The Metamorphoses of Publius Ovidus Naso in English blank verse Vols. I & II

by Ovid

By towering columns bright with burnish'd gold,
And fiery gems, which blaz'd their light around,
Upborne, the palace stood. The lofty roof
With ivory smooth incas'd. The folding doors,
Of silver shone, but much by sculpture grac'd,
For Vulcan there with curious hand had carv'd
The ocean girding in the land; the land;
And heaven o'ershadowing: here cerulean gods
Sport in the waves, grim Triton with his shell;
Proteus shape-changing; and Ægeon huge,—
His mighty arms upon the large broad backs
Of whales hard pressing: Doris and her nymphs:
Some sportive swimming; on a rocky seat
Some their green tresses drying; others borne
By fish swift-gliding: nor the same all seem'd,
Yet sister-like a close resembling look
Each face pervaded. Earth her natives bore,
Mankind;—and woods, and cities, there were seen;
Wild beasts, and streams, and nymphs, and rural gods.
'Bove all the bright display of heaven was hung—
Six signs celestial o'er each portal grav'd.

The daring youth, the steep ascent attain'd,
O'erstepp'd the threshold of his dubious sire,
And hasty rush'd to meet paternal eyes;
But sudden stay'd: so fierce a blaze of light
No nearer he sustain'd. In purple clad,
The god a regal emerald throne upheld;
Encircled round by hours which space the day;
By days themselves; and ages, months, and years.
Crown'd with a flowery garland Spring appear'd:
Chaplets of grain the swarthy brows adorn'd
Of naked Summer: smear'd with trodden grapes
Stood Autumn: icy Winter fill'd the groupe;—
Snow-white his shaggy locks. Sol from the midst
His eyes all-seeing glanc'd upon the youth,
Startled and trembling at the wonderous sight;
And cried:—“What brings my Phaëton, my son,
“Whose sire shall ne'er disclaim him? tell me now,
“What here thou seekest?” Thus the youth replies:—
“O father, Phœbus, universal light!
“If justly, I thy honor'd name may use,
“Nor proudly boasting Clymené conceals
“A crime by falshood; grant paternal signs,
“The world convincing that from thee I spring;
“Reproachful doubts erasing from my mind.”
He said;—the sire the glittering rays removes
That blaz'd around his head,—invites him nigh,
And thus embracing:—“Proud I own thee, son,
“For all is true by Clymené disclos'd.
“If still thou doubtest, name the gift thou lik'st,—
“That shalt thou have; for that will I bestow.
“Ye streams unseen, which hear celestial oaths
“My vows attest!” But scarce had Phœbus spoke,
When Phaëton, the fiery car demands,—
Demands his sway the winged-footed steeds
One day should suffer. Soon the solemn oath
Phœbus lamented: three times mournful shook
His glorious tresses and in sorrow cry'd—
“Would I could yet deny thee!—O my son!
“All else with gladness will I hear thee ask;—
“List to persuasion,—perseverance sure
“Will risk thy ruin. Phaëton, my child!
“The task thou seek'st is arduous; far unfit
“For those weak arms, and age so immature.
“Mortal,—thou would'st a seat immortal press.
“Ignorant of grasping more than all the gods
“Attempt to manage. Every power we grant
“Diverse excels; but I of all the gods,
“Have force in that igniferous car to stand.
“Ev'n Jove, the ruler of Olympus vast,
“Whose right hand terrible fierce lightenings hurls,
“This chariot never rul'd: and who than Jove,
“More mighty deem we? Steep the first ascent,
“The fresh steeds clamber up the height with pain:
“High in mid heaven arriv'd, to view beneath
“Ocean and earth, oft strikes even me with fear,
“And with dread palpitation shakes my breast.
“Prerupt the end, and asks a firm restraint;
“Tethys herself who nightly me receives,
“Beneath the waves, fears oft my headlong fall.
“Nor all;—the skies a constant whirling bears
“In rapid motion, and the heavenly orbs
“Sweep with them swift; I strive the adverse my;
“Nor can th' impetuous force which whirls the rest
“Bear with them me; I stem the rapid world
“With force superior. Grant, the car I yield,—
“Could'st thou the swift rotation of the poles
“Stem nervous, nor be borne with them along?
“Perchance imagination fills thy mind,
“With groves, and dwellings of celestial gods,
“And temples richly deck'd with offer'd gold,
“Where thou shall pass. Far else;—thy journey lies,
“Through ambushes, and savage monsters' forms.
“Ev'n shouldst thou lucky not erratic stray,
“Yet must thou pass the Bull's opposing horns;
“The bow Hæmonian, by the Centaur bent;
“The Lion's countenance grim; the Scorpion's claws
“Bent cruel in a circuit large; the Crab
“In lesser compass curving. Hard the task
“To rule the steeds with those fierce fires inflam'd,
“Within their breasts, which through their nostrils glow.
“Scarce bear they my control, when mad with heat
“Their high necks spurn the rein. But, oh! my son,
“Beware lest I a fatal gift bestow.
“Retract, while yet thou may'st, thy rash demand.
“Sure tokens thou requir'st to prove thee sprung
“From me,—the genuine offspring of my blood:
“My anxious trembling is a token true;
“Paternal terrors plainly prove the sire.
“Lo! on my features fix thine eyes; as well,
“I would thou could'st them place within my breast,
“And view the anguish of a father's cares.
“Last throw thy looks around; the riches view,
“Whatever earth contains, and some demand;
“Some of so many and such mighty gifts:
“In heaven, or earth, or sea, 'tis undeny'd.
“This only would I grant not, as its grant
“Is punishment, not favor. Phaëton
“Asks evil for a gift. Why, foolish boy,
“Hang on my neck thus coaxing with thine arms?
“Whate'er thou would'st, thou shalt. The Stygian streams
“Have heard me swear. But make a wiser wish.”
His admonition ceas'd, but all advice
Was bootless: still his resolution holds;
To guide the chariot still his bosom burns.
The sire, his every effort vain, at length
Forth to the lofty car, Vulcanian gift,
Brings the rash youth. Of gold the axle shone;
The pole of gold; by gold the rolling wheels
Were circled; every spoke with silver bright;
Upon the seat bright chrysolites display'd,
With various jewels shed a dazzling light,
From Sol reflected. All the high-soul'd youth
Admir'd, and while he curious view'd each part,
Behold Aurora from the purple east
Wide throws the ruddy portals, and displays
The halls with roses strewn: the starry host
Fly, driven by Lucifer,—himself the last
To quit his heavenly station. Sol beheld
The earth and sky grow red, and Luna's horns
Blunt, and prepar'd to vanish. Straight he bade
The flying hours to yoke the steeds: his words
The nimble goddesses obey, and lead
The steeds fire-breathing from their lofty stalls,
Ambrosia fed, and fix the sounding reins.
Then with a sacred ointment Phœbus smear'd
The face of Phaëton,—unscorch'd to bear
The fervid blaze; and on his head a crown
Of rays he fix'd. His smother'd sighs within
His anxious breast, sad presages of woe
Suppressing, thus he spoke:—“If now my words
“Though late, thou heedest, spare, O boy! the lash,
“But tightly grasp the reins: unbid they run,
“They fly; to check their flight thy labor asks.
“Not through the five bright zones thy journey lies:
“Obliquely winds the path, with spacious curve,
“Three girdles only touching; leaving far
“The pole Antarctic, and the northern Bear:
“Be this thy track; there plain thou may'st discern
“The marks my wheels have made. Since heaven and earth
“An equal portion of my influence claim;
“Press not the car too low, nor mount aloft
“Near topmost heaven: there would'st thou fire the roof
“Celestial;—here the earth thou would'st consume.
“For safety keep the midst. Let thy right wheel
“Approach the tortuous Snake not: nor thy left
“Press near the Altar:—hold the midmost course.
“Fortune the rest must rule; may she assist
“Thy undertaking; for thy safety act
“Better than thou. But more delay deny'd,
“Lo! whilst I speak the dewy night has touch'd
“The boundaries plac'd upon th' Hesperian shore.
“I'm call'd,—for, darkness fled, Aurora shines.
“Seize then, the reins, or if thy mind relents,
“My counsel rather than my chariot take.
“Now whilst thou can'st; whilst on a solid base
“Thou standest, ere thou yet unskilful mount'st
“The chariot ev'lly wish'd: give me to dart
“Those rays on earth which thou may'st safely view:”
Agile the youth bounds from his sire, and stands
Proud in the chariot; joyously he holds
Th' entrusted reigns, and from the seat glad thanks
Th' unwilling parent gives. Meantime neigh'd loud
In curling flames, the winged steeds of Sol,
Pyroeis, Æthon, Phlegon, Eous swift;
And with impatient hoofs the barrier beat;
Which Tethys, ignorant of her grandson's fate,
Drove back, and open laid the range of heaven.
Swiftly they hasten,—swiftly fly their heels,
Through the thin air, and through opposing clouds.
Pois'd by their wings the eastern gales they pass,
Which started with them: but their burthen light,
Small felt the pressure on the chariot seat:
Not what the steeds of Sol had felt before.
As ships unpois'd reel tottering through the waves,
Light and unsteady, rambling o'er the main;
So bounds the car, void of its 'custom'd weight,
High-toss'd as though unfill'd. This quick perceiv'd,
Fierce rush the four-yok'd steeds, and quit the path
Beaten before, and tread a road unknown.
Trembling the youth nor knows to pull the reins
Which side, nor knowing would the steeds obey.
Then first the frozen Triönes from Sol
Felt warm, and try'd, but try'd in vain, to dip
Beneath the sea. The frozen polar snake,
Sluggish with cold, and indolently mild,
Warm'd, and dire fierceness gather'd from the flames.
Thou too, Boötes, fled'st away disturb'd,
Though slow thy flight, retarded by thy teams.
And now the luckless Phaëton his eyes
Cast on the earth remote,—far distant spread
Beneath the lofty sky; pale grew his face
With sudden terror; trembled his weak knees;
O'ercome with light his eyes in darkness sunk:
Glad were he now, his father's steeds untouch'd:
Griev'd that his race he knows; griev'd his request
Was undeny'd: glad were he now if call'd
The son of Merops. Ev'n as Boreas sweeps
Furious the vessel, when the pilot leaves
The helm to heaven, and puts his trust in prayers
So was he hurry'd. What remains to do?
Vast space of heaven behind him lies;—much more
He forward views. Each distance in his mind
Compar'd he measures. Now he forward bends
To view the west, forbidden him to reach;
Now to the east he backward turns his eyes.
With terror stunn'd his trembling hands refuse
To hold the reins with vigor; yet he holds.
The coursers' names, affrighted he forgets:
Trembling he views the various monsters spread
Through every part above; and figures huge
Of beasts ferocious. Heaven a spot contains,
Where Scorpio bends in two wide bows his arms,
His tail, and doubly-stretching claws;—the space
Encompassing of two celestial signs.
Soon as the youth the monstrous beast beheld,
Black poison sweating, and with crooked sting
Threatening fierce wounds, he nerveless dropp'd the reins:
Pale dread o'ercame him. Quick the steeds perceiv'd
The loose thongs playing on their backs, and rush'd
Wide from the path, uncheck'd;—through regions strange,
Now here, now there, impetuous;—unrestrain'd,
Amidst the loftiest stars they dash, and drag
The car through pathless places: upward now
They labor;—headlong now they down descend,
Nearing the earth. With wonder Luna sees
Her brother's coursers run beneath her own;
And sees the burnt clouds smoking. Lofty points
Of earth, feel first the flames, and fissures wide,
Departing moisture prove. The forage green,
Whitens; trees crackle with their burning leaves;
And ripe corn adds its fuel to the blaze.
Why mourn we trifles? Mighty cities fall;
Their walls protect them not; their dwellers sink
To ashes with them. Woods on mountains flame;—
Athos, Cilician Taurus, Tmolus, burn;
Oeté, and Ide, her pleasant fountains dry;
With virgin Helicon, and Hæmus high,
Œagrius since. Now with redoubled flames
Fierce Etna blazes;—Eryx, Othrys too;
Cynthus, and fam'd Parnassus' double top,
And Rhodopé, at length of snow depriv'd:
Dindyma, Mimas, and the sacred hill
Cythæron nam'd, and lofty Mycalé:
Nor aid their snows the Scythians: Ossa burns,
Pindus, and Caucasus, and, loftier still,
The huge Olympus; with the towering Alps;
And cloud-capt Apennines. Now the youth,
Beholds earth flaming fierce from every part;—
The heat o'erpowers him; fiery air he breathes
As from a furnace; and the car he rides
Glows with the flame beneath him: sore annoy'd
On every side by cinders, and by smoke
Hot curling round him. Whither now he drives,
Or where he is, he knows not; in a cloud
Of pitchy night involv'd; swept as the steeds
Swift-flying will. The Æthiopians then,
'Tis said, their sable tincture first receiv'd;
Their purple blood the glowing heat call'd forth
To tinge their skins. Then dry'd the scorching fire
From arid Lybia all her fertile streams.
Now with dishevell'd locks the nymphs bewail'd
Their fountains and their lakes. Bœotia mourns
The loss of Dircé: Argos Amymoné:
Corinth laments Pirené. Nor yet safe
Were rivers bounded by far distant shores,
Tanais' midmost waves fume to the sky;
And ancient Peneus smokes: Ismenos swift;
Caïcus, Teuthrantean; and the flood
Of Phocis, Erymanthus: Xanthus too,
Doom'd to be fir'd again: Lycormas brown;
Mæander's sportive oft recircling waves;
Mygdonian Melas; and the Spartan flood,
Eurotas; with Euphrates burn: and burn,
Orontes; and the rapid Thermodoon;
Ganges; and Phasis; and the Ister swift.
Alpheus boils; the banks of Spercheus burn;
And Tagus' golden sands the flames dissolve.
Stream-loving swans, whose song melodious rung
Throughout Mæonian regions, feel the heat,
Caïster's streams amid. In terror Nile
Fled to the farthest earth, and sunk his head,
Yet undiscover'd!—void the seven-fold stream,
His mouth seven dry and dusty vales disclos'd.
Now Hebrus dries, and Strymon, Thracian floods:
And streams Hesperian, Rhine; and Rhone; and Po;
And Tiber, destin'd all the world to rule.
Asunder split the globe, and through the chinks
Darted the light to hell: the novel blaze,
Pluto and Proserpine with terror view'd.
The ocean shrinks;—a dry and scorching plain
Where late was sea appears. Hills lift their heads
Late by the deep waves hid, and countless seem
The scatter'd Cyclades. Deep crouch the fish;—
The crooked dolphins dare not leap aloft,
As, custom'd in the air; with breasts upturn'd
The gasping sea-calves float upon the waves:
Nereus, with Doris and her daughter-nymphs
Deep plung'd to seek their low, but tepid caves.
Thrice Neptune ventur'd to upraise his arms
Grim frowning,—thrice the flames too fierce he found,
And shrunk beneath the waters. Earth at length,
(By streams and founts encircled,—for her womb
Trembling they sought for refuge) rais'd on high
Her face omniferous, dry and parch'd with heat;
Her burning forehead shaded with her hand;
Shook all with tremor huge; then shrank for shade
Beneath, and gasping, thus to heaven she plain'd:

“Almighty lord! if such thy sovereign will,
“And I deserve it, why thy lightenings hold
“Thus idle? If by fire to perish doom'd,—
“Be it by thine,—an honorable fate!
“Scarce can my lips now utter forth my pains!—
Volumes of smoke oppress'd her—“See, my hair
“Sing'd with the flames! Behold my face,—my eyes,
“Scorch'd with hot embers! Is no better boon
“Due for the fruits I furnish? Such reward,
“Suits it my fertile crops? or cruel wounds
“Of harrow, rake, and plough, which through the year
“Enforc'd I suffer? For the herds I bring
“Green herbs and grass; bland aliments, ripe fruit
“For man; and incense for ye mighty gods:
“Faulty is this? But grant thy wrath deserv'd,
“How do the waves, thy brother's realm offend?
“Why does the main, to him by lot decreed,
“Shrink and retreat from heaven? Thy brother's weal,
“Say it concerns thee not, nor my distress;
“Care for thy own paternal heaven may move.
“Thine eyes cast round,—black smoke from either pole
“Mounts!—soon the greedy flames your halls will seize.
“Lo! Atlas labors;—scarcely he sustains
“The burning load. If earth and ocean flame,
“And heaven too perish, all to chaös turn'd,
“Confounded we shall sink. Snatch from the flames
“What yet, if ought, remains, and nature save.”
No more could Earth, for now thick vapors rose,
Her speech obstructing; down she shrunk her head,
And shelter'd 'midst the cool Tartarian shades.

Now Jove, the gods, all witness to the fact
Conven'd; ev'n Sol, the donor of the car,
That but for him the world in ruins soon
Would lie. The loftiest height of heaven he gains,
Whence clouds he wont upon the wide-spread earth
To shower;—from whence his thunders loud he hurl'd;
And quivering lightenings flung: but now nor clouds,
Nor showers to rain on earth the sovereign had.
He thunders;—from his right-ear pois'd, the bolt
Hurls on the charioteer. Life, and the car,
Phaëton quits at once;—his fatal fires,
By fires more fierce extinguish'd. Startled prance
The steeds confounded; free their fiery necks
From the torn reins: here lie the traces broke;
There the strong axle, sever'd from the seat;
Spokes of the shatter'd wheels are here display'd;
And scatter'd far and wide the car's remains.
Hurl'd headlong falls the youth, his golden locks,
Flame as he tumbles, swept through empty air,
A lengthen'd track he forms: so seems a star
In night serene, but only seems, to shoot.
Far from paternal home, the mighty Po
Receiv'd his burning corps, and quench'd the flames.

Due rites the nymphs Hesperian gave the limbs
From the fork'd lightening flaming. On his tomb
This epitaph they grav'd: “Here Phaëton
“Intombed rests; the charioteer so bold,
“Of Phœbus' car, which though he fail'd to rule,
“He perish'd greatly daring.” Griev'd his sire,
Veil'd his sad face; and, were tradition true,
One day saw not the sun; the embers blaz'd
Sufficient light: thus may misfortune aid.

When Clymené with all that sorrow could
To ease her woes give utterance, loud had wail'd
In wild lament; all spark of reason fled,
Her bosom tearing, through the world she roam'd.
And now his limbs inanimate she sought;
Then for his whiten'd bones: his bones she found,
On banks far distant from his home inhum'd.
Prone on his tomb her form she flung, and pour'd
Her tears in floods upon the graven lines:
And with her bosom bar'd, the cold stone warm'd.
His sisters' love their fruitless offerings bring,
Their griefs and briny droppings; cruel tear
Their beauteous bosoms; while they loudly call
Phaëton, deaf to all their mournful cries.
Stretch'd on his tomb, by night, by day they call'd.
Till Luna's circle four times fill'd was seen;
Their blows still given as 'custom'd, (use had made
Their forms of grief as nature). Sudden plain'd
Fair Phaëthusa, eldest of the three,
Of stiffen'd feet; as on the tomb she strove
To cast her body prone. Lampetie bright,
Rushing in hope to aid, a shooting root
Abruptly held. With lifted hands the third
Her locks to tear attempted; but green leaves
Tore off instead. Now this laments her legs,
Bound with thin bark; that mourns to see her arms
Shoot in long branches. While they wonder thus,
Th' increasing bark their bodies upward veils,
Their breasts, their arms, and hands, with gradual growth:
Their mouths alone remain; which loudly call
Their mother. What a mother could, she did:
What could she do? save, here and there to fly,
Where blind affection dragg'd her; and while yet,
'Twas given to join, join with them mouth to mouth.
Nor this contents; she strives to tear the rind,
Their limbs enwrapping; and the tender boughs
Pluck from their hands: but from the rended spot
The sanguine drops flow swift. Each suffering nymph
Cries,—“Spare me, mother!—spare your wounded child;
“I suffer in the tree.—farewell!—farewell!”—
For as they spoke the rind their mouths inclos'd.
From these new branches tears were dropp'd, and shap'd
By solar heat, bright amber straight compos'd.
Dropt in the lucid stream, the prize was borne
To Latium, and its gayest nymphs adorn'd.

This wonderous change Sthenelian Cycnus saw;
To thee, O Phaëton, by kindred join'd,
But by affection closer. He his realms,
(For o'er Liguria's large and populous towns
He reign'd) had then relinquish'd. With his plaints,
The Po's wide stream was fill'd; and fill'd the banks
With his lamentings; ev'n the woods, whose shade
The sister poplars thicken'd. Soon he feels
His utterance shrill and weak: his streaming locks
Soft snowy plumes displace: high from his chest,
His lengthen'd neck extends: a filmy web
Unites his ruddy toes: his sides are cloth'd
With quills and feathers: where his mouth was seen
Expanded, now a blunted beak obtains;
And Cycnus stands a bird;—but bird unknown
In days of yore. Mistrustful still of Jove,
His heaven he shuns; as mindful of the flames
From thence unjustly hurl'd. Wide lakes and ponds
He seeks to habit now;—indignant shuns
What favors fire, and joys in purling streams.

Meantime was Phœbus dull, his blaze obscur'd,
As when eclips'd his orb: his rays he hates;
Himself; and even the day. To grief his soul
He gives, and anger to his grief he joins;
Depriving earth of all its wonted light.
“Troubled my lot has been,” he cry'd, “since first
“Was publish'd my existence:—urg'd my toil
“Endless,—still unremitted, still unprais'd.
“Now let who will my furious chariot drive
“Flammiferous! If every god shall shrink
“Inadequate,—let Jove the task attempt:
“Then while my reins he tries, at least those flames,
“Which cause parental grief must peaceful rest.
“Then when the fiery flaming coursers strain
“His nervous arms, no more he'll judge the youth
“Of death deserving, who could less control.”
Sol, grieving thus, the deities surround,
And suppliant beg that earth may mourn no more,
By darkness 'whelm'd. Ev'n Jove concession gave,—
And why his fiery bolts were launch'd explain'd;
But threats and prayers majestically mix'd.
The steeds with terror trembling, Phœbus seiz'd,
Wild from their late affright, and rein'd their jaws;
Furious he wields his goad and lash, and fierce
He storms, and their impetuous fury blames
At every blow, as murderers of his son.

High heaven's huge walls the mighty sire explores,
With eye close searching, lest a weakening flaw,
Might hurl some part to ruin. All he found
Firm in its pristine strength;—then glanc'd his eye
Around the earth, and toils of man below.
'Bove all terrestrial lands, Arcadia felt—
His own Arcadia—his preserving care.
Her fountains he restores; her streams not yet
To murmur daring; to her fields he gives
Seed-corn; and foliage to her spreading boughs;
And her scorch'd forests bids again look green.
Through here as oft he journey'd, and return'd,
A virgin of Nonacriné he spy'd,
And instant inward fire the god consum'd.
No nymph was she whose skill the wool prepar'd;
Nor comb'd with art her tresses seem'd; full plain,
Her vest a button held; a fillet white
Careless her hair confin'd. Now pois'd her hand
A javelin light, and now a bow she bore:
In Dian's train she ran, nor nymph more dear
To her the mountain Mænalus e'er trode.
But brief the reign of favor! Sol had now
Beyond mid-heaven attain'd; Calistho sought
A grove where felling axe had never rung:
Here was her quiver from her shoulder thrown;
Her slender bow unstrung; and on the ground
With soft grass clad she rested: 'neath her neck
Was plac'd the painted quiver. Jove, the maid
Weary'd beheld, and from her wonted troop
Far distant. “Surely now, my wife,” he cries,
“This theft can ne'er discover. Should she know,
“What is her rage with such a prize compar'd?”
Then Dian's face and form the god conceal'd;
Loud calling,—“Where, O virgin, hast thou stray'd?
“What hills, my comrade, hast thou crost in chase?”
Light springing from the turf, the nymph reply'd,—
“Hail goddess, greater, if with me the palm,
“Than Jove himself, though Jove himself should hear.”
The feign'd Diana smil'd, and joy'd to hear
Him to himself preferr'd; then press'd her lips
With kisses, such as virgins never give
To virgins. Her, prepar'd to tell the woods
Where late she hunted, with a warm embrace
He hinder'd; and his crime the god disclos'd.
Hard strove the nymph,—and what could female more?
(O Juno, hadst thou seen her, less thy ire!)
Long she resists, but what can nymph attain,
Or any mortal, when to Jove oppos'd?
Victor the god ascends th' ethereal court.

The groves and forests, conscious of the deed,
Calistho hates; so swift she flies the spot,
Her quiver, and her darts, and slender bow
Suspended on the tree, through eager haste
Were nigh forgotten. Lo! Diana comes,
By clustering nymphs attended, o'er the hills
Of lofty Mænalus, from slaughter'd beasts,
Proudly triumphant. She Calistho sees,
And calls her;—as the goddess calls she flies,
Fearing another Jove disguis'd to meet.
But when th' attendant virgin-troop appear'd,
Fraud she no more suspected, but the train
Join'd fearless. Hard the countenance to form,
And not betray a perpetrated crime!
Scarce from the ground she dar'd her looks to raise;
Nor with her wonted ardor press'd before,
First of the throng, close to Diana's side.
Silent she moves; her blushes prove a wound
Her modesty had felt. E'en Dian' might,
(But that a virgin,) all the truth have known.
By numerous proofs and strong. Nay, fame reports
Her sister-nymphs had long her shame perceiv'd.
Nine times had Luna now her orb renew'd,
When Dian' from the chase retreating faint
By Phœbus' rays, had gain'd a forest cool,
Where flow'd a limpid stream with murmuring noise,
The shining sand upturning. Much the spot
The goddess tempted, and her feet she dipp'd
Light in the waves, as to the nymphs she cry'd:—
“Hence far each prying eye, we'll dare unrobe
“And lave beneath the stream.” Calistho blush'd;—
Quick while the other nymphs their bodies bare,
Protracting she undresses. From her limbs,
Suspicious they the garments rend, and view
Her body naked, and her fault is plain.
To her, confus'd, whose trembling hands essay'd
Her shame to hide, Diana spoke;—“Hence fly,—
“Far hence, nor more these sacred streams pollute.”
And drove her instant from her spotless train.