Metamorphoses

The Creation of the World

Of bodies chang'd to various forms, I
sing: Ye Gods, from whom these miracles
did spring, Inspire my numbers with
coelestial heat; 'Till I my long
laborious work compleat: And add
perpetual tenour to my rhimes, Deduc'd
from Nature's birth, to Caesar's times.
Before the seas, and this terrestrial
ball, And Heav'n's high canopy, that
covers all, One was the face of Nature;
if a face: Rather a rude and indigested
mass: A lifeless lump, unfashion'd, and
unfram'd, Of jarring seeds; and justly
Chaos nam'd. No sun was lighted up, the
world to view; No moon did yet her
blunted horns renew: Nor yet was Earth
suspended in the sky, Nor pois'd, did on
her own foundations lye: Nor seas about
the shores their arms had thrown; But
earth, and air, and water, were in one.
Thus air was void of light, and earth
unstable, And water's dark abyss
unnavigable. No certain form on any was
imprest; All were confus'd, and each
disturb'd the rest. For hot and cold
were in one body fixt; And soft with
hard, and light with heavy mixt.

But God, or Nature, while they thus
contend, To these intestine discords put
an end: Then earth from air, and seas
from earth were driv'n, And grosser air
sunk from aetherial Heav'n. Thus
disembroil'd, they take their proper
place; The next of kin, contiguously
embrace; And foes are sunder'd, by a
larger space. The force of fire ascended
first on high, And took its dwelling in
the vaulted sky: Then air succeeds, in
lightness next to fire; Whose atoms from
unactive earth retire. Earth sinks
beneath, and draws a num'rous throng Of
pondrous, thick, unwieldy seeds along.
About her coasts, unruly waters roar;
And rising, on a ridge, insult the
shore. Thus when the God, whatever God
was he, Had form'd the whole, and made
the parts agree, That no unequal
portions might be found, He moulded
Earth into a spacious round: Then with a
breath, he gave the winds to blow; And
bad the congregated waters flow. He adds
the running springs, and standing lakes;
And bounding banks for winding rivers
makes. Some part, in Earth are swallow'd
up, the most In ample oceans,
disembogu'd, are lost. He shades the
woods, the vallies he restrains With
rocky mountains, and extends the plains.


And as five zones th' aetherial regions
bind, Five, correspondent, are to Earth
assign'd: The sun with rays, directly
darting down, Fires all beneath, and
fries the middle zone: The two beneath
the distant poles, complain Of endless
winter, and perpetual rain. Betwixt th'
extreams, two happier climates hold The
temper that partakes of hot, and cold.
The fields of liquid air, inclosing all,
Surround the compass of this earthly
ball: The lighter parts lye next the
fires above; The grosser near the watry
surface move: Thick clouds are spread,
and storms engender there, And thunder's
voice, which wretched mortals fear, And
winds that on their wings cold winter
bear. Nor were those blustring brethren
left at large, On seas, and shores,
their fury to discharge: Bound as they
are, and circumscrib'd in place, They
rend the world, resistless, where they
pass; And mighty marks of mischief leave
behind; Such is the rage of their
tempestuous kind. First Eurus to the
rising morn is sent (The regions of the
balmy continent); And Eastern realms,
where early Persians run, To greet the
blest appearance of the sun. Westward,
the wanton Zephyr wings his flight;
Pleas'd with the remnants of departing
light: Fierce Boreas, with his
off-spring, issues forth T' invade the
frozen waggon of the North. While
frowning Auster seeks the Southern
sphere; And rots, with endless rain, th'
unwholsom year.

High o'er the clouds, and empty realms
of wind, The God a clearer space for
Heav'n design'd; Where fields of light,
and liquid aether flow; Purg'd from the
pondrous dregs of Earth below.

Scarce had the Pow'r distinguish'd
these, when streight The stars, no
longer overlaid with weight, Exert their
heads, from underneath the mass; And
upward shoot, and kindle as they pass,
And with diffusive light adorn their
heav'nly place. Then, every void of
Nature to supply, With forms of Gods he
fills the vacant sky: New herds of
beasts he sends, the plains to share:
New colonies of birds, to people air:
And to their oozy beds, the finny fish
repair.

A creature of a more exalted kind Was
wanting yet, and then was Man design'd:
Conscious of thought, of more capacious
breast, For empire form'd, and fit to
rule the rest: Whether with particles of
heav'nly fire The God of Nature did his
soul inspire, Or Earth, but new divided
from the sky, And, pliant, still
retain'd th' aetherial energy: Which
wise Prometheus temper'd into paste,
And, mixt with living streams, the
godlike image cast.

Thus, while the mute creation downward
bend Their sight, and to their earthly
mother tend, Man looks aloft; and with
erected eyes Beholds his own hereditary
skies. From such rude principles our
form began; And earth was metamorphos'd
into Man.

The Golden Age

The golden age was first; when Man yet
new, No rule but uncorrupted reason
knew: And, with a native bent, did good
pursue. Unforc'd by punishment, un-aw'd
by fear, His words were simple, and his
soul sincere; Needless was written law,
where none opprest: The law of Man was
written in his breast: No suppliant
crowds before the judge appear'd, No
court erected yet, nor cause was heard:
But all was safe, for conscience was
their guard. The mountain-trees in
distant prospect please, E're yet the
pine descended to the seas: E're sails
were spread, new oceans to explore: And
happy mortals, unconcern'd for more,
Confin'd their wishes to their native
shore. No walls were yet; nor fence, nor
mote, nor mound, Nor drum was heard, nor
trumpet's angry sound: Nor swords were
forg'd; but void of care and crime, The
soft creation slept away their time. The
teeming Earth, yet guiltless of the
plough, And unprovok'd, did fruitful
stores allow: Content with food, which
Nature freely bred, On wildings and on
strawberries they fed; Cornels and
bramble-berries gave the rest, And
falling acorns furnish'd out a feast.
The flow'rs unsown, in fields and
meadows reign'd: And Western winds
immortal spring maintain'd. In following
years, the bearded corn ensu'd From
Earth unask'd, nor was that Earth
renew'd. From veins of vallies, milk and
nectar broke; And honey sweating through
the pores of oak.

 The Silver Age

But when good Saturn, banish'd from
above, Was driv'n to Hell, the world was
under Jove. Succeeding times a silver
age behold, Excelling brass, but more
excell'd by gold. Then summer, autumn,
winter did appear: And spring was but a
season of the year. The sun his annual
course obliquely made, Good days
contracted, and enlarg'd the bad. Then
air with sultry heats began to glow; The
wings of winds were clogg'd with ice and
snow; And shivering mortals, into houses
driv'n, Sought shelter from th'
inclemency of Heav'n. Those houses,
then, were caves, or homely sheds; With
twining oziers fenc'd; and moss their
beds. Then ploughs, for seed, the
fruitful furrows broke, And oxen
labour'd first beneath the yoke.

The Brazen Age

To this came next in course, the brazen
age: A warlike offspring, prompt to
bloody rage, Not impious yet...

The Iron Age

Hard steel succeeded then: And stubborn
as the metal, were the men. Truth,
modesty, and shame, the world forsook:
Fraud, avarice, and force, their places
took. Then sails were spread, to every
wind that blew. Raw were the sailors,
and the depths were new: Trees, rudely
hollow'd, did the waves sustain; E're
ships in triumph plough'd the watry
plain.

Then land-marks limited to each his
right: For all before was common as the
light. Nor was the ground alone requir'd
to bear Her annual income to the crooked
share, But greedy mortals, rummaging her
store, Digg'd from her entrails first
the precious oar; Which next to Hell,
the prudent Gods had laid; And that
alluring ill, to sight display'd. Thus
cursed steel, and more accursed gold,
Gave mischief birth, and made that
mischief bold: And double death did
wretched Man invade, By steel assaulted,
and by gold betray'd, Now (brandish'd
weapons glittering in their hands)
Mankind is broken loose from moral
bands; No rights of hospitality remain:
The guest, by him who harbour'd him, is
slain, The son-in-law pursues the
father's life; The wife her husband
murders, he the wife. The step-dame
poyson for the son prepares; The son
inquires into his father's years. Faith
flies, and piety in exile mourns; And
justice, here opprest, to Heav'n
returns.

The Giants' War

Nor were the Gods themselves more safe
above; Against beleaguer'd Heav'n the
giants move. Hills pil'd on hills, on
mountains mountains lie, To make their
mad approaches to the skie. 'Till Jove,
no longer patient, took his time T'
avenge with thunder their audacious
crime: Red light'ning plaid along the
firmament, And their demolish'd works to
pieces rent. Sing'd with the flames, and
with the bolts transfixt, With native
Earth, their blood the monsters mixt;
The blood, indu'd with animating heat,
Did in th' impregnant Earth new sons
beget: They, like the seed from which
they sprung, accurst, Against the Gods
immortal hatred nurst, An impious,
arrogant, and cruel brood; Expressing
their original from blood.

Which when the king of Gods beheld from
high (Withal revolving in his memory,
What he himself had found on Earth of
late, Lycaon's guilt, and his inhumane
treat), He sigh'd; nor longer with his
pity strove; But kindled to a wrath
becoming Jove:

Then call'd a general council of the
Gods; Who summon'd, issue from their
blest abodes, And fill th' assembly with
a shining train. A way there is, in
Heav'n's expanded plain, Which, when the
skies are clear, is seen below, And
mortals, by the name of Milky, know. The
ground-work is of stars; through which
the road Lyes open to the Thunderer's
abode: The Gods of greater nations dwell
around, And, on the right and left, the
palace bound; The commons where they
can: the nobler sort With winding-doors
wide open, front the court. This place,
as far as Earth with Heav'n may vie, I
dare to call the Louvre of the skie.
When all were plac'd, in seats
distinctly known, And he, their father,
had assum'd the throne, Upon his iv'ry
sceptre first he leant, Then shook his
head, that shook the firmament: Air,
Earth, and seas, obey'd th' almighty
nod; And, with a gen'ral fear, confess'd
the God. At length, with indignation,
thus he broke His awful silence, and the
Pow'rs bespoke.

I was not more concern'd in that debate
Of empire, when our universal state Was
put to hazard, and the giant race Our
captive skies were ready to imbrace: For
tho' the foe was fierce, the seeds of
all Rebellion, sprung from one original;
Now, wheresoever ambient waters glide,
All are corrupt, and all must be
destroy'd. Let me this holy protestation
make, By Hell, and Hell's inviolable
lake, I try'd whatever in the godhead
lay: But gangren'd members must be lopt
away, Before the nobler parts are
tainted to decay. There dwells below, a
race of demi-gods, Of nymphs in waters,
and of fawns in woods: Who, tho' not
worthy yet, in Heav'n to live, Let 'em,
at least, enjoy that Earth we give. Can
these be thought securely lodg'd below,
When I my self, who no superior know, I,
who have Heav'n and Earth at my command,
Have been attempted by Lycaon's hand?

At this a murmur through the synod went,
And with one voice they vote his
punishment. Thus, when conspiring
traytors dar'd to doom The fall of
Caesar, and in him of Rome, The nations
trembled with a pious fear; All anxious
for their earthly Thunderer: Nor was
their care, o Caesar, less esteem'd By
thee, than that of Heav'n for Jove was
deem'd: Who with his hand, and voice,
did first restrain Their murmurs, then
resum'd his speech again. The Gods to
silence were compos'd, and sate With
reverence, due to his superior state.

Cancel your pious cares; already he Has
paid his debt to justice, and to me. Yet
what his crimes, and what my judgments
were, Remains for me thus briefly to
declare. The clamours of this vile
degenerate age, The cries of orphans,
and th' oppressor's rage, Had reach'd
the stars: I will descend, said I, In
hope to prove this loud complaint a lye.
Disguis'd in humane shape, I travell'd
round The world, and more than what I
heard, I found. O'er Maenalus I took my
steepy way, By caverns infamous for
beasts of prey: Then cross'd Cyllene,
and the piny shade More infamous, by
curst Lycaon made: Dark night had
cover'd Heaven, and Earth, before I
enter'd his unhospitable door. Just at
my entrance, I display'd the sign That
somewhat was approaching of divine. The
prostrate people pray; the tyrant grins;
And, adding prophanation to his sins,
I'll try, said he, and if a God appear,
To prove his deity shall cost him dear.
'Twas late; the graceless wretch my
death prepares, When I shou'd soundly
sleep, opprest with cares: This dire
experiment he chose, to prove If I were
mortal, or undoubted Jove: But first he
had resolv'd to taste my pow'r; Not long
before, but in a luckless hour, Some
legates, sent from the Molossian state,
Were on a peaceful errand come to treat:
Of these he murders one, he boils the
flesh; And lays the mangled morsels in a
dish: Some part he roasts; then serves
it up, so drest, And bids me welcome to
this humane feast. Mov'd with disdain,
the table I o'er-turn'd; And with
avenging flames, the palace burn'd. The
tyrant in a fright, for shelter gains
The neighb'ring fields, and scours along
the plains. Howling he fled, and fain he
wou'd have spoke; But humane voice his
brutal tongue forsook. About his lips
the gather'd foam he churns, And,
breathing slaughters, still with rage he
burns, But on the bleating flock his
fury turns. His mantle, now his hide,
with rugged hairs Cleaves to his back; a
famish'd face he bears; His arms
descend, his shoulders sink away To
multiply his legs for chase of prey. He
grows a wolf, his hoariness remains, And
the same rage in other members reigns.
His eyes still sparkle in a narr'wer
space: His jaws retain the grin, and
violence of his face

This was a single ruin, but not one
Deserves so just a punishment alone.
Mankind's a monster, and th' ungodly
times Confed'rate into guilt, are sworn
to crimes. All are alike involv'd in
ill, and all Must by the same relentless
fury fall. Thus ended he; the greater
Gods assent; By clamours urging his
severe intent; The less fill up the cry
for punishment. Yet still with pity they
remember Man; And mourn as much as
heav'nly spirits can. They ask, when
those were lost of humane birth, What he
wou'd do with all this waste of Earth:
If his dispeopl'd world he would resign
To beasts, a mute, and more ignoble
line; Neglected altars must no longer
smoke, If none were left to worship, and
invoke. To whom the Father of the Gods
reply'd, Lay that unnecessary fear
aside: Mine be the care, new people to
provide. I will from wondrous principles
ordain A race unlike the first, and try
my skill again.

Already had he toss'd the flaming brand;
And roll'd the thunder in his spacious
hand; Preparing to discharge on seas and
land: But stopt, for fear, thus
violently driv'n, The sparks should
catch his axle-tree of Heav'n.
Remembring in the fates, a time when
fire Shou'd to the battlements of Heaven
aspire, And all his blazing worlds above
shou'd burn; And all th' inferior globe
to cinders turn. His dire artill'ry thus
dismist, he bent His thoughts to some
securer punishment: Concludes to pour a
watry deluge down; And what he durst not
burn, resolves to drown.

The northern breath, that freezes
floods, he binds; With all the race of
cloud-dispelling winds: The south he
loos'd, who night and horror brings; And
foggs are shaken from his flaggy wings.
From his divided beard two streams he
pours, His head, and rheumy eyes distill
in show'rs, With rain his robe, and
heavy mantle flow: And lazy mists are
lowring on his brow; Still as he swept
along, with his clench'd fist He
squeez'd the clouds, th' imprison'd
clouds resist: The skies, from pole to
pole, with peals resound; And show'rs
inlarg'd, come pouring on the ground.
Then, clad in colours of a various dye,
Junonian Iris breeds a new supply To
feed the clouds: impetuous rain
descends; The bearded corn beneath the
burden bends: Defrauded clowns deplore
their perish'd grain; And the long
labours of the year are vain.

Nor from his patrimonial Heaven alone Is
Jove content to pour his vengeance down;
Aid from his brother of the seas he
craves, To help him with auxiliary
waves. The watry tyrant calls his brooks
and floods, Who rowl from mossie caves
(their moist abodes); And with perpetual
urns his palace fill: To whom in brief,
he thus imparts his will.

Small exhortation needs; your pow'rs
employ: And this bad world, so Jove
requires, destroy. Let loose the reins
to all your watry store: Bear down the
damms, and open ev'ry door.

The floods, by Nature enemies to land,
And proudly swelling with their new
command, Remove the living stones, that
stopt their way, And gushing from their
source, augment the sea. Then, with his
mace, their monarch struck the ground;
With inward trembling Earth receiv'd the
wound; And rising streams a ready
passage found. Th' expanded waters
gather on the plain: They float the
fields, and over-top the grain; Then
rushing onwards, with a sweepy sway,
Bear flocks, and folds, and lab'ring
hinds away. Nor safe their dwellings
were, for, sap'd by floods, Their houses
fell upon their houshold Gods. The solid
piles, too strongly built to fall, High
o'er their heads, behold a watry wall:
Now seas and Earth were in confusion
lost; A world of waters, and without a
coast.

One climbs a cliff; one in his boat is
born: And ploughs above, where late he
sow'd his corn. Others o'er chimney-tops
and turrets row, And drop their anchors
on the meads below: Or downward driv'n,
they bruise the tender vine, Or tost
aloft, are knock'd against a pine. And
where of late the kids had cropt the
grass, The monsters of the deep now take
their place. Insulting Nereids on the
cities ride, And wond'ring dolphins o'er
the palace glide. On leaves, and masts
of mighty oaks they brouze; And their
broad fins entangle in the boughs. The
frighted wolf now swims amongst the
sheep; The yellow lion wanders in the
deep: His rapid force no longer helps
the boar: The stag swims faster, than he
ran before. The fowls, long beating on
their wings in vain, Despair of land,
and drop into the main. Now hills, and
vales no more distinction know; And
levell'd Nature lies oppress'd below.
The most of mortals perish in the flood:
The small remainder dies for want of
food.

A mountain of stupendous height there
stands Betwixt th' Athenian and Boeotian
lands, The bound of fruitful fields,
while fields they were, But then a field
of waters did appear: Parnassus is its
name; whose forky rise Mounts thro' the
clouds, and mates the lofty skies. High
on the summit of this dubious cliff,
Deucalion wafting, moor'd his little
skiff. He with his wife were only left
behind Of perish'd Man; they two were
human kind. The mountain nymphs, and
Themis they adore, And from her oracles
relief implore. The most upright of
mortal men was he; The most sincere, and
holy woman, she.

When Jupiter, surveying Earth from high,
Beheld it in a lake of water lie, That
where so many millions lately liv'd, But
two, the best of either sex, surviv'd;
He loos'd the northern wind; fierce
Boreas flies To puff away the clouds,
and purge the skies: Serenely, while he
blows, the vapours driv'n, Discover
Heav'n to Earth, and Earth to Heav'n.
The billows fall, while Neptune lays his
mace On the rough sea, and smooths its
furrow'd face. Already Triton, at his
call, appears Above the waves; a Tyrian
robe he wears; And in his hand a crooked
trumpet bears. The soveraign bids him
peaceful sounds inspire, And give the
waves the signal to retire. His writhen
shell he takes; whose narrow vent Grows
by degrees into a large extent, Then
gives it breath; the blast with doubling
sound, Runs the wide circuit of the
world around: The sun first heard it, in
his early east, And met the rattling
ecchos in the west. The waters, listning
to the trumpet's roar, Obey the summons,
and forsake the shore.

A thin circumference of land appears;
And Earth, but not at once, her visage
rears, And peeps upon the seas from
upper grounds; The streams, but just
contain'd within their bounds, By slow
degrees into their channels crawl; And
Earth increases, as the waters fall. In
longer time the tops of trees appear,
Which mud on their dishonour'd branches
bear.

At length the world was all restor'd to
view; But desolate, and of a sickly hue:
Nature beheld her self, and stood
aghast, A dismal desart, and a silent
waste.

Which when Deucalion, with a piteous
look Beheld, he wept, and thus to Pyrrha
spoke: Oh wife, oh sister, oh of all thy
kind The best, and only creature left
behind, By kindred, love, and now by
dangers joyn'd; Of multitudes, who
breath'd the common air, We two remain;
a species in a pair: The rest the seas
have swallow'd; nor have we Ev'n of this
wretched life a certainty. The clouds
are still above; and, while I speak, A
second deluge o'er our heads may break.
Shou'd I be snatcht from hence, and thou
remain, Without relief, or partner of
thy pain, How cou'dst thou such a
wretched life sustain? Shou'd I be left,
and thou be lost, the sea That bury'd
her I lov'd, shou'd bury me. Oh cou'd
our father his old arts inspire, And
make me heir of his informing fire, That
so I might abolisht Man retrieve, And
perisht people in new souls might live.
But Heav'n is pleas'd, nor ought we to
complain, That we, th' examples of
mankind, remain. He said; the careful
couple joyn their tears: And then invoke
the Gods, with pious prayers. Thus, in
devotion having eas'd their grief, From
sacred oracles they seek relief; And to
Cephysus' brook their way pursue: The
stream was troubled, but the ford they
knew; With living waters, in the
fountain bred, They sprinkle first their
garments, and their head, Then took the
way, which to the temple led. The roofs
were all defil'd with moss, and mire,
The desart altars void of solemn fire.
Before the gradual, prostrate they
ador'd; The pavement kiss'd; and thus
the saint implor'd.

O righteous Themis, if the Pow'rs above
By pray'rs are bent to pity, and to
love; If humane miseries can move their
mind; If yet they can forgive, and yet
be kind; Tell how we may restore, by
second birth, Mankind, and people
desolated Earth. Then thus the gracious
Goddess, nodding, said; Depart, and with
your vestments veil your head: And
stooping lowly down, with losen'd zones,
Throw each behind your backs, your
mighty mother's bones.

Amaz'd the pair, and mute with wonder
stand, 'Till Pyrrha first refus'd the
dire command. Forbid it Heav'n, said
she, that I shou'd tear Those holy
reliques from the sepulcher. They
ponder'd the mysterious words again, For
some new sense; and long they sought in
vain: At length Deucalion clear'd his
cloudy brow, And said, the dark Aenigma
will allow A meaning, which, if well I
understand, From sacrilege will free the
God's command: This Earth our mighty
mother is, the stones In her capacious
body, are her bones: These we must cast
behind. With hope, and fear, The woman
did the new solution hear: The man
diffides in his own augury, And doubts
the Gods; yet both resolve to try.
Descending from the mount, they first
unbind Their vests, and veil'd, they
cast the stones behind: The stones (a
miracle to mortal view, But long
tradition makes it pass for true) Did
first the rigour of their kind expel,
And suppled into softness, as they fell;
Then swell'd, and swelling, by degrees
grew warm; And took the rudiments of
human form. Imperfect shapes: in marble
such are seen, When the rude chizzel
does the man begin; While yet the
roughness of the stone remains, Without
the rising muscles, and the veins. The
sappy parts, and next resembling juice,
Were turn'd to moisture, for the body's
use: Supplying humours, blood, and
nourishment; The rest, too solid to
receive a bent, Converts to bones; and
what was once a vein, Its former name
and Nature did retain. By help of pow'r
divine, in little space, What the man
threw, assum'd a manly face; And what
the wife, renew'd the female race. Hence
we derive our nature; born to bear
Laborious life; and harden'd into care.


The rest of animals, from teeming Earth
Produc'd, in various forms receiv'd
their birth. The native moisture, in its
close retreat, Digested by the sun's
aetherial heat, As in a kindly womb,
began to breed: Then swell'd, and
quicken'd by the vital seed. And some in
less, and some in longer space, Were
ripen'd into form, and took a sev'ral
face. Thus when the Nile from Pharian
fields is fled, And seeks, with ebbing
tides, his ancient bed, The fat manure
with heav'nly fire is warm'd; And
crusted creatures, as in wombs, are
form'd; These, when they turn the glebe,
the peasants find; Some rude, and yet
unfinish'd in their kind: Short of their
limbs, a lame imperfect birth: One half
alive; and one of lifeless earth.

For heat, and moisture, when in bodies
join'd, The temper that results from
either kind Conception makes; and
fighting 'till they mix, Their mingled
atoms in each other fix. Thus Nature's
hand the genial bed prepares With
friendly discord, and with fruitful
wars.

From hence the surface of the ground,
with mud And slime besmear'd (the faeces
of the flood), Receiv'd the rays of
Heav'n: and sucking in The seeds of
heat, new creatures did begin: Some were
of sev'ral sorts produc'd before, But of
new monsters, Earth created more.
Unwillingly, but yet she brought to
light Thee, Python too, the wondring
world to fright, And the new nations,
with so dire a sight: So monstrous was
his bulk, so large a space Did his vast
body, and long train embrace. Whom
Phoebus basking on a bank espy'd; E're
now the God his arrows had not try'd But
on the trembling deer, or mountain goat;
At this new quarry he prepares to shoot.
Though ev'ry shaft took place, he spent
the store Of his full quiver; and 'twas
long before Th' expiring serpent
wallow'd in his gore. Then, to preserve
the fame of such a deed, For Python
slain, he Pythian games decred. Where
noble youths for mastership shou'd
strive, To quoit, to run, and steeds,
and chariots drive. The prize was fame:
in witness of renown An oaken garland
did the victor crown. The laurel was not
yet for triumphs born; But every green
alike by Phoebus worn, Did, with
promiscuous grace, his flowing locks
adorn.

The Transformation of Daphne into a
Lawrel

The first and fairest of his loves, was
she Whom not blind fortune, but the dire
decree Of angry Cupid forc'd him to
desire: Daphne her name, and Peneus was
her sire. Swell'd with the pride, that
new success attends, He sees the
stripling, while his bow he bends, And
thus insults him: Thou lascivious boy,
Are arms like these for children to
employ? Know, such atchievements are my
proper claim; Due to my vigour, and
unerring aim: Resistless are my shafts,
and Python late In such a feather'd
death, has found his fate. Take up the
torch (and lay my weapons by), With that
the feeble souls of lovers fry. To whom
the son of Venus thus reply'd, Phoebus,
thy shafts are sure on all beside, But
mine of Phoebus, mine the fame shall be
Of all thy conquests, when I conquer
thee.

He said, and soaring, swiftly wing'd his
flight: Nor stopt but on Parnassus' airy
height. Two diff'rent shafts he from his
quiver draws; One to repel desire, and
one to cause. One shaft is pointed with
refulgent gold: To bribe the love, and
make the lover bold: One blunt, and tipt
with lead, whose base allay Provokes
disdain, and drives desire away. The
blunted bolt against the nymph he drest:
But with the sharp transfixt Apollo's
breast.

Th' enamour'd deity pursues the chace;
The scornful damsel shuns his loath'd
embrace: In hunting beasts of prey, her
youth employs; And Phoebe rivals in her
rural joys. With naked neck she goes,
and shoulders bare; And with a fillet
binds her flowing hair. By many suitors
sought, she mocks their pains, And still
her vow'd virginity maintains. Impatient
of a yoke, the name of bride She shuns,
and hates the joys, she never try'd. On
wilds, and woods, she fixes her desire:
Nor knows what youth, and kindly love,
inspire. Her father chides her oft: Thou
ow'st, says he, A husband to thy self, a
son to me. She, like a crime, abhors the
nuptial bed: She glows with blushes, and
she hangs her head. Then casting round
his neck her tender arms, Sooths him
with blandishments, and filial charms:
Give me, my Lord, she said, to live, and
die, A spotless maid, without the
marriage tye. 'Tis but a small request;
I beg no more Than what Diana's father
gave before. The good old sire was
soften'd to consent; But said her wish
wou'd prove her punishment: For so much
youth, and so much beauty join'd,
Oppos'd the state, which her desires
design'd.

The God of light, aspiring to her bed,
Hopes what he seeks, with flattering
fancies fed; And is, by his own oracles,
mis-led. And as in empty fields the
stubble burns, Or nightly travellers,
when day returns, Their useless torches
on dry hedges throw, That catch the
flames, and kindle all the row; So burns
the God, consuming in desire, And
feeding in his breast a fruitless fire:
Her well-turn'd neck he view'd (her neck
was bare) And on her shoulders her
dishevel'd hair; Oh were it comb'd, said
he, with what a grace Wou'd every waving
curl become her face! He view'd her
eyes, like heav'nly lamps that shone, He
view'd her lips, too sweet to view
alone, Her taper fingers, and her
panting breast; He praises all he sees,
and for the rest Believes the beauties
yet unseen are best: Swift as the wind,
the damsel fled away, Nor did for these
alluring speeches stay: Stay Nymph, he
cry'd, I follow, not a foe. Thus from
the lyon trips the trembling doe; Thus
from the wolf the frighten'd lamb
removes, And, from pursuing faulcons,
fearful doves; Thou shunn'st a God, and
shunn'st a God, that loves. Ah, lest
some thorn shou'd pierce thy tender
foot, Or thou shou'dst fall in flying my
pursuit! To sharp uneven ways thy steps
decline; Abate thy speed, and I will
bate of mine. Yet think from whom thou
dost so rashly fly; Nor basely born, nor
shepherd's swain am I. Perhaps thou
know'st not my superior state; And from
that ignorance proceeds thy hate. Me
Claros, Delphi, Tenedos obey; These
hands the Patareian scepter sway. The
King of Gods begot me: what shall be, Or
is, or ever was, in Fate, I see. Mine is
th' invention of the charming lyre;
Sweet notes, and heav'nly numbers, I
inspire. Sure is my bow, unerring is my
dart; But ah! more deadly his, who
pierc'd my heart. Med'cine is mine; what
herbs and simples grow In fields, and
forrests, all their pow'rs I know; And
am the great physician call'd, below.
Alas that fields and forrests can
afford. No remedies to heal their
love-sick lord! To cure the pains of
love, no plant avails: And his own
physick, the physician falls.

She heard not half; so furiously she
flies; And on her ear th' imperfect
accent dies, Fear gave her wings; and as
she fled, the wind Increasing, spread
her flowing hair behind; And left her
legs and thighs expos'd to view: Which
made the God more eager to pursue. The
God was young, and was too hotly bent To
lose his time in empty compliment: But
led by love, and fir'd with such a
sight, Impetuously pursu'd his near
delight.

As when th' impatient greyhound slipt
from far, Bounds o'er the glebe to
course the fearful hare, She in her
speed does all her safety lay; And he
with double speed pursues the prey;
O'er-runs her at the sitting turn, and
licks His chaps in vain, and blows upon
the flix: She scapes, and for the
neighb'ring covert strives, And gaining
shelter, doubts if yet she lives: If
little things with great we may compare,
Such was the God, and such the flying
fair, She urg'd by fear, her feet did
swiftly move, But he more swiftly, who
was urg'd by love. He gathers ground
upon her in the chace: Now breathes upon
her hair, with nearer pace; And just is
fast'ning on the wish'd embrace. The
nymph grew pale, and in a mortal fright,
Spent with the labour of so long a
flight; And now despairing, cast a
mournful look Upon the streams of her
paternal brook; Oh help, she cry'd, in
this extreamest need! If water Gods are
deities indeed: Gape Earth, and this
unhappy wretch intomb; Or change my
form, whence all my sorrows come. Scarce
had she finish'd, when her feet she
found Benumb'd with cold, and fasten'd
to the ground: A filmy rind about her
body grows; Her hair to leaves, her arms
extend to boughs: The nymph is all into
a lawrel gone; The smoothness of her
skin remains alone. Yet Phoebus loves
her still, and casting round Her bole,
his arms, some little warmth he found.
The tree still panted in th' unfinish'd
part: Not wholly vegetive, and heav'd
her heart. He fixt his lips upon the
trembling rind; It swerv'd aside, and
his embrace declin'd. To whom the God,
Because thou canst not be My mistress, I
espouse thee for my tree: Be thou the
prize of honour, and renown; The
deathless poet, and the poem, crown.
Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn,
And, after poets, be by victors worn.
Thou shalt returning Caesar's triumph
grace; When pomps shall in a long
procession pass. Wreath'd on the posts
before his palace wait; And be the
sacred guardian of the gate. Secure from
thunder, and unharm'd by Jove, Unfading
as th' immortal Pow'rs above: And as the
locks of Phoebus are unshorn, So shall
perpetual green thy boughs adorn. The
grateful tree was pleas'd with what he
said; And shook the shady honours of her
head.

The Transformation of Io into a Heyfer


An ancient forest in Thessalia grows;
Which Tempe's pleasing valley does
inclose: Through this the rapid Peneus
take his course; From Pindus rolling
with impetuous force; Mists from the
river's mighty fall arise: And deadly
damps inclose the cloudy skies:
Perpetual fogs are hanging o'er the
wood; And sounds of waters deaf the
neighbourhood. Deep, in a rocky cave, he
makes abode (A mansion proper for a
mourning God). Here he gives audience;
issuing out decrees To rivers, his
dependant deities. On this occasion
hither they resort; To pay their homage,
and to make their court. All doubtful,
whether to congratulate His daughter's
honour, or lament her fate. Sperchaeus,
crown'd with poplar, first appears; Then
old Apidanus came crown'd with years:
Enipeus turbulent, Amphrysos tame; And
Aeas last with lagging waters came.
Then, of his kindred brooks, a num'rous
throng Condole his loss; and bring their
urns along. Not one was wanting of the
wat'ry train, That fill'd his flood, or
mingled with the main: But Inachus, who
in his cave, alone, Wept not another's
losses, but his own, For his dear Io,
whether stray'd, or dead, To him
uncertain, doubtful tears he shed. He
sought her through the world; but sought
in vain; And no where finding, rather
fear'd her slain.

Her, just returning from her father's
brook, Jove had beheld, with a desiring
look: And, Oh fair daughter of the
flood, he said, Worthy alone of Jove's
imperial bed, Happy whoever shall those
charms possess; The king of Gods (nor is
thy lover less) Invites thee to yon
cooler shades; to shun The scorching
rays of the meridian sun. Nor shalt thou
tempt the dangers of the grove Alone,
without a guide; thy guide is Jove. No
puny Pow'r, but he whose high command Is
unconfin'd, who rules the seas and land;
And tempers thunder in his awful hand,
Oh fly not: for she fled from his
embrace O'er Lerna's pastures: he
pursu'd the chace Along the shades of
the Lyrcaean plain; At length the God,
who never asks in vain, Involv'd with
vapours, imitating night, Both Air, and
Earth; and then suppress'd her flight,
And mingling force with love, enjoy'd
the full delight. Mean-time the jealous
Juno, from on high, Survey'd the
fruitful fields of Arcady; And wonder'd
that the mist shou'd over-run The face
of day-light, and obscure the sun. No
nat'ral cause she found, from brooks, or
bogs, Or marshy lowlands, to produce the
fogs; Then round the skies she sought
for Jupiter, Her faithless husband; but
no Jove was there: Suspecting now the
worst, Or I, she said, Am much mistaken,
or am much betray'd. With fury she
precipitates her flight: Dispels the
shadows of dissembled night; And to the
day restores his native light. Th'
Almighty Leacher, careful to prevent The
consequence, foreseeing her descent,
Transforms his mistress in a trice; and
now In Io's place appears a lovely cow.
So sleek her skin, so faultless was her
make, Ev'n Juno did unwilling pleasure
take To see so fair a rival of her love;
And what she was, and whence, enquir'd
of Jove: Of what fair herd, and from
what pedigree? The God, half caught, was
forc'd upon a lye: And said she sprung
from Earth. She took the word, And
begg'd the beauteous heyfer of her lord.
What should he do? 'twas equal shame to
Jove Or to relinquish, or betray his
love: Yet to refuse so slight a gift,
wou'd be But more t' increase his
consort's jealousie: Thus fear, and
love, by turns, his heart assail'd; And
stronger love had sure, at length,
prevail'd: But some faint hope remain'd,
his jealous queen Had not the mistress
through the heyfer seen. The cautious
Goddess, of her gift possest, Yet
harbour'd anxious thoughts within her
breast; As she who knew the falshood of
her Jove; And justly fear'd some new
relapse of love. Which to prevent, and
to secure her care, To trusty Argus she
commits the fair.

The head of Argus (as with stars the
skies) Was compass'd round, and wore an
hundred eyes. But two by turns their
lids in slumber steep; The rest on duty
still their station keep; Nor cou'd the
total constellation sleep. Thus, ever
present, to his eyes, and mind, His
charge was still before him, tho'
behind. In fields he suffer'd her to
feed by Day, But when the setting sun to
night gave way, The captive cow he
summon'd with a call; And drove her
back, and ty'd her to the stall. On
leaves of trees, and bitter herbs she
fed, Heav'n was her canopy, bare earth
her bed: So hardly lodg'd, and to digest
her food, She drank from troubled
streams, defil'd with mud. Her woeful
story fain she wou'd have told, With
hands upheld, but had no hands to hold.
Her head to her ungentle keeper bow'd,
She strove to speak, she spoke not, but
she low'd: Affrighted with the noise,
she look'd around, And seem'd t' inquire
the author of the sound.

Once on the banks where often she had
play'd (Her father's banks), she came,
and there survey'd Her alter'd visage,
and her branching head; And starting,
from her self she wou'd have fled. Her
fellow nymphs, familiar to her eyes,
Beheld, but knew her not in this
disguise. Ev'n Inachus himself was
ignorant; And in his daughter, did his
daughter want. She follow'd where her
fellows went, as she Were still a
partner of the company: They stroak her
neck; the gentle heyfer stands, And her
neck offers to their stroaking hands.
Her father gave her grass; the grass she
took; And lick'd his palms, and cast a
piteous look; And in the language of her
eyes, she spoke. She wou'd have told her
name, and ask'd relief, But wanting
words, in tears she tells her grief.
Which, with her foot she makes him
understand; And prints the name of Io in
the sand.

Ah wretched me! her mournful father
cry'd; She, with a sigh, to wretched me
reply'd: About her milk-white neck, his
arms he threw; And wept, and then these
tender words ensue. And art thou she,
whom I have sought around The world, and
have at length so sadly found? So found,
is worse than lost: with mutual words
Thou answer'st not, no voice thy tongue
affords: But sighs are deeply drawn from
out thy breast; And speech deny'd, by
lowing is express'd. Unknowing, I
prepar'd thy bridal bed; With empty
hopes of happy issue fed. But now the
husband of a herd must be Thy mate, and
bell'wing sons thy progeny. Oh, were I
mortal, death might bring relief: But
now my God-head but extends my grief:
Prolongs my woes, of which no end I see,
And makes me curse my immortality! More
had he said, but fearful of her stay,
The starry guardian drove his charge
away, To some fresh pasture; on a hilly
height He sate himself, and kept her
still in sight.

The Eyes of Argus transform'd into a
Peacock's Train

Now Jove no longer cou'd her suff'rings
bear; But call'd in haste his airy
messenger, The son of Maia, with severe
decree To kill the keeper, and to set
her free. With all his harness soon the
God was sped, His flying hat was fastned
on his head, Wings on his heels were
hung, and in his hand He holds the
vertue of the snaky wand. The liquid air
his moving pinions wound, And, in the
moment, shoot him on the ground. Before
he came in sight, the crafty God His
wings dismiss'd, but still retain'd his
rod: That sleep-procuring wand wise
Hermes took, But made it seem to sight a
sherpherd's hook. With this, he did a
herd of goats controul; Which by the way
he met, and slily stole. Clad like a
country swain, he pip'd, and sung; And
playing, drove his jolly troop along.

With pleasure, Argus the musician heeds;
But wonders much at those new vocal
reeds. And whosoe'er thou art, my
friend, said he, Up hither drive thy
goats, and play by me: This hill has
browz for them, and shade for thee. The
God, who was with ease induc'd to climb,
Began discourse to pass away the time;
And still betwixt, his tuneful pipe he
plies; And watch'd his hour, to close
the keeper's eyes. With much ado, he
partly kept awake; Not suff'ring all his
eyes repose to take: And ask'd the
stranger, who did reeds invent, And
whence began so rare an instrument?

The Transformation of Syrinx into Reeds


Then Hermes thus: A nymph of late there
was Whose heav'nly form her fellows did
surpass. The pride and joy of fair
Arcadia's plains, Belov'd by deities,
ador'd by swains: Syrinx her name, by
Sylvans oft pursu'd, As oft she did the
lustful Gods delude: The rural, and the
woodland Pow'rs disdain'd; With Cynthia
hunted, and her rites maintain'd: Like
Phoebe clad, even Phoebe's self she
seems, So tall, so streight, such
well-proportion'd limbs: The nicest eye
did no distinction know, But that the
goddess bore a golden bow: Distinguish'd
thus, the sight she cheated too.
Descending from Lycaeus, Pan admires The
matchless nymph, and burns with new
desires. A crown of pine upon his head
he wore; And thus began her pity to
implore. But e'er he thus began, she
took her flight So swift, she was
already out of sight. Nor stay'd to hear
the courtship of the God; But bent her
course to Ladon's gentle flood: There by
the river stopt, and tir'd before;
Relief from water nymphs her pray'rs
implore.

Now while the lustful God, with speedy
pace, Just thought to strain her in a
strict embrace, He fill'd his arms with
reeds, new rising on the place. And
while he sighs, his ill success to find,
The tender canes were shaken by the
wind; And breath'd a mournful air,
unheard before; That much surprizing
Pan, yet pleas'd him more. Admiring this
new musick, Thou, he said, Who canst not
be the partner of my bed, At least shall
be the confort of my mind: And often,
often to my lips be joyn'd. He form'd
the reeds, proportion'd as they are,
Unequal in their length, and wax'd with
care, They still retain the name of his
ungrateful fair.

While Hermes pip'd, and sung, and told
his tale, The keeper's winking eyes
began to fail, And drowsie slumber on
the lids to creep; 'Till all the
watchman was at length asleep. Then soon
the God his voice, and song supprest;
And with his pow'rful rod confirm'd his
rest: Without delay his crooked
faulchion drew, And at one fatal stroke
the keeper slew. Down from the rock fell
the dissever'd head, Opening its eyes in
death; and falling, bled; And mark'd the
passage with a crimson trail: Thus Argus
lies in pieces, cold, and pale; And all
his hundred eyes, with all their light,
Are clos'd at once, in one perpetual
night. These Juno takes, that they no
more may fail, And spreads them in her
peacock's gaudy tail.

Impatient to revenge her injur'd bed,
She wreaks her anger on her rival's
head; With Furies frights her from her
native home; And drives her gadding,
round the world to roam: Nor ceas'd her
madness, and her flight, before She
touch'd the limits of the Pharian shore.
At length, arriving on the banks of
Nile, Wearied with length of ways, and
worn with toil, She laid her down; and
leaning on her knees, Invok'd the cause
of all her miseries: And cast her
languishing regards above, For help from
Heav'n, and her ungrateful Jove. She
sigh'd, she wept, she low'd; 'twas all
she cou'd; And with unkindness seem'd to
tax the God. Last, with an humble
pray'r, she beg'd repose, Or death at
least, to finish all her woes. Jove
heard her vows, and with a flatt'ring
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 appeas'd;
and at the word Was Io to her former
shape restor'd. The rugged hair began to
fall away; The sweetness of her eyes did
only stay, Tho' 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 heyfer now is
seen, Beside the native whiteness of the
skin. Erected on her feet she walks
again: And two the duty of the four
sustain. She tries her tongue; her
silence softly breaks, And fears her
former lowings when she speaks: A
Goddess now, through all th' Aegyptian
State: And serv'd by priests, who in
white linnen wait.

Her son was Epaphus, at length believ'd
The son of Jove, and as a God receiv'd;
With sacrifice ador'd, and publick
pray'rs, 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 tak'st thy mother's
word too far, said he, And hast usurp'd
thy boasted pedigree. Go, base pretender
to 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
enquires the truth: Mother, said he,
this infamy was thrown By Epaphus on
you, and me your son. He spoke in
publick, 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 forc'd to hold my tongue.
To hear an open slander, is a curse: But
not to find an answer, is a worse. If I
am Heav'n-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 beg'd her to resolve the
doubt.

'Tis hard to judge if Clymene were mov'd
More by his pray'r, whom she so dearly
lov'd, Or more with fury fir'd, to find
her name Traduc'd, and made the sport of
common fame. She stretch'd her arms to
Heav'n, 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
clears our sight, By him, the publick
minister of light, I swear that Sun
begot thee; if I lye, Let him his
chearful influence deny: Let him no more
this perjur'd 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 Leve go,
And from himself your parentage may
know. With joy th' ambitious youth his
mother heard, And eager, for the journey
soon prepar'd. 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.

 END 