Chapter IV: Appendix (3)

But the vile vulgar, ever discontent, Their growing fears in secret murmurs vent; Still prone to change, though still the slaves of state, And sure the monarch whom they have, to hate; New lords they madly make, then tamely bear, And softly curse the tyrants whom they fear. And one of those who groan beneath the sway 230 Of kings imposed, and grudgingly obey, (Whom envy to the great, and vulgar spite, With scandal arm'd, th' ignoble mind's delight) Exclaim'd--'O Thebes! for thee what fates remain, What woes attend this inauspicious reign? Must we, alas! our doubtful necks prepare Each haughty master's yoke by turns to bear, And still to change whom changed we still must fear? These now control a wretched people's fate These can divide, and these reverse the state: 240 E'en fortune rules no more--O servile land, Where exiled tyrants still by turns command! Thou sire of gods and men, imperial Jove! Is this th' eternal doom decreed above? On thy own offspring hast thou fix'd this fate From the first birth of our unhappy state, When banish'd Cadmus, wandering o'er the main, For lost Europa search'd the world in vain, And, fated in Boeotian fields to found, A rising empire on a foreign ground, 250 First raised our walls on that ill omen'd plain Where earth-born brothers were by brothers slain? What lofty looks th' unrivall'd monarch bears! How all the tyrant in his face appears! What sullen fury clouds his scornful brow! Gods! how his eyes with threatening ardour glow! Can this imperious lord forget to reign, Quit all his state, descend, and serve again? Yet who, before, more popularly bow'd? Who more propitious to the suppliant crowd? 260 Patient of right, familiar in the throne, What wonder then? he was not then alone. Oh wretched we! a vile, submissive train, Fortune's tame fools, and slaves in every reign!

'As when two winds with rival force contend, This way and that the wavering sails they bend, While freezing Boreas and black Eurus blow, Now here, now there, the reeling vessel throw; Thus on each side, alas! our tottering state Feels all the fury of resistless fate, 270 And doubtful still, and still distracted stands, While that prince threatens, and while this commands.'

And now th' almighty Father of the gods Convenes a council in the bless'd abodes. Far in the bright recesses of the skies, High o'er the rolling heavens, a mansion lies, Whence, far below, the gods at once survey The realms of rising and declining day, And all th' extended space of earth, and air, and sea. Full in the midst, and on a starry throne, 280 The Majesty of heaven superior shone: Serene he look'd, and gave an awful nod, And all the trembling spheres confess'd the god. At Jove's assent the deities around In solemn state the consistory crown'd. Next a long order of inferior powers Ascend from hills, and plains, and shady bowers; Those from whose urns the rolling rivers flow, And those that give the wandering winds to blow: Here all their rage and ev'n their murmurs cease, 290 And sacred silence reigns, and universal peace. A shining synod of majestic gods Gilds with new lustre the divine abodes: Heaven seems improved with a superior ray, And the bright arch reflects a double day. The monarch then his solemn silence broke, The still creation listen'd while he spoke; Each sacred accent bears eternal weight, And each irrevocable word is fate.

'How long shall man the wrath of Heaven defy, 300 And force unwilling vengeance from the sky? O race confederate into crimes, that prove Triumphant o'er th' eluded rage of Jove! This wearied arm can scarce the bolt sustain, And unregarded thunder rolls in vain: Th' o'erlabour'd Cyclops from his task retires, Th' AEolian forge exhausted of its fires. For this, I suffer'd Phoebus' steeds to stray, And the mad ruler to misguide the day, When the wide earth to heaps of ashes turn'd, 310 And Heaven itself the wandering chariot burn'd: For this my brother of the watery reign Released the impetuous sluices of the main; But flames consumed, and billows raged in vain. Two races now, allied to Jove, offend; To punish these, see Jove himself descend. The Theban kings their line from Cadmus trace, From godlike Perseus those of Argive race. Unhappy Cadmus' fate who does not know, And the long series of succeeding woe? 320 How oft the Furies, from the deeps of night, Arose, and mix'd with men in mortal fight; Th' exulting mother stain'd with filial blood, The savage hunter and the haunted wood? The direful banquet why should I proclaim, And crimes that grieve the trembling gods to name? Ere I recount the sins of these profane, The sun would sink into the western main, And, rising, gild the radiant east again. Have we not seen (the blood of Laius shed) 330 The murdering son ascend his parent's bed, Through violated nature force his way, And stain the sacred womb where once he lay? Yet now in darkness and despair he groans, And for the crimes of guilty fate atones; His sons with scorn their eyeless father view, Insult his wounds, and make them bleed anew. Thy curse, O OEdipus! just Heaven alarms, And sets th' avenging Thunderer in arms. I from the root thy guilty race will tear, 340 And give the nations to the waste of war. Adrastus soon, with gods averse, shall join In dire alliance with the Theban line; Hence strife shall rise, and mortal war succeed; The guilty realms of Tantalus shall bleed: Fix'd is their doom. This all-remembering breast Yet harbours vengeance for the tyrant's feast.'

He said; and thus the queen of heaven return'd: (With sudden grief her labouring bosom burn'd) 'Must I, whose cares Phoroneus' towers defend, 350 Must I, O Jove! in bloody wars contend? Thou know'st those regions my protection claim, Glorious in arms, in riches, and in fame: Though there the fair Egyptian heifer fed, And there deluded Argus slept and bled: Though there the brazen tower was storm'd of old, When Jove descended in almighty gold! Yet I can pardon those obscurer rapes, Those bashful crimes disguised in borrow'd shapes; But Thebes, where, shining in celestial charms, 360 Thou cam'st triumphant to a mortal's arms, When all my glories o'er her limbs were spread, And blazing lightnings danced around her bed; Cursed Thebes the vengeance it deserves may prove-- Ah! why should Argos feel the rage of Jove? Yet since thou wilt thy sister-queen control, Since still the lust of discord fires thy soul, Go, raze my Samos, let Mycene fall, And level with the dust the Spartan wall; No more let mortals Juno's power invoke, 370 Her fanes no more with Eastern incense smoke, Nor victims sink beneath the sacred stroke! But to your Isis all my rights transfer, Let altars blaze and temples smoke for her; For her, through Egypt's fruitful clime renown'd, Let weeping Nilus hear the timbrel sound. But if thou must reform the stubborn times, Avenging on the sons the fathers' crimes, And from the long records of distant age Derive incitements to renew thy rage; 380 Say, from what period then has Jove design'd To date his vengeance? to what bounds confined? Begin from thence, where first Alpheus hides His wandering stream, and through the briny tides Unmix'd to his Sicilian river glides. Thy own Arcadians there the thunder claim, Whose impious rites disgrace thy mighty name; Who raise thy temples where the chariot stood Of fierce Oenomaues, defiled with blood; Where once his steeds their savage banquet found, 390 And human bones yet whiten all the ground. Say, can those honours please? and canst thou love Presumptuous Crete, that boasts the tomb of Jove? And shall not Tantalus's kingdoms share Thy wife and sister's tutelary care? Reverse, O Jove! thy too severe decree, Nor doom to war a race derived from thee; On impious realms and barbarous kings impose Thy plagues, and curse them with such sons[57] as those.'

Thus in reproach and prayer the queen express'd 400 The rage and grief contending in her breast; Unmoved remain'd the ruler of the sky, And from his throne return'd this stern reply: ''Twas thus I deem'd thy haughty soul would bear The dire, though just revenge which I prepare Against a nation thy peculiar care: No less Dione might for Thebes contend. Nor Bacchus less his native town defend; Yet these in silence see the Fates fulfil Their work, and reverence our superior will: 410 For by the black infernal Styx I swear, (That dreadful oath which binds the Thunderer) 'Tis fix'd, th' irrevocable doom of Jove; No force can bend me, no persuasion more. Haste then, Cyllenius, through the liquid air; Go, mount the winds, and to the shades repair; Bid hell's black monarch my commands obey, And give up Laius to the realms of day, Whose ghost yet shivering on Cocytus' sand Expects its passage to the further strand: 420 Let the pale sire revisit Thebes, and bear These pleasing orders to the tyrant's ear; That, from his exiled brother, swell'd with pride Of foreign forces and his Argive bride, Almighty Jove commands him to detain The promised empire, and alternate reign: Be this the cause of more than mortal hate; The rest, succeeding times shall ripen into fate.'

The god obeys, and to his feet applies Those golden wings that cut the yielding skies; 430 His ample hat his beamy locks o'erspread, And veil'd the starry glories of his head. He seized the wand that causes sleep to fly, Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye; That drives the dead to dark Tartarean coasts, Or back to life compels the wandering ghosts. Thus through the parting clouds the son of May Wings on the whistling winds his rapid way; Now smoothly steers through air his equal flight, Now springs aloft, and towers th' ethereal height: 440 Then wheeling down the steep of heaven he flies, And draws a radiant circle o'er the skies.

Meantime the banish'd Polynices roves (His Thebes abandon'd) through the Aonian groves, While future realms his wandering thoughts delight, His daily vision, and his dream by night; Forbidden Thebes appears before his eye, From whence he sees his absent brother fly, With transport views the airy rule his own, And swells on an imaginary throne. 450 Fain would he cast a tedious age away, And live out all in one triumphant day. He chides the lazy progress of the sun, And bids the year with swifter motion run: With anxious hopes his craving mind is toss'd And all his joys in length of wishes lost.

The hero then resolves his course to bend Where ancient Danaus' fruitful fields extend; And famed Mycene's lofty towers ascend; (Where late the sun did Atreus' crimes detest, 460 And disappear'd in horror of the feast). And now by chance, by fate, or furies led, From Bacchus' consecrated caves he fled, Where the shrill cries of frantic matrons sound, And Pentheus' blood enrich'd the rising ground; Then sees Cithaeron towering o'er the plain, And thence declining gently to the main; Next to the bounds of Nisus' realm repairs, Where treacherous Scylla cut the purple hairs; The hanging cliffs of Scyron's rock explores, 470 And hears the murmurs of the different shores; Passes the strait that parts the foaming seas, And stately Corinth's pleasing site surveys.

'Twas now the time when Phoebus yields to night, And rising Cynthia sheds her silver light; Wide o'er the world in solemn pomp she drew Her airy chariot, hung with pearly dew: All birds and beasts lie hush'd; sleep steals away The wild desires of men, and toils of day, And brings, descending through the silent air, 480 A sweet forgetfulness of human care. Yet no red clouds, with golden borders gay, Promise the skies the bright return of day; No faint reflections of the distant light Streak with long gleams the scattering shades of night: From the damp earth impervious vapours rise, Increase the darkness, and involve the skies. At once the rushing winds with roaring sound Burst from th' AEolian caves, and rend the ground; With equal rage their airy quarrel try, 490 And win by turns the kingdom of the sky; But with a thicker night black Auster shrouds The heavens, and drives on heaps the rolling clouds, From whose dark womb a rattling tempest pours, Which the cold north congeals to haily showers. From pole to pole the thunder roars aloud, And broken lightnings flash from every cloud. Now smokes with showers the misty mountain-ground, And floated fields lie undistinguish'd round; Th' Inachian streams with headlong fury run, 500 And Erasinus rolls a deluge on; The foaming Lerna swells above its bounds, And spreads its ancient poisons o'er the grounds: Where late was dust, now rapid torrents play, Rush through the mounds, and bear the dams away: Old limbs of trees, from crackling forests torn, Are whirl'd in air, and on the winds are borne: The storm the dark Lycaean groves display'd, And first to light exposed the sacred shade. Th' intrepid Theban hears the bursting sky, Sees yawning rocks in massy fragments fly, And views astonish'd, from the hills afar, The floods descending, and the watery war, 510 That, driven by storms, and pouring o'er the plain, Swept herds, and hinds, and houses to the main. Through the brown horrors of the night he fled, Nor knows, amazed, what doubtful path to tread; His brother's image to his mind appears, Inflames his heart with rage, and wings his feet with fears.

So fares the sailor on the stormy main, 520 When clouds conceal Bootes' golden wain, When not a star its friendly lustre keeps, Nor trembling Cynthia glimmers on the deeps; He dreads the rocks, and shoals, and seas, and skies, While thunder roars, and lightning round him flies.

Thus strove the chief, on every side distress'd; Thus still his courage with his toils increased: With his broad shield opposed, he forced his way Through thickest woods, and roused the beasts of prey Till he beheld, where from Larissa's height, 530 The shelving walls reflect a glancing light: Thither with haste the Theban hero flies; On this side Lerna's poisonous water lies, On that Prosymna's grove and temple rise: He pass'd the gates which then unguarded lay, And to the regal palace bent his way; On the cold marble, spent with toil, he lies, And waits till pleasing slumbers seal his eyes.

Adrastus here his happy people sways, Bless'd with calm peace in his declining days; 540 By both his parents of descent divine, Great Jove and Phoebus graced his noble line: Heaven had not crown'd his wishes with a son, But two fair daughters heir'd his state and throne. To him Apollo (wondrous to relate! But who can pierce into the depths of fate?) Had sung--'Expect thy sons on Argos' shore, A yellow lion and a bristly boar.' This, long revolved in his paternal breast, Sat heavy on his heart, and broke his rest; 550 This, great Amphiaraus! lay hid from thee, Though skill'd in fate and dark futurity. The father's care and prophet's art were vain, For thus did the predicting god ordain.

Lo, hapless Tydeus, whose ill-fated hand Had slain his brother, leaves his native land, And, seized with horror, in the shades of night, Through the thick deserts headlong urged his flight: Now by the fury of the tempest driven, He seeks a shelter from th' inclement heaven, 560 Till, led by fate, the Theban's steps he treads, And to fair Argos' open court succeeds.

When thus the chiefs from different lands resort To Adrastus' realms and hospitable court, The king surveys his guests with curious eyes, And views their arms and habit with surprise. A lion's yellow skin the Theban wears, Horrid his mane, and rough with curling hairs: Such once employ'd Alcides' youthful toils, Ere yet adorn'd with Nemea's dreadful spoils. 570 A boar's stiff hide, of Calydonian breed, Oenides' manly shoulders overspread; Oblique his tusks, erect his bristles stood, Alive, the pride and terror of the wood.

Struck with the sight, and fix'd in deep amaze, The king th' accomplish'd oracle surveys, Reveres Apollo's vocal caves, and owns The guiding godhead, and his future sons. O'er all his bosom secret transports reign, And a glad horror shoots through every vein: 580 To heaven he lifts his hands, erects his sight, And thus invokes the silent queen of night:

'Goddess of shades! beneath whose gloomy reign Yon spangled arch glows with the starry train; You who the cares of heaven and earth allay Till nature, quicken'd by th' inspiring ray, Wakes to new vigour with the rising day: O thou who freest me from my doubtful state, Long lost and wilder'd in the maze of fate, Be present still, O goddess! in our aid; 590 Proceed, and firm those omens thou hast made. We to thy name our annual rites will pay, And on thy altars sacrifices lay; The sable flock shall fall beneath the stroke, And fill thy temples with a grateful smoke. Hail, faithful Tripos! hail, ye dark abodes Of awful Phoebus; I confess the gods!'

Thus, seized with sacred fear, the monarch pray'd; Then to his inner court the guests convey'd, Where yet thin fumes from dying sparks arise, 600 And dust yet white upon each altar lies, The relics of a former sacrifice. The king once more the solemn rites requires, And bids renew the feasts and wake the fires. His train obey; while all the courts around With noisy care and various tumult sound. Embroider'd purple clothes the golden beds; This slave the floor, and that the table spreads; A third dispels the darkness of the night, And fills depending lamps with beams of light; 610 Here loaves in canisters are piled on high, And there in flames the slaughter'd victims fly. Sublime in regal state Adrastus shone, Stretch'd on rich carpets on his ivory throne; A lofty couch receives each princely guest; Around, at awful distance, wait the rest.

And now the king, his royal feast to grace, Acestis calls, the guardian of his race, Who first their youth in arts of virtue train'd, And their ripe years in modest grace maintain'd; 620 Then softly whisper'd in her faithful ear, And bade his daughters at the rites appear. When from the close apartments of the night The royal nymphs approach, divinely bright, Such was Diana's, such Minerva's face; Nor shine their beauties with superior grace, But that in these a milder charm endears, And less of terror in their looks appears. As on the heroes first they cast their eyes, O'er their fair cheeks the glowing blushes rise; 630 Their downcast looks a decent shame confess'd, Then on their father's reverend features rest.

The banquet done, the monarch gives the sign To fill the goblet high with sparkling wine, Which Danaus used in sacred rites of old, With sculpture graced, and rough with rising gold: Here to the clouds victorious Perseus flies, Medusa seems to move her languid eyes, And, e'en in gold, turns paler as she dies: There from the chase Jove's towering eagle bears, 640 On golden wings, the Phrygian to the stars; Still as he rises in th' ethereal height, His native mountains lessen to his sight, While all his sad companions upward gaze, Fix'd on the glorious scene in wild amaze; And the swift hounds, affrighted as he flies, Run to the shade, and bark against the skies.

This golden bowl with generous juice was crown'd, The first libation sprinkled on the ground; By turns on each celestial power they call; 650 With Phoebus' name resounds the vaulted hall. The courtly train, the strangers, and the rest, Crown'd with chaste laurel, and with garlands dress'd, While with rich gums the fuming altars blaze, Salute the god in numerous hymns of praise.

Then thus the king: 'Perhaps, my noble guests, These honour'd altars, and these annual feasts To bright Apollo's awful name design'd, Unknown, with wonder may perplex your mind. Great was the cause: our old solemnities 660 From no blind zeal or fond tradition rise; But saved from death, our Argives yearly pay These grateful honours to the god of day.

'When by a thousand darts the Python slain, With orbs unroll'd lay covering all the plain, (Transfix'd as o'er Castalia's streams he hung, And suck'd new poisons with his triple tongue), To Argos' realms the victor god resorts, And enters old Crotopus' humble courts. This rural prince one only daughter bless'd, 670 That all the charms of blooming youth possess'd; Pair was her face, and spotless was her mind, Where filial love with virgin sweetness join'd: Happy! and happy still she might have proved, Were she less beautiful, or less beloved! But Phoebus loved, and on the flowery side Of Nemea's stream the yielding fair enjoy'd. Now, ere ten moons their orb with light adorn, Th' illustrious offspring of the god was born; The nymph, her father's anger to evade, 680 Retires from Argos to the sylvan shade; To woods and wilds the pleasing burden bears, And trusts her infant to a shepherd's cares.

'How mean a fate, unhappy child! is thine! Ah! how unworthy those of race divine! On flowery herbs in some green covert laid, His bed the ground, his canopy the shade, He mixes with the bleating lambs his cries, While the rude swain his rural music tries, To call soft slumbers on his infant eyes. 690 Yet ev'n in those obscure abodes to live Was more, alas! than cruel fate would give; For on the grassy verdure as he lay, And breathed the freshness of the early day, Devouring dogs the helpless infant tore, Fed on his trembling limbs, and lapp'd the gore. Th' astonish'd mother, when the rumour came, Forgets her father, and neglects her fame; With loud complaints she fills the yielding air, And beats her breast, and rends her flowing hair; 700 Then, wild with anguish, to her sire she flies, Demands the sentence, and contented dies.

'But, touch'd with sorrow for the deed too late, The raging god prepares t' avenge her fate. He sends a monster horrible and fell, Begot by Furies in the depths of hell. The pest a virgin's face and bosom bears; High on her crown a rising snake appears, Guards her black front, and hisses in her hairs: About the realm she walks her dreadful round, 710 When Night with sable wings o'erspreads the ground, Devours young babes before their parents' eyes, And feeds and thrives on public miseries.

'But generous rage the bold Choroebus warms, Choroebus, famed for virtue as for arms. Some few like him, inspired with martial flame, Thought a short life well lost for endless fame. These, where two ways in equal parts divide, The direful monster from afar descried, Two bleeding babes depending at her side, 720 Whose panting vitals, warm with life, she draws, And in their hearts imbrues her cruel claws. The youths surround her with extended spears; But brave Choroebus in the front appears; Deep in her breast he plunged his shining sword, And hell's dire monster back to hell restored. Th' Inachians view the slain with vast surprise, Her twisting volumes, and her rolling eyes, Her spotted breast, and gaping womb, imbrued With livid poison and our children's blood. 730 The crowd in stupid wonder fix'd appear, Pale ev'n in joy, nor yet forget to fear. Some with vast beams the squalid corse engage, And weary all the wild efforts of rage. The birds obscene, that nightly flock'd to taste, With hollow screeches fled the dire repast; And ravenous dogs, allured by scented blood, And starving wolves, ran howling to the wood.

'But fired with rage, from cleft Parnassus' brow Avenging Phoebus bent his deadly bow, 740 And hissing flew the feather'd fates below: A night of sultry clouds involved around The towers, the fields, and the devoted ground: And now a thousand lives together fled; Death with his scythe cut off the fatal thread, And a whole province in his triumph led.

'But Phoebus, ask'd why noxious fires appear, And raging Sirius blasts the sickly year, Demands their lives by whom his monster fell, And dooms a dreadful sacrifice to hell. 750

'Bless'd be thy dust, and let eternal fame Attend thy manes, and preserve thy name, Undaunted hero! who, divinely brave, In such a cause disdained thy life to save, But view'd the shrine with a superior look, And its upbraided godhead thus bespoke: "With piety, the soul's securest guard, And conscious virtue, still its own reward, Willing I come, unknowing how to fear, Nor shalt thou, Phoebus, find a suppliant here: 760 Thy monster's death to me was owed alone, And 'tis a deed too glorious to disown. Behold him here, for whom, so many days, Impervious clouds conceal'd thy sullen rays; For whom, as man no longer claim'd thy care, Such numbers fell by pestilential air! But if th' abandon'd race of human kind From gods above no more compassion find; If such inclemency in heaven can dwell, Yet why must unoffending Argos feel 770 The vengeance due to this unlucky steel? On me, on me, let all thy fury fall, Nor err from me, since I deserve it all: Unless our desert cities please thy sight, Or funeral flames reflect a grateful light. Discharge thy shafts, this ready bosom rend, And to the shades a ghost triumphant send; But for my country let my fate atone; Be mine the vengeance, as the crime my own!"

'Merit distress'd, impartial heaven relieves: 780 Unwelcome life relenting Phoebus gives; For not the vengeful power, that glow'd with rage, With such amazing virtue durst engage. The clouds dispersed, Apollo's wrath expired, And from the wondering god th' unwilling youth retired. Thence we these altars in his temple raise, And offer annual honours, feasts, and praise; These solemn feasts propitious Phoebus please; These honours, still renew'd, his ancient wrath appease.

'But say, illustrious guest, (adjoin'd the king) 790 What name you bear, from what high race you spring? The noble Tydeus stands confess'd, and known Our neighbour prince, and heir of Calydon: Relate your fortunes, while the friendly night And silent hours to various talk invite.'

The Theban bends on earth his gloomy eyes, Confused, and sadly thus at length replies:-- 'Before these altars how shall I proclaim (O generous prince!) my nation or my name, Or through what veins our ancient blood has roll'd? 800 Let the sad tale for ever rest untold! Yet if, propitious to a wretch unknown, You seek to share in sorrows not your own, Know then from Cadmus I derive my race, Jocasta's son, and Thebes my native place.'

To whom the king (who felt his generous breast Touch'd with concern for his unhappy guest) Replies--'Ah! why forbears the son to name His wretched father, known too well by fame? Fame, that delights around the world to stray, 810 Scorns not to take our Argos in her way. Ev'n those who dwell where suns at distance roll, In northern wilds, and freeze beneath the pole, And those who tread the burning Libyan lands, The faithless Syrtes, and the moving sands; Who view the western sea's extremest bounds, Or drink of Ganges in their eastern grounds; All these the woes of Oedipus have known, Your fates, your furies, and your haunted town. If on the sons the parents' crimes descend, 820 What prince from those his lineage can defend? Be this thy comfort, that 'tis thine t' efface, With virtuous acts, thy ancestors' disgrace, And be thyself the honour of thy race. But see! the stars begin to steal away, And shine more faintly at approaching day; Now pour the wine; and in your tuneful lays Once more resound the great Apollo's praise.'

'O father Phoebus! whether Lycia's coast And snowy mountains thy bright presence boast: 830 Whether to sweet Castalia thou repair, And bathe in silver dews thy yellow hair; Or pleased to find fair Delos float no more, Delight in Cynthus and the shady shore; Or choose thy seat in Ilion's proud abodes, The shining structures raised by labouring gods: By thee the bow and mortal shafts are borne; Eternal charms thy blooming youth adorn: Skill'd in the laws of secret fate above, And the dark counsels of almighty Jove, 840 'Tis thine the seeds of future war to know, The change of sceptres and impending woe, When direful meteors spread through glowing air Long trails of light and shake their blazing hair. Thy rage the Phrygian felt, who durst aspire T' excel the music of thy heavenly lyre; Thy shafts avenged lewd Tityus' guilty flame, Th' immortal victim of thy mother's fame; Thy hand slew Python, and the dame who lost Her numerous offspring for a fatal boast. 850 In Phlegyas' doom thy just revenge appears, Condemn'd to Furies and eternal fears; He views his food, but dreads, with lifted eye, The mouldering rock that trembles from on high.

'Propitious hear our prayer, O power divine! And on thy hospitable Argos shine; Whether the style of Titan please thee more, Whose purple rays th' Achaemenes adore: Or great Osiris, who first taught the swain In Pharian fields to sow the golden grain; 860 Or Mithra, to whose beams the Persian bows, And pays, in hollow rocks, his awful vows; Mithra! whose head the blaze of light adorns, Who grasps the struggling heifer's lunar horns.'

* * * * *

JANUARY AND MAY.

FROM CHAUCER.[58]

There lived in Lombardy, as authors write, In days of old, a wise and worthy knight; Of gentle manners, as of generous race, Bless'd with much sense, more riches, and some grace: Yet, led astray by Venus' soft delights, He scarce could rule some idle appetites: For long ago, let priests say what they could, Weak sinful laymen were but flesh and blood.

But in due time, when sixty years were o'er, He vow'd to lead this vicious life no more; 10 Whether pure holiness inspired his mind, Or dotage turn'd his brain, is hard to find; But his high courage prick'd him forth to wed, And try the pleasures of a lawful bed. This was his nightly dream, his daily care, And to the heavenly powers his constant prayer, Once, ere he died, to taste the blissful life Of a kind husband and a loving wife.

These thoughts he fortified with reasons still (For none want reasons to confirm their will). 20 Grave authors say, and witty poets sing, That honest wedlock is a glorious thing: But depth of judgment most in him appears Who wisely weds in his maturer years. Then let him choose a damsel young and fair, To bless his age, and bring a worthy heir; To soothe his cares, and, free from noise and strife, Conduct him gently to the verge of life. Let sinful bachelors their woes deplore, Full well they merit all they feel, and more: 30 Unawed by precepts, human or divine, Like birds and beasts, promiscuously they join; Nor know to make the present blessing last, To hope the future, or esteem the past: But vainly boast the joys they never tried, And find divulged the secrets they would hide. The married man may bear his yoke with ease, Secure at once himself and Heaven to please; And pass his inoffensive hours away, In bliss all night, and innocence all day: 40 Though fortune change, his constant spouse remains, Augments his joys, or mitigates his pains.

But what so pure which envious tongues will spare? Some wicked wits have libell'd all the fair. With matchless impudence they style a wife The dear-bought curse, and lawful plague of life; A bosom serpent, a domestic evil, A night invasion, and a midday devil. Let not the wise these slanderous words regard, But curse the bones of every lying bard. 50 All other goods by fortune's hand are given, A wife is the peculiar gift of Heaven. Vain fortune's favours, never at a stay, Like empty shadows, pass, and glide away; One solid comfort, our eternal wife, Abundantly supplies us all our life: This blessing lasts (if those who try say true) As long as heart can wish--and longer too.

Our grandsire Adam, ere of Eve possess'd, Alone, and e'en in Paradise unbless'd, 60 With mournful looks the blissful scenes survey'd, And wander'd in the solitary shade. The Maker saw, took pity, and bestow'd Woman, the last, the best reserved of God.

A wife! ah, gentle deities! can he That has a wife e'er feel adversity? Would men but follow what the sex advise, All things would prosper, all the world grow wise. Twas by Rebecca's aid that Jacob won His father's blessing from an elder son: 70 Abusive Nabal owed his forfeit life To the wise conduct of a prudent wife: Heroic Judith, as old Hebrews show, Preserved the Jews, and slew th' Assyrian foe: At Hester's suit, the persecuting sword Was sheath'd, and Israel lived to bless the Lord.

These weighty motives January the sage Maturely ponder'd in his riper age; And, charm'd with virtuous joys, and sober life, Would try that Christian comfort, call'd a wife. 80 His friends were summon'd on a point so nice To pass their judgment, and to give advice; But fix'd before, and well resolved was he; (As men that ask advice are wont to be).

'My friends,' he cried (and cast a mournful look Around the room, and sigh'd before he spoke), 'Beneath the weight of threescore years I bend, And, worn with cares, am hastening to my end: How I have lived, alas! you know too well, In worldly follies which I blush to tell, 90 But gracious Heaven has oped my eyes at last, With due regret I view my vices past, And, as the precept of the church decrees, Will take a wife, and live in holy ease: But since by counsel all things should be done, And many heads are wiser still than one; Choose you for me, who best shall be content When my desire's approved by your consent.

'One caution yet is needful to be told, To guide your choice: this wife must not be old: 100 There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said, Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed. My soul abhors the tasteless dry embrace Of a stale virgin with a winter face: In that cold season Love but treats his guest With beanstraw, and tough forage at the best. No crafty widows shall approach my bed; Those are too wise for bachelors to wed. As subtle clerks by many schools are made, Twice-married dames are mistresses o' th' trade: 110 But young and tender virgins, ruled with ease, We form like wax, and mould them as we please.

'Conceive me, sirs, nor take my sense amiss; 'Tis what concerns my soul's eternal bliss; Since, if I found no pleasure in my spouse, As flesh is frail, and who (God help me) knows? Then should I live in lewd adultery, And sink downright to Satan when I die: Or were I cursed with an unfruitful bed, The righteous end were lost for which I wed; 120 To raise up seed to bless the powers above, And not for pleasure only, or for love. Think not I dote; 'tis time to take a wife, When vigorous blood forbids a chaster life: Those that are bless'd with store of grace divine, May live like saints, by Heaven's consent and mine!

'And since I speak of wedlock, let me say (As, thank my stars, in modest truth I may), My limbs are active, still I'm sound at heart, And a new vigour springs in every part. 130 Think not my virtue lost, though time has shed These reverend honours on my hoary head: Thus trees are crown'd with blossoms white as snow, The vital sap then rising from below. Old as I am, my lusty limbs appear Like winter greens, that flourish all the year. Now, sirs, you know to what I stand inclined, Let every friend with freedom speak his mind.'

He said; the rest in different parts divide; The knotty point was urged on either side: 140 Marriage, the theme on which they all declaim'd, Some praised with wit, and some with reason blamed. Till, what with proofs, objections, and replies, Each wondrous positive and wondrous wise, There fell between his brothers a debate: Placebo this was call'd, and Justin that.

First to the knight Placebo thus begun, (Mild were his looks, and pleasing was his tone): 'Such prudence, sir, in all your words appears, As plainly proves experience dwells with years! 150 Yet you pursue sage Solomon's advice, To work by counsel when affairs are nice: But, with the wise man's leave, I must protest, So may my soul arrive at ease and rest, As still I hold your own advice the best.

'Sir, I have lived a courtier all my days, And studied men, their manners, and their ways; And have observed this useful maxim still. To let my betters always have their will. Nay, if my lord affirm'd that black was white, 160 My word was this, "Your honour's in the right." Th' assuming wit, who deems himself so wise As his mistaken patron to advise, Let him not dare to vent his dangerous thought; A noble fool was never in a fault. This, sir, affects not you, whose every word Is weigh'd with judgment, and befits a lord: Your will is mine: and is (I will maintain) Pleasing to God, and should be so to man; At least your courage all the world must praise, 170 Who dare to wed in your declining days. Indulge the vigour of your mounting blood, And let gray fools be indolently good, Who, past all pleasure, damn the joys of sense, With reverend dulness and grave impotence.'

Justin, who silent sate, and heard the man, Thus with a philosophic frown began:

'A heathen author, of the first degree, (Who, though not faith, had sense as well as we), Bids us be certain our concerns to trust 180 To those of generous principles and just. The venture's greater, I'll presume to say, To give your person, than your goods away: And therefore, sir, as you regard your rest, First learn your lady's qualities at least: Whether she's chaste or rampant, proud or civil, Meek as a saint, or haughty as the devil; Whether an easy, fond, familiar fool, Or such a wit as no man e'er can rule. 'Tis true, perfection none must hope to find 190 In all this world, much less in womankind: But if her virtues prove the larger share, Bless the kind fates, and think your fortune rare. Ah, gentle sir, take warning of a friend, Who knows too well the state you thus commend; And, spite of all his praises, must declare, All he can find is bondage, cost, and care. Heaven knows I shed full many a private tear, And sigh in silence, lest the world should hear; While all my friends applaud my blissful life, 200 And swear no mortal's happier in a wife; Demure and chaste as any vestal nun, The meekest creature that beholds the sun! But, by th' immortal powers, I feel the pain, And he that smarts has reason to complain. Do what you list, for me; you must be sage, And cautious sure; for wisdom is in age: But at these years to venture on the fair! By Him who made the ocean, earth, and air, To please a wife, when her occasions call, 210 Would busy the most vigorous of us all. And trust me, sir, the chastest you can choose, Will ask observance, and exact her dues. If what I speak my noble lord offend, My tedious sermon here is at an end.'

''Tis well, 'tis wondrous well,' the knight replies, 'Most worthy kinsman, faith, you're mighty wise! We, sirs, are fools; and must resign the cause To heathenish authors, proverbs, and old saws.' He spoke with scorn, and turn'd another way: 220 'What does my friend, my dear Placebo, say?'

'I say,' quoth he, 'by Heaven, the man's to blame, To slander wives, and wedlock's holy name.'

At this the council rose without delay; Each, in his own opinion, went his way; With full consent, that, all disputes appeased, The knight should marry when and where he pleased.

Who now but January exults with joy? The charms of wedlock all his soul employ: Each nymph by turns his wavering mind possess'd, 230 And reign'd the short-lived tyrant of his breast; Whilst fancy pictured every lively part, And each bright image wander'd o'er his heart. Thus, in some public forum fix'd on high, A mirror shows the figures moving by; Still one by one, in swift succession, pass The gliding shadows o'er the polish'd glass. This lady's charms the nicest could not blame, But vile suspicions had aspersed her fame; That was with sense, but not with virtue bless'd; 240 And one had grace that wanted all the rest. Thus doubting long what nymph he should obey He fix'd at last upon the youthful May. Her faults he knew not, love is always blind, But every charm revolved within his mind: Her tender age, her form divinely fair, Her easy motion, her attractive air, Her sweet behaviour, her enchanting face, Her moving softness, and majestic grace. Much in his prudence did our knight rejoice, 250 And thought no mortal could dispute his choice: Once more in haste he summon'd every friend, And told them all their pains were at an end. 'Heaven, that (said he) inspired me first to wed, Provides a consort worthy of my bed: Let none oppose th' election, since on this Depends my quiet and my future bliss.

'A dame there is, the darling of my eyes, Young, beauteous, artless, innocent, and wise; Chaste, though not rich; and, though not nobly born, 260 Of honest parents, and may serve my turn. Her will I wed, if gracious Heaven so please, To pass my age in sanctity and ease; And, thank the powers, I may possess alone The lovely prize, and share my bliss with none! If you, my friends, this virgin can procure, My joys are full, my happiness is sure.

'One only doubt remains: full oft, I've heard By casuists grave, and deep divines averr'd, That 'tis too much for human race to know 270 The bliss of heaven above and earth below; Now, should the nuptial pleasures prove so great, To match the blessings of the future state, Those endless joys were ill exchanged for these; Then clear this doubt, and set my mind at ease.'

This Justin heard, nor could his spleen control, Touch'd to the quick, and tickled at the soul. 'Sir knight,' he cried, 'if this be all you dread, Heaven put it past your doubt whene'er you wed: And to my fervent prayers so far consent, 280 That, ere the rites are o'er, you may repent! Good Heaven, no doubt, the nuptial state approves, Since it chastises still what best it loves. Then be not, sir, abandoned to despair: Seek, and perhaps you'll find among the fair One that may do your business to a hair; Not e'en in wish your happiness delay, But prove the scourge to lash you on your way: Then to the skies your mounting soul shall go, Swift as an arrow soaring from the bow! 290 Provided still, you moderate your joy, Nor in your pleasures all your might employ; Let reason's rule your strong desires abate, Nor please too lavishly your gentle mate Old wives there are, of judgment most acute, Who solve these questions beyond all dispute; Consult with those, and be of better cheer; Marry, do penance, and dismiss your fear.'

So said, they rose, nor more the work delay'd The match was offer'd, the proposals made. 300 The parents, you may think, would soon comply The old have interest ever in their eye. Nor was it hard to move the lady's mind; When fortune favours, still the fair are kind.

I pass each previous settlement and deed, Too long for me to write, or you to read; Nor will with quaint impertinence display The pomp, the pageantry, the proud array. The time approach'd; to church the parties went, At once with carnal and devout intent: 310 Forth came the priest, and bade the obedient wife Like Sarah or Rebecca lead her life; Then pray'd the powers the fruitful bed to bless, And made all sure enough with holiness.

And now the palace gates are open'd wide, The guests appear in order, side by side, And, placed in state, the bridegroom and the bride. The breathing flute's soft notes are heard around, And the shrill trumpets mix their silver sound; The vaulted roofs with echoing music ring, 320 These touch the vocal stops, and those the trembling string. Not thus Amphion tuned the warbling lyre, Nor Joab the sounding clarion could inspire, Nor fierce Theodamas, whose sprightly strain Could swell the soul to rage, and fire the martial train.

Bacchus himself, the nuptial feast to grace, (So poets sing) was present on the place: And lovely Venus, goddess of delight, Shook high her flaming torch in open sight, And danced around, and smiled on every knight: 330 Pleased her best servant would his courage try, No less in wedlock than in liberty. Full many an age old Hymen had not spied So kind a bridegroom, or so bright a bride. Ye bards! renown'd among the tuneful throng For gentle lays, and joyous nuptial song, Think not your softest numbers can display The matchless glories of this blissful day; The joys are such as far transcend your rage, When tender youth has wedded stooping age. 340

The beauteous dame sat smiling at the board, And darted amorous glances at her lord. Not Hester's self, whose charms the Hebrews sing, E'er look'd so lovely on her Persian king: Bright as the rising sun in summer's day, And fresh and blooming as the month of May! The joyful knight survey'd her by his side, Nor envied Paris with his Spartan bride: Still as his mind revolved with vast delight Th' entrancing raptures of th' approaching night, 350 Restless he sat, invoking every power To speed his bliss, and haste the happy hour. Meantime the vigorous dancers beat the ground, And songs were sung, and flowing bowls went round. With odorous spices they perfumed the place, And mirth and pleasure shone in every face.

Damian alone, of all the menial train, Sad in the midst of triumphs, sigh'd for pain; Damian alone, the knight's obsequious squire, Consumed at heart, and fed a secret fire. 360 His lovely mistress all his soul possess'd, He look'd, he languish'd, and could take no rest: His task perform'd, he sadly went his way, Fell on his bed, and loath'd the light of day: There let him lie; till his relenting dame Weep in her turn, and waste in equal flame.

The weary sun, as learned poets write, Forsook th' horizon, and roll'd down the light; While glittering stars his absent beams supply. And night's dark mantle overspread the sky. 370 Then rose the guests, and, as the time required, Each paid his thanks, and decently retired.

The foe once gone, our knight prepared t' undress, So keen he was, and eager to possess; But first thought fit th' assistance to receive, Which grave physicians scruple not to give: Satyrion near, with hot eringoes stood, Cantharides, to fire the lazy blood, Whose use old bards describe in luscious rhymes, And critics learn'd explain to modern times. 380

By this the sheets were spread, the bride undress'd, The room was sprinkled, and the bed was bless'd. What next ensued beseems not me to say; 'Tis sung, he labour'd till the dawning day, Then briskly sprung from bed, with heart so light, As all were nothing he had done by night, And sipp'd his cordial as he sat upright. He kiss'd his balmy spouse with wanton play, And feebly sung a lusty roundelay: Then on the couch his weary limbs he cast; 390 For every labour must have rest at last.

But anxious cares the pensive squire oppress'd, Sleep fled his eyes, and peace forsook his breast; The raging flames that in his bosom dwell, He wanted art to hide, and means to tell: Yet hoping time th' occasion might betray, Composed a sonnet to the lovely May; Which, writ and folded with the nicest art, He wrapp'd in silk, and laid upon his heart.

When now the fourth revolving day was run, 400 ('Twas June, and Cancer had received the sun), Forth from her chamber came the beauteous bride; The good old knight moved slowly by her side. High mass was sung; they feasted in the hall; The servants round stood ready at their call The squire alone was absent from the board, And much his sickness grieved his worthy lord, Who pray'd his spouse, attended with her train, To visit Damian, and divert his pain. Th' obliging dames obey'd with one consent: 410 They left the hall, and to his lodging went. The female tribe surround him as he lay, And close beside him sat the gentle May: Where, as she tried his pulse, he softly drew A heaving sigh, and cast a mournful view! Then gave his bill, and bribed the Powers divine With secret vows, to favour his design.

Who studies now but discontented May? On her soft couch uneasily she lay: 420 The lumpish husband snored away the night, Till coughs awaked him near the morning light. What then he did, I'll not presume to tell, Nor if she thought herself in heaven or hell: Honest and dull in nuptial bed they lay, Till the bell toll'd, and all arose to pray.

Were it by forceful destiny decreed, Or did from chance, or nature's power proceed; Or that some star, with aspect kind to love, Shed its selectest influence from above; Whatever was the cause, the tender dame 430 Felt the first motions of an infant flame; Received th' impressions of the love-sick squire, And wasted in the soft infectious fire.

Ye fair, draw near, let May's example move Your gentle minds to pity those who love! Had some fierce tyrant in her stead been found, The poor adorer sure had hang'd or drown'd; But she, your sex's mirror, free from pride, Was much too meek to prove a homicide.

But to my tale:--Some sages have defined 440 Pleasure the sovereign bliss of humankind: Our knight (who studied much, we may suppose) Derived his high philosophy from those; For, like a prince, he bore the vast expense Of lavish pomp, and proud magnificence: His house was stately, his retinue gay, Large was his train, and gorgeous his array. His spacious garden, made to yield to none, Was compass'd round with walls of solid stone; Priapus could not half describe the grace 450 (Though god of gardens) of this charming place: A place to tire the rambling wits of France In long descriptions, and exceed romance: Enough to shame the gentlest bard that sings Of painted meadows, and of purling springs.

Full in the centre of the flowery ground A crystal fountain spread its streams around, The fruitful banks with verdant laurels crown'd. About this spring (if ancient fame say true) The dapper elves their moonlight sports pursue: 460 Their pigmy king, and little fairy queen, In circling dances gamboll'd on the green, While tuneful sprites a merry concert made, And airy music warbled through the shade.

Hither the noble knight would oft repair, (His scene of pleasure, and peculiar care): For this he held it dear, and always bore The silver key that lock'd the garden door. To this sweet place, in summer's sultry heat, He used from noise and business to retreat: 470 And here in dalliance spend the livelong day, _Solus cum sola_, with his sprightly May: For whate'er work was undischarged abed, The duteous knight in this fair garden sped.

But ah! what mortal lives of bliss secure? How short a space our worldly joys endure! O Fortune! fair, like all thy treacherous kind, But faithless still, and wavering as the wind! O painted monster, form'd mankind to cheat With pleasing poison, and with soft deceit! 480 This rich, this amorous, venerable knight, Amidst his ease, his solace, and delight, Struck blind by thee, resigns his days to grief, And calls on death, the wretch's last relief.

The rage of jealousy then seized his mind, For much he fear'd the faith of womankind. His wife, not suffer'd from his side to stray, Was captive kept; he watch'd her night and day, Abridged her pleasures, and confined her sway. Full oft in tears did hapless May complain, 490 And sigh'd full oft; but sigh'd and wept in vain: She look'd on Damian with a lover's eye; For oh, 'twas fix'd; she must possess or die! Nor less impatience vex'd her amorous squire, Wild with delay, and burning with desire. Watch'd as she was, yet could he not refrain By secret writing to disclose his pain; The dame by signs reveal'd her kind intent, Till both were conscious what each other meant.

Ah! gentle knight, what would thy eyes avail, 500 Though they could see as far as ships can sail? 'Tis better, sure, when blind, deceived to be, Than be deluded when a man can see!

Argus himself, so cautious and so wise, Was overwatch'd, for all his hundred eyes: So many an honest husband may, 'tis known, Who, wisely, never thinks the case his own.