THIS virgin too, thy love, O Neffus, found,
To her alone you owe the fatal wound.
As the ftrong fon of Jove his bride conveys,
Where his paternal lands their bulwarks raise ;
Where from her flopy urn Evenus pours
Her rapid current, fwell'd by wintery showers,
He came.
The frequent eddies whirl'd the tide,
And the deep rolling waves all pass deny'd.
As for himself, he stood unmov'd by fears,
For now his bridal charge employ'd his cares.
The ftrong-limb'd Neffus thus officious cry'd
(For he the shallows of the ftream had try'd),
Swim thou, Alcides, all thy ftrength prepare ;
On yonder bank I'll lodge thy nuptial care.
Th' Aonian chief to Neffus trufts his wife,
All pale, and trembling for her hero's life:
Cloth'd as he ftood in the fierce lion's hide,
The laden quiver o'er his shoulder ty'd
(For cross the stream his bow and club were caft); Swift he plung'd in; these billows fhall be pafs'd. 20 He said, nor fought where smoother waters glide, But ftem'd the rapid dangers of the tide.
The bank he reach'd: again the bow he bears;
When, hark! his bride's known voice alarms his ears. Neffus, to thee I call (aloud he cries);
Vain is thy truft in flight, be timely wife :
Thou monster double-shap'd, my right set free:
If thou no reverence owe my fame and me,
Yet kindred fhould thy lawless luft deny.
Think not, perfidious wretch, from me to fly,
Though wing'd with horfe's fpeed; wounds shall pursue: Swift as his words the fatal arrow flew :
The Centaur's back admits the feather'd wood,
And through his breaft the barbed weapon ftood;
Which when, in anguish, through the flesh he tore, 35
From both the wounds gufh'd forth the fpumy gore,
Mix'd with Lernæan venom; this he took,
Nor dire revenge his dying breast forsook.
His garment, in the reeking purple dy'd,
To rouze love's paffion, he presents the bride.
How far
revenge and woman's rage can rise,
When weltering in her blood the harlot dies.
Thus various paffions rul'd by turns her breast.
She now refolves to fend the fatal vest,
Dy'd with Lernæan gore, whose power might move
His foul anew, and rouze declining love.
Nor knew the what her fudden rage bestows,
When the to Lichas trufts her future woes;
With foft endearments fhe the boy commands
To bear the garment to her husband's hands.
Th' unwitting hero takes the gift in haste,
And o'er his shoulders Lerna's poifon caft.
As firft the fire with frankincense he ftrows,
And utters to the gods his holy vows;
And on the marble altar's polish'd frame
Pours forth the grapy ftream; the rifing flame
Sudden diffolves the fubtle poisonous juice,
Which taints his blood, and all his nerves bedews.
With wonted fortitude he bore the fmart,
And not a groan confess'd his burning heart.
At length his patience was fubdued by pain,
He rends the facred altar from the plain;
Oete's wide forests echo with his cries!
Now to rip off the deathful robe he tries.
Where'er he plucks the vest, the skin he tears,
The mangled muscles and huge bones he bares,
(A ghaftly fight!) or, raging with his pain,
To rend the sticking plague he tugs in vain.
As the red iron hiffes in the flood,
So boils the venom in his curdling blood.
Now with the greedy flame his entrails glow,
And livid fweats down all his body flow
The cracking nerves burnt-up are burst in twain,
The lurking venom melts his swimming brain.
Then, lifting both his hands aloft, he cries,
Glut thy revenge, dread emprefs of the skies;
Sate with my death the rancour of thy heart,
Look down with pleasure, and enjoy my smart.
Or, if e'er pity mov'd a hoftile breaft
(For here I ftand thy enemy profeft),
Take hence this hateful life, with tortures torn,
Inur'd to trouble, and to labours born.
Death is the gift most welcome to my woe,
And fuch a gift a step-dame may bestow.
Was it for this Bufiris was fubdued,
Whofe barbarous temples reek'd with strangers' blood?
Prefs'd in thefe arms, his fate Antæus found,
Nor gain'd recruited vigour from the ground.
Did I not triple-form'd Geryon fell?
Or did I fear the triple dog of hell?
Did not thefe hands the bull's arm'd forehead hold? 75
Are not our mighty toils in Elis told?
Did not Stymphalian lakes proclaim my fame?
And fair Parthenian woods refound my name?
Who feiz'd the golden belt of Thermodon?
And who the dragon-guarded apples won ?
Could the fierce Centaur's ftrength my force withftand,
Or the fell boar that spoil'd th' Arcadian land?
Did not these arms the Hydra's rage fubdue,
Who from his wounds to double fury grew?
|