PHILEMON AND BAUCIS.
Philemon and Baucis were an aged couple, of Phrygia, who, unblessed by the goods of fortune, found in their mutual and deep affection, a happiness, which nothing could overwhelm.
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Had lived long married and a happy pair
Now old in love, tho' little was their store,
Inured to want, their poverty they bore,
Nor aimed at wealth, professing to be poor."
As they were sitting together, enjoying the sweets of mutual affection, two travellers, with a melancholy and impoverished appearance, after having asked hospitality, and been refused by the inhabitants of the village, sought refuge under their humble roof. Unaccustomed to visitors, they were, however, received by them with kindness, and invited to partake of a modest repast.
As they sate in kind communion, the forms of those whom they entertained suddenly changed, and they beheld Jupiter and Mercury in the place of the miserable beings they had received; the ancient couple throwing themselves on their knees, offered to their guests the deep homage of their hearts.
The Gods were pleased with their entertainment; but could not forget the inhospitality with which they had been received by their countrymen, and let loose the waves, and sent the thunderbolt to consume the town and its inhabitants. Philemon and Baucis, were, however, saved, and a superb temple replaced their lowly dwelling, of which they were made the priests.
They lived long and happily, and having entreated Jupiter that neither might outlive the other, they both died on the same day, and their bodies were changed into trees, and placed before the
door of the Temple which had arisen on the ruins of their lowly cottage.
"Lost in a lake the floated level lies;
A watery desert covers all the plains,
Their cot alone, as on an isle, remains
Wond'ring with weeping eyes, while they deplore
Their neighbours' fate, and country now no more,
Their little shed, scarce large enough for two,
Seems, from the ground, in height and bulk to grow
A stately temple shoots within the skies,
The crotchets of their cot in columns rise,
The pavement polished marble they behold,
The gates with sculpture graced, the spires and roof of gold!"
Ovid.