Not this unkindly curse; to rage, and burn,
Where Nature shows no prospect of return.
Nor cows for cows consume with fruitless fire;
Nor mares, when hot, their fellow-mares desire:
The father of the fold supplies his ewes ;
The stag through secret woods his hind pursues:
And birds for mates the males of their own species
choose,

Her females Nature guards from female flame,
And joins two sexes to preserve the game:
Wou'd I were nothing, or not what I am!
Crete, fam'd for monsters, wanted for her store,
Till my new love produc'd one monster more.
The daughter of the son a bull desir'd,
And yet ev'n then a male a female fir'd:
Her passion was extravagantly new,
But mine is much the madder of the two.
To things impossible she was not bent,
But found the means to compass her intent.
To cheat his eyes she took a different shape;
Yet still she gain'd a lover, and a leap.
Should all the wit of all the world conspire,
Should Daedalus assist my wild desire,
What art can make me able to enjoy,
Or what can change Ianthe to a boy?
Extinguish then thy passion, hopeless maid,
And recollect thy reason for thy aid.

Know what thou art, and love as maidens ought,
And drive these golden wishes from thy thought.
Thou canst not hope thy fond desire to gain;
Where hope is wanting, wishes are in vain.
"And yet no guards against our joys con-
spire;

No jealous husband hinders our desire;
My parents are propitious to my wish,
And she herself consenting to the bliss.
All things concur to prosper our design;
All things to prosper any love but mine.
And yet I never can enjoy the fair;
'Tis past the pow'r of Heav'n to grant my pray'r.
Heav'n has been kind, as far as Heav'n can be ;
Our parents with our own desires agree;
But Nature, stronger than the gods above,
Refuses her assistance to my love:
She sets the bar that causes all my pain;
One gift refus'd makes all their bounty vain.
And now the happy day is just at hand,
To bind our hearts in Hymen's holy band:
Our hearts, but not our bodies: thus accurs'd,
In midst of water I complain of thirst.
Why com'st thou, Juno, to these barren rites,
To bless a bed defrauded of delights?
But why should Hymen lift his torch on high,
To see two brides in cold embraces lie?"

Thus love-sick Iphis her vain passion mourns;
With equal ardour fair lanthe burns,
Invoking Hymen's name, and Juno's pow'r,
To speed the work, and haste the happy hour.
She hopes, while Telethusa fears the day,
And strives to interpose some new delay:
Now feigns a sickness, now is in a fright
For this bad omen, or that boding sight.
But having done whate'er she could devise,
And empty'd all her magazine of lies,
The time approach'd; the next ensuing day
The fatal secret must to light betray.
Then Telethusa had recourse to pray'r,
She and her daughter with dishevell'd hair;
Trembling with fear, great Isis they ador'd,
Embrac'd her altar, and her aid implor'd.

"Fair queen, who dost on fruitful Egypt smile,
Who sway'st the sceptre of the Pharian isle,
And sev'n-fold falls of disemboguing Nile,
Relieve, in this our last distress," she said,
"A suppliant mother, and a mournful maid.
Thou, goddess, thou wert present to my sight;
Reveal'd I saw thee by thy own fair light:
I saw thee in my dream, as now I see,
With all thy marks of awful majesty:

The glorious train that compass'd thee around;
And heard the hollow timbrel's holy sound.
Thy words I noted, which I still retain;
Let not thy sacred oracles be vain.
That Iphis lives, that I myself am free
From shame and punishment, I owe to thee.
On thy protection all our hopes depend.
Thy counsel sav'd us, let thy pow'r defend."
Her tears pursu'd her words, and while she

spoke

The goddess nodded, and her altar shook:
The temple doors, as with a blast of wind,
Were heard to clap; the lunar horns that bind
The brows of Isis cast a blaze around;
The trembling timbrel made a murm'ring sound.
Some hopes these happy omens did impart;
Forth went the mother with a beating heart:
Not much in fear, nor fully satisfy'd;
But Iphis follow'd with a larger stride:
The whiteness of her skin forsook her face;
Her looks embolden'd with an awful grace;
Her features and her strength together grew,
And her long hair to curling locks withdrew.
Her sparkling eyes with manly vigour shone,
Big was her voice, audacious was her tone.
The latent parts, at length reveal'd, began
To shoot, and spread, and burnish into man.
The maid becomes a youth; no more delay
Your vows, but look, and confidently pay.
Their gifts the parents to the temple bear:
The votive tables this inscription wear;
"Iphis, the man, has to the goddess paid
The vows, that Iphis offer'd when a maid."

Now when the star of day had shown his face,
Venus and Juno with their presence grace
The nuptial rites, and Hymen from above
Descending to complete their happy love;
The gods of marriage lend their mutual aid;
And the warm youth enjoys the lovely maid.

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.
BOOK X.

Translated by Mr. Congreve, Mr. Dryden, and

oters.

THE STORY OF ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE.

By Mr. Congreve.

THENCE, in his saffron robe, for distant Thrace, Hymen departs, through air's unmeasur'd space; By Orpheus call'd, the nuptial pow'r attends, But with ill-omen'd augury descends; Nor cheerful look'd the god, nor prosp'rous spoke, Nor blaz'd his torch, but wept in hissing smoke. In vain they whirl it round, in vain they shake, No rapid motion can its flames awake.

With dread these inauspicious signs were view'd, And soon a more disastrous end ensu'd; For as the bride, amid the Naïnd train, Ran joyful sporting o'er the flow'ry plain,

A venom'd viper bit her as she pass'd;
Instant she fell, and sudden breath'd her last.
When long his loss the Thracian had deplor'd,
Not by superior pow'rs to be restor❜d;
Inflam'd by love, and urged by deep despair,
He leaves the realms of light, and upper air;
Daring to tread the dark Tenarian road,
And tempt the shades in their obscure abode;
Through gliding spectres of th' interr'd to go,
And phantom people of the world below:
Persephone he seeks, and him who reigns
O'er ghosts, and Hell's uncomfortable plains.
Arriv'd, he, tuning to his voice his strings,
Thus to the king and queen of shadows sings.
"Ye pow'rs, who under Earth your realms extend,
To whom all mortals must one day descend;
If here 'tis granted sacred truth to tell,
I come not curious to explore your Hell;
Nor come to boast (by vain ambition fir'd)
How Cerberus at my approach retir'd.
My wife alone I seek; for her lov'd sake
These terrours I support, this journey take.
She, luckless wand'ring, or by fate mis-led,
Chanc'd on a lurking viper's crest to tread;
The vengeful beast, inflam'd with fury, starts,
And through her heel his deathful venom darts.
Thus was she snatch'd untimely to her tomb;
Her growing years cut short, and springing bloom.
Long I my loss endeavour'd to sustain,
And strongly strove, but strove, alas! in vain:
At length I yielded, won by nighty Love;
Well known is that omnipotence above!
But here, I doubt, his unfelt influence fails;
And yet a hope within my heart prevails,
That here, ev'n here, he has been known of old;
At least if truth be by tradition told;
If fame of former rapes belief may find,
You both by love, and love alone were join'd.
Now by the horrours which these realms sur-
round;

By the vast chaos of these depths profound;
By the sad silence which eternal reigns
O'er all the waste of these wide-stretching plains
Let me again Eurydicè receive,

Let Fate her quick-spun thread of life re-weave.
All our possessions are but loans from you,
And soon, or late, you must be paid your due;
Hither we haste to human-kind's last seat,
Your endless empire, and our sure retreat.
She too, when ripen'd years she shall attain,
Must, of avoidless right, be yours again:
I but the transient use of that require,
Which soon, too soon, I must resign entire.
But if the destinies refuse my vow,
And no remission of her doom allow;
Know, I'm determin'd to return no more;
So both retain, or both to life restore."

Thus, while the bard melodiously complains,
And to his lyre accords his vocal strains,
The very bloodless shades attention keep,
Aud silent, seem compassionate to weep;
Ev'n Tantalus his flood unthirsty views,
Nor flies the stream, nor he the stream pursues;
Ixion's wond'ring wheel its whirl suspends,
And the voracious vulture, charm'd, attends;
No more the Belides their toil bemoan,
And Sisyphus reclin'd, sits list'ning on his stone.
Then first ('tis said) by sacred verse subdu'd,
The Furies felt their cheeks with tears bedew'd.
Nor could the rigid king, or queen of Hell,
Th' impulse of pity in their hearts repel.

Now, from a troop of shade that last arriv'd Eurydice was call'd, and stood reviv'd: Slow she advanc'd, and halting seem'd to feel The fatal wound, yet painful in her heel. Thus he obtains the suit so much desir'd, On strict observance of the terms requir'd: For if, before he reach the realms of air, He backward cast his eyes to view the fair, The forfeit grant, that instant, void is made, And she for ever left a lifeless shade.

Now through the noiseless throng their way they bend,

And both with pain the rugged road ascend;
Dark was the path, and difficult, and steep,
And thick with vapours from the smoky deep.
They well nigh now had pass'd the bounds of night,
And just approach'd the margin of the light,
When he, mistrusting lest her steps might stray,
And gladsome of the glimpse of dawning day,
His longing eyes, impatient, backward cast,
To catch a lover's look, but look'd his last;
For, instant dying, she again descends,
While he to empty air his arm extends.
Again she dy'd, nor yet her lord reprov'd;
What could she say, but that too well he lov'd?
One last farewel she spoke, which scarce he heard ;
So soon he dropt, so sudden disappear'd.

All stunn'd he stood, when thus his wife he

view'd

By second fate, and double death subdu'd:
Not more amazement by that wretch was shown,
Whom Cerberus beholding turn'd to stone;
Nor Olenus could more astonish'd look,
When on himself Lethea's fault he took,
IIis beauteous wife, who too secure had dar'd
Her face to vie with goddesses compar'd:
Once join'd by love, they stand united still,
Turn'd to contiguous rocks on Ida's hill.

Now to repass the Styx in vain he tries:
Charon averse, his pressing suit denies.
Sev'n days entire, along th' infernal shores,
Disconsolate, the bard Eurydicè deplores;
Defil'd with filth his robe, with tears his cheeks,
No sustenance but grief, and cares, he seeks :
Of rigid fate incessant he complains,
And Hell's inexorable gods arraigns.
This ended, to high Rhodopè he hastes,
And Hamus' mountain, bleak with northern
blasts.

And now his yearly race the circling Sun Had thrice complete through wat'ry Pisces run, Since Orpheus fled the face of womankind, And all soft union with the sex declin'd. Whether his ill success this change had bred, Or binding vows made to his former bed; Whate'er the cause, in vain the nymphs contest, With rival eyes to warm his frozen breast: For ev'ry nymph with love his lays inspir'd, But ev'ry nymph repuls'd, with grief retir'd.

A hill there was, and on that hill a mead, With verdure thick, but destitute of shade. Where, now, the Muse's sou no sooner sings, No sooner strikes his sweet-resounding strings, But distant groves the flying sounds receive, And list'ning trees their rooted stations leave; Themselves transplanting, all around they grow, And various shades their various kinds bestow. Here, tall Chaōnian oaks their branches spread, While weeping poplars there erect their head. The foodful Esculus here shoots his leaves, That turf soft lime-tree, this, fat beech receives;

Here, brittle hazels, laurels here advance,
And there tough ash to form the hero's lance;
Here silver firs with knotless trunks ascend,
There, scarlet oaks beneath their acorns bend.
That spot admits the hospitable plane,
On this the maple grows with clouded grain;
Here, wat'ry willows are with lotus seen;
There, tamarisk, and box for ever green.
With doub'e hue here myrtles grace the ground,
And laurestines, with purple berries crown'd.
With pliant feet, now, ivies this way wind,
Vines yonder rise, and elms with vines entwin'd;
Wild ornus now, the pitch-tree next takes root,
And arbutus adorn'd with blushing fruit.
Then easy-bending palms, the victor's prize,
And pines erect with bristled tops arise.
For Rhea grateful still the pine remains,
For Atys still some favour she retains;

He once in human shape her breast bad warm'd,
And now is cherish'd, to a tree transform'd.

The fable OF CYPARISSUS.

AMID the throng of this promiscuous wood,
With pointed top, the taper cypress stood;
A tree, which once a youth, and heav'nly fair,
Was of that deity the darling care,

Whose hand adapts, with equal skill, the strings To bows with which he kills, and harps to which he sings.

For heretofore, a mighty stag was bred, Which on the fertile fields of Crea fed; In shape and size he all his kind excell'd, And to Carthæan nymphs was sacred held. His beamy head, with branches high display'd, Afforded to itself an ample shade;

[grac'd His horns were gilt, and his smooth neck was With silver collars thick with gems enchas'd: A silver boss upon his forehead hung, And brazen pendants in his ear-rings rung. Frequenting houses, he familiar grew, And learnt by custom nature to subdue; 'Till by degrees, of fear, and wildness, broke, Ev'n stranger hands his proffer'd neck might stroke.

Much was the beast by Cæa's youth caress'd, But thou, sweet Cyparissus, lov'dst him best: By thee, to pastures fresh, he oft was led, By thee oft water'd at the fountain's head: His horns with garlands, now, by thee were ty'd, And, now, thou on his back wouldst wanton ride; Now here, now there wouldst bound along the Ruling his tender mouth with purple reins. [plains,

'Twas when the summer Sun, at noon of day, Through glowing Cancer shot his burning ray, 'Twas then, the fav'rite stag, in cool retreat, Had sought a shelter from the scorching heat; Along the grass his weary limbs he laid, Inhaling freshness from the breezy shade: When Cyparissus with his pointed dart, Unknowing, pierc'd him to the panting heart. But when the youth, surpris'd, his errour found, And saw him dying of the cruel wound, Himself he would have slain through desp'rate What said not Phoebus, that might yield relief! To cease his mourning he the boy desir'd, Or mourn no more than such a loss requir'd. But he incessant griev'd: at length address'd To the superior pow'rs a last request; Praying, in expiation of his crime, Thenceforth to mourn to all succeeding time.

[grief.

And now, of blood exhausted he appears,
Drain'd by a torrent of continual tears;
The fleshy colour in his body fades,
And a green tincture all his limbs invades ;
From his fair head, where curling locks lay hung,
A horrid bush with bristled branches sprung,
Which stiff'ning by degrees, its stem extends,
Till to the starry skies the spire ascends.

Apollo sad look'd on, and sighing, cry'd,
"Then, be for ever, what thy pray'r imply'd:
Bemoan'd by me, in others grief excite;
And still preside at ev'ry fun'ral rite.”

Continued by Mr. Croxall.

Thus the sweet artist in a wond'rous shade
Of verdant trees, which harmony had made,
Encircled sat, with his own triumphs crown'd,
Of list'ning birds, and savages around.
Again the trembling strings he dext'rous tries,
Again from discord makes soft music rise.

Then tunes his voice: "O Muse, from whom I

sprung,

Jove be my theme, and thou inspire my song.
To Jove my grateful voice I oft have rais'd,
Oft his almighty pow'r with pleasure prais'd.
I sung the giants in a solemn strain,
Blasted, and thunder-struck on Phlegra's plain.
Now be my lyre in softer accents mov'd,
To sing of blooming boys by gods belov'd;
And to relate what virgins, void of shame,
Have suffer'd vengeance for a lawless flame.
"The king of gods once felt the burning joy,
And sigh'd for lovely Ganymede of Troy:
Long was he puzzled to assume a shape
Most fit, and expeditious for the rape;
A bird's was proper, yet he scorns to wear
Any but that which might his thunder bear.
Down with his masquerading wings he flies,
And bears the little Trojan to the skies;
Where now, in robes of heav'nly purple drest,
He serves the nectar at th' almighty's feast,
To slighted Juno an unwelcome guest.

HYACINTHUS TRANSFORMED INTO A FLOWER.

By Mr. Ozell.

"PHOEBUS for thee too, Hyacinth, design'd A place among the gods, had fate been kind: Yet this he gave; as oft as wintry rains Are past, and vernal breezes sooth the plains, From the green turf a purple flow'r you rise, And with your fragrant breath perfume the skies.

"You when alive were Phoebus' darling boy; In you he plac'd his Heav'n, and fix'd his joy: Their god the Delphic priests consult in vain; Eurotas now he loves, and Sparta's plain: His hands the use of bow and harp forget, And hold the dogs, or bear the corded net; O'er hanging cliff's swift he pursues the game; Each hour his pleasure, each augments his flame. "The mid-day Sun now shone with equal light Between the past and the succeeding night; They strip, then, smooth'd with suppling oil, essay To pitch the rounded quoit, their wonted play: A well-pois'd disk first hasty Phoebus threw, It cleft the air, and whistled as it flew; It reach'd the mark, a most surprising length; Which spoke an equal share of art and strength. Scarce was it fall'n, when with too eager hand Young Hyacinth ran to snatch it from the sand;

But the curst orb, which met a stony soil,
Flew in his face with violent recoil.
Both faint, both pale, and breathless now appear,
The boy with pain, the am'rous god with fear.
He ran, and rais'd him bleeding from the ground,
Chafes his cold limbs, and wipes the fatal wound:
Then herbs of noblest juice in vain applies;
The wound is mortal, and his skill defies.

"As in a water'd garden's blooming walk,
When some rude hand has bruis'd its tender stalk,
A fading lily droops its languid head,
And bends to earth, its life and beauty fled:
So Hyacinth, with head reelin'd, decays,
And, sick'ning, now no more his charms displays.
"O thou art gone, my boy,' Apollo cry'd,
Defrauded of thy youth in all its pride!
Thou, once my joy, art all my sorrow now;
And to my guilty band my grief I owe.
Yet from myself I might the fault remove,
Unless to sport, and play, a fault should prove,
Unless it too were call'd a fault to love.
Oh could I for thee, or but with thee, die!
But cruel fates to me that pow'r deny.
Yet on my tongue thou shalt for ever dwell;
Thy name my lyre shall sound, my verse shall tell;
And to a flow'r transform'd, unheard of yet,
Stamp'd on thy leaves my cries thou shalt repeat.
The time shall come, prophetic I foreknow,
When, join'd to thee, a mighty chief shall grow,
And with my plaints his name my leaf shall

show.'

"While Phoebus thus the laws of fate reveal'd, Behold, the blood which stain'd the verdant field Is blood no longer; but a flow'r full-blown, Far brighter than the Tyrian scarlet, shone. A lily's form it took; its purple hue Was all that made a diff'rence to the view. Nor stop'd he here; the god upon its leaves The sad expression of his sorrow weaves; And to this hour the mournful purple wears Ai, Ai, inscrib'd in funeral characters. Nor are the Spartans, who so much are fam'd For virtue, of their Hyacinth asham'd; But still with pompous woe, and solemn state, The Hyacinthian feasts they yearly celebrate. THE TRANSFORMATIONS OF THE CERASTÆ, AND PROPETIDES.

"INQUIRE of Amathus, whose wealthy ground With veins of every metal does abound, If she to her Propetides would show The honour Sparta does to him allow; [grace, 'No more,' she'd say, 'such wretches would we Than those whose crooked horns deform'd their face,

From thence Cerasta call'd, an impious race:
Before whose gates a rev'rend altar stood,
To Jove inscrib'd, the hospitable god:
This had some stranger seen with gore besmear'd,
The blood of lambs and bulls it had appear'd:
Their slaughter'd guest it was; not flock nor herd.'
"Venus these barb'rous sacrifices view'd
With just abhorrence, and with wrath pursu'd:
At first, to punish such nefarious crimes,
Their towns she meant to leave, her once lov'd
climes :

But why,' said she, for their offence should I My dear delightful plains, and cities fly?

Ajax.

No, let the impious people, who have siun'd,
A punishment in death, or exile, find:
If death or exile too severe be thought,
Let them in some vile shape bemoan their fault.'
While next her mind a proper form employs,
Admonish'd by their horns, she fix'd her choice.
Their former crest remains upon their heads,
And their strong limbs an ox's shape invades.
"The blasphemous Propætides deny'd
Worship of Venus, and her pow'r defy'd :
But soon that pow'r they felt, the first that sold
Their lewd embraces to the world for gold.
Unknowing how to blush, and shameless grown,
A small transition changes them to stone.

THE STORY OF PYGMALION AND THE STATUE.

By Mr. Dryden.

"PYGMALION loathing the r lascivious life,
Abhorr'd all womankind, but most a wife:
So single chose to live, and shunn'd to wed,
Well pleas'd to want a consort of his bed.
Yet fearing idleness, the nurse of ill,
In sculpture exercis'd his happy skill;
And carv'd in iv'ry such a maid, so fair,
As Nature could not with his art compare,
Were she to work; but in her own defence
Must take her pattern here, and copy hence.
Pleas'd with his idol, he commends, admires,
Adores; and last, the thing ador'd, desires.
A very virgin in her face was seen,

And had she mov'd, a living maid had been:
One would have thought she could have stirr❜d,

but strove

With modesty, and was asham'd to move.
Art hid with art, so well perform'd the cheat,
It caught the carver with his own deceit:
He knows 'tis madness, yet he must adore,
And still the more he knows it, loves the more:
The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft,
Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft.
Fir'd with this thought, at once he strain'd the
And on the lips a burning kiss impress'd. [breast,
'Tis true, the harden'd breast resists the gripe,
And the cold lips return a kiss unripe:
But when, retiring back, he look'd again,
To think it iv'ry was a thought too mean:
So would believe she kiss'd, and courting more,
Again embrac'd her naked body o'er;
And straining hard the statue, was afraid
His hands had made a dint, and hurt his maid:
Explor'd her limb by limb, aud fear'd to find
So rude a gripe had left a livid mark behind.
With flatt'ry now he seeks her mind to move,
And now with gifts (the pow'rful bribes of love):
He furnishes her closet first; and fills

The crowded shelves with rarities of shells;
Adds orient pearls, which from the conchs he drew,
And all the sparkling stones of various hue:
And parrots, imitating human tongue,
And singing-birds in silver cages hung:
And ev'ry fragrant flow'r, and od’rous green,
Were sorted well, with lumps of amber laid
between:

Rich fashionable robes her person deck,
Pendants her ears, and pearls adorn her neck:
Her taper'd fingers too with rings are grac'd,
And an embroider'd zone surrounds her slender

waist.

Thus like a queen array'd, so richly dress'd, Beauteous she show'd, but naked show'd the best.