THE TRANSFORMATION OF ECHO.
Famed far and near for knowing things to come,
From him the inquiring nations sought their doom;
The fair Liriope his answers tried,
And first the unerring prophet justified;
This nymph the god Cephisus had abused,
With all his winding waters circumfused,
And on the Nereid got a lovely boy,
Whom the soft maids even then beheld with joy.
The tender dame, solicitous to know
Whether her child should reach old age or no,
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Consults the sage Tiresias, who replies,
'If e'er he knows himself, he surely dies.'
Long lived the dubious mother in suspense,
Till time unriddled all the prophet's sense.
Narcissus now his sixteenth year began,
Just turned of boy, and on the verge of man;
Many a friend the blooming youth caressed,
Many a love-sick maid her flame confessed:
Such was his pride, in vain the friend caressed,
The love-sick maid in vain her flame confessed.
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Once, in the woods, as he pursued the chase,
The babbling Echo had descried his face;
She, who in others' words her silence breaks,
Nor speaks herself but when another speaks.
Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft,
Of wonted speech; for though her voice was left,
Juno a curse did on her tongue impose,
To sport with every sentence in the close.
Full often, when the goddess might have caught
Jove and her rivals in the very fault,
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This nymph with subtle stories would delay
Her coming, till the lovers slipped away.
The goddess found out the deceit in time,
And then she cried, 'That tongue, for this thy crime,
Which could so many subtle tales produce,
Shall be hereafter but of little use.'
Hence 'tis she prattles in a fainter tone,
With mimic sounds, and accents not her own.
This love-sick virgin, overjoyed to find
The boy alone, still followed him behind;
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When, glowing warmly at her near approach,
As sulphur blazes at the taper's touch,
She longed her hidden passion to reveal,
And tell her pains, but had not words to tell:
She can't begin, but waits for the rebound,
To catch his voice, and to return the sound.
The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move,
Still dashed with blushes for her slighted love,
Lived in the shady covert of the woods,
In solitary caves and dark abodes;
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Where pining wandered the rejected fair,
Till harassed out, and worn away with care,
The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft,
Besides her bones and voice had nothing left.
Her bones are petrified, her voice is found
In vaults, where still it doubles every sound.
THE STORY OF NARCISSUS.
Thus did the nymphs in vain caress the boy,
He still was lovely, but he still was coy;
When one fair virgin of the slighted train
Thus prayed the gods, provoked by his disdain,
'Oh, may he love like me, and love like me in vain!'
Rhamnusia pitied the neglected fair,
And with just vengeance answered to her prayer.
There stands a fountain in a darksome wood,
Nor stained with falling leaves nor rising mud;
Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests,
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Unsullied by the touch of men or beasts:
High bowers of shady trees above it grow,
And rising grass and cheerful greens below.
Pleased with the form and coolness of the place,
And over-heated by the morning chase,
Narcissus on the grassy verdure lies:
But whilst within the crystal fount he tries
To quench his heat, he feels new heats arise.
For as his own bright image he surveyed,
He fell in love with the fantastic shade;
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And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmoved,
Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he loved.
The well-turned neck and shoulders he descries,
The spacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes;
The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,
And hair that round Apollo's head might flow,
With all the purple youthfulness of face,
That gently blushes in the watery glass.
By his own flames consumed the lover lies,
And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
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To the cold water oft he joins his lips,
Oft catching at the beauteous shade he dips
His arms, as often from himself he slips.
Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue
With eager clasps, but loves he knows not who.
What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move?
What kindle in thee this unpitied love?
Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
With thee the coloured shadow comes and goes,
Its empty being on thyself relies;
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Step thou aside, and the frail charmer dies.
Still o'er the fountain's watery gleam he stood,
Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food;
Still viewed his face, and languished as he viewed.
At length he raised his head, and thus began
To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain.
'You trees,' says he, 'and thou surrounding grove,
Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love,
Tell me, if e'er within your shades did lie
A youth so tortured, so perplexed as I?
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I who before me see the charming fair,
Whilst there he stands, and yet he stands not there:
In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost;
And yet no bulwarked town, nor distant coast,
Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen,
No mountains rise, nor oceans flow between.
A shallow water hinders my embrace;
And yet the lovely mimic wears a face
That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join
My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine.
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Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint,
Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant.
My charms an easy conquest have obtained
O'er other hearts, by thee alone disdained.
But why should I despair? I'm sure he burns
With equal flames, and languishes by turns.
Whene'er I stoop he offers at a kiss,
And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his.
His eye with pleasure on my face he keeps,
He smiles my smiles, and when I weep he weeps.
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Whene'er I speak, his moving lips appear
To utter something, which I cannot hear.
'Ah wretched me! I now begin too late
To find out all the long-perplexed deceit;
It is myself I love, myself I see;
The gay delusion is a part of me.
I kindle up the fires by which I burn,
And my own beauties from the well return.
Whom should I court? how utter my complaint?
Enjoyment but produces my restraint,
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And too much plenty makes me die for want.
How gladly would I from myself remove!
And at a distance set the thing I love.
My breast is warmed with such unusual fire,
I wish him absent whom I most desire.
And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh;
In all the pride of blooming youth I die.
Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve.
Oh, might the visionary youth survive,
I should with joy my latest breath resign!
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But oh! I see his fate involved in mine.'
This said, the weeping youth again returned
To the clear fountain, where again he burned;
His tears defaced the surface of the well
With circle after circle, as they fell:
And now the lovely face but half appears,
O'errun with wrinkles, and deformed with tears.
'All whither,' cries Narcissus, 'dost thou fly?
Let me still feed the flame by which I die;
Let me still see, though I'm no further blessed.'
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Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast:
His naked bosom reddened with the blow,
In such a blush as purple clusters show,
Ere yet the sun's autumnal heats refine
Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.
The glowing beauties of his breast he spies,
And with a new redoubled passion dies.
As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run,
And trickle into drops before the sun;
So melts the youth, and languishes away,
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His beauty withers, and his limbs decay;
And none of those attractive charms remain,
To which the slighted Echo sued in vain.
She saw him in his present misery,
Whom, spite of all her wrongs, she grieved to see.
She answered sadly to the lover's moan,
Sighed back his sighs, and groaned to every groan:
'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' Narcissus cries;
'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' the nymph replies.
'Farewell,' says he; the parting sound scarce fell
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From his faint lips, but she replied, 'Farewell.'
Then on the unwholesome earth he gasping lies,
Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes.
To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires,
And in the Stygian waves itself admires.
For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn,
Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn;
And now the sister-nymphs prepare his urn:
When, looking for his corpse, they only found
A rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crowned.
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THE STORY OF PENTHEUS.
This sad event gave blind Tiresias fame,
Through Greece established in a prophet's name.
The unhallowed Pentheus only durst deride
The cheated people, and their eyeless guide,
To whom the prophet in his fury said,
Shaking the hoary honours of his head;
'Twere well, presumptuous man, 'twere well for thee
If thou wert eyeless too, and blind, like me:
For the time comes, nay, 'tis already here,
When the young god's solemnities appear;
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Which, if thou dost not with just rites adorn,
Thy impious carcase, into pieces torn,
Shall strew the woods, and hang on every thorn.
Then, then, remember what I now foretell,
And own the blind Tiresias saw too well.'
Still Pentheus scorns him, and derides his skill,
But time did all the promised threats fulfil.
For now through prostrate Greece young Bacchus rode,
Whilst howling matrons celebrate the god.
All ranks and sexes to his orgies ran,
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To mingle in the pomps, and fill the train.
When Pentheus thus his wicked rage express'd;
'What madness, Thebans, has your soul possess'd?
Can hollow timbrels, can a drunken shout,
And the lewd clamours of a beastly rout,
Thus quell your courage? can the weak alarm
Of women's yells those stubborn souls disarm,
Whom nor the sword nor trumpet e'er could fright,
Nor the loud din and horror of a fight?
And you, our sires, who left your old abodes,
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And fixed in foreign earth your country gods;
Will you without a stroke your city yield,
And poorly quit an undisputed field?
But you, whose youth and vigour should inspire
Heroic warmth, and kindle martial fire,
Whom burnished arms and crested helmets grace,
Not flowery garlands and a painted face;
Remember him to whom you stand allied:
The serpent for his well of waters died.
He fought the strong; do you his courage show,
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And gain a conquest o'er a feeble foe.
If Thebes must fall, oh might the Fates afford
A nobler doom from famine, fire, or sword!
Then might the Thebans perish with renown:
But now a beardless victor sacks the town;
Whom nor the prancing steed, nor ponderous shield,
Nor the hacked helmet, nor the dusty field,
But the soft joys of luxury and ease,
The purple vests, and flowery garlands, please.
Stand then aside, I'll make the counterfeit
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Renounce his godhead, and confess the cheat.
Acrisius from the Grecian walls repelled
This boasted power; why then should Pentheus yield?
Go quickly, drag the audacious boy to me;
I'll try the force of his divinity.'
Thus did the audacious wretch those rites profane;
His friends dissuade the audacious wretch in vain;
In vain his grandsire urged him to give o'er
His impious threats; the wretch but raves the more.
So have I seen a river gently glide,
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In a smooth course and inoffensive tide;
But if with dams its current we restrain,
It bears down all, and foams along the plain.
But now his servants came besmeared with blood,
Sent by their haughty prince to seize the god;
The god they found not in the frantic throng
But dragged a zealous votary along.
THE MARINERS TRANSFORMED TO DOLPHINS.
Him Pentheus viewed with fury in his look,
And scarce withheld his hands, while thus he spoke:
'Vile slave! whom speedy vengeance shall pursue,
And terrify thy base, seditious crew:
Thy country and thy parentage reveal,
And why thou join'st in these mad orgies tell.'
The captive views him with undaunted eyes,
And, armed with inward innocence, replies.
'From high Meonia's rocky shores I came,
Of poor descent, Acætes is my name:
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My sire was meanly born; no oxen ploughed
His fruitful fields, nor in his pastures lowed.
His whole estate within the waters lay;
With lines and hooks he caught the finny prey.
His art was all his livelihood; which he
Thus with his dying lips bequeathed to me:
In streams, my boy, and rivers, take thy chance;
There swims,' said he, 'thy whole inheritance.
'Long did I live on this poor legacy;
Till tired with rocks, and my own native sky,
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To arts of navigation I inclined,
Observed the turns and changes of the wind:
Learned the fit havens, and began to note
The stormy Hyades, the rainy Goat,
The bright Täygete, and the shining Bears,
With all the sailor's catalogue of stars.
'Once, as by chance for Delos I designed,
My vessel, driven by a strong gust of wind,
Moored in a Chian creek; ashore I went,
And all the following night in Chios spent.
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When morning rose, I sent my mates to bring
Supplies of water from a neighbouring spring,
Whilst I the motion of the winds explored;
Then summoned in my crew, and went aboard.
Opheltes heard my summons, and with joy
Brought to the shore a soft and lovely boy,
With more than female sweetness in his look,
Whom straggling in the neighbouring fields he took.
With fumes of wine the little captive glows,
And nods with sleep, and staggers as he goes.
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'I viewed him nicely, and began to trace
Each heavenly feature, each immortal grace,
And saw divinity in all his face.
"I know not who," said I, "this god should be;
But that he is a god I plainly see:
And thou, whoe'er thou art, excuse the force
These men have used; and, oh! befriend our course!"
"Pray not for us," the nimble Dictys cried,
Dictys, that could the main-top-mast bestride,
And down the ropes with active vigour slide.
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To the same purpose old Epopeus spoke,
Who overlooked the oars, and timed the stroke;
The same the pilot, and the same the rest;
Such impious avarice their souls possessed.
"Nay, heaven forbid that I should bear away
Within my vessel so divine a prey,"
Said I; and stood to hinder their intent:
When Lycabas, a wretch for murder sent
From Tuscany, to suffer banishment,
With his clenched fist had struck me overboard,
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Had not my hands, in falling, grasped a cord.
'His base confederates the fact approve;
When Bacchus (for 'twas he) began to move,
Waked by the noise and clamours which they raised;
And shook his drowsy limbs, and round him gazed:
"What means this noise?" he cries; "am I betrayed?
All! whither, whither must I be conveyed?"
"Fear not," said Proreus, "child, but tell us where
You wish to land, and trust our friendly care."
"To Naxos then direct your course," said he;
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"Naxos a hospitable port shall be
To each of you, a joyful home to me."
By every god that rules the sea or sky,
The perjured villains promise to comply,
And bid me hasten to unmoor the ship.
With eager joy I launch into the deep;
And, heedless of the fraud, for Naxos stand:
They whisper oft, and beckon with the hand,
And give me signs, all anxious for their prey,
To tack about, and steer another way.
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"Then let some other to my post succeed,"
Said I, "I'm guiltless of so foul a deed."
"What," says Ethalion, "must the ship's whole crew
Follow your humour, and depend on you?"
And straight himself he seated at the prore,
And tacked about, and sought another shore.
'The beauteous youth now found himself betrayed,
And from the deck the rising waves surveyed,
And seemed to weep, and as he wept he said;
"And do you thus my easy faith beguile?
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Thus do you bear me to my native isle?
Will such a multitude of men employ
Their strength against a weak, defenceless boy?"
'In vain did I the godlike youth deplore,
The more I begged, they thwarted me the more.
And now by all the gods in heaven that hear
This solemn oath, by Bacchus' self, I swear,
The mighty miracle that did ensue,
Although it seems beyond belief, is true.
The vessel, fixed and rooted in the flood,
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Unmoved by all the beating billows stood.
In vain the mariners would plough the main
With sails unfurled, and strike their oars in vain;
Around their oars a twining ivy cleaves,
And climbs the mast and hides the cords in leaves:
The sails are covered with a cheerful green,
And berries in the fruitful canvas seen.
Amidst the waves a sudden forest rears
Its verdant head, and a new spring appears.
'The god we now behold with open eyes;
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A herd of spotted panthers round him lies
In glaring forms; the grapy clusters spread
On his fair brows, and dangle on his head.
And whilst he frowns, and brandishes his spear,
My mates, surprised with madness or with fear,
Leaped overboard; first perjured Madon found
Rough scales and fins his stiffening sides surround;
"Ah! what," cries one, "has thus transformed thy look?"
Straight his own mouth grew wider as he spoke;
And now himself he views with like surprise.
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Still at his oar the industrious Libys plies;
But, as he plies, each busy arm shrinks in,
And by degrees is fashioned to a fin.
Another, as he catches at a cord,
Misses his arms, and, tumbling overboard,
With his broad fins and forky tail he laves
The rising surge, and flounces in the waves.
Thus all my crew transformed around the ship,
Or dive below, or on the surface leap,
And spout the waves, and wanton in the deep.
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Full nineteen sailors did the ship convey,
A shoal of nineteen dolphins round her play.
I only in my proper shape appear,
Speechless with wonder, and half dead with fear,
Till Bacchus kindly bid me fear no more.
With him I landed on the Chian shore,
And him shall ever gratefully adore.'
'This forging slave,' says Pentheus, 'would prevail
O'er our just fury by a far-fetched tale:
Go, let him feel the whips, the swords, the fire,
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And in the tortures of the rack expire.'
The officious servants hurry him away,
And the poor captive in a dungeon lay.
But, whilst the whips and tortures are prepared.
The gates fly open, of themselves unbarred;
At liberty the unfettered captive stands,
And flings the loosened shackles from his hands.
THE DEATH OF PENTHEUS.
But Penthcus, grown more furious than before,
Resolved to send his messengers no more,
But went himself to the distracted throng,
Where high Cithæron echoed with their song.
And as the fiery war-horse paws the ground,
And snorts and trembles at the trumpet's sound;
Transported thus he heard the frantic rout,
And raved and maddened at the distant shout.
A spacious circuit on the hill there stood,
Level and wide, and skirted round with wood;
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Here the rash Pentheus, with unhallowed eyes,
The howling dames and mystic orgies spies.
His mother sternly viewed him where he stood,
And kindled into madness as she viewed:
Her leafy javelin at her son she cast,
And cries, 'The boar that lays our country waste!
The boar, my sisters! aim the fatal dart,
And strike the brindled monster to the heart.'
Pentheus astonished heard the dismal sound,
And sees the yelling matrons gathering round:
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He sees, and weeps at his approaching fate,
And begs for mercy, and repents too late.
'Help, help! my aunt Autonöe,' he cried;
'Remember how your own Actæon died.'
Deaf to his cries, the frantic matron crops
One stretched-out arm, the other Ino lops.
In vain does Pentheus to his mother sue,
And the raw bleeding stumps presents to view:
His mother howled; and heedless of his prayer,
Her trembling hand she twisted in his hair,
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'And this,' she cried, 'shall be Agave's share,'
When from the neck his struggling head she tore,
And in her hands the ghastly visage bore,
With pleasure all the hideous trunk survey;
Then pulled and tore the mangled limbs away,
As starting in the pangs of death it lay.
Soon as the wood its leafy honours casts,
Blown off and scattered by autumnal blasts,
With such a sudden death lay Pentheus slain,
And in a thousand pieces strowed the plain.
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By so distinguishing a judgment awed,
The Thebans tremble, and confess the god.