She fum'd the temples with an od❜rous flame,
And oft before the sacred altars came,
To pray for him who was an empty name.
All pow'rs implor'd, but far above the rest
To Juno she her pious vows address'd,
Her much-lov'd lord from perils to protect,
And safe o'er seas his voyage to direct:
Then pray'd, that she might still possess his heart,
And no pretending rival share a part;
This last petition heard of all her pray'r,
The rest, dispers'd by winds, were lost in air.
But she, the goddess of the nuptial bed,
Tir'd with her vain devotions for the dead,
Resolv'd the tainted hand should be repell'd,
Which incense offer'd, and her altar held:
Then Iris thus bespoke; "Thou faithful maid,
By whom thy queen's commands are well convey'd,
Haste to the house of Sleep, and bid the god
Who rules the night by visions with a nod,
Prepare a dream, in figure and in form
Resembling him, who perish'd in the storm;
This form before Alcyonè present,

·

To make her certain of the sad event."

Indu'd with robes of various hue she flies, And flying draws an arch (a segment of the skies): Then leaves her bending bow, and from the steep Descends, to search the silent house of Sleep.

THE HOUSE OF SLEEP.

NEAR the Cimmerians, in his dark abode, Deep in a cavern, dwelis the drowsy god; Whose gloomy mansion nor the rising Sun, Nor setting, visits, nor the lightsome noon; But lazy vapours round the region fly, Perpetual twilight, and a doubtful sky: No crowing cock does there his wings display, Nor with his horny bill provoke the day; Nor watchful dogs, nor the more wakeful geese, Disturb with nightly noise the sacred peace: Nor beast of nature, nor the tame are nigh, Nor trees with tempests rock'd, nor human cry; But safe repose without an air of breath Dwells here, and a dumb quiet next to death. An arm of Lethe, with a gentle flow Arising upwards from the rock below, The palace moats, and o'er the pebbles creeps, And with soft murmurs calls the coming sleeps. Around its entry nodding poppies grow, And all cool simples that sweet rest bestow; Night from the plants their sleepy virtue drains, And passing, sheds it on the silent plains: No door there was th' unguarded house to keep, On creaking hinges turn'd, to break his sleep.

But in the gloomy court was rais'd a bed, Stuff'd with black plumes, and on an ebon stead: Black was the cov'ring too, where lay the god, And slept supine, his limbs display'd abroad: About his head fantastic visions fly, Which various images of things supply, [more, And mock their forms; the leaves on trees not Nor bearded ears in fields, nor sands upon the shore.

The virgin, ent'ring bright, indulg'd the day To the brown cave, and brush'd the dreams away: The god, disturb'd with this new glare of light Cast sudden on his face, unseal'd his sight, And rais'd his tardy head, which sunk again, And sinking, on his bosom knock'd his chin; At length shook off himself, and ask'd the dame, (And asking yawn'd) for want intent she came.

To whom the goddess thus: "O sacred Rest, Sweet pleasing Sleep, of all the pow'rs the best! O peace of mind, repairer of decay, [day, Whose balms renew the limbs to labours of the Care sbuns thy soft approach, and sullen flies Adorn a dream, expressing human form, {away! The shape of him who suffer'd in the storm, And send it flitting to the Trachin court, The wreck of wretched Ceyx to report: Before his queen bid the pale spectre stand, Who begs a vain relief at Juno's hand." She said, and scarce awake her eyes could keep, Unable to support the fumes of Sleep; But fled, returning by the way she went, And swerv'd along her bow with swift ascent. The god, uneasy till he slept again, Resolv'd at once to rid himself of pain; And, though against his custom, call'd aloud, Exciting Morpheus from the sleepy crowd: Morpheus, of all his numerous train, express'd The shape of man, and imitated best; The walk, the words, the gesture could supply, The habit mimic, and the mieu belie; Plays well, but all his action is confin'd, Extending not beyond our human kind. Another, birds, and beasts, and dragons apes, And dreadful images, and monster shapes: This demon, Icelos, in Heav'n's high hall The gods have nam'd; but men Phobetor call. A third is Phantasus, whose actions roll On meaner thoughts, and things devoid of son); Earth, fruits, and flow'rs he represents in dreams, And solid rocks unmov'd, and running streams. These three to kings and chiefs their scenes dis The rest before th' ignoble commons play. [play, Of these the chosen Morpheus is dispatch'd; Which done, the lazy monarch, over-watch'd, Down from his propping elbow drops his head, Dissolv'd in sleep, and shrinks within his bed.

Darkling the demon glides, for flight prepar'd, So soft, that scarce his fanning wings are heard. To Trachin, swift as thought, the flitting shade Thro' air bis momentary journey made: Then lays aside the steerage of his wings, Forsakes his proper form, assumes the king's; And pale as death, despoil'd of his array, Into the queen's apartment takes his way, And stands before the bed at dawn of day: Unmov'd his eyes, and wet his beard appears; And shedding vain, but seeming real tears; The briny waters dropping from his hairs. Then staring on her with a ghastly look, And hollow voice, he thus the queen bespoke

"Know'st thou not me? Not yet, unhappy Or are my features perish'd with my life? [wife? Look once again, and for thy husband lost, Lo all that's left of him, thy husband's ghost! Thy vows for my return were all in vain, The stormy south o'ertook us in the main, And never shalt thou see thy living lord again. Bear witness, Heav'n, I call'd on thee in death, And while I call'd, a billow stopp'd my breath. Think not, that flying Fame reports my fate; I present, I appear, and my own wreck relate. Rise, wretched widow, rise; nor undepler'd Permit my soul to pass the Stygian ford; But rise, prepar'd in black, to mourn thy perish'd

lord."

Thus said the player-god; and adding art Of voice and gesture, so perform'd his part,

She thought (so like her love the shade appears) That Ceyx spake the words, that Ceyx shed the

tears.

She groan'd, her inward soul with grief opprest,
She sigh'd, she wept, and sleeping beat her breast;
Then stretch'd her arms t'embrace his body bare;
Her clasping arms enclose but empty air;
At this, not yet awake, she cry'd, "O stay;
One is our fate, and common is our way!"

So dreadful was the dream, so loud she spoke,
That starting sudden up, the slumber broke:
Then cast her eyes around, in hope to view
Her vanish'd lord, and find the vision true:
For now the maids, who waited her commands,
Ran in with lighted tapers in their hands.
Tir'd with the search, not finding what she seeks,
With cruel blows she pounds her blubber'd cheeks;
Then from her beaten breast the linen tear,
And cut the golden caul that bound her hair.
Her nurse demands the cause; with louder cries
She prosecutes her griefs, and thus replies:

"No more Alcyonè; she suffer'd death
With her lov'd lord, when Ceyx lost his breath:
No datt'ry, no false comfort, give me none,
My shipwreck'd Ceyx is for ever gone :
I saw, I saw him manifest in view,

His voice, his figure, and his gestures knew:
His lustre lost, and ev'ry living grace,
Yet I retain'd the features of his face: [hair,
Though with pale cheeks, wet beard, and dropping
None but my Ceyx could appear so fair:

I would have strain'd him with a strict embrace, But through my arms he slipt, and vanish'd from the place:

There, ev'n just there he stood;" and as she spoke, Where last the spectre was she cast her look: Fain would she hope, and gaz'd upon the ground, If any printed footsteps might be found.

Then sigh'd, and said; "This I too well foreAnd my prophetic fears presag'd too true: [knew, 'Twas what I begg'd, when with a bleeding heart I took my leave, and suffer'd thee to part; Or I to go along, or thou to stay, Never, ab never to divide our way! Happier for me, that all our hours assign'd Together we had liv'd; ev'n not in death disjoin'd! So had my Ceyx still been living here, Or with my Ceyx I had perish'd there: Now I die absent, in the vast profound; And me, without myself, the seas have drown'd. The storms were not so cruel, should I strive To lengthen life, and such a grief survive; But neither will I strive, nor wretched thee In death forsake, but keep thee company. If not one common sepulchre contains Our bodies, or one urn our last remains, Yet Ceyx and Alcyone shall join, Their names remember'd in one common line." No farther voice her mighty grief affords, For sighs come rushing in betwixt her words, And stopp'd her tongue; but what her tongue deny'd, [ply'd. Soft tears, and groans, and dumb complaints sup'Twas morning; to the port she takes her way, And stands upon the margin of the sea: That place, that very spot of ground she sought, Or thither by her destiny was brought, Where last he stood and while she sadly said, "Twas here he left me, ling'ring here delay'd His parting kiss, and there his anchors weigh'd:"

Thus speaking, while her thoughts past actions trace,

And call to mind, admonish'd by the place,
Sharp at her utmost ken she cast her eyes,
And somewhat floating from afar descries:
It seem'd a corpse adrift to distant sight,
But at a distance who could judge aright?
It wafted nearer yet, and then she knew,
That what before she but surmis'd, was true:
A corpse it was, but whose it was, unknown;
Yet moy'd, howe'er, she made the case her own:
Took the bad omen of a shipwreck'd man,
As for a stranger wept, and thus began:
"Poor wretch, on stormy seas to lose thy life,
Unhappy thou, but more thy widow wife."
At this she paus'd: for now the flowing tide
Had brought the body nearer to the side:
The more she looks, the more her fears increase,
At nearer sight; and she's herself the less.
Now driv'n ashore, and at her feet it lies,
She knows too much, in knowing whom she sees:
Her husband's corpse; at this she loudly shrieks,
"'Tis he, 'tis he," she cries, and tears her cheeks,
Her hair, and vest; and stooping to the sands,
About his neck she cast her trembling hands.

"And is it thus, O dearer than my life, Thus, thus return'st thou to thy longing wife!" She said, and to the neighbouring mole she strode, (Rais'd there to break th' incursions of the flood.) Headlong from hence to plunge herself she springs,

But shoots along, supported on her wings;
A bird new made, about the banks she plies,
Not far from shore, and short excursions tries;
Nor seeks in air her humble flight to raise,
Content to skim the surface of the seas:
Her bill, though slender, sends a creaking noise,
And imitates a lamentable voice.
Now lighting where the bloodless body lies,
She with a fun'ral note renews her cries:
At all her stretch, her little wings she spread,
And with her feather'd arms embrac'd the dead:
Then flick'ring to his pallid lips, she strove
To print a kiss, the last essay of love.
Whether the vital touch reviv'd the dead,
Or that the moving waters rais'd his head
To meet the kiss, the vulgar doubt alone;
For sure a present miracle was shown.
The gods their shapes to winter-birds translate,
But both obnoxious to their former fate.
Their conjugal affection still is ty'd,
And still the mournful race is multiply'd:
They bill, they tread; Alcyonè compress'd,
Sev'n days sits brooding on her floating nest:
A wintry queen; her sire at length is kind,
Calms ev'ry storm, and hushes ev'ry wind;
Prepares his empire for his daughter's case,
And for his hatching nephews smooths the seas.

ÆSACUS TRANSFORMED INTO A CORMORANT.

THESE Some old man sees wanton in the air, And praises the unhappy constant pair. Then to his friend the long-neck'd corm'rant shows, The former tale reviving others' woes: "That sable bird," he cries, "which cuts the flood With slender legs, was once of royal blood; His ancestors from mighty Tros proceed, The brave Laomedon and Ganymede, (Whose beauty tempted Jove to steal the boy) And Priam, hapless prince! who fell with Troy:

Himself was Hector's brother, and (had Fate
But giv'n this hopeful youth a longer date)
Perhaps had rival'd warlike Hector's worth,
Though on the mother's side of meaner birth;
Fair Alyxothoè, a country maid,
Bare Esacus by stealth in Ida's shade.
He fled the noisy town, and pompous court,
Lov'd the lone hills, and simple rural sport,
And seldom to the city would resort.
Yet he no rustic clownishness profest,
Nor was soft love a stranger to his breast:
The youth had long the nymph Hesperiè woo'd,
Oft through the thicket or the mead pursu'd:
Her haply on her father's bank he spy'd,
While fearless she her silver tresses dry'd;
Away she fled: not stags with half such speed,
Before the prowling wolf, scud o'er the mead;
Not ducks, when they the safer flood forsake,
Pursu'd by hawks, so swift regain the lake;
As fast he follow'd in the hot career;
Desire the lover wing'd, the virgin fear.

A snake unseen now pierc'd her heedless foot;
Quick thro' the veins the venom'd juices shoot:
She fell, and 'scap'd by death his fierce pursuit.
Her lifeless body, frighted, he embrac'd,
And cry'd, Not this I dreaded, but thy haste:
O had my love been less, or less thy fear!
The victory, thus bought, is far too dear.
Accursed snake! yet I more curs'd than he!
He gave the wound; the cause was giv'n by me.
Yet none shall say, that unreveng'd you dy'd.
He spoke; then climb'd a cliff's o'er-hanging side,
And, resolute, leap'd on the foaming tide.
Tethys receiv'd him gently on the wave;
The death he sought deny'd, and feathers gave.
Debarr'd the surest remedy of grief,
And forc'd to live, he curs'd th' unask'd relief.
Then on his airy pinions upwards flies,
And at a second fall successless tries;
The downy plume a quick descent denies.
Enrag'd, he often dives beneath the wave,
And there in vain expects to find a grave.
His ceaseless sorrow for the unhappy maid
Meager'd his look, and on his spirits prey'd.
Still near the sounding deep he lives; his name
From frequent diving and emerging came."

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

BOOK XII.

Translated by Mr. Dryden.

THE TROJAN WAR.

PRIAM, to whom the story was unknown,
As dead, deplor'd his metamorphos'd son:
A cenotaph his name and title kept,

And Hector round the tomb, with all his brothers wept.

This pious office Paris did not share, Absent alone; and author of the war, Which for the Spartan queen, the Grecians drew T'avenge the rape, and Asia to subdue.

A thousand ships were mann'd, to sail the sea; Nor had their just reseatments found delay, Had not the winds and waves oppos'd their way. At Aulis, with united pow'rs they meet, But there, cross winds or calms detain'd the fleet. Now, while they raise an altar on the shore, And Jove with solemn sacrifice adore;

A boding sign the priests and people see:
A snake of size immense ascends a tree,
And in the leafy summit spy'd a nest,
Which o'er her callow young a sparrow press'd
Eight were the birds unfledg'd; their mother flew,
And hover'd round her care; but still in view:
Till the fierce reptile first devour'd the brood;
Then seiz'd the flutt'ring dam, and drunk her
This dire ostent the fearful people view; [blood.
Calchas alone, by Phoebus taught, foreknew
What Heav'n decreed; and with a smiling glance,
Thus gratulates to Greece her happy chance.
"O Argives, we shall conquer: Troy is ours,
But long delays shall first afflict our pow'rs:
Nine years of labour the nine birds portend;
The tenth shall in the town's destruction end."

The serpent, who his maw obscene had fill'd,
The branches in his curl'd embraces held:
But, as in spires he stood, he turn'd to stone:
The stony snake retain'd the figure still his own.

Yet, not for this, the wind-bound navy weigh'd; Slack were their sails; and Neptune disobey'd. Some thought him loth the town should be de stroy'd,

Whose building had his hands divine employ'd:
Not so the seer, who knew, and known foreshow'd,
The virgin Phoebe with a virgin's blood
Must first be reconcil'd: the common cause
Prevail'd; and pity yielding to the laws,
Fair Iphigenia, the devoted maid,
[ray'd
All mourn her fate; but no relief appcar'd;
Was, by the weeping priests, in linen robes ar-
The royal victim bound, the knife already rear'd:
When that offended pow'r, who caus'd their woe,
Relenting ceas'd her wrath, and stopp'd the coming
A mist before the ministers she cast, [blow.
And, in the virgin's room, a hind she plac'd.
Th' oblation slain, and Phoebe reconcil'd,
The storm was hush'd, and dimpled ocean smil'd:
A favourable gale arose from shore,
Which to the port desir'd the Græcian gallies bore.

THE HOUSE OF FAME.

FULL in the midst of this created space, Betwixt Heav'n, earth, and seas, there stands a place,

Confining on all three, with triple bound; Whence all things, though remote, are view'a

around,

And thither bring their undulating sound. The palace of loud Faine, her seat of pow'r, Plac'd on the summit of a lofty tow'r; A thousand winding entries long and wide, Receive of fresh reports a flowing tide. A thousand crannies in the walls are made: Nor gate, nor bars exclude the busy trade. 'Tis built of brass, the better to diffuse The spreading sounds, and multiply the news: Where echoes in repeated echoes play, A mart for ever full, and open night and day. Nor silence is within, nor voice express, But a deaf noise of sounds, that never cease. Confus'd, and chiding, like the hollow roar Of tides receding from th' insulted shore; Or like the broken thunder heard from far, When Jove to distance drives the rolling war. The courts are fill'd with a tumultuous din Of crowds, or issuing forth, or cut'ring in: A thoroughfare of news: where some devise Things never heard, some mingle truth with lies;

The troubled air with empty sounds they beat,
Intent to hear, and eager to repeat.
Errour sits brooding there, with added train
Oi vain credulity, and joys as vain :
Suspicion, with sedition join'd, are near,

"This is my hand, and this my lance," he said, "By which so many thousand foes are dead.

O whither is their usual virtue fled!

I had it once; and the Lyrnessian wall,
And Tenedos, confess'd it in their fall.

FROM these first onsets, the Sigean shore
Was strew'd with carcases, and stain'd with gore:
Neptanian Cygnus troops of Greeks had slain;
Achilles in his car had scour'd the plain,
And clear'd the Trojan ranks: where'er he fought,
Cygnus, or Hector, through the fields he sought:
Cygnus he found; on him his force essay'd:
For Hector was to the tenth year delay'd.
His white-maned steeds, that bow'd beneath the
yoke,

He cheer'd to courage, with a gentle stroke;
Then urg'd his Gery chariot on the foe;
And rising shook his lance, in act to throw.
But first he cry'd, "O youth, be proud to bear
Thy death, ennobled by Pelides' spear."
The lance pursu'd the voice without delay,
Nor did the whizzing weapon miss the way;
But pierc'd his cuirass, with such fury sent,
And sign'd his bosom with a purple dint.
At this the seed of Neptune, goddess-born,
"For ornament, not use, these arms are worn;
This helm, and heavy buckler, I can spare;
As only decorations of the war:

So Mars is arm'd for glory, not for need.
'Tis somewhat more from Neptune to proceed,
Than from a daughter of the sea to spring:
Thy sire is mortal; mine is ocean's king.
Secure of death, I should contemn thy dart,
Though naked; and impassible depart."
He said, and threw: the trembling weapon pass'd
Through nine ball-hides, each under other plac'd,
On bis broad shield; and stuck within the last.
Achilles wrench'd it out; and sent again
The hostile gift: the hostile gift was vain.
He try'd a third, a tough well-chosen spear;
Th' inviolable body stood sincere,
Though Cygnus then did no defence provide,
But scornful off-r'd his unshielded side.

Not otherwise th' impatient hero far'd,
Than as a bull, incompass'd with a guard,
Amid the circus roars, provok'd from far
By sight of scarlet, and a sanguine war:
They quit their ground, his beaded horus elude;
In vain pursuing, and in vain pursu'd.

Before to farther fight he would advance, He stood considering, and survey'd his lance. Doubts if he wielded not a wooden spear Without a point; he look'd, the point was there.

And Thebes ran red with her own natives' blood.
Twice Telephus employ'd their piercing steel,
To wound him first, and afterwards to heal.
The vigour of this arm was never vain:
And that my wonted prowess I retain,
Witness these heaps of slaughter on the p'ain."
He said; and doubtful of his former deeds,
To some new trial of his force proceeds.
He chose Menætes from among the rest;
At him he lanch'd his spear, and pierc'd his breast:
On the hard earth the Lycian knock'd his head,
And lay supine; and forth the spirit fled.

Then thus the hero: "Neither can I blame
The hand, or jav'lin; both are still the same.
The same I will employ against this foe,
Aud wish but with the same success to throw."
So spoke the chief; and while he spoke he threw;
The weapon with unerring fury flow,

At his left shoulder aim'd: nor entrance found;
But back, as from a rock, with swift rebound
Harmless return'd: a bloody mark appear'd,
Which with false joy the flatter'd hero cheer'd.
Wound there was none; the blood that was in view,
The lance before from slain Mencetes drew.

Headlong he leaps from off his lofty car,
And in close fight on foot renews the war.
Raging with high disdain, repeats his blows:
Nor shield, nor armour can their force oppose;
Huge cantlets of his buckler strew the ground,
And no defence in his bor'd arms is found.
But on his flesh no wound or blood is seen;
The sword itself is blunted on the skin.

This vain attempt the chief no longer bears;
But round his hollow temples and his ears
His buckler beats: the son of Neptune, stunn'd
With these repeated buffets, quits his ground;
A sickly sweat succeeds, and shades of night;
Inverted nature swims before his sight:
Th' insulting victor presses on the more,
And treads the steps the vanquish'd trod before,
Nor rest, nor respite gives. A stone there lay
Behind his trembling foe, and stopp'd his way:
Achilles took th' advantage which he found,
O'erturn'd, and push'd him backward on the
ground.

His buckler held him under, while he press'd,
With both his knees, above his panting breast;
Unlac'd his helm: about his chin the twist
He ty'd; and soon the strangled soul dismiss'd.
With eager haste he went to strip the dead:
The vanish'd body from his arm was filed.
His sea-god sire, t'immortalize his fame,
Had turn'd it to the bird that bears his name.
A truce succeeds the labours of this day,
And arms suspended with a long delay.
While Trojan walls are kept with watch and ward,
The Greeks before their trenches mount the guard.
The feast approach'd; when to the blue-ey'd maid
His vows for Cygnus slain the victor paid,
And a white heifer on her altar laid.
The reeking entrails on the fire they threw,
And to the gods the grateful odour flew.
Heav'n had its part in sacrifice: the rest
Was broil'd and roasted for the future feast.