Swell'd with the pride, that new success attends,
He sees the stripling, while his bow he bends,
And thus insults him; "Thou lascivious boy,
Are arms like these for children to employ?
Know, such achievements are my proper claim;
Due to my vigour, and unerring aim:
Resistless are my shafts, and Python late
In such a feather'd death, has found his fate.
Take up thy torch, (and lay my weapons by)
With that the feeble souls of lovers fry."
To whom the son of Venus thus reply'd,
"Phoebus, thy shafts are sure on all beside,
But mine on Phoebus: mine the fame shall be
Of all thy conquests, when I conquer thee."
He said, and soaring, swiftly wing'd his flight:
Nor stopt but on Parnassus' airy height.
Two diff'rent shafts he from his quiver draws;
One to repel desire, and one to cause.
One shaft is pointed with refulgent gold;
To bribe the love, and make the lover bold:
One blunt, and tipt with lead, whose base allay
Provokes disdain, and drives desire away.
The blunted boit against the nymph he drest:
But with the sharp transfixt Apollo's breast.

Th' enamour'd deity pursues the chase;
The scornful damsel shuns his loath'd embrace:
In hunting beasts of prey her youth employs;
And Phoebe rivals in her rural joys.
With naked neck she goes, and shoulders bare;
And with a fillet binds her flowing hair.
By many suitors sought, she mocks their pains,
And still her vow'd virginity maintains.
Inpatient of a yoke, the name of bride

She shuns, and hates the joys she never try'd.
On wilds, and woods, she fixes her desire:
Nor knows what youth and kindly love inspire.
Her father chides her oft; "Thou ow'st," says he,
"A husband to thyself, a son to me.”
She, like a crime, abhors the nuptial bed:
She glows with blushes, and she bangs her head.
Then casting round his neck her tender arms,
Sooths him with blanishments and filial charms;
"Give me, my lord," said she, " to live, and die,
A spotless maid, without the marriage tie.
'Tis but a small request; I beg no more
Than what Diana's father gave before."
The good old sire was soften'd to consent;
But said her wish would prove her punishment:
For so much youth, and so much beauty join'd,
Oppos'd the state, which her desires design'd.
The god of light, aspiring to her bed,

Stay nymph," he cry'd, "I follow, not a foe,
Thus from the lion trips the trembling doe;
Thus from the wolf the frighten'd lamb removes,
And, from pursuing falcons, fearful doves;
Thou shunn'st a god, and shunn'st a god, that loves.
Ah, lest some thorn should pierce thy tender foot,
Or thou shouldst fall in flying my pursuit!
To sharp uneven ways thy steps decline;
Abate thy speed, and I will bate of mine.
Yet think from whom thou dost so rashly fly;
Nor basely born, nor shepherd's swain am I.
Perhaps thou know'st not my superior state;
And from that ignorance proceeds thy hate.
Me Claros, Delphos, Tenedos obey;
These bands the Patareian scepter sway.
The king of gods begot me: what shall be,
Or is, or ever was, in fate, I see.
Mine is th' invention of the charming lyre;
Sweet notes, and heav'nly numbers, I inspire,
Sure is my bow, unerring is my dart;

But ah! more deadly his, who pierc'd my heart.
Med'cine is mine; what herbs and simples grow
In fields and forests, all their pow'rs I know;
And am the great physician call'd, below.
Alas that fields and forests can afford
No remedies to heal their love-sick lord!
To cure the pains of love, no plant avails:
And his own physic the physician fails."

She heard not half; so furiously she flies;
And on her ear th' imperfect accent dies.
Fear gave her wings: and as she fled, the wind
Increasing, spread her flowing hair behind;
And left her legs and thighs expos'd to view:
Which made the god more eager to pursue.
The god was young, and was too hotly bent
To lose his time in empty compliment:
But, led by love, and fir'd with such a sight,
Impetuously pursu'd his near delight.

As when th' impatient greyhound, slipt from
far,

Bounds o'er the glebe, to course the fearful hare,
She in her speed does all her safety lay,
And he with double speed pursues the prey;
O'er-runs her at her sitting turn, and licks
His chaps in vain, and blows upon the flix:
She 'scapes, and for the neighb'ring covert strives,
And gaining shelter doubts if yet she lives:
If little things with great we may compare,
Such was the god, and such the flying fair;
She urg'd by fear, her feet did swiftly move,
But he more swiftly, who was urg'd by love.

Now breathes upon her hair, with nearer pace;
And just is fast'ning on the wish'd embrace.
The nymph grew pale, and in a mortal fright,
Spent with the labour of so long a flight;
And now despairing, cast a mournful look
Upon the streams of her paternal brook;

Hopes what he seeks, with flattering fancies féd; He gathers ground upon her in the chase:
And is, by his own oracles, misled.
And as in empty fields the stubble burns,
Or nightly travellers, when day returns,
Their useless torches on dry hedges throw,
That catch the flames, and kindle all the row;
So burns the god, consuming in desire,
And feeding in his breast a fruitless fire:
Her well-turn'd neck he view'd (her neck was bare)
And on her shoulders her dishevel'd hair;
"Oh were it comb'd," said he, "with what a grace
Wouldevery waving curl become her face!" [shone,
He view'd her eyes, like beav'nly lamps that
He view'd her lips, too sweet to view alone,
Her taper fingers, and her panting breast;
He praises all he sees, and for the rest
Believes the beauties yet unseen are best.
Swift as the wind, the damsel fled away,
Nor did for these alluring speeches stay:

Oh help," she cry'd," in this extremest need!
If water-gods are deities indeed:
Gape, Earth, and this unhappy wretch intomb;
Or change my form, whence all my sorrows come."
Scarce had she finish'd, when her feet she found
Benumb'd with cold, and fasten'd to the ground:
A filmy rind about her body grows;
Her hair to leaves, her arms extend to boughs:
The nymph is all into a laurel gone;
The smoothness of her skin remain alone.
Yet Phœbus loves her still, and casting round
Her bole his arms, some little warmth he found,

The tree still panted in th' unfinish'd part:
Not wholly vegetive, and heav'd her heart.
He fixt his lips upon the trembling rind;
It swerv'd aside, and his embrace declin'd.
To whom the god, "Because thou canst not be
My mistress, I espouse thee for my tree:
Be thou the prize of honour and renown:
The deathless poet, and the poem, crown.
Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn,
And, after poets, be by victors worn.
Thou shalt returning Cæsar's triumph grace;
When pomps shall in a long procession pass:
Wreath'd on the post before his palace wait;
And be the sacred guardian of the gate:
Secure from thunder, and unharm'd by Jove,
Unfading as th' immortal pow'ers above:
And as the locks of Phoebus are uashorn,
So shall perpetual green thy boughs adorn.”
The grateful tree was pleas'd with what he said;
And shook the shady honours of her head.
THE TRANSFORMATION OF Iō INTO A HEIFER.
AN ancient forest in Thessalia grows;
Which Tempe's pleasing valley does enclose:
Through this the rapid Peneus takes his course;
From Pindus rolling with impetuous force:
Mists from the river's mighty fall arise;
And deadly damps enclose the cloudy skies;
Perpetual fogs are hanging o'er the wood;
And sounds of waters deaf the neighbourhood.
Deep, in a rocky cave, he makes abode:
(A mansion proper for a mourning god.)
Here he gives audience; issuing out decrees
To rivers, his dependent deities.

On this occasion hither they resort;

To pay their homage, and to make their court.
All doubtful, whether to congratulate
His daughter's honour, or lament her fate.
Sperchæus, crown'd with poplar, first appears;
Then old Apidanus came crown'd with years:
Enipeus turbulent, Amphrysos tame;
And Eas last with lagging waters came.
Then, of his kindred brooks, a num'rous throng
Condole his loss; and bring their urns along.
Not one was wanting of the wat'ry train,
That fill'd his flood, or mingled with the main,
But Inachus, who in his cave, alone,
Wept not another's losses, but his own;
For his dear lo, whether stray'd, or dead,
To him uncertain, doubtful tears he shed.

Involv'd with vapours, imitating night,
Both air and earth; and then suppress'd her flight,
And mingling force with love, enjoy'd the full
delight.

Mean-time the jealous Juno, from on high,
Survey'd the fruitful fields of Arcady;
And wonder'd that the mist should over-run
The face of day-light, and obscure the Sun.
No nat❜ral cause she found, from brooks, or bogs,
Or marshy lowlands, to produce the fogs:
Then round the skies she sought for Jupiter,
Her faithless husband; but no Jove was there:
Suspecting now the worst, " Or 1," she said,
"Am much mistaken, or am much betray'd.",
With fury she precipitates her flight:
Dispels the shadows of dissembled night;
And to the day restores his native light.
Th' almighty leacher, careful to prevent
The consequence, foresceing her descent,
Transforms his mistress in a trice; and now
In lö's place appears a lovely cow.
So sleek her skin, so faultless was her make,
Ev'n Juno did unwilling pleasure take
To see so fair a rival of her love;

And what she was, and whence, inquir'd of

And begg'd the beauteous heifer of her lord.
What should he do? 'twas equal shame to Jove
Or to relinquish, or betray his love:
Yet to refuse so slight a gift, would be
But more t' increase his consort's jealousy;
Thus fear, and love, by turns, his heart assail'd;
And stronger love had sure, at length, prevail'd:
But some faint hope remain'd, his jealous queen
Had not the mistress through the heifer seen.
The cautious goddess, of her gift possest,
Yet harbour'd anxious thoughts within her breast;
As she who knew the falsehood of her Jove;
And justly fear'd some new relapse of love.
Which to prevent, and to secure her care,
To trusty Argus she commits the fair.

The head of Argus (as with stars the skies)
Was compass'd round, and wore a hundred eyes.
But two by turns their lids in slumber steep;
The rest on duty still their station keep;
Nor could the total constellation sleep.

He sought her through the world; but sought in Thus, ever present to his eyes and mind,

vain;

And no where finding, rather fear'd her slain.
Her, just returning from her father's brook,
Jove had beheld, with a desiring look;
And, "Oh fair daughter of the flood," he said,
Worthy alone of Jove's imperial bed,
Happy whoever shall those charms possess !
The king of gods (nor is thy lover less)
Invites thee to yon cooler shades; to shun
The scorching rays of the meridian Sun.
Nor shalt thou tempt the dangers of the grove
Alone, without a guide; thy guide is Jove.
No puny pow'r, but he whose high command
Is unconfin'd, who rules the seas and land;
And tempers thunder in his awful hand.
Oh, fly not:" for she fled from his embrac
O'er Lerna's pastures: he pursu'd the chase
Along the shades of the Lyrcæan plain ;
At length the god, who never asks in vain,

His charge was still before him, though behind,
In fields he suffer'd her to feed by day,
But when the setting Sun to night gave way,
The captive cow he summon'd with a call;
And drove her back, and ty'd her to the stall.
On leaves of trees, and bitter herbs she fed,
Heav'n was her canopy, bare earth her bed;
So hardly lodg'd; and to digest her food,
She drank from troubled streams, defil'd with mud,
Her woeful story fain she would have told,
With hands upheld, but had no hands to hold.
Her head to her ungentle keeper bow'd,
She strove to speak, she spoke not, but she low'd:
Affrighted with the noise, she look'd around,
And seem'd t' inquire the author of the sound.

Once on the banks where often she had play'd
(Her father's banks) she came, and there survey'd
Her alter'd visage, and her branching head;
And starting, from herself she would have fled.

Her fellow nymphs, familiar to her eyes,
Beheld, but knew her not in this disguise.
Ev'n Inachus himself was ignorant;
And in his daughter did his daughter want.
She follow'd where her fellows went, as she
Were still a partner of the company:

They stroke her neck; the gentle heifer stands,
And her neck offers to their stroking hands.
Her father gave her grass; the grass she took;
And lick'd his palms, air cast a piteous look;
And in the language of her cyes she spoke.
She would have told her name, and ask'd relief,
But wanting words, in tears she tells her grief.
Which, with her foot she makes him understand:
And prints the name of lö in the sand.

"Ah wretched me!" her mournful father cry'd;
She, with a sigh, to wretched me reply'd:
About her milk-white neck his arms he threw;
And wept, and then these tender words eusue.
"And art thou she, whom I have sought around
The world, and have at length so sadly found?
So found, is worse than lost: with mutual words
Thou answer'st not, no voice thy tongue affords:
But sighs are deeply drawn from out thy breast;
And speech deny'd, by lowing is express'd.
Unknowing, I prepar'd thy bridal bed;
With empty hopes of happy issue fed.
But now the husband of a herd must be
Thy mate, and bell'wing sons thy progeny.
Oh, were I mortal, death might bring relief;
But now my godhead but extends my grief;
Prolongs my woes, of which no end I see,
And makes me curse my immortality!"
More had he said, but fearful of her stay,
The starry guardian drove his charge away,
To some fresh pasture; on a hilly height
He sat himself, and kept her still in sight.

THE EYES OF ARGUS TRANSFORMED INTO A
PEACOCK'S TRAIN.

And ask'd the stranger, who did reeds invent,
And whence began so rare an instrument?

THE TRANSFORMATION OF SYRINX INTO REEDS

THEN Hermes thus; "A nymph of late there

was,

Whose heav'nly form her fellows did surpass.
The pride and joy of fair Arcadia's plains,
Belov'd by deities, ador'd by swains:
Syrinx her name, by Sylvans oft pursu'd,
As oft she did the lustful gods delude:
The rural, and the woodland pow'rs disdain'd;
With Cynthia hunted, and her rites maintain'd:
Like Phoebe clad, even Phoebe's self she seems,
So tall, so straight, such well-proportion'd limbs :
The nicest eye did no distinction know,
But that the goddess bore a golden bow:
Distinguish'd thus, the sight she cheated too.
Descending from Lycæus, Pan admires
The matchless nymph, and burns with new desires.
A crown of pine upon his head he wore;
And thus began her pity to implore.
But ere he thus began, she took her flight
So swift, she was already out of sight.
Nor stay'd to hear the courtship of the god;
But bent her course to Ladon's gentle flood:
There by the river stopt, and tir'd before,
Relief from water-nymphs her pray'rs implore.
"Now while the lustful god, with speedy pace,
Just thought to strain her in a strict embrace,
He fills his arms with reeds, new-rising on the
And while he sighs, his ill success to find, [place.
The tender canes were shaken by the wind;
And breath'd a mournful air, unheard before;
That much surprising Pan, yet pleas'd him more.
Admiring this new music, Thou,' he said,
Who canst not be the partner of my bed,
At least shalt be the comfort of my mind:
And often, often to my lips be join'd.'
He form'd the reeds, proportion'd as they are,

Now Jove no longer could her suff'rings bear: Unequal in their length, and wax'd with care,

But call'd in haste his airy messenger,

The son of Maïa, with severe decree

To kill the keeper, and to set her free.
With all his harness soon the god was sped,
His flying hat was fasten'd en bis head;
Wings on his heels were hung, and in his hand
He holds the virtue of the snaky wand.
The liquid air his moving pinions wound,
And, in the moment, shoot him on the ground.
Before he came in sight, the crafty god
His wings dismiss'd, but still retain'd his rod :
That sleep-procuring wand wise Hermes took,
But made it seem to sight a shepherd's hook,
With this, he did a herd of goats control;
Which by the way he met, and slily stole.
Clad like a country swain, he pip'd, and sung:
And playing, drove his jolly troop along.

With pleasure, Argus the musician heeds;
But wonders much at those new vocal reeds.
"And whosoe'er thou art, my friend," said he,
"Up hither drive thy goats, and play by me:
This hill has browze for them, and shade for
thee."

The god, who was with ease induc'd to climb,
Began discourse to pass away the time;
And still betwixt, his tuneful pipe he plies;
And watch'd his hour, to close the keeper's eyes.
With much ado, he partly kept awake;
Not suff'ring all his eyes repose to take:

[tale,

They still retain the name of his ungrateful fair."
While Hermes pip'd, and sung, and told his
The keeper's winking eyes began to fail,
And drowsy slumber on the lids to creep;
'Till all the watchman was at length asleep.
Then soon the god his voice and song supprest;
And with his pow'rful rod confirm'd his rest:
Without delay his crooked falchion drew,
And at one fatal stroke the keeper slew.
Down from the rock fell the dissever'd head,
Opening its eyes in death; and falling, bled;
And mark'd the passage with a crimson trail:
Thus Argus lies in pieces, cold and pale;
And all his hundred eyes, with all their light,
Are clos'd at once, in one perpetual night.
These Juno takes, that they no more may fail,
And spreads them in her peacock's gaudy tail.

Impatient to revenge her injur'd bed,

She wreaks her anger on her rival's head;
With furies frights her from her native home;
And drives her gadding, round the world to roam:
Nor ceas'd her madness and her flight before
She touch'd the limits of the Pharian shore.
At length, arriving on the banks of Nile,
Wearied with length of ways, and worn with toil
She laid her down; and leaning on her knees,
Invok'd the cause of all her miseries:
And cast her languishing regards above
For help from Heav'n, and her ungrateful Jove

She sigh'd, she wept, she low'd: 'twas all she | If still you doubt your mother's innocence,

could;

And with unkindness seem'd to tax the god.
Last, with an humble pray'r, she begg'd repose,
Or death at least, to finish all her woes.
Jove heard her vows, and with a flatt'ring look,
In her behalf to jealous Juno spoke.

He cast his arms about her neck, and said,
'Dame, rest secure; no more thy nuptial bed
This nymph shall violate: by Styx I swear,
And every oath that binds the thunderer."
The goddess was appeas'd; and at the word
Was lo to her former shape restor❜d,
The rugged hair began to fall away;
The sweetness of her eyes did only stay,

Tho' not so large; her crooked horns decrease;
The wideness of her jaws and nostrils cease:
Her hoofs to hands return, in little space:
The five long taper fingers take their place,
And nothing of the heifer now is seen,
Beside the native whiteness of the skin.
Erected on her feet she walks again:
And two the duty of the four sustain.
She tries her tongue; her silence softly breaks,
And fears her former lowings when she speaks:
A goddess now, through all th' Egyptian state:
And serv'd by priests, who in white linen wait.
Her son was Epaphus, at length believ'd
The son of Jove, and as a god receiv'd;
With sacrifice ador'd, and public pray'rs,
He common temples with his mother shares.
Equal in years, and rival in renown
With Epaphus, the youthful Phaeton,

His eastern mansion is not far from hence;
With little pains you to his levee go,
And from himself your parentage may know."
With joy th' ambitious youth his mother heard,
And eager for the journey soon prepar'd.
He longs the world beneath him to survey;
To guide the chariot; and to give the day:
From Meroe's burning sands he bends his course,
Nor less in India feels his father's force;
His travel urging, till he came in sight;
And saw the palace by the purple light,

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.
BOOK II.

Translated by Addison.

THE STORY OF PHAETON.

THE Sun's bright palace, on high columns rais'd,
With burnish'd gold and flaming jewels blaz'd;
The folding gates diffus'd a silver light,
And with a milder gleam refresh'd the sight;
Of polish'd iv'ry was the cov'ring wrought;
The matter vied not with the scuiptor's thought;
For in the portal was display'd on high
(The work of Vulcan) a fictitious sky;
A waving sea th' inferior earth einbrac'd,
And gods and goddesses the waters grac'd.
Ægeon here a mighty whale bestrode;
Triton, and Proteus, (the deceiving god)
With Doris here were carv'd, and all her train,
Some loosely swimming in the figur'd main,
While some on rocks their drooping hair divide,

Like honour claims; and boasts his sire the Sun. And some on fishes through the waters glide:
His baughty looks, and his assuming air,

The son of Isis could no longer bear:

Though various features did the sisters grace,
A sister's likeness was in ev'ry face.

"Thou tak'st thy mother's word too far," said he, On earth a diff'rent landscape courts the eyes, "And hast usurp'd thy boasted pedigree. Go, base pretender to a borrow'd name.” Thus tax'd, he blush'd with anger, and with shame; But shame repress'd his rage: the daunted youth Soon seeks his mother, and inquires the truth: "Mother," said he, "this infamy was thrown By Epaphus on you, and me your son. He spoke in public, told it to my face;

Men, towns, and beasts in distant prospect rise, And nymphs, and streams, and woods, and rural deities.

Nor durst I vindicate the dire disgrace:

Even I, the bold, the sensible of wrong,

O'er all, the Heav'ns refulgent image shines;
On either gate were six engraven signs.

Here Phaeton, still gaining on th' ascent
To his suspected father's palace went,

'Till pressing forward through the bright abode,
He saw at distance the illustrious god:
He saw at distance, or the dazzling light

Restrain'd by shame, was fore'd to hold my tongue. Had flash'd too strongly on his aching sight,

To hear an open slander, is a curse:
But not to find an answer, is a worse.
If I am Heav'n-begot, assert your son

By some sure sign; and make my father known,
To right my honour, and redeem your own."
Ile said, and saying cast his arms about
Her neck, and begg'd her to resolve the doubt.
'Tis hard to judge if Clymenè were mov'd
More by his pray'r, whom she so dearly lov❜d,
Or more with fury fir'd, to find ber name
Traduc'd, and made the sport of common fame.
She stretch'd her arms to Heav'n, and fix'd her

The god sits high, exalted on a throne
Of blazing gems, with purple garments on;
The Hours in order rang'd on either hand,
And Days, and Months, and Years, and Ages stand,
Here Spring appears with flowery chaplets bound;
Here Summer in her wheaten garland crown'd;
Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear;
And hoary Winter shivers in the rear.

Phoebus beheld the youth from off his throne;
That eye, which looks on all, was fix'd on one.
He saw the boy's confusion in his face,

Surpris'd at all the wonders of the place;
And cries aloud, "What wants my son? for know
My son thou art, and I must call thee so."

"Light of the world!" the trembling youth re