Her comely tresses, trembling as she stood,
Down her fine neck with easy motion flow'd;
Then, darting round a proud disdainful look,
In haughty tone her hasty passion broke,
And thus began; "What madness this, to court
A goddess, founded merely on report?
Dare ye a poor pretended pow'r invoke,
While yet no altars to my godhead smoke!
Mine, whose immediate lineage stands confess'd
From Tantalus, the only mortal guest
That e'er the gods admitted to their feast.
A sister of the Pleiads gave me birth;
And Atlas, mightiest mountain upon Earth,
Who bears the globe of all the stars above,
My grandsire was, and Atlas sprung from Jove.
The Theban towns my majesty adore,
And neighb'ring Phrygia trembles at my pow'r:
Rais'd by my husband's late, with turrets crown'd,
Our lofty city stands secur'd around.
Within my court, where'er I turn my eyes,
Unbounded treasures to my prospect rise:
With these my face I modestly may name,
As not unworthy of so high a claim;
Seven are my daughters of a form divine,
With seven fair sons, an indefective line.
Go, fools! consider this; and ask the cause
From which my pride its strong presumption
Consider this; and then prefer to me [draws:
Caus the Titan's vagrant progeny;
To whom, in travel, the whole spacious earth
No room afforded for her spurious birth.
Not the least part in earth, in Heav'n, or seas,
Would grant your out-law'd goddess any ease:
'Till pitying hers, from his own wand'ring case,
Delos, the floating island, gave a place.
There she a mother was, of two at most;
Only the seventh part of what I boast.
My joys are all beyond suspicion fix'd,
With no pollutions of misfortune mix'd;
Safe on the basis of my pow'r I stand,
Above the reach of Fortune's fickle hand.
Lessen she may my inexhausted store,
And much destroy, yet still must leave me more.
Suppose it possible that some may die
Of this my numerous lovely progeny;
Still with Latona I might safely vie:
Who, by her scanty breed, scarce fit to name,
But just escapes the childless woman's shame.
Go then, with speed your laurel'd heads uncrown,
And leave the silly farce you have begun."

The tim'rous throng their sacred rites forbore,
And from their heads the verdant laurel tore;
Their haughty queen they with regret obey'd,
And still in gentle murmurs softly pray'd.

High on the top of Cynthus' shady mount,
With grief the goddess saw the base affront;
And, the abuse revolving in her breast,
The mother her twin-offspring thus addrest:

"Lo I, my children, who with comfort knew
Your godlike birth, and thence my glory drew;
And thence have claim'd precedency of place
From all but Juno of the heav'nly race,
Must now despair, and languish in disgrace.
My godhead question'd, and all rites divine,
Unless you succour, banish'd from my shrine,
Nay more, the imp of Tantalus has flung
Reflexions with her vile paternal tongue;
Has dar'd prefer her mortal breed to mine,
And call'd me childless; which, just Fate, may
she repine!"

When to urge more the goddess was prépar'd,
Phoebus in haste replies, "Too much we've heard,
And ev'ry moment's lost, while vengeance is de-
ferr'd."

Diana spoke the same. Then both enshroud
Their heav'nly bodies in a sable cloud;
And to the Theban tow'rs descending light,
Through the soft yielding air direct their flight.
Without the wall there lies a champain
ground

With even surface, far extending round,
Beaten and level'd, while it daily feels

The trampling horse, and chariot's grinding
Part of proud Niobe's young rival breed, [wheels.
Practising there to ride the manag'd steed,
Their bridles boss'd with gold, were mounted high
On stately furniture of Tyrian dye.
Of these, Ismenos, who by birth had been
The first fair issue of the fruitful queen,
Just as he drew the rein to guide his horse
Around the compass of the circling course,
Sigh'd deeply, and the pangs of smart express'd,
While the shaft stuck engorg'd within his breast:
And, the reins dropping from his dying hand,
He sunk quite down, and tumbled on the sand.
Sipylus next the rattling quiver heard,
And with full speed for his escape prepar'd.
As when the pilot from the black'ning skies
A gath'ring storm of wintry rain descries,
His sails unfurl'd, and crowded all with wind,
He strives to leave the threat'ning cloud behind:
So fled the youth; but an unerring dart
O'ertook him, quick discharg'd, and sped with art;
Fix'd in his neck behind, it trembling stood,
And at his throat display'd the point besmear'd
with blood.

Prone, as his posture was, he tumbled o'er,
And bath'd his courser's mane with steaming gore.
Next at young Phædimus they took their aim,
And Tantalus, who bore his grandsire's name:
These, when their other exercise was done,
To try the wrestler's oily sport begun:
And, straining ev'ry nerve, their skill express'd
In closest grapple, joining breast to breast:
When from the bending bow an arrow sent,
Join'd as they were, thro' both their bodies went:
Both groan'd, and writhing both their limbs with
They fell together bleeding on the plain; [pain,
Then both their languid eyeballs faintly roll,
And thus together breathe away their soul,
With grief Alphenor saw their doleful plight,
And smote his breast, and sicken'd at the sight;
Then to their succour ran with eager haste,
And, fondly griev'd, their stiffning limbs em-
brac'd;

But in the action falls: a thrilling dart,
By Phoebus guided, pierc'd him to the heart.
This, as they drew it forth, his midriff tore,
Its barbed point the fleshy fragments bore,
And let the soul gush out in streams of purple
But Damasichthon, by a double wound, [gore.
Beardless, and young, lay gasping on the ground.
Fix'd in his sinewy ham, the steely point
Stuck through his knee, and pierc'd the nervous
And, as he stoop'd to tug the painful dart, [joint:
Another stuck him in a vital part;

Shot through his wezon, by the wing it hung,
The life-blood forc'd it out, and darting upward
Ilioneus, the last, with terrour stands, [sprung.
Lifting in pray'r his unavailing hands;

And, ignorant from whom his griefs arise,

46

Spare me, O all ye heav'nly pow'rs," he cries:
Phoebus was touch'd too late, the sounding bow
Had sent the shaft, and struck the fatal blow;
Which yet but gently gor'd his tender side,
So by a slight and easy wound he dy'd.

Swift to the mother's ears the rumour came,
And doleful sighs the heavy news proclaim;
With anger and surprise inflam'd by turns,
In furious rage her haughty stomach burns:
First she disputes th' effects of heav'nly pow'r,
Then at their daring boldness wonders more;
For poor Amphion with sore grief distrest,
Hoping to sooth his cares by endless rest,
Had sheath'd a dagger in his wretched breast.
And she, who toss'd her high disdainful head,
When through the streets in solemn pomp she led
The throng that from Latona's altar fled,
Assuming state beyond the proudest queen,
Was now the miserablest object seen.
Prostrate among the clay-cold dead she fell,
And kiss'd an undistinguish'd last farewell.
Then, her pale arms advancing to the skies,
"Cruel Latona!triumph now," she cries.
"My grieving soul in bitter anguish drench,
And with my woes your thirsty passion quench;
Feast your black malice at a price thus dear,
While the sore pangs of sev'n such deaths I bear.
Triumph, too cruel rival, and display [day.
Your conqu'ring standard; for you've won the
Yet l'll excel; for yet, though sev'n are slain,
Superior still in number I remain." [sound
Scarce had she spoke; the bow-string's twanging
Was heard, and dealt fresh terrours all around;
Which all, but Niobè alone, confound.
Stann'd, and obdurate by her load of grief,
Insensible she sits, nor hopes relief.

Before the fun'ral biers, ail weeping sad,
Her daughters stood, in vests of sable clad.
When one, surpris'd, and stung with sudden smart,
In vain attempts to draw the sticking dart:
Put to grim death her blooming youth resigns,
And o'er her brothers' corpse her dying head re-
clines.

This to assuage her mother's anguish tries,
And, silenc'd in the pious action, dies;
Shot by a secret arrow, wing'd with death,
Her falt'ring lips but only gasp'd for breath.
One, on her dying sister, breathes her last;
Vainly in flight another's hopes are plac'd:
This hiding, from her fate a shelter seeks;
That trembling stands, and fills the air with
shrieks.

And all in vain; for now all six had found
Their way to death, each by a diff'rent wound.
The last with eager care the mother veil'd,
Behind her spreading mantle close conceal'd,
And with her body guarded, as a shield.
"Only for this, this youngest, I implore,
Grant me this one request, I ask no more;
O grant me this!" she passionately cries:

But while she speaks, the destin'd virgin dies,

No more her pliant tongue its motion keeps,
But stands congeal'd within her frozen lips.
Stagnate, and dull, within her purple veins,
Its current stopp'd, the lifeless blood remains.
Her feet their usual offices refuse,

Her arms and neck their graceful gestures lose:
Action and life from ev'ry part are gone,
And ev'r her entrails turn to solid stone;
Yet still she weeps, and whirl'd by stormy winds,
Borne through the air, her native country finds;
There fix'd, she stands upon a bleaky hill,
There yet her marble cheeks eternal tears distil.

THE PEASANTS OF LYCIA TRANSFORMED TO
FROGS.

A due regard for each peculiar god:
THEN all, reclaim'd by this example, show'd
Both men and women their devoirs express'd,
And great Latona's awful pow'r confess'd.
Then, tracing instances of older time,
To suit the nature of the present crime,
Thus one begins his tale: "Where Lycia yields
A golden harvest from its fertile fields,
Some churlish peasants, in the days of yore,
Provok'd the goddess to exert her pow'r.
The thing indeed the meanness of the place
Has made obscure, surprising as it was;
But I myself once happen'd to behold
The famous lake of which the story's told.
My father then, worn out by length of days,
Nor able to sustain the tedious ways,
Me with a guide had sent the plains to roam,
And drive his well-fed straggling heifers home.
Here, as we saunter'd through the verdant meads,
We spy'd a lake o'er-grown with trembling reeds,
Whose wavy tops an op'ning scene disclose,
From which an antic smoky altar rose.
I, as my superstitious guide had done,
Yet I inquir'd to whom the altar stood,
Stopp'd short, and bless'd myself, and then went
Faunus, the Naiads, or some native god?
No sylvan deity, my friend replies,
Enshrin'd within this hallow'd altar lies.
For this, O youth, to that fam'd goddess stands,
Whom, at th' imperial Juno's rough commands,
Of ev'ry quarter of the earth bereav'd,
Delos, the floating isle, at length receiv'd.
Who there, in spite of enemies, brought forth,
Beneath an olive shade, ber great twin-birth.
"Hence too she fled the furious stepdame's
pow'r,

[on;

And in her arms a double godhead bore;
And now the borders of fair Lycia gain'd,
Just when the summer solstice parch'd the land.
With thirst the goddess languishing, no more
Her empty'd breast would yield its milky store;
When, from below, the smiling valley show'd
A silver lake that in its bottom flow'd:
A sort of clowns were reaping, near the bank,
The bending osier, and the bulrush dank;
The cress, and water-lily, fragrant weed,
Whose juicy stalk the liquid fountains feed.
The goddess came, and kneeling on the brink,
Stoop'd at the fresh repast, prepar'd to drink.
Then thus, being hinder'd by the rabble race,
In accents mild expostulates the case.
"Water I only ask, and sure 'tis hard
From Nature's common rights to be debarr'd;
This, as the genial Sun, and vital air,
Should flow alike to ev'ry creature's share,

Yet still I ask, and as a favour crave,
That which, a public bounty, Nature gave.
Nor do I seek my weary limbs to drench;
Only, with one cool draught, my thirst I'd quench.
Now from my throat the usual moisture dries,
And ev❜n my voice in broken accents dies:
One draught as dear as life I should esteem,
And water, now I thirst, would néctar seem:
Oh! let my little babes your pity move,
And melt your hearts to charitable love;
They (as by chance they did) extend to you
Their little hands, and my request pursue.' [due,
"Whom would these soft persuasions not sub-
Though the most rustic and unmanner'd crew?
Yet they the goddess's request refuse,
And with rude words reproachfully abuse:
Nay more, with spiteful feet the villains trod
O'er the soft bottom of the marshy flood,
And blacken'd all the lake with clouds of rising
mud.

"Her thirst by indignation was suppress'd;
Bent on revenge, the goddess stood confess'd,
Her suppliant hands uplifting to the skies,
For a redress to Heav'n she now applies.
And, May you live,' she passionately cry'd,
• Doom'd in that pool for ever to abide.'
"The goddess has her wish; for now they choose
To plunge, and dive among the watry ooze;
Sometimes they show their head above the brim,
And on the glassy surface spread to swim;
Often upon the bank their station take,
Then spring, and leap into the cooly lake.
Still, void of shame, they lead a clam'rous life,
And, croaking, still scold on in endless strife;
Compell'd to live beneath the liquid stream,
Where still they quarrel, and attempt to scream.
Now, from their bloated throat, their voice puts
Imperfect murmurs in a hoarser tone;
Their noisy jaws, with bawling now grown wide,
An ugly sight! extend on either side:

[on

Their motley back, streak'd with a list of green,
Join'd to their head, without a neck is seen;
And, with a belly broad and white, they look
Mere frogs, and still frequent the muddy brook."

THE FATE OF MARSYAS.

SCARCE had the man this famous story told,
Of vengeance on the Lycians shown of old,
When straight another pictures to their view
The Satyr's fate, whom angry Phoebus slew;
Who, rais'd with high conceit, and puff'd with
[pride,
At his own pipe the skilful god defy'd.
"Why do you tear me from myself," he cries?
"Ah cruel! must my skin be made the prize?
"This for a silly pipe?" he roaring said,
Meanwhile the skin from off his limbs was
flay'd.

All bare, and raw, one large continu'd wound,
With streams of blood his body bath'd the ground.
The blueish veins their trembling pulse disclos'd,
The stringy nerves lay naked, and expos'd;
His guts appear'd, distinctly each express'd,
With ev'ry shining fibre of his breast.

The fauns, and sylvans, with the nymphs

that rove

Among the satyrs in the shady grove;
Olympus, known of old, and ev'ry swain
That fed or flock or herd upon the plain,
Bewail'd the loss; and with their tears that flow'd,
A kindly moisture on the earth bestow'd;

That soon, conjoin'd, and in a body rang'd,
Sprung from the ground, to limpid water chang'd;
Which, down through Phrygia's rocks, a mighty
[name.
stream,

Comes tumbling to the sea, and Marsya is its

THE STORY OF PELOPS.

FROM these relations straight the people turn
To present truths, and lost Amphion mourn:
The mother most was blam'd, yet some relate
That Pelops pity'd, and bewail'd her fate,
And stript his clothes, and laid his shoulder bare,
And made the iv'ry miracle appear.
This shoulder, from the first, was form'd of flesh,
As lively as the other, and as fresh;
But, when the youth was by his father slain,
The gods restor'd his mangled limbs again;
Only that place which joins the neck and arin,
The rest untouch'd, was found to suffer harm:
The loss of which an iv'ry piece sustain'd;
And thus the youth his limbs and life regain'd.

THE STORY OF TEREUS, PROCNE, AND
PHILOMELA.

To Thebes the neighb'ring princes all repair,
And with condolence the misfortune share.
Each bord'ring state in solemn form address'd,
And each betimes a friendly grief express'd.
Argos, with Sparta's and Mycenae's towns,
And Calydon, yet free from fierce Diana's frowns;
Corinth for finest brass well fam'd of old,
Orchomenos for men of courage bold:
Cleonæ lying in the lowly dale,

And rich Messenè with its fertile vale:
Pylos, for Nestor's city after fam'd,
And Trozen, not as yet from Pitheus nam'd:
And those fair cities, which are hemm'd around
By double seas within the Isthmian ground;
And those, which farther from the sea-coast stand,
Lodg'd in the bosom of the spacious land.

Who can believe it? Athens was the last:
Though for politeness fam'd for ages past.
For a strait siege, which then their walls en-
Such acts of kind humanity oppos'd:
And thick with ships, from foreign nations bound,
Seaward their city lay invested round.

[clos'd,

These, with auxiliar forces led from far,
Tereus of Thrace, brave, and inur'd to war,
Had quite defeated, and obtain❜d a name,
The warrior's due, among the sons of Faine.
This, with his wealth, and pow'r, and ancient line,
From Mars deriv'd, Pandion's thoughts incline
His daughter Procnè with the prince to join.

Nor Hymen, nor the Graces here preside,
Nor Juno to befriend the blooming bride;
But fiends with fun'ral brands the process led,
And furies waited at the genial bed:
And all night long the screeching owl aloof,
With baleful notes, sat brooding o'er the roof.
With such ill omens was the match begun,
That made them parents of a hopeful son.
Now Thrace congratulates their seeming joy,
And they, in thankful rites, their minds em
ploy.

If the fair queen's espousals pleas'd before,
Itys, the new-born prince, now pleases more;
And each bright day, the birth and bridal feast,
Were kept with hallow'd pomp above the rest.
So far true happiness may lie conceal'd,
When by false lights we fancy 'tis reveal'd'