by John Dryden
On a green Stem; and of a Purple Hue: 610
Like his, whom unaware Apollo slew:
Inscrib’d in both, the Letters are the same,
But those express the Grief, and these the Name.
The Fable of Acis, Polyphemus, and Galatea. From the Thirteenth Book of the Metamorphoses
GALATEA relates the Story
Acis, the Lovely Youth, whose loss I mourn,
From Faunus and the Nymph Symethis born,
Was both his Parents pleasure: but to me
Was all that Love cou’d make a Lover be.
The Gods our Minds in mutual Bands did joyn: 5
I was his only Joy, and he was mine.
Now sixteen Summers the sweet Youth had seen;
And doubtful Down began to shade his Chin:
When Polyphemus first disturb’d our Joy,
And lov’d me fiercely, as I lov’d the Boy. 10
Ask not which passion in my Soul was high’r,
My last Aversion, or my first Desire:
Nor this the greater was, nor that the less;
Both were alike; for both were in excess.
Thee, Venus, thee both Heav’n and Earth obey; 15
Immense thy Pow’r, and boundless is thy Sway.
The Cyclops, who defi’d th’ Æthereal Throne,
And thought no Thunder louder than his own,
The terrour of the Woods, and wilder far
Than Wolves in Plains, or Bears in Forrests are, 20
Th’ Inhumane Host, who made his bloody Feasts
On mangl’d Members of his butcher’d Guests,
Yet felt the force of Love, and fierce Desire,
And burnt for me, with unrelenting Fire:
Forgot his Caverns, and his woolly care, 25
Assum’d the softness of a Lover’s Air;
And comb’d, with Teeth of Rakes, his rugged hair.
Now with a crooked Sythe his Beard he sleeks;
And mows the stubborn Stubble of his Cheeks:
Now, in the Crystal Stream he looks, to try 30
His Simagres, and rowls his glaring eye.
His Cruelty and thirst of Blood are lost;
And Ships securely sail along the Coast.
The Prophet Telemus (arriv’d by chance
Where Ætna’s Summets to the Seas advance, 35
Who mark’d the Tracts of every Bird that flew,
And sure Presages from their flying drew)
Foretold the Cyclops, that Ulysses hand
In his broad eye shou’d thrust a flaming Brand.
The Giant, with a scornful grin, reply’d, 40
Vain Augur, thou hast falsely prophesi’d;
Already Love his flaming Brand has tost;
Looking on two fair Eyes, my sight I lost.
Thus, warn’d in vain, with stalking pace he strode,
And stamp’d the Margine of the briny Flood 45
With heavy steps; and weary, sought agen
The cool Retirement of his gloomy Den.
A Promontory, sharp’ning by degrees,
Ends in a Wedge, and over-looks the Seas:
On either side, below, the water flows: 50
This airy walk the Giant Lover chose.
Here, on the midst he sate; his Flocks, unled,
Their Shepherd follow’d, and securely fed.
A Pine so burly, and of length so vast,
That sailing Ships requir’d it for a Mast, 55
He wielded for a Staff; his steps to guide:
But laid it by, his Whistle while he try’d.
A hundred Reeds, of a prodigious growth,
Scarce made a Pipe proportion’d to his mouth:
Which, when he gave it wind, the Rocks around, 60
And watry Plains, the dreadful hiss resound.
I heard the Ruffian-Shepherd rudely blow,
Where, in a hollow Cave, I sat below;
On Acis bosom I my head reclin’d:
And still preserve the Poem in my mind. 65
Oh lovely Galatea, whiter far
Than falling Snows, and rising Lillies are;
More flowry than the Meads, as Crystal bright;
Erect as Alders, and of equal height:
More wanton than a Kid, more sleek thy Skin 70
Than Orient Shells, that on the Shores are seen:
Than Apples fairer, when the boughs they lade;
Pleasing, as Winter Suns or Summer Shade:
More grateful to the sight, than goodly Planes;
And softer to the touch, than down of Swans, 75
Or Curds new turn’d; and sweeter to the taste
Than swelling Grapes, that to the Vintage haste:
More clear than Ice, or running Streams, that stray
Through Garden Plots, but ah more swift than they.
Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke 80
Than Bullocks, unreclaim’d to bear the Yoke,
And far more stubborn than the knotted Oak:
Like sliding Streams, impossible to hold;
Like them fallacious; like their Fountains, cold:
More warping than the Willow, to decline 85
My warm Embrace, more brittle than the Vine;
Immoveable, and fixt in thy disdain;
Rough, as these Rocks, and of a harder grain.
More violent than is the rising Flood:
And the prais’d Peacock is not half so proud. 90
Fierce as the Fire, and sharp as Thistles are;
And more outragious than a Mother-Bear:
Deaf as the billows to the Vows I make;
And more revengeful, than a trodden Snake.
In swiftness fleeter than the flying Hind, 95
Or driven Tempests, or the driving Wind.
All other faults with patience I can bear;
But swiftness is the Vice I only fear.
Yet, if you knew me well, you wou’d not shun
My Love, but to my wish’d Embraces run: 100
Wou’d languish in your turn, and court my stay;
And much repent of your unwise delay.
My Palace, in the living Rock, is made
By Nature’s hand; a spacious pleasing Shade;
Which neither heat can pierce, nor cold invade. 105
My Garden fill’d with Fruits you may behold,
And Grapes in clusters, imitating Gold;
Some blushing Bunches of a purple hue:
And these, and those, are all reserv’d for you.
Red Strawberries, in shades, expecting stand, 110
Proud to be gather’d by so white a hand.
Autumnal Cornels latter Fruit provide,
And Plumbs, to tempt you, turn their glossy side
Not those of common kinds; but such alone
As in Phæacian Orchards might have grown: 115
Nor Chestnuts shall be wanting to your Food,
Nor Garden-fruits, nor Wildings of the Wood;
The laden Boughs for you alone shall bear;
And yours shall be the product of the Year.
The Flocks you see, are all my own; beside 120
The rest that Woods and winding Vallies hide;
And those that fold’d in the Caves abide.
Ask not the numbers of my growing Store;
Who knows how many, knows he has no more.
Nor will I praise my Cattel; trust not me, 125
But judge your self, and pass your own decree:
Behold their swelling Dugs; the sweepy weight
Of Ews that sink beneath the Milky fraight;
In the warm Folds their tender Lambkins lye;
Apart from Kids, that call with humane cry. 130
New Milk in Nut-brown Bowls is duely serv’d
For daily Drink; the rest for Cheese reserv’d.
Nor are these House-hold Dainties all my Store:
The Fields and Forrests will afford us more;
The Deer, the Hare, the Goat, the Salvage Boar. 135
All sorts of Ven’son; and of Birds the best;
A pair of Turtles taken from the Nest.
I walk’d the Mountains, and two Cubs I found,
(Whose dam had left ‘em on the naked ground,)
So like, that no distinction cou’d be seen; 140
So pretty, they were Presents for a Queen;
And so they shall; I took ‘em both away;
And keep, to be Companions of your Play.
Oh raise, fair Nymph, your Beauteous Face above
The Waves; nor scorn my Presents, and my Love. 145
Come, Galatea, come and view my face;
I late beheld it, in the watry Glass;
And found it lovelier than I fear’d it was.
Survey my towring Stature, and my Size:
Not Jove, the Jove you dream, that rules the Skies 150
Bears such a bulk, or is so largely spread:
My Locks (the plenteous Harvest of my head)
Hang o’re my Manly Face; and dangling down,
As with a shady Grove, my shoulders crown.
Nor think, because my limbs and body bear 155
A thickset underwood of bristling hair,
My shape deform’d: what fouler sight can be,
Than the bald Branches of a leafless Tree?
Foul is the Steed, without a flowing Main;
And Birds, without their Feathers, and their Train. 160
Wool decks the Sheep; and Man receives a Grace
From bushy Limbs, and from a bearded Face.
My forehead with a single eye is fill’d,
Round as a Ball, and ample as a Shield.
The Glorious Lamp of Heav’n, the Radiant Sun, 165
Is Nature’s eye; and is content with one.
Add, that my Father sways your Seas, and I
Like you am of the watry Family.
I make you his, in making you my own;
You I adore; and kneel to you alone: 170
Jove, with his Fabled Thunder, I despise,
And only fear the lightning of your eyes.
Frown not, fair Nymph; yet I cou’d bear to be
Disdain’d, if others were disdain’d with me.
But to repulse the Cyclops, and prefer 175
The Love of Acis, (Heav’ns) I cannot bear.
But let the Stripling please himself; nay more,
Please you, tho’ that’s the thing I most abhor;
The Boy shall find, if e’re we cope in Fight,
These Giant Limbs endu’d with Giant Might. 180
His living Bowels, from his Belly torn,
And scatter’d Limbs, shall on the Flood be born:
Thy Flood, ungrateful Nymph, and fate shall find
That way for thee and Acis to be joyn’d.
For oh I burn with Love, and thy Disdain 185
Augments at once my Passion and my pain.
Translated Ætna flames within my Heart,
And thou, Inhumane, wilt not ease my smart.
Lamenting thus in vain, he rose, and strode
With furious paces to the Neighb’ring Wood: 190
Restless his feet, distracted was his walk;
Mad were his motions, and confus’d his talk.
Mad as the vanquish’d Bull, when forc’d to Yield
His lovely Mistress, and forsake the Field.
Thus far unseen I saw: when, fatal chance 195
His looks directing, with a sudden glance,
Acis and I were to his sight betray’d;
Where, nought suspecting, we securely play’d.
From his wide mouth a bellowing cry he cast;
I see, I see, but this shall be your last. 200
A roar so loud made Ætna to rebound;
And all the Cyclops labour’d in the sound.
Affrighted with his monstrous Voice, I fled,
And in the Neighb’ring Ocean plung’d my head.
Poor Acis turn’d his back, and, help, he cried, 205
Help, Galatea, help, my Parent Gods,
And take me dying to your deep Abodes.
The Cyclops follow’d: but he sent before
A Rib, which from the living Rock he tore:
Though but an Angle reach’d him of the Stone, 210
The mighty Fragment was enough alone
To crush all Acis; ’twas too late to save,
But what the Fates allow’d to give, I gave:
That Acis to his Lineage should return;
And rowl, among the River Gods, his Urn. 215
Straight issu’d from the Stone a Stream of blood;
Which lost the Purple, mingling with the Flood.
Then like a troubled Torrent it appear’d:
The Torrent too, in little space, was clear’d.
The Stone was cleft, and through the yawning chink 220
New Reeds arose, on the new River’s brink.
The Rock, from out its hollow Womb, disclos’d
A sound like Water in its course oppos’d:
When, (wondrous to behold,) full in the Flood
Up starts a Youth, and Navel high he stood. 225
Horns from his Temples rise; and either Horn
Thick Wreaths of Reeds (his Native growth) adorn.
Were not his Stature taller than before,
His bulk augmented, and his beauty more,
His colour blue, for Acis he might pass: 230
And Acis chang’d into a Stream he was.
But mine no more, he rowls along the Plains
With rapid motion, and his Name retains.
Of the Pythagorean Philosophy; From the Fifteenth Book of Ovid’s Metamorphoses
The Fourteenth Book concludes with the Death and Deification of Romulus; The Fifteenth begins with the Election of Numa to the Crown of Rome. On this Occasion, Ovid following the Opinion of some Authors, makes Numa the Schollar of Pythagoras; and to have begun his Acquaintance with that Philosopher at Crotona, a Town in Italy; from thence he makes a Digression to the Moral and Natural Philosophy of Pythagoras: On both which our Author enlarges; and which are the most learned and beautiful Parts of the Metamorphoses.
A KING is sought to guide the growing State,
One able to support the Publick Weight,
And fill the Throne where Romulus had sat.
Renown, which oft bespeaks the Publick Voice,
Had recommended Numa to their Choice: 5
A peaceful, pious Prince; who, not content
To know the Sabine Rites, his Study bent
To cultivate his Mind: To learn the Laws
Of Nature, and explore their hidden Cause.
Urg’d by this Care, his Country he forsook, 10
And to Crotona thence his Journey took.
Arriv’d, he first enquir’d the Founder’s Name
Of this new Colony; and whence he came
Then thus a Senior of the Place replies,
(Well read, and curious of Antiquities) 15
’Tis said, Alcides hither took his way
From Spain, and drove along his conquer’d Prey,
Then, leaving in the Fields his grazing Cows,
He sought himself some hospitable House.
Good Croton entertain’d his Godlike Guest; 20
While he repair’d his weary Limbs with rest.
The Hero, thence departing, bless’d the Place;
And here, he said, in Times revolving Race,
A rising Town shall take its Name from thee.
Revolving Time fulfill’d the Prophecy: 25
For Myscelos, the justest Man on Earth,
Alemon’s Son, at Argos had his Birth:
Him Hercules, arm’d with his Club of Oak
O’ershadow’d in a Dream, and thus bespoke;
Go, leave thy Native Soil, and make Abode 30
Where Æsaris rowls down his rapid Flood.
He said; and Sleep forsook him, and the God.
Trembling he wak’d, and rose with anxious Heart;
His Country Laws forbad him to depart:
What shou’d he do? ’Twas Death to go away; 35
And the God menac’d if he dar’d to stay:
All Day he doubted, and, when Night came on,
Sleep, and the same forewarning Dream begun:
Once more the God stood threatning o’er his head;
With added Curses if he disobey’d. 40
Twice warn’d, he study’d Flight; but wou’d convey,
At once his Person, and his Wealth away.
Thus while he linger’d, his Design was heard;
A speedy Process form’d, and Death declar’d.
Witness there needed none of his Offence, 45
Against himself the Wretch was Evidence:
Condemn’d, and destitute of human Aid,
To him, for whom he suffer’d, thus he pray’d.
O Pow’r, who hast deserv’d in Heav’n a Throne,
Not giv’n, but by thy Labours made thy own, 50
Pity thy Suppliant, and protect his Cause,
Whom thou hast made obnoxious to the Laws.
A Custom was of old, and still remains,
Which Life or Death by Suffrages ordains;
White Stones and Black within an Urn are cast, 55
The first absolve, but Fate is in the last.
The Judges to the common Urn bequeath
Their Votes, and drop the Sable Signs of Death;
The Box receives all Black; but pour’d from thence
The Stones came candid forth, the Hue of Innocence. 60
Thus Alemonides his Safety won,
Preserv’d from Death by Alcumena’s Son:
Then to his Kinsman-God his Vows he pays,
And cuts with prosp’rous Gales th’ Ionian Seas;
He leaves Tarentum, favour’d by the Wind, 65
And Thurine Bays, and Temises, behind;
Soft Sybaris, and all the Capes that stand
Along the Shore, he makes in sight of Land;
Still doubling, and still coasting, till he found
The Mouth of Æsaris, and promis’d Ground, 70
Then saw where, on the Margin of the Flood,
The Tomb that held the Bones of Croton stood:
Here, by the God’s Command, he built and wall’d
The Place predicted; and Crotona call’d
Thus Fame, from time to time, delivers down 75
The sure Tradition of th’ Italian Town.
Here dwelt the Man divine whom Samos bore,
But now Self-banish’d from his Native Shore,
Because he hated Tyrants, nor cou’d bear
The Chains which none but servile Souls will wear: 80
He, tho’ from Heav’n remote, to Heav’n could move,
With Strength of Mind, and tread th’ Abyss above;
And penetrate with his interiour Light
