This spoke the youth Adonis, and close by
Venus accordingly was seen to grieve;
Viewing the deep wound in his snowy thigh,
She o'er him hung, half dying, to receive,
Lip fondly pressed to lip, the last faint sigh
Of that sweet spirit that was wont to give
Life to the form for which, in blest accord,
She walked the world, and held high heaven abhorred.
White-bosomed Nyse took not for her theme
Memory of past catastrophes, nor twined
In her fine tissue aught that poets dream
In antique fable, for her heart inclined
To the renown of her dear native stream;
The glorious Tagus therefore she designed,
There where he blesses with his sinuous train
The happiest of all lands, delightful Spain!
Deep in a rocky valley was compressed
The wealthy river, winding almost round
A mountain, rushing with impetuous haste,
And roaring like a lion as it wound;
Mad for its prey, high flew its foaming crest;
But it was labour lost, and this it found;
For soon, contented with its wrack, the wave
Lost its resentment, and forgot to rave.
On the high mountain's airy head was placed
Of ancient towers a grand and glorious weight;
Here its bare bosom white-walled convents graced,
There castles frowned in old Arabian state;[9]
In windings grateful to the eye of taste,
Thence the smooth river, smilingly sedate,
Slid, comforting the gardens, woods, and flowers,
With the cool spray of artificial showers.
Elsewhere, the web, so richly figured o'er,
Showed the fair Dryads issuing from a wood,
With anxious haste all tending to the shore,
The grassy margin of the shaded flood;
In sable stoles, with aspect sad, they bore
Baskets of purple roses in the bud,
Lilies and violets, which they scattering poured
On a dead nymph whom deeply they deplored.
All with dishevelled hair were seen to shower
Tears o'er the nymph, whose beauty did bespeak
That death had cropt her in her sweetest flower,
Whilst youth bloomed rosiest in her charming cheek:
Near the still water, in a myrtle bower,
She lay amongst the green herbs, pale and meek,
Like a white swan that, sickening where it feeds,
Sighs its sweet life away amidst the reeds.
One of the Goddesses whose charms outshined
Her sisters, charming though they were, whose vest
Disordered, whose pale face, and eyes declined,
The deep affliction of her soul expressed,
Was duteously engraving on the rind
Of a fair poplar, separate from the rest,
The lovely nymph's memorial epitaph,
Which thus, deciphered, spoke on her behalf.
"Eliza I, whose name the vocal grove,
Whose name the mountain murmurs through its caves,
In faithful record of the grief and love
Of Nemoroso, as for me he raves,
Calling Eliza in loud shrieks that move
Responding Tagus, whose sonorous waves
Bear my name with them toward the Lusian sea,
Where heard, I trust, and reverenced it will be."
Last on this web, which we divine might deem,
Figured the history at full was found,
That on the banks of this romantic stream
Of Nemoroso was so far renowned;
For all sweet Nyse knew, and in his theme
Of sorrow took an interest so profound,
That as his exclamations reached her ears,
A thousand times she melted into tears.
And that the mournful theme might not avail
To be resounded in the woods alone,
But with o'ermastering tenderness prevail
Where'er in Tethys the blue wave is blown,
Therefore it was fond Nyse wished the tale
Of the lost nymph should in her web be shown,
And publish thus her beauty and his love
Through the moist kingdoms of Neptunian Jove.