| |
| APOLLO’S wrath to man the dreadful spring | |
| Of ills innum’rous, tuneful goddess, sing! | |
| Thou who did’st first th’ ideal pencil give, | |
| And taught’st the painter in his works to live, | |
| Inspire with glowing energy of thought, | 5 |
| What Wilson painted, and what Ovid wrote. | |
| Muse! lend thy aid, nor let me sue in vain, | |
| Tho’ last and meanest of the rhyming train! | |
| O guide my pen in lofty strains to show | |
| The Phrygian queen, all beautiful in woe. | 10 |
| |
| ’Twas where Mæonia spreads her wide domain | |
| Niobe dwelt, and held her potent reign: | |
| See in her hand the regal sceptre shine, | |
| The wealthy heir of Tantalus divine, | |
| He most distinguish’d by Dodonean Jove, | 15 |
| To approach the tables of the gods above: | |
| Her grandsire Atlas, who with mighty pains | |
| Th’ ethereal axis on his neck sustains: | |
| Her other gran sire on the throne on high | |
| Rolls the loud-pealing thunder thro’ the sky. | 20 |
| |
| Her spouse, Amphion, who from Jove too springs, | |
| Divinely taught to sweep the sounding strings. | |
| |
| Seven sprightly sons the royal bed adorn, | |
| Seven daughters beauteous as the op’ning morn, | |
| As when Aurora fills the ravish’d sight, | 25 |
| And decks the orient realms with rosy light | |
| From their bright eyes the living splendors play, | |
| Nor can beholders bear the flashing ray. | |
| |
| Wherever, Niobe, thou turn’st thine eyes, | |
| New beauties kindle, and new joys arise! | 30 |
| But thou had’st far the happier mother prov’d, | |
| If this fair offspring had been less belov’d: | |
| What if their charms exceed Aurora’s teint, | |
| No words could tell them, and no pencil paint, | |
| Thy love too vehement hastens to destroy | 35 |
| Each blooming maid, and each celestial boy. | |
| |
| Now Manto comes, endu’d with mighty skill, | |
| The past to explore, the future to reveal. | |
| Thro’ Thebes’ wide streets Tiresia’s daughter came, | |
| Divine Latona’s mandate to proclaim: | 40 |
| The Theban maids to hear the orders ran, | |
| When thus Mæonia’s prophetess began: | |
| |
| “Go, Thebans! great Latona’s will obey, | |
| And pious tribute at her altars pay: | |
| With rights divine, the goddess be implor’d, | 45 |
| Nor be her sacred offspring unador’d.” | |
| Thus Manto spoke. The Theban maids obey, | |
| And pious tribute to the goddess pay. | |
| The rich perfumes ascend in waving spires, | |
| And altars blaze with consecrated fires; | 50 |
| The fair assembly moves with graceful air, | |
| And leaves of laurel bind the flowing hair. | |
| |
| Niobe comes with all her royal race, | |
| With charms unnumber’d, and superior grace: | |
| Her Phrygian garments of delightful hue, | 55 |
| Inwove with gold, refulgent to the view, | |
| Beyond description beautiful she moves | |
| Like heav’nly Venus, ’midst her smiles and loves: | |
| She views around the supplicating train, | |
| And shakes her graceful head with stern disdain, | 60 |
| Proudly she turns around her lofty eyes, | |
| And thus reviles celestial deities: | |
| “What madness drives the Theban ladies fair | |
| To give their incense to surrounding air? | |
| Say why this new sprung deity preferr’d? | 65 |
| Why vainly fancy your petitions heard? | |
| Or say why Cœus’ offspring is obey’d, | |
| While to my goddesship no tribute’s paid? | |
| For me no altars blaze with living fires, | |
| No bullock bleeds, no frankincense transpires, | 70 |
| Tho’ Cadmus’ palace, not unknown to fame, | |
| And Phrygian nations all revere my name. | |
| Where’er I turn my eyes vast wealth I find. | |
| Lo! here an empress with a goddess join’d. | |
| What, shall a Titaness be deify’d, | 75 |
| To whom the spacious earth a couch deny’d? | |
| Nor heav’n, nor earth, nor sea receiv’d your queen, | |
| ’Till pitying Delos took the wand’rer in. | |
| Round me what a large progeny is spread! | |
| No frowns of fortune has my soul to dread. | 80 |
| What if indignant she decrease my train | |
| More than Latona’s number will remain? | |
| Then hence, ye Theban dames, hence haste away, | |
| Nor longer off’rings to Latona pay? | |
| Regard the orders of Amphion’s spouse, | 85 |
| And take the leaves of laurel from your brows.” | |
| Niobe spoke. The Theban maids obey’d, | |
| Their brows unbound, and left the rights unpaid. | |
| |
| The angry goddess heard, then silence broke | |
| On Cynthus’ summit, and indignant spoke; | 90 |
| “Phœbus! behold, thy mother in disgrace, | |
| Who to no goddess yields the prior place | |
| Except to Juno’s self, who reigns above, | |
| The spouse and sister of the thund’ring Jove. | |
| Niobe sprung from Tantalus inspires | 95 |
| Each Theban bosom with rebellious fires; | |
| No reason her imperious temper quells, | |
| But all her father in her tongue rebels; | |
| Wrap her own sons for her blaspheming breath, | |
| Apollo! wrap them in the shades of death.” | 100 |
| Latona ceas’d, and ardent thus replies, | |
| The God, whose glory decks th’ expanded skies. | |
| |
| “Cease thy complaints, mine be the task assign’d | |
| To punish pride, and scourge the rebel mind.” | |
| This Phœbe join’d.—They wing their instant flight; | 105 |
| Thebes trembled as th’ immortal pow’rs alight. | |
| |
| With clouds incompass’d glorious Phœbus stands; | |
| The feather’d vengeance quiv’ring in his hands. | |
| |
| Near Cadmus’ walls a plain extended lay, | |
| Where Thebes’ young princes pass’d in sport the day: | 110 |
| There the bold coursers bounded o’er the plains, | |
| While their great masters held the golden reins. | |
| Ismenus first the racing pastime led, | |
| And rul’d the fury of his flying steed. | |
| “Ah me,” he sudden cries, with shrieking breath, | 115 |
| While in his breast he feels the shaft of death; | |
| He drops the bridle on his courser’s mane, | |
| Before his eyes in shadows swims the plain, | |
| He, the first-born of great Amphion’s bed, | |
| Was struck the first, first mingled with the dead. | 120 |
| |
| Then didst thou, Sipylus, the language hear | |
| Of fate portentous whistling in the air: | |
| As when th’ impending storm the sailor sees | |
| He spreads his canvas to the fav’ring breeze, | |
| So to thine horse thou gav’st the golden reins, | 125 |
| Gav’st him to rush impetuous o’er the plains: | |
| But ah! a fatal shaft from Phœbus’ hand | |
| Smites through thy neck, and sinks thee on the sand. | |
| |
| Two other brothers were at wrestling found, | |
| And in their pastime claspt each other round: | 130 |
| A shaft that instant from Apollo’s hand | |
| Transfixt them both, and stretcht them on the sand: | |
| Together they their cruel fate bemoan’d, | |
| Together languish’d, and together groan’d: | |
| Together too th’ unbodied spirits fled, | 135 |
| And sought the gloomy mansions of the dead. | |
| |
| Alphenor saw, and trembling at the view, | |
| Beat his torn breast, that chang’d its snowy hue. | |
| He flies to raise them in a kind embrace; | |
| A brother’s fondness triumphs in his face: | 140 |
| Alphenor fails in this fraternal deed, | |
| A dart dispatch’d him (so the fates decreed:) | |
| Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound, | |
| His issuing entrails smoak’d upon the ground. | |
| |
| What woes on blooming Damasichon wait! | 145 |
| His sighs portend his near impending fate. | |
| Just where the well-made leg begins to be, | |
| And the soft sinews form the supple knee, | |
| The youth sore wounded by the Delian god | |
| Attempts t’ extract the crime-avenging rod, | 150 |
| But, whilst he strives the will of fate t’ avert, | |
| Divine Apollo sends a second dart; | |
| Swift thro’ his throat the feather’d mischief flies, | |
| Bereft of sense, he drops his head, and dies. | |
| |
| Young Ilioneus, the last, directs his pray’r, | 155 |
| And cries, “My life, ye gods celestial! spare.” | |
| Apollo heard, and pity touch’d his heart, | |
| But ah! too late, for he had sent the dart: | |
| Thou too, O Ilioneus, art doom’d to fall, | |
| The fates refuse that arrow to recal. | 160 |
| |
| On the swift wings of ever-flying Fame | |
| To Cadmus’ palace soon the tidings came: | |
| Niobe heard, and with indignant eyes | |
| She thus express’d her anger and surprize: | |
| “Why is such privilege to them allow’d? | 165 |
| Why thus insulted by the Delian god? | |
| Dwells there such mischief in the pow’rs above? | |
| Why sleeps the vengeance of immortal Jove?” | |
| For now Amphion too, with grief oppress’d, | |
| Had plung’d the deadly dagger in his breast. | 170 |
| Niobe now, less haughty than before, | |
| With lofty head directs her steps no more. | |
| She, who late told her pedigree divine, | |
| And drove the Thebans from Latona’s shrine, | |
| How strangely chang’d!——yet beautiful in woe, | 175 |
| She weeps, nor weeps unpity’d by the foe. | |
| On each pale corse the wretched mother spread | |
| Lay overwhelm’d with grief, and kiss’d her dead, | |
| Then rais’d her arms, and thus, in accents slow, | |
| “Be sated cruel Goddess! with my woe; | 180 |
| If I’ve offended, let these streaming eyes, | |
| And let this sev’nfold funeral suffice: | |
| Ah! take this wretched life you deign’d to save, | |
| With them I too am carried to the grave. | |
| Rejoice triumphant, my victorious foe, | 185 |
| But show the cause from whence your triumphs flow? | |
| Tho’ I unhappy mourn these children slain, | |
| Yet greater numbers to my lot remain.” | |
| She ceas’d, the bow-string twang’d with awful sound, | |
| Which struck with terror all th’ assembly round, | 190 |
| Except the queen, who stood unmov’d alone, | |
| By her distresses more presumptuous grown. | |
| Near the pale corses stood their sisters fair | |
| In sable vestures and dishevell’d hair; | |
| One, while she draws the fatal shaft away, | 195 |
| Faints, falls, and sickens at the light of day. | |
| To sooth her mother, lo! another flies, | |
| And blames the fury of inclement skies, | |
| And, while her words a filial pity show, | |
| Struck dumb——indignant seeks the shades below. | 200 |
| Now from the fatal place another flies, | |
| Falls in her flight, and languishes, and dies. | |
| Another on her sister drops in death; | |
| A fifth in trembling terrors yields her breath; | |
| While the sixth seeks some gloomy cave in vain, | 205 |
| Struck with the rest, and mingled with the slain. | |
| |
| One only daughter lives, and she the least; | |
| The queen close clasp’d the daughter to her breast: | |
| “Ye heav’nly pow’rs, ah spare me one,” she cry’d, | |
| “Ah! spare me one,” the vocal hills reply’d: | 210 |
| In vain she begs, the Fates her suit deny, | |
| In her embrace she sees her daughter die. | |
| |
| 1“The queen of all her family bereft, | |
| Without or husband, son, or daughter left, | |
| Grew stupid at the shock. The passing air | 215 |
| Made no impression on her stiff’ning hair. | |
| The blood forsook her face: amidst the flood | |
| Pour’d from her cheeks, quite fix’d her eye-balls stood. | |
| Her tongue, her palate both obdurate grew, | |
| Her curdled veins no longer motion knew; | 220 |
| The use of neck, and arms, and feet was gone, | |
| And ev’n her bowels hard’ned into stone: | |
| A marble statue now the queen appears, | |
| But from the marble steal the silent tears.” | |
