The Rape of Proserpine, From Claudian :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Rape of Proserpine, From Claudian

In Three Books. With the Episode of Sextus and Erichtho, From Lucan's Pharsalia, Book VI. Translated by Mr. Jabez Hughes. The Second Edition, Corrected and Enlarg'd with Notes

Hughes, Jabez (1684 or 5-1731)

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THE Rape of Proserpine.

BOOK I.

II.

BOOK II.

III.

BOOK III.

THE EPISODE OF Sextus and Erichtho:

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THE Rape of Proserpine.

BOOK I.

The ARGUMENT.

The Subject of the Poem propounded. Pluto, in a Rage, draws together his Infernal Legions, to revenge himself upon Jupiter and Neptune, his Brother Gods, because, that while themselves were happy in a Nuptial State, they took no care to supply him with a proper Bride; for in his own Dominions he had none whom he could marry. The Fates interpose, and beg him to try gentler Methods: Accordingly, he dispatches Mercury to Jupiter, to acquaint him, that unless he gratify'd him in this Particular, he would arm the Powers of Hell, and throw all things into Confusion. Jupiter grants his Request, and resolves that he shall steal Proserpine, the Daughter of Ceres, and make Her his Bride. Her Mother, who was jealous lest some Violence should be offer'd her, because of her inimitable Beauty, conveys her privately to Sicily; where she conceals her in a House built on purpose by the Cyclops. Jupiter

instructs Venus to go thither and betray Her from her Retirement, that his Brother might have an Opportunity to carry her away: and to prevent any Suspicion in the Virgin's Mind, he commands Diana and Pallas to bear Her Company. The three Goddesses arriving, find Proserpine at Work on a Scarf for her Mother; in which she had embroider'd the Primitive Chaos, and the Formation of the Worlds. Pluto causes his Chariot to be made ready, and prepares for the Adventure.

The horrid Horses and sulphureous Car,
Which bore aloft th' Infernal Ravisher;
And rising from the dismal Shades of Night,
Obscur'd the Stars, and blotted out their Light;
The darksome Spousals of the ravish'd Fair,
My growing Verse adventures to declare.

Far hence remove, ye lawless Rout profane,
The sacred Rage comes rushing on amain,
Th' abundant Fervor has my Soul possess'd,
And all Apollo labours in my Breast.
I see the Temples shake, and nodding Shrine,
With flashing Beams the lofty Cielings shine,
And own the God's Approach, and Majesty Divine.
Deep Murmurs issue from the trembling Ground,
Th' Athenian Fane rebellows to the Sound,
And glad Eleusis shines with holy Lights around.

Triptolemus's Dragons to the Song
Erect their rosy Crests, and glide along:
See Hecate with her Triple Form, from far,
And florid Bacchus, to the Games appear;
His wavy Hair with wreathing Ivy ty'd,
And on his Back is thrown the Tiger's Pride,
The gilded Claws in equal Order meet;
And his crown'd Spear assists his erring Feet.

Ye Pow'rs, who rule o'er empty Plains below,
Of listless Shades, and waste Dominions know;
To whose insatiate Realms, whatever dies,
By Grant descends, and in Subjection lies;
Whom rolling Styx with livid Streams surrounds,
And the loud Phlegethon's hot Eddy bounds:
Shew me the Secrets of your nightly Reign,
And ev'ry sacred Mystery explain.
What wondrous Flame did Pluto's Breast inspire,
And melted into Love and soft Desire;
How ravish'd Proserpine was borne away,
Endow'd with Chaos and th' Infernal Sway.
Her anxious Mother's wand'ring Course declare,
From whence the Plains their golden Harvests bear,
And all the Laws of Husbandry began,
And Corn, for falling Acorns, nourish'd Man.

The King of Ghosts, with Indignation fir'd,
Against his Brethren of the Sky conspir'd,

That he alone shou'd want the Nuptial Cares,
And barren pass his solitary Years,
Nor know the Husband's nor the Father's Name;
Th' impatient Thoughts his moody Mind inflame.
In the huge Hollow of the Depths of Hell
Whatever Forms and hideous Monsters dwell,
Against the Thund'rer, at his stern Command,
With angry Arms compose a griesly Band:
The summon'd Furies in the Front appear,
And dire Tisiphoné with hissing Hair
Toss'd high her Torch, and with a dreadful Sound
Calls the grim Legions to the Camp around.
And now the loosen'd Elements again
Had shock'd in Fight, and throwing off their Chain,
Th' enormous Titans, issuing from their Night,
With impious Arms, had fill'd the Fields of Light;
Ægeon, with his hundred Hands, defy'd
The flashing Lightning, and the Thunders try'd:
But fearing for the World, with watchful Care,
The Fates allarm'd forbid the threaten'd War,
Suppliant before the surly Sov'reign's Throne,
They loose their Hair, and fall with Rev'rence down;
Their Hands embrace his Knees, those Hands that twine
All Human Lots, and Destinies Divine;
And from the Threads on their Eternal Reel,
Of future Ages, the long Fortunes deal.

Loudly she rais'd her Cry, and for the rest,
To the fierce Sire thus Lachesis address'd;

O King supreme, and Father of the Night,
Monarch of Shades, and of resistless Might!
For whom our Looms are furnish'd, who dost give
All Things to perish, and again to live,
And, each distributing with awful Sway,
Dost Life with Death alternately repay:
For from the common Mass whate'er is bred
In Nature's Round, does from thy Gift proceed,
To thee returns; and when the measur'd Pause
Of rolling Years is run, by certain Laws,
The passing Minds their former Load sustain,
Are born, tho' loth, and sheath'd in Flesh again;
Seek not to break th' establish'd Bands of Peace
Which we have fix'd, thy impious Arms release,
Nor sound the Signal for thy Troops to move,
With Civil Rage, against the Gods above.
Why dost thou bring the Titans to the Light?
Petition Jove, and he will do thee Right;
A charming Bride thy longing Arms shall bless,
And, with her Beauties, crown thy Happiness.

Scarce had she finish'd, when his gloomy Mind,
Unus'd to melt, was at her Pray'r inclin'd.
His Fury falls, and cooling in his Blood,
His Passion settles, and indignant Mood.

As when hoarse Boreas, arming all the Rage
Of the wild Whirlwind in his hollow Cage,
Prepares a Wreck, and meditates from far
A bleak Destruction and a wintry War;
To freeze the Floods, and bury in the Snow
The leafless Forests, and the Ground below,
To toss the Billows of the mounting Main,
And beat his rattling Hailstones on the Plain;
If then his God the brazen Gates oppose,
And in his Hold the blust'ring Tempest close,
His swelling Wrath in empty Threats expires,
And merit to his Cave the huffing Blast retires.

Now Maia's Son he cites; with ready Speed
The God obeys, his Wings adorn his Head;
He shakes the Virtue of the sleepy Wand,
And hastens to receive the high Command.
Obscure in Majesty and cloudy State,
On his rude Throne the lofty Sov'reign sate;
Obscene with Filth, his Ensign of Command,
A pond'rous Sceptre loads his spacious Hand;
A sullen Fog, sublimely on his Head
Diffus'd its Mist, and rose a Pyramid:
A deep Distress is in his Visage seen,
And Grief augments the Horrors of his Mein;
Then thus he thunders, in a bellowing Voice:
All Hell is silent at her Tyrant's Noise;

The Dog is dumb, and stops his triple Roar;
No Cries resound on sad Cocytus' Shore;
Loud Acheron is hush'd, and slowly glides,
And Phlegethon repress'd his murm'ring Tides.

Offspring of Atlas, and my Nephew dear,
Of Hell and Heav'n the common Messenger,
Who can'st alone appear in either Court,
Free of both Worlds, which own thy glad Resort.
Wing on the flitting Winds thy Flight above,
And bear this Message to the haughty Jove:
What Right on me, O Tyrant, can'st thou plead?
Or do'st thou think our native Strength is fled,
When random Fortune gave the Heav'n away,
Our Virtue losing, when we lost the Day;
Or prostrate that we lie, with groveling Mind,
Of thee afraid, and to thy Pow'r resign'd;
Because no forky Fires, or rattling Brand,
With idle Terrors, arm our better Hand?
Is't not enough, that banish'd from the Light,
Our cruel Lot has fix'd us in the Night,
Darkling to rule, with a tremendous Reign,
O'er empty Shadows, and a hideous Plain?
While in the happy Skies you wear your Crown,
And all the glitt'ring Stars gild your Imperial Throne?
But dost thou also bar the nuptial Bed,
And sullenly ordain me not to wed?

Fair Amphitrité, Neptune has possess'd,
And Juno lulls thee in her fragrant Breast;
Besides the wand'ring Loves which fill'd thy Arms,
Latona, Ceres, and great Themis' Charms.
So wantonly your Genial Fires around
You spread, with such a num'rous Issue crown'd;
But I, inglorious in my lonely Hall,
To sooth my Cares, no chearful Offspring call:
Awak'd to such Affronts, by endless Night,
And Styx, I swear, Unless thou do'st me right,
All Hell I'll raise, and break old Saturn's Chain,
And choak, with mounting Fogs, th' Ætherial Plain;
With cloudy Chaos mix the shining Pole,
O'erturn thy upper Worlds, and spoil the whole.

Scarcely he spoke, when, with dispatchful Flight,
The sacred Envoy gain'd the Fields of Light,
Expos'd his Errand to th' Almighty Sire:
He heard, and pond'ring on the God's Desire
And surly Menaces, his Thought employ'd,
For the dark King to find a fitting Bride;
The Pledge of happy Peace, who might be won,
For Stygian Night to change the chearful Sun,
And, musing long, at last he fix'd his Choice on one.

Ceres, the Pow'r of the prolifick Year,
One only Daughter had, supremely Fair,

Nor bore a second Birth; in this alone
More Honours she obtain'd, and more Renown
Than all the teeming Mothers; in her Face
Her Proserpine had sum'd the Beauties of a Race
She cherishes the Darling, Night and Day,
And follows still, and fonds with childish Play.
Not so the Mother of the milky Train
Attends her young, and fosters on the Plain;
E'er yet the tender Hoofs have press'd the Green,
Or the new Horns upon the Front are seen.
The Maid, now past an Infant, feels the Flames
Of spritely Love, and innocently claims;
She hopes the Nuptial State, but hopes with Fear,
And wishes, but her Wish is unsincere.
The Palace swarms with Suiters, at her Side
The gloomy Mars and bright Apollo's Pride
With Rival Vows the shining Virgin try'd.
Mars vaunts the Trophies of the routed Field,
And Phœbus in unerring Shafts excell'd.
That offers Rodophe, and this the Shade
Of Delos, Claros, which his Pow'r obey'd.
Their Mothers for their Sons the Courtship press,
Latona, Juno, but without Success;
Ceres rejects them both; and, struck with Fear
Of a foul Rape, resolves to hide her Care
(Blind to her Fate) in distant Sicily,
And in the secret Isle intrusts her Joy.

Trinacria join'd with Italy, before
Th' impetuous Ocean sunder'd either Shore;
With the swoln Surge the rooted Hills are rent,
And the Land wrested from the Continent;
In neighb'ring Ken the sever'd Coasts are seen,
And the victorious Seas triumphant pour between
The new-made Island, with three Angles clos'd,
Is to the Rage of warring Waves oppos'd;
For here Pachynus, with his ridgy Sides,
Rolls off the Fury of th' Ionian Tides;
And there the Billows, from Getulia's Shore,
Lash Lilybæam, and indignant roar;
And brookless of Restraint, the Tyrrhene Main
On firm Pelorus tries its Force in vain.
Fix'd in the midst is fiery Ætna found,
Ætna for vanquish'd Giants still renown'd:
Enceladus's Load, who, crush'd beneath,
From his large Breast does burning Tempests breathe
Still as the Monster, weary of the Weight,
Exchanges Sides, he shakes the Mountain's Height;
Sicilia heaves, and ev'ry tott'ring Wall
Leans to the Ground, and meditates a Fall.
Her pointed Summits from afar are shown,
And are accessible to Sight alone;
While on her other Parts fresh Greens appear,
And Groves of Trees their leafy Branches rear:

No hardy Hind dares turn the sultry Soil
On the high Crown, and cultivate with Toil;
For now black Clouds and Tempests force their way,
And with their loathsome Pitch pollute the Day;
Now massy Fragments of the shiver'd Stone,
Torn from her Root, against the Stars are thrown.
But tho' the Burnings rage with such Excess,
Yet faithful to the Snows, they keep perpetual Peace.
And hoary Winter does her Seat maintain,
Secure of Thaws, and unmolested reign;
Coldly she hovers on the freezing Coast,
And the swift Flames sweep harmless o'er the Frost.

What forceful Engines whirl aloft in Air
The craggy Quarries, and the Mountain tear?
From what strange Source proceeds the burning Stream,
Which on the wasted Valleys spouts the Flame?
Or, in Confinement choak'd, th' imprison'd Wind
Pushes around an open Vent to find,
And, in its Course resisted by the Rock,
Bursts the blind Dens, subverted with the Shock;
Or the Sea, entring thro' the sulph'rous Veins,
Boils with the Fires, and on the blasted Plains
Displodes the mingled Ruin; wildly thrown,
The Stones and liquid Flames fall with Destruction down.

When Ceres had her precious Pledge conceal'd
In the lov'd Isle, the ready Way she held
To tow'ry Cybel's Phrygian Temple, there
To find the Goddess, and forget her Care:
She steers her Dragons, thro' the Clouds they fly,
And print a winding Track along the Sky;
The curbing Bit with rising Froth they stain,
And work their harmless Poison on the Rein.
High are their Crests, and speckled are their Backs
With azure Spots, and mix'd with golden Streaks.
And now aloft thro' Air they make their Flight,
And now descending on the Meadows light;
The whirling Wheels, revolving o'er the Ground,
The Fields impregnate as the Glebe they wound.
A sudden Harvest starts upon the Plain,
And in the Furrows springs the yellow Grain.
While Ceres urges thus her hasty Flight,
Retiring Sicily is lost to Sight:
And, ah! how oft the boding Tears o'erflow
Her rosy Cheeks, and her Affliction show:
How oft, with streaming Eyes, she view'd the Land
Which all her Wishes and her Joy contain'd!

Then, parting, thus she spoke: Delightful Shore!
Preferr'd to Heav'n by me, and favour'd more,
With thee the Darling of my Soul I trust,
To thy committed Pledge be kindly just!

Such rich Rewards thou largely shalt receive,
As the fond Mother gratefully can give.
No vexing Share thy fruitful Soil shall know,
Nor drudging Oxen, nor the crooked Plow;
But of it self shall shoot the rising Grain
In swelling Clusters, and the wond'ring Swain
Shall reap unlabour'd Harvests from the Plain.

She said; and now her winged Dragons made
Th' intended Course, and reach'd the sacred Shade.
The worship'd Temple of the Goddess stood
Of branching Pine o'er-shaded with a Wood;
And, tho' the silent Winds were all at-peace,
Hoarse Murmurs rustle thro' the whisp'ring Trees;
And, from within, a more amazing Sound
Is loudly heard, and bellows all around:
Religious Ida horrid Howlings fill,
And shake the Forrest on the trembling Hill.

At Ceres' sudden Sight the Concert ceas'd,
The Chorus stop'd, and their wild Notes suppress'd;
The Corybants forbore their Swords to wield
In antick Form, and clash against the Shield.
The sounding Timbrels and the Pipes were mute,
And the tame Lions fawn'd beneath her Foot:
And Cybel, issuing from her Fane in haste,
The welcome Goddess lovingly embrac'd.

Now Jupiter, from his superior Height,
Beheld th' Adventure with observant Sight;
To Venus then the Secret he confess'd:

The careful Burden of my lab'ring Breast,
To thee, bright Charmer of the Skies, I'll tell,
And no Intention from thy Ear conceal.
The sooty Sov'reign, firmly 'tis decreed,
The beauteous Proserpine shall shortly wed;
So Themis has pronounc'd, and so conspire
Concurring Fates, and such is my Desire.
Then, while her Mother's absent, take thy way
To Sicily, the Daughter to betray,
And tempt Her from her Cell, with unsuspected Play.
And when the Purple Morning paints the Skies,
Instructed with thy Wiles, th' uncautious Fair surprize;
The Train of snary Stratagems employ,
Which me and all have caught, entangled into Joy.
Why shou'd the Gloom of Dis thy Sway disdain?
Thro' ev'ry Realm extend thy pleasing Reign;
And in the sullen Regions of the Dead
Let Venus triumph, and her Conquests spread;
The griesly Furies with the Flame inspire,
And melt the ruthless King with thy prevailing Fire.

Smil'd the soft Goddess, and with duteous Speed
Prepares t' accomplish what her Sire decreed;

At his Command, attending her are seen
The chaste Minerva and the Hunter-Queen.
Where-e'er th' illustrious Train pursue their way,
A golden Path appears, and following Day.
So threatning Comets, flashing from on high
Their sanguine Beams, dart swiftly thro' the Sky;
They stream a ruddy Trail, and not in vain,
The Sailor fears them on the watry Plain,
And trembling Nations dread the long malignant Train.
The bearded Blaze th' impending Ill foreshows
Of wrecking Tempests, or invading Foes.

And now the Deities approach the Place,
Where anxious Ceres lodg'd her tender Race;
With Pomp adorn'd the glitt'ring Dome appear'd,
And by the Cyclops Master-Skill was rear'd.
The Walls and Posts were Ir'n; the spacious Door
With Sheets of stubborn Steel was plated o'er.
The drudging Brethren ne'er, with equal Toil,
Labour'd so vast a Work, or rais'd so firm a Pile:
Nor the huge Bellows with their hollow Frame,
Swell'd with such gather'd Blasts, to puff the Flame:
Nor ever such a rolling Flood before
Of molten Metal the hot Furnace bore.
The Hall was fac'd around with Iv'ry clear,
And Beams of Brass the lofty Summit bear.

Amber, in tow'ring Columns, rose on high,
And with th' unusual Sight surpriz'd the wond'ring Eye.
Then, singing to her Work, with fruitless Care,
The tender Virgin did a Scarf prepare
For her lov'd Mother, when returning there.
Neat in th' embroider'd Ground, the curious Maid,
Her native Heav'n and th' Elements, display'd;
How interposing Nature hush'd the War
Of huddled Chaos, and compos'd the Jar:
Sever'd the Seeds; and suiting to their Kind,
To proper Places all the Parts assign'd.
The light, sublimely borne, ascend on high,
The heavy sink, and far beneath them lie:
The Sky is lighted up, the Planets roll,
And active Flame informs the rapid Pole:
And flow the Seas, and pour their Waves along,
And Earth suspended on her Balance hung.

In various Colours, she express'd the whole;
In Gold the Stars are kindled, purple roll
The washing Billows, and the Gems display
An imitated Shore, to bound the seeming Sea.
The lying Waves, as liquid in the Brede,
Rise by her Art, and swell within their Bed.
The gath'ring Ooze the slimy Rock besmears,
And working in a Foam, the Main appears,
With chiding Sounds to threat the deafen'd Ears.

She adds the sev'ral Climes; the torrid Zone
Frys with the Fervor of th' incessant Sun.
The habitable two, a milder Sky,
Proportion'd Heat, and welcome Beams, enjoy.
Then, far beneath, eternal Winter reigns,
And bitter Frost the bleaky Robe constrains,
Shiv'ring to Sight, and lively in the Stains.
Nor had she there forgot the Court to show
Of mighty Pluto, and the Ghosts below:
Nor wanted Omen to her future Fate,
For suddenly with Tears her Cheeks are wet.

The winding Ocean she began to draw,
When, listning to the Sound, she turn'd and saw
Th' approaching Goddesses; with modest Grace,
The running Blushes kindle all her Face.
Not ev'n so deep the tainted Iv'ry glows,
When the fresh Purple does its Red oppose.

The Day was clos'd, and silent Night began
To shake her sleepy Dews on weary Man;
When Pluto longs to try the pleasing Way,
By Jove admonish'd, to the Light of Day.
The fell Alecto to the Chariot bound
The frightful Team, which rudely feed around
Cocytus' Banks, and o'er the gloomy Space
Of Erebus, in ample Pasture graze;

And drink, when satiate with their horrid Food,
A swilling Bev'ridge from th' oblivious Flood.
Orphnæus fierce, swift Æthon, Nycteus best
Of Pluto's Breed, and mark'd Alastor last,
Before the Palace stand; they toss, they neigh,
Impatient for the Race, and hoping of the Prey.

The End of the First Book.

BOOK II.

The ARGUMENT.

At the Persuasion of Venus, Proserpine ventures out, early in the Morning, from her Apartment, into the pleasant Fields; which lay near the City Enna: The Lawn beautifully describ'd. While they are busy in gathering the several Flowers, Pluto makes his way thro' the Earth; and rising above Ground in his Chariot, seizes Proserpine, and carries her away with him, in spite of Diana and Pallas; who are forbid by Jupiter, to attempt her Rescue. Pluto endeavours to appease her Sorrows, by representing to her, the great Dignity and Command to which she should be advanc'd, by becoming his Wife. Upon their Arrival, a Multitude of the Shades flock round them to behold their Queen; and there is a general Cessation of Torments, and an universal Joy among the Ghosts. The Marriage-Ceremonies are perform'd, and the Epithalamium is sung by a Choir of the Infernal Spirits.

The Dawn, arising on th' Ionian Sea,
With trembling Beams, preluded to the Day,
When bold, and thoughtless of her Parent's Charge,
Glad Proserpine had set her self at large,

Deceiv'd by Venus, (so the Fates decreed)
And sought her Pastime on the flow'ry Mead.
Thrice the harsh Hinges gave a boding Sound,
Thrice groaning Ætna grumbled all around;
Yet no Presages shock'd the Virgin's Mind,
Her Sister Goddesses she freely join'd.

Venus goes first, with an enchanting Shape,
Laughing, and conscious of the future Rape,
And hopes the coming Hour, to fix her Reign
O'er sullen Chaos, and th' Infernal Plain;
Subdu'd to see in boasted Triumph led
The ruthless Ruler of th' unnumber'd Dead.
In wavy Curls her braided Hair was dress'd,
The curious Ringlets heav'nly Art express'd;
Her purple Gown a sparkling Buckle bound,
Her Husband's Gift, and held it from the Ground.
Then came the spotless Queen of Woodland Game,
With her whose Arms protect th' Athenian Fame:
Both Virgins; this is dreaded in the Field,
And that in Huntings happily excell'd.

High on her Helmet, menacing before,
The horrid Typhon's Form Minerva bore;
Tho' slain above, below the Monster lives,
Dies in this Part, and in this Part survives.
Pointed with polish'd Steel, her weighty Spear
Rose like a lofty Beam erect in Air;

While on her Shield, which bore the Gorgon's Head,
With friendly Care her flourish'd Gown she spread;
But the mild Beauties of the Sylvan Queen
Were sweetly fair, and all her Charms serene:
She looks her Brother in her radiant Face;
Her Cheeks and sparkling Eyes express his Grace:
The same she were, did not her Sex alone
A Diff'rence cause, and make the Virgin known.
Her Arms are naked to th' admiring Eye,
And in the Wind her careless Tresses fly.
Her furnish'd Quiver on her Shoulder hung,
And her neglected Bow was now unstrung.
Her Cretan Vest, short-gather'd from the Ground,
A double Girdle regularly bound;
The floating Delos the rich Robes display,
And round the wand'ring Isle is wrought a golden Sea.
Then Ceres' Daughter, now her Mother's Pride,
Shortly her Grief, goes equal by their Side;
In Form and Grace the same: she Pallas were,
Arm'd with a Shield; and if a Dart she bear,
She wou'd Diana to the Sight appear.
In pleated Knots her costly Garments bound,
With Jasper Stones were delicately crown'd.
The flying Shuttle ne'er, with better Skill,
Finish'd a Vest, or wove a Silk so well.
Th' embroider'd Figures ev'n with Nature strive,
And seem to heave with Breath, and truly live.

With Infant Face there the young Sun was drawn,
And next, the paler Moon began to dawn.
Just born they were, and glowing into Light,
The radiant Rulers of the Day and Night.
Tethys attends, and with indulgent Care,
Lulls in her Lap the soft illustrious Pair:
The shining Babes her snowy Bosom gild
With mingling Rays, and mutual Splendor yield.
On her right Arm, she holds Apollo's Weight;
Mild is his Lustre, and beginning Light,
Not with the Blaze of ripen'd Glory bright.
And weeping as he seem'd to raise his Cry,
Soft Beams diffuse, and break from either Eye:
And Phœbe, sucking, on the Breast declines,
A little Crescent round her Temples shines.

Gaudy with such Attire, amongst her Train,
Goes Proserpine; and issuing on the Plain,
From all their Springs, the Nymphs attend around:
From thee, Crinisus, and for Speed renown'd
Pantagias, ev'ry wond'ring Nais came:
From marshy Camarina, known to Fame,
And Gelas too, which gave the City Name.
From Arethusa's Source, and from the Flood
Of her Alpheus, came a beauteous Crowd.
Chaste Cyané conducts them o'er the Meads,
And all their Graces, in her own, exceeds.

Such the fair Troop of Amazons is seen
With moony Shields, and headed by their Queen:
When trembling Tanais has their Fury try'd;
Or the fierce Getes their Female Arms defy'd;
And proudly glitt'ring with their plunder'd Spoils,
The fierce Virago's march triumphant from their Toils.
And such a Quire the Games of Bacchus hold,
At Hermus' Banks, whose Streams are rich with Gold;
While the pleas'd River still, his Joy to show,
Redundant gushes with a wond'rous Flow.

Enna beheld them from her verdant Crown,
Where laughing Flow'rs on the fresh Summit shone;
And in the Vale beneath, the balmy Wind,
Zephyr the soft, to tender Roses kind:
And thus began; O Father of the Spring,
Whose genial Breath incessantly does bring
The painted Beauties on my bloomy Plain,
And kindly feeds, with an indulgent Reign:
Thou see'st the sprightly Nymphs, the youthful Race
Of Jove's own Daughters, with Celestial Grace,
Sport on my Fields, and merrily appear,
Then brightly dress the Scene, and perfect all the Year:
Array my fragrant Groves, and gayly crown
With the prime Blessings which thou boast'st thy own:

And let the Whispers of thy pregnant Breeze,
Call out the luscious Fruits upon the Trees,
With flav'rous Juice, that Hybla may repine,
And own his Orchards are excell'd by mine.
Whatever Spices scent Pancea's Grove,
And round Hydaspes' balmy Borders move;
Whate'er the Phœnix, to compleat his Store,
Gathers, with Care, from the Sabean Shore,
To build his Pile, in the Perfume to burn,
And rise reviv'd from his mysterious Urn;
Waft on my Greens; thy pompous Honours bear,
And scatter all collected Odours there.
That the rich Flow'rs may tempt the Quire Divine,
To cull their Colours, and in Chaplets twine.

She said: His Wings auspicious Zephyr shakes,
The trickling Dew a joyous Season makes;
Where-e'er he flies, appears the Vernal Dye;
The Ground is green, and smiles the chearful Sky.
With Crimson fresh he paints the ruddy Rose,
And on the darker Hyacinth bestows
A shaded Tincture, and with purple Veins
The springing Vi'lets delicately stains.
Not so, with Gems enchas'd, around the Loins
Of Parthian Kings the glitt'ring Girdle shines.
What Fleece, that with the deep Infection glows
Drench'd in the Dye, such various Graces shows?

Not Juno's Bird, the Beauty of the Skies,
Proud of his Tail diversify'd with Eyes,
Unfolds such Colours in his curious Train;
Nor the bright Bow, which compasses the Rain;
When on the breaking Clouds, the catching Light
Paints the gay Arch, and finishes to Sight.

The goodly Scene of this enchanting Place,
Did ev'n the lovely Flow'rs by far surpass.
Smooth on a Plain it lay, and all around
With mild Ascent swell'd slow to rising Ground.
By unperceiv'd Degrees the Mountain grew,
Easy to tread, and pleasing to the View.
Here chrystal Fountains, from the living Stone,
In stragling Streams thro' the green Herbage run.
And there a venerable Wood extends,
Which the fierce Sun's Meridian Beams defends;
And in the sultry Heat of Summer, made
A welcome Coolness and refreshing Shade.
The Trees were several: the sailing Fir,
And the strong Cornel, useful in the War:
Jove's fav'rite Oak, the fun'ral Cypress' Height,
The præscious Laurel, verdant to the Sight;
With dancing Leaves, the bushy Box appears,
Its creeping Trail the winding Ivy rears;
And round the friendly Elm the purple Vine adheres.

Fast by, a Lake, in Sicily of Fame,
Was amply spread, and Pergus is the Name,
And on the shaded Margin tow'ring stood
The leavy Shelter of a verdant Wood.
The limpid Pool, transparent to the Sight,
Did to the Bottom ev'ry Eye admit:
And thro' the pure and simple Water show
Distinct the Gravel and the Sand below.

'Twas here the joyous Virgins took their way
With merry Hearts, and gave a loose to Play:
And Venus bids them search the Fields to find
Garlands of Flow'rs, and round their Temples bind.
This, my Companions, is the proper Time,
In the fresh Morn, and in the cooler Prime;
While my bright Star its copious Dew distills
On the glad Ground, and with the Moisture fills.
She said; Then crop'd the Flow'r which told her Grief:
The beauteous Nymphs obey their beauteous Chief;
And busily, in many a scatter'd Ring,
Spoil the gay Honours of the wanton Spring.
Thus, early in the Year, the swarming Bees
Prepare t' invade the Thyme and balmy Trees;
They move their waxen Camp, the Monarchs lead,
And thro' the Skies the winged Army head;
To the sweet Bow'rs they take their airy Course,
And on the flav'rous Leaves pour their united Force.

Dispers'd upon the Lawn, the sportive Train
Strip all the Glories of the verdant Plain:
This gather'd Lillies, and the dusky Shade
Of Vi'lets mix'd, and into Garlands made;
Another Daffodils in order bound;
And that is proud with Rosy Chaplets crown'd.
Thee, Hyacinth, and thee, Narcissus there
They pull, and on their snowy Foreheads wear.
Unhappy Flow'rs! whose little Leaves express
Your luckless Fate, and your once lovely Grace;
On a frail Stalk you grow, and dress the Field,
Who once the Crouds of fairest Youths excell'd:
Amyclas gave that Birth, this Helicone,
One a Quoit ruin'd, and a Fountain one;
Thee Delius with dejected Looks deplores;
For thee, Cephissus sighs along his Shores.

The Hope and Darling of the fruitful Queen,
More eager of the wanton Play was seen,
And loads her Canisters with Plunder of the Green;
She sorts the several Flow'rs, and crowns her Head,
A fatal Omen of the Nuptial Bed.
The Maid Armipotent, a dreadful Pow'r,
Who drives th' embattel'd Host, and shakes the solid Tow'r,
Laid by her Spear, and sooth'd with gay Desire,
Now mildly mixes with the softer Quire;

The Horror of her Helm, the Warriors Pride,
Wreaths of fair Roses innocently hide;
She shines with peaceful Decorations dress'd,
And Flow'rs nod harmless from her lofty Crest.
Nor ev'n the Goddess of the Chace disdains
The merry Pastime on the silken Plains,
But binds in Order her dishevel'd Hairs,
And a sweet Chaplet round her Temples wears.

While thus they urge their Sport, a grumbling Sound
Alarms their Ears, and thunders all around;
The Turrets totter, and the trembling Wall
Heaves from its Base, inclining to the Fall:
The Cause unknown: but Cytherea smiles,
With mingled Terror, conscious of her Wiles;
And now the King of Ghosts from Hell profound,
His Passage pushes thro' the stifled Ground:
Enceladus the fiery Coursers trod,
And crush his monst'rous Members with the Load;
The Giant labours with the pond'rous Freight,
And vainly tries to shake aside the Weight,
And stop the Car: the groaning Wheels indent
His Back, and bruise it with a burning Print.

And as a Captain traverses his way
In secret Mines, the City to betray;
Safe his Approaches he prepares below,
From thence to rush on his unthinking Foe;

And while in Peace the Town securely lies,
Starting from Earth the sudden Soldiers rise,
And their eluded Enemies surprize;

So Saturn's neather Heir a Path explores,
And the dark Soil in ev'ry Quarter bores,
Ambitious of the Light; no Gate was found
T' admit the Chariot thro' the solid Ground;
The Rocks oppose, and his Ascent withstand,
And chain him down with their Eternal Band.
Impatient, fierce, he suffers no Delay,
But all indignant frees th' incumber'd Way;
With his huge Scepter strikes the rooted Stone:
Loud Echoes thro' Sicilia's Caverns run,
And lab'ring Liparé is heard to groan.
Ev'n Vulcan stood astonish'd in his Cell,
And from the Cyclops Hands the Thunder fell.
Th' Inhabitants on Alpine Hills from far,
In their bleak Caves, perceiv'd the Tumult there,
And such as sail'd on Tiber's humble Flood,
(Tiber not then with Roman Honours proud)
And o'er the Po's impetuous Current row'd.

So when Thessalia lay beneath the Tide
Of Peneus, and the Rocks on ev'ry side
Shut in the Waves, and a Retreat deny'd;
Neptune, inrag'd to see the floated Plain
Lost to the Beast, and ravish'd from the Swain;

His heavy Trident brandish'd high in Air,
And burst the Mountains Adamantine Bar:
Then tow'ring Ossa, loosen'd with the Wound,
Leap'd from Olympus with a furious Bound;
The Waters are releas'd, and to the Main
Restor'd, and to the Husbandman the Plain.

When th' Isle, thus struck by Pluto's conqu'ring Hand,
Yawn'd in a gaping Flaw, and cleav'd the Land,
A sudden Horror seiz'd th' affrighted Sky;
The Stars disturb'd, their usual Course deny.
The Bear, in the forbidden Ocean dives,
And hastily his Team the slow Boötes drives;
Orion star'd, and Atlas, in amaze,
Turn'd pale, and shudder'd at th' Infernal Neighs:
A cloudy Mist in heavy Vapours flies,
And ruddy Fogs obscure the blacken'd Skies.
The startling Steeds, accustom'd to the Night,
At the keen flashing of severer Light,
Curvet, and toss, and bear against the Rein,
To turn the Chariot back to Hell again;
But smartly lash'd, and reconcil'd to Day,
With more outrageous Speed they post away,
Than a swell'd River in a Wintry Flow,
Or the wing'd Arrow from the Parthian Bow;
Than the wild Fleetness of the Southern Wind,
Or sharp Reflections of an anxious Mind.

They bleed, they blow, and breathing, poison round
Th' infected Air, and blast the tainted Ground.
The skreaming Nymphs fly, scatt'ring, in Dismay,
While helpless Proserpine is borne away
In the black Chariot, and implores amain
Her kindred Goddesses upon the Plain.
Now Pallas lifts her Shield; her level'd Bow
Phœbe prepares, and aims a speedy Blow.
The common Cause excites their common Aid,
Of pure Virginity to Rape betray'd.
At their weak Threats, the scornful Monarch smil'd:
As when a Lion, issuing from the Wild,
A beauteous Heifer seizes in his Claws,
He tears the Bowels with his hungry Jaws;
On the dismember'd Prey he vents his Spite,
And gluts with Blood his rav'nous Appetite;
Smear'd with the Gore, he shakes his brinded Main,
And mocks the Shepherds who assault in vain.

Thou griefly Ruler of the lazy Dead,
Minerva cries, What horrid Torch has spread
This hideous Flame unhallow'd in thy Breast,
To leave thy Darkness, and our World infest?
With thee the Diræ are, with thee the Grace
Of neather Gods, and the grim Furies Race,
Worthy of Thee, and worthy thou of Them;
There fix, and there bestow thy Diadem;

A proper Choice: contented with thy Shade;
Nor impiously thy Brother's Lot invade.
How dar'st thou from the Seats of Death arise
To chearful Life, a Stranger to the Skies?

Scowling she spoke, and on the baleful Steeds
Dash'd her strong Shield, and batter'd round their Heads.
The Gorgon's Face their forward Speed repell'd,
And rais'd aloft, her brandish'd Lance she held:
On the dun Car the glitt'ring Weapon shone,
And from her Arm unerringly had flown:
But Jupiter, in sign of Peace, from high
Roll'd a bright Blaze of Lightning thro' the Sky,
And own'd his new-made Son; and Hymen came,
With Peals of Thunder, to confess the same,
And firm'd the Marriage with a flashing Flame.
The Goddesses unwillingly submit
To Jove's Decree, and sourly thence retreat:
Diana sigh'd, as she her Bow unbends,
And to the weeping Maid these Wishes sends.

In thy kind Thoughts for ever let us dwell,
My parting Dear, and O! a long Farewel!
The Rev'rence of our Father does restrain
Our Arms, and makes our fond Endeavours vain;
We must submit to his superior Reign.

Ev'n thy own Sire against the Daughter joins,
And to the silent Waste of Hell consigns.
Never, ah! never shalt thou see again
Thy Virgin Sisters, and the Nymphly Train.
What cruel Fortune takes Thee from Above,
The grieving Sky with thy Distress to move!
No more shalt thou, with snary Nets, betray,
Nor, with thy Spear, provoke the hunted Prey.
Securely now may range the foamy Boar,
And o'er the Woods the savage Lions roar.
Taygetus' Tops, and Menalas shall weep
For thee, for thee thy Brother's Shrines shall keep
A mournful Silence, and all Delphos sleep.

Downward the Nymph the hurrying Chariot bears,
She pounds her Cheeks, and with dishevel'd Hairs,
And heaving Sobs, and interrupting Sighs,
In vain Complaints accuses thus the Skies.

Why didst thou not discharge thy forky Fire,
And rattling Bolts against me, cruel Sire?
Rather than thus to send me down beneath,
Shut from the World, an Inmate now of Death.
Can'st thou thy Soul of Pity quite divest?
Is all the Father blotted from thy Breast?
What Crime, alas! has call'd this Punishment?
I did not, when th' invading Giants bent

Against th' assaulted Skies, their mad Design,
Assist, nor with th' audacious Rebels join;
Nor steep Olympus with huge Ossa's Weight
Oppress, to multiply the Mountain's Height.
For what attempted Ill, or conscious Fault
Am I to Dis's yawning Caverns brought?
O happy Maidens, whose alluring Charms
Are made a Prey, and seiz'd in other Arms!
You view, at least, the Sun, the Light enjoy;
Tho' ravish'd, yet not banish'd from the Sky.
But I, abandon'd to the worst of Woes,
Virginity and Heav'n together lose;
And hurry'd from the Day, a Slave am made
To the foul Tyrant of the gloomy Dead.
O fatal Flow'rs! which fondly while I priz'd,
A Mother's Charge I giddily despis'd.
False Venus; who, by thy deceitful Wiles,
Hast caught a simple Virgin in thy Toils,
Too late I see thy Arts, and thy perfidious Smiles.
O Parent, help! whether at Ida's Foot
Thou now art list'ning to the shrilling Flute,
Or view'st on Dindymus the horrid Sight
Of Priests, who bleed in consecrated Fight;
When, flourishing their naked Swords in Air,
Religiously they push, and Holy Wounds appear:
Help wretched me, who thy Assistance need,
With instant Succour; stop! oh! stop the Speed

Of my grim Ravisher, his Course arrest,
And save th' unhappy Darling of thy Breast!

Her comely Grief, the Softness of her Kind,
With Pity melt the stubborn Monarch's Mind;
And rudely as he wipes the falling Tears,
The frighted Maid thus tenderly he chears.

Cease, my complaining Fair, thy Soul to teaze
With causeless Fears, thy troubled Thoughts appease.
A nobler Scepter greatly thou shalt bear,
A worthier Throne and larger Empire share.
Weep not, my Proserpine, thou art not led
Blindly to some ignoble Husband's Bed:
The better Jove I am, whom all obey,
Thro' the wide Waste extends my boundless Sway
Thou hast not lost the happy Day; below,
Another Sky, and shining Stars we know,
A purer Light thou shalt behold, and chuse
Th' Elysian Sun, and t'other Orb refuse;
With Transport view the Heroes honour'd Race
And pious Shades inhabiting the Place,
Where in full Lustre we for ever hold
That precious Progeny and Age of Gold,
The World above once only saw of old.
Fair Meadows thou shalt have, perpetual Flow'rs,
By better Zephyrs fed, and pleasant Bow'rs.

Not thy own Enna such a Scene can boast,
Nor vie in Riches with that verdant Coast.
In gloomy Groves, with yellow Metal bright,
A radiant Tree attracts the wond'ring Sight:
Holy to thee, this ever shall remain,
Nor any Hand thy happy Plant profane.
On the rich Bough refulgent Apples shine,
And all their Golden Autumn shall be thine.
This is but small: Whatever lives in Air,
Or feeds on Earth, or does in Seas appear,
What Rivers hide, or weedy Marshes own,
Whate'er is bred beneath the Silver Moon;
Whose rolling Orb divides the lower Spheres
From upper Heav'n, and from th' Immortal Stars;
Thine is the whole, whatever Nature bears.
Before thy lofty Throne, the haughty Pride
Of mighty Kings, their Purple laid aside,
And Pageantry of State, shall lowly fall,
Mix'd with the poorer Rout, for Death will equal all.
In Judgment thou shalt sit, with Pow'r supreme,
To crown the Pious, and the Bad condemn;
And the loath Sinners righteously compel,
The guilty Actions of their Lives to tell.
Hail Queen of neather Jove! receive from me,
The three dread Sisters, in thy Family.
Let what you will, be Fate. So Pluto said,
Then chear'd his Horses, and provok'd their Speed:

Swiftly they flew, and reach'd th' Infernal Gate,
And slowly entring, pass'd in solemn State.

The wond'ring Spirits swarm, and hover round,
Thick as the Leaves, in Autumn, strew the Ground;
Or ruffling Waves of the tempestuous Main,
Or Sands upon the Shore, or Show'rs of Southern Rain.
All Ages hasten to behold the Bride,
A beauteous Sight, and croud along her Side.
The Monarch comes, and an auspicious Grace,
Unlike himself, prevail'd upon his Face.
At their Approach, amid his fervid Flood
Huge Phlegethon, an awful Figure, stood;
His hissing Beard distill'd a fiery Stream,
And his whole Visage gutter'd down with Flame.
Inferior Ministers attend around,
Some, from the lofty Car, the Team unbound:
At large they turn them in the sullen Mead,
Joyous of Night, on their old Fare to feed.
These raise the weighty Arras, in their Turn,
And those the Threshold with fresh Flow'rs adorn.
Others fulfil their Charge, and on the Bed
The flourish'd Vests magnificently spread.
A Quire of rev'rend Matrons meet their Queen,
To sooth her Sorrows, and compose her Mein:
With tender Words they pacify her Fears,
And bind in Order her dishevel'd Hairs.

Then o'er her Face they throw the welcome Veil,
To hide her Blushes, and her Shame conceal.

All Hell rejoices, and the bury'd Dead
In wanton Gambols jocundly are led;
And the crown'd Manes with the Shades combine
In genial Feasts, and in the Revels join.
Now chearful Songs th' Eternal Silence break;
No Groans of Ghosts the hollow Caverns shake.
The Gloom disperses, and continu'd Night
Admits an Infant Dawn, and purges into Light.
Minos forgot his fatal Urn to roll;
No Lashes sound, no punish'd Spirits howl;
Ixion turns not on his hurrying Wheel,
Nor swift from Tantalus the Waters steal.
Ixion rests, and Tantalus relieves
His Thirst impatient, and the Draught receives:
And Tityus stretch'd, erected on the Ground,
His spacious Limbs, which spread nine Acres round;
Such was the Giant's Bulk; nor in his Side,
Her sharpen'd Beak the rav'nous Vultur try'd:
Held from the Morsel, she beholds in vain
The wounded Liver heal, and grow again.
The guilty Croud th' avenging Furies spare;
They loose their Fetters, and the Scourge forbear;
And for the Draught the brimming Bowl prepare:
Singing they quaff, and to the Goblet hold
Their silent Snakes, which curl in many a Fold.

With holy Fire, a joyful Torch they light,
And Flames unwonted flash'd upon the Night.
Then first the Birds across the poison'd Lake,
Securely cou'd their airy Journey take.
Amsanctus his impetuous Roar suppress'd,
And his unruffled Eddies smoothly rest.
And troubled Acheron, they say, with Pride,
Chang'd his sad Wave, and pour'd a milky Tide:
Cocytus too, whom branching Ivys hemm,
With gen'rous Wine inrich'd his silent Stream.
The Fates lay down their Shears; no mournful Cries,
Nor frightful Clamours, nor Laments arise:
Death paus'd above; no hapless Sons expire,
Nor weeping Parents watch the Fun'ral Fire:
Nor Ships at Sea, nor Soldiers in the Fight,
Nor Towns by Storm are lost, for Death suspends his Right:
The Boatman Reeds around his Temples wears,
And sings as he his empty Bottom steers.

Now rose the downward Lights, when to the Bed
The ling'ring Maid, with kindly Force is led.
Beside it, glitt'ring in her starry Gown,
Stood Mother Night, the lasting League to crown;
She touch'd the Couch, and solemnly she ties
The happy Union, and confirms their Joys:
The pious Shades their loud Applause proclaim,
And, with this Song, before their Monarch came

Hail Parent Queen, descended from Above,
And thou, both Son and Brother now of Jove:
With mutual Slumbers sleep, and gently twine
Your Arms around your Neck, and in Embraces join.
Hence shall a beauteous Progeny arise,
And laughing Nature hopes new Deities;
Then give us future Gods the World to grace,
And gladden Ceres with a lovely Race.

The End of the Second Book.

BOOK III.

The ARGUMENT.

Jupiter, in a general Council of the Gods, declares his Design to make Ceres's Search for her lost Daughter, prove the Occasion of an Universal Benefit to Mankind, by her instructing them in the Art of Tillage; and therefore prohibits any, under the severest Penalties, to discover to her, who had convey'd Proserpine away. Ceres, who was yet in Phrygia with Cybele, being affrighten'd by several unhappy Omens, resolves to go immediately to Sicily, and visit her Daughter, and provide her a Place where she might be more secure. When she was come thither, she finds the Doors of Proserpine's Lodge all open, and no Body in the Rooms: At last she meets with Electra, Nurse to Proserpine; and inquiring passionately for her Child, the Nurse relates how Venus having seduc'd her out into the open Field, she was suddenly snatch'd from her Attendants, and carry'd off, in an amazing manner; but she knew not who the Ravisher was, the prodigious Fogs which darken'd the Plain at his appearing, having conceal'd

him from her Sight. Ceres vents the Bitterness of her Rage against Jupiter and the Goddesses who were present at the Action, and threatens them; and then relenting, earnestly intreats them to shew where her Daughter was conceal'd: But receiving no Answer, she prepares to search after her thro' every Part; and cutting down two large Cypress Trees, kindles them at Mount Ætna, to light her on the way.

Mean time Imperial Jove sent Iris down,
To call the Gods to Council at his Throne.
Wrap'd in her flushing Robes she swiftly flies,
On gentle Zephyrs thro' the yielding Skies:
She cites the Deities beneath the Sea,
And watry Nymphs, and rallies their Delay.
Then calls the Rivers from their oozy Caves:
At once they start, and rise above the Waves,
In open Air, th' important Cause to know
Of the loud Summons, which they heard below.
The shining Palace opes, the Pow'rs appear,
And all, in just Degrees, are seated there.
First, the Celestials sit; the second Place
Falls to the Honours of the watry Race.
Nereus and hoary Phorcus; Glaucus last,
Of double Form, th' inferior Rank possess'd,
With varying Proteus, in one Shape restrain'd;
The better Rivers then their Session gain'd:

The youthful Train stand humbly by their side,
A thousand Streams which roll a modest Tide:
Each Nais leans upon her liquid Sire,
The staring Fauns the radiant Stars admire.

Then, with an awful Majesty began
The Sov'reign Sire: My Providence for Man,
Tho' late assum'd, has once employ'd my Care
Of Saturn's slothful Years the Mischief to repair.
Hence, seated in the Throne, I thought it best
To rouze the Nations from inglorious Rest,
By Cares of necessary Life distress'd:
That Corn unlabour'd shou'd no more be found,
Nor Honey from the sweating Oak abound;
Nor with the gen'rous Juice the Rivers shine,
Around their Banks fermenting into Wine.
I envy not the World their grateful Ease,
(No hurtful Envy taints the Deities)
But Luxury, the Bane of honest Minds,
O'erlays the Soul, and deep Invention blinds:
While more ingenious Want inspires the Man
T' exert himself, and dare whate'er he can.
For daily Need to virtuous Arts will move,
And Arts invented, Practice will improve.
But now great Nature's Clamours deaf my Ears
To pity Human Kind, and ease their Cares:
She calls me Tyrant, and with warm Disdain,
Upbraids me with my Father's milder Reign;

For while her Stores she copiously supplies,
The Niggard Jove, impatiently she cries,
Starves the defrauded World, the Miser of the Skies.
Else why shou'd Brambles ev'ry where appear,
Nor wholesome Fruits adorn the rolling Year?
She, who a kindly Parent once was known,
Is now a hard penurious Stepdame grown.
What boots it Man, to view the shining Pole
With Face erect, rich of a thinking Soul;
If he, like Beasts, must wander o'er the Fields,
And grind the Grain the common Acorn yields?
Is this to live, on horrid Heaths to dwell,
And lodge in Thickets or a lonely Cell?

This Imputation often I have borne;
And now, indulgent to the World, I'll turn
Their Forest Fare to more delicious Food,
And bring them from the Wildness of the Wood.
For Ceres, who the tawny Lions reins
In Ida's Vale, with Cybel's madding Trains,
Yet ign'rant of her Loss, I have decreed,
O'er Sea and Earth shall steer, with rapid Speed;
And wild with Sorrow, roam the World around,
Till pleas'd with Tidings of her Daughter found,
The gladded Goddess scatters as she goes
The bearded Ears, and happy Harvests sows,
And to the Grecian Youth her Chariot yields,
With the new Grain to strew the teeming Fields.

Hence in full Synod strictly I declare;
If any God, at Ceres' urgent Pray'r,
The Ravisher, whom I protect, reveal
In Words directly, or by Signals tell;
The Weight of awful Empire I attest,
Eternal Peace and salutary Rest;
Shou'd it my Son, or Wife, or Sister be,
(Alike obnoxious to the firm Decree;)
Or of my darling Daughters fav'rite Train,
Or sprung, like Pallas, from my teeming Brain:
My strongest Rage the Criminal shall bear,
The rushing Thunder, and the Lightning's Scar;
Groaning with utmost Torment he shall lie,
Cursing his Birth Divine and wish to die:
While sore of pungent Pain, I'll drive him down
To the Dominions of my new-made Son;
His full Revenge unpity'd to sustain,
For the discover'd Rape, and his detected Reign
This Will of Jove then dare not to debate,
'Tis fix'd, and is unalterable Fate:
Severely thus pronounc'd the ruling God,
And shook the trembling Skies with his superior Nod.

But Ceres, boding Prodigies affright,
And scaring Visions in the Dead of Night.
Still in her Sleep her Proserpine appears
For ever lost, and fills her Soul with Fears.

Now at her Bowels pointed Jav'lins fly,
And her white Vest now takes a sable Dye.
Now a wild Ash, which in the Dome was seen
Naked of Leaves, sprouts out with chearful Green.
Besides, a Laurel, chief of all the Wood
Which at her Daughter's Virgin Bed had stood,
Fell'd from the mangled Root, amaz'd she found,
Its ruin'd Honours lay dispers'd around,
Profan'd with Dust, and trampled on the Ground.
And, asking, who the sacred Plant destroy'd,
The sighing Dryads mournfully reply'd:
“The grinning Furies, terrible to see,
“With crooked Axes spoil'd the shatter'd Tree.

At last, in solemn Silence of the Night,
Her ravish'd Daughter to her slumb'ring Sight
Appearing, brings the lamentable News
Of her Distress, and manifestly shews.
Lone in a Dungeon, and oppress'd with Chains,
She thought she saw her, sinking with her Pains:
Not the fair Proserpine, who was before
Lodg'd by the Mother on Sicilia's Shore:
Whom ev'n the Goddesses on Ætna's Green,
Envy'd the Charms of her superior Mein.
Her yellow Hair, more shining than the Gold,
Is foul with Dirt, and squalid to behold.
Her chearful Cheeks are pale, her radiant Eyes
Are dim'd with Night, and all their Lustre dies.

Her ruddy Lips and snowy Limbs, the Soil
Of Stygian Shades involves, and sooty Clouds defile.
Scarce thro' the black Disguise, the Parent knew
The dismal Shape, and star'd with doubtful View:
Then; O what dire, and what enormous Crime
Cou'd to such Woes my Proserpine condemn?
Ah! whence this griesly Form? What Pow'r enrag'd,
Has on me thus his cruel Spite assuag'd?
How can thy tender Arms those Ir'ns sustain?
Whose Load wou'd cumber ev'n the savage Train.
Art thou, art thou my Daughter? Speak, declare;
Or am I only caught with empty Air?

In Tears the sad Appearance thus reply'd:
Ah! Mother, unconcern'd for me destroy'd!
More hard and savage than the savage Kind!
How can you thus expel me from your Mind?
An only Child despis'd! I thought the Name
Of Proserpine did all my Parent claim.
With these eternal Shackles see me bound,
Fix'd in the Horror of these Caves profound.
Yet, can you yet indulge the loose Delight
Of sounding Cymbals, and the Song invite?
If in thy Heart I still preserve a Place,
If Ceres bore me, not the Tyger's Race,
From this affrightful Den thy Child convey,
And bear me with thee to the happy Day:

Or if the Fates forbid me to return,
With one short Visit glad a Wretch forlorn.
Thus mournfully she spoke: And as she try'd
To lift her Hands, the cruel Chains deny'd.
And the harsh Rattling of the Fetters breaks
The Goddess' Sleep, and frighted Ceres wakes.
Tho' hagger'd with the Sight, she joys to find
'Tis but a Dream which had disturb'd her Mind;
Yet mourns her wanted Child: Then hastes to meet
The Phrygian Mother in her secret Seat,
And thus she does the rev'rend Grandame greet.

No longer, holy Parent, can I stay,
My absent Daughter summons me away,
For fear some Fraud her Beauty shou'd betray.
I dare not too securely trust her Bow'r,
Tho' founded by the Cyclops' Master Pow'r;
Lest prying Fame the hidden Place shou'd tell,
And Sicily too carelesly conceal.
The celebrated Iste too well is known,
And this may ruin my Design alone.
Some blinder Seat I therefore must explore,
Some more remote and unfrequented Shore:
There roaring Ætna belches Flames around,
By whose revealing Blaze my Daughter will be found.
Besides, dire Spectres in my Sleep appear,
And Omens ev'ry day increase my Fear.

How oft the Sheafs which form my yellow Crown,
Drop off untouch'd, and fall dishevel'd down?
How oft my swelling Breasts spout trickling Blood?
And in my Eyes the rising Tears have stood,
Then gush'd upon my Face, with weeping wet?
And my hard Hands, unbid, my Bosom beat?
Still if the hollow Box I blow, I hear
A screaming Noise, which wounds my aking Ear:
And if I shake the clatter'd Timbrels round,
The clatter'd Timbrels give a groaning Sound.
I fear these Omens much of Truth betray;
The dire Effect of my pernicious Stay.

May your Surmises, and your causeless Fear,
Cry'd Cybelé, be puft aside in Air;
Nor think the Thund'rer wou'd delay to send
His flashing Fires, thy Daughter to defend.
But go, afflicted Goddess, go and try
The certain Truth, your Doubts to satisfy;
And, finding all in Peace, return again with Joy.

Then, issuing from the Fane, she took her way,
And thinks her Dragons linger with Delay:
Impatiently she lashes on their Flight,
And seeks Sicilia e'er she lost the Sight
Of Ida's Hill; obnoxious to her Tears,
Nothing she hopes, and ev'ry thing she fears.
So fares the Mother Bird, whose callow Young,
On a low Ash's trembling Boughs are hung:

And, while she fetches Food, her little Breast
With anxious Doubts is carefully possess'd,
Lest the rude Wind shou'd shake them from the Tree,
Or busy Boys the humble Palace see,
Or cruel Serpents seize the tender Prey,
And bear the helpless Children far away.

Expos'd when Ceres saw th' unguarded Dome,
The Gate wide-open, and an empty Room;
All hush'd within; she yielded to her Fears,
Her flowing Garments mournfully she tears,
The Chaplet on her Head, and rends her yellow Hairs.
Her Tears congeal, her Voice is now no more,
And a deep Trembling seizes her all o'er.
She ventures in, and thro' the quiet House
And silent Courts, with stagg'ring Paces goes;
And, as she rolls around her heavy Eyes,
Th' unfinish'd Purple in the Woof she spies.
In vain the Maid her heav'nly Art had try'd;
Arachne boldly had the rest supply'd,
And stretch'd her filmy Threads from Side to Side.
She weeps not, nor with Cries her Loss deplores,
But kiss'd the Vest, and dumb Complainings pours.
The Rock, the Wheel, and ev'ry little Toy,
Which did the Virgin's sportful Hours employ,
As her lost Proserpine she fondly press'd
Close in her Lap, and hugg'd them on her Breast;

Flies to her empty Bed, and ev'ry Place
Where her Child us'd, do's the sad Mother trace.

So looks the Herdsman, when he finds the Stall
Silent of Lowings, and the bleating Call;
Which Wolves, or nightly Lions have betray'd,
Or plund'ring Soldiers to the Camp convey'd.
Too late the Groom returns, and o'er the Plain
And neighb'ring Pastures, seeks the ravish'd Train,
And makes his mimick Cries and wonted Sounds in vain.

Lone in a Chamber of the Cell, she found
The good Electra grov'ling on the Ground;
Her Daughter's tender Nurse, and first in Place
Of the fam'd Nymphs of antient Ocean's Race;
In lulling Cradles and her Lap, with Care,
The faithful Matron fondly sooth'd the Fair;
And oft to Jove, th' indulgent Sire to please,
Led the soft Babe, and plac'd her on his Knees;
Strict to her Charge, her Guardian ever near,
A second Parent, and Companion dear.
Her, as (her Hair with sordid Dust defil'd)
She mourn'd the Fortune of th' illustrious Child,
Ceres accosts, in hope to meet Relief,
But first in Sighs she gave a Loose to Grief:
What fatal Scene do I behold, she cry'd,
And who has thus my utmost Bliss destroy'd?

Reigns Jove above? or have the Titans won
The Skies by Force, and thrust him from the Throne?
What spleenful Pow'r has dar'd a Deed so dire,
While the strong Thund'rer grasps the forked Fire?
Has vast Typhæus thrown aside his Weight,
Or did Alcyoneus the sultry Freight
Of hot Vesuvius overturn? Or cou'd
The lab'ring Giant rise from Ætna's pond'rous Load?
Or has Briareus, with his hundred Hands,
The Fact committed, with th' infernal Bands?
Where, where's my Proserpine? And where are all
The thousand Nymps, who waited at her Call,
With Cyané their Chief? What Magick Might
Has snatch'd away the Sirens from my Sight?
Is this thy Vigilance? Is this the Care
With which my Pledge you kept, and this the Faith you bear?

The Nurse stood trembling as the Goddess spoke,
More with Confusion than with Sorrow struck;
Nor cou'd the wretched Matron bear to see
The troubled Count'nance of the Deity.
Silent she stood, unwilling to reveal
Th' uncertain Miscreant and the certain Ill.
Then, falt'ring, thus: I wish the Giants Race
Had struck this deadly Blow, and wrought thee this Disgrace;
A common Evil less affects the Mind;
But whence this came, wou'd never be divin'd.

This is the Deed of no suspected Foe;
Thy Sister Goddesses have caus'd thy Woe.
Envious of greater Charms, th' unfriendly Sky
Has giv'n the Wound, and blasted all thy Joy,
More cruel than the curs'd Phlegrean Progeny.
Thy happy House was flourishing in Peace,
And thy fair Daughter in her safe Recess
Contented liv'd, nor wander'd out at large,
Religiously observant of thy Charge.
Her artful Hands the weaving Loom prepare;
The Sirens spritely Songs reliev'd her Care;
Still to converse with me she took Delight,
With me she slept, for ever in my Sight.
Safe in our ample Hall, we spent the Day
In mutual Mirth and Games of harmless Play:
Till Venus once a sudden Visit made,
('Tis doubtful, who our Secrecy betray'd)
And not to raise Suspicion in our Mind,
Pallas was there, and chaste Diana join'd:
Laughing she came, and often in her Arms
Embrac'd the Virgin, and extoll'd her Charms;
And flatt'ring calls her Sister, and exclaim'd
Against her Mother, and her Conduct blam'd,
To hide her Beauty from desiring Eyes,
And blindly banish from her native Skies.
Sooth'd with the Guile, thy Darling hastes to load
The furnish'd Table with Celestial Food,
And quaffs their Welcome to her new Abode.

Now Sports pursue the Treat; Diana's Bow
She tries to bend, and does a Huntress show.
The Lance of Pallas then attempts to wield,
Arm'd with her Crest, and labours at the Shield.
Minerva the fair Amazon admir'd;
But Venus, crafty in Design, enquir'd
Of neighb'ring Enna's celebrated Plain;
This she repeats, and urges o'er again.
And, feigning Ignorance, desires to know
How the rich Spring perpetually can blow:
Nor wou'd believe the wintry Seasons yield
A bloomy Harvest on the verdant Field;
While in Succession the sweet Flourets rise,
Nor fear the Fury of inclement Skies:
Then warmly presses them to lead her there,
To view the Wonders of th' Eternal Year.
Her Suit prevail'd: What heady Passions sway
The Dawn of Youth, and fondly lead astray!
I begg'd, I cry'd, entreated, but in vain:
She trusts her self with the perfidious Train.
The ready Nymphs obsequiously attend,
And to the painted Lawn their Steps they bend,
All in the Prime, while yet the Dews were seen
Fresh on the Flow'rs, and sparkled o'er the Green.
But ere the Noon of ripen'd Day begun,
Black Night ascends, and choaks th' extinguish'd Sun,
The nodding Isle shakes with the horrid Sound
Of Neighs, and groaning Wheels, that labour o'er the Ground

Nor cou'd I know the dreadful Charioteer,
Whether some Fiend, or griesly Death it were;
A livid Poison breathes upon the Grass,
The Streams run back, and leave a naked Space;
The Fields are foul with Fogs, and with'ring lie
The sickly Lillies, and the Roses die.
With hideous Sound the Car then drove away,
And bore the Night along, and Light renews the Day.
But Proserpine was vanish'd out of View;
Nor stay'd the Goddesses, but strait withdrew:
When gasping in the middle of the Mead,
(On her soft Bosom hung her drooping Head)
Fair Cyané we saw, the flow'ry Crown
From her incircled Brows fell blasted down.
Swiftly we ran, of her t' inquire the Fate
Of Proserpine, and her uncertain State;
(For she was nearer to the dismal Scene)
How look'd the Steeds, and what the Driver's Mein;
Nought she reply'd; but, tainted with the Steam,
Gush'd sudden out an unexpected Stream;
Trickling, her Hairs descend in wondrous Rain,
Her Feet and Arms dissolve upon the Plain,
And the clear Fountain winds around our Train.
The rest dispers'd; and on Pelorus' Height,
With sudden Wings indu'd, the Sirens light;
Fir'd with Revenge their Lyres they now employ
To deadly Use, and strike them to destroy;

The soothing Notes the sailing Ship constrain,
And the still Oars lie charm'd upon the Main.
Thus I am left to drag my cumbrous Years,
Worne with my Griefs, and burden'd with my Cares.

In deep Suspence, the Story Ceres heard,
And weighing this, the worst of Fortunes fear'd;
Then up to Heav'n she darts her staring Eyes,
And, madding, storms against the guilty Skies.
Th' Hyrcanian Tigress thus, with yelling Sound,
In her wild Rage tears up the trampled Ground,
While the bold Horseman from the Den has drawn
Her suckling Whelps, and carries o'er the Lawn;
Swifter than ev'n her Husband Wind, she flies
To force the Robber to renounce his Prize;
Calls out her angry Spots, her Jaws prepare
To lick the Blood, the mangled Limbs to tear;
When her own Form, reflected in the Glass,
Deceives th' indignant Beast, and stops her eager Pace.

So raves the Mother thro' th' Etherial Plain;
Restore, she cries, restore my Child again.
I am not of some wandring River born,
Nor a mean Dryad; such a Birth I scorn:
From Cybel and from Saturn is my Line:
But what avails Prerogative Divine?
Th' establish'd Laws of Heav'n no longer shine.

Unspotted Virtue, and a noble Train
Of Honours unallay'd, are now in vain;
Since the great Purity of Vulcan's Wife
Is proof to Scandal, and avows her Life.
Tho' the whole Heav'n her glaring Conduct knows,
Without a Blush her Front she freely shows.
Has then the Merit of her late Embrace,
And her chaste Slumber, fortify'd her Face?
Embolden'd thus, she scruples not the Choice
Of guilty Pleasure and familiar Vice.
But you, the boasted Maidens of the Sky,
That you shou'd lay the Virgin Honours by,
To follow Venus! and be loosely join'd
In Rapes lascivious, with the wanton Kind!
Well worthy Both, that Men your Pow'r adore
With Temples built on Scythia's savage Shore,
And thirsty Altars, drench'd in human Gore.
What Crime cou'd thus your heav'nly Rage incense?
And what was hapless Proserpine's Offence?
Did she expel thee, Delia, from the Green,
Or share the Trophies of the Martial Queen?
What heedless Words cou'd your Revenge inspire?
Or came she uninvited to your Quire?
No, no, she cou'd not; lonely in her Cell,
And far away did the fair Virgin dwell;
In Sicily retir'd, because her Face
Shou'd not insult you with superior Grace.

But she retir'd in vain; for canker'd Spite
Is never reconcil'd, nor will its Rage remit.

Thus at the Gods severely she exclaims,
But loads the Virgin Pow'rs, and chiefly blames.
While they, by their Almighty Sire forbid,
Or hold their Peace, or that they knew, deny'd,
And answer'd her with Tears. What shall she do?
Again she's conquer'd, and begins to wooe;
Forgive the Sallies of Maternal Zeal,
The sudden Transports of the Grief I feel,
Th' indecent Heat a Wretch has shown, and see
The humble Parent suppliant at your Knee.
Give me my certain Lot at length to know,
'Tis what I ask, and what you can bestow.
Whate'er it be, I beg you to reveal,
And kindly shew the real Form of Ill.
Make but my Fortune, in Compassion, known,
I'll take it calm, as if by Fate 'twere done,
Nor charge on you; let me not sue in vain;
Regard a Mother's Pray'r, and ease her Pain.
My Daughter to my longing Sight restore,
I will not seek to force her from your Pow'r;
Whoe'er he be, that has possess'd her Charms,
I'll make Her his, and yield Her to his Arms.
Then fear not Ceres shou'd redeem the Bride:
But if by Vow to Secrecy you're ty'd,

Latona, do thou speak, and glad my Breast,
Perhaps to thee, Diana has confess'd.
Thou know'st the Throws of Birth, the tender Love
Which do's the Hearts of yearning Parents move:
Two glorious Twins thy double Joy fulfil,
I have but one, and Her the Gods conceal.
So may'st thou still thy radiant Son enjoy,
And prove a happier Mother far than I.

And here the Tears upon her Face return;
What Woe cou'd yield a greater Cause to mourn!

Ah me! I pray, deserted and alone;
All fly my Griefs, and their Contagion shun.
Why shou'd I vainly then implore the Skies?
Against me join the hostile Deities.
Why rather dost thou not, with Speed, prepare,
And search the World around, to find thy Care?
I'll travel with the Day; and devious Ways,
And dark Recesses diligently trace;
Hourly shall be my Pains; nor Sleep, nor Rest
Shall interrupt my Toil for her distress'd,
'Till I have found the Darling of my Breast:
Tho' in th' Iberian Deep, conceal'd from Eyes,
Or in the red Arabian Sea she lyes.
Not freezing Rhine, nor cold Ripheus can,
With bitter Frosts, my anxious Haste restrain,
And moving Syrtes shall oppose in vain.

The farthest Borders of the South I'll bore,
And stormy Boreas' wintry Seat explore:
I'll visit western Atlas in my Flight,
And with my Fires Hydaspes shall be bright.
Let impious Jupiter behold from high
My wand'ring Course, with an unpitying Eye;
And unforgiving Juno glut her Spleen
In the crush'd Fate of a lost Concubine:
Insulting o'er me, let them proudly reign
In haughty State, and sway the starry Plain;
Vaunt of the noble Trophies they have won
In Ceres' perish'd Race, and swell with the Renown.

She said, and sought the well-known Ætna's Height,
To kindle Torches up, her toilsome Stage to light.

A Grove there was near Acis' gentle Stream,
Where lovely Galatea us'd to swim,
Preferring to the Sea; and thick of Shade,
The twining Boughs o'er Ætna largely play'd.
Here, the dire Combat of the Giants o'er,
Jove hung on high his Ægis dropping Gore,
And hither brought the Trophies of his Toil.
The Wood is proud with the Phlegræan Spoil,
And all the Victory adorn'd the Soil.
Here widely their enormous Jaws extend,
And there the Giants spacious Backs depend.

Their frowning Fronts, fix'd to the Trunk, appear
To menace sourly with an angry Air.
And round their Limbs the griesly Serpents dead,
Which form'd their Feet, affrightfully are spread.
Their Skins are blasted with the flashing Flame.
Each Tree can boast some memorable Name:
Ægæon's hundred Swords this Stock oppress;
And that, the sable Arms of Cæus dress;
Another, Mimas's were plac'd around;
Ophion one with ravish'd Trophies crown'd.
A tow'ring Fir, supreme of all the Wood,
Enceladus's Royal Honours load;
King of the monst'rous Race; th' enormous Weight
Had sunk th' encumber'd Tree beneath the Freight,
But that a neighb'ring Oak conspir'd to prop it streight.
Hence Gods and holy Horror to the Glade,
And none presum'd to hurt the dreaded Shade,
Or touch the Spoils; no Cyclops thither led
His bleating Sheep, or in the Pasture fed;
Ev'n Polyphemus from the Borders fled.

The long Religion of the sacred Place
Foreslow'd not Ceres in her eager Pace:
She brandishes her Ax, to hew her way
Thro' Jove himself, if Jove her Course delay;
And fells the Pines and the smooth Cedars down,
And lops the Branches from the leafy Crown.

Fat, unctuous Trunks she seeks, which fairly grow
Strait in the Bole, and moistly fed below.
The Merchant thus, expos'd in hope of Gain,
To some far Voyage o'er the stormy Main,
To build his Bottom, heaps the cover'd Ground
With Beach and Alders in the Forest found;
From the rude Trees the future Ship prepares,
And all, with Prudence, to his Purpose squares:
The stretching Sails are fasten'd to the long,
And the tall Mast is fashion'd from the strong;
The sweeping Oars are from the softer made,
And the sharp Keel from what the Marshes bred.

Two lofty Cypresses their Heads on high
Shot up unshorne, advancing in the Sky.
Not rolling Simois, from his Banks, survey'd
Their equal Growth in Ida's gloomy Shade;
Nor fam'd Orontes, where his Waters move,
And fatten, in their Course, Apollo's Grove.
Two Twins they seem'd, the Glory of the Wood,
So near they grew, with rival Honours proud.
Ceres beheld them with desiring Sight,
And tucks her Gown, and bares her Arm for Fight;
With all her Strength she swings her Ax around,
And pierces both with an alternate Wound.
At once they tremble, and at once the Crown
Sinks to the fatal Fall, and comes with Ruin down;

Grief of the Woodland Pow'rs: rough as they were,
The Goddess hales, and lifts them on her Car;
And, loaded with the Prey, pursu'd her Flight,
And clomb the steepy Hill's laborious Height;
Thro' rocky Paths untrod she pass'd with Toil,
And fiery Ashes on the burning Soil.

As when Megæra kindles, to pursue
Some guilty Wretch, her Brands of baleful Yew;
To visit Thebes, or haunt the nightly Rest
Of dire Thyestes, for th' inhuman Feast;
The flitting Manes give Her way; around
The Plains of Hell with Iron Hoofs resound;
To Phlegethon she strides, and in the Stream
Plunges her Torch, and fills with liquid Flame:
So Ceres, in the burning Mountain's Crown,
With Face full fronting, thrust the Cypress down,
And smother'd up the Mouth, from whence the Fire,
And sultry Storms, with dreadful Roar, expire.
Deep Ætna groans, and Vulcan suffers Pain,
While the pent Vapours upward heave in vain.
The Trees are kindled, and with sputt'ring Rays
Augment the Horror of the Mountain's Blaze.
And lest their Lamps shou'd, as she roams, decline,
She bade the wakeful Flame incessant shine;
And o'er the Trunks, the mournful Wand'rer threw
The Sun's rich Ointment and the Lunar Dew.

Now when the silent Night had lull'd to Rest,
Dejected Ceres to the Course address'd,
And thus, with bleeding Heart, her self express'd:

Ah! never did I think, my Proserpine,
Lights such as these for my lov'd Child to tine!
But fondly hop'd that I shou'd see thee led
With chearful Torches, to some worthy Bed,
While the glad Bridal Song, with common Joy,
Shou'd here be celebrated in the Sky.
Such was my Wish. But unrelenting Fate
Rules all alike, nor spares the Heav'nly State.
How happy was I once! incircled round
With Crouds of pressing Suitors, how renown'd!
When ev'ry fruitful Mother gave me place,
For the bright Glory of my single Race.
Thou wast my first Delight, my latest Bliss,
My only Joy, and all my Happiness;
My Grace, my Honour, and my boastful Pride;
My Godhead liv'd in thee, and with thee dy'd.
Equal to Juno then; but now the Scorn
Of all, I live abandon'd and forlorn;
Such is thy Father's Will: Yet why do I
Impute to him my present Misery?
The Cruelty is mine; 'tis I betray'd,
Who rashly left expos'd my helpless Maid:
How fatally secure, amidst the Train
Of Cybelé I revel'd on the Plain;

And in the manag'd Lions took Delight,
While my lost Child was borne away from Sight!
Behold my just Revenge: my Face is swell'd
With bruising Blows, and both my Breasts are whal'd.
Where shall I seek? What Lands my Darling hide?
How shall I search, and who will be my Guide?
What Car, what Charioteer has snatch'd away?
Art thou an Inmate now of Earth, or Sea?
Where shall I trace the flying Wheels? and where
Remain the Prints? what welcome Signs appear?
I'll run, I'll fly, and ev'ry Way I'll go,
As Chance shall lead me, and a Passage show.
May Dion thus for Venus travel round;
But shall my Toil succeed, and will my Child be found?
And shall I once again behold thy Face,
With longing Eyes, and meet thy wish'd Embrace?
Art thou still fair? and does the painted Hue,
Which flush'd thy Cheeks, continue fresh to View?
Or art thou blotted and obscene to Sight,
Such as I saw appearing in the Night?

She spoke; and from the Hill began her Race,
And curs'd the guilty Flow'rs and fatal Place.
To find the Tracks she hunts the Fields around,
And holds her blazing Torches to the Ground:
In Floods of trickling Tears the running Prints are drown'd.

She sobs, she howls; her Clamours pierce the Skies;
The nightly Flame to distant Regions flies;
Ev'n Italy and Libya, with the Light
Which gleam'd upon their Shores, are faintly bright.
The farthest Borders of th' Etruscan Land
Reflect it, and the Syrtes moving Sand.
To Scylla's Den it darts, the barking Train,
Part hush their Noise, and Part their Yells maintain.

[OMITTED]

THE EPISODE OF Sextus and Erichtho:

From Lucan's Pharsalia. Book VI.

The ARGUMENT.

Upon Cæsar's Retreat into Thessaly, Pompey follows him thither; and the Neighbourhood of the two Armies rend'ring the Battel unavoidable, the Generals resolve upon the Encounter. The Night before the Engagement, Sextus, the Son of Pompey, being in panick Fear of the Event, steals privately out of the Camp, and goes to the famous Enchantress Erichtho, to know the Fortune of the ensuing Fight. Lucan takes occasion from hence to give a very Poetical Description of the surprizing Powers of the Thessalian Witches and their Sorceries, and of Erichtho's Charms; who raises a Soldier that was lately slain, to learn of him what was determin'd among the Shades, concerning the Battel. It appears by his Answer, that Pompey was to lose the Victory, and his Life; that Cæsar shou'd not survive him long; and that after their Death, Pompey wou'd be receiv'd in the Infernal Regions with Honours, while Cæsar wou'd be disgrac'd and punish'd, as having fought the Cause of Tyranny and Oppression.

The Chiefs incamp'd on this devoted Ground,
Thro' either Host presaging Thoughts abound;
And the dread Moment of the doubtful Fight
Rolls on a-pace, and rises to the Sight.
Th' Approach of Fate dismays the Coward Train,
While the brave Few more equally sustain
Th' alternate Passions: but with endless Shame,
Sextus, unworthy his great Parent's Name,
Shook in the common Fright, forgetful of his Fame.
In Exile thus, on the Sicilian Sea,
A Pirate vile, he ravishes the Prey,
Pollutes the Triumphs which his Father won
On the same Shore, and cancels his Renown.

Push'd by his Fear, and brookless of Delay,
T' explore the Fates, the Dastard took his way.
He sought not Delos, or the Pythian Cave,
Or vocal Oak, whence Jove his Answers gave;
Or what th' inspecting Augurs holy Art,
The rushing Lightnings, or wing'd Birds impart;
Or what the grave Astrologer declares,
From mingling Aspects of revolving Stars:
No lawful Way the wretched Roman tries,
But to dire Magick impotently flies,
And sullen Rites, detested by the Skies:

In Hell he trusts, and moves the Shades below,
Nor thinks the Gods th' important Secret know.

The Place it self his impious Thought inspires,
And shews the Means to finish his Desires;
For near the Camp, th' Hemonian Witches Train
Tremendous dwelt, and held the heathy Plain:
No daring Fictions can transcend their Skill;
Things beyond Faith their wondrous Pow'rs fulfil.
Indulgent to their Charms, Thessalia's Coast
Does a large Birth of noxious Simples boast,
And Plants which force the Gods; the Rocks around
Their Songs affect, and heave the solid Ground.
And dire Medea on this baleful Shore,
Gather'd new Herbs, and added to her Store.

Even Heav'n, which turns an unregarding Ear
To suppliant Nations and united Pray'r,
Their Verse inclines attentively to hear.
One Voice of theirs strikes thro' the vaulted Skies,
And dreadfully demands the Deities;
Ev'n such as listlessly abhor to guide
The gliding Globes and o'er the World preside.
Soon as their Murmur is perceiv'd on high,
The Gods o'erborne, leave all, and thither fly;
And the Chaldean and Egyptian Train,
Surpriz'd, exert their utmost Art in vain.

In stubborn Souls, by Fate averse from Love,
They plant the Passion, and the Flame improve:
In frozen Age th' extinguish'd Heat inspire,
And burn its Winter with a foreign Fire.
Philters their Art excels, and ev'n the Juice
The tender Tufts of new-born Foles produce,
Torn from the Front: Without the fev'rish Draught,
The madding Mind's destroy'd, and Rage transports the Thought.
Ev'n those whom neither Ties of nuptial Love,
Nor Beauty's radiant Blandishment cou'd move,
Their Magick Threads, which bear inscrib'd the Name,
With Pleasure kindle, and to Joy inflame.

Great Nature's Course they interrupt: the Day,
The Night prolong'd, has halted with Delay:
The Spheres forget to move; and at their Nod
The whirling Orbs have all supinely stood;
And Jupiter, with Wonder, sees the Pole,
Urg'd onward by himself, refuse to roll;
Now sluicy Rains from ev'ry Quarter run,
And pitchy Clouds expunge the blazing Sun;
While all around from his Celestial Tow'r,
Jove hears surpriz'd th' unbidden Thunders roar.
They speak their Words, and shake abroad their Hair,
The frowning Clouds are gone, and Heav'n is clear.
When ev'ry Blast do's from the Deep abstain,
Indignant Billows boil the mounting Main;

And tho' the North its utmost Rage display,
No working Waves deform the setled Sea.
The stretching Canvass swells against the Wind;
This blows before, and that is fill'd behind.
And Torrents, which from ragged Rocks descend,
In the slope Fall the headlong Stream suspend.
Rivers run backward; and the fruitful Nile
In Summer ebbs, and starves the thirsty Soil.
Meander twining and in Volumes bow'd,
Rolls, unperplex'd, a strait unravell'd Flood.
Slow Arar starts, and rushing hasty on,
Throws his swift Current in the creeping Rhone:
The lofty Hills submit their tow'ring Heads,
Depress'd to Vallies, and to level Meads.
The driving Clouds above Olympus fly,
Which, wond'ring, sees their misty Shade on high.

The Scythian Snows, when rigid Winter reigns,
Severely freezing on the bleaky Plains,
Without the Sun are thaw'd; from Ice unbound,
The Fountains flow, and tender is the Ground.
From the safe Shore the Surges they repel,
When Stars tempestuous the vex'd Ocean swell.
The stedfast Earth an inward Trembling feels,
And giddily the shaken Axis reels;
Push'd off obliquely by their pow'rful Cry,
The weighty Ball remov'd, discloses either Sky.

And ev'ry Creature of the noxious Kind
Fears and assists them, in their Sorc'rys join'd:
The savage Tiger and the Lion's Brood
Fawn at their Feet, and shun the Taste of Blood:
And the close Volumes of the folded Snake
Untwist before them, in the frozen Brake.
Their Art the mangled Vipers re-unites,
And Human Poison the swell'd Serpent splits.

From whence this Labour to the Deities,
Their Herbs to follow, and attend their Cries?
What awful Compact? What surprizing Cause,
Necessity or Choice, to this Submission draws?
Does Piety conceal'd, this Grace procure?
Or silent Threats the strange Success assure?
Is the whole Heav'n obedient to their Reign?
Or does their Verse one certain God constrain,
Or Pow'r to work whatever they ordain?
For them the Stars drop headlong from on high,
And the clear Moon is darken'd in the Sky;
Sickly she shines, as when the spacious Shade
Of Earth, projected, does her Orb invade,
And struggling with the Charm, wheels down, to spew
Close on their Simples her envenom'd Dew.

These Rites, which all the nightly Sisters use,
The dire Erichtho sourly does refuse,
And as debas'd with Sanctity accuse.

Inventive of new Arts, her hideous Head
She ne'er in Houses nor in Towns display'd,
But from the hollow Vault, and silent Tomb,
Expels the Ghosts, and lodges in its Womb.
Grateful to Hell, and privileg'd to hear
Th' Infernal Counsels, and their Secrets share;
To know the Stygian Realms, and blind Abode
Of the fell Manes and the Mystick God.
Nor Life nor Fate forbids: Her Looks obscene
Are plough'd with Wrinkles, and with Famine lean:
Sunk are her rheumy Eyes; her loathsome Sight
Is never purg'd by Heav'n's serener Light.
Her wasted Face a dreadful Paleness wears;
And thick before it hang her matted Hairs.
When a black Tempest rises in the Skies,
And blots the Stars, she from her Cavern hies;
With curs'd Design the dire Enchantress stalks,
And marks the Lightnings in her Midnight Walks.

Touch'd with her Feet, the blasted Harvest dies,
And the pure Air her tainted Breath destroys.
No Heav'nly Pow'rs she venerates, nor prays
Their Aid, nor holy Sacrifices pays;
But feeds, with Gums from Fun'ral Off'rings torn,
The sullen Flames that on her Altars burn.
The Gods allarm'd, at her first dismal Call,
Immediately assent, and grant her all,

And dread a second Voice. While Life remains
Sound in the Limbs, and beats within the Veins,
The Man she buries, tho' the Fates design
A Length of Years, and to produce the Line;
And the stiff Carcass, with inverted Doom,
Breaks from the Burning, and escapes the Tomb.
Youths reeking Ashes, and the glowing Bones,
And blazing Torches, which before their Sons
The weeping Parents bear, her wonted Prey,
She fiercely seizes, and conveys away;
The Vests now scorch'd, the Relicks of the Pile,
And unctuous Coals yet fuming of their Spoil.

But if preserv'd in Monuments of Stone,
She meets a Corse, whose vital Moisture's gone,
And the dry'd Marrow's hard, with hasty Rage,
On the torn Trunk, she does her Spite asswage;
Digs from their Sockets the clos'd Eyes, and chews
The sordid Excrements of Hands and Toes.
She champs the Halters, and obscenely gnaws
The throttling Noose in her polluted Jaws,
And from the Cross the lifeless Body draws.
The perish'd Entrails, pierc'd with soaking Show'rs,
The horrid Hag rapaciously devours;
And the parch'd Marrow, which the sultry Sun,
With fervid Rays, has stiffen'd in the Bone.

From Malefactors on the Tree, she steals
The gory Limbs, and crucifying Nails:
And oft suspended from the Gallows Height
Hangs, if the Fibres break not at her Bite.
When on the Field a naked Carcass lies,
Before wild Beasts and Birds, she fastens on the Prize;
Yet not with Hands or Knife the Flesh divides,
Till the Wolves Fangs have scarr'd the mangled Sides.
Nor from the Guilt of Murder she abstains,
But from the Throat the vital Crimson drains,
The panting Bowels takes, and empties all the Veins.
And Births abortive, for her various Spells,
From the rent Womb the wayward Witch compels;
Not in the way ordain'd by Nature's Laws,
But thro' a griesly Wound the wretched Fœtus draws.
When murd'rous Ghosts she wants, and Shades severe,
She makes them on the Spot, with cruel Care,
And recent Spirits instantly appear.

Vast is her Pow'r: all Deaths of ev'ry Kind
Serve for her Use, and in her Charms are join'd.
From dying Youth she strips the callow Down,
And with her left Hand crops the tender Crown.
And feigning oft the parting Kiss to give,
In Throes of Death as her own Kindred strive,

Stretch'd on the struggling Limbs, with dire Embrace,
She churns the Cheeks, and grinds the ruin'd Face,
Eats off the Tongue, to the dry Palate bound,
And thro' the livid Lips, with stifled Sound,
Speaks impious Orders to the Shades profound.

Soon as the Rumour of her Fame was spread
In Sextus' Ears, and Night's ascending Shade
Obscur'd the Pole; when now the radiant Sun
Had, under Earth, his neather Noon begun;
Darkling, attended by his Slaves, he strays
Thro' pathless Desarts, and untrodden Ways.
They search'd the Caverns of each hollow Tomb,
In hope to meet Erichtho in its Womb:
She was not there; but from afar they spy'd
Her famish'd Trunk upon a Mountain's Side,
Where lofty Hemus, from his tow'ring Brow
Descending, mixes with the Plains below.

Employ'd in sullen Spells, she sat alone,
Framing new Arts to Magic Gods unknown.
And lest the Troops shou'd other Regions chuse,
And Thessaly the plenteous Carnage lose,
She makes her Cries, and casts her Dews around,
To fix the Battel on th' Emathian Ground.
There Deaths unnumber'd, and the reeking Gore
Of the whole World, she hopes to make her Store;

To rend the Limbs of Kings, to watch the Pyres,
And bear the glowing Ashes from the Fires;
To glean the Bones of Nobles on the Mead,
And gain at once a Nation of the Dead.
'Tis this she labours in her anxious Mind,
To what infernal Services design'd
Imperial Pompey's Bulk shou'd be, and where
The breathless Cæsar's Body she shall tear.

Whom busy'd thus, the Scandal of his Race,
Sextus approach'd, and thus accosts: O Grace
Of Thessaly, accustom'd here t' expound
All dark Events, and for thy Skill renown'd:
When lab'ring Fates push onward to their End,
Thou can'st arrest their Course, and often dost suspend.
O sage Enchantress, freely now declare
The dubious Fortune of the cruel War:
And know, that of no common Line I am,
But the great Pompey for my Father claim:
His Doom I follow, either, Lord of all,
With him I triumph, or with him I fall.
Tormenting Doubts my troubled Soul perplex,
But my steel'd Breast no certain Fears can vex.
Let not capricious Chance this Pow'r obtain,
T' oppress me blindly: try the Heav'nly Reign:
Or spare the Gods; and from the Ghosts below,
The Truth discover, and the Secret know.

Unlock th' Elysian Seats, and from his Cell
The griesly Figure of grim Death compel;
Make him reveal, whom, in the fatal Day,
He marks for Ruin, and designs his Prey.
Great is the Task desir'd, and worthy Thee,
To trace so dread a Doom in dark Futurity.

Sooth'd with her Praise, the meagre Hag reply'd:
If for one Lot alone my Skill you try'd,
I cou'd constrain th' unwilling Gods, with Ease,
And make them answer what Demands I please.
'Tis giv'n my Art to save a single Breath,
When frowning Planets press a speedy Death.
In early Youth abrupt I close his Years,
To whom old Age was promis'd by the Stars.
But since a Chain of Causes link'd, descends
From the World's Birth, and all on this depends:
If ought you'd alter here, the Fates reclaim;
For such a Change affects the common Frame.
In this we own that fickle Fortune's Pow'r
Exceeds our Arts, and can assist you more:
Yet, if it will suffice you to foreknow
The Chances of the Field, so far I'll show;
A thousand Means, Earth, Heav'n, and Hell, the Sea,
The Fields and Mountains will the Truth display;
The readiest way is, from the neighb'ring Plain
To raise at once some Carcass newly slain;

Whose recent Organs unimpair'd are found,
And will pronounce a clear distinguish'd Sound:
Lest, frying in the Sun, the Pipes decay,
And whisp'ring Creaks, instead of Words, convey.

She said; and doubles Night's involving Shade,
And muffles in a pitchy Cloud her Head;
Roams o'er th' unbury'd Host; the Beasts of Prey,
At her Approach, fly trembling far away;
The Birds their fasten'd Talons loose: among
The Dead she strides, with heedful Eyes along,
To chuse a Body; and with Caution tries,
Unpierc'd with Wounds, whose stretching Lungs will rise,
To form the Voice entire; and now are weigh'd
The Fates of all the Numbers of the Dead:
For shou'd she summon from th' Infernal Shore
Ev'n the whole Army, which expir'd before,
Hell wou'd obey, and render back again,
To fall in second Fight, the Troops already slain.

At length she fix'd her Choice; then strongly struck
In thro' the bleeding Throat, a brazen Hook;
To that a Rope she fasten'd; by the Thong,
O'er rugged Rocks she haul'd the Corpse along.
To her detested Haunt arriv'd at last,
Beneath the jutting Hill, the Witch the Body plac'd.

Tremendous was the Hold; the Dismal Den
Border'd on Hell, with little Space between:
Far sunk the Ground beneath; a low'ring Wood
Hung prone above, and thick the Forest stood:
The hideous Yews admit no chearful Ray,
Not the least Glimm'ring of imperfect Day;
But all lies smother'd in eternal Night,
Or only shines with Necromantic Light.
In Tenarus's Jaws the lazy Air
Less flaggy hangs, than the gross Vapours here.
Th' Infernal Sov'reigns hither send their Band,
(The Confines of each World) at her Command:
For tho' she rules the Fates, 'tis doubtful yet
If the Ghosts rise, or she descend to meet
The gliding Spirits, at their Limits set.

She chang'd her Looks, and readily assumes
Her Robes of Death, in which she haunts the Tombs;
The parti-colour'd Garment rudely wears,
And o'er her Face she shakes her flaky Hairs.
A Wreath of hissing Serpents binds her Head:
The Romans shudder'd with unusual Dread:
Which when she saw, with Sextus' deep Surprize,
Who, shiv'ring, fix'd upon the Ground his Eyes;
Dismiss your Fears, she cries, your Sight afford,
Life's wonted Form shall mildly be restor'd.

And so the Man shall speak, and such appear,
That ev'n the tim'rous unaghast may hear.
If Hell shou'd gape immense, and there disclose
Her fiery Lakes, and all her tort'ring Woes;
Or shou'd the Furies, and the Dog arise,
And the Gigantic Race, which shook the Skies;
Why, in my Presence, shou'd you view, with Fright,
The griesly Forms that tremble at my Sight?

Then, thro' a fresh Incision at the Breast
Warm Blood infuses, to revive the rest:
Wipes off the Gore, and ministers the Dews,
Which the cold Moon in ropy Gellies spews:
All dire Ingredients her sad Mixture frame;
Nature's imperfect Births, deform'd and lame.
The Foam of rabid Dogs, that Water shun;
The Lynx's Bowels, and Hyæna's Bone;
The Marrow of a Stag, which, living, fed
On swelling Serpents, in the Thickets bred;
The Fish that sailing Ships has strongly held,
When push'd by Waves, and by the Winds impell'd;
Green Dragon's ardent Eyes; the sounding Stone,
Which in their Nest the brooding Eagles own;
The flying Snakes of wild Arabia's Plain;
The Vipers, who beneath the ruddy Main,
Guard the rich Conchs which precious Pearls contain.

The Skin of Libyan Serpents, yet alive;
And Phœnix' Ashes, which the Flames survive:
With vulgar Juices of inferior Name,
And Plagues of various Sorts, conceal'd from Fame;
Spell'd Leaves, and Herbs, that, in their early Birth,
Her Mouth envenom'd, on their Mother Earth:
And all the Poisons, which, before unknown,
She had invented, and had made her own.

Then adds her Dissonance; by far more strong
Than all her Herbs, to charm the Gods along.
And first, she murmurs, with a hollow Voice,
Sounds undistinguish'd, and discordant Noise.
Barks like a Dog, and like a Wolf she howls,
Roars like wild Beasts, and hoots like fun'ral Owls.
The Serpent's Hissings, and the dashing Sound
Of beating Billows which the Rocks surround;
The Noise of whisp'ring Woods, ere Tempests move,
And the loud Roar of Thunder burst above,
Her single Voice express'd: She rais'd her Cry;
The far-resounding Yell is heard on high,
Hell echoes back beneath, and shakes th' affrighted Sky.

Ye lashing Furies and avenging Pains,
Who rack the Guilty on the Stygian Plains;
Chaos unform'd, who with malignant Joy
Wou'dst ravage all, and endless Worlds destroy;

Thou neather Jove, constrain'd to bear the Load
Of boundless Life, unwillingly a God;
Styx, and Elysium's Field, whose holy Place
Admits no Shade of our Thessalian Race;
And Proserpine, who hat'st the chearful Light
Of Heaven, and thy once lov'd Mother's Sight;
Thou wond'rous Hecate, by whose triple Sway
The gloomy Mansions our Commands obey;
And thou the Porter of th' infernal Gate,
Whose craving Paunch expects the bloody Bait;
Ye fatal Sisters, who your Help must join
To re-unite the lately sever'd Line;
Thou griesly Boatman of the fiery Flood,
Whose Vessel oft has labour'd with the Load
Of Souls by me restor'd to vital Air;
Hear my Petition, and allow my Pray'r.
If with a guilty Voice, and foul with Gore,
I always call, and now your Aid implore;
And with abortive Births and reeking Brains,
Have often gorg'd the Crew that haunts your dreary Plains:
If Babes new-born I in your Fires have laid,
And the warm Bowels in the Chargers paid,
Let my Request be speedily obey'd.
I ask not Hell to render back to Light
An inmate Ghost, accustom'd to the Night;
The Shade I call, is just arriv'd beneath,
And hovers fresh within the Verge of Death;

Not yet transported to the farther Shore,
Charon had need but once convey him o'er.
Let him, remanded to his Corse, relate
To Pompey's Son, his Father's future Fate;
If civil Wars can meritorious prove,
And you, Destruction, Death and Slaughter love.

Scarce had she spoke, and rais'd her sordid Head,
When hov'ring o'er the Corps, she saw the Shade,
Shiv'ring, and anxious of its former Pain,
And loth to try its irksome Jail again:
Thro' the torn Breast and mangled Limbs to glide,
The broken Bowels, and the wounded Side.
Unhappy Ghost! not privileg'd t' enjoy
Death's final Gift, and thus forbid to die.
Erichtho wonder'd at the Fates Delay,
Who thus presum'd her Charms to disobey;
And, fill'd with Rage, her brandish'd Whip she shakes,
And smites the Body with her hissing Snakes;
Then sends her Voice thro' the divided Ground,
And fills Hell's Caverns with the bellowing Sound.

Ye cruel Sisters, why this backward Will
To do your Duty, and my Pray'r fulfil?
Why, with your ratt'ling Scourge, do ye delay
To lash the lingring Spright, and drive him on the Way?

For this, with your true Names I'll brand your Race,
And call Infernal Bitches, in Disgrace:
I'll drag you from the Shades of endless Night,
And fix you in the glaring Beams of Light;
Hale from your silent Urns and hollow Tomb,
Your secret Monuments, and welcome Gloom.
Thee, faithless Hecate, to the Gods I'll show,
In thy obscene polluted Form below;
Confirm each squalid Feature in thy Face,
And thus expose thee to th' Etherial Race,
Where thou appear'st with fair dissembled Grace.
I'll tell, what Fruits provok'd thy Appetite,
And doom'd thee forfeit to the King of Night;
The Truth of thy incestuous Love declare,
For which, ev'n Ceres chose to leave thee there.
Regardless Pluto, for this bold Disdain,
I'll cleave the Ground, and on the gloomy Plain
Throw down the rushing Light, and pour the Day a-main.
What! must I then pronounce his awful Name,
Who shakes the trembling Earth's disjointed Frame!
Who can, unhurt, the stiff'ning Gorgon face;
And cuts with sharper Thongs, Erynnis' fearful Race;
Whose large Dominions, and whose spacious Cell
Is founded deep beneath your upper Hell,
Unseen and dark; who, by the Stygian Flood
Swears, and then laughs to break the Truth he vow'd.

And now the Blood, fermenting in the Veins,
Feeds the black Wounds, and thro' the Body strains.
The vital Vessels feel the running Heat,
And in the Breast the trembling Fibres beat.
New Life returns, but Life with Death allay'd,
And thro' the Limbs a languid Vigor stray'd;
The Nerves, distended, their old Service found;
Nor by degrees the Body rose from Ground,
But stood erected, with a sudden Bound.
The waking Eyes forgotten Day behold,
And sleepily within their Sockets roll'd.
Nor dead, nor yet alive appears the Man,
Stiff are the Members, and the Face is wan.
Amaz'd, he stares at his recover'd Breath,
Thus hurry'd into Life, and snatch'd from Death.
But from his Lips no issuing Sounds arise;
For thus restor'd, his Voice and Tongue suffice,
At her Demands alone to make Replies.

Heed my Desire, Erichtho cry'd, and see
What great Rewards I have reserv'd for thee;
Give faithful Answers, and when thou shalt die,
The Benefit of Death thou ever shalt enjoy.
Such Fun'rals shall attend thy last Remains,
Such Wood, with Spells, shall burn thee on the Plains,
That no united Incantations made
To force thee upward, shall affect thy Shade;

This is thy Recompence: Nor Herbs, nor Cries
Shall break thy heavy Sleep, and make thee rise.
Prophets and Oracles uncertain are,
And dark Responses doubtfully declare;
But they, who boldly dare inquire their Fate
Of Ghosts beneath, and knock at Pluto's Gate,
Are told the Truth by the revealing Spright:
Then clearly answer, and inform us right.
Name Things and Places, and in such a Tone
That the Fates Dictates may be plainly shown.

Charm'd into Speech, and by her Art inspir'd
To know, and answer all that she requir'd,
The mournful Shroud, with trickling Tears, begun:

Your Spells have summon'd me from Styx so soon,
I cou'd not see the cruel Parcæ's Line,
To learn the future Fortunes they design.
Yet this I gather from the shadowy Host:
The Roman Manes are in Factions tost,
Eternal Peace in impious Strife is lost:
These Leaders leave th' Elysian Seats, and those
The Depths of Tartarus, the Scene of Woes,
And what the secret Destinies prepare,
Their Gestures plainly intimate, for there
The happy Ghosts a mournful Count'nance bear.
The two devoted Decii I beheld,
And great Camillus, weeping in the Field;

The Curii too, and Sylla's surly Shade,
Who fierce on Fortune's giddy Change inveigh'd;
And Scipio, who his Offspring's Lot deplores,
Doom'd to be slain on Libya's desart Shores.
Cato, the Foe of Carthage, grieves the Fate
Of his brave Grandson falling for the State.
Brutus alone, who cast the Tyrant's Race
From Rome oppress'd, appears with chearful Face,
Among the pious Spirits; fill'd with Joy,
Serene his Looks, and sparkling is his Eye.
Fierce Catiline has shaken off his Chains,
And runs exulting o'er th' infernal Plains;
With Marius and Cethegus, and their Trains.
I saw the Pop'lar Drusii smiling there,
And a glad Mein the lawless Gracchi wear;
In the blind Dungeon pent, and strongly bound,
They clap their Hands, and loudly shout around.
With clam'rous Insolence, the guilty Band
The purer Seats of spotless Shades demand.
The gloomy Monarch does with Care provide
For coming Souls, and opes his Prisons wide:
Sharp-pointed Rocks and weighty Ir'ns prepares,
For the vile Victor in injurious Wars.
But thou, O Youth, no more with Fears possess'd,
With this Assurance feed thy anxious Breast;
The happy Souls, in their Elysian Fields,
Where the bright Scene immortal Pleasure yields,

Expect the Father and his shining Race,
And keep for Pompey a distinguish'd Place.
Nor envy thou the Conqu'ror's guilty Crown;
Short is his Term, and fading his Renown.
For the swift Hour arrives without Delay,
When all alike shall tread the downward Way.
Then rush to Death, and haste with Pride, to come,
Tho' meanly bury'd, or deny'd a Tomb,
And spurn the Manes of the Gods of Rome.
The Fight will only this Distinction make,
Who shall their Turn at Nile, and who at Tyber take;
And where the Chiefs shall fall: but ask not thou
Thy proper Fortune (best conceal'd) to know;
Which Fate, tho' I am silent, will reveal:
And clearer yet, thy Father's Shadow tell,
In fair Sicilia seen, with Doubts oppress'd,
Where to direct thee, and procure thee Rest.
Unhappy Creatures! Europe, Asia fear,
And Libya shun: your Fortune you must bear;
In Death divided, as your Triumphs were.
Ah! wretched House! to whom the World can yield
No Place securer than th' Emathian Field.

He said, and ceas'd; and mournful as he stands,
The welcome Death with piteous Looks demands:
For this a Charm was needful, since before
The Fates absolv'd their Right, and cou'd exert no more.

Erichtho now prepar'd a sudden Pyre,
The stalking Body hasted to the Fire;
Plac'd on the Pile, the smould'ring Flame she tines,
And to the Manes finally consigns;
Then to the Camp, with Sextus, took the Way:
The Skies began to blush with streaky Day;
But till they safe arriv'd, the friendly Night,
At her Command, repell'd the rising Light.

FINIS.