But Nature, ftronger than the Gods above,
Refufes her affiftance to my love;
She fets the bar that causes all my pain:
One gift refus'd makes all their bounty vain.
And now the happy day is juft at hand,
To bind our hearts in Hymen's holy band:
Our hearts, but not our bodies: 'Thus accurs'd,
In midft of water I complain of thirst.
Why com'ft thou, Juno, to thefe barren rites,
To blefs a bed defrauded of delights?
And why should Hymen lift his torch on high,
To fee two brides in cold embraces lie?
Thus love-fick Iphis her vain paffion mourns;
With equal ardor fair Ianthe burns,
Invoking Hymen's name, and Juno's power,
To fpeed the work, and hafte the happy hour.
She hopes, while Telethufa fears the day,
And ftrives to interpofe fome new delay:
Now feigns a ficknefs, now is in a fright
For this bad omen, or that boding fight.
But, having done whate'er fhe could devife,
And empty'd all her magazine of lies,
The time approach'd; the next enfuing day
The fatal fecret must to light betray.
Then Teleṭhufa had recourse to prayer,
She and her daughter with difhevel'd hair;
Trembling with fear, great Ifis they ador'd,'
Embrac'd her altar, and her aid implor'd.
Fair queen, who doft on fruitful Egypt fmile,
Who fway'ft the fceptre of the Pharian ifle,
And feyen-fold falls of difemboguing Nile;
Relieve, in this our last distress, she said,
A fuppliant mother, and a mournful maid.
Thou, Goddess, thou wert present to my fight;
Reveal'd I faw thee by thy own fair light:
I faw thee in my dream, as now I see,
With all thy marks of awful majefty:
The glorious train that compafs'd thee around;
And heard the hollow timbrel's holy found.
Thy words I noted; which I ftill retain;
Let not thy facred oracles be vain.
That Iphis lives, that I myself am free
From fhame, and punishment, I owe to thee.
On thy protection all our hopes depend:
Thy counsel fav'd us, let thy power defend.
Her tears purfu'd her words; and while she spoke The Goddess nodded, and her altar fhook:
The temple doors, as with a blast of wind,
Were heard to clap; the lunar horns that bind
The brows of Ifis caft a blaze around;
The trembling timbrel made a murmuring found.
Some hopes these happy omens did impart;
Forth went the mother with a beating heart,
Not much in fear, nor fully fatisfy'd;
But Iphis follow'd with a larger ftride:
The whiteness of her skin forfook her face;
Her looks embolden'd with an awful grace;
Her features and her ftrength together grew,
And her long hair to curling locks withdrew.
Her sparkling eyes with manly vigour shone;
Big was her voice, audacious was her tone.
The latent parts, at length reveal'd, began
To fhoot, and fpread, and burnish into man.
The maid becomes a youth; no more delay
Your vows, but look, and confidently pay.
Their gifts the parents to the temple bear:
The votive tables this infcription wear:
Iphis, the
man, has to the Goddess paid
The vows, that Iphis offer'd when a maid.
Now when the ftar of day had fhewn his face,
Venus and Juno with their prefence grace
The nuptial rites, and Hymen from above
Defcended to complete their happy love;
The Gods of marriage lend their mutual aid;
And the warm youth enjoys the lovely maid.
PYGMALION AND THE STATUE.
The Propatides, for their impudent behaviour, being turned into ftone by Venus, Pygmalion, prince of Cyprus, detefted all women for their fake, and resolved never to marry. He falls in love with a flatue of his own making, which is changed into a maid, whom he marries. One of his defcendants is Cinyras, the father of Myrrha: the daughter incestuously loves her own father; for which he is changed into a tree which bears her name. These two ftories immediately follow each other, and are admirably well connected.
PYGMALION, loathing their lafcivious life,
Abhorr'd all womankind, but most a wife:
So fingle chofe to live, and fhunn'd to wed,
Well pleas'd to want a confort of his bed:
Yet, fearing idlenefs, the nurse of ill,
In fculpture exercis'd his happy fkill;
And carv'd in ivory fuch a maid, fo fair,
As nature could not with his art compare,
Were fhe to work; but, in her own defence,
Must take her pattern here, and copy hence.
Pleas'd with his idol, he commends, admires,
Adores; and laft, the thing ador'd defires.
A very virgin in her face was feen,
And, had she mov'd, a living maid had been;
One would have thought he could have stirr'd; but 'ftrove
With modefty, and was afham'd to move.
Art, hid with art, fo well perform'd the cheat,
It caught the carver with his own deceit;
He knows 'tis madness, yet he must adore,
And ftill the more he knows it, loves the more:
The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft,
Which feels fo fmooth, that he believes it foft.
Fir'd with this thought, at once he strain'd the breast,
And on the lips a burning kifs imprefs'd.
'Tis true, the harden'd breast refifts the gripe,
And the cold lips return a kifs unripe:
But when retiring back, he look'd again,
To think it ivory was a thought too mean;
So would believe the kifs'd, and courting more,
Again embrac'd her naked body o'er;
And ftraining hard the ftatue, was afraid
His hands had made a dint, and hurt the maid:
Explor'd her, limb by limb, and fear'd to find
So rude a gripe had left a livid mark behind:
With flattery now he feeks her mind to move,
And now with gifts, the powerful bribes of love:
He furnishes her closet firft; and fills
The crowded shelves with rarities of shells;
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