THE STORY OF

ACIS, POLYPHEMUS, AND GALATEA,

FROM THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

ACIS, the lovely youth, whose loss I mourn,
From Faunus and the nymph Symethis born,
Was both his parents' pleasure; but to me
Was all that love could make a lover be.
The Gods our minds in mutual bands did join: 5
I was his only joy, and he was mine.

10

Now fixteen fummers the fweet youth had feen ;
And doubtful down began to fhade his chin;
When Polyphemus first disturb'd our joy,
And lov'd me fiercely, as I lov'd the boy.
Afk not which paffion in my foul was higher,
My laft averfion, or my firft defire:
Nor this the greater was, nor that the lefs;
Both were alike, for both were in excefs.
Thee, Venus, thee both heaven and earth

obey;

15

Immenfe thy power, and boundless is thy fway.

The Cyclops, who defy'd th' ætherial throne,
And thought no thunder louder than his own,
The terror of the woods, and wilder far
Than wolves in plains, or bears in forefts are, 20
Th'inhuman hoft, who made his bloody feafts
On mangled members of his butcher'd guests,
Yet felt the force of love, and fierce defire,
And burnt for me with unrelenting fire:
Forgot his caverns, and his woolly care, 25
Affum'd the foftness of a lover's air;

And comb'd, with teeth of rakes, his rugged hair.

Now with a crooked scythe his beard he fleeks,
And mows the ftubborn ftubble of his cheeks:
Now in the cryftal ftream he looks, to try 30
His fimagres, and rolls his glaring eye.
His cruelty and thirst of blood are loft,
And ships fecurely fail along the coast.

The prophet Telemus (arriv'd by chance
Where Etna's fummits to the feas advance, 35
Who mark'd the tracks of ev'ry bird that flew,
And fure prefages from their flying drew)
Foretold the Cyclops, that Ulyffes' hand
In his broad eye should thrust a flaming brand.
The giant, with a scornful grin, reply'd,
Vain augur, thou haft falfly prophesy'd ;
Already Love his flaming brand has tost;
Looking on two fair eyes, my fight I lost.

40

Thus, warn'd in vain, with stalking pace he ftrode, And ftamp'd the margin of the briny flood 45 With heavy steps; and, weary, fought agen The cool retirement of his gloomy den.

50

55

A promontory, fharp'ning by degrees, Ends in a wedge, and overlooks the feas: On either fide, below, the water flows: This airy walk the giant-lover chofe; Here on the midft he fate; his flocks, unled, Their fhepherd follow'd, and fecurely fed. A pine fo burly, and of length fo vast, That failing fhips requir'd it for a mast, He wielded for a ftaff, his fteps to guide: But laid it by, his whistle while he try'd. A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth, Scarce made a pipe proportion'd to his mouth: Which when he gave it wind, the rocks around, And wat❜ry plains, the dreadful hifs refound. 61 I heard the ruffian fhepherd rudely blow, Where, in a hollow cave, I fat below; On Acis' bofom I my head reclin'd: And still preserve the poem in my mind. O lovely Galatea, whiter far Than falling fnows, and rifing lilies are; More flow'ry than the meads, as crystal bright; Erect as alders, and of equal height:

65

More wanton than a kid; more fleek thy skin, 70

Than orient fhells, that on the shores are feen:

Than apples fairer, when the boughs they lade; Pleafing, as winter funs, or fummer fhade: More grateful to the fight than goodly plains ; And fofter to the touch than down of fwans, 75 Or curds new turn'd; and fweeter to the taste Than fwelling grapes, that to the vintage hafte: More clear than ice, or running streams, that

ftray

Through garden plots, but ah! more swift than

they.

Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke

80

Than bullocks, unreclaim'd to bear the yoke:
And far more ftubborn than the knotted oak:
Like fliding streams, impoffible to hold;
Like them fallacious; like their fountains, cold:
More warping than the willow, to decline
My warm embrace; more brittle than the

vine ;

Immoveable, and fixt in thy difdain:

85

Rough, as thefe rocks, and of a harder grain;
More violent than is the rifing flood:
And the prais'd peacock is not half fo proud: 90
Fierce as the fire, and sharp as thistles are;
And more outrageous than a mother-bear:
Deaf as the billows to the vows I make;
And more revengeful than a trodden fnake:
In swiftnefs fleeter than the flying hind,
Or driven tempefts, or the driving wind.

95

All other faults with patience I can bear;
But swiftness is the vice I only fear.

100

Yet, if you knew me well, you would not shun My love, but to my wifh'd embraces run: Would languish in your turn, and court my stay; And much repent of your unwife delay.

My palace, in the living rock, is made By nature's hand; a spacious pleasing shade; Which neither heat can pierce, nor cold in

vade.

105

My garden fill'd with fruits you may behold,
*And grapes
in clusters, imitating gold;
Some blushing bunches of a purple hue :
And these, and thofe, are all referv'd for you.
Red strawberries in fhades expecting stand, 110
Proud to be gather'd by fo white a hand.
Autumnal cornels latter fruit provide,

And plumbs, to tempt you, turn their gloffy fide:

Not those of common kinds; but fuch alone,
As in Phæacian orchards might have grown: 115
Nor chefnuts shall be wanting to your food,
Nor garden-fruits, nor wildings of the wood;
The laden boughs for you alone shall bear;
And yours shall be the product of the year. 119
The flocks, you see, are all my own;
The reft that woods and winding vallies hide;
And those that folded in the caves abide.

befide