FROM him, the Caledonians sought Relief; | |
| Tho’ valiant Meleagrus was their Chief. | |
| The Cause, a Boar, who ravag’d far and near: | |
| Of Cynthia’s Wrath th’ avenging Minister. | |
| For Oeneus with Autumnal Plenty bless’d, | 5 |
| By Gifts to Heav’n 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 | 10 |
| Was lib’ral to the Pow’rs of high Command: | |
| Each Deity in ev’ry kind was bless’d, | |
| Till at Diana’s Fane th’ invidious Honour ceas’d. | |
| Wrath touches ev’n the Gods; the Queen of Night | |
| Fir’d with Disdain, and jealous of her Right, | 15 |
| Unhonour’d though I am, at least, said she, | |
| Not unreveng’d 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 th’ Ægyptian Pastures feed, | 20 |
| And none so large Sicilian Meadows breed: | |
| His Eye-balls glare with Fire, suffus’d with Blood; | |
| His Neck shoots up a thick-set thorny Wood; | |
| His bristled Back a Trench impal’d appears, | |
| And stands erected, like a Field of Spears. | 25 |
| 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 love’s own Thunder from his Mouth he drove. | |
| He burns the Leaves; the scorching Blast invades | 30 |
| The tender Corn, and shrivels up the Blades: | |
| Or suff’ring not their yellow Beards to rear, | |
| He tramples down the Spikes, and intercepts the Year. | |
| In vain the Barns expect their promis’d Load, | |
| Nor Barns at home, nor Reeks are heap’d abroad: | 35 |
| In vain the Hinds the Threshing-Floor prepare, | |
| And exercise their Flails in empty Air. | |
| With Olives ever-green the Ground is strow’d, | |
| And Grapes ungather’d shed their gen’rous Blood. | |
| Amid the Fold he rages, nor the Sheep | 40 |
| 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 Meleagros, and his chosen Crew, | |
| Contemn the Danger, and the Praise pursue. | 45 |
| Fair Leda’s Twins (in time to Stars decreed) | |
| One fought on Foot, one curb’d the fiery Steed; | |
| Then issued forth fam’d Jason after These, | |
| Who mann’d the foremost Ship that sail’d the Seas; | |
| Then Theseus, join’d with bold Perithous, came, | 50 |
| A single Concord in a double Name: | |
| The Thestian Sons, Idas who swiftly ran, | |
| And Ceneus, once a Woman, now a Man. | |
| Lynceus, with Eagles Eyes, and Lions Heart | |
| Leucippus, with his never-erring Dart; | 55 |
| Acastus, Phileus, Phœnix, Telamon, | |
| Echion, Lelex, and Eurytion, | |
| Achilles Father, and great Phocus Son; | |
| Dryas the Fierce, and Hippasus the Strong; | |
| With twice old Iolas, and Nestor then but young, | 60 |
| Laertes active, and Ancæus bold; | |
| Mopsus the Sage, who future Things foretold; | |
| And t’other Seer, yet by his Wife 2 unsold. | |
| A thousand others of immortal Fame; | |
| Among the rest, fair Atalanta came, | 65 |
| Grace of the Woods: A Diamond Buckle bound | |
| Her Vest behind, that else had flow’d upon the Ground, | |
| And shew’d her buskin’d Legs; her Head was bare, | |
| But for her Native Ornament of Hair; | |
| Which in a simple Knot was ty’d above, | 70 |
| Sweet Negligence! unheeded Bait of Love! | |
| Her sounding Quiver on her shoulder ty’d, | |
| One Hand a Dart, and one a Bow supply’d. | |
| Such was her Face, as in a Nymph display’d | |
| A fair fierce Boy, or in a Boy betray’d | 75 |
| The blushing Beauties of a modest Maid. | |
| The Caledonian Chief at once the Dame | |
| Beheld, at once his Heart receiv’d the Flame, | |
| With Heav’ns averse. O happy Youth, he cry’d; | |
| For whom thy Fates reserve so fair a Bride! | 80 |
| He sigh’d, and had no leisure more to say | |
| His Honour call’d his Eyes another way, | |
| And forced him to pursue the now neglected Prey. | |
| There stood a Forest on a Mountains Brow, | |
| Which over-look’d the shaded Plains below. | 85 |
| No sounding Ax presum’d those Trees to bite; | |
| Coeval with the World, a venerable Sight. | |
| The Heroes there arriv’d, some spread around | |
| The Toils; some search the Footsteps on the Ground; | |
| Some from the Chains the faithful Dogs unbound. | 90 |
| Of Action eager, and intent in 3 Thought, | |
| The Chiefs their honourable Danger sought: | |
| A Valley stood below; the common Drain | |
| Of Waters from above, and falling Rain: | |
| The Bottom was a moist and marshy Ground, | 95 |
| Whose Edges were with bending Oziers crown’d; | |
| The knotty Bulrush next in Order stood, | |
| And all within of Reeds a trembling Wood. | |
| From hence the Boar was rows’d, and sprung amain | |
| Like Lightning sudden, on the Warriour-Train; | 100 |
| Beats down the Trees before him, shakes the Ground, | |
| The Forest echoes to the crackling Sound; | |
| Shout the fierce Youth, and Clamours ring around. | |
| All stood with their protended Spears prepar’d, | |
| With broad Steel Heads the brandish’d Weapons glar’d. | 105 |
| The Beast impetuous with his Tusks aside | |
| Deals glancing Wounds; the fearful Dogs divide: | |
| All spend their Mouth aloof, 4 but none abide. | |
| Echion threw the first, but miss’d his Mark, | |
| And stuck his Boar-spear on a Maples Bark. | 110 |
| Then Jason: and his Javelin seem’d to take, | |
| But fail’d with over-force, and whiz’d above his Back. | |
| Mopsus was next; but, e’er he threw, address’d | |
| To Phœbus, thus: O Patron, help thy Priest: | |
| If I adore, and ever have ador’d | 115 |
| Thy Pow’r Divine, thy present Aid afford; | |
| That I may reach the Beast. The God allow’d | |
| His Pray’r, and smiling, gave him what he cou’d: | |
| He reach’d the Savage, but no Blood he drew, | |
| Dian unarm’d the Javelin as it flew. | 120 |
| This chaf’d the Boar, his Nostrils Flames expire, | |
| And his red Eye-balls roll with living Fire. | |
| Whirl’d from a Sling, or from an Engine thrown, | |
| Amidst the Foes, so flies a mighty Stone, | |
| As flew the Beast: The Left Wing put to flight, | 125 |
| The Chiefs o’erborn, he rushes on the Right. | |
| Eupalamos and Pelagon he laid | |
| In Dust, and next to Death, but for their Fellows Aid. | |
| Enesimus 5 far’d worse, prepar’d to fly, | |
| The fatal Fang drove deep within his Thigh, | 130 |
| And cut the Nerves: The Nerves no more sustain | |
| The Bulk; the Bulk unprop’d, falls head-long on the Plain. | |
| Nestor had fail’d the Fall of Troy to see, | |
| But leaning on his Lance, he vaulted on a Tree; | |
| Then gath’ring up his Feet, look’d down with Fear, | 135 |
| And thought his monstrous Foe was still too near. | |
| Against a Stump his Tusk the Monster grinds, | |
| And in the sharpen’d Edge new Vigour finds; | |
| Then, trusting to his Arms, young Othrys found, | |
| And ranch’d his Hips with one continu’d Wound. | 140 |
| Now Leda’s Twins, the future Stars, appear; | |
| White were their Habits, white their Horses were, | |
| Conspicuous both, and both in act to throw, | |
| Their trembling Lances brandish’d at the Foe: | |
| Nor had they miss’d; but he to Thickets fled, | 145 |
| Conceal’d from aiming Spears, not pervious to the Steed. | |
| But Telamon rush’d in, and happ’d to meet | |
| A rising Root, that held his fastned Feet; | |
| So down he fell; whom, sprawling on the Ground, | |
| His Brother from the Wooden Gyves unbound. | 150 |
| Mean time the Virgin-Huntress was not slow | |
| T’ expel the Shaft from her contracted Bow: | |
| Beneath his Ear the fastned Arrow stood, | |
| And from the Wound appear’d the trickling Blood. | |
| She blush’d for Joy: But Meleagros rais’d | 155 |
| His voice with loud Applause, and the fair Archer prais’d. | |
| He was the first to see, and first to show | |
| His Friends the Marks of the successful Blow. | |
| Nor shall thy Valour want the Praises due, | |
| He said; a vertuous Envy seiz’d the Crew. | 160 |
| They shout; the Shouting animates their Hearts, | |
| And all at once employ their thronging Darts: | |
| But out of Order thrown, in Air they joyn; | |
| And Multitude makes frustrate the Design. | |
| With both his Hands the proud Anceus takes, | 165 |
| And flourishes his double-biting Ax: | |
| Then forward to his Fate, he took a Stride | |
| Before the rest, and to his Fellows cry’d, | |
| Give place, and mark the diff’rence, if you can, | |
| Between a Woman-Warriour, and a Man; | 170 |
| The Boar is doom’d; not though Diana lend | |
| Her Aid, Diana can her Beast defend. | |
| Thus boasted he; then stretch’d, on Tiptoe stood, | |
| Secure to make his empty Promise good. | |
| But the more wary Beast prevents the Blow, | 175 |
| And upward rips the Groin of his audacious Foe. | |
| Ancæus falls; his Bowels from the Wound | |
| Rush out, and clotter’d 6 Blood distains the Ground. | |
| Perithous, no small Portion of the War, | |
| Press’d on, and shook his Lance; To whom from far | 180 |
| Thus Theseus cry’d: O stay, my better Part, | |
| My more than Mistress; of my Heart, the Heart. | |
| The Strong may fight aloof: Anceus try’d | |
| His Force too near, and by presuming dy’d: | |
| He said, and while he spake his Javelin threw, | 185 |
| Hissing in Air th’ unerring Weapon flew; | |
| But on an Arm of Oak, that stood betwixt | |
| The Marks-man and the Mark, his Lance he fixt. | |
| Once more bold Jason threw, but fail’d to wound | |
| The Boar, and slew an undeserving Hound; | 190 |
| And through the Dog the Dart was nail’d to Ground. | |
| Two Spears from Meleager’s Hand were sent, | |
| With equal Force, but various in th’ Event: | |
| The first was fix’d in Earth, the second stood | |
| On the Boars bristled Back, and deeply drank his Blood. | 195 |
| Now while the tortur’d Salvage turns around, | |
| And flings about his Foam, impatient of the Wound, | |
| The Wounds great Author close at Hand provokes | |
| His Rage, and plyes him with redoubled Strokes; | |
| Wheels as he wheels; and with his pointed Dart | 200 |
| Explores the nearest Passage to his Heart. | |
| Quick, and more quick he spins in giddy Gires, | |
| Then falls, and in much Foam his Soul expires. | |
| This Act with Shouts Heav’n high the friendly Band | |
| Applaud, and strain in theirs the Victour 7 Hand. | 205 |
| Then all approach the Slain with vast Surprize, | |
| Admire on what a Breadth of Earth he lies; | |
| And scarce secure, reach out their Spears afar, | |
| And blood their Points, to prove their Partnership of War. | |
| But he, the conqu’ring Chief, his Foot impress’d | 210 |
| On the strong Neck of that destructive Beast; | |
| And gazing on the Nymph with ardent Eyes, | |
| Accept, said he, fair Nonacrine, my Prize, | |
| And, though inferiour, suffer me to join | |
| My Labours, and my Part of Praise, with thine: | 215 |
| At this presents her with the Tusky Head | |
| And Chine, with rising Bristles roughly spread. | |
| Glad, she receiv’d the Gift: and seem’d to take | |
| With double Pleasure, for the Giver’s sake. | |
| The rest were seiz’d with sullen Discontent, | 220 |
| And a deaf Murmur through the Squadron went: | |
| All envy’d; but the Thestyan Brethren show’d | |
| The least Respect, and thus they vent their Spleen aloud: | |
| Lay down those honour’d Spoils, nor think to share, | |
| Weak Woman as thou art, the Prize of War: | 225 |
| Ours is the Title, thine a foreign Claim, | |
| Since Meleagros from our Lineage came. | |
| Trust not thy Beauty; but restore the Prize, | |
| Which he, besotted on that Face and Eyes, | |
| Would rend from us: At this, inflam’d with Spite, | 230 |
| From her they snatch the Gift, from him the Givers Right. | |
| But soon th’ impatient Prince his Fauchion drew, | |
| And cry’d Ye Robbers of another’s Due, | |
| Now learn the Diff’rence, at your proper Cost, | |
| Betwixt true Valour, and an empty Boast. | 235 |
| At this advanc’d, and, sudden as the Word | |
| In proud Plexippus 8 Bosom plung’d the Sword: | |
| Toxeus amaz’d, and with Amazement slow, | |
| Or to revenge, or ward the coming Blow, | |
| Stood doubting; and, while doubting thus he stood, | 240 |
| Receiv’d the Steel bath’d in his Brother’s Blood. | |
| Pleas’d with the first, unknown the second News, | |
| Althea, to the Temples, pays their Dues | |
| For her Son’s Conquest; when at length appear | |
| Her griesly Brethren stretch’d upon the Bier: | 245 |
| Pale at the sudden Sight, she chang’d her Cheer, | |
| And with her Cheer her Robes; but hearing tell | |
| The Cause, the Manner, and by whom they fell, | |
| ’T was Grief no more, or Grief and Rage were One | |
| Within her Soul; at last ’twas Rage alone; | 250 |
| Which burning upwards in succession dries | |
| The Tears that stood consid’ring in her Eyes. | |
| There lay a Log unlighted on the Hearth: 9 | |
| When she was lab’ring in the Throws of Birth | |
| For th’ unborn Chief, the Fatal Sisters came, | 255 |
| And rais’d it up, and toss’d it on the Flame: | |
| Then on the Rock a scanty Measure place | |
| Of Vital Flax, and turn’d the Wheel apace; | |
| And turning sung, To this red Brand and thee, | |
| O new-born Babe, we give an equal Destiny: | 260 |
| So vanish’d out of View. The frighted Dame | |
| Sprung hasty from her Bed, and quench’d the Flame: | |
| The Log in secret lock’d, she kept with Care, | |
| And that, while thus preserv’d, preserv’d her Heir. | |
| This Brand she now produc’d; and first she strows | 265 |
| The Hearth with Heaps of Chips, and after blows, | |
| Thrice heav’d her Hand, and heav’d, she thrice repress’d: | |
| The Sister and the Mother long contest | |
| Two doubtful Titles in one tender Breast; | |
| And now her Eyes and Cheeks with Fury glow, | 270 |
| Now pale her Cheeks, her Eyes with Pity flow; | |
| Now lowring Looks presage approaching Storms, | |
| And now prevailing Love her Face reforms: | |
| Resolv’d, she doubts again; the Tears she dry’d | |
| With burning 10 Rage, are by new Tears supply’d; | 275 |
| And as a Ship, which Winds and Waves assail, | |
| Now with the Current drives, now with the Gale, | |
| Both opposite, and neither long prevail: | |
| She feels a double Force, by Turns obeys | |
| Th’ imperious Tempest, and th’ impetuous Seas: | 280 |
| So fares Althæa’s Mind; she first 11 relents | |
| With Pity, of that Pity then repents: | |
| Sister and Mother long the Scales divide, | |
| But the Beam nodded on the Sisters side. | |
| Sometimes she softly sigh’d, then roar’d aloud; | 285 |
| But Sighs were stifled in the Cries of Blood. | |
| The pious, impious Wretch at length decreed, | |
| To please her Brother’s Ghost, her Son shou’d bleed; | |
| And when the Fun’ral Flames began to rise, | |
| Receive, she said, a Sisters Sacrifice: | 290 |
| A Mothers Bowels burn: High in her Hand | |
| Thus while she spoke, she held the fatal Brand; | |
| Then thrice before the kindled Pyle she bow’d, | |
| And the three Furies thrice invok’d aloud: | |
| Come, come, revenging Sisters, come and view | 295 |
| A Sister paying her dead Brothers due: | |
| A Crime I punish, and a Crime commit; | |
| But Blood for Blood, and Death for Death is fit: | |
| Great Crimes must be with greater Crimes repaid, | |
| And second Funerals on the former laid. | 300 |
| Let the whole Houshold in one Ruine fall, | |
| And may Diana’s Curse o’ertake us all. | |
| Shall Fate to happy Oeneus still allow | |
| One Son, while Thestius stands depriv’d of two? | |
| Better three lost, than one unpunish’d go. | 305 |
| Take then, dear Ghosts, (while yet admitted new | |
| In Hell you wait my Duty) take your Due: | |
| A costly Off’ring on your Tomb is laid, | |
| When with my Blood the Price of yours is paid. | |
| Ah! Whither am I hurried? Ah! forgive, | 310 |
| Ye Shades, and let your Sisters Issue live: | |
| A Mother cannot give him Death; though he | |
| Deserves it, he deserves it not from me. | |
| Then shall th’ unpunish’d Wretch insult the Slain, | |
| Triumphant live, nor only live, but reign? | 315 |
| While you, thin Shades, the Sport of Winds, are toss’d | |
| O’er dreery Plains, or tread 12 the burning Coast. | |
| I cannot, cannot bear; ’tis past, ’tis done; | |
| Perish this impious, this detested Son: | |
| Perish his Sire, and perish I withal; | 320 |
| And let the Houses Heir, and the hop’d Kingdom fall. | |
| Where is the Mother fled, her pious Love, | |
| And where the Pains with which ten Months I strove! | |
| Ah! hadst thou dy’d, my Son, in Infant-years, | |
| Thy little Herse had been bedew’d with Tears. | 325 |
| Thou liv’st by me; to me thy Breath resign; | |
| Mine is the Merit, the Demerit thine. | |
| Thy Life by double Title I require; | |
| Once giv’n at Birth, and once preserv’d from Fire: | |
| One Murder pay, or add one Murder more, | 330 |
| And me to them who fell by thee restore. | |
| I wou’d, but cannot: My Son’s Image stands | |
| Before my Sight; and now their angry Hands | |
| My Brothers hold, and Vengeance these exact, | |
| This pleads Compassion, and repents the Fact. | 335 |
| He pleads in vain, and I pronounce his Doom: | |
| My Brothers, though unjustly, shall o’er-come. | |
| But having paid their injur’d Ghosts their Due, | |
| My Son requires my Death, and mine shall his pursue. | |
| At this, for the last time she lifts her Hand, | 340 |
| Averts her Eyes, and, half unwilling, drops the Brand. | |
| The Brand, amid the flaming Fewel thrown, | |
| Or drew, or seem’d to draw, a dying Groan: | |
| The Fires themselves but faintly lick’d their Prey, | |
| Then loath’d their impious Food, and wou’d have shrunk away. | 345 |
| Just then the Heroe cast a doleful Cry, | |
| And in those absent Flames began to fry. | |
| The blind Contagion rag’d within his Veins; | |
| But he with manly Patience bore his Pains: | |
| He fear’d not Fate, but only griev’d to die | 350 |
| Without an honest Wound, and by a Death so dry. | |
| Happy Ancæus, thrice aloud he cry’d, | |
| With what becoming Fate in Arms he dy’d! | |
| Then call’d his Brothers, Sisters, Sire, around, | |
| And her to whom his Nuptial Vows were bound; | 355 |
| Perhaps his Mother; a long Sigh he drew, | |
| And his Voice failing, took his last Adieu: | |
| For as the Flames augment, and as they stay | |
| At their full Height, then languish to decay, | |
| They rise, and sink by Fits; at last they soar | 360 |
| In one bright Blaze, and then descend no more: | |
| Just so his inward Heats at height, impair, | |
| Till the last burning Breath shoots out the Soul in Air. | |
| Now lofty Calidon in Ruines lies; | |
| All Ages, all Degrees unsluice their Eyes; | 365 |
| And Heaven & Earth resound with Murmurs, Groans, & Cries. | |
| Matrons and Maidens beat their Breasts, and tear | |
| Their Habits, and root up their scatter’d Hair. | |
| The wretched Father, Father now no more, | |
| With Sorrow sunk, lies prostrate on the Floor, | 370 |
| Deforms his hoary Locks with Dust obscene, | |
| And curses Age, and loaths a Life prolong’d with Pain. | |
| By Steel her stubborn Soul his Mother freed, | |
| And punish’d on her self her impious Deed. | |
| Had I a hundred Tongues, a Wit so large | 375 |
| As cou’d their hundred Offices discharge; | |
| Had Phœbus all his Helicon bestow’d, | |
| In all the Streams inspiring all the God; | |
| Those Tongues, that Wit, those Streams, that God, in vain | |
| Wou’d offer to describe his Sisters pain: | 380 |
| They beat their Breasts with many a bruizing Blow, | |
| Till they turn’d 13 livid, and corrupt the Snow. | |
| The Corps they cherish, while the Corps remains, | |
| And exercise and rub with fruitless Pains; | |
| And when to Fun’ral Flames ’tis born away, | 385 |
| They kiss the Bed on which the Body lay: | |
| And when those Fun’ral Flames no longer burn, | |
| (The Dust compos’d within a pious Urn) | |
| Ev’n in that Urn their Brother they confess, | |
| And hug it in their Arms, and to their Bosoms press. | 390 |
| His Tomb is rais’d; then, stretch’d along the Ground, | |
| Those living Monuments his Tomb surround: | |
| Ev’n to his Name, inscrib’d, their Tears they pay, | |
| Till Tears and Kisses wear his Name away. | |
| But Cynthia now had all her Fury spent, | 395 |
| Not with less Ruine than a Race, content: | |
| Excepting Gorge, perish’d all the Seed, | |
| And Her 14 whom Heav’n for Hercules decreed. | |
| Satiate at last, no longer she pursu’d | |
| The weeping Sisters; but with Wings endu’d, | 400 |
| And Horny Beaks, and sent to flit in Air; | |
| Who yearly round the Tomb in Feather’d Flocks repair. | |
