Now, by the horrors which these realms surround,
By the vast chaos of these depths profound,
By the sad silence, which eternal reigns
O'er all the waste of these wide-stretching plains,
Let me again Eurydice receive,
Let Fate her quick-spun thread of life reweave.
All our possessions are but loans from you,
And soon, or late, you must be paid your due;
Hither we haste to human-kind's last seat,
Your endless empire, and our sure retreat.
She too, when ripen'd years she shall attain,
Must, of avoidless right, be yours again.
I but the transient use of that require,
Which soon, too soon, I must resign entire.
But if the Destinies refuse my vow,
And no remission of her doom allow,
Know, I'm determined to return no more;
So both retain, or both to life restore.'
Thus, while the bard melodiously complains,
And to his lyre accords his vocal strains,
The very bloodless shades attention keep,
And silent seem compassionate to weep;
Ev'n Tantalus his flood unthirsty views,
Nor flies the stream, nor he the stream pursues;
Ixion's wondering wheel its whirl suspends,
And the voracious vulture, charm'd, attends;
No more the Belides their toil bemoan,
And Sisyphus, reclined, sits listening on his stone.
Then first, ('tis said) by sacred verse subdued,
The Furies felt their cheeks with tears bedew'd.
Nor could the rigid king or queen of hell
The impulse of pity in their hearts repel.
Now, from a troop of shades that last arrived,
Eurydice was call'd, and stood revived:
Slow she advanced, and, halting, seem'd to feel
The fatal wound yet painful in her heel.
Thus he obtains the suit so much desired,
On strict observance of the terms required;
For if, before he reach the realms of air,
He backward cast his eyes to view the fair,
The forfeit grant, that instant, void is made,
And she for ever left a lifeless shade.
Now through the noiseless throng their way they bend,
And both with pain the rugged road ascend:
Dark was the path, and difficult, and steep,
And thick with vapors from the smoky deep.
They well-nigh now had pass'd the bounds of night,
And just approach'd the margin of the light,
When he, mistrusting lest her steps might stray,
And gladsome of the glimpse of dawning day,
His longing eyes impatient backward cast
To catch a lover's look, but look'd his last;
For, instant dying, she again descends,
While he to empty air his arm extends:
Again she died, nor yet her lord reproved:
What could she say but that too well he loved?
One last farewell she spoke, which scarce he heard;
So soon she dropp'd, so sudden disappear'd.
All-stunn'd he stood when thus his wife he view'd,
By second fate and double death subdued;
Not more amazement by that wretch was shown
Whom Cerberus beholding turn'd to stone;
Nor Olenus could more astonish'd look,
When on himself Lethea's fault he took;
His beauteous wife, who, too secure, had dared
Her face to vie with goddesses, compared ;
Once join'd by love, they stand united still,
Turn'd to contiguous rocks on Ida's hills.
Now to repass the Styx in vain he tries;
Charon, averse, his pressing suit denies.
Seven days entire, along the infernal shores,
Disconsolate, the bard Eurydice deplores;
Defiled with filth his robe, with tears his cheeks ;*
No sustenance but grief and cares he seeks;
Of rigid Fate incessant he complains,
And hell's inexorable gods arraigns.
This ended, to high Rhodope he hastes,
And Hamus' mountain, bleak with northern blasts.
And now his yearly race the circling sun
Had thrice complete through watery Pisces run,
Since Orpheus fled the face of womankind,
And all soft union with the sex declined.
Whether his ill success this change had bred,
Or binding vows made to his former bed,
Whate'er the cause, in vain the nymphs contest,
With rival eyes, to warm his frozen breast;
For every nymph with love his lays inspired,
But every nymph, repulsed, with grief retired.
A hill there was, and on that hill a mead,
With verdure thick, but destitute of shade;
Where, now, the Muse's son no sooner sings,
No sooner strikes his sweet-resounding strings,
But distant groves the flying sounds receive,
And listening trees their rooted stations leave;
Themselves transplanting, all around they grow,
And various shades their various kinds bestow:
Here, tall Chaonian oaks their branches spread,
While weeping poplars, there, erect their head;
The foodful esculus, here shoots his leaves;
That turf, soft lime-tree; this, fat beech, receives:
Here, brittle hazels; laurels, here, advance;
And, there, tough ash to form the hero's lance:
Here, silver-firs, with knotless trunks, ascend;
There, scarlet oaks beneath their acorns bend:
That spot admits the hospitable plane;
On this, the maple grows with clouded grain:
Here, watery willows are with lotus seen;
There, tamarisk, and box, for ever green:
With double hue, here, myrtles grace the ground,
And laurestines with purple berries crown'd;
With pliant feet, now, ivies this way wind,
Vines yonder rise, and elms with vines entwined:
Wild ornus now, the pitch-tree next, takes root,
And arbutus adorn'd with blushing fruit;
Then easy-bending palms, the victor's prize,
And pines erect with bristly tops arise;
For Rhea grateful still, the pine remains,
For Atys still some favor she retains;
He once in human shape her breast had warm'd,
And now is cherish'd, to a tree transform'd.
CYPARISSUS by accident kills a favorite stag, which affects him with so much grief, that he pines away, and is changed into a cypress-tree by Apollo.
AMID the throng of this promiscuous wood,
With pointed top, the taper cypress stood,
A tree, which once a youth, and heavenly fair,
Was of that deity the darling care,
Whose hand adapts, with equal skill, the strings
To bows with which he kills, and harps to which he
For heretofore, a mighty stag was bred, Which on the fertile fields of Cæa fed;
In shape and size he all his kind excell'd,
And to Carthæan nymphs was sacred held;
His beamy head, with branches high display'd,
Afforded to itself an ample shade;
His horns were gilt, and his smooth neck was graced
With silver collars thick with gems enchased;
A silver boss upon his forehead hung,
And brazen pendants in his ear-rings rung;
Frequenting houses, he familiar grew,
And learn'd, by custom, nature to subdue,
Till by degrees, of fear and wildness broke,
Ev'n stranger hands his proffer'd neck might stroke.
Much was the beast by Cæa's youth caress'd,
But thou, sweet Cyparissus, lovedst him best;
By thee, to pastures fresh, he oft was led,
By thee oft water'd at the fountain's head;
His horns with garlands, now, by thee were tied, 195
And, now, thou on his back wouldst wanton ride;
Now here, now there wouldst bound along the
Ruling his tender mouth with purple reins.
'Twas when the summer sun, at noon of day, Through glowing Cancer shot his burning ray, 'Twas then, the fav'rite stag, in cool retreat, Had sought a shelter from the scorching heat: Along the grass his weary limbs he laid, Inhaling freshness from the breezy shade, When Cyparissus, with his pointed dart,
Unknowing, pierced him to the panting heart;
But when the youth, surprised, his error found,
And saw him dying of the cruel wound,
Himself he would have slain through desperate grief;
What said not Phoebus, that might yield relief:
To cease his mourning he the boy desired,
Or mourn no more than such a loss required;
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