1. THE First Book OF THE METAMORPHOSES OF OVID.
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From bodies various form'd, mutative shapes
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My Muse would sing:—Celestial powers give aid!
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From you those changes sprung,—inspire my pen;
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Connect each period of my venturous song
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Unsever'd, from old Chaös' rude misrule,
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Till now the world beneath Augustus smiles.
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While yet nor earth nor sea their place possest,
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Nor that cerulean canopy which hangs
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O'ershadowing all, each undistinguish'd lay,
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And one dead form all Nature's features bore;
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Unshapely, rude, and Chaos justly nam'd.
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Together struggling laid, each element
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Confusion strange begat:—Sol had not yet
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Whirl'd through the blue expanse his burning car:
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Nor Luna yet had lighted forth her lamp,
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Nor fed her waning light with borrowed rays.
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No globous earth pois'd inly by its weight,
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Hung pendent in the circumambient sky:
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The sky was not:—Nor Amphitrité had
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Clasp'd round the land her wide-encircling arms.
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Unfirm the earth, with water mix'd and air;
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Opaque the air; unfluid were the waves.
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Together clash'd the elements confus'd:
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Cold strove with heat, and moisture drought oppos'd;
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Light, heavy, hard, and soft, in combat join'd.
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Uprose the world's great Lord,—the strife dissolv'd,
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The firm earth from the blue sky plac'd apart;
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Roll'd back the waves from off the land, and fixt
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Where pure ethereal joins with foggy air.
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Defin'd each element, and from the mass
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Chaötic, rang'd select, in concord firm
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He bound, and all agreed. On high upsprung
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The fiery ether to the utmost heaven:
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The atmospheric air, in lightness next,
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Upfloated:—dense the solid earth dragg'd down
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The heavier mass; and girt on every side
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By waves circumfluent, seiz'd her place below.
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This done, the mass this deity unknown
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Divides;—each part dispos'd in order lays:
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First earth he rounds, in form a sphere immense,
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Equal on every side: then bids the seas,
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Pent in by banks, spread their rude waves abroad,
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By strong winds vext; and clasp within their arms
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The tortuous shores: and marshes wide he adds,
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Pure springs and lakes:—he bounds with shelving banks
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The streams smooth gliding;—slowly creeping, some
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The arid earth absorbs; furious some rush,
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And in the watery plain their waves disgorge;
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Their narrow bounds escap'd, to billows rise,
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And lash the sandy shores. He bade the plains
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Extend;—the vallies sink;—the groves to bloom;—
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And rocky hills to lift their heads aloft.
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And as two zones the northern heaven restrain,
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The southern two, and one the hotter midst,
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With five the Godhead girt th' inclosed earth,
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And climates five upon its face imprest.
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The midst from heat inhabitable: snows
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Eternal cover two: 'twixt these extremes
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Two temperate regions lie, where heat and cold
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Meet in due mixture; 'bove the whole light air
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Was hung:—as water floats above the land,
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So fire 'bove air ascends. Here he bade lodge,
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Thick clouds and vapors; thunders bellowing loud
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Terrific to mankind, and winds; which mixt
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Sharp cold beget. But these to range at large
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The air throughout, his care forbade. E'en now
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Their force is scarce withstood; but oft they threat
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Wild ruin to the universe, though each
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In separate regions rules his potent blasts.
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Such is fraternal strife! Far to the east
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Where Persian mountains greet the rising sun
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Eurus withdrew. Where sinking Phœbus' rays
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Glow on the western shores mild Zephyr fled.
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Terrific Boreas frozen Scythia seiz'd,
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Beneath the icy bear. On southern climes
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From constant clouds the showery Auster rains.
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The liquid ether high above he spread,
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Light, calm, and undefil'd by dregs terrene.
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Scarce were those bounds immutable arrang'd,
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When upward sprung the stars so long press'd down
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Beneath the heap chaötic, and along
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The path of heaven their blazing courses ran.
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Next that each separate element might hold
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Appropriate habitants,—the vault of heaven,
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Bright constellations and the gods receiv'd.
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To glittering fish allotted were the waves:
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To earth fierce brutes:—to agitated air,
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Light-plumag'd birds. A being more divine,
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Of soul exalted more, and form'd to rule
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The rest was wanting. Then he finish'd MAN!
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Or by the world's creator, power supreme,
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Form'd from an heavenly seed; or new-shap'd earth
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Late from celestial ether torn, and still
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Congenial warmth retaining, moisten'd felt,
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Prometheus' fire, and moulded took the form
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Of him all-potent. Others earth behold
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Pronely;—to man a face erect was given.
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The heavens he bade him view, and raise his eyes
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High to the stars. Thus earth of late so rude,
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So shapeless, man, till now unknown, became.
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First sprung the age of gold. Unforc'd by laws
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Strict rectitude and faith, spontaneous then
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Mankind inspir'd. No judge vindictive frown'd;
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Unknown alike were punishment and fear:
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No strict decrees on brazen plates were seen;
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Nor suppliant crowd, with trembling limbs low bent,
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Before their judges bow'd. Unknown was law,
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Yet safe were all. Unhewn from native hills,
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The pine-tree knew the seas not, nor had view'd
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Regions unknown, for man not yet had search'd
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Shores distant from his own. The towns ungirt
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By trenches deep, laid open to the plain;
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Nor brazen trump, nor bended horn were seen,
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Helmet, nor sword; but conscious and secure,
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Unaw'd by arms the nations tranquil slept.
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The teeming earth by barrows yet unras'd,
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By ploughs unwounded, plenteous pour'd her stores.
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Content with food unforc'd, man pluck'd with ease
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Young strawberries from the mountains; cornels red;
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The thorny bramble's fruit; and acorns shook
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From Jove's wide-spreading tree. Spring ever smil'd;
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And placid Zephyr foster'd with his breeze
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The flowers unsown, which everlasting bloom'd.
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Untill'd the land its welcome produce gave,
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And unmanur'd its hoary crop renew'd.
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Here streams of milk, there streams of nectar flow'd;
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And from the ilex, drop by drop distill'd,
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The yellow honey fell. But, Saturn down
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To dusky Tartarus banish'd, all the world
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By Jove was govern'd. Then a silver age
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Succeeded; by the golden far excell'd;—
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Itself surpassing far the age of brass.
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The ancient durance of perpetual spring
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He shorten'd, and in seasons four the year
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Divided:—Winter, summer, lessen'd spring,
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And various temper'd autumn first were known.
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Then first the air with parching fervor dry,
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Glow'd hot;—then ice congeal'd by piercing winds
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Hung pendent;—houses then first shelter'd man;
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Houses by caverns form'd, with thick shrubs fenc'd,
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And boughs entwin'd with osiers. Then the grain
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Of Ceres first in lengthen'd furrows lay;
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And oxen groan'd beneath the weighty yoke.
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Third after these a brazen race succeeds,
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More stern in soul, and more in furious war
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Delighting;—still to wicked deeds averse.
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The last from stubborn iron took its name;—
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And now rush'd in upon the wretched race
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All impious villainies: Truth, faith, and shame,
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Fled far; while enter'd fraud, and force, and craft,
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And plotting, with detested avarice.
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To winds scarce known the seaman boldly loos'd
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His sails, and ships which long on lofty hills
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Had rested, bounded o'er the unsearch'd waves.
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The cautious measurer now with spacious line
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Mark'd out the land, in common once to all;
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Free as the sun-beams, or the lucid air.
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Nor would the fruits and aliments suffice,
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The rich earth from her surface threw, but deep
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Within her womb they digg'd, and thence display'd,
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Riches, of crimes the prompter, hid far deep
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Close by the Stygian shades. Now murderous steel,
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And gold more murderous enter'd into day:
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Weapon'd with each, war sallied forth and shook
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With bloody grasp his loud-resounding arms.
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Now man by rapine lives;—friend fears his host;
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And sire-in-law his son;—e'en brethren's love
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Is rarely seen: wives plot their husbands' death;
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And husbands theirs design: step-mothers fierce
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The lurid poisons mix: th' impatient son
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Enquires the limits of his father's years:—
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Piety lies neglected; and Astræa,
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Last of celestial deities on earth,
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Ascends, and leaves the sanguine-moisten'd land.
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Nor high-rais'd heaven was more than earth secure.
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Giants, 'tis said, with mad ambition strove
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To seize the heavenly throne, and mountains pile
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On mountains till the loftiest stars they touch'd.
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But with his darted bolt all-powerful Jove,
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Olympus shatter'd, and from Pelion's top
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Dash'd Ossa. There with huge unwieldy bulk
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Oppress'd, their dreadful corses lay, and soak'd
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Their parent earth with blood; their parent earth
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The warm blood vivify'd, and caus'd assume
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An human form,—a monumental type
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Of fierce progenitors. Heaven they despise,
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Violent, of slaughter greedy; and their race
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From blood deriv'd, betray.
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This from his lofty seat beheld, and sigh'd;
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The recent bloody fact revolving deep,
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The Lycaönian feast, to few yet known.
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Incens'd with mighty rage, rage worthy Jove,
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He calls the council;—none who hear delay.
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A path sublime, in cloudless skies fair seen,
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They tread when tow'rd the mighty thunderer's dome,
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His regal court, th' immortals bend their way.
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On right and left by folding doors enclos'd,
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Are halls where gods of rank and power are set;
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Plebeians far and wide their place select:
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More potent deities, in heaven most bright,
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Full in the front possess their shining seats.
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This place,(might words so bold a form assume)
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I'd term Palatium of the lofty sky.
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Here in his marble niche each god was plac'd
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And on his eburn sceptre leaning, Jove
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O'er all high tower'd; the dread-inspiring locks
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Three times he shook; and ocean, earth, and sky,
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The motion felt and trembled. Then in rage
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The silence thus he broke:—“Not more I fear'd
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“Our kingdom's fate in those tempestuous times,
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“When monsters serpent-footed furious strove,
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“To clasp within their hundred arms the heavens,
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“Already captive deem'd. Though fierce our foe,
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“One race alone warr'd with us, sprung from one.
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“Now all must perish; all within the bounds
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“By Nereus circled with his roaring waves.
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“I swear by Styx, by those infernal streams,
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“Through shades slow creeping. All I could I've try'd.
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“But lest to parts unsound the taint should spread,
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“What baffles cure, the knife must lop away.
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“Our demi-gods we have,—we have our nymphs,
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“Our rustic deities,—our satyrs,—fawns,
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“And mountain sylvans—whose deserts we grant
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“Celestial honors claim not,—yet on earth,
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“By us assign'd, they safely sure should rest.
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“But, oh! ye sacred powers,—but oh! how safe
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“Are these, when fierce Lycaön plots for me!
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“Me! whom the thunders and yourselves obey?”
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Loud murmurs fill the skies—swift vengeance all
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With eager voice demand. When impious hands
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With Cæsar's blood th' immortal fame of Rome,
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Rag'd to extinguish—all the world aghast,
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With horror shook, and trembled through its frame.
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Nor was thy subjects' loyalty to thee
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More sweet, Augustus, than was theirs to Jove.
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His hand and voice, to still their noise he rais'd:
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Their clamors loud were hush'd, all silence kept;
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When thus the thunderer ends his angry tale:
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“Dismiss your care, his punishment is o'er;
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“But hear his crimes, and hear his well-earn'd fate.
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“Of human vice the fame had reach'd mine ear,
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“With hop'd exaggeration; gliding down,
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“From proud Olympus' brow, I veil'd the god,
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“And rov'd the world in human form around.
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“'Twere long to tell what turpitude I saw
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“On every side, for rumor far fell short,
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“Of what I witness'd. Through the dusky woods
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“Of Mænalus I pass'd, where savage lurk
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“Fierce monsters; o'er the cold Lycean hill,
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“With pine-trees waving; and Cyllené's height.
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“Thence to th' Arcadian monarch's roof I came,
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“As dusky twilight drew on sable night.
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“Gave signs a god approach'd. The people crowd
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“In adoration: but Lycaön turns
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“Their reverence and piety to scorn.
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“Then said,—not hard the task to ascertain,
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“If god or mortal, by unerring test:
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“And plots to slay me when oppress'd with sleep.
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“Such proof his soul well suited. Impious more,
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“An hostage from Molossus sent he slew;
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“His palpitating members part he boil'd,
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“And o'er the glowing embers roasted part:
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“These on the board he serves. My vengeful flames
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“Consume his roof;—for his deserts, o'erwhelm
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“His household gods. Lycaön trembling fled
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“And gain'd the silent country; loud he howl'd,
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“And strove in vain to speak; his ravenous mouth
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“Still thirsts for slaughter; on the harmless flocks
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“His fury rages, as it wont on man:
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“Blood glads him still; his vest is shaggy hair;
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“His arms sink down to legs; a wolf he stands.
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“Yet former traits his visage still retains;
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“Grey still his hair; and cruel still his look;
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“His eyes still glisten; savage all his form.
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“Thus one house perish'd, but not one alone
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“The fate deserves. Wherever earth extends,
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“The fierce Erinnys reigns; men seem conspir'd
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“In impious bond to sin; and all shall feel
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“The scourge they merit: fixt is my decree.”
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Part loud applaud his words, and feed his rage;
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The rest assent in silence; yet to all,
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Man's loss seems grievous; anxious all enquire
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What form shall earth of him depriv'd assume?
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Who then shall incense to their altars bring?
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And if those rich and fertile lands he means
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A spoil for beasts ferocious? Their despair
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He bade them banish, and in him confide
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For what the future needed; held them forth
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The promise of a race unlike the first;
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Originating from a wonderous stock.
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And now his lightenings were already shot,
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And earth in flames, but that a fire so vast,
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He fear'd might reach Olympus, and consume
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The heavenly axis. Also call'd to mind
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What fate had doom'd, that all in future times
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By fire should perish, earth, and sea, and heaven;
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And all th' unwieldy fabric of the world
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Should waste to nought. The Cyclops' labor'd bolts
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Aside he laid. A different vengeance now,
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To drench with rains from every part of heaven,
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And whelm mankind beneath the rising waves,
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Pleas'd more th' immortal. Straightway close he pent
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The dry north-east, and every blast to showers
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Adverse, in caves Æolian, and unbarr'd
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The cell of Notus. Notus rushes forth
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On pinions dropping rain; his horrid face
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A pitchy cloud conceals; pregnant with showers
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His beard; and waters from his grey hairs flow:
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Mists on his forehead sit; in dews dissolv'd
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His arms and bosom, seem to melt away.
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With broad hands seizing on the pendent clouds
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He press'd them—with a mighty crash they burst,
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And thick and constant floods from heaven pour down.
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Iris meantime, in various robe array'd,
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Collects the waters and supplies the clouds.
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Prostrate the harvest lies, the tiller's hopes
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Turn to despair. The labors of an year,
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A long, long year, without their fruit are spent.
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Nor Jove's own heaven his anger could suffice,
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His brother brings him his auxiliar waves.
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He calls the rivers,—at their monarch's call
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His roof they enter, and in brief he speaks:
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“Few words we need, pour each his utmost strength,
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“The cause demands it; ope' your fountains wide,
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“Sweep every mound before you, and let gush
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“Your furious waters with unshorten'd reins.”
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He bids—the watery gods retire,—break up
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Their narrow springs, and furious tow'rd the main
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Their waters roll: himself his trident rears
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And smites the earth; earth trembles at the stroke,
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Yawns wide her bosom, and upon the land
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A flood disgorges. Wide outspread the streams
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Rush o'er the open fields;—uproot the trees;
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Sweep harvests, flocks, and men;—nor houses stood;
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Nor household gods, asylums hereto safe.
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Where strong-built edifice its walls oppos'd
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Unlevell'd in the ruin, high above
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Its roof the billows mounted, and its towers
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Totter'd, beneath the watery gulf oppress'd.
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Nor land nor sea their ancient bounds maintain'd,
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For all around was sea, sea without shore.
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This seeks a mountain's top, that gains a skiff,
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And plies his oars where late he plough'd the plains.
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O'er fields of corn one sails, or 'bove the roofs
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Of towns immerg'd;—another in the elm
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Seizes th' intangled fish. Perchance in meads
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The anchor oft is thrown, and oft the keel
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Tears the subjacent vine-tree. Where were wont
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The nimble goats to crop the tender grass
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Unwieldy sea-calves roll. The Nereid nymphs,
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With wonder, groves, and palaces, and towns,
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Beneath the waves behold. By dolphins now
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The woods are tenanted, who furious smite
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The boughs, and shake the strong oak by their blows.
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Swims with the flock the wolf; and swept along,
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Tigers and tawny lions strive in vain.
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Now not his thundering strength avails the boar;
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Nor, borne away, the fleet stag's slender limbs:
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And land, long sought in vain, to rest her feet,
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The wandering bird draws in her weary wings,
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And drops into the waves, whose uncheck'd roll
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The hills have drown'd; and with un'custom'd surge
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Foam on the mountain tops. Of man the most
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They swallow'd; whom their fierce irruption spar'd,
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By hunger perish'd in their bleak retreat.
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Between th' Aönian and Actæian lands
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Lies Phocis; fruitful were the Phocian fields
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While fields they were, but now o'erwhelm'd, they form
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A region only of the wide-spread main.
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Here stands Parnassus with his forked top,
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Above the clouds high-towering to the stars.
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To this Deucalion with his consort driven
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O'er ridgy billows in his bark clung close;
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For all was sea beside. There bend they down;
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The nymphs, and mountain gods adore, and she
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Predicting Themis, then oraculous deem'd.
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No man more upright than himself had liv'd;
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Than Pyrrha none more pious heaven had seen.
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Now Jove beheld a mighty lake expand
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Where late was earth, and from the swarming crowds
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But one man sav'd—of woman only one:
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Both guiltless,—pious both. He chas'd the clouds
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And bade the dry north-east to drive the showers
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Far distant, and display the earth to heaven,
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And unto earth the skies. The ocean's rage
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Remains no more. Mild Neptune lays aside
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His three-fork'd weapon, and his surges smoothes;
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Then calls blue Triton from the dark profound.
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Above the waves the god his shoulders rears,
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With inbred purple ting'd: He bids him sound
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His shelly trump, and back the billows call;
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And rivers to their banks again remand.
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The trump he seizes,—broad above it wreath'd
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From narrow base;—the trump whose piercing blast
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From east to west resounds through every shore.
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This to his mouth the watery-bearded god
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Applies, and breathes within the stern command.
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All hear the sound, or waves of earth or sea,
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And all who hear obey. Sea finds a shore;
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Floods flow within their channels; rivers sink;
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Hills lift their heads; and as the waves decrease,
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In numerous islets solid earth appears.
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A tedious time elaps'd, and now the woods
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Display'd their leafless summits, and their boughs
406
Heavy with mud. At length the world restor'd
407
Deucalion saw, but empty all and void;
408
Deep silence reigning through th' expansive waste:
409
Tears gush'd while thus his Pyrrha he address'd:
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“O sister! wife! O woman sole preserv'd!—
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“By nature, kindred, and the marriage-bed,
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“To me most closely join'd. Now nearer still
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“By mutual perils. We, of all the earth
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“Beheld by Sol in his diurnal course,
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“We two alone remain. The mighty deep
416
“Entombs the rest. Nor sure our safety yet;
417
“Still hang the clouds dark louring. Wretched wife,
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“What if preserv'd alone? What hadst thou done
419
“Of me bereft? How singly borne the shock?
420
“Where found condolement in thy load of grief?
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“For me,—and trust, my dearest wife, my words,—
422
“Hadst thou amidst the billows been ingulph'd,
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“Me also had they swallow'd. Oh! for power
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“To form mankind, as once my father did,
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“And in the shapen earth true souls infuse!
426
“In us rests human race, so will the gods,
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“A sample only of mankind we live.”
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He spoke and Pyrrha's tears join'd his. To heaven
429
They raise their hands in prayer, and straight resolve
430
To ask through oracles divine its aid.
431
Nor long delay. Quick to Cephisus' streams
432
They hasten; muddy still Cephisus flows,
433
Yet not beyond its wonted boundaries swol'n.
434
Libations thence they lift, and o'er their heads
435
And garments cast the sprinklings;—then their steps
436
To Themis' temple bend. The roof they found
437
With filthy moss o'ergrown;—the altars cold.
438
Prone on the steps they fell, and trembling kiss'd
439
The gelid stones, and thus preferr'd their words:
440
“If righteous prayers can move the heavenly mind,
441
“And soften harsh resolves, and soothe the rage
442
“Of great immortals, say, O Themis, say,
443
“How to the world mankind shall be restor'd;
444
“And grant, most merciful, in our distress
445
“Thy potent aid.” The goddess heard their words,
446
And instant gave reply. “The temple leave,
447
“Ungird your garments, veil your heads, and throw
448
“Behind your backs your mighty mother's bones.”
449
Astonish'd long they stood! and Pyrrha first
450
The silence broke; the oracle's behest
451
Refusing to obey; and earnest pray'd,
452
With trembling tongue for pardon for her sin:
453
Her mother's shade to violate she dreads,
454
Her bones thus rudely flinging. But meantime
455
Deep in their minds, in dark mysterious veil
456
Obscurely hid, the sentence they revolve.
457
At length Deucalion sooths his wife with words
458
Of cheering import: “Right, if I divine,
459
“No impious deed the deity desires:
460
“Earth is our mighty mother, and her bones
461
“The stony rocks within her;—these behind
462
“Our backs to cast, the oracle commands.”
463
With joy th' auspicious augury she hears,
464
But joy with doubt commingled, both so much
465
The heavenly words distrust; yet still they hope
466
The essay cannot harm. The temple left,
467
Their heads they cover, and their vests unbind;
468
And o'er their heads as order'd heave the stones.
469
The stones—(incredible! unless the fact
470
Tradition sanction'd doubtless)straight began
471
To lose their rugged firmness,—and anon,
472
To soften,—and when soft a form assume.
473
Next as they grew in size, they felt infus'd
474
A nature mild,—their form resembled man!
475
But incorrectly: marble so appears,
476
Rough hewn to form a statue, ere the hand
477
Completes the shape. What liquid was, and moist,
478
With earthy atoms mixt, soft flesh became;
479
Parts solid and unbending chang'd to bone;
480
In name unalter'd, veins the same remain'd.
481
Thus by the gods' beneficent decree,
482
And brief the change, the stones Deucalion threw,
483
A manly shape assum'd; but females sprung
484
From those by Pyrrha cast behind; and hence
485
A patient, hard, laborious race we prove,
486
And shew the source, by actions, whence we sprung.
487
Beings all else the teeming earth produc'd
488
Spontaneous. Heated by the solar rays,
489
The stagnant water quicken'd;—marshy fens
490
Swell'd up their oozy loads to meet the beams:
491
And nourish'd by earth's vivifying soil,
492
The fruitful elements of life increas'd,
493
As in a mother's womb; and in a while
494
Assum'd a certain shape. So when the floods
495
Of seven-mouth'd Nile desert the moisten'd fields,
496
And to their ancient channels bring their streams,
497
The soft mud fries beneath the scorching sun;
498
And midst the fresh-turn'd earth unnumber'd forms
499
The tiller finds: some scarcely half conceiv'd;
500
Imperfect some, their bodies wanting limbs:
501
And oft he beings sees with parts alive,
502
The rest a clod of earth: for where with heat
503
Due moisture kindly mixes, life will spring:
504
From these in concord all things are produc'd.
505
Though fire with water strives; yet vapour warm,
506
Discordant mixture, gives a birth to all.
507
Thus when the earth, with filthy ooze bespread
508
From the late deluge, felt the blazing sun;
509
His burning heat productive caus'd spring forth
510
A countless race of beings. Part appear'd
511
In forms before well-known; the rest a group
512
Of monsters strange. Then, but unwilling, she
513
Produc'd terrific Python, serpent huge!
514
A mighty mountain with his bulk he hid;
515
A plague unknown, the new-born race to scare.
516
The quiver-shoulder'd god, unus'd before
517
His arms to launch, save on the flying deer,
518
Or roebuck fleet, the horrid monster slew:
519
A thousand arrows in his sides he fix'd,
520
His quiver's store exhausting; through the wounds
521
Gush'd the black poison. To contending games,
522
Hence instituted for the serpent slain,
523
The glorious action to preserve through times
524
Succeeding, he the name of Pythian gave.
525
And here the youth who bore the palm away
526
By wrestling, racing, or in chariot swift,
527
With beechen bough was crown'd. Nor yet was known
528
The laurel's leaf: Apollo's brows, with hair
529
Deck'd graceful, no peculiar branches bound.
530
Penæian Daphne first his bosom charm'd;
531
No casual flame but plann'd by Love's revenge.
532
Him, Phœbus flush'd with conquest late obtain'd,
533
His bow saw bend, and thus exclaim'd in taunt:
534
“Lascivious boy! How ill with thee assort
535
“Those warlike arms?—how much my shoulders more
536
“Beseem the load, whose arm can deadly wounds
537
“In furious beasts, and every foe infix!
538
“I who but now huge Python have o'erthrown;
539
“Swol'n with a thousand darts; his mighty bulk
540
“Whole acres covering with pestiferous weight?
541
“Content in vulgar hearts thy torch to flame,
542
“To me the bow's superior glory leave.”
543
Then Venus' son: “O Phœbus, nought thy dart
544
“Evades, nor thou canst 'scape the force of mine:
545
“To thee as others yield,—so much my fame
546
“Must ever thine transcend.” Thus spoke the boy,
547
And lightly mounting, cleaves the yielding air
548
With beating wings, and on Parnassus' top
549
Umbrageous rests. There from his quiver drew
550
Two darts of different power:—this chases love;
551
And that desire enkindles; form'd of gold
552
It glistens, ending in a point acute:
553
Blunt is the first, tipt with a leaden load;
554
Which Love in Daphne's tender breast infix'd.
555
The sharper through Apollo's heart he drove,
556
And through his nerves and bones;—instant he loves:
557
She flies of love the name. In shady woods,
558
And spoils of captive beasts alone she joys;
559
To copy Dian' emulous; her hair
560
In careless tresses form'd, a fillet bound.
561
By numbers sought,—averse alike to all;
562
Impatient of their suit, through forests wild,
563
And groves, in maiden ignorance she roams;
564
Nor cares for Cupid, nor hymeneal rites,
565
Nor soft connubial joys. Oft cry'd her sire;
566
“My Daphne, you should bring to me a son;
567
“From you, my child, I hope for grandsons too.”
568
But she detesting wedlock as a crime,
569
(Suffus'd her features with a bashful glow)
570
Around his aged neck, her beauteous arms,
571
Winds blandishing, and cries, “O sire, most dear!
572
“One favor grant,—perpetual to enjoy
573
“My virgin purity;—the mighty Jove
574
“The same indulgence has to Dian' given.”
575
Thy sire complies;—but that too beauteous face,
576
And lovely form, thy anxious wish oppose:
577
Apollo loves thee;—to thy bed aspires;—
578
And looks with anxious hopes, his wish to gain:
579
Futurity, by him for once unseen.
580
As the light stubble when the ears are shorn,
581
The flames consume: as hedges blaze on high
582
From torches by the traveller closely held,
583
Or heedless flung, when morning gilds the world:
584
So flaming burnt the god;—so blaz'd his breast,
585
And with fond hopes his vain desires he fed.
586
Her tresses careless flowing o'er her neck
587
He view'd, and, “Oh! how beauteous, deck'd with care,”
588
Exclaim'd: her eyes which shone like brilliant fire,
589
Or sparkling stars, he sees; and sees her lips;
590
Unsated with the sight, he burns to touch:
591
Admires her fingers, and her hands, her arms,
592
Half to the shoulder naked:—what he sees
593
Though beauteous, what is hid he deems more fair.
594
Fleet as the wind, her fearful flight she wings,
595
Nor stays his fond recalling words to hear:
596
“Daughter of Peneus, stay! no foe pursues,—
597
“Stay, beauteous nymph!—so flies the lamb the wolf;
598
“The stag the lion;—so on trembling wings
599
“The dove avoids the eagle:—these are foes,
600
“But love alone me urges to pursue.
601
“Ah me! then, shouldst thou fall,—or prickly thorns
602
“Wound thy fair legs,—and I the cause of pain!—
603
“Rough is the road thou runnest; slack, I pray,
604
“Thy speed;—I swear to follow not so fast.
605
“But hear who loves thee;—no rough mountain swain;
606
“No shepherd;—none in raiments rugged clad,
607
“Tending the lowing herds: rash thoughtless nymph,
608
“Thou fly'st thou know'st not whom, and therefore fly'st!
609
“O'er Delphos' lands, and Tenedos I sway,
610
“And Claros, and the Pataræan realms.—
611
“My sire is Jove. To me are all things known,
612
“Or present, past, or future. Taught by me
613
“Melodious sounds poetic numbers grace.—
614
“Sure is my dart, but one more sure I feel
615
“Lodg'd in this bosom; strange to love before.—
616
“Medicine me hails inventor; through the world
617
“My help is call'd for; unto me is known
618
“The powers of plants and herbs:—ah! hapless I,
619
“Nor plants, nor herbs, afford a cure for love;
620
“Nor arts which all relieve, relieve their lord.”
621
All this, and more:—but Daphne fearful fled,
622
And left his speech unfinish'd. Lovely then
623
She running seem'd;—her limbs the breezes bar'd;
624
Her flying raiment floated on the gale;
625
Her careless tresses to the light air stream'd;
626
Her flight increas'd her beauty. Now no more
627
The god to waste his courteous words endures,
628
But urg'd by love himself, with swifter pace
629
Her footsteps treads: the rapid greyhound so,
630
When in the open field the hare he spies,
631
Trusts to his legs for prey,—as she for flight;
632
And now he snaps, and now he thinks to hold,
633
And brushes with his outstretch'd nose her heels;—
634
She trembling, half in doubt, or caught or no,
635
Springs from his jaws, and mocks his touching mouth.
636
Thus fled the virgin and the god;—he fleet
637
Through hope, and she through fear,—but wing'd by love
638
More rapid flew Apollo;—spurning rest,
639
Approach'd her close behind, and panting breath'd
640
Upon her floating tresses. Pale with dread,
641
Her strength exhausted in the lengthen'd flight,
642
Old Peneus' streams she saw, and loud exclaim'd:—
643
“O sire, assist me, if within thy streams
644
“Divinity abides. Let earth this form,
645
“Too comely for my peace, quick swallow up;
646
“Or change those beauties to an harmless shape.”
647
Her prayer scarce ended, when her lovely limbs
648
A numbness felt; a tender rind enwraps
649
Her beauteous bosom; from her head shoots up
650
Her hair in leaves; in branches spread her arms;
651
Her feet but now so swift, cleave to the earth
652
With roots immoveable; her face at last
653
The summit forms; her bloom the same remains.
654
Still loves the god the tree, and on the trunk
655
His right hand placing, feels her breast yet throb,
656
Beneath the new-grown bark: around the boughs,
657
As yet her limbs, his clasping arms he throws;
658
And burning kisses on the wood imprints.
659
The wood his lips repels. Then thus the god:—
660
“O laurel, though to be my bride deny'd,
661
“Yet shalt thou be my tree; my temples bind;
662
“My lyre and quiver shalt thou still adorn:
663
“The brows of Latian conquerors shalt thou grace,
664
“When the glad people sing triumphant hymns,
665
“And the long pomp the capitol ascends.
666
“A faithful guard before Augustus' gates,
667
“On each side hung;—the sturdy oak between.
668
“And as perpetual youth adorns my head
669
“With locks unshorn, thou also still shalt bear
670
“Thy leafy honors in perpetual green.”
671
Apollo ended, and the laurel bow'd
672
Her verdant summit as her grateful head.
673
Within Æmonia lies a grove, inclos'd
674
By steep and lofty hills on every side:
675
'Tis Tempé call'd. From lowest Pindus pour'd
676
Here Peneus rolls his foaming waves along:
677
Thick clouds of smoke, and dark and vapoury mists
678
The violent falls produce, sprinkling the tops
679
Of proudest forests with the plenteous dew;
680
And distant parts astounding with the roar.
681
Here holds the watery deity his throne;—
682
Here his retreat most sacred;—seated here,
683
Within the rock-form'd cavern, to the streams
684
And stream-residing nymphs, his laws he gives.
685
Here flock the neighbouring river-gods, in doubt
686
Or to condole, or gratulate the sire.
687
Here Spercheus came, whose banks with poplars wave;
688
Rapid Enipeus; Apidanus slow;
689
Amphrysos gently flowing; Æäs mild;
690
And other streams which wind their various course,
691
Till in the sea their weary wanderings end,
692
By natural bent directed. Absent sole
693
Was Inachus;—deep in his gloomy cave
694
Dark hidden, with his tears he swells his floods.
695
He, wretched sire, his Iö's loss bewails;
696
Witless if living air she still enjoys,
697
Or with the shades she dwells; and no where found
698
He dreads the worst, and thinks her not to be.
699
The beauteous damsel from her father's banks
700
Jove saw returning, and, “O, maid!” exclaim'd,
701
“Worthy of Jove, whose charms will shortly bless
702
“Some youth desertless; come, and seek the shade,
703
“Yon lofty groves afford,”—and shew'd the groves,—
704
“While now Sol scorches from heaven's midmost height.
705
“Fear not the forests to explore alone,
706
“But in their deepest shades adventurous go;
707
“A god shall guard thee:—no plebeian god,
708
“But he whose mighty hand the sceptre grasps
709
“Of rule celestial, and the lightening flings.
710
“O fly me not”—for Iö fled, amaz'd.
711
Now Lerna's pastures, and Lyrcæa's lands
712
With trees thick-planted, far behind were left;
713
When with a sudden mist the god conceal'd
714
The wide-spread earth, and stopp'd her eager flight;
715
And in his arms the struggling maid compress'd.
716
Meantime did Juno cast her eyes below,
717
The floating clouds surpris'd to see produce
718
A night-like shade amidst so bright a day.
719
No common clouds, from streams exhal'd, she knew;
720
Nor misty vapours from the humid earth.
721
Suspicions rise; her sharpness oft had caught
722
Her amorous husband in his thefts of love.
723
She search'd around the sky, its lord explor'd,—
724
But not in heaven he sate;—then loud exclaim'd:
725
“Much must I err, or much my bed is wrong'd.”
726
Down sliding from the topmost heaven, on earth
727
She lights, and bids the cloudy mists recede.
728
Prepar'd already, Jove the nymph had chang'd,
729
And in a lovely heifer's form she stood.
730
A shape so beauteous fair,—though sore chagrin'd,
731
Unwilling Juno prais'd; and whence she came,
732
And who her owner asks; and of what herd?
733
Her prying art, as witless of the truth,
734
To baffle, from the earth he feigns her sprung;
735
And straight Saturnia begs the beauteous gift.
736
Embarrass'd now he stands,—the nymph to leave
737
Abandon'd, were too cruel;—to deny
738
His wife, suspicious: shame compliance urg'd;
739
Love strong dissuaded: love had vanquish'd shame,
740
Save that a paltry cow to her refus'd,
741
Associate of his race and bed, he fear'd
742
More than a cow the goddess would suspect.
743
Her rival now she holds; but anxious, still
744
She Jove distrusts, and fears her prize to lose;
745
Nor safe she deem'd her, till to Argus' care
746
Committed. Round the jailor's watchful head
747
An hundred eyes were set. Two clos'd in turn;
748
The rest with watchful care, kept cautious guard.
749
Howe'er he stands, on Iö still he looks;
750
His face averse, yet still his eyes behold.
751
By day she pastures, but beneath the earth
752
When Phœbus sinks, he drags her to the stall,
753
And binds with cords her undeserving neck.
754
Arbutus' leaves, and bitter herbs her food:
755
Her wretched bed is oft the cold damp earth;
756
A strawy couch deny'd:—the muddy stream
757
Her constant drink: when suppliant she would raise
758
Her arms to Argus, arms to raise were none.
759
To moan she tries; loud bellowings echo wide,—
760
She starts and trembles at her voice's roar.
761
Now to the banks she comes where oft she'd play'd,—
762
The banks of Inachus, and in his streams
763
Her new-form'd horns beheld;—in wild affright
764
From them she strove, and from herself to fly.
765
Her sister Naïads know her not, nor he
766
Griev'd Inachus, his long-lost daughter knows.
767
But she her sisters and her sire pursues;
768
Invites their touch, as wondering they caress.
769
Old Inachus the gather'd herbs presents;
770
She licks his hands, and presses with her lips
771
His dear paternal fingers. Tears flow quick,
772
And could words follow she would ask his aid;
773
And speak her name, and lamentable state.
774
Marks for her words she form'd, which in the dust
775
Trac'd by her hoof, disclos'd her mournful change.
776
“Ah wretch!” her sire exclaim'd, “unhappy wretch!”
777
And o'er the weeping heifer's snowy neck,
778
His arms he threw, and round her horns he hung
779
With sobs redoubled:—“Art thou then, my child,
780
“Through earth's extent so sought? Ah! less my grief,
781
“To find thee not, than thus transform'd to find!
782
“But dumb thou art, nor with responsive words,
783
“Me cheerest. From thy deep chest sighs alone
784
“Thou utterest, and loud lowings to my words:
785
“Thou canst no more. Unwitting I prepar'd
786
“Thy marriage torches, anxious to behold
787
“A son, and next a son of thine to see.
788
“Now from the herd a husband must thou seek,
789
“Now with the herd thy sons must wander forth.
790
“Nor death my woes can finish: curst the gift
791
“Of immortality. Eternal grief
792
“Must still corrode me; Lethé's gate is clos'd.”
793
Thus griev'd the god, when starry Argus tore
794
His charge away, and to a distant mead
795
Drove her to pasture;—he a lofty hill's
796
Commanding prospect chose, and seated there
797
View'd all around alike on every side.
798
But now heaven's ruler could no more contain,
799
To see the sorrows Iö felt:—he calls
800
His son, of brightest Pleiäd mother born,
801
And bids him quickly compass Argus' death.
802
Instant around his heels his wings he binds;
803
His rod somniferous grasps; nor leaves his cap.
804
Accoutred thus, from native heights he springs,
805
And lights on earth; removes his cap; his wings
806
Unlooses; and his wand alone retains:
807
Through devious paths with this, a shepherd now,
808
A flock he drives of goats, and tunes his pipe
809
Of reeds constructed. Argus hears the sound,
810
Junonian guard, and captivated cries,—
811
“Come, stranger, sit with me upon this mount:
812
“Nor for thy flock more fertile pasture grows,
813
“Than round this spot;—and here the shade thou seest
814
“To shepherds' ease inviting.”—Hermes sate,
815
And with his converse stay'd declining day.
816
Long he discours'd, and anxious strove to lull
817
With music sweet, the all-observant eyes;
818
But long he strove in vain: soft slumber's bonds
819
Argus opposes;—of his numerous lights,
820
Part sleep, but others jealous watch his charge.
821
And now he questions whence the pipe was form'd,
822
The pipe but new-discover'd to the world.
823
Then thus the god:—“A lovely Naiäd nymph,
824
“With bleak Arcadia's Hamadryads nurs'd,
825
“And on Nonacriné for beauty fam'd
826
“Was Syrinx. Oft the satyrs wild she fled;
827
“Nor these alone, but every god that roves
828
“In shady forests, or in fertile fields.
829
“Dian' she follows, and her virgin life.
830
“Like Dian' cinctur'd, she might Dian' seem,
831
“Save that a golden bow the goddess bears;
832
“The nymph a bow of horn: yet still to most
833
“Mistake was easy. From Lycæum's height,
834
“His head encompass'd with the pointed pine,
835
“Returning, her the lustful Pan espy'd,
836
“And cry'd:—Fair virgin grant a god's request,—
837
“A god who burns to wed thee. Here he stays.
838
“Through pathless forests flies the nymph, and scorns
839
“His warm intreaties, till the gravelly stream
840
“Of Ladon, smoothly winding, she beheld.
841
“The waves impede her flight. She earnest prays
842
“Her sister-nymphs her human form to change.
843
“Now thinks the sylvan god his clasping arms
844
“Inclose her, whilst he grasps but marshy reeds.—
845
“He mournful sighs; the light reeds catch his breath,
846
“And soft reverberate the plaintive sound.
847
“The dulcet movement charms th' enraptur'd god,
848
“Who,—thus forever shall we join,—exclaims!
849
“With wax combin'd th' unequal reeds he forms
850
“A pipe, which still the virgin's name retains.”
851
While thus the god, he every eye beheld
852
Weigh'd heavy, sink in sleep, and stopp'd his tale.
853
His magic rod o'er every lid he draws,
854
His sleep confirming, and with crooked blade
855
Severs his nodding head, and down the mount
856
The bloody ruin hurls,—the craggy rock
857
With gore besmearing. Low, thou Argus liest!
858
Extinct thy hundred lights; one night obscure
859
Eclipsing all. But Juno seiz'd the rays,
860
And on the plumage of her favor'd bird,
861
In gaudy pride, the starry gems she plac'd.
862
With furious ire she flam'd, and instant sent
863
The dread Erinnys to the Argive maid.
864
Before her eyes, within her breast she dwelt
865
A secret torment, and in terror drove
866
Her exil'd through the world. 'Twas thou, O Nile!
867
Her tedious wandering ended. On thy banks
868
Weary'd she kneel'd, and on her back, supine
869
Her neck she lean'd:—her sad face to the skies,
870
What could she more?—she lifted. Unto Jove
871
By groans, and tears, and mournful lows she plain'd,
872
And begg'd her woes might end. The mighty god
873
Around his consort's neck embracing hung.
874
And pray'd her wrath might finish. “Fear no more
875
“A rival love, in her,” he said, “to see;”
876
And bade the Stygian streams his words record.
877
Appeas'd the goddess, Iö straight resumes
878
Her wonted shape, as lovely as before.
879
The rough hair flies; the crooked horns are shed;
880
Her visual orbits narrow; and her mouth
881
In size contracts; her arms and hands return;
882
Parted in five small nails her hoofs are lost:
883
Nought of the lovely heifer now remains,
884
Save the bright splendor. On her feet erect
885
With two now only furnish'd, stands the maid.
886
To speak she fears, lest bellowing sounds should break,
887
And timid tries her long-forgotten words.
888
Of mighty fame a goddess now, she hears
889
Of nations linen-clad the pious prayers.
890
Then bore she Epaphus, whose birth deriv'd
891
From mighty Jove, his temples through the land,
892
An equal worship with his mother's claim.
893
Him Phaëton, bright Phœbus' youthful son,
894
In years and spirit equall'd,—whose proud boasts,
895
To all his sire preferring, Iö's son
896
Thus check'd: “O simple! thee thy mother's arts
897
“To ought persuade. A feigned sire thou boast'st.”
898
Deep blush'd the youth, but shame his rage repress'd,
899
And each reproach to Clymené he bore.
900
“This too,” he says, “O mother, irks me more,
901
“That I so bold, so fierce, urg'd no defence:
902
“Which shame is greater? that they dare accuse,
903
“Or that accus'd, we cannot prove them false?
904
“Do thou my mother,—if from heaven indeed
905
“Descent I claim,—prove from what stock I spring.
906
“My race divine assert.” He said,—and flung
907
Around her neck his arms; and by his life,
908
The life of Merops, and his sisters' hopes
909
Of nuptial bliss, adjures her to obtain
910
Proofs of his birth celestial. Prayers like these
911
The mother doubtless mov'd;—and rage no less
912
To hear the defamation. Up to heaven
913
Her arms she raises, gazing on the sun,
914
And cries,—“My child! by yon bright rays I swear
915
“In brilliance glittering, which now hear and view,
916
“Our every word and action—thou art sprung
917
“From him, the sun thou see'st;—the sun who rules
918
“With tempering sway the seasons:—If untrue
919
“My words, let me his light no more behold!
920
“Nor long the toil to seek thy father's dome,
921
“His palace whence he rises borders close
922
“On our land's confines.—If thou dar'st the task,
923
“Go forth, and from himself thy birth enquire.”
924
Elate to hear her words, the youth departs
925
Instant, and all the sky in mind he grasps.
926
Through Æthiopia's regions swiftly went,
927
With India plac'd beneath the burning zone:
928
And quickly reach'd his own paternal east.
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