PYGMALION AND THE STATUE.
The Propotides, for their impudent behaviour, being turned into stone by Venus, Pygmalion, Prince of Cyprus, detested all women for their sake, and resolved never to marry. He falls in love with a statue of his own making, which is changed into a maid, whom he marries. One of his descendants is Cinyrus, the father of Myrrha; the daughter incestuously loves her own father, for which she is changed into a tree, which bears her name. These two stories immediately follow each other, and are admirably well connected.
PYGMALION, loathing their lascivious life,
Abhorr'd all womankind, but most a wife;
So single chose to live, and shunn'd to wed,
Well pleased to want a consort of his bed.
Yet fearing idleness, the nurse of ill,
In sculpture exercised his happy skill;
And carved in ivory such a maid, so fair,
As nature could not with his art compare,
Were she to work; but in her own defence,
Must take her pattern here, and copy hence.
Pleased with his idol, he commends, admires,
Adores; and last, the thing adored admires.
A very virgin in her face was seen,
And, had she moved, a living maid had been :
One would have thought she could have stirr'd, but
With modesty, and was ashamed to move.
Art, hid with art, so well perform'd the cheat,
It caught the carver with his own deceit.
He knows 'tis madness, yet he must adore,
And still the more he knows it, loves the more;
The flesh, or what so seem'd, he touches oft,
Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft.
Fired with this thought, at once he strain'd the breast,
And on the lips a burning kiss impress'd.
'Tis true, the harden'd breast resists the gripe,
And the cold lips return a kiss unripe;
But when, retiring back, he look'd again,
To think it ivory was a thought too mean;
So would believe she kiss'd, and courting more,
Again embraced her naked body o'er;
And, straining hard the statue, was afraid
His hands had made a dint, and hurt the maid;
Explored her limb by limb, and fear'd to find
So rude a gripe had left a livid mark behind.
With flattery now he seeks her mind to move,
And now with gifts, the powerful bribes of love:
He furnishes her closet first, and fills
The crowded shelves with rarities of shells;
Adds orient pearls, which from the conchs he drew,
And all the sparkling stones of various hue;
And parrots, imitating human tongue,*
And singing-birds in silver cages hung;
* The parrots arc of Dryden's introduction.
And every fragrant flower, and odorous green,
Were sorted well, with lumps of amberlaid between.
Rich fashionable robes her person deck;
Pendents her ears, and pearls adorn her neck;
Her taper'd fingers too with rings are graced,
And an embroider'd zone surrounds her slender
waste.
Thus like a queen array'd, so richly dress'd,
Beauteous she shew'd, but naked shew'd the best.
Then from the floor he raised a royal bed, a
With coverings of Sidonian purple spread;
The solemn rites perform'd, he calls her bride,
With blandishments invites her to his side,
And as she were with vital sense possess'd,
Her head did on a plumy pillow rest.
The feast of Venus came, a solemn day,
To which the Cypriots due devotion pay;
With gilded horns the milk-white heifers led,
Slaughter'd before the sacred altars bled;
Pygmalion, offering, first approach'd the shrine,
And then with prayers implored the powers divine;
Almighty Gods, if all we mortals want,
If all we can require, be yours to grant,
Make this fair statue mine, he would have said,
But changed his words for shame, and only pray'd,
Give me the likeness of my Ivory Maid!—
The golden Goddess, present at the prayer,
Well knew he meant the inanimated fair,
And gave the sign of granting his desire;
For thrice in cheerful flames ascends the fire.
The youth returning to his mistress, hies,
And impudent in hope, with ardent eyes,
And beating breast, by the dear statue lies.
He kisses her white lips, renews the bliss,
And looks and thinks they redden at the kiss;
He thought them warm before: nor longer stays,
But next his hand on her hard bosom lays;
Hard as it was, beginning to relent,
It seem'd the breast beneath his fingers bent;
He felt again, his fingers made a print,
"Twas flesh, but flesh so firm, it rose against the dint.
The pleasing task he fails not to renew;
Soft, and more soft, at every touch it grew;
Like pliant wax, when chafing hands reduce
The former mass to form, and frame to use.
He would believe, but yet is still in pain,
And tries his argument of sense again,
Presses the pulse, and feels the leaping vein.
Convinced, o'erjoyed, his studied thanks and praise,
To her, who made the miracle, he pays;
Then lips to lips he join'd; now freed from fear,
He found the savour of the kiss sincere.
At this the waken'd Image oped her
And view'd at once the light and lover with surprise.
The goddess, present at the match she made,
So bless'd the bed, such fruitfulness convey'd,
That ere ten moons had sharpen'd either horn,
-To crown their bliss, a lovely boy was born;
Paphos his name, who, grown to manhood, wall'd
The city Paphos, from the founder call'd.
There needs no connection of this story with the former; for the beginning of this immediately follows the end of the last. The reader is only to take notice, that Orpheus, who relates both, was by birth a Thracian; and his country far distant from Cyprus, where Myrrha was born, and from Arabia, whither she fled. You will see the reason of this note, soon after the first lines of this fable.
NOR him alone produced the fruitful queen;
But Cinyras, who like his sire had been
A happy prince, had he not been a sire.
Daughters and fathers, from my song retire!
I sing of horror; and could I prevail,
You should not hear, or not believe my tale.
Yet if the pleasure of my song be such,
That you will hear, and credit me too much,
Attentive listen to the last event,
And with the sin believe the punishment:
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