Metamorphoses

Of bodies changed to various forms I sing: Ye gods, from whom these miracles did spring, Inspire my numbers with celestial heat, Till I my long laborious work complete; And add perpetual tenor to my rhymes, Deduced from Nature’s birth to Caesar’s times.

Before the seas, and this terrestrial ball, And heaven’s high canopy that covers all, One was the face of Nature; if a face: Rather a rude and indigested mass: A lifeless lump, unfashion’d and unframed, Of jarring seeds, and justly Chaos named. No sun was lighted up the world to view, No moon did yet her blunted horns renew, Nor yet was earth suspended in the sky, Nor poised, did on her own foundations lie, Nor seas about the shores their arms had thrown; But earth, and air, and water were in one. Thus air was void of light, and earth unstable, And water’s dark abyss unnavigable. No certain form on any was impress’d; All were confused, and each disturb’d the rest. For hot and cold were in one body fix’d, And soft with hard, and light with heavy, mix’d.

But God, or Nature, while they thus contend, To these intestine discords put an end. Then earth from air, and seas from earth, were driven, And grosser air sunk from ethereal heaven. Thus disembroil’d, they take their proper place; The next of kin contiguously embrace; And foes are sunder’d by a larger space. The force of fire ascended first on high, And took its dwelling in the vaulted sky: Then air succeeds, in lightness next to fire, Whose atoms from unactive earth retire; Earth sinks beneath, and draws a numerous throng Of ponderous, thick, unwieldy, seeds along.

The first and fairest of his loves was she Whom not blind Fortune, but the dire decree Of angry Cupid forced him to desire: Daphne her name, and Peneus was her sire. 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 replied: “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 stopp’d, but on Parnassus’ airy height. Two different 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 tipp’d with lead, whose base allay Provokes disdain, and drives desire away. The blunted bolt against the nymph he dress’d, But with the sharp transfix’d Apollo’s breast.

The god repented of the oath he took; For anguish thrice lis radiant head he shook. “My son,” said he, “some other proof require; Rash was my promise, rash is thy desire. I’d fain deny this wish which thou hast made, Or, what I can’t deny, would fain dissuade. Too vast and hazardous the task appears, Nor suited to thy strength, nor to thy years. Thy lot is mortal, but thy wishes fly Beyond the province of mortality. There is not one of all the gods that dares (However skill’d in other great affairs) To mount the burning axletree but I; Not Jove himself, the ruler of the sky, That hurls the three-fork’d thunder from above, Dares try his strength: yet who so strong as Jove? The steeds climb up the first ascent with pain, And when the middle firmament they gain, If downwards from the heavens my head I bow, And see the earth and ocean hang below, Ev’n I am seized with horror and affright, And my own heart misgives me at the sight. A mighty downfall steeps the evening stage; And steady reins must curb the horses’ rage: Tethys herself has fear’d to see me driven Down headlong from the precipice of heaven. Besides, consider what impetuous force Turns stars and planets in a different course: I steer against their motions; nor am I Borne back by all the current of the sky.

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, Unsullied by the touch of men or beasts; High bowers of shady trees above it grow, And rising grass and cheerful greens below. Pleased with the form and coolness of the place, And overheated by the morning chase, Narcissus on the grassy verdure lies; But while within the crystal fount he 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 unmoved; Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he loved. 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 watery glass. By his own flames consumed 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.

You attribute too much to heavenly sway, To think they gave us forms, and take away.”

The rest, of better minds, their sense declared Against this doctrine, and with horror heard. Then Lelex rose, an old experienced man, And thus, with sober gravity, began: “Heaven’s power is infinite: earth, air, and sea, The manufacture mass, the making power obey: By proof to clear your doubt; in Phrygian ground Two neighbouring trees, with walls encompass’d round, Stand on a moderate rise, with wonder shown, One a hard oak, a softer linden one: I saw the place, and them, by Pittheus sent To Phrygian realms; my grandsire’s government. Not far from thence is seen a lake, the haunt Of coots, and of the fishing cormorant: Here Jove with Hermes came; but in disguise Of mortal men conceal’d their deities; One laid aside his thunder, one his rod, And many toilsome steps together trod: For harbour at a thousand doors they knock’d; Not one of all the thousand but was lock’d. At last a hospitable house they found, A homely shed; the roof, not far from ground, Was thatch’d, with reeds and straw together bound. There Baucis and Philemon lived, and there Had lived long married, and a happy pair: Now old in love, though little was their store, Inured to want, their poverty they bore, Nor aim’d at wealth, professing to be poor. For master or for servant here to call Were all alike, where only two were all. Command was none, where equal love was paid, Or rather both commanded, both obey’d.

“From lofty roofs the gods repulsed before, Now stooping, enter’d through the little door: The man (their hearty welcome first express’d) A common settle drew for either guest, Inviting each his weary limbs to rest.