Ovid - Metamorphoses: Book The TenthOvid - Metamorphoses: Book The Tenth
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For Neptune was grand-parent to my sire.
From that great God the fourth my self I trace,
Nor sink my virtues yet beneath my race.
Thou from Hippomenes, o`ercome, may`st claim
An envy`d triumph, and a deathless fame.
While thus the youth the virgin pow`r defies,
Silent she views him still with softer eyes.
Thoughts in her breast a doubtful strife begin,
If `tis not happier now to lose, than win.
What God, a foe to beauty, would destroy
The promis`d ripeness of this blooming boy?
With his life`s danger does he seek my bed?
Scarce am I half so greatly worth, she said.
Nor has his beauty mov`d my breast to love,
And yet, I own, such beauty well might move:
`Tis not his charms, `tis pity would engage
My soul to spare the greenness of his age.
What, that heroick conrage fires his breast,
And shines thro` brave disdain of Fate confest?
What, that his patronage by close degrees
Springs from th` imperial ruler of the seas?
Then add the love, which bids him undertake
The race, and dare to perish for my sake.
Of bloody nuptials, heedless youth, beware!
Fly, timely fly from a too barb`rous fair.
At pleasure chuse; thy love will be repaid
By a less foolish, and more beauteous maid.
But why this tenderness, before unknown?
Why beats, and pants my breast for him alone?
His eyes have seen his num`rous rivals yield;
Let him too share the rigour of the field,
Since, by their fates untaught, his own he courts,
And thus with ruin insolently sports.
Yet for what crime shall he his death receive?
Is it a crime with me to wish to live?
Shall his kind passion his destruction prove?
Is this the fatal recompence of love?
So fair a youth, destroy`d, would conquest shame,
Aud nymphs eternally detest my fame.
Still why should nymphs my guiltless fame upbraid?
Did I the fond adventurer persuade?
Alas! I wish thou would`st the course decline,
Or that my swiftness was excell`d by thine.
See! what a virgin`s bloom adorns the boy!
Why wilt thou run, and why thy self destroy?
Hippomenes! O that I ne`er had been
By those bright eyes unfortunately seen!
Ah! tempt not thus a swift, untimely Fate;
Thy life is worthy of the longest date.
Were I less wretched, did the galling chain
Of rigid Gods not my free choice restrain,
By thee alone I could with joy be led
To taste the raptures of a nuptial bed.
Thus she disclos`d the woman`s secret heart,
Young, innocent, and new to Cupid`s dart.
Her thoughts, her words, her actions wildly rove,
With love she burns, yet knows not that `tis love.
Her royal sire now with the murm`ring crowd
Demands the race impatiently aloud.
Hippomenes then with true fervour pray`d,
My bold attempt let Venus kindly aid.
By her sweet pow`r I felt this am`rous fire,
Still may she succour, whom she did inspire.
A soft, unenvious wind, with speedy care,
Wafted to Heav`n the lover`s tender pray`r.
Pity, I own, soon gain`d the wish`d consent,
And all th` assistance he implor`d I lent.
The Cyprian lands, tho` rich, in richness yield
To that, surnam`d the Tamasenian field.
That field of old was added to my shrine,
And its choice products consecrated mine.
A tree there stands, full glorious to behold,
Gold are the leafs, the crackling branches gold.
It chanc`d, three apples in my hand I bore,
Which newly from the tree I sportive tore;
Seen by the youth alone, to him I brought
The fruit, and when, and how to use it, taught.
The signal sounding by the king`s command,
Both start at once, and sweep th` imprinted sand.
So swiftly mov`d their feet, they might with ease,
Scarce moisten`d, skim along the glassy seas;
Or with a wondrous levity be born
O`er yellow harvests of unbending corn.
Now fav`ring peals resound from ev`ry part,
Spirit the youth, and fire his fainting heart.
Hippomenes! (they cry`d) thy life preserve,
Intensely labour, and stretch ev`ry nerve.
Base fear alone can baffle thy design,
Shoot boldly onward, and the goal is thine.
`Tis doubtful whether shouts, like these, convey`d
More pleasures to the youth, or to the maid.
When a long distance oft she could have gain`d,
She check`d her swiftness, and her feet restrain`d:
She sigh`d, and dwelt, and languish`d on his face,
Then with unwilling speed pursu`d the race.
O`er-spent with heat, his breath he faintly drew,
Parch`d was his mouth, nor yet the goal in view,
And the first apple on the plain he threw.
The nymph stop`d sudden at th` unusual sight,
Struck with the fruit so beautifully bright.
Aside she starts, the wonder to behold,
And eager stoops to catch the rouling gold.
Th` observant youth past by, and scour`d along,
While peals of joy rung from th` applauding throng.
Unkindly she corrects the short delay,
And to redeem the time fleets swift away,
Swift, as the lightning, or the northern wind,
And far she leaves the panting youth behind.
Again he strives the flying nymph to hold
With the temptation of the second gold:
The bright temptation fruitlessly was tost,
So soon, alas! she won the distance lost.
Now but a little interval of space
Remain`d for the decision of the race.
Fair author of the precious gift, he said,
Be thou, O Goddess, author of my aid!
Then of the shining fruit the last he drew,
And with his full-collected vigour threw:
The virgin still the longer to detain,
Threw not directly, but a-cross the plain.
She seem`d a-while perplex`d in dubious thought,
If the far-distant apple should be sought:
I lur`d her backward mind to seize the bait,
And to the massie gold gave double weight.
My favour to my votary was show`d,
Her speed I lessen`d, and encreas`d her load.
But lest, tho` long, the rapid race be run,
Before my longer, tedious tale is done,
The youth the goal, and so the virgin won.
Might I, Adonis, now not hope to see
His grateful thanks pour`d out for victory?
His pious incense on my altars laid?
But he nor grateful thanks, nor incense paid.
Enrag`d I vow`d, that with the youth the fair,
For his contempt, should my keen vengeance share;
That future lovers might my pow`r revere,
And, from their sad examples, learn to fear.
The silent fanes, the sanctify`d abodes,
Of Cybele, great mother of the Gods,
Rais`d by Echion in a lonely wood,
And full of brown, religious horror stood.
By a long painful journey faint, they chose!
Their weary limbs here secret to repose.
But soon my pow`r inflam`d the lustful boy,
Careless of rest he sought untimely joy.
A hallow`d gloomy cave, with moss o`er-grown,
The temple join`d, of native pumice-stone,
Where antique images by priests were kept.
And wooden deities securely slept.
Thither the rash Hippomenes retires,
And gives a loose to all his wild desires,
And the chaste cell pollutes with wanton fires.
The sacred statues trembled with surprize,
The tow`ry Goddess, blushing, veil`d her eyes;
And the lewd pair to Stygian sounds had sent,
But unrevengeful seem`d that punishment,
A heavier doom such black prophaneness draws,
Their taper figures turn to crooked paws.
No more their necks the smoothness can retain,
Now cover`d sudden with a yellow mane.
Arms change to legs: each finds the hard`ning
breast
Of rage unknown, and wond`rous strength possest.
Their alter`d looks with fury grim appear,
And on the ground their brushing tails they hear.
They haunt the woods: their voices, which before
Were musically sweet, now hoarsly roar.
Hence lions, dreadful to the lab`ring swains,
Are tam`d by Cybele, and curb`d with reins,
And humbly draw her car along the plains.
But thou, Adonis, my delightful care,
Of these, and beasts, as fierce as these, beware!
The savage, which not shuns thee, timely shun,
For by rash prowess should`st thou be undone,
A double ruin is contain`d in one.
Thus cautious Venus school`d her fav`rite boy;
But youthful heat all cautions will destroy.
His sprightly soul beyond grave counsels flies,
While with yok`d swans the Goddess cuts the skies.
His faithful hounds, led by the tainted wind,
Lodg`d in thick coverts chanc`d a boar to find.
The callow hero show`d a manly heart,
And pierc`d the savage with a side-long dart.
The flying savage, wounded, turn`d again,
Wrench`d out the gory dart, and foam`d with pain.
The trembling boy by flight his safety sought,
And now recall`d the lore, which Venus taught;
But now too late to fly the boar he strove,
Who in the groin his tusks impetuous drove,
On the discolour`d grass Adonis lay,
The monster trampling o`er his beauteous prey.
Fair Cytherea, Cyprus scarce in view,
Heard from afar his groans, and own`d them true,
And turn`d her snowy swans, and backward flew.
But as she saw him gasp his latest breath,
And quiv`ring agonize in pangs of death,
Down with swift flight she plung`d, nor rage
forbore,
At once her garments, and her hair she tore.
With cruel blows she beat her guiltless breast,
The Fates upbraided, and her love confest.
Nor shall they yet (she cry`d) the whole devour
With uncontroul`d, inexorable pow`r:
For thee, lost youth, my tears, and restless pain
Shall in immortal monuments remain,
With solemn pomp in annual rites return`d,
Be thou for ever, my Adonis, mourn`d,
Could Pluto`s queen with jealous fury storm,
And Menthe to a fragrant herb transform?
Yet dares not Venus with a change surprise,
And in a flow`r bid her fall`n heroe rise?
Then on the blood sweet nectar she bestows,
The scented blood in little bubbles rose:
Little as rainy drops, which flutt`ring fly,
Born by the winds, along a low`ring sky.
Short time ensu`d, `till where the blood was shed,
A flow`r began to rear its purple head:
Such, as on Punick apples is reveal`d,
Or in the filmy rind but half conceal`d.
Still here the Fate of lovely forms we see,
So sudden fades the sweet Anemonie.
The feeble stems, to stormy blasts a prey,
Their sickly beauties droop, and pine away.
The winds forbid the flow`rs to flourish long,
Which owe to winds their names in Grecian song.
The End of the Tenth Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
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