Chapter X: Preface: To the Translation of Ovid's Epistles.2 (5)

Nor him alone produced the fruitful queen;
But Cinyras, who like his sire had been
A happy prince, had he not been a sire.
Daughters and fathers, from my song retire!
I sing of horror; and, could I prevail,
You should not hear, or not believe my tale.
Yet if the pleasure of my song be such,
That you will hear, and credit me too much,
Attentive listen to the last event,
And with the sin believe the punishment:
Since nature could behold so dire a crime,
I gratulate at least my native clime,
That such a land, which such a monster bore,
So far is distant from our Thracian shore.
Let Araby extol her happy coast,
Her cinnamon and sweet amomum boast;
Her fragrant flowers, her trees with precious tears, }
Her second harvests, and her double years; }
How can the land be called so blessed, that Myrrha bears?}
Not all her odorous tears can cleanse her crime,
Her plant alone deforms the happy clime;
Cupid denies to have inflamed thy heart,
Disowns thy love, and vindicates his dart;
Some fury gave thee those infernal pains,
And shot her venomed vipers in thy veins.
To hate thy sire, had merited a curse;
But such an impious love deserved a worse.
The neighbouring monarchs, by thy beauty led,
Contend in crowds, ambitious of thy bed;
The world is at thy choice, except but one,
Except but him thou canst not choose alone.
She knew it too, the miserable maid, }
Ere impious love her better thoughts betrayed, }
And thus within her secret soul she said:-- }
Ah, Myrrha! whither would thy wishes tend?
Ye Gods, ye sacred laws, my soul defend
From such a crime as all mankind detest,
And never lodged before in human breast!
But is it sin? Or makes my mind alone
The imagined sin? For nature makes it none.
What tyrant then these envious laws began,
Made not for any other beast but man!
The father-bull his daughter may bestride,
The horse may make his mother-mare a bride;
What piety forbids the lusty ram,
Or more salacious goat, to rut their dam?
The hen is free to wed her chick she bore,
And make a husband, whom she hatched before.
All creatures else are of a happier kind, }
Whom nor ill-natured laws from pleasure bind, }
Nor thoughts of sin disturb their peace of mind. }
But man a slave of his own making lives;
The fool denies himself what nature gives;
Too busy senates, with an over-care
To make us better than our kind can bear,
Have dashed a spice of envy in the laws,
And, straining up too high, have spoiled the cause.
Yet some wise nations break their cruel chains,
And own no laws, but those which love ordains;
Where happy daughters with their sires are joined,
And piety is doubly paid in kind.
O that I had been born in such a clime,
Not here, where 'tis the country makes the crime!...
But whither would my impious fancy stray?
Hence hopes, and ye forbidden thoughts, away!
His worth deserves to kindle my desires,
But with the love that daughters bear to sires.
Then had not Cinyras my father been,
What hindered Myrrha's hopes to be his queen?
But the perverseness of my fate is such,
That he's not mine, because he's mine too much:
Our kindred-blood debars a better tie;
He might be nearer, were he not so nigh.
Eyes and their objects never must unite,
Some distance is required to help the sight.
Fain would I travel to some foreign shore, }
Never to see my native country more, }
So might I to myself myself restore; }
So might my mind these impious thoughts remove,
And, ceasing to behold, might cease to love.
But stay I must, to feed my famished sight,
To talk, to kiss; and more, if more I might:...
More, impious maid! What more canst thou design? }
To make a monstrous mixture in thy line, }
And break all statutes human and divine? }
Canst thou be called (to save thy wretched life)
Thy mother's rival, and thy father's wife?
Confound so many sacred names in one,
Thy brother's mother! sister to thy son!
And fear'st thou not to see the infernal bands,
Their heads with snakes, with torches armed their hands,
Full at thy face the avenging brands to bear,
And shake the serpents from their hissing hair?
But thou in time the increasing ill controul,
Nor first debauch the body by the soul;
Secure the sacred quiet of thy mind,
And keep the sanctions nature has designed.
Suppose I should attempt, the attempt were vain;
No thoughts like mine his sinless soul profane,
Observant of the right; and O, that he
Could cure my madness, or be mad like me!--
Thus she; but Cinyras, who daily sees
A crowd of noble suitors at his knees,
Among so many, knew not whom to choose,
Irresolute to grant, or to refuse;
But, having told their names, inquired of her,
Who pleased her best, and whom she would prefer?
The blushing maid stood silent with surprise,
And on her father fixed her ardent eyes,
And, looking, sighed; and, as she sighed, began
Round tears to shed, that scalded as they ran.
The tender sire, who saw her blush, and cry,
Ascribed it all to maiden-modesty;
And dried the falling drops, and, yet more kind,
He stroked her cheeks, and holy kisses joined:
She felt a secret venom fire her blood,
And found more pleasure than a daughter should;
And, asked again, what lover of the crew
She liked the best? she answered, one like you.
Mistaking what she meant, her pious will
He praised, and bade her so continue still:
The word of "pious" heard, she blushed with shame
Of secret guilt, and could not bear the name.
'Twas now the mid of night, when slumbers close
Our eyes, and sooth our cares with soft repose;
But no repose could wretched Myrrha find,
Her body rolling, as she rolled her mind:
Mad with desire, she ruminates her sin,
And wishes all her wishes o'er again:
Now she despairs, and now resolves to try;
Would not, and would again, she knows not why;
Stops and returns, makes and retracts the vow;
Fain would begin, but understands not how:
As when a pine is hewn upon the plains,
And the last mortal stroke alone remains,
Labouring in pangs of death, and threatening all,
This way and that she nods, considering where to fall;
So Myrrha's mind, impelled on either side,
Takes every bent, but cannot long abide:
Irresolute on which she should rely,
At last, unfixed in all, is only fixed to die.
On that sad thought she rests; resolved on death,
She rises, and prepares to choke her breath:
Then while about the beam her zone she ties,
Dear Cinyras, farewell, she softly cries;
For thee I die, and only wish to be
Not hated, when thou know'st I die for thee:
Pardon the crime, in pity to the cause.--
This said, about her neck the noose she draws.
The nurse, who lay without, her faithful guard,
Though not the words, the murmurs overheard,
And sighs and hollow sounds; surprised with fright,
She starts, and leaves her bed, and springs a light;
Unlocks the door, and, entering out of breath,
The dying saw, and instruments of death.
She shrieks, she cuts the zone with trembling haste,
And in her arms her fainting charge embraced;
Next (for she now had leisure for her tears)
She weeping asked, in these her blooming years,
What unforeseen misfortune caused her care,
To loathe her life, and languish in despair
The maid, with downcast eyes, and mute with grief,
For death unfinished, and ill-timed relief,
Stood sullen to her suit: the beldame pressed
The more to know, and bared her withered breast;
Adjured her, by the kindly food she drew
From those dry founts, her secret ill to shew.
Sad Myrrha sighed, and turned her eyes aside;
The nurse still urged, and would not be denied;
Nor only promised secrecy, but prayed
She might have leave to give her offered aid.
Good will, she said, my want of strength supplies,
And diligence shall give what age denies.
If strong desires thy mind to fury move,
With charms and medicines I can cure thy love;
If envious eyes their hurtful rays have cast,
More powerful verse shall free thee from the blast;
If heaven, offended, sends thee this disease,
Offended heaven with prayers we can appease.
What then remains, that can these cares procure?
Thy house is flourishing; thy fortune sure;
Thy careful mother yet in health survives,
And, to thy comfort, thy kind father lives.--
The virgin started at her father's name,
And sighed profoundly, conscious of the shame;
Nor yet the nurse her impious love divined,
But yet surmised, that love disturbed her mind.
Thus thinking, she pursued her point, and laid
And lull'd within her lap the mourning maid;
Then softly soothed her thus,--I guess your grief;
You love, my child; your love shall find relief.
My long experienced age shall be your guide;
Rely on that, and lay distrust aside;
No breath of air shall on the secret blow,
Nor shall (what most you fear) your father know.
Struck once again, as with a thunder-clap,
The guilty virgin bounded from her lap,
And threw her body prostrate on the bed,
And, to conceal her blushes, hid her head:
There silent lay, and warned her with her hand
To go; but she received not the command;
Remaining still importunate to know.
Then Myrrha thus; Or ask no more, or go;
I pr'ythee go, or, staying, spare my shame;
What thou wouldst hear, is impious even to name.--
At this, on high the beldame holds her hands,
And trembling, both with age and terrour, stands;
Adjures, and, falling at her feet, intreats,
Sooths her with blandishments, and frights with threats,
To tell the crime intended, or disclose
What part of it she knew, if she no farther knows;
And last, if conscious to her counsel made,
Confirms anew the promise of her aid.
Now Myrrha raised her head; but soon, oppressed }
With shame, reclined it on her nurse's breast; }
Bathed it with tears, and strove to have confessed: }
Twice she began, and stopped; again she tried;
The faultering tongue its office still denied;
At last her veil before her face she spread, }
And drew a long preluding sigh, and said, }
O happy mother, in thy marriage bed!... }
Then groaned, and ceased.--The good old woman shook,
Stiff were her eyes, and ghastly was her look;
Her hoary hair upright with horror stood,
Made (to her grief) more knowing than she would;
Much she reproached, and many things she said,
To cure the madness of the unhappy maid:
In vain; for Myrrha stood convict of ill;
Her reason vanquished, but unchanged her will;
Perverse of mind, unable to reply,
She stood resolved or to possess, or die.
At length the fondness of a nurse prevailed
Against her better sense, and virtue failed:
Enjoy, my child, since such is thy desire,
Thy love, she said; she durst not say, thy sire.
Live, though unhappy, live on any terms;
Then with a second oath her faith confirms.
The solemn feast of Ceres now was near,
When long white linen stoles the matrons wear;
Ranked in procession walk the pious train,
Offering first-fruits, and spikes of yellow grain;
For nine long nights the nuptial bed they shun,
And, sanctifying harvest, lie alone.
Mixed with the crowd, the queen forsook her lord,
And Ceres' power with secret rites adored.
The royal couch now vacant for a time,
The crafty crone, officious in her crime,
The curst occasion took; the king she found
Easy with wine, and deep in pleasure drowned,
Prepared for love; the beldame blew the flame,
Confessed the passion, but concealed the name.
Her form she praised; the monarch asked her years,
And she replied, the same that Myrrha bears.
Wine and commended beauty fired his thought;
Impatient, he commands her to be brought.
Pleased with her charge performed, she hies her home,
And gratulates the nymph, the task was overcome.
Myrrha was joyed the welcome news to hear;
But, clogged with guilt, the joy was insincere
So various, so discordant is the mind,
That in our will, a different will we find.
Ill she presaged, and yet pursued her lust;
For guilty pleasures give a double gust.
'Twas depth of night; Arctophylax had driven
His lazy wain half round the northern heaven,
When Myrrha hastened to the crime desired.
The moon beheld her first, and first retired;
The stars, amazed, ran backward from the sight,
And, shrunk within their sockets, lost their light.
Icarius first withdraws his holy flame;
The Virgin sign, in heaven the second name,
Slides down the belt, and from her station flies,
And night with sable clouds involves the skies.
Bold Myrrha still pursues her black intent; }
She stumbled thrice, (an omen of the event;) }
Thrice shrieked the funeral owl, yet on she went, }
Secure of shame, because secure of sight;
Even bashful sins are impudent by night.
Linked hand in hand, the accomplice and the dame,
Their way exploring, to the chamber came;
The door was ope, they blindly grope their way,
Where dark in bed the expecting monarch lay:
Thus far her courage held, but here forsakes;
Her faint knees knock at every step she makes.
The nearer to her crime, the more within
She feels remorse, and horror of her sin;
Repents too late her criminal desire,
And wishes, that unknown she could retire.
Her, lingering thus, the nurse, who feared delay
The fatal secret might at length betray,
Pulled forward, to complete the work begun,
And said to Cinyras,--Receive thy own!...
Thus saying, she delivered kind to kind,
Accursed, and their devoted bodies joined.
The sire, unknowing of the crime, admits
His bowels, and profanes the hallowed sheets.
He found she trembled, but believed she strove, }
With maiden modesty, against her love; }
And sought, with flattering words, vain fancies to remove.}
Perhaps he said, My daughter, cease thy fears,--
Because the title suited with her years;
And, Father,--she might whisper him again,
That names might not be wanting to the sin.
Full of her sire, she left the incestuous bed,
And carried in her womb the crime she bred.
Another, and another night she came;
For frequent sin had left no sense of shame;
Till Cinyras desired to see her face,
Whose body he had held in close embrace,
And brought a taper; the revealer, light,
Exposed both crime, and criminal, to sight.
Grief, rage, amazement, could no speech afford,
But from the sheath he drew the avenging sword;
The guilty fled; the benefit of night,
That favoured first the sin, secured the flight.
Long wandering through the spacious fields, she bent
Her voyage to the Arabian continent;
Then passed the region which Panchæa joined,
And flying left the palmy plains behind.
Nine times the moon had mewed her horns; at length
With travel weary, unsupplied with strength,
And with the burden of her womb oppressed,
Sabæan fields afford her needful rest;
There, loathing life, and yet of death afraid,
In anguish of her spirit, thus she prayed:--
Ye powers, if any so propitious are
To accept my penitence, and hear my prayer,
Your judgments, I confess, are justly sent;
Great sins deserve as great a punishment:
Yet, since my life the living will profane,
And since my death the happy dead will stain,
A middle state your mercy may bestow,
Betwixt the realms above, and those below;
Some other form to wretched Myrrha give,
Nor let her wholly die, nor wholly live.--
The prayers of penitents are never vain;
At least, she did her last request obtain;
For, while she spoke, the ground began to rise,
And gathered round her feet, her legs, and thighs;
Her toes in roots descend, and, spreading wide,
A firm foundation for the trunk provide;
Her solid bones convert to solid wood,
To pith her marrow, and to sap her blood;
Her arms are boughs, her fingers change their kind,
Her tender skin is hardened into rind.
And now the rising tree her womb invests,
Now, shooting upwards still, invades her breasts,
And shades the neck; and, weary with delay,
She sunk her head within, and met it half the way.
And though with outward shape she lost her sense,
With bitter tears she wept her last offence;
And still she weeps, nor sheds her tears in vain;
For still the precious drops her name retain.
Mean time the misbegotten infant grows,
And, ripe for birth, distends with deadly throes
The swelling rind, with unavailing strife,
To leave the wooden womb, and pushes into life.
The mother-tree, as if oppressed with pain,
Writhes here and there, to break the bark, in vain;
And, like a labouring woman, would have prayed,
But wants a voice to call Lucina's aid;
The bending bole sends out a hollow sound,
And trickling tears fall thicker on the ground.
The mild Lucina came uncalled, and stood
Beside the struggling boughs, and heard the groaning wood;
Then reached her midwife-hand, to speed the throes,
And spoke the powerful spells that babes to birth disclose.
The bark divides, the living load to free,
And safe delivers the convulsive tree.
The ready nymphs receive the crying child,
And wash him in the tears the parent plant distilled.
They swathed him with their scarfs; beneath him spread
The ground with herbs; with roses raised his head.
The lovely babe was born with every grace;
Even envy must have praised so fair a face:
Such was his form, as painters, when they show
Their utmost art, on naked loves bestow;
And that their arms no difference might betray,
Give him a bow, or his from Cupid take away.
Time glides along, with undiscovered haste,
The future but a length behind the past,
So swift are years; the babe, whom just before
His grandsire got, and whom his sister bore;
The drop, the thing which late the tree inclosed;
And late the yawning bark to life exposed;
A babe, a boy, a beauteous youth appears;[29]
And lovelier than himself at riper years.
Now to the queen of love he gave desires,
And, with her pains, revenged his mother's fires.

FOOTNOTES:

[29] Adonis.

CEYX AND ALCYONE.

OUT OF THE TENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

CONNECTION OF THIS FABLE WITH THE FORMER.

_Ceyx, the son of Lucifer, (the morning star,) and king of Trachin, in Thessaly, was married to Alcyone, daughter to Æolus, god of the winds. Both the husband and the wife loved each other with an entire affection. Dædalion, the elder brother of Ceyx, whom he succeeded, having been turned into a falcon by Apollo, and Chione, Dædalion's daughter, slain by Diana. Ceyx prepares a ship to sail to Claros, there to consult the oracle of Apollo, and (as Ovid seems to intimate) to enquire how the anger of the Gods might be atoned._

These prodigies affect the pious prince;
But, more perplexed with those that happened since,
He purposes to seek the Clarian God, }
Avoiding Delphos, his more famed abode; }
Since Phlegian robbers made unsafe the road. }
Yet could not he from her he loved so well,
The fatal voyage, he resolved, conceal;
But when she saw her lord prepared to part,
A deadly cold ran shivering to her heart;
Her faded cheeks are changed to boxen hue,
And in her eyes the tears are ever new;
She thrice essayed to speak; her accents hung,
And, faultering, died unfinished on her tongue,
Or vanished into sighs; with long delay
Her voice returned; and found the wonted way.
Tell me, my lord, she said, what fault unknown }
Thy once beloved Alcyone has done? }
Whither, ah whither is thy kindness gone! }
Can Ceyx then sustain to leave his wife,
And unconcerned forsake the sweets of life?
What can thy mind to this long journey move,
Or need'st thou absence to renew thy love?
Yet, if thou goest by land, though grief possess
My soul even then, my fears will be the less.
But ah! be warned to shun the watery way,
The face is frightful of the stormy sea.
For late I saw a drift disjointed planks,
And empty tombs erected on the banks.
Nor let false hopes to trust betray thy mind,
Because my sire in caves constrains the wind,
Can with a breath a clamorous rage appease,
They fear his whistle, and forsake the seas:
Not so; for, once indulged, they sweep the main,
Deaf to the call, or, hearing, hear in vain;
But bent on mischief, bear the waves before,
And, not content with seas, insult the shore;
When ocean, air, and earth, at once engage,
And rooted forests fly before their rage;
At once the clashing clouds to battle move,
And lightnings run across the fields above:
I know them well, and marked their rude comport,
While yet a child, within my father's court;
In times of tempest they command alone,
And he but sits precarious on the throne;
The more I know, the more my fears augment,
And fears are oft prophetic of the event.
But if not fears, or reasons will prevail,
If fate has fixed thee obstinate to sail,
Go not without thy wife, but let me bear }
My part of danger with an equal share, }
And present suffer what I only fear; }
Then o'er the bounding billows shall we fly,
Secure to live together, or to die.--
These reasons moved her starlike husband's heart,
But still he held his purpose to depart;
For as he loved her equal to his life,
He would not to the seas expose his wife;
Nor could be wrought his voyage to refrain,
But sought by arguments to sooth her pain:
Nor these availed; at length he lights on one,
With which so difficult a cause he won:--
My love, so short an absence cease to fear,
For, by my father's holy flame I swear,
Before two moons their orb with light adorn,
If heaven allow me life, I will return.--
This promise of so short a stay prevails;
He soon equips the ship, supplies the sails,
And gives the word to launch; she trembling views
This pomp of death, and parting tears renews;
Last, with a kiss, she took a long farewell,
Sighed, with a sad presage, and swooning fell.
While Ceyx seeks delays, the lusty crew, }
Raised on their banks, their oars in order drew }
To their broad breasts,--the ship with fury flew. }
The queen, recovered, rears her humid eyes,
And first her husband on the poop espies,
Shaking his hand at distance on the main;
She took the sign, and shook her hand again.
Still as the ground recedes, retracts her view
With sharpened sight, till she no longer knew
The much-loved face; that comfort lost, supplies
With less, and with the galley feeds her eyes;
The galley borne from view by rising gales,
She followed with her sight the flying sails;
When even the flying sails were seen no more,
Forsaken of all sight, she left the shore.
Then on her bridal bed her body throws,
And sought in sleep her wearied eyes to close;
Her husband's pillow, and the widowed part
Which once he pressed, renewed the former smart.
And now a breeze from shore began to blow;
The sailors ship their oars, and cease to row;
Then hoist their yards atrip, and all their sails
Let fall, to court the wind, and catch the gales.
By this the vessel half her course had run,
And as much rested till the rising sun;
Both shores were lost to sight, when at the close
Of day, a stiffer gale at east arose;
The sea grew white, the rolling waves from far,
Like heralds, first denounce the watery war.
This seen, the master soon began to cry,
Strike, strike the top-sail; let the main sheet fly,
And furl your sails.--The winds repel the sound,
And in the speaker's mouth the speech is drowned.
Yet of their own accord, as danger taught,
Each in his way, officiously they wrought;
Some stow their oars, or stop the leaky sides;
Another, bolder yet, the yard bestrides,
And folds the sails; a fourth, with labour, laves
The intruding seas, and waves ejects on waves.
In this confusion while their work they ply,
The winds augment the winter of the sky,
And wage intestine wars; the suffering seas
Are tossed, and mingled as their tyrants please.
The master would command, but, in despair
Of safety, stands amazed with stupid care,
Nor what to bid, or what forbid, he knows,
The ungoverned tempest to such fury grows;
Vain is his force, and vainer is his skill,
With such a concourse comes the flood of ill;
The cries of men are mixed with rattling shrouds;
Seas dash on seas, and clouds encounter clouds;
At once from east to west, from pole to pole,
The forky lightnings flash, the roaring thunders roll.
Now waves on waves ascending scale the skies,
And, in the fires above, the water fries;
When yellow sands are sifted from below,
The glittering billows give a golden show;
And when the fouler bottom spews the black,
The Stygian dye the tainted waters take;
Then frothy white appear the flatted seas,
And change their colour, changing their disease.
Like various fits the Trachin vessel finds,
And now sublime she rides upon the winds;
As from a lofty summit looks from high,
And from the clouds beholds the nether sky;
Now from the depth of hell they lift their sight,
And at a distance see superior light;
The lashing billows make a loud report,
And beat her sides, as battering rams a fort;
Or as a lion, bounding in his way,
With force augmented bears against his prey,
Sidelong to seize; or, unappalled with fear,
Springs on the toils, and rushes on the spear;
So seas impelled by winds, with added power,
Assault the sides, and o'er the hatches tower.
The planks, their pitchy coverings washed away,
Now yield; and now a yawning breach display;
The roaring waters with a hostile tide
Rush through the ruins of her gaping side.
Meantime, in sheets of rain the sky descends,
And ocean, swelled with waters, upwards tends,
One rising, falling one; the heavens and sea
Meet at their confines, in the middle way;
The sails are drunk with showers, and drop with rain;
Sweet waters mingle with the briny main.
No star appears to lend his friendly light;
Darkness and tempest make a double night;
But flashing fires disclose the deep by turns,
And, while the lightnings blaze, the water burns.
Now all the waves their scattered force unite;
And, as a soldier, foremost in the fight,
Makes way for others, and, an host alone,
Still presses on, and, urging, gains the town;
So while the invading billows come a-breast,
The hero tenth advanced before the rest,
Sweeps all before him with impetuous sway,
And from the walls descends upon the prey;
Part following enter, part remain without,
With envy hear their fellows' conquering shout,
And mount on others' backs, in hope to share
The city, thus become the seat of war.
An universal cry resounds aloud,
The sailors run in heaps, a helpless crowd;
Art fails, and courage falls, no succour near;
As many waves, as many deaths appear.
One weeps, and yet despairs of late relief;
One cannot weep, his fears congeal his grief;
But, stupid, with dry eyes expects his fate. }
One with loud shrieks laments his lost estate, }
And calls those happy whom their funerals wait. }
This wretch with prayers and vows the gods implores,
And even the skies he cannot see, adores.
That other on his friends his thoughts bestows,
His careful father, and his faithful spouse.
The covetous worldling in his anxious mind
Thinks only on the wealth he left behind.
All Ceyx his Alcyone employs,
For her he grieves, yet in her absence joys;
His wife he wishes, and would still be near,
Not her with him, but wishes him with her:
Now with last looks he seeks his native shore,
Which fate has destined him to see no more;
He sought, but in the dark tempestuous night
He knew not whither to direct his sight.
So whirl the seas, such darkness blinds the sky,
That the black night receives a deeper dye.
The giddy ship ran round; the tempest tore
Her mast, and over-board the rudder bore.
One billow mounts; and with a scornful brow,
Proud of her conquest gained, insults the waves below;
Nor lighter falls, than if some giant tore
Pindus and Athos, with the freight they bore,
And tossed on seas; pressed with the ponderous blow,
Down sinks the ship within the abyss below;
Down with the vessel sink into the main
The many, never more to rise again.
Some few on scattered planks, with fruitless care
Lay hold, and swim; but, while they swim, despair.
Even he, who late a sceptre did command,
Now grasps a floating fragment in his hand;
And while he struggles on the stormy main,
Invokes his father, and his wife, in vain:
But yet his consort is his greater care;
Alcyone he names amidst his prayer;
Names as a charm against the waves and wind,
Most in his mouth, and ever in his mind.
Tired with his toil, all hopes of safety past,
From prayers to wishes he descends at last,--
That his dead body, wafted to the sands,
Might have its burial from her friendly hands.
As oft as he can catch a gulph of air,
And peep above the seas, he names the fair;
And, even when plunged beneath, on her he raves,
Murmuring Alcyone below the waves:
At last a falling billow stops his breath,
Breaks o'er his head, and whelms him underneath.
Bright Lucifer[30] unlike himself appears
That night, his heavenly form obscured with tears;
And since he was forbid to leave the skies,
He muffled with a cloud his mournful eyes.
Mean time Alcyone (his fate unknown)
Computes how many nights he had been gone;
Observes the waning moon with hourly view,
Numbers her age, and wishes for a new;
Against the promised time provides with care,
And hastens in the woof the robes he was to wear;
And for herself employs another loom, }
New-dressed to meet her lord returning home, }
Flattering her heart with joys that never were to come }
She fumed the temples with an odorous flame, }
And oft before the sacred altars came, }
To pray for him, who was an empty name; }
All powers implored, but far above the rest,
To Juno she her pious vows addressed,
Her much-loved lord from perils to protect,
And safe o'er seas his voyage to direct;
Then prayed that she might still possess his heart,
And no pretending rival share a part.
This last petition heard, of all her prayer;
The rest, dispersed by winds, were lost in air.
But she, the goddess of the nuptial bed,
Tired with her vain devotions for the dead,
Resolved the tainted hand should be repelled,
Which incense offered, and her altar held:
Then Iris thus bespoke,--Thou faithful maid,
By whom the queen's commands are well conveyed,
Haste to the house of Sleep, and bid the god,
Who rules the night by visions with a nod,
Prepare a dream, in figure and in form
Resembling him who perished in the storm:
This form before Alcyone present,
To make her certain of the sad event.--
Endued with robes of various hue she flies,
And flying draws an arch, a segment of the skies;
Then leaves her bending bow, and from the steep
Descends to search the silent house of Sleep.
Near the Cimmerians, in his dark abode,
Deep in a cavern, dwells the drowsy god;
Whose gloomy mansion nor the rising sun,
Nor setting, visits, nor the lightsome noon;
But lazy vapours round the region fly,
Perpetual twilight, and a doubtful sky;
No crowing cock does there his wings display,
Nor with his horny bill provoke the day;
Nor watchful dogs, nor the more wakeful geese,
Disturb with nightly noise the sacred peace;
Nor beast of nature, nor the tame, are nigh,
Nor trees with tempests rocked, nor human cry;
But safe repose, without an air of breath,
Dwells here, and a dumb quiet next to death.
An arm of Lethe, with a gentle flow,
Arising upwards from the rock below,
The palace moats, and o'er the pebbles creeps,
And with soft murmurs calls the coming sleeps;
Around its entry nodding poppies grow,
And all cool simples that sweet rest bestow;
Night from the plants their sleepy virtue drains,
And passing sheds it on the silent plains:
No door there was the unguarded house to keep,
On creaking hinges turned, to break his sleep.
But in the gloomy court was raised a bed,
Stuffed with black plumes, and on an ebon sted;
Black was the covering too, where lay the god,
And slept supine, his limbs displayed abroad;
About his head fantastic visions fly,
Which various images of things supply,
And mock their forms; the leaves on trees not more,
Nor bearded ears in fields, nor sands upon the shore.
The virgin, entering bright, indulged the day
To the brown cave, and brushed the dreams away;
The god, disturbed with this new glare of light
Cast sudden on his face, unsealed his sight,
And raised his tardy head, which sunk again,
And, sinking on his bosom, knocked his chin;
At length shook off himself, and asked the dame
(And asking yawned,) for what intent she came?
To whom the goddess thus:--O sacred Rest,
Sweet pleasing Sleep, of all the powers the best!
O peace of mind, repairer of decay, }
Whose balms renew the limbs to labours of the day, }
Care shuns thy soft approach, and sullen flies away! }
Adorn a dream, expressing human form,
The shape of him who suffered in the storm,
And send it flitting to the Trachin court,
The wreck of wretched Ceyx to report:
Before his queen bid the pale spectre stand,
Who begs a vain relief at Juno's hand.--
She said, and scarce awake her eyes could keep,
Unable to support the fumes of sleep;
But fled, returning by the way she went,
And swerved along her bow with swift ascent.
The god, uneasy till he slept again,
Resolved at once to rid himself of pain;
And, though against his custom, called aloud,
Exciting Morpheus from the sleepy crowd;
Morpheus, of all his numerous train, expressed
The shape of man, and imitated best;
The walk, the words, the gesture could supply,
The habit mimic, and the mien bely;
Plays well, but all his action is confined;
Extending not beyond our human kind.
Another birds, and beasts, and dragons, apes,
And dreadful images, and monster shapes:
This dæmon, Icelos, in heaven's high hall
The gods have named; but men Phobeter call:
A third is Phantasus, whose actions roll
On meaner thoughts, and things devoid of soul;
Earth, fruits, and flowers, he represents in dreams,
And solid rocks unmoved, and running streams.
These three to kings and chiefs their scenes display,
The rest before the ignoble commons play:
Of these the chosen Morpheus is dispatched;
Which done, the lazy monarch overwatched,
Down from his propping elbow drops his head,
Dissolved in sleep, and shrinks within his bed.
Darkling the dæmon glides, for flight prepared,
So soft that scarce his fanning wings are heard.
To Trachin, swift as thought, the flitting shade
Through air his momentary journey made:
Then lays aside the steerage of his wings,
Forsakes his proper form, assumes the king's;
And pale as death, despoiled of his array, }
Into the queen's apartment takes his way, }
And stands before the bed at dawn of day: }
Unmoved his eyes, and wet his beard appears, }
And shedding vain, but seeming real tears; }
The briny water dropping from his hairs; }
Then staring on her, with a ghastly look
And hollow voice, he thus the Queen bespoke.
Knowest thou not me? Not yet, unhappy wife?
Or are my features perished with my life?
Look once again, and for thy husband lost,
Lo! all that's left of him, thy husband's ghost!
Thy vows for my return were all in vain; }
Thy stormy south o'ertook us in the main; }
And never shalt thou see thy loving lord again. }
Bear witness, heaven, I called on thee in death,
And, while I called, a billow stopped my breath.
Think not that flying fame reports my fate;
I, present I, appear, and my own wreck relate.
Rise, wretched widow, rise, nor undeplored }
Permit my ghost to pass the Stygian ford; }
But rise, prepared in black to mourn thy perished lord. }
Thus said the player-god; and, adding art
Of voice and gesture, so performed his part,
She thought (so like her love the shade appears)
That Ceyx spake the words, and Ceyx shed the tears.
She groaned, her inward soul with grief opprest,
She sighed, she wept, and sleeping beat her breast:
Then stretched her arms to embrace his body bare,
Her clasping arms inclose but empty air:
At this, not yet awake, she cried,--Oh stay,
One is our fate, and common is our way!--
So dreadful was the dream, so loud
she spoke, That, starting sudden up, the slumber broke;
Then cast her eyes around, in hope to view
Her vanished lord, and find the vision true;
For now the maids, who waited her commands,
Ran in with lighted tapers in their hands.
Tired with the search, not finding what she seeks,
With cruel blows she pounds her blubbered cheeks;
Then from her beaten breast the linen tare,
And cut the golden caul that bound her hair.
Her nurse demands the cause; with louder cries
She prosecutes her griefs, and thus replies.
No more Alcyone, she suffered death
With her loved lord, when Ceyx lost his breath:
No flattery, no false comfort, give me none,
My shipwrecked Ceyx is for ever gone;
I saw, I saw him manifest in view,
His voice, his figure, and his gestures knew:
His lustre lost, and every living grace,
Yet I retained the features of his face:
Though with pale cheeks, wet beard, and dropping hair,
None but my Ceyx could appear so fair;
I would have strained him with a strict embrace,
But through my arms he slipt, and vanished from the place;
There, even just there he stood;--and as she spoke,
Where last the spectre was, she cast her look;
Fain would she hope, and gazed upon the ground,
If any printed footsteps might be found;
Then sighed, and said;--This I too well foreknew,
And my prophetic fear presaged too true;
'Twas what I begged, when with a bleeding heart
I took my leave, and suffered thee to part,
Or I to go along, or thou to stay,
Never, ah never to divide our way!
Happier for me, that, all our hours assigned,
Together we had lived, even not in death disjoined!
So had my Ceyx still been living here,
Or with my Ceyx I had perished there;
Now I die absent, in the vast profound,
And me without myself the seas have drowned:
The storms were not so cruel; should I strive
To lengthen life, and such a grief survive!
But neither will I strive, nor wretched thee
In death forsake, but keep thee company.
If not one common sepulchre contains
Our bodies, or one urn our last remains,
Yet Ceyx and Alcyone shall join,
Their names remembered in one common line.--
No farther voice her mighty grief affords,
For sighs come rushing in betwixt her words,
And stopt her tongue; but what her tongue denied,
Soft tears, and groans, and dumb complaints supplied.
'Twas morning; to the port she takes her way,
And stands upon the margin of the sea;
That place, that very spot of ground she sought,
Or thither by her destiny was brought,
Where last he stood; and while she sadly said, }
'Twas here he left me, lingering here, delayed }
His parting kiss, and there his anchors weighed. }
Thus speaking, while her thoughts past actions trace,
And call to mind, admonished by the place,
Sharp at her utmost ken she cast her eyes,
And somewhat floating from afar descries;
It seemed a corpse adrift, to distant sight,
But at a distance who could judge aright?
It wafted nearer yet, and then she knew,
That what before she but surmised was true;
A corpse it was, but whose it was, unknown,
Yet moved, howe'er, she made the case her own;
Took the bad omen of a shipwrecked man,
As for a stranger wept, and thus began:
Poor wretch, on stormy seas to lose thy life,
Unhappy thou, but more thy widowed wife!--
At this she paused; for now the flowing tide
Had brought the body nearer to the side:
The more she looks, the more her fears increase
At nearer sight, and she's herself the less:
Now driven ashore, and at her feet it lies;
She knows too much, in knowing whom she sees,--
Her husband's corpse; at this she loudly shrieks,
'Tis he, 'tis he, she cries, and tears her cheeks,
Her hair, her vest; and, stooping to the sands,
About his neck she casts her trembling hands.
And is it thus, O dearer than my life,
Thus, thus return'st thou to thy longing wife!--
She said, and to the neighbouring mole she strode,
Raised there to break the incursions of the flood;
Headlong from hence to plunge herself she springs,
But shoots along supported on her wings;
A bird new-made about the banks she plies,
Not far from shore, and short excursions tries;
Nor seeks in air her humble flight to raise,
Content to skim the surface of the seas;
Her bill, though slender, sends a creaking noise,
And imitates a lamentable voice;
Now lighting where the bloodless body lies,
She with a funeral note renews her cries.
At all her stretch her little wings she spread,
And with her feathered arms embraced the dead;
Then flickering to his pallid lips, she strove
To print a kiss, the last essay of love;
Whether the vital touch revived the dead,
Or that the moving waters raised his head
To meet the kiss, the vulgar doubt alone,
For sure a present miracle was shown.
The gods their shapes to winter-birds translate,
But both obnoxious to their former fate.
Their conjugal affection still is tied,
And still the mournful race is multiplied;
They bill, they tread; Alcyone compressed,
Seven days sits brooding on her floating nest,
A wintery queen: her sire at length is kind,
Calms every storm, and hushes every wind;
Prepares his empire for his daughter's ease,
And for his hatching nephews smooths the seas.

FOOTNOTES:

[30] Ceyx was the son of the Morning Star.

ÆSACUS

TRANSFORMED INTO A CORMORANT.

FROM THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

These some old man sees wanton in the air,
And praises the unhappy constant pair;
Then to his friend the long-necked Cormorant shows,
The former tale reviving other woes:
That sable bird, he cries, which cuts the flood
With slender legs, was once of royal blood;
His ancestors from mighty Tros proceed,
The brave Laomedon and Ganymede,
Whose beauty tempted Jove to steal the boy,
And Priam, hapless prince! who fell with Troy;
Himself was Hector's brother, and, had fate
But given this hopeful youth a longer date,
Perhaps had rivalled warlike Hector's worth,
Though on the mother's side of meaner birth;
Fair Alyxothoé, a country maid,
Bare Æsacus by stealth in Ida's shade.
He fled the noisy town, and pompous court, }
Loved the lone hills, and simple rural sport, }
And seldom to the city would resort. }
Yet he no rustic clownishness profest,
Nor was soft love a stranger to his breast;
The youth had long the nymph Hesperio wooed,
Oft through the thicket, or the mead, pursued.
Her haply on her father's bank he spied,
While fearless she her silver tresses dried;
Away she fled; not stags with half such speed,
Before the prowling wolf, scud o'er the mead;
Not ducks, when they the safer flood forsake,
Pursued by hawks, so swift regain the lake,
As fast he followed in the hot career;
Desire the lover winged, the virgin fear.
A snake unseen now pierced her heedless foot, }
Quick through the veins the venomed juices shoot; }
She fell, and 'scaped by death his fierce pursuit. }
Her lifeless body, frighted, he embraced,
And cried,--Not this I dreaded, but thy haste;
O had my love been less, or less thy fear!
The victory thus bought is far too dear.
Accursed snake! yet I more cursed than he!
He gave the wound; the cause was given by me.
Yet none shall say, that unrevenged you died.-- }
He spoke; then climbed a cliff's o'er-hanging side, }
And, resolute, leaped on the foaming tide. }
Tethys received him gently on the wave;
The death he sought denied, and feathers gave.
Debarred the surest remedy of grief,
And forced to live, he curst the unasked relief;
Then on his airy pinions upward flies, }
And at a second fall successless tries, }
The downy plume a quick descent denies. }
Enraged, he often dives beneath the wave,
And there in vain expects to find a grave.
His ceaseless sorrow for the unhappy maid
Meager'd his look, and on his spirits preyed.
Still near the sounding deep he lives; his name
From frequent diving and emerging came.

THE

TWELFTH BOOK

OF

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES,

WHOLLY TRANSLATED.

CONNECTION TO THE END OF THE ELEVENTH BOOK.

_Æsacus, the son of Priam, loving a country life, forsakes the court; living obscurely, he falls in love with a nymph, who, flying from him, was killed by a serpent; for grief of this, he would have drowned himself; but, by the pity of the gods, is turned into a Cormorant. Priam, not hearing of Æsacus, believes him to be dead, and raises a tomb to preserve his memory. By this transition, which is one of the finest in all Ovid, the poet naturally falls into the story of the Trojan war, which is summed up in the present book; but so very briefly in many places, that Ovid seems more short than Virgil, contrary to his usual style. Yet the House of Fame, which is here described, is one of the most beautiful pieces in the whole Metamorphoses. The fight of Achilles and Cygnus, and the fray betwixt the Lapithæ and Centaurs, yield to no other part of this poet; and particularly the loves and death of Cyllarus and Hylonome, the male and female Centaur, are wonderfully moving._