In streams, my boy, and rivers, take thy chance ; "Once, as by chance for Delos I designed, "I viewed him nicely, and began to trace Each heavenly feature, each immortal grace, And saw divinity in all his face. 'I know not who,' said I, 'this god should be; But that he is a god I plainly see: And thou, whoe'er thou art, excuse the force These men have used; and, oh! befriend our course!' 'Pray not for us,' the nimble Dictys cried, Dictys, that could the main-top-mast bestride, And down the ropes with active vigour slide. To the same purpose old Epopeus spoke, Who overlooked the oars, and timed the stroke; The same the pilot, and the same the rest; Such impious avarice their souls possest. 'Nay, heaven forbid that I should bear away Within my vessel so divine a prey,' Said I; and stood to hinder their intent : When Lycabas, a wretch for murder sent From Tuscany, to suffer banishment, "His base confederates the fact approve; When Bacchus (for 'twas he) began to move, Waked by the noise and clamours which they raised; And shook his drowsy limbs, and round him gazed: 'What means this noise?' he cries; 'am I betrayed? Ah! whither, whither must I be conveyed?'” 'Fear not,' said Proreus, 'child, but tell us where You wish to land, and trust our friendly care.' 'To Naxos then direct your course,' said he; 'Naxos a hospitable port shall be To each of you, a joyful home to me.' By every god that rules the sea or sky, The perjured villains promise to comply, And bid me hasten so unmoor the ship. With eager joy I launch into the deep; And, heedless of the fraud, for Naxos stand: They whisper oft, and beckon with the hand, And give me signs, all anxious for their prey, To tack about, and steer another way. 'Then let some other to my post succeed,' Said I, 'I 'm guiltless of so foul a deed.' 'What,' says Ethalion, 'must the ship's whole crew Follow your humour, and depend on you?' And straight himself he seated at the prore, And tacked about, and sought another shore. "The beauteous youth now found himself betrayed, And from the deck the rising waves surveyed, And seemed to weep, and as he wept he said; 'And do you thus my easy faith beguile? Thus do you bear me to my native isle? Will such a multitude of men employ Their strength against a weak, defenceless boy?' "In vain did I the god-like youth deplore, The vessel, fixed and rooted in the flood, "The god we now behold with opened eyes; "This forging slave," says Pentheus, "would prevail O'er our just fury by a far-fetched tale: Go, let him feel the whips, the swords, the fire, And in the tortures of the rack expire." The officious servants hurry him away, And flings the loosened shackles from his hands. THE DEATH OF PENTHEUS. But Pentheus, grown more furious than before, Resolved to send his messengers no more, But went himself to the distracted throng, Where high Cithæron echoed with their song. And as the fiery war-horse paws the ground, And snorts and trembles at the trumpet's sound; Transported thus he heard the frantic rout, And raved and maddened at the distant shout. A spacious circuit on the hill there stood, Level and wide, and skirted round with wood; Here the rash Pentheus, with unhallowed eyes, The howling dames and mystic orgies spies. His mother sternly viewed him where he stood, And kindled into madness as she viewed: Her leafy javelin at her son she cast, And cries, "The boar that lays our country waste! The boar, my sisters! aim the fatal dart, And strike the brindled monster to the heart." Pentheus astonished heard the dismal sound, And sees the yelling matrons gathering round: He sees, and weeps at his approaching fate, And begs for mercy, and repents too late. "Help, help! my aunt Autonöe," he cried; "Remember how your own Actæon died." Deaf to his cries, the frantic matron crops One stretched-out arm, the other Ino lops. In vain does Pentheus to his mother sue, And the raw bleeding stumps presents to view : His mother howled; and heedless of his Her trembling hand she twisted in his hair, "And this," she cried, "shall be Agave's share." When from the neck his struggling head she tore, And in her hands the ghastly visage bore, prayer, J With pleasure all the hideous trunk survey; THE STORY OF SALMACIS AND HERMAPHRODITUS. FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. How Salmacis, with weak enfeebling streams The Naïads nurst an infant heretofore, That Cytherea once to Hermes bore : 1 Mr. Addison was very young when he made these translations.-Still, one a little wonders how his virgin muse, "nescia quid sit amor," (as Ovid says of Hermaphroditus,) could be drawn in to attempt this subject: -but the charms of the poetry prevailed. He very properly omits, or softens, the most obnoxious passages of his original; and, after all, seems half-ashamed of what he had done, as we may conclude from his writing no notes on this story, which being told in Ovid's best manner, must have suggested to him many fine ones. |