They stop his nostrils while he strives in vain
To breathe free air, and struggles with his pain.
Knock'd down, he dies: his bowels bruis'd
within,

Betray no wound on his unbroken skin.
Extended thus, in this obscene abode
They leave the beast; but first sweet flow'rs
are strew'd

Beneath his body, broken boughs and thyme,
And pleasing cassia just renew'd in prime.
This must be done ere spring makes equal day,
When western winds on curling waters play:
Ere painted meads produce their flow'ry crops,
Or swallows twitter on the chimney tops.
The tainted blood, in this close prison pent,
Begins to boil, and through the bones ferment.
Then (wondrous to behold) new creatures rise,
A moving mass at first, and short of thighs;
Till shooting out with legs, and imp'd with
wings,

The grubs proceed to bees with pointed stings,
And, more and more affecting air, they try
Their tender pinions, and begin to fly :

At length, like summer storms from spreading clouds,

That burst at once, and pour impetuous floodsOr flights of arrows from the Parthian bows, When from afar they gall embattled foesWith such a tempest through the skies they steer;

And such a form the winged squadrons bear. What god, O Muse! this useful science taught?

Or by what man's experience was it brought ?
Sad Aristaus from fair Tempe fled-
His bees with famine or diseases dead :-
On Pencus' banks he stood, and near his holy

head;

And, while his falling tears the stream suppli'd.
Thus mourning to his mother goddess cried :
"Mother Cyrene ! mother, whose abode
Is in the depth of this immortal flood!
What boots it, that from Phœbus' loins I spring
The third, by him and thee, from heav'n's
high king?

O! where is all thy boasted pity gone,
And promise of the skies to thy deluded son?
Why didst thou me, unhappy me, create,
Odious to gods, and borne to bitter fate?
Whom scarce my sheep, and scarce my painful
plough,

The needful aids of human life allow :
So wretched is thy son, so hard a mother thou!
Proceed, inhuman parent, in thy scorn;
Root up my trees; with blights destroy my corn;
My vineyards ruin, and my sheepfolds burn.
Let loose thy rage, let all thy spite be shown;
Bince thus thy hate pursues the praises of thy
son."

But, from her mossy bow'r below the ground,
His careful mother heard the plaintive sound—
Encompass'd with her sea-green sisters round.
One common work they pli'd; their distaffs full
With carded locks of blue Milesian wool.
Spio, with Drymo brown, and Xantho fair,
And sweet Phyllodoce with long dishevell❜d hair,
Cydippe with Lycorias, one a maid,
And one that once had call'd Lucina's aid;
Clio and Beroe, from one father both;
Both girt with gold, and clad in particolour'd
cloth;

Opis the meek, and Deiopeia proud:
Nisaa lofty, with Ligea loud;
Thalia joyous, Ephyre the sad,
And Arethusa, once Diana's maid,
But now (her quiver left)to love betray'd.
To these Clymene the sweet theft declares
Of Mars; and Vulcan's unavailing cares;
And all the rapes of gods, and ev'ry love,
From ancient Chaos down to youthful Jove :
Thus while she sings, the sisters turn the
wheel,

Empty the woolly rack, and fill the reel.
A mournful sound again the mother hears;
Again the mournful sound invades the sisters'

ears.

riseStarting at once from their green seats, they Fear in their heart, amazement in their eyes. But Arethusa, leaping from her bed, First lifts above the waves her beauteous head, And, crying from afar, thus to Cyrene said: "O sister, not with causeless fear possest! No stranger voice disturbs thy tender breast, 'Tis Aristaus, 'tis thy darling son, Who to his careless mother makes his moan. Near his paternal stream he sadly stands, With downcast eyes, wet cheeks, and folded hands.

came,

Upbraiding heav'n from whence his lineage [name." And cruel calls the gods, and cruel thee, by Cyrene, mov'd with love, and seiz'd with fear, Cries out, "Conduct my son, conduct him here:

'Tis lawful for the youth, deriv'd from gods,
To view the secrets of our deep abodes."
At once she way'd her hand on either side;
At once the ranks of swelling streams divide.
Two rising heaps of liquid crystal stand,
And leave a space betwixt, of empty sand.
Thus safe receiv'd, the downward track he
treads,

Which to his mother's wat'ry palace leads.
With wond'ring eyes he views the secret store
Of lakes, that, pent in hollow caverns, roar ;
He hears the crackling sounds of coral woods.
And sees the secret source of subterranean
floods;

And where, distinguish'd in their sev'ra, ceils,
The fount of Phasis, and of Lycus, dwells;
Where swift Enipeus in his bed appears,
And Tyber his majestic forehead rears;
Whence Anio flows, and Hypanis profound
Breaks thro' th' opposing rocks with raging
sound;

Where Po first issues from his dark abodes,
And, awful in his cradle, rules the floods:
T'wo golden horns on his large front he wears,
And his grim face a bull's resemblance bears:
With rapid course he seeks the sacred main,
And fattens, as he runs, the fruitful plain.
Now, to the court arriv'd, th' admiring son
Beholds the vaulted roofs of pory stone,
Now to his mother goddess tells his grief,
Which she with pity hears, and promises
relief.

Th' officious nymphs, attending in a ring,
With water drawn from their perpetual spring,
From earthly dregs his body purify,

And rub his temples, with fine towels, dry;

Then load the tables with a lib'ral feast,

And honour with full bowls their friendly guest.
The sacred altars are involv'd in smoke;
And the bright choir their kindred gods invoke.
Two bowls the inother fills with Lydian wine;
Then thus: "Let these be pour'd, with rites
divine,

To the great authors of our wat'ry line-
To father Ocean, this; and this," she said,
"Be to the nymphs his sacred sisters paid,
Who rule the wat'ry plains, and hold the wood-
land shade."

She sprinkled thrice, with wine, the vestal

fire;

Thrice to the vaulted roof the flames aspire.
Rais'd with so blest an omen, she begun,
With words like these, to cheer her drooping

son:

"In the Carpathian bottom, makes abode
The shepherd of the seas, a prophet and a god.
High o'er the main in wat'ry pomp he rides,
His azure car and finny coursers guides-
Proteus his name.-To his Pallenian port
I see from far the weary god resort.
Him, not alone, we river gods adore,
But aged Nereus hearkens to his lore.
With sure foresight, and with unerring doom,
He sees what is, and was, and is to come.
This Neptune gave him, when he gave to keep
His scaly flocks, that graze the wat'ry deep.
Implore his aid; for Proteus only knows
The secret cause, and cure, of all thy woes.
But first the wily wizard must be caught;
For, unconstrain'd, he nothing tells for nought;
Nor is with pray'rs, or bribes, or flattery bought.
Surprise him first, and with hard fetters bind;
Then all his frauds will vanish into wind.

The wayward sire frequents his cool retreat.
His eyes with heavy slumber overcast-
With force invade his limbs, and bind him fast,
Thus surely bound, yet be not over bold:
The slipp'ry god will try to loose his hold,
And various forms assume, to cheat thy sight,
And with vain images of beasts affright;
With foamy tusks, he seems a bristly boar,
Or imitates the lion's angy roar;
Breaks out in crackling flames to shun thy snares,
Hisses a dragon, or a tiger stares;
Or with a wile thy caution to betray,
In fleeting streams attempts to slide away.
But thou, the more he varies forms, beware
To strain his fetters with a stricter care,
Till, tiring all his arts, he turns again
To his true shape, in which he first was seen."
This said, with nectar she her son anoints;
Infusing vigour through his mortal joints:
Down from his head the liquid odours ran;
He breath'd of heav'n, and look'd above a

dry;

The sun with flaming arrows pierc'd the flood,
And, darting to the bottom, bak'd the mud;
When weary Proteus, from the briny waves,
Retir'd for shelter to his wonted caves.
His finny flocks about their shepherd play,
And, rolling round him spurt the bitter sea:
Unwieldily they wallow first in ooze,
Then in the shady covert seek repose.
Himself, their herdsman, on the middle mount,
Takes of his muster'd flocks a just account
So, seated on a rock, a shepherd's groom
Surveys his evening flocks returning home,

When lowing calves and bleating lambs, from far,

Provoke the prowling wolf to nightly war.

Th' occasion offers, and the youth complies; For scarce the weary god had clos'd his eyes, When, rushing on with shouts, he binds in chains

The drowsy prophet, and his limbs constrains. He, not uninindful of his usual art,

First in dissembled fire attempts to part:

Th' infernal troops like passing shadows glide, And, list'ning, crowd the sweet musician's [night,

side

(Not flocks of birds when driv'n by storms or Stretch to the forest with so thick a flight)Men, matrons, children, and th' unmarried maid,

The mighty hero's more majestic shade,

And youths on funeral piles before their parents laid.

tries

And wearies all his miracles of lies.
But, having shifted ev'ry form to 'scape,
Convinc'd of conquest, he resum❜d his shape,
And thus, at length, in human accent spoke :
"Audacious youth! what madness could pro-
voke

A mortal man t' invade a sleeping god?
What business brought thee to my dark abode ?"
To this th' audacious youth: "Thou know'st
full well

My name and bus'ness, god; nor need I tell.
No man can Proteus cheat: but, Proteus, leave
Thy fraudful arts, and do not thou deceive.
Following the gods' command I come t' implore
Thy help, my perish'd people to restore."

The seer, who could not yet his wrath assuage, Roll'd his green eyes, that sparkled with his

rage,

And gnash'd his teeth, and cried, "no vulgar god
Pursues thy crimes, nor with a common rod
Thy great misdeeds have met a due reward,
And Orpheus' dying prayers at .ength are.
heard.

For crimes, not his, the lover lost his life,
And at thy hands requires his murder'd wife:
Nor (if the Fates assist not) canst thou 'scape
The just revenge of that intended rape.
To shun thy lawless lust the dying bride,
Unwary, took along the river's side,
Nor at her heels perceiv'd the deadly snake,
That kept the bank, in covert of the brake.
But all her fellow-nymphs the mountains tear
With loud laments, and break the yielding air:
The realms of Mars remurmur all around,
And echoes to th' Athenian shores rebound.
Th' unhappy husband, husband now no more,
Did on his tuneful harp his loss deplore;
And sought his mournful mind with music to re-

store.

On thee, dear wife, in deserts all alone,

With muddy ditches, and with deadly weeds;
And baleful Styx encompasses around,
With nine slow circling streams, th' unhappy

ground.

E'en from the depths of hell the damn'd advance;
Th' infernal mansions, nodding seem to dance;
The gaping three-mouth'd dog forgets to snarl':
The Furies hearken, and their snakes uncurl;
Ixion seems no more his pain to feel.
But leans attentive on his standing wheel.
All dangers past, at length the lovely bride
In safety goes, with her melodious guide,
Longing the common light again to share,
And draw the vital breath of upper air-
He first; and close behind him follow'd she;
For such was Proserpine's severe decree-
When strong desires th' impatient youth invade,
By little caution and much love betray'd:
A fault, which easy pardon might receive,
Were lovers judges, or could hell forgive⚫
For, near the confines of etherial light,
And longing for the glimm'ring of a sight,
Th' unwary lover casts his eyes behind,
Forgetful of the law nor master of his mind.
Straight all his hopes exhal'd in empty smoke;
And his long toils were forfeit for a look.
Three flashes of blue lightning gave the sign
Of cov❜nants broke; three peals of thunder
join.

Then thus the bride: 'what fury seiz'd on thee,
Unhappy man! to lose thyself and me?
Dragg'd back again by cruel destinies,
An iron slumber shuts my swimming eyes.
And now farewell! involv'd in shades of night
For ever I am ravish'd from thy sight.
In vain I reach my feeble hands, to join
In sweet embraces-ah! no longer thine!'
She said; and from his eyes the fleeting fair
Retir'd like subtle smoke dissolv'd in air,
And left the hopeless lover in despair.
In vain, with folding arms, the youth essay'd

begun,

Nor were they finish'd with the setting sun,
E'en to the dark dominions of the night
He took his way, through forests void of light,
And dar'd amidst the trembling ghosts to sing,
And stood before th' inexorable king.

He prays; he raves; all means in vain he tries,
With rage inflam'd, astonish'd with surprise :
But she return'd no more, to bless his longing
eyes.

Nor would th' infernal ferrymen once more,
Be brib'd to waft him to the farther shore.

What should he do, who twice had lost his love? - What notes invent? what new petitions move? Her soul already was consign'd to fate, And shiv'ring in the leaky sculler sate. For sev'n continu'd months, if fame say true, The wretched swain his sorrow did renew: By Stryman's freezing streams he sat alone: The rocks were mov'd to pity with his moan: Trees bent their heads to hear him sing his wrongs:

Fierce tigers couch'd around, and loll'd their fawning tongues.

So, close in poplar shades, her children gone,
The mother nightingale laments alone,
Whose nest some prying churl had found, and
thence,

By stealth, convey'd th' unfeather'd innocence. But she supplies the night with mournful trains;

And melancholy music fills the plains.
Sad Orpheus thus his tedious hours employs,
Averse from Venus, and from nuptial joys,
Alone he tempts the frozen floods, alone
Th' unhappy climes, where spring was never
known;

He mourn'd his wretched wife, in vain restor❜d,
And Pluto's unavailing boon deplor'd.
The Thracian matrons-who the youth accus'd
Of love disdain'd, and marriage rites refus'd-
With furies and nocturnal orgies fir'd,
At length against his sacred life conspir'd.
Whom e'en the savage beasts had spar'd, they
kill'd,

And strew'd his mangled limbs about the field. Then, when his head, from his fair shoulders. torn,

Wash'd by the waters, was on Hebrus borne, E'en then his trembling tongue invok'd his bride;

With his last voice, Eurydice,' he cried. 'Eurydice,' the rocks and river-banks replied." This answer Proteus gave; no more he said, But in the billows plung'd his hoary head; And, where he leap'd, the waves in circles wide, ly spread.

The nymph return'd her drooping son to cheer, And bid him banish his superfluous fear : "For now," said she, "the cause is known, from whence

Thy wo succeeded, and for what offence
The nymphs, companions of th' unhappy maid,
This punishment upon thy crimes have laid;

And sent a plague among thy thriving bees. With vows and suppliant pray'rs their pow'rs appease;

The soft Napaan race will soon repent
Their anger, and remit the punishment.
The secret in an easy method lies;
Select four brawny bulls for sacrifice,
Which on Lycæus graze without a guide;
Add four fair heifers yet in yoke untried,
For these, four altars in their temple rear,
And then adore the woodland pow'rs with pray'r.
From the slain victims pour the streaming blood,
And leave their bodies in the shady wood :
Nine mornings thence, Lathæan poppy bring,
T' appease the manes of the poet's king:
And, to propitiate his offended bride,
A fatted calf, and a black ewe provide :
This finish'd, to the former woods repair."
His mother's precepts he performs with care;
The temple visits, and adores with pray'r ;
Four altars raises; from his herd he culls,
For slaughter, four the fairest of his bulls:
Four heifers from his female store he took,
All fair, and all unknowing of the yoke,
Nine mornings thence, with sacrifice and
pray'rs,

The pow'rs aton'd, he to the grove repairs.
Behold a prodigy! for, from within

The broken bowels and the bloated skin,
A buzzing noise of bees his ears alarms:
Straight issue through the sides assembling

swarms.

Dark as a cloud, they make a wheeling flight, Then on a neighb'ring tree, descending, light: Like a large cluster of black grapes they show, And make a large dependence from the bough.

Thus have I sung of fields, and flocks, and

trees,

And of the waxen work of lab'ring bees;
While mighty Cæsar, thund'ring from afar,
Seeks on Euphrates' banks the spoils of war ;
With conq'ring arts asserts his country's

cause,

With arts of peace the willing peop.e draws;
On the glad earth the golden age renews,
And his great father's path to heav'n pursues;
While I at Naples pass my peaceful days,
Affecting studies of less noisy praise;
And, bold through youth, beneath the beechen
shade,

The lays of shepherds, and their loves have play'd.

A HEROIC poem, truly such, is undoubtedly the greatest work which the soul of man is capable to perform. The design of it is to form the mind to heroic virtue by example. It is conveyed in verze, that it may delight, while it instructs: the action of it is always one, entire, and great. The least and most trivial episodes, or under-actions, which are interwoven in it, are parts either necessary or convenient to carry on the main design; either so necessary, that, without them, the poem must be imperfect, or so convenient, that no others can be imagin ed more suitable to the place in which they are. There is nothing to be left void in a firm building; even the cavities ought not to be filled with rubbish, (which is of a perishable kind, de structive to the strength,) but with brick or stone, though of less pieces, yet of the same nature, and fitted to the crannies. Even the least portions of them must be of the epic kind: all things must be grave, majestical, and sublime; nothing of a foreign nature, like the trifling novels, which Ariosto, and others, have inserted in their poems; by which the reader is misled into another sort of pleasure, opposite to that which is designed in an epic poem. One raises the soul, and hardens it to virtue; the other softens it, and unbends it into vice. One conduces to the poet's aim, the completing of his work, which he is driving on, labouring and hastening in every line; the other slackens his pace, diverts him from his way, and locks him

*

The early editions, by an absurd and continued tlander, read Aristotle. Ariosto, and indeed all the beroic Italian poets, Tasso excepted, have chequer ed their romantic fictions with lighter stories, such as those of Jocondo and of Adonio, in the "Orlando Furioso." But neither Ariosto, nor h's prede cessors Bolardo and Pulci, ever entertained the idea of writing a regular epic poem after the ancient

up, like a knight-errant, in an enchanted castle, when he should be pursuing his first adventure. Statius, as Bossu has well observed, was ambitious of trying his strength with his master Virgil, as Virgil had before tried his with Homer. The Grecian gave the two Romans an example, in the games which were celebrated at the funerals of Patroclus. Virgil imitated the invention of Homer, but changed the sports. But both the Greek and Latin poet took their occasions from the subject; though to confess the truth, they were both ornamental, or, at best, convenient parts of it, rather than of necessity arising from it., Statius, who, through his whole poem, is noted for want of conduct and judgment, instead of staying, as he might have done, for the death of Capaneus, Hippomedon, Ty. deus, or some other of his seven champions, (who are heroes all alike,) or more properly for the tragical end of the two brothers, whose exequies the next successor had leisure to perform when the siege was raised, and in the interval betwixt the poet's first action and his second-went out of his way, as it were on prepense malice, to commit a fault. For he took his opportunity to kill a royal infant by the means of a serpent, (that author of all evil,) to make way for those funeral honours which he intended for him. Now, if this innocent had been of any relation to his Thebais-if he had either furthered or hindered the taking of the town-the poet might have found some sorry excuse, at least, for de

rules. On the contrary, they often drop the mask in the middle of the romantic wonders which they relate; and plainly show, how very far they are from considering the narrative as serious. It was, therefore, consistent with their plan, to admit such light and frivolous narratives, as might relieve the general gravity of their tale, which resembled an epic poem as little as a melo-drama does a tragedy