Thus when the earth, with filthy ooze bespread
From the late deluge, felt the blazing sun;
His burning heat productive caus'd spring forth
A countless race of beings. Part appear'd
In forms before well-known; the rest a group
Of monsters strange. Then, but unwilling, she
Produc'd terrific Python, serpent huge!
A mighty mountain with his bulk he hid;
A plague unknown, the new-born race to scare.
The quiver-shoulder'd god, unus'd before
His arms to launch, save on the flying deer,
Or roebuck fleet, the horrid monster slew:
A thousand arrows in his sides he fix'd,
His quiver's store exhausting; through the wounds
Gush'd the black poison. To contending games,
Hence instituted for the serpent slain,
The glorious action to preserve through times
Succeeding, he the name of Pythian gave.
And here the youth who bore the palm away
By wrestling, racing, or in chariot swift,
With beechen bough was crown'd. Nor yet was known
The laurel's leaf: Apollo's brows, with hair
Deck'd graceful, no peculiar branches bound.
Penæian Daphne first his bosom charm'd;
No casual flame but plann'd by Love's revenge.
Him, Phœbus flush'd with conquest late obtain'd,
His bow saw bend, and thus exclaim'd in taunt:
“Lascivious boy! How ill with thee assort
“Those warlike arms?—how much my shoulders more
“Beseem the load, whose arm can deadly wounds
“In furious beasts, and every foe infix!
“I who but now huge Python have o'erthrown;
“Swol'n with a thousand darts; his mighty bulk
“Whole acres covering with pestiferous weight?
“Content in vulgar hearts thy torch to flame,
“To me the bow's superior glory leave.”
Then Venus' son: “O Phœbus, nought thy dart
“Evades, nor thou canst 'scape the force of mine:
“To thee as others yield,—so much my fame
“Must ever thine transcend.” Thus spoke the boy,
And lightly mounting, cleaves the yielding air
With beating wings, and on Parnassus' top
Umbrageous rests. There from his quiver drew
Two darts of different power:—this chases love;
And that desire enkindles; form'd of gold
It glistens, ending in a point acute:
Blunt is the first, tipt with a leaden load;
Which Love in Daphne's tender breast infix'd.
The sharper through Apollo's heart he drove,
And through his nerves and bones;—instant he loves:
She flies of love the name. In shady woods,
And spoils of captive beasts alone she joys;
To copy Dian' emulous; her hair
In careless tresses form'd, a fillet bound.
By numbers sought,—averse alike to all;
Impatient of their suit, through forests wild,
And groves, in maiden ignorance she roams;
Nor cares for Cupid, nor hymeneal rites,
Nor soft connubial joys. Oft cry'd her sire;
“My Daphne, you should bring to me a son;
“From you, my child, I hope for grandsons too.”
But she detesting wedlock as a crime,
(Suffus'd her features with a bashful glow)
Around his aged neck, her beauteous arms,
Winds blandishing, and cries, “O sire, most dear!
“One favor grant,—perpetual to enjoy
“My virgin purity;—the mighty Jove
“The same indulgence has to Dian' given.”
Thy sire complies;—but that too beauteous face,
And lovely form, thy anxious wish oppose:
Apollo loves thee;—to thy bed aspires;—
And looks with anxious hopes, his wish to gain:
Futurity, by him for once unseen.
As the light stubble when the ears are shorn,
The flames consume: as hedges blaze on high
From torches by the traveller closely held,
Or heedless flung, when morning gilds the world:
So flaming burnt the god;—so blaz'd his breast,
And with fond hopes his vain desires he fed.
Her tresses careless flowing o'er her neck
He view'd, and, “Oh! how beauteous, deck'd with care,”
Exclaim'd: her eyes which shone like brilliant fire,
Or sparkling stars, he sees; and sees her lips;
Unsated with the sight, he burns to touch:
Admires her fingers, and her hands, her arms,
Half to the shoulder naked:—what he sees
Though beauteous, what is hid he deems more fair.
Fleet as the wind, her fearful flight she wings,
Nor stays his fond recalling words to hear:
“Daughter of Peneus, stay! no foe pursues,—
“Stay, beauteous nymph!—so flies the lamb the wolf;
“The stag the lion;—so on trembling wings
“The dove avoids the eagle:—these are foes,
“But love alone me urges to pursue.
“Ah me! then, shouldst thou fall,—or prickly thorns
“Wound thy fair legs,—and I the cause of pain!—
“Rough is the road thou runnest; slack, I pray,
“Thy speed;—I swear to follow not so fast.
“But hear who loves thee;—no rough mountain swain;
“No shepherd;—none in raiments rugged clad,
“Tending the lowing herds: rash thoughtless nymph,
“Thou fly'st thou know'st not whom, and therefore fly'st!
“O'er Delphos' lands, and Tenedos I sway,
“And Claros, and the Pataræan realms.—
“My sire is Jove. To me are all things known,
“Or present, past, or future. Taught by me
“Melodious sounds poetic numbers grace.—
“Sure is my dart, but one more sure I feel
“Lodg'd in this bosom; strange to love before.—
“Medicine me hails inventor; through the world
“My help is call'd for; unto me is known
“The powers of plants and herbs:—ah! hapless I,
“Nor plants, nor herbs, afford a cure for love;
“Nor arts which all relieve, relieve their lord.”
All this, and more:—but Daphne fearful fled,
And left his speech unfinish'd. Lovely then
She running seem'd;—her limbs the breezes bar'd;
Her flying raiment floated on the gale;
Her careless tresses to the light air stream'd;
Her flight increas'd her beauty. Now no more
The god to waste his courteous words endures,
But urg'd by love himself, with swifter pace
Her footsteps treads: the rapid greyhound so,
When in the open field the hare he spies,
Trusts to his legs for prey,—as she for flight;
And now he snaps, and now he thinks to hold,
And brushes with his outstretch'd nose her heels;—
She trembling, half in doubt, or caught or no,
Springs from his jaws, and mocks his touching mouth.
Thus fled the virgin and the god;—he fleet
Through hope, and she through fear,—but wing'd by love
More rapid flew Apollo;—spurning rest,
Approach'd her close behind, and panting breath'd
Upon her floating tresses. Pale with dread,
Her strength exhausted in the lengthen'd flight,
Old Peneus' streams she saw, and loud exclaim'd:—
“O sire, assist me, if within thy streams
“Divinity abides. Let earth this form,
“Too comely for my peace, quick swallow up;
“Or change those beauties to an harmless shape.”
Her prayer scarce ended, when her lovely limbs
A numbness felt; a tender rind enwraps
Her beauteous bosom; from her head shoots up
Her hair in leaves; in branches spread her arms;
Her feet but now so swift, cleave to the earth
With roots immoveable; her face at last
The summit forms; her bloom the same remains.
Still loves the god the tree, and on the trunk
His right hand placing, feels her breast yet throb,
Beneath the new-grown bark: around the boughs,
As yet her limbs, his clasping arms he throws;
And burning kisses on the wood imprints.
The wood his lips repels. Then thus the god:—
“O laurel, though to be my bride deny'd,
“Yet shalt thou be my tree; my temples bind;
“My lyre and quiver shalt thou still adorn:
“The brows of Latian conquerors shalt thou grace,
“When the glad people sing triumphant hymns,
“And the long pomp the capitol ascends.
“A faithful guard before Augustus' gates,
“On each side hung;—the sturdy oak between.
“And as perpetual youth adorns my head
“With locks unshorn, thou also still shalt bear
“Thy leafy honors in perpetual green.”
Apollo ended, and the laurel bow'd
Her verdant summit as her grateful head.
Within Æmonia lies a grove, inclos'd
By steep and lofty hills on every side:
'Tis Tempé call'd. From lowest Pindus pour'd
Here Peneus rolls his foaming waves along:
Thick clouds of smoke, and dark and vapoury mists
The violent falls produce, sprinkling the tops
Of proudest forests with the plenteous dew;
And distant parts astounding with the roar.
Here holds the watery deity his throne;—
Here his retreat most sacred;—seated here,
Within the rock-form'd cavern, to the streams
And stream-residing nymphs, his laws he gives.
Here flock the neighbouring river-gods, in doubt
Or to condole, or gratulate the sire.
Here Spercheus came, whose banks with poplars wave;
Rapid Enipeus; Apidanus slow;
Amphrysos gently flowing; Æäs mild;
And other streams which wind their various course,
Till in the sea their weary wanderings end,
By natural bent directed. Absent sole
Was Inachus;—deep in his gloomy cave
Dark hidden, with his tears he swells his floods.
He, wretched sire, his Iö's loss bewails;
Witless if living air she still enjoys,
Or with the shades she dwells; and no where found
He dreads the worst, and thinks her not to be.
The beauteous damsel from her father's banks
Jove saw returning, and, “O, maid!” exclaim'd,
“Worthy of Jove, whose charms will shortly bless
“Some youth desertless; come, and seek the shade,
“Yon lofty groves afford,”—and shew'd the groves,—
“While now Sol scorches from heaven's midmost height.
“Fear not the forests to explore alone,
“But in their deepest shades adventurous go;
“A god shall guard thee:—no plebeian god,
“But he whose mighty hand the sceptre grasps
“Of rule celestial, and the lightening flings.
“O fly me not”—for Iö fled, amaz'd.
Now Lerna's pastures, and Lyrcæa's lands
With trees thick-planted, far behind were left;
When with a sudden mist the god conceal'd
The wide-spread earth, and stopp'd her eager flight;
And in his arms the struggling maid compress'd.
Meantime did Juno cast her eyes below,
The floating clouds surpris'd to see produce
A night-like shade amidst so bright a day.
No common clouds, from streams exhal'd, she knew;
Nor misty vapours from the humid earth.
Suspicions rise; her sharpness oft had caught
Her amorous husband in his thefts of love.
She search'd around the sky, its lord explor'd,—
But not in heaven he sate;—then loud exclaim'd:
“Much must I err, or much my bed is wrong'd.”
Down sliding from the topmost heaven, on earth
She lights, and bids the cloudy mists recede.
Prepar'd already, Jove the nymph had chang'd,
And in a lovely heifer's form she stood.
A shape so beauteous fair,—though sore chagrin'd,
Unwilling Juno prais'd; and whence she came,
And who her owner asks; and of what herd?
Her prying art, as witless of the truth,
To baffle, from the earth he feigns her sprung;
And straight Saturnia begs the beauteous gift.
Embarrass'd now he stands,—the nymph to leave
Abandon'd, were too cruel;—to deny
His wife, suspicious: shame compliance urg'd;
Love strong dissuaded: love had vanquish'd shame,
Save that a paltry cow to her refus'd,
Associate of his race and bed, he fear'd
More than a cow the goddess would suspect.
Her rival now she holds; but anxious, still
She Jove distrusts, and fears her prize to lose;
Nor safe she deem'd her, till to Argus' care
Committed. Round the jailor's watchful head
An hundred eyes were set. Two clos'd in turn;
The rest with watchful care, kept cautious guard.
Howe'er he stands, on Iö still he looks;
His face averse, yet still his eyes behold.
By day she pastures, but beneath the earth
When Phœbus sinks, he drags her to the stall,
And binds with cords her undeserving neck.
Arbutus' leaves, and bitter herbs her food:
Her wretched bed is oft the cold damp earth;
A strawy couch deny'd:—the muddy stream
Her constant drink: when suppliant she would raise
Her arms to Argus, arms to raise were none.
To moan she tries; loud bellowings echo wide,—
She starts and trembles at her voice's roar.
Now to the banks she comes where oft she'd play'd,—
The banks of Inachus, and in his streams
Her new-form'd horns beheld;—in wild affright
From them she strove, and from herself to fly.
Her sister Naïads know her not, nor he
Griev'd Inachus, his long-lost daughter knows.
But she her sisters and her sire pursues;
Invites their touch, as wondering they caress.
Old Inachus the gather'd herbs presents;
She licks his hands, and presses with her lips
His dear paternal fingers. Tears flow quick,
And could words follow she would ask his aid;
And speak her name, and lamentable state.
Marks for her words she form'd, which in the dust
Trac'd by her hoof, disclos'd her mournful change.
“Ah wretch!” her sire exclaim'd, “unhappy wretch!”
And o'er the weeping heifer's snowy neck,
His arms he threw, and round her horns he hung
With sobs redoubled:—“Art thou then, my child,
“Through earth's extent so sought? Ah! less my grief,
“To find thee not, than thus transform'd to find!
“But dumb thou art, nor with responsive words,
“Me cheerest. From thy deep chest sighs alone
“Thou utterest, and loud lowings to my words:
“Thou canst no more. Unwitting I prepar'd
“Thy marriage torches, anxious to behold
“A son, and next a son of thine to see.
“Now from the herd a husband must thou seek,
“Now with the herd thy sons must wander forth.
“Nor death my woes can finish: curst the gift
“Of immortality. Eternal grief
“Must still corrode me; Lethé's gate is clos'd.”
Thus griev'd the god, when starry Argus tore
His charge away, and to a distant mead
Drove her to pasture;—he a lofty hill's
Commanding prospect chose, and seated there
View'd all around alike on every side.
But now heaven's ruler could no more contain,
To see the sorrows Iö felt:—he calls
His son, of brightest Pleiäd mother born,
And bids him quickly compass Argus' death.
Instant around his heels his wings he binds;
His rod somniferous grasps; nor leaves his cap.
Accoutred thus, from native heights he springs,
And lights on earth; removes his cap; his wings
Unlooses; and his wand alone retains:
Through devious paths with this, a shepherd now,
A flock he drives of goats, and tunes his pipe
Of reeds constructed. Argus hears the sound,
Junonian guard, and captivated cries,—
“Come, stranger, sit with me upon this mount:
“Nor for thy flock more fertile pasture grows,
“Than round this spot;—and here the shade thou seest
“To shepherds' ease inviting.”—Hermes sate,
And with his converse stay'd declining day.
Long he discours'd, and anxious strove to lull
With music sweet, the all-observant eyes;
But long he strove in vain: soft slumber's bonds
Argus opposes;—of his numerous lights,
Part sleep, but others jealous watch his charge.
And now he questions whence the pipe was form'd,
The pipe but new-discover'd to the world.
Then thus the god:—“A lovely Naiäd nymph,
“With bleak Arcadia's Hamadryads nurs'd,
“And on Nonacriné for beauty fam'd
“Was Syrinx. Oft the satyrs wild she fled;
“Nor these alone, but every god that roves
“In shady forests, or in fertile fields.
“Dian' she follows, and her virgin life.
“Like Dian' cinctur'd, she might Dian' seem,
“Save that a golden bow the goddess bears;
“The nymph a bow of horn: yet still to most
“Mistake was easy. From Lycæum's height,
“His head encompass'd with the pointed pine,
“Returning, her the lustful Pan espy'd,
“And cry'd:—Fair virgin grant a god's request,—
“A god who burns to wed thee. Here he stays.
“Through pathless forests flies the nymph, and scorns
“His warm intreaties, till the gravelly stream
“Of Ladon, smoothly winding, she beheld.
“The waves impede her flight. She earnest prays
“Her sister-nymphs her human form to change.
“Now thinks the sylvan god his clasping arms
“Inclose her, whilst he grasps but marshy reeds.—
“He mournful sighs; the light reeds catch his breath,
“And soft reverberate the plaintive sound.
“The dulcet movement charms th' enraptur'd god,
“Who,—thus forever shall we join,—exclaims!
“With wax combin'd th' unequal reeds he forms
“A pipe, which still the virgin's name retains.”
While thus the god, he every eye beheld
Weigh'd heavy, sink in sleep, and stopp'd his tale.
His magic rod o'er every lid he draws,
His sleep confirming, and with crooked blade
Severs his nodding head, and down the mount
The bloody ruin hurls,—the craggy rock
With gore besmearing. Low, thou Argus liest!
Extinct thy hundred lights; one night obscure
Eclipsing all. But Juno seiz'd the rays,
And on the plumage of her favor'd bird,
In gaudy pride, the starry gems she plac'd.
With furious ire she flam'd, and instant sent
The dread Erinnys to the Argive maid.
Before her eyes, within her breast she dwelt
A secret torment, and in terror drove
Her exil'd through the world. 'Twas thou, O Nile!
Her tedious wandering ended. On thy banks
Weary'd she kneel'd, and on her back, supine
Her neck she lean'd:—her sad face to the skies,
What could she more?—she lifted. Unto Jove
By groans, and tears, and mournful lows she plain'd,
And begg'd her woes might end. The mighty god
Around his consort's neck embracing hung.
And pray'd her wrath might finish. “Fear no more
“A rival love, in her,” he said, “to see;”
And bade the Stygian streams his words record.
Appeas'd the goddess, Iö straight resumes
Her wonted shape, as lovely as before.
The rough hair flies; the crooked horns are shed;
Her visual orbits narrow; and her mouth
In size contracts; her arms and hands return;
Parted in five small nails her hoofs are lost:
Nought of the lovely heifer now remains,
Save the bright splendor. On her feet erect
With two now only furnish'd, stands the maid.
To speak she fears, lest bellowing sounds should break,
And timid tries her long-forgotten words.
Of mighty fame a goddess now, she hears
Of nations linen-clad the pious prayers.
Then bore she Epaphus, whose birth deriv'd
From mighty Jove, his temples through the land,
An equal worship with his mother's claim.
Him Phaëton, bright Phœbus' youthful son,
In years and spirit equall'd,—whose proud boasts,
To all his sire preferring, Iö's son
Thus check'd: “O simple! thee thy mother's arts
“To ought persuade. A feigned sire thou boast'st.”
Deep blush'd the youth, but shame his rage repress'd,
And each reproach to Clymené he bore.
“This too,” he says, “O mother, irks me more,
“That I so bold, so fierce, urg'd no defence:
“Which shame is greater? that they dare accuse,
“Or that accus'd, we cannot prove them false?
“Do thou my mother,—if from heaven indeed
“Descent I claim,—prove from what stock I spring.
“My race divine assert.” He said,—and flung
Around her neck his arms; and by his life,
The life of Merops, and his sisters' hopes
Of nuptial bliss, adjures her to obtain
Proofs of his birth celestial. Prayers like these
The mother doubtless mov'd;—and rage no less
To hear the defamation. Up to heaven
Her arms she raises, gazing on the sun,
And cries,—“My child! by yon bright rays I swear
“In brilliance glittering, which now hear and view,
“Our every word and action—thou art sprung
“From him, the sun thou see'st;—the sun who rules
“With tempering sway the seasons:—If untrue
“My words, let me his light no more behold!
“Nor long the toil to seek thy father's dome,
“His palace whence he rises borders close
“On our land's confines.—If thou dar'st the task,
“Go forth, and from himself thy birth enquire.”
Elate to hear her words, the youth departs
Instant, and all the sky in mind he grasps.
Through Æthiopia's regions swiftly went,
With India plac'd beneath the burning zone:
And quickly reach'd his own paternal east.
The Second Book.
Palace of the Sun. Phaëton's reception by his father. His request to drive the chariot. The Sun's useless arguments to dissuade him from the attempt. Description of the car. Cautions how to perform the journey. Terror of Phaëton, and his inability to rule the horses. Conflagration of the world. Petition of Earth to Jupiter, and death of Phaëton by thunder. Grief of Clymené, and of his sisters. Change of the latter to poplars, and their tears to amber. Transformation of Cycnus to a swan. Mourning of Phœbus. Jupiter's descent to earth; and amour with Calistho. Birth of Arcas, and transformation of Calistho to a bear; and afterwards with Arcas to a constellation. Story of Coronis. Tale of the daw to the raven. Change of the raven's color. Esculapius. Ocyrrhoë's prophecies, and transformation to a mare. Apollo's herds stolen by Mercury. Battus' double-dealing, and change to a touchstone. Mercury's love for Hersé. Envy. Aglauros changed to a statue. Rape of Europa.