When with his staff their slimy folds he broke,
And lost his manhood at the fatal stroke.
But, after seven revolving years, he view'd
The self-same serpents in the self-same wood:
"And if," says he, "such virtue in you lie,
That he who dares your slimy folds untie
Must change his kind, a second stroke I'll try."
Again he struck the snakes, and stood again
New-sex'd, and straight recover'd into man.
Him therefore both the deities create

The sov'reign umpire, in their grand debate;
And he declar'd for Jove: when Juno fir'd,
More than so trivial an affair requir'd,
Depriv'd him, in her fury, of his sight,
And left him groping round in sudden night.
But Jove (for so it is in Heav'n decreed,
That no one god repeal another's deed)
Irradiates all his soul with inward light,
And with the prophet's art relieves the want of

THE TRANSFORMATION OF ECHO.

[sight.

FAM'D far and near for knowing things to come,
From him th'enquiring nations sought their doom;
The fair Liriope his answers try'd,
And first th' unerring prophet justified.
This nymph the god Cephisus had abus'd,
With all his winding waters circumfus'd,
And on the Nereid got a lovely boy,
Whom the soft maids ev'n then beheld with joy.
The tender dame, solicitous to know
Whether her child should reach old age or no,
Consults the sage Tiresias, who replies,
"If e'er he knows himself, he surely dies."
Long liv'd the dubious mother in suspense,
Till time unriddled all the prophet's sense.

Narcissus now his sixteenth year began,
Just turn'd of boy, and on the verge of man;
Many a friend the blooming youth caress'd,
Many a love-sick maid her flame confess'd.
Such was his pride, in vain the friend caress'd,
The love-sick maid in vain her flame confess'd.

Once, in the woods, as he pursu'd the chase,
The babbling Echo had descry'd his face;
She, who in others' words her silence breaks,
Nor speaks herself but when another speaks.
Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft,
Of wonted speech; for though her voice was left,
Juno a curse did on her tongue impose,
To sport with ev'ry sentence in the close.
Full often when the goddess might have caught
Jove and her rivals in the very fault,
This nymph with subtle stories would delay
Her coming, till the lovers slipt away.
The goddess found out the deceit in time,

Liv'd in the shady covert of the woods,
In solitary caves and dark abodes;
Where pining wander'd the rejected fair,
Till, harass'd out, and worn away with care,
The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft,
Besides her bones and voice had nothing left.
Her bones are petrify'd, her voice is found
In vaults, where still it doubles ev'ry sound.

THE STORY OF NARCISSUS.

THUS did the nymphs in vain caress the boy, He still was lovely, but he still was coy; When one fair virgin of the slighted train Thus pray'd the gods, provok'd by his disdain, "Oh may he love like me, and love like me in vain!"

Ramnusia pity'd the neglected fair,

And with just vengeance answer'd to her pray'r.

There stands a fountain in a darksome wood,
Nor stain'd with falling leaves nor rising mud;
Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests,
Unsully'd by the touch of men or beasts;
High bow'rs of shady trees above it grow,
And rising grass and cheerful greens below.
Pleas'd with the form and coolness of the place,
And over-heated by the morning chase,
Narcissus on the grassy verdure lies:
But whilst within the crystal fount be tries
To quench his heat, he feels new heat arise.
For, as his own bright image he survey'd,
He fell in love with the fantastic shade;
And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmov'd,
Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he lov'd.
The well-turn'd neck and shoulders he descries,
The spacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes;
The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to
show,

And hair that round Apollo's head might flow;
With all the purple youthfulness of face,
That gently blushes in the wat'ry glass.
By his own flames consum'd the lover lies,
And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
To the cold water oft he joins his lips,

Oft catching at the beauteous shade he dips
His arms, as often from himself he slips.
Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue
With eager clasps, but loves he knows not who.
What could, fond youth, this helpless passion
move?

What kindled in thee this unpity'd love?
Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
With thee the colour'd shadow comes and goes,
Its empty being on thyself relies;

Step thou aside, and the frail charmer dies.

Still o'er the fountain's wat'ry gleam he stood,

Hence 'tis she prattles in a fainter tone,
With mimick sounds, and accents not her own.
This love-sick virgin, over-joy'd to find
The boy alone, still follow'd him behind:
When glowing warmly at her near approach,
As sulphur blazes at the taper's touch,
She long'd her hidden passion to reveal,
And tell her pains, but had not words to tell:
She can't begin, but waits for the rebound,
To catch his voice, and to return the sound.
The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move,
Still dash'd with blushes for her slighted love,

Still view'd his face, and languish'd as he view'd.
At length he rais'd his head, and thus began
To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain.
"You trees," says he, "and thou surrounding
grove,

Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love,
Tell me, if c'er within your shades did lie
A youth so tortur'd, so perplex'd as I?
I, who before me see the charming fair,
Whilst there he stands, and yet he stands not
there:

In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost:
And yet no bulwark'd town, nor distant coast,
Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen,
No mountains rise, nor oceans flow between

A shallow water hinders my embrace;
And yet the lovely mimic wears a face
That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join
My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine.
Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint;
Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant.
My charins an easy conquest have obtain'd
O'er other hearts, by thee alone disdain’d.
But why should I despair? I'm sure he burns
With equal flames, and languishes by turns.
Whene'er I stood, he offers at a kiss,

And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his.
His eyes with pleasure on my face he keeps,
He smiles my smiles, and when I weep he weeps.
Whene'er I speak, his moving lips appear
To utter something which I cannot hear.

Ah, wretched me! I now begin too late
To find out all the long-perplex'd deceit;
It is myself I love, myself I see;
The gay delusion is a part of me.
I kindle up the fires by which I burn,
And my own beauties from the well return.
Whom should I court? how utter my complaint?
Enjoyment but produces my restraint,
And too much plenty makes me die for want.
How gladly would I from myself remove!
And at a distance set the thing I love.
My breast is warm'd with such unusual fire,
I wish him absent whom I most desire.

And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh;
In all the pride of blooming youth I die:
Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve.
Oh might the visionary youth survive,
I should with joy my latest breath resign!
But, oh! I see his fate involv'd in mine."

This said, the weeping youth again return'd
To the clear fountain, where again he burn'd;
His tears defac'd the surface of the well,
With circle after circle, as they fell:
And now the lovely face but half appears,
O'er-run with wrinkles, and deform'd with tears.
"Ah, whither," cries Narcissus, “dost thou fly?
Let me still feed the flame by which I die;
Let me still see, thongh I'm no further blest."
Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast;
His naked bosom reddens with the blow,
In such a blush as purple clusters show,
Ere yet the Sun's autumnal heats refine
Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.
The glowing beauties of his breast he spies,
And with a new redoubled passion dies.
As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run,
And trickle into drops before the Sun;
So melts the youth, and languishes away,
His beauty withers, and his limbs decay;
And none of those attractive charms remain,
To which the slighted Echo su'd in vain.

She saw him in his present misery,' Whom, spite of all her wrongs, she griev'd to see. She answer'd sadly to the lover's moan, Sigh'd back his sighs, and groan'd to ev'ry groan: "Ah youth! belov'd in vain," Narcissus cries; "Ah youth! beloy'd in vain," the nymph replies. Farewell," says he; the parting sound scarce

fell

From his faint lips, but she reply'd, "Farewell."
Then on th' unwholesome earth he gasping lies,
Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes.
To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires,
And in the Stygian waves itself adinires.

For him the Naiads and the Dryads mouru, Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn; And now the sister nymphs prepare his urn: When, looking for his corpse, they only found A rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crown'd.

THE STORY OF PENTHEUS.

THIS sad event gave blind Tiresias fame,
Through Greece establish'd in a prophet's name.
Th' unhallow'd Pentheus only durst deride
The cheated people, and their eyeless guide.
To whom the prophet in his fury said,
Shaking the hoary honours of his head;
""Twere well, presumptuous man, 'twere well for
thee

If thou wert eyeless too, and blind, like me :
For the time comes, nay, 'tis already here,
When the young god's solemnities appear:
Which, if thou dost not with just rites adorn,
Thy impious carcase, into pieces torn,
Shall strew the woods, and hang on ev'ry thorn.
Then, then, remember what I now foretel,
And own the blind Tiresias saw too well."

Still Pentheus scorns him, and derides his skill;
But time did all the prophet's threats fulfil.
For now through prostrate Greece young Bacchua
rode,

Whilst howling matrons celebrate the god:
All ranks and sexes to his orgies ran,

To mingle in the pomps, and fill the train.
When Pentheus thus his wicked rage express'd;
"What madness, Thebans, has your souls pos-
sess'd?

Can hollow timbrels, can a drunken shout,
And the lewd clamours of a beastly rout,
Thus quell your courage? can the weak alarm
Of women's yells those stubborn souls disarm,
Whom nor the sword nor trumpet e'er could

fright,

Nor the loud din and horrour of a fight?
And you, our sires, who left your old abodes,
And fix'd in foreign earth your country gods;
Will you without a stroke your city yield,
And poorly quit an undisputed field?
But you, whose youth and vigour should inspire
Heroic warmth, and kindle martial fire,
Whom burnish'd arms and crested helmets grace,
Not flow'ry garlands and a painted face;
Remember him to whom you stand ally'd:
The serpent for his well of waters dy'd.
He fought the strong, do you his courage show,
And gain a conquest o'er a feeble foe.
If Thebes must fall, oh, might the Fates afford
A nobler doom from famine, fire, or sword.
Then might the Thebans perish with renown:
But now a beardless victor sacks the town;
Whom nor the prancing steed, nor pond'rous
shield,

Nor the hack'd helmet, nor the dusty field,
But the soft joys of luxury and ease,
The purple vests, and flow'ry garlands please.
Stand then aside, I'll make the counterfeit
Renounce his god-head, and confess the cheat,
Acrisius from the Grecian walls repell'd
This boasted pow'r: why then should Pentheus
yield?

Go quickly drag th' impostor boy to me;
I'll try the force of his divinity."

more.

So have I seen a river gently glide,
In a smooth course, and inoffensive tide;
But if with dams its current we restrain,
It bears down all, and foams along the plain.
But now his servants came besmear'd with
blood,

Sent by their haughty prince to seize the god;
The god they found not in the frantic throng,
But dragg'd a zealous votary along.

THE MARINERS TRANSFORMED TO DOLPHINS.

HIM Pentheus view'd with fury in his look, And scarce withheld his hands, whilst thus he spoke:

Nay, Heav'n forbid that I should bear away Within my vessel so divine a prey,'

Said 1; and stood to hinder their intent:
When Lycabas, a wretch for murder sent
From Tuscany, to suffer bauishment,
With his clench'd fist had struck me overboard,
Had not my hands in falling grasp'd a cord.

"His base confederates the fact approve; When Bacchus (for 'twas he) began to move, Wak'd by the noise and clamours which they rais'd; And shook his drowsy limbs, and round him gaz'd: 'What means this noise?' he cries; am I betray'd? Ah, whither, whither must I be convey'?' 'Fear not,' said Proreus,child, but tell us where You wish to land, and trust our friendly care.' To Naxos then direct your course,' said he; 'Naxos a hospitable port shall be

To each of you, a joyful home to me.'

Thy country and thy parentage reveal,

And, why thou join'st in these mad orries, tell." The captive views him with undaunted eyes, And, arm'd with inward innocence, replies. "From high Meonia's rocky shores I came, Of poor descent, Acates is my name: My sire was meanly born: no oxen plough'd His fruitful fields, nor in his pastures low'd. His whole estate within the waters lay; With lines and hooks he caught the finny prey, His art was all his livelihood; which he Thus with his dying lips bequeath'd to me: 'In streams, my boy, and rivers take thy chance; There swims,' said he, 'thy whole inheritance.' Long did I live on this poor legacy; Till tir'd with rocks, and my old native sky, To arts of navigation I inclin'd; Obser'd the turns and changes of the wind, Learn'd the fit havens, and began to note The stormy Hyades, the rainy Goat, The bright Taygete, and the shining Bears, With all the sailor's catalogue of stars.

"Once, as by chance for Delos I design'd, My vessel, driv'n by a strong gust of wind, Moor'd in a Chian creek; ashore I went, And all the following night in Chios spent. When Morning rose, I sent my mates to bring Supplies of water from a neighb'ring spring, Whilst I the motion of the winds explor'd; Then summon'd in my crew, and went aboard. Opheltes heard my summons, and with joy Brought to the shore a soft and lovely boy, With more than female sweetness in his look, Whom straggling in the neighb'ring fields he took. With fumes of wine the little captive glows, And nods with sleep, and staggers as he goes. "I view'd him nicely, and began to trace Each heav'nly feature, each immortal grace, And saw divinity in all his face.

I know not who,' said I, this god should be;
But that he is a god I plainly see:

And thou, whoe'er thou art, excuse the force
These men have us'd; and oh befriend our course!'
Pray not for us,' the nimble Dictys cry'd,
Dictys, that could the main-top mast bestride,
And down the ropes with active vigour slide.
To the same purpose old Epopeus spoke,
Who over-look'd the oars, and tim'd the stroke;

The perjur'd villains promise to comply,
And bid me hasten to unmoor the ship.
With eager joy I lanch into the deep;
And, heedless of the fraud, for Naxos stand.
They whisper oft, and beckon with the hand,
And give me signs, all anxious for their prey,
To tack about, and steer another way.

Then let some other to my post succeed,'
Said I, I'm guiltless of so foul a deed.'
What,' says Ethalion, 'must the ship's whole

crew

Follow your humour, and depend on you?'
And straight himself he seated at the prore,
And tack'd about, and sought another shore.
"The beauteous youth now found himself be-
tray'd,

And from the deck the rising waves survey'd,
And seem'd to weep, and as he wept he said;
And do you thus my easy faith beguile?
Thus do you bear me to my native isle?
Will such a multitude of men employ
Their strength against a weak defenceless boy?'
"In vain did I the godlike youth deplore;
The more I begg'd, they thwarted me the more.
And now by all the gods in Heav'n that hear
This solemn oath, by Bacchus' self, I swear,
The mighty miracle that did ensue,
Although it seems beyond belief, is true.
The vessel, fix'd and rooted in the flood,
Unmov'd by all the beating billows stood.
In vain the mariners would plough the main
With sails unfurl'd, and strike their oars in vain;.
Around their oars a twining ivy cleaves, [leaves:
And climbs the mast, and hides the cords in
The sails are cover'd with a cheerful green,
And berries in the fruitful canvass seen.
Amidst the waves a sudden forest rears
Its verdant head, and a new spring appears.
"The god we now behold with open'd eyes;
A herd of spotted panthers round him lies
In glaring forms; the grapy clusters spread
On his fair brows, and dangle on his head.
And whilst he frowns, and brandishes his spear,
My mates, surpris'd with madness or with fear,
Leap'd overboard; first perjur'd Madon found
Rough scales and fins his stiff'ning sides surround;
'Ah, what,' cries one, has thus transform'd thy
look?'

Straight his own mouth grew wider as he spoke

And now himself he views with like surprise.
Still at his oar th' industrious Libys plies;
But, as he plies, each busy arm shrinks in,
And by degrees is fashion'd to a fin.
Another, as he catches at a cord,
Misses his arms, and tumbling overboard,
With his broad fins and forky tail he laves
The rising surge, and flounces in the waves.
Thus all my crew transform'd around the ship,
Or dive below, or on the surface leap,
And spout the waves, and wanton in the deep.
Full nineteen sailors did the ship convey,
A shoal of nineteen dolphins round her play.
I only in my proper shape appear,
Speechless with wonder, and haif dead with fear,
Till Bacchus kindly bid me fear no more.
With him I landed on the Chian shore,
And him shall ever gratefully adore."
"This forging slave," says Pentheus, "would pre-

vail

O'er our just fury by a far-fetch'd tale:

Go let him feel the whips, the swords, the fire,
And in the tortures of the rack expire."
Th' officious servants hurry him away,
And the poor captive in a dungeon lay.

But, whilst the whips and tortures are prepar'd,
The gates fly open, of themselves unbarr'd;
At liberty th' unfetter'd captive stands,
And flings the loosen'd shackles from his hands.

THE DEATH OF PENTHEUS.

BUT Pentheus, grown more furious than before, Resolv'd to send his messengers no more, But went himself to the distracted throng, Where high Citharon echo'd with their song. And as the fiery war-horse paws the ground, And snorts and trembles at the trumpet's sound; Transported thus he heard the frantic rout, And rav'd and madden'd at the distant shout.

A spacious circuit on the hill there stood,
Level and wide, and skirted round with wood;
Here the rash Pentheus, with unhallow'd eyes,
The howling dames and mystic Orgies spies.
His mother sternly view'd him where he stood,
And kindled into madness as she view'd:
Her leafy jav'lin at her son she cast,

And cries, "The boar that lays our country waste!
The boar, my sisters! Aim the fatal dart,
And strike the brindled monster to the heart."

Pentheus astonish'd heard the dismal sound, And sees the yelling matrons gath'ring round: He sees, and weeps at his approaching fate, And begs for mercy, and repents too late.

Help! help! my aunt Autonoë," he cry'd; "Remember, how your own Actæon dy'd." Deaf to his cries, the frantic matron crops One stretch'd-out arm, the other Ino lops. In vain does Pentheus to his mother sue, And the raw bleeding stumps presents to view: His mother howl'd; and, heedless of his pray'r, Her trembling hand she twisted in his hair, "And this," she cry'd, "shall be Agave's share." When from the neck his struggling head she tore, And in her hands the ghastly visage bore. With pleasure all the hideous trunk survey; Then pull'd and tore the mangled limbs away, As starting in the pangs of death it lay. Soon as the wood its leafy honours casts, Blown off and scatter'd by autumnal blasts,

With such a sudden death lay Pentheus slain,
And in a thousand pieces strow'd the plain.
By so distinguishing a judgment aw'd,
The Thebans tremble, and confess the god.

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.
BOOK IV.

Translated by Mr. Eusden.

THE STORY OF ALCITHOE AND HER SISTERS. YET still Alcithöe perverse remains, And Bacchus still, and all his rites, disdains. Too rash, and madly bold, she bids him prove Himself a god, nor owns the son of Jove. Her sisters too unanimous agree, Faithful associates in impiety.

"Be this a solemn feast," the priest had said; "Be, with each mistress, unemploy'd each maid. With skins of beasts your tender limbs enclose, And with an ivy-crown adorn your brows, The leafy Thyrsus high in triumph bear, And give your locks to wanton in the air." These rites profan'd, the holy seer foreshow'd

A mourning people, and a vengeful god.
Matrons and pious wives obedience show,
Distaffs, and wool, half-spun, away they throw:
Then incense burn, and, Bacchus, thee adore,
Or lov'st thou Nysêus, or Lyæus more?

O! doubly got, O! doubly born, they sung, Thou mighty Bromius, hail, from light'ning sprung!

Hail, Thyon, Elelêus! each name is thine:
Or, listen parent of the genial vine!
läcchus! Evan! loudly they repeat,
And not one Grecian attribute forget,
Which to thy praise, great deity, belong,
Styl'd justly Liber in the Roman song.
Eternity of youth is thine! enjoy
Years roll'd on years, yet still a blooming boy.
In Heav'n thou shin'st with a superior grace;
Conceal thy horns, and 'tis a virgin's face.
Thou taught'st the tawny Indian to obey,
And Ganges, smoothly flowing, own'd thy sway.
Lycurgus, Pentheus, equally profane,

By thy just vengeance equally were slain.
By thee the Tuscans, who conspir'd to keep
Thee captive, plung'd, and cut with fins the deep.
With painted reins, all-glitt'ring from afar,
The spotted lynxes proudly draw thy car.
Around, the Bacchæ, and the Satyrs throng;
Behind, Silenus, drunk, lags slow along:
On his dull ass he nods from side to side,
Forbears to fall, yet half forgets to ride.
Still at thy near approach, applauses loud
Are heard, with yellings of the female crowd.
Timbrels, and boxen pipes, with mingled cries,
Swell up in sounds confud, and rend the skies.
Come, Bacchus, come propitious, all implore,
And act thy sacred orgies o'er and o'er.

But Mineus' daughters, while these rites were
pay'd,

At home, impertinently busy, stay'd.
Their wicked tasks they ply with various art,
And through the loom the sliding shuttle dart;
Or at the fire to comb the wool they stand,
Or twirl the spindle with a dextrous hand.
Guilty themselves, they force the guiltless in;
Their maids who share the labour, share the sin.