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For the rough Cyclops, who by Jove's command
Temper'd the bolt, and turn'd it to his hand,
Work'd up lefs. flame and fury in its make,
And quench'd it sooner in the standing lake.
Thus dreadfully adorn'd, with horror bright,
Th illuftrious God, defcending from his height,
Came rushing on her in a ftorm of light.
The mortal dame, too feeble to engage
The lightning's flashes and the thunder's rage,
Confum'd amidst the glories fhe defir'd,
And in the terrible embrace expir'd.
But, to preserve his offspring from the tomb,
Jove took him fmoking from the blasted womb;
And, if on ancient tales we may rely,
Inclos'd th' abortive infant in his thigh.
Here, when the babe had all his time fulfill'd,
Ino first took him for her fofter-child;
Then the Nifeans, in their dark abode,
Nurs'd fecretly with milk the thriving God.
THE TRANSFORMATION OF
'TWAS now, while these transactions paft on earth, And Bacchus thus procur'd a fecond birth, When Jove, difpos'd to lay aside the weight Of public empire, and the cares of state; As to his Queen in nectar bowls he quaff'd, "In troth, fays he, (and as he fpoke he laugh'd,)
The fenfe of pleasure in the male is far
"More dull and dead, than what you females share.”
Juno the truth of what was faid deny❜d;
Tirefias therefore muft the caufe decide;
For he the pleasure of each fex had try'd.
*It happen'd once, within a shady wood,
Two twisted fnakes he in conjunction view'd;
When with his ftaff their flimy folds he broke,
And loft his manhood at the fatal stroke,
But, after seven revolving years, he view'd
The felf-fame ferpents in the self-same wood;
"And if, fays he, fuch virtue in you lie,
That he who dares your flimy folds untye
"Mat change his kind, a second stroke I'll try.”
Again he ftruck the fnakes, and food again,
New-fex'd, and fraight recover'd into man.
. Him therefore both the Deities create
** The fovereign umpire in their grand debate :
And he declar'd for Jove: when Juno, fir'd,
: More than fo trivial an affair requir'd,
. Depriv'd him, in her fury, of his fight,
And left him groping round in fudden night.
But Jove (for fo it is in heaven decreed,
That no one God repeal another's deed)
Irradiates all his foul with inward light,
And with the prophet's art relieves the want of fight. THE TRANSFORMATION OF ECHO.
Fam'd far and near for knowing things to come, From him th' enquiring nations fought their doom; The fair Liriope his answers try'd,
And firft th' unerring prophet juftify'd;
This nymph the God Cephifus had abus'd,
With all his winding waters circumfus'd,.
And on the Nereid got a lovely boy,
Whom the foft maids ev'n then beheld with joy.
The tender dame, folicitous to know
Whether her child fhould reach old age or no,
Confults the fage Tirefias, who replies,
"If e'er he knows himself, he surely dies."
Long liv'd the, dubious mother in fufpenfe,
Till time unriddled all the prophet's fenfe.
Narciffus now his fixteenth year began,
Juft turn'd of boy, and on the verge of man;
Many a friend the blooming youth caress`d,
Many a love-fick maid her flame confefs'd.
Such was his pride, in vain the friend carefs'd,
The love-fick maid in vain her flame confefs'd.
Once, in the woods, as he pursued the chace,
The babbling Echo had defcry'd his face;
She, who in others' words her filence breaks,
Nor fpeaks herself but when another speaks.
Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft,
Of wonted fpeech; for though her voice was left,
Juno à curfe did on her tongue impose,
To fport with every fentence in the clofe
Full often, when the goddess might have caught
Jove and her rivals in the very fault,
This nymph with subtle stories would delay
Her coming, till the lovers flipp'd away.
The Goddess found out the deceit in time,
And then she cry'd, "That tongue, for this thy crime,
Which could fo many fubtle tales produce,
Shall be hereafter but of little ufe."
Hence 'tis fhe prattles in a fainter tone,
With mimic founds, and accents not her own.
This love-fick virgin, over-joy'd to find
The boy alone, ftill follow'd him behind;
When glowing warmly at her near approach,
As fulphur blazes at the taper's touch,
She long'd her hidden paffion to reveal,
And tell her pains, but had not words to tell :
She can't begin, but waits for the rebound,
To catch his voice, and to return the found.
The nymph, when nothing could Narciffus move,
Still dafh'd with blushes for her flighted love,
Liv'd in the fhady covert of the woods,
In folitary caves and dark abodes;
Where pining wander'd the rejected fair,
Till, harafs'd out, and worn away with care,
The founding skeleton, of blood bereft,
Befides her bones and voice had nothing left.
Her bones are petrify'd, her voice is found
In vaults, where still it doubles every found.
THE STORY OF NARCISSUS.
THUS did the nymph in vain carefs the boy, He still was lovely, but he still was coy : When one fair virgin of the flighted train Thus pray'd the gods, provok'd by his disdain, Oh may he love like me, and love like me in vain!" Rhamnufia pity'd the neglected fair,
And with juft vengeance anfwer'd to her
prayer. There ftands a fountain in a darkfome wood, Nor ftain'd with falling leaves nor rifing mud;
Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests,
Unfully'd by the touch of men or beafts;
High bowers of shady trees above it grow,
And rifing grafs and chearful greens below.
Pleas'd with the form and coolness of the place,
And over-heated by the morning chace,
Narciffus on the grafly verdure lies:
But whilft within the crystal fount he tries
To quench his heat, he feels new heats arife.
For, as his own bright image he furvey'd,
He fell in love with the fantastic shade;
And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmov'd,
Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he lov'd.
The well-turn'd neck and shoulders he defcries,
The fpacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes;
The hands that Bacchus might not fcorn to fhow,
And hair that round Apollo's head might flow,
With all the purple youthfulness of face,
That gently blushes in the watery glass.
By his own flames confum'd, the lover lics,
And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
To the cold water oft he joins his lips,
Oft catching at the beauteous fhade he dips
His arms, as often from himself he flips.
Nor knows he who it is his arms purfue
With eager clafps, but loves he knows not who.
What could, fond youth, this helpless paffion move?
What kindle in thee this unpity'd love?
Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
With thee the colour'd fhadow comes and goes,