The scene of heavenly guilt with haste she tore,
Nor longer the affront with patience bore;
A boxen shuttle in her hand she took,
And more than once Arachnè's forehead struck.
The' unhappy maid, impatient of the wrong,
Down from a beam her injur'd person hung;
When Pallas, pitying her wretched state,
At once prevented, and pronounc'd her fate;
'Live; but depend, vile wretch,' the goddess cried,
'Doom'd in suspense for ever to be tied;
That all your race, to utmost date of time,
May feel the vengeance, and detest the crime.'
Then, going off, she sprinkled her with juice,
Which leaves of baneful aconite produce.
Touch'd with the poisonous drug, her flowing hair
Fell to the ground, and left her temples bare;
Her usual features vanish'd from their place,
Her body lessen'd all, but most her face.
Her slender fingers hanging on each side
With many joints, the use of legs supplied;
A spider's bag the rest, from which she gives
A thread, and still by constant weaving lives.
Swift through the Phrygian towns the rumour flies, And the strange news each female tongue employs : Niobe, who before she married knew
The famous nymph, now found the story true;
Yet, unreclaim'd by poor Arachnè's fate,
Vainly above the gods assum'd a state.
Her husband's fame, their family's descent,
Their power, and rich dominion's wide extent,
Might well have justified a decent pride;
But not on these alone the dame relied.
Her lovely progeny, that far excell'd,
The mother's heart with vain ambition swell'd:
The happiest mother not unjustly styl❜d,
Had no conceited thoughts her towering fancy fill'd.
For once a prophetess, with zeal inspir'd,
Their slow neglect to warm devotion fir'd;
Through every street of Thebes who ran possess'd,
And thus in accents wild her charge express'd:
'Haste, haste, ye Theban matrons, and adore,
With hallow'd rites, Latona's mighty pow'r;
And to the heavenly twins that from her spring,
With laurel crown'd, your smoking incense bring.'
Straight the great summons every dame obey'd,
And due submission to the goddess paid:
Graceful, with laurel chaplets dress'd, they came,
And offer'd incense in the sacred flame.
Meanwhile surrounded with a courtly guard,
The royal Niobè in state appear'd;
Attir'd in robes embroider'd o'er with gold,
And mad with rage, yet lovely to behold:
Her comely tresses, trembling as she stood,
Down her fine neck with easy motion flow'd;
Then, darting round a proud disdainful look,
In haughty tone her hasty passion broke,
And thus began: What maduess this, to court
A goddess, founded merely on report?
Dare ye a poor pretended power invoke,
While yet no altars to my godhead smoke?
Mine, whose immediate lineage stands confess'd
From Tantalus, the only mortal guest
That e'er the gods admitted to their feast.
A sister of the Pleiads gave me birth;
And Atlas, mightiest mountain upon earth,
Who bears the globe of all the stars above,
My grandsire was, and Atlas sprung from Jove. The Theban towns my majesty adore,
And neighbouring Phrygia trembles at my pow'r :
Rais'd by my husband's lute, with turrets crown'd,
Our lofty city stands secur'd around.
Within my court, where'er I turn my eyes,
Unbounded treasures to my prospect rise:
With these my face I modestly may name,
As not unworthy of so high a claim;
Seven are my daughters of a form divine,
With seven fair sons, an indefective line.
Go, fools! consider this, and ask the cause
From which my pride its strong presumption draws:
Consider this, and then prefer to me
Cæus, the Titan's vagrant progeny;
To whom, in travel, the whole spacious earth
No room afforded for her spurious birth.
Not the least part in earth, in heaven, or seas
Would grant your outlaw'd goddess any ease:
Till pitying hers from his own wandering case,
Delos, the floating island, gave a place.
There she a mother was, of two at most,
Only the seventh part of what I boast.
My joys all are beyond suspicion fix'd,
With no pollutions of misfortune mix'd;
Safe on the basis of my power I stand,
Above the reach of Fortune's fickle hand.
Lessen she may my inexhausted store,
And much destroy, yet still must leave me more.
Suppose it possible that some may die
Of this my numerous lovely progeny;
Still with Latona I might safely vie :
Who, by her scanty breed scarce fit to name,
But just escapes the childless woman's shame.
Go then, with speed your laurel'd heads uncrown,
And leave the.silly farce you have begun.'
The timorous throng their sacred rites forbore, And from their heads the verdant laurel tore; Their haughty queen they with regret obey'd, And still in gentle murmurs softly pray'd.
High on the top of Cynthus' shady mount,
With grief the goddess saw the base affront;
And the abuse revolving in her breast,
The mother her twin-offspring thus address'd :
'Lo I, my children, who with comfort knew
Your godlike birth, and thence my glory drew;
And thence have claim'd precedency of place
From all but Juno of the heavenly race,
Must now despair, and languish in disgrace.
My godhead question'd, and all rites divine,
Unless you succour, banish'd from my shrine.
Nay more, the imp of Tantalus has flung
Reflections with her vile paternal tongue;
Has dar'd prefer her mortal breed to mine,
And call'd me childless; which, just Fate, may she
repine!'
When to urge more the goddess was prepar'd, Phoebus in haste replies, Too much we've heard, And every moment's lost, while vengeance is defer'd.'
Diana spoke the same. Then both enshroud
Their heavenly bodies in a sable cloud :
And to the Theban towers descending light,
Through the soft yielding air direct their flight.
Without the wall there lies a champaign ground With even surface, far extending round,
Beaten and level'd, while it daily feels
The trampling horse, and chariot's grinding wheels.
Part of proud Niobe's young rival breed,
Practising there to ride the manag'd steed,
Their bridles boss'd with gold, were mounted high
On stately furniture of Tyrian dye.
Of these, Ismenos, who by birth had been
The first fair issue of the fruitful queen,
Just as he drew the rein to guide his horse
Around the compass of the circling course,
Sigh'd deeply, and the pangs of smart express'd,
While the shaft stuck, engor'd within his breast:
And the reins dropping from his dying hand,
He sunk quite down, and tumbled on the sand.
Sipylus next the rattling quiver heard,
And with full speed for his escape prepar'd;
As when the pilot from the blackening skies
A gathering storm of wintry rain descries,
His sails unfurl'd, and crowded all with wind,
He strives to leave the threatening cloud behind :
So fled the youth! but an unerring dart
O'ertook him, quick discharg'd, and sped with art;
Fix'd in his neck behind it trembling stood,
And at his throat display'd the point besmear'd
with blood.
Prone as his posture was, he tumbled o'er,
And bath'd his courser's mane with steaming gore.
Next at young Phædimus they took their aim,
And Tantalus, who bore his grandsire's name :
These, when their other exercise was done,
To try the wrestler's oily sport begun :
And, straining every nerve, their skill express'd
In closest grapple, joining breast to breast:
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