O pectus ingens! O animum gravem Mundi capacem! si bonus auguror, Te, nostra quo tellus superbit, Accipiet renovata civem.
TRANSLATIONS.
HORACE, BOOK III. ODE III.
No more does Hector's force the Trojans shield, That drove whole armies back, and singly clear'd the field.
"My vengeance sated, I at length resign To Mars his offspring of the Trojan line: Advanc'd to godhead let him rise, And take his station in the skies: There entertain his ravish'd sight With scenes of glory, fields of light: 2uaff with the gods immortal wine, And see adoring nations crowd his shrine. "The thin remains of Troy's afflicted host, And flourish on a foreign coast;
Augustus had a design to rebuild Troy and make it the metropolis of the Roman empire, having closeted several senators on the project: Ho-In distant realms may seats unenvy'd find,
race is supposed to have written the following
THE man resolv'd and steady to his trust,
Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just,
May the rude rabble's insolence despise,
Their senseless clamours and tumultuous cries;
The tyrant's fierceness he beguiles,
And the stern brow, and the harsh voice defies,
And with superior greatness smiles.
Not the rough whirlwind, that deforms Adria's black gulf, and vexes it with storms, The stubborn virtue of his soul can move; Nor the red arm of angry Jove,
That flings the thunder from the sky,
And gives it rage to roar, and strength to fly.
Should the whole frame of nature round him In ruin and confusion hurl'd,
He, unconcern'd, would hear the mighty crack,
And stand secure amidst a falling world.
Such were the godlike arts that led
Bright Pollux to the blest abodes;
Such did for great Alcides plead,
And gain'd a place among the gods;
Where now Augustus, mix'd with heroes, lies,
And to his lips the nectar bowl applies:
His ruddy lips the purple tincture show,
And with immortal stains divinely glow.
By arts like these did young Lyæus rise:
His tigers drew him to the skies;
Wild from the desert and unbroke,
In vain they foam'd, in vain they star'd,
In vain their eyes with fury glar'd;
He tam'd them to the lash and bent them to the
Such were the paths that Rome's great founder
trod,
When in a whirlwind snatch'd on high,
He shook off dull mortality,
And lost the monarch in the god.
Bright Juno then her awful silence broke,
And thus th' assembled deities bespoke.
"Troy," says the goddess," perjur'd Troy has felt
The dire effects of her proud tyrant's guilt;
The towering pile, and soft abodes,
Wall'd by the hand of servile gods,
Now spreads its ruins all around,
And lies inglorious on the ground.
An umpire partial and unjust,
And a lewd woman's impious lust,
Lav heavy on her head, and sunk her to the dust.
"Since false Laomedon's tyrannic sway,
That durst defraud th' immortals of their pay,
Her guardian gods renounc'd their patronage,
Nor would the fierce invading foe repel;
To my resentment, and Minerva's rage,
The guilty king and the whole people fell.
And now the long-protracted wars are o'er,
The soft adulterer shines no more;
But far be Rome from Troy disjoiu'd,
Remov'd by seas, from the disastrous shore,
May endless billows rise between, and storms un-
number'd roar.
"Still let the curst detested place
Where Priam lies, and Priam's faithless race,
Be cover'd o'er with weeds, and hid in grass.
There let the wanton flocks unguarded stray,
Or, while the lonely shepherd sings,
Amidst the mighty ruins play,
And frisk upon the tombs of kings.
"May tigers there, and all the savage kind, Sad solitary haunts and deserts find;
In gloomy vaults, and nooks of palaces,
May th' unmolested lioness
Her brinded whelps securely lay,
Or, coucht, in dreadful slumbers waste the day. "While Troy in heaps of ruins lies,
Rome and the Roman capitol shall rise;
Th' illustrious exiles unconfin'd
Shall triumph far and near, and rule mankind.
"In vain the sea's intruding tide
Europe from Afric shall divide,
And part the sever'd world in two:
Through Afric's sands their triumphs they shall
And the long train of victories pursue
To Nile's yet undiscover'd head.
"Riches the bardy soldiers shall despise,
And look on gold with undesiring eyes,
Nor the disbowel'd earth explore
In search of the forbidden ore;
Those glittering ills, conceal'd within the mine,
Shall lie untouch'd, and innocently shine.
To the last bounds that nature sets,
The piercing colds and sultry heats,
The godlike race shall spread their arms,
Now fill the polar circle with alarms,
Till storms and tempests their pursuits confine;
Now sweat for conquest underneath the line.
"This only law the victor shall restrain,
On these conditions shall he reign:
If noue his guilty hand employ
To build again a second Troy,
If none the rash design pursue,
Nor tempt the vengeance of the gods anew.
"A curse there cleaves to the devoted place,
That shall the new foundations rase;
Greece shall in mutual leagues conspire
To storm the rising town with fire,
And at their armies head myself will show
What Juno, urg'd to all her rage, can do.
"Thrice should Apollo's self the city raise, And line it round with walls of brass; Thrice should my favourite Greeks his works COB
And hew the shining fabric to the ground:
FROM OVID DE FASTIS, LIB. III. EL. 1.
Blanda quies victis furtim subrepit oceliis, &c.
As the fair vestal to the fountain came,
(Let none be startled at a vestal's name)
Tir'd with the walk, she laid her down to rest,
And to the winds expos'd her glowing breast,
To take the freshness of the morning-air,
And gather'd in a knot her flowing hair;
While thus she rested, on her arm reclin'd,
The hoary willows waving with the wind,
And feather'd choirs that warbled in the shade,
And purling streams that through the meadow
stray'd,
In drowsy murmurs lull'd the gentle maid.
The god of war beheld the virgin lie,
The god beheld her with a lover's eye;
And by so tempting an occasion press'd,
The beauteous maid, whom he beheld, possess'd:
Conceiving as she slept, her fruitful womb
Swell'd with the founder of immortal Rome.
OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.
BOOK II.
THE STORY OF PHAETON.
THE Sun's bright palace, on high columns rais'd,
With burnish'd gold and flaming jewels blaz'd;
The folding gates diffus'd a silver light,
And with a milder gleam refresh'd the sight;
Of polish'd ivory was the covering wrought:
The matter vied not with the sculptor's thought,
For in the portal was display'd on high
(The work of Vulcan) a fictitious sky;
A waving sea th' inferior earth embrac'd,
And gods and goddesses the waters grac'd.
Ægeon here a mighty whale bestrode;
Triton, and Proteus (the deceiving god),
With Doris here were carv'd, and all her train,
Some loosely swimming in the figur'd main,
Whilst some on rocks their drooping hair divide,
And some on fishes through the waters glide:
Though various features did the sisters grace,
A sister's likeness was in every face.
On earth a different landscape courts the eyes,
Men, towns, and beasts, in distant prospects rise,
And nymphs, and streams, and woods, and rural
deities.
O'er all, the Heaven's refulgent image shines;
On either gate were six engraven signs.
Here Phaeton, still gaining on th' ascent,
To his suspected father's palace went,
Till pressing forward through the bright abode,
He saw at distance the illustrious god:
He saw at distance, or the dazzling light
Had flash'd too strongly on his aking sight.
![[ocr errors]](https://books.google.fi/books/content?id=fPISAAAAIAAJ&hl=fi&output=html_text&pg=RA1-PA545&img=1&zoom=3&q=youth&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U3tK1XO1-MiWQZjzQcgX-udg6N9mg&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=469,1343,6,21)
The god sits high, exalted on a throne
Of blazing gems, with purple garments on;
The hours in order rang'd on either hand,
And days, and months, and years, and ages, stand.
Here Spring appears with flowery chaplets bound;
Here Summer in her wheaten garland crown'd;
Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear;
And hoary Winter shivers in the rear.
Phoebus beheld the youth from off his throne;
That eye, which looks on all, was fix'd on one.
He saw the boy's confusion in his face,
Surpris'd at all the wonders of the place;
And cries aloud, "What wants my son? For know
My son thou art, and I must call thee so,"
"Light of the world," the trembling youth replies,
"Illustrious parent! since you don't despise
The parent's name, some certain token give,
That I may Clymenè's proud boast believe,
Nor longer under false reproaches grieve."
The tender sire was touch'd with what he said,
And flung the blaze of glories from his head,
And bid the youth advance: "My son," said he,
"Come to thy father's arms! for Clymenè
Has told thee true; a parent's name I own,
And deem thee worthy to be call'd my son.
As a sure proof, make some request, and I,
Whate'er it be, with that request comply;
By Styx I swear, whose waves are hid in night,
And roll impervious to my piercing sight."
The youth, transported, asks without delay,
To guide the Sun's bright chariot for a day.
The god repented of the oath he took,
For anguish thrice his radiant head he shook:
"My son," says 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 axle-tree, 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 seiz'd with horrour 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 1
Borne back by all the current of the sky.
But how could you resist the orbs that roll
In adverse whirls, and stem the rapid pole?
But you perhaps may hope for pleasing woods,
And stately domes, and cities fill'd with gods;
While through a thousand snares your progress
lies,
Where forms of starry monsters stock the skies:
For, should you hit the doubtful way aright,
The Buil with stooping horns stands opposite;
Next him the bright Hæmonian bow is strung;
And next, the Lion's grinning visage hung:
The Scorpion's claws here clasp a wide extent,
And here the Crab's in lesser clasps are bent.
Nor would you find it easy to compose [flows
The mettled steeds, when from their nostrils
The scorching fire, that in their entrails glows.
Ev'n I their headstrong fury scarce restrain,
When they grow warm and restive to the rein.
Let not my son a fatal gift require,
But, O! in time, recall your rash desire;
You ask a gift that may your parent tell,
Let these my fears your parentage reveal;
And learn a father from a father's care;
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 't is 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."
Thus did the god th' unwary youth advise;
But he still longs to travel through the skies.
When the fond father (for in vain he pleads)
At length to the Vulcanian chariot leads.
A golden axle did the work uphold, [gold.
Gold was the beam, the wheels were' orb'd with
The spokes in rows of silver pleas'd the sight,
The seat with party-colour'd gems was bright;
Apollo shin'd amid the glare of light.
The youth with secret joy the work surveys;
When now the Morn disclos'd her purple rays;
The stars were fled; for Lucifer had chas'd
The stars away, and fled himself at last.
Soon as the father saw the rosy Morn,
And the Moon shining with a blunter horn,
He bid the nimble Hours without delay
Bring forth the steeds; the nimble Hours obey:
From their full racks the generous steeds retire,
Dropping ambrosial foams, and snorting fire.
Still anxious for his son, the god of day,
To make him proof against the burning ray,
His temples with celestial ointment wet,
Of sovereign virtue to repel the heat,
Then fix'd the beamy circle on his head,
And fetch'd a deep foreboding sigh, and said,
"Take this at least, this last advice, my son;
Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on:
The coursers of themselves will run too fast,
Your art must be to moderate their haste.
Drive them not on directly through the skies,
But where the zodiac's winding circle lies,
Along the midmost zone; 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!
See, while I speak, the shades disperse away,
Aurora gives the promise of a day;
I'm call'd, nor can I make a longer stay.
Snatch up the reins; or still th' attempt forsake,
And not my chariot, but my counsel take,
While yet securely on the earth you stand;
Nor touch the horses with too rash a hand.
Let me alone to light the world, while you
Enjoy those bearms which you may safely view."
He spoke in vain; the youth with active heat
And sprightly vigour vaults into the seat;
And joys to hold the reins, and fondly gives
Those thanks his father with remorse receives.
Mean while the restless horses neigh'd aloud,
Breathing out fire, and pawing where they stood.
Tethys, not knowing what had past, gave way,
And all the waste of Heaven before them lay.
They spring together out, and swiftly bear
The flying youth through clouds and yielding air;
With wingy speed outstrip the eastern wind,
And leave the breezes of the Morn behind.
The youth was light, nor could he fill the seat,
Or poise the chariot with its wonted weight:
But as at sea th' unballast vessel rides,
Cast to and fro, the sport of winds and tides;
So in the bounding chariot toss'd on high,
The youth is hurry'd headlong through the sky.
Soon as the steeds perceive it they forsake
Their stated course, and leave the beaten track.
The youth was in a maze, nor did he know
Which way to turn the reins, or where to go;
Nor would the horses, had he kuown, obey.
Then the Seven Stars first felt Apollo's ray,
And wish'd to dip in the forbidden sea.
The folded Serpent next the frozen pole,
Stiff and benumb'd before, began to roll.
And rag'd with inward heat, and threaten'd war,
And shot a redder light from every star;
Nay, and 'tis said, Boötes too, that fain
Thou wouldst have fled, though cumber'd with thy
wain.
Th' unhappy youth, then bending down his head, Saw earth and ocean far beneath him spread: His colour chang'd, he startled at the sight, And his eyes darken'd by too great a light. Now could he wish the fiery steeds untry'd, His birth obscure, and his request deny'd: Now would he Merops for his father own, And quit his boasted kindred to the Sun.
So fares the pilot when his ship is tost In troubled seas, and all its steerage lost; He gives her to the winds, and in despair Seeks his last refuge in the gods and prayer. What could he do? His eyes if backward cast, Find a long path he had already past; If forward, still a longer path they find: Both he compares, and measures in his mind; And sometimes casts an eye upon the east, And sometimes looks on the forbidden west. The horses' names he knew not in the fright: Nor would he loose the reins, nor could he hold them tight.
Now all the horrours of the Heavens he spies, And monstrous shadows of prodigious size, That, deck'd with stars, lie scatter'd o'er the skies. There is a place above, where Scorpio bent In tail and arms surrounds a vast extent; In a wide circuit of the Heavens he shines, And fills the space of two celestial signs. Soon as the youth beheld him, vex'd with heat, Brandish his sting, and in his poison sweat, Haif dead with sudden fear he dropt the reins; The horses felt them loose upon their manes, And flying out through all the plains above, Ran uncontroll'd where'er their fury drove;
Rush'd on the stars, and through a pathless way
Of unknown regions hurry'd on the day,
And now above, and now below they flew,
And near the Earth the burning chariot drew.
The clouds disperse in fumes, the wondering
Moon
Beholds her brother's steeds beneath her own;
The highlands smoke, cleft by the piercing rays,
Or, clad with woods, in their own fuel blaze.
Next o'er the plains, where ripen'd harvests grow,
The running conflagration spreads below.
But these are trivial ills: whole cities burn,
And peopled kingdoms into ashes turn.
The mountains kindle as the car draws near,
Athos and Tmolus red with fires appear;
Oeagrian liæmus (then a single name)
Aud virgin Helicon increase the flaine;
Taurus and Oete glare amid the sky,
And Ida, spite of all her fountains, dry.
Eryx, and Othrys, and Citharon, glow;
And Rhodope, no longer cloth'd in snow;
High Pindus, Mimas, and Parnassus, sweat,
Aud Ætna rages with redoubled heat.
Ev'n Scythia, through her hoary regions warm'd,
In vain with all her native frost was arm'd.
Cover'd with flames, the towering Appennine,
And Caucasus, and proud Olympus, shine;
And, where the long-extended Alps aspire,
Now stands a huge continued range of fire.
Th' astonish'd youth, where'er his eyes could
Beheld the universe around him burn;
The world was in a blaze; nor could he bear
The sultry vapours and the scorching air,
Which from below, as from a furnace, flow'd;
And now the axle-tree beneath him glow'd:
Lost in the whirling clouds, that round him broke,
And white with ashes, hovering in the smoke,
He flew where'er the horses drove, nor knew
Whither the horses drove, or where he flew.
'Twas then, they say, the swarthy Moor begun
To change his hue, and blacken in the Sun.
Then Lybia first, of all her moisture drain'd,
Became a barren waste, a wild of sand.
The water-nymphs lament their empty urns;
Boeotia, robb'd of silver Dirce, mourns;
Corinth Pyrene's wasted spring bewails;
And Argos grieves whilst Amymonè fails.
The floods are drain'd from every distant coast:
Ev'n Tanaïs, though fix'd in ice, was lost;
Enrag'd Caïcus and Lycormas roar,
And Xanthus, fated to be burnt once more.
The fam'd Meander, that unweary'd strays
Through mazy windings, smokes in every maze.
From his lov'd Babylon Euphrates flies;
The big-swoln Ganges and the Danube rise
In thickening fumes, and darken half the skies.
In flames Ismenos and the Phasis roll'd,
And Tagus floating in his meited gold.
The swans, that on Cäyster often try'd
Their tuneful songs, now sung their last and dy'd.
The frighted Nile ran off, and under ground
Conceal'd his head, nor can it yet be found:
His seven divided currents are all dry,
And where they roll'd seven gaping trenches lie.
No more the Rhine or Rhone their course maintain,
Nor Tiber, of his promis'd empire vain.
The ground deep cleft, admits the dazzling ray,
And startles Pluto with the flash of day.
The sea shrinks in, and to the sight disclose
Wide naked plains, where once their billows rose;
Their rocks are all discover'd, and increase
The number of the scatter'd Cyclades.
The fish in shoals about the bottom creep,
Nor longer dares the crooked dolphin leap:
Gasping for breath, th' unshapen phocæ die,
And on the boiling wave extended lie.
Nereus, and Doris with her virgin train,
Seek out the last recesses of the main
Beneath unfathomable depths they faint,
And secret in their gloomy caverns pant.
Stern Neptune thrice above the waves upheld
His face, and thrice was by the flames repell'd.
The Earth at length on every side embrac'd
With scalding seas that floated round her waste,
When now she felt the springs and rivers come,
And crowd within the hollow of her womb,
Up-lifted to the Heavens her blasted head,
And clapt her hands upon her brows and said;
(But first, impatient of the sultry heat,
Sunk deeper down, and sought a cooler seat:)
"If you, great king of gods, my death approve,
And I deserve it, let me die by Jove;
If I must perish by the force of fire,
Let me transfix'd with thunderbolts expire.
See, whilst I speak, my breath the vapours choke,"
For now her face lay wrapt in clouds of smoke,
"See my sing'd hair, behold my faded eye,
And wither'd face, where heaps of cinders lie!
And does the plough for this my body tear?
This the reward for all the fruits I bear,
Tortur'd with rakes, and harass'd all the year?
That herbs for cattle daily I renew,
And food for man, and frankincense for you?
But grant me guilty; what has Neptune done?
Why are his waters boiling in the Sun?
The wavy empire, which by lot was given, [ven?
Why does it waste, and further shrink from Hea-
If I nor he your pity can provoke, [smoke.
See your own Heavens, the Heavens begin to
Should once the sparkles catch those bright abodes,
Destruction seizes on the Heavens and gods;
Atlas becomes unequal to his freight,
And almost faints beneath the glowing weight.
If Heaven, and earth, and sea together burn,
All must again into their chaos turn.
Apply some speedy cure, prevent our fate,
And succour Nature, ere it be too late." [spread,
She ceas'd; for, chok'd with vapours round her
Down to the deepest shades she sunk her head.
Jove call'd to witness every power above,
And ev'n the god, whose son the chariot drove,
That what he acts, he is compell'd to do,
Or universal ruin must ensue.
Straight he ascends the high ethereal throne,
From whence he us'd to dart his thunder down,
From whence his showers and storms he us'd to
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.fi/books/content?id=fPISAAAAIAAJ&hl=fi&output=html_text&pg=RA1-PA547&img=1&zoom=3&q=youth&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U04uFBdSfCGZedRmo4z1L2awhgQqA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=467,1281,473,289)
The breathless Phaeton, with flaming hair,
Shot from the chariot, like a falling star,
That in a summer's evening from the top
Of Heaven drops down, or scems at least to drop;
Till on the Po his blasted corpse was hurl'd,
Far from his country, in the western world.
PHAETON'S SISTERS TRANSFORMED INTO TREES.
THE Latian nymphs came round him, and amaz'd
On the dead youth, transfix'd with thunder, gaz'd;
And, whilst yet smoking from the bolt he lay,
His shatter'd body to a tomb convey,
And o'er the tomb an epitaph devise:
"Here he who drove the Sun's bright chariot lies;
His father's fiery steeds he could not guide,
But in the glorious enterprise he dy'd."
Apollo hid his face, and pin'd for grief,
And, if the story may deserve belief,
The space of one whole day is said to run,
From morn to wonted eve, without a Sun:
The burning ruins, with a fainter ray,
Supply the Sun, and counterfeit a day,
A day that still did Nature's face disclose:
This comfort from the mighty mischief rose.
But Clymenè, enrag'd with grief, laments,
And, as her grief inspires, her passion vents:
Wild for her son, and frantic in her woes,
With hair dishevel'd, round the world she goes,
To seek where'er his body might be cast;
Till, on the borders of the Po, at last
The name inscrib'd on the new tomb appears;
The dear, dear name she bathes in flowing tears,
Hangs o'er the tomb, unable to depart,
And hugs the marble to her throbbing heart.
Her daughters too lament, and sigh and mourn,
(A fruitless tribute to their brother's urn;)
And beat their naked bosoms, and complain,
And call aloud for Phaeton in vain :
All the long night their mournful watch they keep,
And all the day stand round the tomb and weep.
Four times, revolving, the full Moon return'd; So long the mother and the daughters mourn'd; When now the eldest, Phaethusa, strove To rest her weary limbs, but could not move; Lampetia would have help'd her, but she found Herself withheld, and rooted to the ground: A third in wild affliction, as she grieves, Would rend her hair, but fills her hand with leaves; One sees her thighs transform'd, another views Her arms shot out, and branching into boughs. And now their legs, and breasts, and bodies,
Crusted with bark, and hardening into wood;
But still above were female beads display'd,-
And mouths that call'd the mother to their aid.
What could, alas! the weeping mother do?
From this to that with eager haste she flew,
And kiss'd her sprouting daughters as they grew.
She tears the bark that to each body cleaves,
And from the verdant fingers strips the leaves:
The blood came trickling, where she tore away
The leaves and bark: the maids were heard to
say,
"Forbear, mistaken parent, oh! forbear;
A wounded daughter in each tree you tear; Farewell for ever." Here the bark increas'd, Clos'd on their faces, and their words suppress'd.
The new-made trees in tears of amber run, Which, harden'd into value by the Sun, Distil for ever on the streams below: The limpid streams their radiant treasure show, Mix'd in the sand; whence the rich drops convey'd
Shine in the dress of the bright Latian maid.
THE TRANSFORMATION OF CYCNUS INTO A
CYCNUS beheld the nymphs transform'd, ally'd
To their dead brother, on the mortal side,
In friendship and affection nearer bound;
He left the cities and the realms he own'd,
Through pathless fields and lonely shores to range,
And woods, made thicker by the sisters' change.
Whilst here, within the dismal gloom, alone,
The melancholy monarch made his moan,
His voice was lessen'd, as he try'd to speak,
And issued through a long extended neck;
His hair transforms to down, his fingers meet
In skinny films, and shape his oary feet;
From both his sides the wings and feathers break;
And from his mouth proceeds a blunted beak:
All Cycnus now into a swan was turn'd,
Who, still remembering how his kinsman burn'd,
To solitary pools and lakes retires,
And loves the waters as oppos'd to fires.
Mean-while Apollo in a gloomy shade,
The native lustre of his brows decay'd,
Indulging sorrow, sickens at the sight
Of his own sun-shine, and abhors the light:
The hidden griefs, that in his bosom rise,
Sadden his looks, and overcast his eyes,
As when some dusky orb obstructs his ray,
And sullies, in a dim eclipse, the day.
Now secretly with inward griefs he pin'd, Now warm resentments to his griefs he join'd, And now renounc'd his office to mankind. "F'er since the birth of Time," said he, "I've borne
A long ungrateful toil without return;
Let now some other manage, if he dare,
The fiery steeds and mount the burning car,
Or, if none else, let Jove h's fortune try,
And learn to lay his murdering thunder by;
Then will he own, perhaps, but own too late,
My son deserv'd not so severe a fate."
The gods stand round him, as he mourns, and He would resume the conduct of the day, Nor let the world be lost in endless night: Jove too himself, descending from his height, Excuses what had happen'd, and entreats, Majestically mixing prayers and threats. Prevail'd upon at length, again he took
The harness'd steeds, that still with horrour shook, And plies them with the lash, and whips them on, And as he whips, upbraids them with his son.
THE day was settled in its course; and Jove
Walk'd the wide circuit of the Heavens above,
To search if any cracks or flaws were made:
But all was safe: the Earth he then survey'd,
And cast an eye on every different coast,
And every land; but on Arcadia most.
Her fields he cloth'd, and cheer'd her blasted face
With running fountains, and with springing grass
|