Poems and Translations :: :: University of Virginia Library

While trembling we approach Jove's awful Shrine,
With pure Libations, and with Rites Divine;
What Theme more proper can we chuse to sing,
Than Jove Himself, the Great, Eternal King!
Whose Word gives Law to those of Heav'nly Birth;
Whose Hand subdues the Rebel Sons of Earth.
Since Doubts and dark Disputes thy Titles move,
Hear'st Thou Dictæan or Lycæan Jove?
For here thy Birth the Tops of Ida claim,
And there Arcadia triumphs in thy Name.

But Crete in vain would boast a Grace so high,
Whose faithless Sons thro' meer Complexion lye:
Immortal as thou art in endless Bloom,
To prove their Claim, they build the Thund'rer's Tomb.
Be then Arcadian, for the tow'ring Height
Of steep Parrhasia welcom'd Thee to Light;
When pregnant Rhæa wand'ring thro' the Wood,
Sought out her darkest Shades, and bore the God;
The Place thus hallow'd by the Birth of Jove,
More than Religious Horror guards the Grove:
The Gloom all teeming Females still decline,
From the vile Worm, to Woman, Form Divine.
Soon as the Mother had discharg'd her Load,
She sought a Spring to bathe the recent God;
But sought in vain, no living Stream she found,
Tho' since, the Waters drench the Realms around.

Clear Erymanthus had not learn'd to glide,
Nor mightier Ladon drove his swelling Tide.
At thy great Birth, where now Iäon flows,
Tall tow'ring Oaks, and pathless Forests rose;
The thirsty Savages were heard to roar,
Where Cario softly murmurs to the Shore;
Where spreading Melas widely floats the Coast,
The flying Chariot rais'd a Cloud of Dust.
With drowth o'er Cratis and Menope curst,
The fainting Swain, to aggravate his Thirst,
Heard from within the bubbling Waters flow,
In close Restraint, and Murmur from below.

Thou too, O Earth, (enjoin'd the Pow'r Divine)
Bring forth; thy Pangs are less severe than mine,
And sooner past; she spoke, and as she spoke
Rear'd high her scepter'd Arm, and pierc'd the Rock.

Wide to the Blow the parting Mountain rent,
The Waters gush'd tumultuous at the Vent,
Impatient to be freed; amid the Flood
She plung'd the recent Babe, and bath'd the God.
She wrapp'd Thee, mighty King, in Purple Bands,
Then gave the sacred Charge to Neda's Hands,
The Babe to nourish in the close Retreat,
And in the safe Recess, of distant Crete.
In Years and Wisdom, of the Nymphs who nurst
The Infant Thund'rer, Neda was the first;
Next Styx and Phylirè; the Virgin shar'd
For her great Trust discharg'd a great Reward:
For by her honour'd Name the Flood she calls,
Which rolls into the Sea by Leprion's Walls;
To drink her Streams the Sons of Arcas crowd,
And draw for ever from the ancient Flood.

Thee, Jove, the careful Nymph to Cnossus bore,
(To Cnossus seated on the Cretan Shore)

With joyful Arms the Corybantes heav'd,
And the proud Nymphs the glorious Charge receiv'd.
Above the rest in Grace Adraste stood,
She rock'd the golden Cradle of the God;
On his Ambrosial Lips the Goat distill'd
Her milky Store, and fed th'immortal Child:
With her the duteous Bee presents her Spoils,
And for the God repeats her flow'ry Toils.

The fierce Curetes too in Arms advance,
And tread tumultuously their mystick Dance:
And lest thy Cries should reach old Saturn's Ear,
Beat on their brazen Shields the Din of War.

Full soon, Almighty King, thy early Prime
Advanc'd beyond the Bounds of Vulgar Time.
E'er the soft Down had cloath'd thy youthful Face,
Swift was thy Growth in Wit and every Grace.

Fraught was thy Mind in Life's beginning Stage,
With all the Wisdom of experienc'd Age:
Thy elder Brothers hence their Claims resign,
And leave th'unbounded Heav'ns by Merit Thine;
For sure those Poets Fable, who advance
The bold Assertion, that capricious Chance
By equal Lots to Saturn's Sons had giv'n
The triple Reign of Ocean, Hell and Heav'n.
Above blind Chance the vast Division lies,
And Hell holds no proportion to the Skies.
Things of a less, and equal Value, turn
On the blind Lot of an inverted Urn.
Not Chance, O Jove, attain'd Heav'ns high Abodes,
But thy own Pow'r advanc'd Thee o'er the Gods,
Thy Pow'r that whirls thy rapid Chariot on,
Thy Pow'r, the great Assessor of thy Throne.
Dismist by Thee, th'Imperial Eagle flies
Charg'd with thy Signs and Thunders thro' the Skies:

To Me and Mine glad Omens may she bring,
And to the Left extend her golden Wing.

Thou to Inferior Gods hast well assign'd
Th'various Ranks and Orders of Mankind:
Of these the wand'ring Merchants claim the Care;
Of those the Poets, and the Sons of War:
Kings claim from Thee their Titles and their Reign
O'er all Degrees, the Soldier and the Swain.
Vulcan presides o'er all who beat the Mass,
Bend the tough Steel, and shape the tortur'd Brass.
Diana those adore who spread the Toils;
To Mars the Warrior dedicates his Spoils.
The Bard to Phœbus strikes the living Strings,
Jove's Royal Province is the Care of Kings;
For Kings submissive hear thy high Decree,
And hold their delegated Pow'rs from Thee.

Thy Name the Judge and Legislator awes,
When this enacts, and that directs the Laws:
Cities and Realms thy great Protection prove;
These bend to Monarchs, as They bend to Jove.

Tho' to thy scepter'd Sons thy Will extends,
The proper Means proportion'd to their Ends;
All are not favour'd in the same Degree,
For Pow'r Supreme belongs to Ptolemy;
What no inferior Limitary King,
Could in a length of Years to Ripeness bring,
Sudden his Word performs; his boundless Pow'r
Compleats the Work of Ages in an Hour:
While others labour thro' a wretched Reign,
Their Schemes are blasted, and their Counsels vain.

Hail Saturn's mighty Son, to whom we owe
Life, Health, and every Blessing here below!

Who shall in worthy Strains thy Name adorn?
What living Bard? What Poet yet unborn?
Hail and all hail again; in equal Shares
Give Wealth and Virtue, and indulge our Pray'rs.
Hear us, great King; unless they meet combin'd,
Each is but half a Blessing to Mankind.
Then grant us both, that blended they may prove
A double Happiness, and worthy Jove.