Chapter L: E. L (2)

He was continually employed in deceiving the neighbouring nymphs, and often with success. Though deformed in shape and features, he had the good fortune to captivate Diana in the appearance of a beautiful white goat.

His adventure with Omphale is amusing; while the latter was travelling with Hercules, a sacrifice which was to take place on the following day, caused Omphale and the hero to seek separate apartments. In the night, Pan introduced himself, and went to the bed {118} of the queen; but there seeing the lion's skin of Hercules, he fancied he had made a mistake, and repaired to that of the hero; where the female dress which the latter had adopted, deceived the rural God, and he laid himself down by his side. The hero awoke, and kicked the intruder into the middle of the room. The noise aroused Omphale, and Pan was discovered lying on the ground, greatly discomfited and ashamed.

The worship of Pan was well established, particularly in Arcadia, and his statue was usually placed under the shadow of a pine-tree. Upon his altars were laid both honey and milk, fit offerings for a rural divinity.

"With cloven feet and horned front who roves
With choirs of nymphs, amid the echoing groves;
He joins in active dance the virgin throng,
To Pan, the pastoral god, they raise the song.

"To Pan, with tangled locks, whose footsteps tread
Each snow-crowned hill, and mountain's lofty head;
Or wander careless through the lowly brake,
Or by the borders of the lucid lake."

HORACE.

He loved the nymph Echo, but in this instance was unsuccessful in his passion, for the latter adored the beautiful Narcissus, and {119} wandered over hill and dale in search of the youth on whom she had lavished all her affections, but who unfortunately returned them not.

To whom is not the tale of the self-slain Narcissus known, though perhaps the exquisite story of Echo's love for him may be less familiar to the mind.

After Echo had been dismissed by Jupiter, for her loquacity in proclaiming his numerous amours, she fell in love with the beautiful Narcissus.

"And at the sight of the fair youth she glows,
And follows silently where'er he goes."

Unable, however, to address him first, she waited the sound of his beloved voice.

"Now several ways his young companions gone,
And for some time Narcissus left alone,
'Where are you all?' at last she hears him call,
And she straight answers him, '_where are you all_?'

"'Speak yet again,' he cries, 'is any nigh?'
Again the mournful Echo answers, '_I_,'
'Why come not you,' he said, 'appear in view,'
She hastily returns, '_why come not you_?'

"'Then let us join,' at last Narcissus said,
'_Then let us join_,' replied the ravished maid."

In vain had the wondering youth up to this moment looked for the frolic companions, whom he imagined had hid themselves in play. But Echo, charmed with his last exclamation, hastily appeared, and threw herself on the bosom of the astonished youth, who, far from submitting with pleasure to the intrusion,

"With all his strength unlocks her fold,
And breaks unkindly from her feeble hold;
Then proudly cries, 'life shall this breast forsake,
Ere you, loose nymph, on me your pleasure take;'
'_On me your pleasure take_,' the nymph replies
While from her the disdainful hunter flies."

As the youth wandered on, anxious only to escape from the society of Echo, he suddenly came upon a fountain, in which, as he reclined on the ground, he fancied he saw the figure of a beautiful nymph.

"Deep through the spring, his eye-balls dart their beams,
Like midnight stars that twinkle in the streams,
His ivory neck the crystal mirror shows,
His waving hair, above the surface flows,
His own perfections all his passions moved,
He loves himself, who for himself was loved."

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Half maddened by the appearance of a beauty, of which hitherto he had been unconscious, he made every possible effort to grasp what appeared to be the guardian spirit of the water.

"Oft with his down-thrust arms he thought to fold,
About that neck that still deludes his hold,
He gets no kisses from those cozening lips,
His arms grasp nothing, from himself he slips;
He knows not what he views, and yet pursues
His desperate love, and burns for what he views."

Nothing could win the self-enamoured boy from his devoted passion; but bending over the lucid spring, he fed his eyes with the delusive shade which seemed to gaze on him from the depths. At last

"Streaming tears from his full eye-lids fell,
And drop by drop, raised circles in the well,
The several rings larger and larger spread,
And by degrees dispersed the fleeting shade."

Narcissus fancied that the nymph upon whom he supposed he had been gazing, was deserting him, and unable to bear the misery which the thought occasioned, he wounded himself in his agony, deeming that life without her would be insupportable. Echo, however resentful she had felt for the scorn with which he had treated her, hovered near his footsteps and witnessed this last infatuation with redoubled sorrow. {121}

"Now hanging o'er the spring his drooping head,
With a sad sigh these dying words he said,
'Ah! boy beloved in vain,' thro' all the plain
Echo resounds, '_Ah! boy beloved in vain!_'
'Farewell,' he cries, and with that word he died,
'_Farewell,_' the miserable nymph replied.
Now pale and breathless on the grass he lies,
For death had shut his miserable eyes."

The Gods, however, taking pity upon his melancholy fate, changed him into the flower Narcissus.

Many morals have been attempted to be deduced from this beautiful fable, but in none of them have their authors been very successful, unless we may gather a warning of the fatal effects of self-love.

"What first inspired a bard of old to sing
Narcissus pining o'er the mountain spring?
In some delicious ramble, he had found
A little space, with boughs all woven round,
And in the midst of all a clearer pool
Than ere reflected in its pleasant cool
The blue sky, here and there divinely peeping
Through tendril wreaths, fantastically creeping;
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied,
A meek and forlorn flower with nought of pride,
Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness
To woo its own sweet image unto nearness;
Deaf to light Zephyrus, it would not move,
But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love;
So while the poet stood in this sweet spot;
Some fainted dreamings o'er his fancy shot;
Nor was it long ere he had told the tale
Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's vale."

KEATS.

Poor Pan, undeterred by the zealous passion of Echo for Narcissus, still continued to love her, and pleased himself by wandering in the woods and deserts, there calling upon her, for the pleasure of hearing her voice in reply.

"In thy cavern-hall,
Echo! art thou sleeping?
By the fountain's fall
Dreamy silence keeping?
Yet one soft note borne
From the shepherd's horn,
Wakes thee, Echo! into music leaping,
Strange sweet Echo! into music leaping.
"Then the woods rejoice,
Then glad sounds are swelling,
From each sister voice
Round thy rocky dwelling;
And their sweetness fills
All the hollow hills,
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With a thousand notes of _one_ life telling!
Softly mingled notes, of one life telling.
"Echo! in my heart
Thus deep thoughts are lying,
Silent and apart,
Buried, yet undying,
Till some gentle tone
Wakening haply _one_,
Calls a thousand forth, like thee replying!
Strange sweet Echo, even like thee replying."

HEMANS.

This god, so adored and loved in the country, had the power of spreading terror and confusion when he pleased. The Gauls, who under Brennus, invaded Greece, when on the point of pillaging the Temple at Delphi, were seized with a sudden panic and took to flight. This terror was attributed to Pan, and they believed all panics, the cause of which was unknown, were produced by him.

It was by the counsel of Pan, that the Gods at the moment of the assault of Typhon, took the figures of various animals, changing himself into a goat, the skin of which was transported to Heaven, and formed the sign of Capricorn.

"From the forests and highlands,
We come, we come!
From the river-girt islands,
Where the loud waves are dumb,
Listening to my sweet pipings.
The wind in the reeds and the rushes,
The bees in the bells of the lime,
The birds in the myrtle bushes,
The cicale above in the thyme,
And the lizard below in the grass,
Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was,
Listening to my sweet pipings.
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day,
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
And the nymphs of woods, and waves,
To the edge of the moist river lawns,
And the brink of the dewy caves,
And all that did there attendant follow,
Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,
With envy of my sweet pipings.
"I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the daedal earth,
And of heaven, and giant wars,
And love, and death, and birth,--
And then I changed my pipings.
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Singing how down the vale of Menalus,
I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed;
Gods and men were all deluded thus,
It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed:
All wept, as I think both ye now would,
If envy or age had not frozen your blood,
At the sorrow of my sweet pipings."

* * * * *

FAUNS, SYLVANS, AND SATYRS.

The Fauns were descended from Faunus, son of Picus King of Italy, who was changed by Circe into a woodpecker.

"Faunus who lov'st, thro' woodland glade,
To pursue the Sylvan maid,
Pass propitious now, I pray,
Where my tender lambkins stray:
Let each field and mountain high,
Own thy genial presence nigh.
Since with each returning year,
In thy presence, I appear,
With the victim's votive blood,
Mighty monarch of the wood,
And upon thy sacred shrine,
Place the love inspiring wine,
And, o'er all that hallowed ground,
Make the incense breathe around,
Hear O Faunus, hear my prayer,
My lands to bless, my flocks to spare.
When December's nones return
Labour's yoke no more is borne,
Sport the cattle in the meads,
The blythesome dance the peasant leads,
Even, 'mid that time of peace,
Beasts of prey their fury cease,
The lambkin roams all free and bold,
Tho' feeds the wolf beside the fold,
Knowing well thy potent arm
Then protects from every harm.
Lo, to hail the Sylvan king,
Woods their leafy honours bring,
Strewing in profusion gay,
Verdant foliage all the way.
Freed from toil, the labourer blythe
Flings aside the spade and scythe,
Glad to trip in nimble jig,
The earth which he dislikes to dig."

HORACE.

They were the divinities of the woods and fields, and were represented as having the legs, feet, and ears of goats; the remainder of the body being human; the lamb and kid were offered to them by the peasants with great solemnity. {124}

The Sylvans were the children of the foster father of God Bacchus, who accompanied the latter in all his travels. Bacchus having been well received and entertained at the court of Midas, King of Phrygia, he obtained from him the choice of whatever recompense he should name. Midas demanded the power of turning all that he touched into gold.

"'Give me,' says he, (nor thought he asked too much,)
'That with my body whatsoe'er I touch,
Changed from the nature which it held of old,
May be converted into yellow gold:'
He had his wish: but yet the god repined,
To think the fool no better wish could find.
But the brave king departed from the place,
With smiles of gladness, sparkling in his face:
Nor could contain, but, as he took his way,
Impatient longs to make the first essay;
Down from a lowly branch a twig he drew,
The twig strait glittered with a sparkling hue:
He takes a stone, the stone was turned to gold,
A clod he touches, and the crumbling mould
Acknowledged soon the great transforming power,
In weight and substance like a mass of ore.
He plucked the corn, and straight his grasp appears,
Filled with a bending tuft of golden ears.
An apple next he takes, and seems to hold
The bright, Hesperian, vegetable gold.
His hand he careless on a pillar lays,
With shining gold, the fluted pillars blaze.
And while he wishes, as the servants pour,
His touch converts the stream to Danae's shower."

OVID.

He was quickly brought however to repent his avarice, when the very meat which he attempted to eat, turned to gold in his mouth, and the wine to the same metal, as it passed down his throat. He was now as anxious to be delivered from this fatal gift, as he was before to receive it, and implored the god to revoke a present so fatal to the recipient.

"The ready slaves prepare a sumptuous board,
Spread with rich dainties for their happy lord,
Whose powerful hands the bread no sooner hold,
But its whole substance is transformed to gold:
Up to his mouth he lifts the savoury meat,
Which turns to gold as he attempts to eat:
His patron's noble juice, of purple hue,
Touched by his lips a gilded cordial grew:
Unfit for drink, and wondrous to behold,
It trickles from his jaws a fluid gold.
The rich, poor fool confounded with surprize,
Staring on all his various plenty lies:
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Sick of his wish, he now detests the power
For which he asked so earnestly before:
Amidst his gold with pinching famine curst,
And justly tortured with an equal thirst.
At last his shining arms to heaven he rears
And, in distress, for refuge flies to prayers.
'O father Bacchus, I have sinned,' he cried,
'And foolishly thy gracious gift applied,
Thy pity now, repenting, I implore;
Oh! may I feel the golden plague no more!'"

OVID.

He was told to wash himself in the river Pactolus; he performed the necessary ablution, and the very sands were turned into gold by the touch of Midas. Divine honours were given to Silenus in Arcadia, and from him the Fauns and Satyrs are often called Sileni.

The Satyrs, also gods of the Country, were considered as mischievous, and inspired by their appearance, great fright in the shepherds--although they bore with them a flute or tambourine, to make the nymphs dance, when they inflamed their senses by the burning nature of their harmony, and the rapid measure with which they trod to the music of these demi-gods.

To them were offered the first fruits of everything, and they attended chiefly upon Bacchus, rendering themselves conspicuous in his orgies, by their riot and lasciviousness. It is said, that a Satyr was brought to Sylla, as that general returned from Thessaly; the monster had been surprised asleep in a cave; his voice was inarticulate, when brought into the presence of the Roman {126} general, and Sylla was so disgusted with the sight, that he ordered it instantly to be removed. The creature is said to have answered the description which poets and painters have given of the Satyrs.

Priapus was the most celebrated among them, as the the son of Venus, who meeting Bacchus on his return from his Indian expedition, was enamoured of him, and with the assistance of Juno, became the mother of Priapus. Juno having vowed vengeance against the goddess of beauty, took that opportunity to deform her son in all his limbs; notwithstanding which, as he grew up, his inclinations and habits became so vicious, that he was known as the god of lewdness. His festivals took place principally at Lampsacus, where they consecrated the ass to him; and the people naturally indolent, gave themselves up to every impurity during the celebration. When however his worship was introduced into Rome, he became more the God of Orchards and Gardens, than the patron of licentiousness. He was there crowned with the leaves of the vine, and sometimes with laurel or rocket, the last of these plants, which is said to raise the passions and excite love, being sacred to him.

The Sylvans, were, like the Fauns and Satyrs, the guardian deities of the woods and wild places of the earth.

Terminus was a somewhat curious divinity, presiding over bounds and limits, and punishing all usurpation. His worship was first introduced by Numa Pompilius, who persuaded his subjects that the limits of their lands and states, were under the immediate inspection of heaven. His temple was on the Tarpeian rock, and he was represented with a human head, though without feet or arms, to intimate that he never moved, wherever he might be placed.

The people of the country assembled once a year with their families, and crowned with garlands and flowers, the stones which divided their different possessions. It is said that when Tarquin the proud, wished to build a temple on the Tarpeian rock to Jupiter, the God Terminus refused to give place, though the other gods resigned theirs with cheerfulness, and the oracles declared from this, that the extent of the Empire should never be lessened.

* * * * *

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HEBE

was the daughter of Jupiter and Juno; though by many she is said to be the daughter of Juno only, who conceived her after eating lettuces.

Being fair, and always possessed of the bloom of beauty and youth, she was termed the Goddess of youth, and made by her mother the cup-bearer to all the Gods.

She was dismissed from her office by Jupiter, however, because she fell down as she was pouring nectar to the Gods, at a grand festival, and Ganymedes, a favourite of Jupiter, succeeded to her office.

"'Twas on a day
When the immortals at their banquet lay,
The bowl
Sparkled with starry dew,
The weeping of those myriad urns of light,
Within whose orbs, the almighty Power
At nature's dawning hour
Stored the rich fluid of ethereal soul.
* * * * * *
But oh!
Bright Hebe, what a tear,
And what a blush were thine,
When, as the breath of every Grace
Wafted thy feet along the studded sphere
With a bright cup, for Jove himself to drink,
Some star, that shone beneath thy tread,
Raising its amorous head
To kiss those matchless feet,
And all heaven's host of eyes.
Checked thy career so fleet:
Entranced, but fearful all,
Saw thee, sweet Hebe, prostrate fall.
* * * * * *
But the bright cup? the nectared draught
Which Jove himself was to have quaffed!
Alas, alas, upturned it lay
By the fallen Hebe's side;
While in slow lingering drops, th' ethereal tide,
As conscious of its own rich essence, ebbed away,"

MOORE.

Her mother employed her to prepare her chariot, and to harness her peacocks, when required. To her was granted the power of restoring to age the vigour of youth; and after Hercules was elevated to the rank of a God, he became reconciled to Juno by marrying her daughter Hebe.

* * * * *

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THE CENTAURS.

After the creation of the Fauns and Sylvans by the poets, the imagination of the latter invented the Centaur, a monster, of which the superior part was that of a man, and the remainder that of the horse.

Lycus, a mortal, being detained by Circe in her magical dominion, was beloved by a water-nymph who desired to render him immortal; she had recourse to the sorceress, and Circe gave her an incantation to pronounce.

As Lycus walked sorrowfully in the enchanted place, astonished at the many wondrous things which met his eye, he beheld

------"The realized nymph of the stream,
Rising up from the wave, with the bend and the gleam
Of a fountain, and o'er her white arms she kept throwing
Bright torrents of hair, that went flowing and flowing
In falls to her feet, and the blue waters rolled
Down her limbs like a garment, in many a fold."

HOOD.

Struck with each other's charms they loved, but unhappily the nymph, in her anxiety for her lover's immortality, and while calling upon her mistress to assist her, saw

------------------"The Witch Queen of that place,
Even Circe the Cruel, that came like a death
Which I feared, and yet fled not, for want of my breath,
There was thought in her face, and her eyes were not raised
From the grass at her foot, but I saw, as I gazed
Her hate--"

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This hate Lycus soon experienced; as the spell desired by the nymph, was in the act of being pronounced,

--------------------"I felt with a start,
The life blood rush back in one throb to my heart,
And saw the pale lips where the rest of that spell
Had perished in terror, and heard the farewell
Of that voice that was drowned in the dash of the stream!
How fain had I followed, and plunged with that scream
Into death, but my being indignantly lagged
Thro' the brutalized flesh that I painfully dragged
Behind me--"

HOOD.

From this time his existence become a torture to him. Though there were none of his former beings to consort with, yet still he loved to haunt the places of his humanity, and with a beating heart and bursting frame, behold the various occupations and pleasures in which he had formerly joined.

"I once had a haunt near a cot. where a mother
Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would smother
Its eye-lids in kisses, and then in its sleep
Sang dreams in its ears, of its manhood, while deep
In a thicket of willows I gazed o'er the brooks
That murmured between us, and kissed them with looks;
But the willows unbosomed their secret, and never
I returned to a spot I had startled for ever;
Tho' I oft longed to know, but could ask it of none,
Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son?"

HOOD.

Time brought no remedy, for still he was troubled by the absence of sympathy, and the repression of that human feeling which yet clung like a curse to him.

"For the haunters of fields, they all shunned me by flight,
The men in their horror, the women in fright:
None ever remained, save a child once that sported
Among the wild blue bells, and playfully courted
The breeze; and beside him a speckled snake lay
Tight strangled, because it had hissed him away
From the flower at his finger; he rose and drew near
Like a son of immortals, one born to no fear,
But with strength of black locks, and with eyes azure bright,
To grow to large manhood of merciful might,
He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel
The hair of my side and to lift up my heel,
And questioned his face with wide eyes, but when under
My lids he saw tears,--for I wept at his wonder,
He stroked me, and uttered such kindliness then,
That the once love of women, the friendship of men
In past sorrow, no kindness, e'er came like a kiss
On my heart in its desolate day, such as this
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And I yearned at his cheeks in my love, and down bent
And lifted him up in my arms with intent
To kiss him--but he cruel--kindly alas!
Held out to my lips a plucked handful of grass!
Then I dropped him in horror, but felt as I fled,
The stone he indignantly hurled at my head,
That dissevered my ear, but I felt not, whose fate,
Was to meet more distress in his love his hate!"

HOOD.

The only mitigation of his sorrow, was that when in Thessaly

"He met with the same as himself,"

and obtained with them, if not sympathy, at least companionship.

Chiron was the wisest of the Centaurs. Music, divination, astronomy, and medicine, were equally familiar to him, and his name is blended with those of the principal sages of Greece, whom he instructed in the use of plants and medicinal herbs.

The battle of the Centaurs with the Lapithae at the bridal of Perithous is famous in history, and was the cause of their destruction.

The Centaurs inflamed with wine, behaved with rudeness and even offered violence to the bride, and to the women that were present.

"Now brave Perithous, bold Ixion's son,
The love of fair Hippodame had won.
The cloud begotten race, half men, half beast,
Invited came to grace the nuptial feast:
In a cool cave's recess the treat was made,
Whose entrance, trees, with spreading boughs o'ershade,
They sat; and summoned by the bridegroom, came,
To mix with those, the Lapythaean name:
----------------The roofs with joy resound,
And Hymen, Ioe Hymen, rung around.
Raised altars shone with holy fires: the bride
Lovely herself, (and lovely by her side
A bevy of bright nymphs, with sober grace,)
Came glittering like a star, and took her place.
Her heavenly form beheld, all wished her joy;
And little wanted, but in vain their wishes all employ.
For one, most brutal of the brutal brood,
Or whether wine or beauty fired his blood,
Or both at once, beheld with lustful eyes
The bride: at once resolved to make his prize.
Down went the board, and fastening on her hair,
He seized with sudden force the frighted fair.
'Twas Eurytus began; his bestial kind
His crime pursued, and each as pleased his mind
On her, whom chance presented, took. The feast
An image of a taken town expressed."

OVID.

* * * * *

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FLORA, POMONA, VERTUMNUS, THE SEASONS.

Flora was unknown among the Greeks, having her birth with the Romans. She was the Goddess of Flowers,

--------------------------------"which unveil
Their breasts of beauty, and each delicate bud
O' the Season, comes in turn to bloom and perish.
But first of all the Violet, with an eye
Blue as the midnight heavens, the frail snow-drop,
Born of the breath of winter, and on his brow,
Fixed like a pale and solitary star,
The languid hyacinth, and wild primrose,
And daisy, trodden down like modesty,
The fox-glove, in whose drooping-bells the bee
Makes her sweet music: the Narcissus, named
From him who died for love, the tangled woodbine
Lilacs and flowering limes, and scented thorns,
And some from whom the voluptuous winds of June
Catch their perfumery."

BARRY CORNWALL.

She married Zephyrus, and received from him the privilege of presiding over flowers, and enjoying perpetual youth.

Pomona was the Goddess of Fruits and Fruit Trees, and supposed to be the Deity of Gardens.

"Her name Pomona, from her woodland race,
In garden culture none could her excel,
Or form the pliant souls of plants so well;
Or to the fruit more generous flavours lend,
Or teach the trees with nobler loads to bend."

{132}

Pleased with her office, and unwilling to take upon herself the troubles of marriage, she vowed perpetual celibacy. Numerous were the suitors who attempted to win her from her rash determination, but to all of them the answer was alike in the negative: tho' Vertumnus, one of the most zealous, pursued her with unchanging ardour.

"Long had she laboured to continue free
From chains of love and nuptial tyranny;
And in her orchard's small extent immured,
Her vow'd virginity she still secured.
Oft would loose Pan, and all the lustful train
Of satyrs, tempt her innocence in vain.
Vertumnus too pursued the maid no less,
But with his rivals, shared a like success."

OVID.

Miserable, but not cast down, by the many refusals he met with, Vertumnus took a thousand shapes to influence the success of his suit.

"To gain access, a thousand ways he tries
Oft in the hind, the lover would disguise,
The heedless lout comes shambling on, and seems
Just sweating from the labour of his teams.
Then from the harvest, oft the mimic swain
Seems bending with a load of bearded grain.
Sometimes a dresser of the vine he feigns,
And lawless tendrils to their boughs restrains.
Sometimes his sword a soldier shews; his rod
An angler; still so various is the God.
Now, in a forehead cloth some crone he seems,
A staff supplying the defect of limbs:
Admittance thus he gains; admires the store
Of fairest fruit; the fair possessor more;
Then greets her with a kiss; th' unpractised dame
Admired, a grandame kissed with such a flame.
Now seated by her, he beholds a vine,
Around an elm in amorous foldings twine,
"If that fair elm," he cried, "alone should stand,
No grapes would glow with gold, and tempt the hand;
Or if that vine without her elm should grow,
'Twould creep a poor neglected shrub below.
Be then, fair nymph, by these examples led,
Nor shun for fancied fears, the nuptial bed."

OVID.

In this disguise, Vertumnus recommended himself and his virtues to Pomona.

"On my assurance well you may repose,
Vertumnus scarce Vertumnus better knows,
True to his choice all looser flames he flies,
Nor for new faces fashionably dies.
The charms of youth, and every smiling grace,
Bloom in his features, and the god confess."

OVID.

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The pertinacious wooing of the metamorphosed deity, had, at last its effect, in preparing Pomona for Vertumnus, when he should assume his natural shape.

"The story oft Vertumnus urged in vain,
But then assumed his heavenly form again;
Such looks and lustre the bright youth adorn,
As when with rays glad Phoebus paints the morn.
The sight so warms the fair admiring maid,
Like snow she melts, so soon can youth persuade;
Consent on eager wings succeeds desire,
And both the lovers glow with mutual fire."

OVID.

Pomona had a temple at Rome, and a regular priest, who offered sacrifices to her divinity for the preservation of fruit: she is generally represented sitting on a basket, full of flowers and fruit, holding a bough in one hand, and apples in the other.

Vertumnus is represented under the figure of a young man, crowned with various plants, bearing in his left hand fruits, and in his right a horn of abundance.

The Goddess Pomona is often confounded with Autumn, Ceres with Summer, and Flora with Spring.

The four seasons have also been described with great distinctness, by poets, both ancient and modern, all of whom were delighted to pour forth tributes of praise in their honour; Spring is usually drawn as a nymph, with her head crowned by a wreath of flowers; and many are the strains attributed to her.

"I come, I come! ye have called me long,
I come o'er the mountains with light and song!
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

I have breathed in the south, and the chesnut flowers,
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers,
And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes,
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains:
But it is not for me in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb.

I have looked o'er the hills of the stormy north,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth,
The fisher is out in the stormy sea,
And the rein-deer bounds o'er the pastures free,
And the fence has a fringe of softer green,
And the moss looks bright where my foot hath been.

I have sent thro' the wood-paths a glowing sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky;
From the night bird's lay thro' the starry time,
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In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain,
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves!

Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie may be now your home.
Ye of the rose-lip and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding footstep to meet me fly!
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay.

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men,
The waters are sparkling in grove and glen!
Away from the chamber and sullen hearth,
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth!
Their light stems thrill to the wild wood strains.
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

But ye! ye are changed since ye met me last!
There is something bright from your features past!
There is something come over brow and eye,
Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die!
Ye smile!--but your smile hath a dimness yet--
Oh! what have ye looked on since last we met?

Ye are changed, ye are changed! and I see not here
All whom I saw in the vanished year!
There were graceful heads with their ringlets bright,
Which tossed in the breeze with a play of light,
There were eyes, in whose glistening laughter lay
No faint remembrance of dull decay!

There were steps that flew o'er the cowslip's head,
As if for a banquet all earth were spread;
There were voices that rung thro' the sapphire sky,
And had not a sound of mortality!
Are they gone? is their mirth from the mountains passed?
Ye have looked on death since ye met me last!

I know whence the shadow comes o'er you now,
Ye have strewn the dust on the sunny brow!
Ye have given the lovely to earth's embrace,
She hath taken the fairest of beauty's race,
With their laughing eyes and their festal crown,
They are gone from amongst you in silence down!

The Summer is coming, on soft winds borne,
Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn!
For me I depart to a brighter shore,
Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no more,
I go where the loved, who have left you, dwell,
And the flowers are not death's--farewell, farewell!"

HEMANS.

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Summer is drawn naked, bearing an ear of corn, just arriving at its fulness, to denote the harvest yielded by its light and heat; with a scythe in her hand, to intimate that it is the season of harvest.

A welcome to the summer's pleasant song,
A welcome to the summer's golden hour,
A welcome to the myriad joys that throng,
With a deep loveliness, o'er tree and flower,
The earth is glad with beauty, the sky
Smiles in calm grandeur over vale and hill,
And the breeze murmurs forth a gentle sigh,
And the fish leap from out the smiling rill.
The town's pale denizens come forth to breathe.
The free, fresh air, and lave their fevered brows;
And beauty loves young fairy flowers to wreathe
Beneath some stately forest's antique boughs.
Oh! art hath nought like this, the very air
Breatheth of beauty, banishing despair."

FRANCIS.

At other times, she is represented surrounded by the flowers which blossom latest, mingled with the delicious fruits which are the offspring of the summer season.

"Come away! the sunny hours
Woo thee far to founts and bowers!
O'er the very waters now,
In their play,
Flowers are shedding beauty's glow--
Come away!
Where the lily's tender gleam
Quivers on the glancing stream--
Come away!
All the air is filled with sound,
Soft, and sultry, and profound;
Murmurs through the shadowy grass
Lightly stray;
Faint winds whisper as they pass--
Come away;
Where the bee's deep music swells
From the trembling fox-glove bells--
Come away!

In the skies the sapphire blue
Now hath won its richest hue;
In the woods the breath of song
Night and day
Floats with leafy scents along--
Where the boughs with dewy gloom
Come away!
Darken each thick bed of bloom
Come away!

In the deep heart of the rose
Now the crimson love-hue glows;
Now the glow-worm's lamp by night
Sheds a ray,

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Dreamy, starry, freely bright--
Come away!
Where the fairy cup-moss lies,
With the wild-wood strawberries,
Come away!

Now each tree by summer crowned,
Sheds its own night twilight round;
Glancing there from sun to shade,
Bright wings play;
Here the deer its couch hath made--
Come away!
Where the smooth leaves of the lime
Glisten in the honey time,
Come away--away!

HEMANS.

Autumn appears clad in a robe red with the juice of the vintage, which he yields to gladden the heart of man: while a dog is placed at his feet to denote it as the season of the chase.

"I saw old Autumn in the misty morn,
Stand shadowless like silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;
Shaking his tangled locks all dewy bright
With spangled gossamer that fell by night,
Pearling his coronet of golden corn.
Where are the songs of summer? with the sun,
Opening the dusky eyelids of the south,
Till shade and silence waken up alone,
And morning sings with a warm odorous mouth.
Where are the merry birds? Away, away
On panting wings through the inclement skies,
Lest owls should prey
Undazzled at noon-day,
And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes.

Where are the blooms of Summer? in the west,
Blushing their last to the last sunny hours,
When the mild eve by sudden night is prest
Like tearful Proserpine, snatched from her flowers
To a most gloomy breast.
Where is the pride of Summer,--the green prime--
The many, many leaves all twinkling?--There
On the moss'd elm; three on the naked lime
Trembling,--and one upon the old oak tree!
Where is the Dryad's immortality?
Gone into mournful cypress and dark yew,
Or wearing the long, gloomy winter through
In the smooth holly's green eternity.

The squirrel gloats on his accomplished hoard,
The Ants have trimm'd their garners with ripe grain,
And honey bees have stored
The sweets of summer in their luscious cells;
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The swallows all have winged across the main;
But here the Autumn melancholy dwells,
And sighs her tearful spells,
Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain.
Alone, alone,
Upon a mossy stone,
She sits and reckons up the dead and gone,
With the last leaves for a love-rosary,
Whilst all the withered world looks drearily,
Like a dim picture of the drowned past
In the hushed mind's mysterious far away,
Doubtful what ghostly thing will steal the last
Into that distance, grey upon the grey.

O go and sit with her, and be o'ershaded
Under the languid downfall of her hair;
She wears a coronal of flowers faded,
Upon her forehead, and a face of care;--
There is enough of withered every where
To make her bower,--and enough of gloom;
There is enough of sadness to invite,
If only for the rose that died--whose doom
Is beauty's,--she that with the living bloom
Of conscious cheeks, most beautifies the light;
There is enough of sorrowing, and quite
Enough of bitter fruits the earth doth bear,
Enough of chilly droppings for her bowl,
Enough of fear and shadowy despair,
To frame her cloudy prison for the soul."

HOOD.

Winter, as the oldest season, is drawn with shrivelled limbs, and white and hoary locks, to represent the appearance of old age.

"When first the fiery mantled sun
His heavenly race began to run;
Round the earth, in ocean blue
His children four the Seasons flew;--
First, in the green apparel dancing,
The young Spring smiled with angel grace;
Rosy Summer next advancing,
Rushed into her sire's embrace:--
Her bright haired sire, who bade her keep
For ever nearest to his smiles,
On Calpe's olive shaded steep,
On India's citron covered isles:
Now remote and buxom brown,
The queen of vintage bowed before his throne;
A rich pomegranate gemmed her crown,
A ripe sheaf bound her zone.
But howling Winter fled afar,
To hills that prop the polar star,
And loves on deer-borne car to ride
With barren Darkness by his side,
Round the shore where loud Lofoden
Whirls to death the roaring whale,
Round the hall where Runic Oden
Howls his war song to the gale;
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Save when a-down the ravaged globe
He travels on his native storm,
Deflowering Nature's grassy robe,
And trampling on her faded form:
Till light's returning lord assume
The shaft that drives him to his polar field,
Of power to pierce his raven plume,
And chrystal covered shield.
Oh, sire of storms, whose savage ear
The Lapland drum delights to hear,
When frenzy with her bloodshot eye
Implores thy dreadful deity,
Archangel! power of desolation!
Fast descending as thou art,
Say, hath mortal invocation
Spells to touch thy stony heart?
Then, sullen Winter, hear my prayer,
And gently rule the ruined year;
Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare,
Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear.
To shuddering want's unmantled bed,
Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lead,
And gently on the orphan head
Of innocence descend.
But chiefly spare, O King of clouds,
The sailor on his airy shrouds;
When wrecks and beacons strew the steep,
And spectres walk along the deep.
Milder yet thy snowy breezes
Pour on yonder tented shores,
Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes,
Or the dark brown Danube roars.
Oh, winds of Winter! list ye there
To many a deep and dying groan;
Or start, ye demons of the midnight air,
At shrieks and thunders louder than your own.
Alas! e'en your unhallowed breath,
May spare the victim fallen low;
But man will ask no truce to death,
No bounds to human woe."

CAMPBELL.

* * * * *

DIVINITIES OF THE SEA.

OCEANUS AND THETIS.

Oceanus, one of the most powerful deities of the sea, was, according to Homer, the parent of all the gods, and on that account received frequent visits from the remainder of the deities. He is represented as an old man, with a long, flowing beard, and sitting upon the waves of the sea. He often holds a pike in his hand, whilst ships under sail appear at a distance, or a sea monster stands near him. {139}

Oceanus presided over every part of the sea, and even the rivers were subjected to his power. The ancients were very reverential in their homage to Oceanus, and worshipped with great solemnity a deity, to whose care they entrusted themselves when going on any voyage.

He was the father of the Oceanides to the number of three thousand.

"Three thousand graceful Oceanides
Long-stepping, tread the earth, or far and wide
Dispersed, they haunt the glassy depth of lakes,
A glorious sisterhood of goddess birth."

HESIOD.

Thetis, one of the sea deities, was daughter of Nereus and Doris and is often confounded with Tethys, her grandmother. She was loved by Neptune and Jupiter; but when the gods were informed that her son would become greater than his father, they ceased their addresses, and Peleus, the son of Aeacus, was permitted to solicit her hand. Thetis refused him, but the lover had the artifice to catch her when asleep, and by binding her strongly, prevented her escaping from his grasp. When Thetis found she could not elude the vigilance of Peleus, she consented to marry him, though much against her inclination. Their nuptials were celebrated on Mount Peleon with great pomp, at which all the deities attended.

"Proteus thus to virgin Thetis said,
'Fair goddess of the waves, consent to wed,
A son you'll have, the terror of the field,
To whom, in fame and power, his sire shall yield.'
Jove, who adored the nymph with boundless love,
Did, from his breast, the dangerous flame remove;
He knew the fates, nor cared to raise up one,
Whose fame and greatness, should eclipse his own.
On happy Peleus he bestowed her charms,
And blessed his grandson in the goddess' arms:
--A silent creek Thessalia's coast can show,
Two arms project, and shape it like a bow;
'Twould make a bay, but the transparent tide
Does scarce the yellow, gravel bottom hide;
A grove of fragrant myrtle near it grows,
Whose boughs, though thick, a beauteous grot disclose
The well wrought fabric, to discerning eyes,
Rather by art than nature seem to rise.
A bridled dolphin, oft fair Thetis bore
To this her loved retreat, her favourite shore:
Here Peleus seized her slumbering where she lay,
And urged his suit, with all that love could say:
The nymph o'erpowered, to art for succour flies,
And various shapes the eager youth surprize.
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A bird she seems, but plies her wings in vain,
His hand the fleeting substance still detain:
A branchy tree, high in the air she grew,
About its bark, his nimble arms he threw:
A tiger next she glares with flaming eyes,
The frightened lover quits his hold and flies.
The sea-gods he with sacred rites adores,
Then a libation on the ocean pours;
While the fat entrails crackle in the fire,
And sheets of smoke in sweet perfume aspire:
Till Proteus, rising from his oozy bed,
Thus to the poor, desponding lover said,
'No more in anxious thoughts your mind employ,
For yet you shall possess the dear, expected joy,
You must once more the unwary nymph surprize,
As in her cooly grot she slumbering lies:
Then bind her fast with unrelenting hands,
And strain her tender limbs with knotted bands;
Still hold her under every distant shape,
Till tired, she tries no longer to escape?
Thus he then sunk beneath the glassy flood,
And broken accents fluttered where he stood.
Bright Sol had almost now his journey done,
And down the steepy, western convex run;
When the fair Nereid left the briny wave,
And, as she used, retreated to her cave,
He scarce had bound her fast, when she arose,
And into various shapes her body throws;
She went to move her arms, then found them tied,
Then with a sigh 'Some god assists,' she cried,
And in her proper shape stood blushing by his side."

DRYDEN.

Thetis became mother of several children by Peleus, but all these she destroyed by fire in attempting to see whether they were immortal. Achilles would have shared the same fate, if Peleus had not snatched him from her hand, as she was going to repeat the cruel operation. She afterwards rendered his body invulnerable by plunging him in the waters of the Styx, excepting that part of the heel by which she held him. As Thetis well knew the future fate of her son, she attempted to remove him from the Trojan war, by concealing him in the court of Lycomedes. This, however, was useless, as he went with the rest of the Greeks. The mother, still anxious for his preservation, prevailed upon Vulcan to make him a suit of armour; but after it was done, she refused to fulfil the promise she had made to the god. When Achilles was killed by Paris, Thetis issued out of the sea with the Nereids to mourn his death, and after she had collected his ashes in a golden urn, raised a monument to his memory, and instituted festivals in his honour.

* * * * *

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TRITON, PROTEUS, PORTUMNUS, GLAUCUS, AEOLUS, THE SYRENS, CHARYBDIS AND SCYLLA, CIRCE AND THE HARPIES.

Triton was the son of Neptune and Amphitrite, and was reckoned of much importance among the sea deities, being able to raise or to calm storms at his pleasure. He is generally represented with a shell in his hand.

"Old Triton blowing his sea horn."

WORDSWORTH.

His body above the waist, is that of a man, but below, a dolphin's, while by some he is shown with the fore feet of a horse. He usually precedes the chariot of the god of the sea, sounding his shell, and is resembled, in this, by his sons the Tritons.

Proteus, son of Oceanus and Thetis, was guardian of the subjects of Neptune, and had the power of looking into the future, from that God, because he had tended for him the monsters of the sea.

"The shepherd of the seas, a prophet, and a god,
High o'er the main, in watery pomp he rides,
His azure car and finny coursers guides.
With sure foresight, and with unerring doom
He sees what is, and was, and is to come."

VIRGIL.

From his knowledge of futurity, mankind are said to have received the greatest benefits.

----------------"Blue Proteus dwells,
Great Neptune's prophet, who the ocean quells;
He in a glittering chariot courses o'er
The foaming waves, him all the nymphs adore,
Old Nereus too, because he all things knows,
The past, the present, and the future shows;
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So Neptune pleased who Proteus thus inspired,
And with such wages to his service hired,
Gave him the rule of all his briny flocks,
That feed among a thousand ragged rocks."

The changes which this deity was able to make in his appearance, caused the name of Proteus to be synonimous with change. Thus

"The Proteus lover woos his playful bride,
To win the fair he tries a thousand forms,
Basks on the sands, or gambols in the storms.
A dolphin now, his scaly sides he laves;
And bears the sportive damsel on the waves;
She strikes the cymbals as he moves along,
And wondering Ocean listens to the song.
And now a spotted pard the lover stalks,
Plays round her steps, and guards her favoured walks;
As with white teeth he prints her hand, caressed,
And lays his velvet paw upon her breast,
O'er his round face her snowy fingers strain
The silken knots and fit the ribbon-rein.
And now a swan he spreads his plumy sails,
And proudly glides before the fanning gales;
Pleased on the flowery brink with graceful hand
She waves her floating lover to the land;
Bright shines his sinuous neck with crimson beak,
He prints fond kisses on her glowing cheek,
Spreads his broad wings, elates his ebon crest,
And clasps the beauty to his downy breast."

DARWIN.

He usually resided on the Carpathian sea, and like the rest of the sea gods, reposed upon the shore, where those resorted who wished to consult him to obtain any revelation; but it was necessary to secure him, lest by taking some unnatural shape, he should elude their vigilance.

PORTUMNUS, the guardian of doors, was at first known as {143} Melicerta, and was the son of Athamas and Ino. He was saved by his mother from the fury of his father, Athamas, who became inflamed by such a sudden fury, that he took Ino for a Lioness, and her two children for whelps. In this fit of madness, he dashed one of them against a wall; Ino fled with Melicerta in her arms, and threw herself into the sea from a high rock, and was changed into a sea deity, by Neptune, who had compassion on her misfortunes. It is supposed by many, that the Isthmian games were in honour of Portumnus.

GLAUCUS was a fisher of Boeotia, and remarking, on one occasion, that the fish which he threw on the grass, seemed to receive fresh vigour from touching the ground, he attributed it to the grass, and tasting it, was seized with a sudden desire to live in the sea.

Upon this, he leapt into the water, and was made a sea deity by Oceanus, at the request of the marine gods.

AEOLUS, god of the winds, reigned in the Vulcanean islands, and was under the power of Neptune, who allowed him to give liberty to the winds, or to recall them into their caverns at his pleasure.

"Oh many a voice is thine thou wind!
Full many a voice is thine,
From every scene thy wing o'ersweeps
Thou bear'st a sound and sign;
A minstrel wild and strong thou art,
With a mastery all thine own,
And the spirit is thy harp, O wind!
That gives the answering tone.

"Thou hast been across red fields of war,
Where shivered helmets lie,
And thou bringest thence the thrilling note
Of a clarion in the sky:
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A rustling of proud banner folds,
A peal of stormy drums,--
All these are in thy music met,
As when a leader comes.

"Thou hast been o'er solitary seas,
And from their wastes brought back
Each noise of waters that awoke
In the mystery of thy track;
The chime of low, soft southern waves
On some green palmy shore,
The hollow roll of distant surge,
The gathered billows roar.

"Thou art come from forests dark and deep,
Thou mighty, rushing wind!
And thou bearest all their unisons
In one, full swell combined;
The restless pines, the moaning stream,
All hidden things and free,
Of the dim, old sounding wilderness,
Have lent their soul to thee.

"Thou art come from cities lighted up
For the conqueror passing by,
Thou art wafting from their streets, a sound
Of haughty revelry:
The rolling of triumphant wheels,
The harpings in the hall,
The far off shout of multitudes,
Are in thy rise and fall.

"Thou art come from kingly tombs and shrines,
From ancient minsters vast,
Through the dark aisles of a thousand years
Thy lonely wing hath passed;
Thou hast caught the anthem's billowy swell,
The stately dirge's tone;
For a chief, with sword and shield, and helm,
To his place of slumber's gone.