder'd why he fell.
287
A Goddess rarely loves to threat in vain.
But the thin remnant of a num'rous Store,
Arcadians on their Shields their Master bore.
His simple Age his own Life fondly scorn'd,
But the maim'd Courser, as he fell, he mourn'd.
His loosen'd Helm his paler Cheeks display'd,
The Roses wither, and the Lillies fade.
Beauty by slow degrees, tho' forc'd, retires,
And ev'ry Grace unwillingly expires.
The fleeting Soul they labour'd to restrain,
Thrice pluck'd his Hair, thrice stretch'd his Neck in vain.
For the sweet Youth ev'n Thebans Tears bestow'd,
While purple Streams from his fair Bosom flow'd.
Into these Words at length he faintly broke,
With issuing Sobs long struggling e'er he spoke.
With issuing Sobs long struggling e'er he spoke.
Dorceus, my Dissolution now draws near,
Do thou my Mother's drooping Spirits cheer.
Already she (if I presage aright)
In Dreams, or Omens, has beheld this sight.
Be artful, piously suspend her Grief,
Nor tell her sudden, that you lost your Chief.
Mind, that her Hands no fatal Weapon bear,
When you, compell'd to speak, the Truth declare.
Then say, he, dying, bad me thus relate,
Alas! my Mother, I deserv'd my Fate.
Perverse I listen'd to the War's Alarms,
Nor could thy Tears prevent the Choice of Arms.
In the hot fight I sought not thy Repose,
But rush'd amidst the thickest of the Foes.
Live then, the Source of all thy Care is gone,
And in th'offending Boy forget the Son.
No more from steep Lycëus wilt thou spy
Vast Clouds of Dust rise curling to the Sky,
Nor hear the shouts of my pleas'd Sylvan Train;
Freezing I lie on the cold Theban Plain:
Thy Absence kind officious Aid denies
To catch my latest Breath, and close my Eyes.
Yet take, dear Parent, take this length of Hair,
For the whole Body this small Portion bear.
Then stretching out his Hand, he rais'd his Head,
These Locks thou daily lov'dst to Comb, he said,
My Frowardness despis'd, wouldst still adorn,
These thou in solemn Obsequies may'st mourn.
But oh! beware, that none by strict Command,
Blunt my keen Darts with an unpractis'd Hand,
Or with my Dogs again the Woods surround,
Or dare to injure the least fav'rite Hound.
To Flames this luckless Armour I resign,
Or hang it at th'ungrateful Trivia's Shrine.
Do thou my Mother's drooping Spirits cheer.
288
In Dreams, or Omens, has beheld this sight.
Be artful, piously suspend her Grief,
Nor tell her sudden, that you lost your Chief.
Mind, that her Hands no fatal Weapon bear,
When you, compell'd to speak, the Truth declare.
Then say, he, dying, bad me thus relate,
Alas! my Mother, I deserv'd my Fate.
Perverse I listen'd to the War's Alarms,
Nor could thy Tears prevent the Choice of Arms.
In the hot fight I sought not thy Repose,
But rush'd amidst the thickest of the Foes.
Live then, the Source of all thy Care is gone,
And in th'offending Boy forget the Son.
No more from steep Lycëus wilt thou spy
Vast Clouds of Dust rise curling to the Sky,
Nor hear the shouts of my pleas'd Sylvan Train;
Freezing I lie on the cold Theban Plain:
Thy Absence kind officious Aid denies
To catch my latest Breath, and close my Eyes.
289
For the whole Body this small Portion bear.
Then stretching out his Hand, he rais'd his Head,
These Locks thou daily lov'dst to Comb, he said,
My Frowardness despis'd, wouldst still adorn,
These thou in solemn Obsequies may'st mourn.
But oh! beware, that none by strict Command,
Blunt my keen Darts with an unpractis'd Hand,
Or with my Dogs again the Woods surround,
Or dare to injure the least fav'rite Hound.
To Flames this luckless Armour I resign,
Or hang it at th'ungrateful Trivia's Shrine.
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