Metamorphoses quotes

his superiority to other animals evinced in the structure of his body and the faculties of his mind.

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.

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.

Thus, while the mute creation downward bend Their sight, and to their earthly mother tend,

Man looks aloft, and with erected eyes Beholds his own hereditary skies.

From such rude principles our form began, And earth was metamorphosed into man.

Thus, while the mute creation downward bend Their sight, and to their earthly mother tend, Man looks aloft, and with erected eyes Beholds his own hereditary skies. From such rude principles our form began,

And earth was metamorphosed into man.

During the reign of Saturn the inhabitants of the earth enjoy a state of primeval happiness, secure from the intrusion of evil passions.

The golden age was first, when man, yet new, No rule but uncorrupted reason knew, And, with a native bent did good pursue. Unforced by punishment, unawed by fear, His words were simple, and his soul sincere;

Needless was written law where none oppress’d;

The law of man was written in his breast: No suppliant crowds before the judge appear’d, No court erected yet, nor cause was heard, But all was safe; for conscience was their guard.

The golden age was first, when man, yet new, No rule but uncorrupted reason knew, And, with a native bent did good pursue. Unforced by punishment, unawed by fear, His words were simple, and his soul sincere; Needless was written law where none oppress’d;

The law of man was written in his breast:

No suppliant crowds before the judge appear’d, No court erected yet, nor cause was heard, But all was safe; for conscience was their guard. The mountain trees in distant prospect please, Ere yet the pine descended to the seas;

Hard steel succeeded then, And stubborn as the metal were the men.

Truth, modesty, and shame, the world forsook; Fraud, avarice, and force, their places took.

Then sails were spread to every wind that blew, Raw were the sailors and the depths were new; Trees, rudely hollow’d did the waves sustain, Ere ships in triumph plough’d the watery plain.

Nor was the ground alone required to bear Her annual income to the crooked share, But greedy mortals, rummaging her store, Digg’d from her entrails first the precious ore (Which next to hell the prudent gods had laid), And that alluring ill to sight display’d.

Thus cursed steel, and more accursed gold, Gave mischief birth, and made that mischief bold;

And double death did wretched man invade, By steel assaulted, and by gold betray’d. Now (brandish’d weapons glittering in their hands) Mankind is broken loose from moral bands; No rights of hospitality remain; The guest, by him who harbour’d him, is slain;

Thus cursed steel, and more accursed gold, Gave mischief birth, and made that mischief bold;

And double death did wretched man invade, By steel assaulted, and by gold betray’d.

Now (brandish’d weapons glittering in their hands) Mankind is broken loose from moral bands; No rights of hospitality remain; The guest, by him who harbour’d him, is slain; The son-in-law pursues the father’s life; The wife her husband murders, he the wife;

His mantle, now his hide, with rugged hairs Cleaves to his back, a famish’d face he bears, His arms descend, his shoulders sink away To multiply his legs for chase of prey;

He grows a wolf, his hoariness remains, And the same rage in other members reigns,

His eyes still sparkle in a narrower space, His jaws retain the grin and violence of his face.

“This was a single ruin, but not one Deserves so just a punishment alone.

Mankind’s a monster, and the ungodly times Confederate into guilt are sworn to crimes;

All are alike involved in ill, and all Must by the same relentless fury fall.” Thus ended he; the greater gods assent, By clamours urging his severe intent, The less fill up the cry for punishment:

and what was once a vein, Its former name and nature did retain. By help of power divine, in little space, What the man threw assumed a manly face, And what the wife, renew’d the female race.

Hence we derive our nature; born to bear Laborious life, and harden’d into care.

The rest of animals, from teeming earth Produced, in various forms received their birth. The native moisture, in its close retreat, Digested by the sun’s ethereal heat, As in a kindly womb, began to breed, Then swell’d, and quicken’d by the vital seed.

more deadly his who pierced my heart. Med’cine is mine; what herbs and simples grow In fields and forests, all their powers I know, And am the great physician call’d below. Alas! that fields and forests can afford No remedies to heal their lovesick lord:

To cure the pains of love no plant avails;

And his own physic the physician fails.”

what herbs and simples grow In fields and forests, all their powers I know, And am the great physician call’d below. Alas! that fields and forests can afford No remedies to heal their lovesick 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 the imperfect accent dies.

Fear gave her wings; and, as she fled, the wind Increasing, spread her flowing hair behind.

As when the impatient greyhound, slipp’d 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;

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, urged by fear, her feet did swiftly move,

But he more swiftly, who was urged by love.

He gathers ground upon her in the chase; Now breathes upon her hair, with nearer pace; And just is fastening on the wish’d embrace.

On leaves of trees and bitter herbs she fed: Heaven was her canopy; bare earth her bed: So hardly lodged:—and to digest her food, She drank from troubled streams, defiled 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 to inquire the author of the sound.

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, and cast a piteous look,

And in the language of her eyes 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 Io in the sand.

If I am heaven-begot, assert your son, By some sure sign, and make my father known, To right my honour, and redeem your own.” He said, and saying, cast his arms about Her neck, and begg’d her to resolve the doubt.

’Tis hard to judge if Clymene were moved More by his prayer, whom she so dearly loved,

Or more with fury fired, to find her name Traduced, and made the sport of common fame. She stretch’d her arms to heaven, and fix’d her eyes On that fair planet that adorns the skies.

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.

Look on my face; or if my heart lay bare, Could you but look, you’d read the father there. Choose out a gift, from seas, or earth, or skies; For open to your wish all nature lies; Only decline this one unequal task,

For ’tis a mischief, not a gift, you ask.

You ask a real mischief, Phaeton: Nay, hang not thus about my neck, my son. I grant your wish, and Styx has heard my voice; Choose what you will, but make a wiser choice.”

but sally forth, Nor to the distant south, nor stormy north. The horses’ hoofs a beaten track will show; But neither mount too high, nor sink too low. That no new fires or heaven or earth infest,

Keep the mid way: the middle way is best:

Nor where, in radiant folds, the serpent twines, Direct your course; nor where the altar shines: Shun both extremes; the rest let Fortune guide, And better for thee than thyself provide!

the nymph began to fear A second fraud, a Jove disguised in her; But when she saw the sister nymphs, suppress’d Her rising fears, and mingled with the rest.

How in the look does conscious guilt appear!

Slowly she moved, and loiter’d in the rear; Nor lightly tripp’d, nor by the goddess ran, As once she used, the foremost of the train;

A hoard of gall her inward parts possess’d, And spread a greenness o’er her canker’d breast; Her teeth were brown with rust, and from her tongue, In dangling drops, the stringy poison hung;

She never smiles but when the wretched weep, Nor lulls her malice with a moment’s sleep;

Restless in spite, while watchful to destroy, She pines and sickens at another’s joy; Foe to herself, distressing and distress’d, She bears her own tormentor in her breast. The goddess gave (for she abhorr’d her sight) A short command: “To Athens speed thy flight;

Her teeth were brown with rust, and from her tongue, In dangling drops, the stringy poison hung; She never smiles but when the wretched weep, Nor lulls her malice with a moment’s sleep; Restless in spite, while watchful to destroy,

She pines and sickens at another’s joy;

Foe to herself, distressing and distress’d, She bears her own tormentor in her breast. The goddess gave (for she abhorr’d her sight) A short command: “To Athens speed thy flight; On cursed Aglauros try thy utmost art, And fix thy rankest venoms in her heart.”

She never smiles but when the wretched weep, Nor lulls her malice with a moment’s sleep; Restless in spite, while watchful to destroy, She pines and sickens at another’s joy; Foe to herself, distressing and distress’d,

She bears her own tormentor in her breast.

The goddess gave (for she abhorr’d her sight) A short command: “To Athens speed thy flight; On cursed Aglauros try thy utmost art, And fix thy rankest venoms in her heart.”

To make the work more sure, a scene she drew, And placed before the dreaming virgin’s view Her sister’s marriage, and her glorious fate; The imaginary bride appears in state, The bridegroom with unwonted beauty glows;

For envy magnifies whate’er she shows.

Full of the dream, Aglauros pin’d away In tears all night, in darkness all the day; Consumed like ice, that just begins to run, When feebly smitten by the distant sun;

Here Cadmus reign’d; and now one would have guess’d The royal founder in his exile bless’d: Long did he live within his new abodes, Allied by marriage to the deathless gods; And in a fruitful wife’s embraces old, A long increase of children’s children told:

But no frail man, however great or high, Can be concluded bless’d before he die.

Actaeon was the first of all his race, Who grieved his grandsire in his borrow’d face, Condemn’d by stern Diana to bemoan The branching horns and visage not his own;

To shun his once loved dogs, to bound away, And from their huntsman to become their prey. And yet consider why the change was wrought, You’ll find it his misfortune, not his fault; Or, if a fault, it was the fault of chance:

For how can guilt proceed from ignorance?

Actaeon, in pursuing the amusements of the chase, sees Diana and her nymphs bathing near Gargaphia; for which he is changed into a stag by the angry goddess, and is devoured by his own dogs.

A rising horn on either brow he wears, And stretches out his neck, and pricks his ears; Rough is his skin, with sudden hairs o’ergrown, His bosom pants with fears before unknown; Transform’d at length, he flies away in haste,

And wonders why he flies away so fast.

But, as by chance within a neighb’ring brook, He saw his branching horns and alter’d look, Wretched Actaeon! in a doleful tone He tried to speak, but only gave a groan;

Once, in the woods, as he pursued the chase, The babbling Echo had descried his face, She, who in other 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 every sentence in the close.

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.

What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move? What kindled in thee this unpitied 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.

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.

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.

What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move? What kindled in thee this unpitied 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 watery gleam he stood, Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food, Still view’d his face, and languish’d as he view’d. At length he raised his head, and thus began To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain:

But why should I despair? I’m sure he burns With equal flames, and languishes by turns. Whene’er I stoop, 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.

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;

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. O! might the visionary youth survive, I should with joy my latest breath resign! But, oh!

“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.

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.

Who soar’d from earth, and dwelt in towers on high, And now a dove she flits along the sky: Or how the tree, which once white berries bore, Still crimson bears, since stain’d with crimson gore.

The tree was new; she likes it, and begins To tell the tale, and as she tells she spins.

A Babylonian youth, named Pyramus, becomes enamoured of Thisbe, a beautiful maiden—The flame is mutual, and the two lovers disregard the prohibition of their parents, and converse through the chink of wall which separates the houses—They now determine to elude the vigilance of their friends, …

Acquaintance grew, the acquaintance they improve To friendship, friendship ripen’d into love: Love had been crown’d, but, impotently mad, What parents could not hinder, they forbade: For with fierce flames young Pyramus still burn’d, And grateful Thisbe flames as fierce return’d.

Aloud in words their thoughts they dare not break, But silent stand: and silent looks can speak.

The fire of love, the more it is suppress’d, The more it glows and rages in the breast.

For with fierce flames young Pyramus still burn’d, And grateful Thisbe flames as fierce return’d. Aloud in words their thoughts they dare not break, But silent stand: and silent looks can speak.

The fire of love, the more it is suppress’d, The more it glows and rages in the breast.

“When the division-wall was built, a chink Was left, the cement unobserved to shrink. So slight the cranny, that it still had been For centuries unclosed, because unseen. But, oh!

“When the division-wall was built, a chink Was left, the cement unobserved to shrink. So slight the cranny, that it still had been For centuries unclosed, because unseen.

But, oh! what thing so small, so secret lies, Which ’scapes, if form’d for love, a lover’s eyes?

Ev’n in this narrow chink they quickly found A friendly passage for a trackless sound. Safely they told their sorrows and their joys, In whisper’d murmurs and a dying noise;

The loving Thisbe ev’n prevents the hour, With cautious silence she unlocks the door, And veils her face, and marching through the gloom, Swiftly arrives at th’ assignation tomb.

For still the fearful sex can fearless prove, Boldly they act, if spirited by love.

When, lo! a lioness rush’d o’er the plain, Grimly besmear’d with blood of oxen slain: And what to the dire sight new horrors brought, To slake her thirst the neighb’ring spring she sought;

“Thus, they their vain petition did renew Till night, and then they softly sigh’d adieu. But first they strove to kiss, and that was all,

Their kisses died untasted on the wall.

Soon as the morn had o’er the stars prevail’d, And, warn’d by Phoebus, flowers their dews exhaled, The lovers to their well-known place return, Alike they suffer and alike they mourn.

Whatever slew thee, I the cause remain, I named and fix’d the place where thou wast slain. Ye lions, from your neighb’ring dens repair, Pity the wretch; this impious body tear!

But cowards thus for death can idly cry;

The brave still have it in their power to die.’ Then to the appointed tree he hastes away, The veil first gather’d, though all rent it lay; The veil all rent, yet still itself endears, He kiss’d, and kissing, wash’d it with his tears.

Whatever slew thee, I the cause remain, I named and fix’d the place where thou wast slain. Ye lions, from your neighb’ring dens repair, Pity the wretch; this impious body tear! But cowards thus for death can idly cry;

The brave still have it in their power to die.

’ Then to the appointed tree he hastes away, The veil first gather’d, though all rent it lay; The veil all rent, yet still itself endears, He kiss’d, and kissing, wash’d it with his tears.

I will against the woman’s weakness strive, And never thee, lamented youth, survive. The world may say I caused, alas! thy death, But saw thee breathless, and resign’d my breath.

Fate, though it conquers, shall no triumph gain, Fate, that divides us, still divides in vain.

“ ‘Now, both our cruel parents, hear my prayer; My prayer to offer for us both I dare, Oh! see our ashes in one urn confined, Whom love at first, and fate at last, has join’d. The bliss you envied is not our request;

“ ‘Now, both our cruel parents, hear my prayer; My prayer to offer for us both I dare, Oh! see our ashes in one urn confined, Whom love at first, and fate at last, has join’d. The bliss you envied is not our request;

Lovers, when dead, may sure together rest.

Thou, tree, where now one lifeless lump is laid, Ere long o’er two shall cast a friendly shade. Still let our loves from thee be understood, Still witness in thy purple fruit our blood.’

Now in thy face thy lovesick mind appears, And spreads through impious nations empty fears; For when thy beamless head is wrapp’d in night, Poor mortals tremble in despair of light. ’Tis not the moon that o’er thee casts a veil,

’Tis love alone which makes thy looks so pale.

Leucothoe is grown thy only care, Not Phaeton’s fair mother now is fair. The youthful Rhodos moves no tender thought, And beauteous Persa is at last forgot. Fond Clytie, scorn’d, yet loved and sought thy bed, Ev’n then thy heart for other virgins bled.

“Though guilty Clytie thus the Sun betray’d, By too much passion she was guilty made.

Excess of love begot excess of grief,

Grief fondly bade her hence to hope relief. But angry Phoebus hears unmoved her sighs, And scornful from her loath’d embraces flies. All day, all night, in trackless wilds alone She pined, and taught the listening rocks her moan.

On his bright face hung her desiring eyes, Till, fix’d to earth, she strove in vain to rise; Her looks their paleness in a flower retain’d, But here and there some purple streaks they gain’d.

Still the loved object the fond leaves pursue,

Still move their root the moving sun to view, And in the heliotrope the nymph is true.”

“How Salmacis, with weak, enfeebling streams, Softens the body, and unnerves the limbs, And what the secret cause, shall here be shown;

The cause is secret, but the effect is known.

“The Naiads nursed an infant heretofore, That Citherea once to Hermes bore: From both the illustrious authors of his race The child was named, nor was it hard to trace Both the bright parents through the infant’s face.

The unbodied spectres freely rove, and show Whate’er they loved on earth they love below: The lawyers still, or right or wrong support, The courtiers smoothly glide to Pluto’s court, Still airy heroes thoughts of glory fire,

Still the dead poet strings his deathless lyre, And lovers still with fancied darts expire.

The queen of heaven, to gratify her hate, And sooth immortal wrath, forgets her state; Down from the realms of day to realms of night, The goddess swift precipitates her flight.

The unbodied spectres freely rove, and show Whate’er they loved on earth they love below:

The lawyers still, or right or wrong support,

The courtiers smoothly glide to Pluto’s court, Still airy heroes thoughts of glory fire, Still the dead poet strings his deathless lyre, And lovers still with fancied darts expire.

This Juno heard: “And shall such elfs,” she cried “Dispute my justice, or my power deride? You too shall feel my wrath not idly spent;

A goddess never for insults was meant.

”

Then shriek’d Harmonia: “Stay, my Cadmus, stay, Glide not in such a monstrous shape away! Destruction, like impetuous waves, rolls on. Where are thy feet, thy legs, thy shoulders, gone? Changed is thy visage, changed is all thy frame,

Cadmus is only Cadmus now in name.

Ye gods, my Cadmus to himself restore, Or me like him transform; I ask no more.”

Each parent to her shrieks in shrieks replies: But she had deepest cause to rend the skies. Weeping, to her they cling; no sign appears Of help, they only lend their helpless tears. “Too long you vent your sorrows,” Perseus said, “

Short is the hour, and swift the time of aid;

In me the son of thundering Jove behold, Got in a kindly shower of fruitful gold: Medusa’s snaky head is now my prey, And through the clouds I boldly wing my way:

Then Phineus, who from far his javelin threw, Broteas and Ammon, twins and brothers, slew; For knotted gauntlets matchless in the field;

But gauntlets must to swords and javelins yield.

Ampycus next, with hallow’d fillets bound, As Ceres’ priest, and with a mitre crown’d, His spear transfix’d, and struck him to the ground.

This Eryx saw, but seeing would not own: “The mischief by yourselves,” he cries, “is done;

’Tis your cold courage turns your hearts to stone:

Come, follow me; fall on the stripling boy, Kill him, and you his magic arms destroy.” Then rushing on, his arm to strike he rear’d, And marbled o’er his varied frame appear’d.

I warr’d not with thee out of hate or strife; My honest cause was to defend my wife, First pledged to me: what crime could I suppose, To arm my friends, and vindicate my spouse? But vain, too late, I see, was our design;

Mine was the title, but the merit thine.

Contending made me guilty, I confess; But penitence should make that guilt the less: ’Twas thine to conquer by Minerva’s power; Favour’d by heaven, thy mercy I implore; For life I sue, the rest to thee I yield:

Praetus his brother dispossess’d by might, His realm enjoy’d, and still detain’d his right: But Perseus pull’d the haughty tyrant down, And to the rightful king restored the throne; Weak was the usurper, as his cause was wrong:

Where Gorgon’s head appears, what arms are strong?

When Perseus to his host the monster held, They soon were statues, and their king expell’d.

Woods crown the lake; and Phoebus ne’er invades The tufted fences, or offends the shades: Fresh fragrant breezes fan the verdant bowers, And the moist ground smiles with enamell’d flowers: The cheerful birds their airy carols sing,

And the whole year is one eternal spring.

Here while young Proserpine, among the maids, Diverts herself in these delicious shades; While, like a child, with busy speed and care, She gathers lilies here, and violets there; While first to fill her little lap she strives, Hell’s grisly monarch at the shade arrives;

She from the waves advanced her beauteous head; The goddess knew, and thus to Pluto said: “Farther thou shalt not with the virgin run; Ceres unwilling, canst thou be her son? The maid should be by sweet persuasion won:

Force suits not with the softness of the fair;

For, if great things with small I may compare, Me Anapis once loved; a milder course He took, and won me by his words, not force.”

And now, impatient of the least delay, By pleading Procne’s cause, he speeds his way: The eloquence of love his tongue inspires, And, in his wife’s, he speaks his own desires; Hence all his importunities arise, And tears unmanly trickle from his eyes.

Ye gods! what thick involving darkness blinds The stupid faculties of mortal minds!

Tereus the credit of good-nature gains From these his crimes; so well the villain feigns, And, unsuspecting of his base designs, In the request fair Philomela joins; Her snowy arms her aged sire embrace, And clasp his neck with an endearing grace:

What must unhappy Philomela do, For ever subject to her keeper’s view? Huge walls of massy stone the lodge surround, From her own mouth no way of speaking’s found.

But all our wants by wit may be supplied, And art makes up what fortune has denied.

With skill exact a Phrygian web she strung, Fix’d to a loom that in her chamber hung, Where inwrought letters, upon white display’d, In purple notes, her wretched case betray’d. The piece, when finish’d, secretly she gave Into the charge of one poor menial slave;

His death or safety, what are they to me? Wretch! from thy virgin breast this flame expel, And soon—O! could I, all would then be well. But love, resistless love, my soul invades: Discretion this, affection that, persuades.

I see the right, and I approve it too, Condemn the wrong, and yet⁠—the wrong pursue.

Why, royal maid, shouldst thou desire to wed A wanderer, and court a foreign bed? Thy native land, though barb’rous, can present A bridegroom worth a royal bride’s consent; And whether this adventurer lives or dies, In Fate and Fortune’s fickle pleasure lies.

By Theseus slain, and thrown into the deep; But earth nor sea his scatter’d bones would keep, Which, after floating long, a rock became, Still infamous with Scyron’s hated name. When Fame to count thy acts and years proceeds,

Thy years appear but ciphers to thy deeds.

For thee, brave youth, as for our commonwealth, We pray, and drink, in yours, the public health: Your praise the senate and plebeians sing; With your loved name the court and cottage ring: You make our shepherds and our sailors glad;

Your praise the senate and plebeians sing; With your loved name the court and cottage ring: You make our shepherds and our sailors glad; And not a house in this vast city’s sad.”

But mortal bliss will never come sincere: Pleasure may lead, but grief brings up the rear:

While, for his son’s arrival, rev’lling joy Aegeus and all his subjects does employ; While they for only costly feasts prepare, His neighb’ring monarch, Minos, threatens war: Weak in land forces, nor by sea more strong, But powerful in a deep-resented wrong;

In tedious exile now too long detain’d, Daedalus languish’d for his native land; The sea foreclosed his flight, yet thus he said: “Though earth and water in subjection laid, O cruel Minos, thy dominion be,

We’ll go through air; for sure the air is free.

” Then to new arts his cunning thought applies, And to improve the work of nature tries. A row of quills in gradual order placed, Rise by degrees in length from first to last;

Then thus instructs his child: “My boy, take care To wing your course along the middle air: If low, the surges wet your flagging plumes; If high, the sun the melting wax consumes.

Steer between both; nor to the northern skies, Nor south Orion, turn your giddy eyes,

But follow me: let me before you lay Rules for the flight, and mark the pathless way.” Then, teaching, with a fond concern, his son, He took the untried wings and fix’d them on; But fix’d with trembling hands;

To Pan and Pales offer’d sheep and kine; And fat of olives to Minerva’s shrine. Beginning from the rural gods, his hand Was liberal to the powers of high command: Each deity in every kind was bless’d, Till at Diana’s fane the invidious honour ceased.

Wrath touches ev’n the gods: the queen of night,

Fired with disdain, and jealous of her right, “Unhonour’d though I am, at least,” said she, “Not unrevenged that impious act shall be.” Swift as the word, she sped the boar away, With charge on those devoted fields to prey.

“Come, come, revenging sisters, come and view A sister paying her dead brothers’ due: A crime I punish, and a crime commit; But blood for blood, and death for death, is fit:

Great crimes must be with greater crimes repaid, And second funerals on the former laid.

Let the whole household in one ruin fall, And may Diana’s curse o’ertake us all! Shall Fate to happy Oeneus still allow One son, while Thestius stands deprived of two? Better three lost than one unpunish’d go.

His tomb is raised; then, stretch’d along the ground, Those living monuments his tomb surround; Ev’n to his name, inscribed, their tears they pay,

Till tears and kisses wear his name away.

But Cynthia now had all her fury spent, Not with less ruin than a race content, Excepting Gorge, perish’d all the seed, And her whom Heaven for Hercules decreed.

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.

The neighbourhood confirm the prodigy, Grave men, not vain of tongue, or like to lie. I saw myself the garlands on their boughs, And tablets hung for gifts of granted vows; And offering fresher up, with pious prayer, ‘

The good,’ said I, ‘are God’s peculiar care,

And such as honour Heaven shall heavenly honour share.’ ”

… drinks, and thirsts for more, Or as the fire, which all materials burns, And wasted forests into ashes turns, Grows more voracious as the more it preys, Recruits dilate the flame, and spread the blaze, So impious Erisichthon’s hunger raves, Receives refreshments, and refreshments craves.

Food raises a desire for food, and meat Is but a new provocative to eat.

He grows more empty, as the more supplied, And endless cramming but extends the void.

A very virgin in her face was seen, And had she moved, a living maid had been: One would have thought she could have stirr’d, but strove With modesty, and was ashamed to move:

Art hid with art, so well perform’d the cheat,

It caught the carver with his own deceit: He knows ’tis madness, yet he must adore, And still the more he knows it, loves the more. The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft, Which feels so smooth that he believes it soft;

A very virgin in her face was seen, And had she moved, a living maid had been: One would have thought she could have stirr’d, but strove With modesty, and was ashamed to move: Art hid with art, so well perform’d the cheat,

It caught the carver with his own deceit:

He knows ’tis madness, yet he must adore, And still the more he knows it, loves the more. The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft, Which feels so smooth that he believes it soft;

One would have thought she could have stirr’d, but strove With modesty, and was ashamed to move: Art hid with art, so well perform’d the cheat, It caught the carver with his own deceit:

He knows ’tis madness, yet he must adore,

And still the more he knows it, loves the more. The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft, Which feels so smooth that he believes it soft;

One would have thought she could have stirr’d, but strove With modesty, and was ashamed to move: Art hid with art, so well perform’d the cheat, It caught the carver with his own deceit: He knows ’tis madness, yet he must adore,

And still the more he knows it, loves the more.

The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft, Which feels so smooth that he believes it soft; Fired with this thought, at once he strain’d the breast, And on the lips a loving kiss impress’d.

His patron’s noble juice of purple hue, Touch’d by his lips, a gilded cordial grew, Unfit for drink; and, wondrous to behold, It trickles from his jaws a fluid gold.

The rich poor fool, confounded with surprise,

Starving in all his various plenty lies; Sick of his wish, he now detests the power, For which he ask’d so earnestly before; Amid his gold with pinching famine cursed, And justly tortured with an equal thirst:

The rich poor fool, confounded with surprise,

Starving in all his various plenty lies;

Sick of his wish, he now detests the power, For which he ask’d so earnestly before; Amid his gold with pinching famine cursed, And justly tortured with an equal thirst:

A thoroughfare of news, where some devise Things never heard, some mingle truth with lies; The troubled air with empty sounds they beat, Intent to hear, and eager to repeat;

Error sits brooding there, with added train

Of vain credulity, and joys as vain: Suspicion, with sedition join’d, are near, And rumours raised, and murmurs mix’d, and panic fear. Fame sits aloft, and sees the subject ground, And seas about, and skies above; inquiring all around.

A thoroughfare of news, where some devise Things never heard, some mingle truth with lies; The troubled air with empty sounds they beat, Intent to hear, and eager to repeat; Error sits brooding there, with added train

Of vain credulity, and joys as vain:

Suspicion, with sedition join’d, are near, And rumours raised, and murmurs mix’d, and panic fear. Fame sits aloft, and sees the subject ground, And seas about, and skies above; inquiring all around.

The chief invited guests were set around; And, hunger first assuaged, the bowls were crown’d, Which in deep draughts their cares and labours drown’d. The mellow harp did not their ears employ; And mute was all the warlike symphony:

Discourse, the food of souls, was their delight,

And pleasing chat prolong’d the summer’s night; The subject, deeds of arms, and valour shown, Or on the Trojan side, or on their own: Of dangers undertaken, fame achieved, They talk’d by turns—the talk by turns relieved. What things but these could fierce Achilles tell;

And, hunger first assuaged, the bowls were crown’d, Which in deep draughts their cares and labours drown’d. The mellow harp did not their ears employ; And mute was all the warlike symphony: Discourse, the food of souls, was their delight,

And pleasing chat prolong’d the summer’s night;

The subject, deeds of arms, and valour shown, Or on the Trojan side, or on their own: Of dangers undertaken, fame achieved, They talk’d by turns—the talk by turns relieved. What things but these could fierce Achilles tell;

The god that arm’d him first, consumed at last. Of all the mighty man, the small remains A little urn, and scarcely fill’d, contains.

Yet great in Homer, still Achilles lives,

And equal to himself, himself survives.

The god that arm’d him first, consumed at last. Of all the mighty man, the small remains A little urn, and scarcely fill’d, contains. Yet great in Homer, still Achilles lives,

And equal to himself, himself survives.

His buckler owns its former lord, and brings New cause of strife between contending kings; Who worthiest after him his sword to wield, Or wear his armour, or sustain his shield.

But that he might without a rival reign, He left his faithful Nestor on the plain: Forsook his friend ev’n at his utmost need, Who tired, and tardy with his wounded steed, Cried out for aid, and call’d him by his name;

But cowardice has neither ears nor shame.

Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid, And, for as much as lay in him, betray’d.

Add, that his own is yet a maiden shield, Nor the least dint has suffer’d in the field, Guiltless of fight: mine, batter’d, hew’d, and bored, Worn out of service, must forsake its lord. What further need of words, our right to scan?

My arguments are deeds; let action speak the man.

Since from a champion’s arms the strife arose, Go cast the glorious prize amid the foes; Then send us to redeem both arms and shield, And let him wear who wins them in the field.”

Coon, Chersidamas; and five beside, Men of obscure descent, but courage tried: All these this hand laid breathless on the ground; Nor want I proofs of many a manly wound: All honest, all before: believe not me,

Words may deceive, but credit what you see.

”

By so much greater is my worth than thine, Who canst but execute what I design. What gain’st thou brutal man, if I confess Thy strength superior, when thy wit is less?

Mind is the man: I claim my whole desert,

From the mind’s vigour, and the immortal part.

All these had been my rivals in the shield, And yet all these to my pretensions yield. Thy boisterous hands are then of use, when I With this directing head those hands apply.

Brawn without brain is thine: my prudent care

Foresees, provides, administers the war. Thy province is to fight; but when shall be The time to fight, the king consults with me: No dram of judgment with thy force is join’d: Thy body is of profit, and my mind.

All these had been my rivals in the shield, And yet all these to my pretensions yield. Thy boisterous hands are then of use, when I With this directing head those hands apply. Brawn without brain is thine: my prudent care

Foresees, provides, administers the war.

Thy province is to fight; but when shall be The time to fight, the king consults with me: No dram of judgment with thy force is join’d: Thy body is of profit, and my mind.

He ceased: and ceasing, with respect he bow’d, And with his hand at once the fatal statue show’d. Heaven, air, and ocean, rung with loud applause, And by the general vote he gain’d his cause.

Thus conduct won the prize, when courage fail’d,

And eloquence o’er brutal force prevail’d.

He ceased: and ceasing, with respect he bow’d, And with his hand at once the fatal statue show’d. Heaven, air, and ocean, rung with loud applause, And by the general vote he gain’d his cause. Thus conduct won the prize, when courage fail’d,

And eloquence o’er brutal force prevail’d.

Ajax, in despair, puts a period to his existence, and the blood of the hero is changed into a hyacinth.

Straight Circe reddens with a guilty shame, And vows revenge for her rejected flame. Fierce liking oft a spite as fierce creates;

For love refused, without aversion, hates.

To hurt her hapless rival she proceeds, And, by the fall of Scylla, Glaucus bleeds.

Straight Circe reddens with a guilty shame, And vows revenge for her rejected flame.

Fierce liking oft a spite as fierce creates;

For love refused, without aversion, hates. To hurt her hapless rival she proceeds, And, by the fall of Scylla, Glaucus bleeds.

“And now our skin grows smooth, our shape upright, Our arms stretch up, our cloven feet unite; With tears our weeping general we embrace,

Hang on his neck, and melt upon his face.

Twelve silver moons in Circe’s court we stay, While there they waste the unwilling hours away. ’Twas here I spied a youth in Parian stone, His head a pecker bore, the cause unknown To passengers.

“Now shivering at her gates the wretch appears, And myrtle garlands on the columns rears, Wet with a deluge of unbidden tears.

The nymph, more hard than rocks, more deaf than seas, Derides his prayers, insults his agonies;

Arraigns of insolence the aspiring swain, And takes a cruel pleasure in his pain. Resolved at last to finish his despair, He thus upbraids the inexorable fair:

Struck with the sight, inanimate she seems; Set are her eyes, and motionless her limbs; Her features without fire, her colour gone,

And, like her heart, she hardens into stone.

In Salamis the statue still is seen, In the famed temple of the Cyprian queen. Warn’d by this tale, no longer then disdain, Oh, nymph beloved, to ease a lover’s pain.

“ ‘

Ill habits gather by unseen degrees, As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.

The sow, with her broad snout, for rooting up The entrusted seed, was judged to spoil the crop, And intercept the sweating farmer’s hope: The covetous churl, of unforgiving kind, The offender to the bloody priest resign’d: Her hunger was no plea:

A patient, useful creature, born to bear The warm and woolly fleece, that clothed her murderer; And daily to give down the milk she bred, A tribute for the grass on which she fed.

Living, both food and raiment she supplies, And is of least advantage when she dies.

“ ‘How did the toiling ox his death deserve, A downright simple drudge, and horn to serve? Oh tyrant! with what justice canst thou hope The promise of the year, a plenteous crop;

“ ‘From whence, oh mortal men, this gust of blood Have you derived, and interdicted food? Be taught by me this dire delight to shun, Warn’d by my precepts, by my practice won:

And when you eat the well-deserving beast, Think on the labourer of your field you feast!

“ ‘Now since the god inspires me to proceed, Be that, whate’er inspiring power, obey’d: For I will sing of mighty mysteries, Of truths conceal’d before, from human eyes, Dark oracles unveil, and open all the skies.

And here and there the unbodied spirit flies, By time, or force, or sickness dispossess’d, And lodges, where it lights, in man or beast; Or hunts without, till ready limbs it find, And actuates those according to their kind; From tenement to tenement is toss’d,

The soul is still the same, the figure only lost:

And, as the soften’d wax new seals receives, This face assumes, and that impression leaves; Now call’d by one, now by another name; The form is only changed, the wax is still the same. So death, so call’d, can but the form deface;

“ ‘Then death, so call’d, is but old matter dress’d In some new figure, and a varied vest:

Thus all things are but alter’d, nothing dies;

And here and there the unbodied spirit flies, By time, or force, or sickness dispossess’d, And lodges, where it lights, in man or beast; Or hunts without, till ready limbs it find, And actuates those according to their kind;

Ever in motion; she destroys her old, And casts new figures in another mould. Ev’n times are in perpetual flux, and run, Like rivers from their fountain, rolling on;

For time, no more than streams, is at a stay; The flying hour is ever on her way:

And as the fountain still supplies her store, The wave behind impels the wave before: Thus in successive course the minutes run, And urge their predecessor minutes on, Still moving, ever new: for former things Are set aside, like abdicated kings;

Ev’n times are in perpetual flux, and run, Like rivers from their fountain, rolling on; For time, no more than streams, is at a stay; The flying hour is ever on her way: And as the fountain still supplies her store,

The wave behind impels the wave before:

Thus in successive course the minutes run, And urge their predecessor minutes on, Still moving, ever new: for former things Are set aside, like abdicated kings; And every moment alters what is done, And innovates some act, till then unknown.

“ ‘Ev’n our own bodies daily change receive, Some part of what was theirs before, they leave;

Nor are to-day what yesterday they were;

Nor the whole same to-morrow will appear.

“ ‘

Thy teeth, devouring time, thine, envious age, On things below still exercise your rage:

With venom’d grinders you corrupt your meat, And then, at lingering meals, the morsels eat.

“ ‘Thus are their figures never at a stand, But changed by nature’s innovating hand;

All things are alter’d, nothing is destroy’d, The shifted scene for some new show employ’d.

“ ‘Then, to be born is to begin to be Some other thing we were not formerly: And what we call to die, is not to appear, Or be the thing that formerly we were.

And what were fields before, now wash’d and worn By falling floods from high, to valleys turn, And crumbling still descend to level lands; And lakes, and trembling bogs, are barren sands: And the parch’d desert floats in streams unknown,

Wondering to drink of waters not her own.

“ ‘Here nature living fountains opes; and there Seals up the wombs, where living fountains were: Or earthquakes stop their ancient course, and bring Diverted streams to feed a distant spring.