She sigh'd, she wept, she low'd; 'twas all she could;
And with unkindness seem'd to tax the god.
Last, with an humble prayer she begg'd repose,
Or death at least to finish all her woes.
Jove heard her vows, and with a flattering look,
In her behalf to jealous Juno spoke.
He cast his arms about her neck, and said;
Dame, rest secure; no more thy nuptial bed
This nymph shall violate; by Styx I swear,
And every oath that binds the Thunderer.
The goddess was appeased; and at the word
Was lo to her former shape restored.
The rugged hair began to fall away;
The sweetness of her eyes did only stay,
Though not so large; her crooked horns decrease;
The wideness of her jaws and nostrils cease;
Her hoofs to hands return, in little space;
The five long taper fingers take their place;
And nothing of the heifer now is seen,
Beside the native whiteness of her skin.
Erected on her feet she walks again,
And two the duty of the four sustain.
She tries her tongue, her silence often breaks,
And fears her former lowings when she speaks:
A goddess now through all the Egyptian state,
And served by priests, who in white linen wait.
Her son was Epaphus, at length believed
The son of Jove and as a god received.
With sacrifice adored, and public prayers,
He common temples with his mother shares.
Equal in years, and rival in renown
With Epaphus, the youthful Phaeton
Like honour claims, and boasts his sire the Sun.
His haughty looks, and his assuming air,
The son of Isis could no longer bear;
Thou takest thy mother's word too far, said he, And hast usurp❜d thy boasted pedigree.
Go, base pretender tó a borrow'd name!
Thus tax'd, he blush'd with anger, and with shame;
But shame repress'd his rage: the daunted youth
Soon seeks his mother, and inquires the truth.
Mother, said he, this infamy was thrown
By Epaphus on you, and me your son.
He spoke in public, told it to my face,
Nor durst I vindicate the dire disgrace:
Even I, the bold, the sensible of wrong,
Restrain'd by shame, was forced to hold my tongue;
To hear an open slander, is a curse;
But not to find an answer, is a worse.
If I am heaven-begot, assert your son
By some sure sign, and make my father known,
To right my honour and redeem your own.
He said, and, saying, cast his arms about
Her neck, and begg'd her to resolve the doubt.
'Tis hard to judge if Climene were moved
More by his prayer, whom she so dearly loved,
Or more with fury fired, to find her name
Traduced, and made the sport of common fame.
She stretch'd her arms to heaven, and fix'd her eyes
On that fair planet that adorns the skies;
Now by those beams, said she, whose holy fires
Consume my breast, and kindle my desires;
By him, who sees us both, and cheers our sight,
By him, the public minister of light,
I swear that Sun begot thee; if I lie,
Let him his cheerful influence deny ;
Let him no more this perjured creature see,
And shine on all the world but only me.
If still you doubt your mother's innocence,
His eastern mansion is not far from hence;
With little pains you to his levee go,
And from himself your parentage may know.-
With joy the ambitious youth his mother heard,
And, eager for the journey, soon prepared.
He longs the world beneath him to survey,
To guide the chariot, and to give the day.
From Meroe's burning sands he bends his course,
Nor less in India feels his father's force;
His travel urging, till he came in sight,
And saw the palace by the purple light.
OUT OF THE EIGHTH BOOK OF
CONNECTION TO THE FORMER STORY.
Ovid, having told how Theseus had freed Athens from the tribute of children, which was imposed on them by Minos, King of Crete, by killing the Minotaur, here makes a digression to the story of Meleager and Atalanta, which is one of the most inartificial connections in all the Metamorphoses; for he only says, that Theseus obtained such honour from that combat, that all Greece had recourse to him in their necessities; and, amongst others, Calydon, though the hero of that country, prince Meleager, was then living.
FROM him the Calydonians sought relief;
Though valiant Meleagrus was their chief.
The cause, a boar, who ravaged far and near;
Of Cynthia's wrath, the avenging minister.
For Oenius with autumnal plenty bless'd,
By gifts to heaven his gratitude express'd;
Cull'd sheafs, to Ceres; to Lyæus, wine;
To Pan and Pales, offer'd sheep and kine;
And fat of olives to Minerva's shrine.
Beginning from the rural gods, his hand
Was liberal to the powers of high command
Each deity in every kind was bless'd,
Till at Diana's fane the invidious honour ceased.
Wrath touches even the gods; the Queen of Night,
Fired with disdain, and jealous of her right,
Unhonour'd though I am, at least, said she,
Not unrevenged that impious act shall be.
Swift as the word, she sped the boar away,
With charge on those devoted fields to prey.
No larger bulls the Egyptian pastures feed,
And none so large Sicilian meadows breed:
His eye-balls glare with fire, suffused with blood;
His neck shoots up a thick-set thorny wood;
His bristled back a trench impaled appears,
And stands erected, like a field of spears;
Froth fills his chaps, he sends a grunting sound,
And part he churns, and part befoams the ground;
For tusks with Indian elephants he strove,
And Jove's own thunder from his mouth he drove.
He burns the leaves; the scorching blast invades
The tender corn, and shrivels up the blades;
Or, suffering not their yellow beards to rear,
He tramples down the spikes, and intercepts the year.
In vain the barns expect their promised load,
Nor barns at home, nor ricks are heap'd abroad;
In vain the hinds the thrashing-floor prepare,
And exercise their flails in empty air.
With olives ever green the ground is strow'd,
And grapes ungather'd shed their
Amid the fold he rages, nor the sheep
Their shepherds, nor the grooms their bulls, can keep. From fields to walls the frighted rabble run, Nor think themselves secure within the town; Till Melegarus, and his chosen crew,
Contemn the danger, and the praise pursue.
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