The Works of John Dryden, Now First Collected in Eighteen Volumes; Vol. 12

by John Dryden

The first and fairest of his loves was she,
Whom not blind fortune, but the dire decree
Of angry Cupid, forced him to desire;
Daphne her name, and Peneus was her sire.
Swelled with the pride that new success attends,
He sees the stripling, while his bow he bends,
And thus insults him: Thou lascivious boy,
Are arms like these for children to employ?
Know, such atchievements are my proper claim,
Due to my vigour and unerring aim:
Resistless are my shafts, and Python late,
In such a feathered death, has found his fate.
Take up thy torch, and lay my weapons by;
With that the feeble souls of lovers fry.—
To whom the son of Venus thus replied:
Phœbus, thy shafts are sure on all beside;
But mine on Phœbus; mine the fame shall be
Of all thy conquests, when I conquer thee.
He said, and soaring swiftly winged his flight;
Nor stop'd but on Parnassus' airy height.
Two different shafts he from his quiver draws;
One to repel desire, and one to cause.
One shaft is pointed with refulgent gold,
To bribe the love, and make the lover bold;
One blunt, and tipt with lead, whose base allay
Provokes disdain, and drives desire away.
The blunted bolt against the nymph he drest;
But with the sharp transfixed Apollo's breast.
The enamoured deity pursues the chace;
The scornful damsel shuns his loathed embrace:
In hunting beasts of prey her youth employs,
And Phœbe rivals in her rural joys.
With naked neck she goes, and shoulders bare,
And with a fillet binds her flowing hair.
By many suitors sought, she mocks their pains,
And still her vowed virginity maintains.
Impatient of a yoke, the name of bride
She shuns, and hates the joys she never tried.
On wilds and woods she fixes her desire;
Nor knows what youth and kindly love inspire.
Her father chides her oft: Thou ow'st, says he,
A husband to thyself, a son to me.
She, like a crime, abhors the nuptial bed;
She glows with blushes, and she hangs her head.
Then, casting round his neck her tender arms,
Sooths him with blandishments, and filial charms:
Give me, my lord, she said, to live and die
A spotless maid, without the marriage-tie.
'Tis but a small request; I beg no more
Than what Diana's father gave before.
The good old sire was softened to consent;
But said her wish would prove her punishment;
For so much youth, and so much beauty joined,
Opposed the state which her desires designed.
The God of Light, aspiring to her bed, } Hopes what he seeks, with flattering fancies fed,} And is by his own oracles misled. } And as in empty fields the stubble burns,
Or nightly travellers, when day returns,
Their useless torches on dry hedges throw,
That catch the flames, and kindle all the row;
So burns the god, consuming in desire,
And feeding in his breast the fruitless fire:
Her well-turned neck he viewed, (her neck was bare,)
And on her shoulders her dishevelled hair:
Oh were it combed, said he, with what a grace
Would every waving curl become her face!
He viewed her eyes, like heavenly lamps that shone;
He viewed her lips, too sweet to view alone;
Her taper fingers, and her panting breast:}
He praises all he sees; and for the rest, }
Believes the beauties yet unseen are best.}
Swift as the wind, the damsel fled away,
Nor did for these alluring speeches stay.
Stay, nymph, he cried; I follow, not a foe:
Thus from the lion trips the trembling doe;
Thus from the wolf the frightened lamb removes, } And from pursuing falcons fearful doves; } Thou shun'st a god, and shun'st a god that loves.} Ah! lest some thorn should pierce thy tender foot,
Or thou should'st fall in flying my pursuit,
To sharp uneven ways thy steps decline,
Abate thy speed, and I will bate of mine.
Yet think from whom thou dost so rashly fly;
Nor basely born, nor shepherd's swain am I.
Perhaps thou know'st not my superior state,
And from that ignorance proceeds thy hate.
Me Claros, Delphos, Tenedos, obey;
These hands the Patareian sceptre sway.
The king of gods begot me: what shall be,
Or is, or ever was, in fate, I see.
Mine is the invention of the charming lyre;
Sweet notes, and heavenly numbers, I inspire.
Sure is my bow, unerring is my dart;
But ah! more deadly his, who pierced my heart.
Med'cine is mine, what herbs and simples grow } In fields and forests, all their powers I know,} And am the great physician called below. } Alas, that fields and forests can afford
No remedies to heal their love-sick lord!
To cure the pains of love, no plant avails,
And his own physic the physician fails.
She heard not half, so furiously she flies,
And on her ear the imperfect accent dies.
Fear gave her wings; and as she fled, the wind
Increasing spread her flowing hair behind;
And left her legs and thighs exposed to view,
Which made the god more eager to pursue.
The god was young, and was too hotly bent
To lose his time in empty compliment;
But led by love, and fired by such a sight,
Impetuously pursued his near delight.
As when the impatient greyhound, slipt from far,
Bounds o'er the glebe, to course the fearful hare,
She in her speed does all her safety lay,
And he with double speed pursues the prey;
O'er-runs her at the sitting turn, and licks
His chaps in vain, and blows upon the flix;[23]
She 'scapes, and for the neighbouring covert strives,
And gaining shelter doubts if yet she lives.
If little things with great we may compare,
Such was the god, and such the flying fair:
She, urged by fear, her feet did swiftly move,
But he more swiftly, who was urged by love.
He gathers ground upon her in the chace; } Now breathes upon her hair, with nearer pace,} And just is fastening on the wished embrace. } The nymph grew pale, and in a mortal fright,
Spent with the labour of so long a flight,
And now despairing, cast a mournful look
Upon the streams of her paternal brook:
Oh help, she cried, in this extremest need,
If water-gods are deities indeed!
Gape, earth, and this unhappy wretch entomb,
Or change my form, whence all my sorrows come.
Scarce had she finished, when her feet she found
Benumbed with cold, and fastened to the ground;
A filmy rind about her body grows,
Her hair to leaves, her arms extend to boughs;
The nymph is all into a Laurel gone,
The smoothness of her skin remains alone.
Yet Phœbus loves her still, and, casting round
Her bole his arms, some little warmth he found.
The tree still panted in the unfinished part,
Not wholly vegetive, and heaved her heart.
He fixed his lips upon the trembling rind;
It swerved aside, and his embrace declined.
To whom the god: Because thou canst not be
My mistress, I espouse thee for my tree:
Be thou the prize of honour and renown;
The deathless poet, and the poem, crown.
Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn,
And, after poets, be by victors worn;
Thou shalt returning Cæsar's triumph grace,
When pomps shall in a long procession pass;
Wreathed on the post before his palace wait,
And be the sacred guardian of the gate:
Secure from thunder, and unharmed by Jove,
Unfading as the immortal powers above;
And as the locks of Phœbus are unshorn,
So shall perpetual green thy boughs adorn.—
The grateful Tree was pleased with what he said,
And shook the shady honours of her head.

The Transformation of Io into an Heifer.

An ancient forest in Thessalia grows,
Which Tempe's pleasant valley does inclose;
Through this the rapid Peneus takes his course,
From Pindus rolling with impetuous force;
Mists from the river's mighty fall arise,
And deadly damps inclose the cloudy skies;
Perpetual fogs are hanging o'er the wood,
And sounds of waters deaf the neighbourhood.
Deep in a rocky cave he makes abode;
A mansion proper for a mourning god.
Here he gives audience; issuing out decrees
To rivers, his dependent deities.
On this occasion hither they resort,
To pay their homage, and to make their court;
All doubtful, whether to congratulate
His daughter's honour, or lament her fate.
Sperchæus, crowned with poplar, first appears;
Then old Apidanus came, crowned with years;
Enipeus turbulent, Amphrysos tame,
And Æas, last, with lagging waters came.
Then of his kindred brooks a numerous throng
Condole his loss, and bring their urns along:
Not one was wanting of the watery train,
That filled his flood, or mingled with the main,
But Inachus, who, in his cave alone,
Wept not another's losses, but his own;
For his dear Io, whether strayed, or dead,
To him uncertain, doubtful tears he shed.
He sought her through the world, but sought in vain;
And no where finding, rather feared her slain.
Her, just returning from her father's brook,
Jove had beheld with a desiring look;
And, oh, fair daughter of the flood, he said,
Worthy alone of Jove's imperial bed,
Happy whoever shall those charms possess!
The king of gods, (nor is thy lover less,)
Invites thee to yon cooler shades, to shun
The scorching rays of the meridian sun.
Nor shalt thou tempt the dangers of the grove
Alone without a guide; thy guide is Jove.
No puny power, but he, whose high command } Is unconfined, who rules the seas and land,} And tempers thunder in his awful hand. } Oh fly not!—for she fled from his embrace
O'er Lerna's pastures; he pursued the chace,
Along the shades of the Lyrcæan plain.
At length the god, who never asks in vain,
Involved with vapours, imitating night, } Both air and earth; and then suppressed her flight, } And, mingling force with love, enjoyed the full delight.} Meantime the jealous Juno, from on high,
Surveyed the fruitful fields of Arcady;
And wondered that the mist should over-run
The face of day-light, and obscure the sun.
No natural cause she found, from brooks or bogs,
Or marshy lowlands, to produce the fogs:
Then round the skies she sought for Jupiter,
Her faithless husband; but no Jove was there.
Suspecting now the worst,—Or I, she said,
Am much mistaken, or am much betrayed.
With fury she precipitates her flight, } Dispels the shadows of dissembled night, } And to the day restores his native light.} The almighty lecher, careful to prevent
The consequence, foreseeing her descent,
Transforms his mistress in a trice; and now,
In Io's place, appears a lovely cow.
So sleek her skin, so faultless was her make,
Even Juno did unwilling pleasure take
To see so fair a rival of her love;
And what she was, and whence, enquired of Jove,
Of what fair herd, and from what pedigree?
The god, half-caught, was forced upon a lie,
And said she sprung from earth. She took the word,
And begged the beauteous heifer of her lord.
What should he do? 'twas equal shame to Jove,
Or to relinquish, or betray his love;
Yet to refuse so slight a gift, would be
But more to increase his consort's jealousy.
Thus fear, and love, by turns his heart assailed;
And stronger love had sure at length prevailed,
But some faint hope remained, his jealous queen
Had not the mistress through the heifer seen.
The cautious goddess, of her gift possest,
Yet harboured anxious thoughts within her breast;
As she, who knew the falsehood of her Jove,
And justly feared some new relapse of love;
Which to prevent, and to secure her care,
To trusty Argus she commits the fair.
The head of Argus (as with stars the skies,)
Was compassed round, and wore an hundred eyes.
But two by turns their lids in slumber steep;} The rest on duty still their station keep; } Nor could the total constellation sleep. } Thus, ever present to his eyes and mind,
His charge was still before him, though behind.
In fields he suffered her to feed by day;
But, when the setting sun to night gave way,
The captive cow he summoned with a call,
And drove her back, and tied her to the stall.
On leaves of trees and bitter herbs she fed,
Heaven was her canopy, bare earth her bed,
So hardly lodged; and, to digest her food,
She drank from troubled streams, defiled with mud.
Her woeful story fain she would have told,
With hands upheld, but had no hands to hold.
Her head to her ungentle keeper bowed,
She strove to speak; she spoke not, but she lowed;
Affrighted with the noise, she looked around,
And seemed to inquire the author of the sound.
Once on the banks where often she had played,
(Her father's banks,) she came, and there surveyed
Her altered visage, and her branching head;
And starting from herself, she would have fled.
Her fellow-nymphs, familiar to her eyes,
Beheld, but knew her not in this disguise.
Even Inachus himself was ignorant;
And in his daughter, did his daughter want.
She followed where her fellows went, as she
Were still a partner of the company:
They stroke her neck; the gentle heifer stands,
And her neck offers to their stroking hands.
Her father gave her grass; the grass she took,} And licked his palms, and cast a piteous look,} And in the language of her eyes she spoke. } She would have told her name, and asked relief,
But, wanting words, in tears she tells her grief;
Which with her foot she makes him understand,
And prints the name of Io in the sand.
Ah wretched me! her mournful father cried;
She, with a sigh, to "wretched me!" replied.
About her milk-white neck his arms he threw,
And wept, and then these tender words ensue.
And art thou she, whom I have sought around
The world, and have at length so sadly found?
So found, is worse than lost: with mutual words
Thou answerest not, no voice thy tongue affords;
But sighs are deeply drawn from out thy breast,
And speech, denied, by lowing is expressed.
Unknowing, I prepared thy bridal bed;
With empty hopes of happy issue fed.
But now the husband of a herd must be
Thy mate, and bellowing sons thy progeny.
Oh, were I mortal, death might bring relief!
But now my godhead but extends my grief;
Prolongs my woes, of which no end I see,
And makes me curse my immortality.—
More had he said, but fearful of her stay,
The starry guardian drove his charge away,
To some fresh pasture; on a hilly height
He sat himself, and kept her still in sight.

The Eyes of Argus transformed into a
Peacock's Train.

Now Jove no longer could her sufferings bear;
But called in haste his airy messenger,
The son of Maïa, with severe decree
To kill the keeper, and to set her free.
With all his harness soon the god was sped;
His flying hat was fastened on his head;
Wings on his heels were hung, and in his hand
He holds the virtue of the snaky wand.
The liquid air his moving pinions wound,
And, in the moment, shoot him on the ground.
Before he came in sight, the crafty god
His wings dismissed, but still retained his rod:
That sleep-procuring wand wise Hermes took,
But made it seem to sight a shepherd's hook.
With this he did a herd of goats controul;
Which by the way he met, and slyly stole.
Clad like a country swain, he piped and sung;
And, playing, drove his jolly troop along.
With pleasure Argus the musician heeds;
But wonders much at those new vocal reeds.
And,—Whosoe'er thou art, my friend, said he, } Up hither drive thy goats, and play by me; } This hill has brouze for them, and shade for thee. } The god, who was with ease induced to climb,
Began discourse to pass away the time;
And still, betwixt, his tuneful pipe he plies,
And watched his hour, to close the keeper's eyes.
With much ado, he partly kept awake;
Not suffering all his eyes repose to take;
And asked the stranger, who did reeds invent,
And whence began so rare an instrument.

The Transformation of Syrinx into Reeds.

Then Hermes thus;—A nymph of late there was,
Whose heavenly form her fellows did surpass;
The pride and joy of fair Arcadia's plains,
Beloved by deities, adored by swains;
Syrinx her name, by Sylvans oft pursued,
As oft she did the lustful gods delude:
The rural and the woodland powers disdained;
With Cynthia hunted, and her rites maintained;
Like Phœbe clad, even Phœbe's self she seems,
So tall, so straight, such well-proportioned limbs:
The nicest eye did no distinction know, } But that the goddess bore a golden bow; } Distinguished thus, the sight she cheated too.} Descending from Lycæus, Pan admires
The matchless nymph, and burns with new desires.
A crown of pine upon his head he wore;
And thus began her pity to implore.
But ere he thus began, she took her flight
So swift, she was already out of sight;
Nor stayed to hear the courtship of the god,
But bent her course to Ladon's gentle flood;
There by the river stopt, and, tired before,
Relief from water-nymphs her prayers implore.
Now while the lustful god, with speedy pace, } Just thought to strain her in a strict embrace, } He fills his arms with reeds, new rising on the place.} And while he sighs his ill success to find,
The tender canes were shaken by the wind;
And breathed a mournful air, unheard before,
That, much surprising Pan, yet pleased him more.
Admiring this new music, thou, he said,
Who canst not be the partner of my bed,
At least shall be the consort of my mind,
And often, often, to my lips be joined.
He formed the reeds, proportioned as they are; } Unequal in their length, and waxed with care, } They still retain the name of his ungrateful fair.} While Hermes piped, and sung, and told his tale,
The keeper's winking eyes began to fail,
And drowsy slumber on the lids to creep,
Till all the watchman was at length asleep.
Then soon the god his voice and song supprest,
And with his powerful rod confirmed his rest;
Without delay his crooked falchion drew,
And at one fatal stroke the keeper slew.
Down from the rock fell the dissevered head,
Opening its eyes in death, and falling bled;
And marked the passage with a crimson trail:
Thus Argus lies in pieces, cold and pale;
And all his hundred eyes, with all their light,
Are closed at once, in one perpetual night.
These Juno takes, that they no more may fail,
And spreads them in her peacock's gaudy tail.
Impatient to revenge her injured bed,
She wreaks her anger on her rival's head;
With furies frights her from her native home,
And drives her gadding round the world to roam:
Nor ceased her madness and her flight, before
She touched the limits of the Pharian shore.
At length, arriving on the banks of Nile,
Wearied with length of ways, and worn with toil,
She laid her down; and leaning on her knees,
Invoked the cause of all her miseries;
And cast her languishing regards above,
For help from heaven, and her ungrateful Jove.
She sighed, she wept, she lowed; 'twas all she could;
And with unkindness seemed to tax the god.
Last, with an humble prayer, she begged repose,
Or death at least to finish all her woes.
Jove heard her vows, and with a flattering look,
In her behalf to jealous Juno spoke.
He cast his arms about her neck, and said;
Dame, rest secure; no more thy nuptial bed
This nymph shall violate; by Styx I swear,
And every oath that binds the Thunderer.
The goddess was appeased; and at the word
Was Io to her former shape restored.
The rugged hair began to fall away;
The sweetness of her eyes did only stay,
Though not so large; her crooked horns decrease;
The wideness of her jaws and nostrils cease;
Her hoofs to hands return, in little space;
The five long taper fingers take their place;
And nothing of the heifer now is seen,
Beside the native whiteness of her skin.
Erected on her feet, she walks again,
And two the duty of the four sustain.
She tries her tongue, her silence softly breaks,
And fears her former lowings when she speaks:
A goddess now through all the Egyptian state,
And served by priests, who in white linen wait.
Her son was Epaphus, at length believed
The son of Jove, and as a god received.
With sacrifice adored, and public prayers,
He common temples with his mother shares.
Equal in years, and rival in renown } With Epaphus, the youthful Phaeton } Like honour claims, and boasts his sire the Sun. } His haughty looks, and his assuming air,
The son of Isis could no longer bear;
Thou tak'st thy mother's word too far, said he,
And hast usurped thy boasted pedigree.
Go, base pretender to a borrowed name!
Thus taxed, he blushed with anger, and with shame;
But shame repressed his rage: the daunted youth
Soon seeks his mother, and enquires the truth.
Mother, said he, this infamy was thrown
By Epaphus on you, and me your son.
He spoke in public, told it to my face,
Nor durst I vindicate the dire disgrace:
Even I, the bold, the sensible of wrong,
Restrained by shame, was forced to hold my tongue;
To hear an open slander, is a curse;
But not to find an answer, is a worse.
If I am heaven-begot, assert your son } By some sure sign, and make my father known, } To right my honour, and redeem your own. } He said, and, saying, cast his arms about
Her neck, and begged her to resolve the doubt.
'Tis hard to judge if Climené were moved
More by his prayer, whom she so dearly loved,
Or more with fury fired, to find her name
Traduced, and made the sport of common fame.
She stretched her arms to heaven, and fixed her eyes
On that fair planet that adorns the skies;
Now by those beams, said she, whose holy fires
Consume my breast, and kindle my desires;
By him who sees us both, and cheers our sight,
By him, the public minister of light,
I swear that Sun begot thee; if I lie,
Let him his cheerful influence deny;
Let him no more this perjured creature see,
And shine on all the world but only me.
If still you doubt your mother's innocence,
His eastern mansion is not far from hence;
With little pains you to his levee go,
And from himself your parentage may know.—
With joy the ambitious youth his mother heard,
And, eager for the journey, soon prepared.
He longs the world beneath him to survey,
To guide the chariot, and to give the day.
From Meroe's burning sands he bends his course,
Nor less in India feels his father's force;
His travel urging, till he came in sight,
And saw the palace by the purple light.

FOOTNOTES:

[21] In all our earlier poets, the word sea is occasionally made to rheme, according to the pronunciation of Hibernia, as if spelled say.

[22] Ovid is not answerable for the speed of the stag's exertions in the water; he barely says,