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THE FABLE OF DRYO PE.

FROM

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES,

Book 9.

She said, and for her lost Galanthis sighs,

When the fair consort of her son replies: Since you a servant's ravish'd form bemoan And kindly sigh for sorrows not your own; Let me (if tears and grief permit) relate A nearer woe, a sister's stranger fate. No nymph of all Echalia could compare For beauteous form with Dryope the fair, Her tender mother's only hope and pride (Myself the offering of a second bride). This nymph, compress’d by him who rules the day, Whom Delphi and the Delian isle obey, Andræmon lov’d; and, bless'd in all those charms That pleas'd a god, succeeded to her arms.

A lake there was, with shelving banks around, Whose verdant summit fragrant myrtles crown'd, These shades, unknowing of the fates, she souglit And to the Naiads fow'ry garlands brought; Her smiling babe (a pleasing charge) she prest Wichin her arms, and nourish'd at her breast, Not distant far, a watery lotos grows; The spring was new, and all the verdant boughs, Adorn'd with blossoms, promis'd fruits that vie In glowing colours with the Tyrian dye: Of these she cropp'd to please her infant son; And I myself the same rash act had done,

But, lo! I saw (as near her side I stood)
The violated blossoms drop with blood;
Upon the tree I cast a frightful look;
The trembling tree with sudden horror shook.
Lotis the nymph (if rural tales be true),
As from Priapus' lawless lust she flew,
Forsook her form ; and, fixing here, became
A flowery plant, which still preserves her name,

This change unknown, astonish'd at the sight,
My trembling sister strove to urge her flight:
And first the pardon of the nymphs implord,
And those offended sylvan powers ador'd:
But when she backward would have fled, she found
Her stiffening feet were rooted in the ground:
In vain to free her fasten'd feet she strove,
And, as she struggles, only moves above;
She feels th' encroaching bark around her grow
By quick degrees, and cover all below:
Surpris'd at this, her trembling hand she heaves
To rend her hair; her hand is fill'd with leaves :
Where late was hair, the shooting leaves are seen
To rise and shade her with a sudden green.
The child Amphissus, to her bosom press'd,
Perceiv'd a colder and a harder breast,
And found the springs, that ne'er till then denied
Their milky moisture, on a sudden dried.
I saw, unhappy! what I now relate,
And stood the helpless witness of thy fate,
Embrac'd thy boughs, thy rising hark delay'd,
There wish'd to grow, and mingle shade with shade.

Behold Andræmon and th' unhappy sire
Appear, and for their Dryope inquire;
A springing tree for Dryope they find,
And print warm kisses on the panting rind;
Prostrate, with tears their kindred plant bedew,
And close embrace as to the roots they grew.
The face was all that now remain'd of thee.
No more a woman, nor yet quite a tree;
Thy branches hung with humid pearls appear,
From every leaf distils a trickling tear,

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And straight a voice, while yet a voice remains, Thus through the trembling boughs in sighs com

plains : • If to the wretched any faith be given I swear by all th' unpitying powers of heaven, No wilful crime this heavy vengeance bred ; In mutual innocence our lives we led : If this be false, let these new greens decay, Let sounding axes lop my limbs away, And crackling flames on all my honours preg! But from my branching arms this infant bear, Let some kind purse supply a mother's cafe : And to his mother let him oft be led, Sport in her shades, and in her shades be fed; Teach him, when first his infant voice shall frame Imperfect words, and lisp his mother's name, To hail this tree; and say, with weeping eyes, Within this plant my hapless parent lies : And when in youth he seeks the shady woods, Oh, let him fy the crystal lakes and foods, Nor touch the fatal flowers; but warn'd by me, Believe a goddess shrin'd in every tree. My sire, my sister, and my spouse, farewel! If in your breasts or love or pity dwell, Protect your plant, nor let my branches feel The browsing cattle, or the piercing steel. Farewel! and since I cannot bend to join My lips to yours, advance at least to mine. My son, thy mother's parting kiss receive, While yet thy mother has a kiss to give. I can no more; the creeping rind invades My closing lips, and hides my head in shades: Remove your hands; the bark shall soon suffice Without their aid to seal these dying eyes.'

She ceas'd at once to speak, and ceas'd to be; And all the nymph was lost within the tree; Yet latent life throngh her new branches reign'd, And long the plant a human heat retain'd.

VERTUMNUS AND POMONA.

FROM

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES,

Book 4.

THE fair

. Pomona flourish'd in his reign :
Of all the virgins of the sylvan train,
None taught the trees a nobler race to bear,
Or more improv'd the vegetable care.
To her the shady grove, the flowery field,
The streams and fountains, no delights could yield;
'Twas all her joy the ripening fruits to tend,
And see the boughs with happy burthens bend.
The hook she bore instead of Cynthia's spear,
To lop the growth of the luxuriant year,
To decent form the lawless shoots to bring,
And teach th' obedient branches where to spring.
Now the cleft rind inserted graffs receives,
And yields an offspring more than nature gives;
Now sliding streams the thirsty plants renew,
And feed their fibres with reviving dew.

These cares alone her virgin breast employ,
Averse from Venus and the nuptial joy.
Her private orchards, wall'd on every side,
To lawless sylvans all access denied.
How oft the satyrs and the wanton fawns,
Who haunt the forest, or frequent the lawns,
The god whose ensigns scares the birds of prey,
And old Silenus, youthful in decay,
Employ'd their wiles and unavailing care,
To pass the fences, and surprise the fair !

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Like these, Vertumnus owu'd his faithful flame,
Like these, rejected by the scornful dame.
To gain her sight a thousand forms he wears;
And first a reaper from the field appears,
Sweating he walks, while loads of golden grain
O'ercharge the shoulders of the seeming swain.
Oft o'er his back a crooked scythe is laid,
And wreaths of hay his sun-burnt temples shade;
Oft in his harden'd hand a goad he bears,
Like one who late unyok'd the sweating steers.
Sometimes his pruning-hook corrects the vines,
And the loose stragglers to make their confines,
Now gathering what the bounteous year allows,
He pulls ripe apples from the bending boughs.
A soldier now, he with his sword appears;
A fisher next, his trembling angle bears.
Each shape he varies, and each art he tries,
On her bright charms to feast his longing eyes.

A female form at last Vertumbus wears,
With all the marks of reverend age appears,
His tenuples thinly spread with silver hairs :
Propp'd on his staff, and stooping as he goes,
A painted mitre shades his furrow'd brows.
The god, in this decrepit form array'd,
The gardens enter'd, and the fruit survey'd,
And. Happy you!' he thus address'd the maid,
• Whose charms as far all other nymphs out shine,
As other gardens are excell'd by thine!'
Then kiss'd the fair (his kisses warmer grow
Than such as women on their sex bestow);
Then, plac'd beside her on the flow'ry ground,
Beheld the trees with autumn's bounty crown'd.
An elm was near, to whose embraces led,
The curling vine her swelling clusters spread:
He view'd her twining branches with delight,
And prais'd the beauty of the pleasing sight.

• Yet this tall elm, but for his vine,' he said, • Had stood neglected, and a barren shade; And this fair vine, but that her arms surround Her marry'd elm, had crept along the grounde

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