HOW Salmacis with weak enfeebling streams, | |
| Softens the body and unnerves the limbs, | |
| And what the secret cause, shall here be shown; | |
| The cause is secret, but the effect is known. | |
| The Naïads nurs’d an infant heretofore, | 5 |
| That Cytherea once to Hermes bore; | |
| From both the’ illustrious authors of his race | |
| The child was nam’d; nor was it hard to trace | |
| Both the bright parents through the infant’s face. | |
| When fifteen years, in Ida’s cool retreat, | 10 |
| The boy had told, he left his native seat, | |
| And sought fresh fountains in a foreign soil; | |
| The pleasure lessen’d the attending toil. | |
| With eager steps the Lycian fields he crost, | |
| And fields that border on the Lycian coast; | 15 |
| A river here he view’d so lovely bright, | |
| It show’d the bottom in a fairer light, | |
| Nor kept a sand conceal’d from human sight" | |
| The stream produc’d nor slimy ooze nor weeds, | |
| Nor miry rushes nor the spiky reeds, | 20 |
| But dealt enriching moisture all around, | |
| The fruitful banks with cheerful verdure crown’d, | |
| And kept the spring eternal on the ground. | |
| A nymph presides, nor practis’d in the chase, | |
| Nor skilful at the bow nor at the race, | 25 |
| Of all the blue-eyed daughters of the Main, | |
| The only stranger to Diana’s train: | |
| Her sisters often, as ’tis said, would cry, | |
| “Fie! Salmacis, what, always idle? fie! | |
| Or take thy quiver, or thy arrows seize, | 30 |
| And mix the toils of hunting with thy ease.” | |
| Nor quiver she nor arrows e’er would seize, | |
| Nor mix the toils of hunting with her ease, | |
| But oft would bathe her in the crystal tide, | |
| Oft with a comb her dewy locks divide: | 35 |
| Now in the limpid streams she view’d her face, | |
| And dress’d her image in the floating glass: | |
| On beds of leaves she now repos’d her limbs, | |
| Now gather’d flowers that grew about her streams, | |
| And then by chance was gathering, as she stood | 40 |
| To view the boy, and long’d for what she view’d. | |
| Fain would she meet the youth with hasty feet, | |
| She fain would meet him, but refus’d to meet | |
| Before her looks were set with nicest care, | |
| And well deserv’d to be reputed fair. | 45 |
| “Bright youth,” she cries, “whom all thy features prove | |
| A God, and, if a God, the God of Love; | |
| But if a mortal, bless’d thy nurse’s breast, | |
| Bless’d are thy parents, and thy sisters blest; | |
| But, oh, how bless’d! how more than bless’d thy bride, | 50 |
| Allied in bliss, if any get allied: | |
| If so, let mine the stol’n enjoyments be; | |
| If not, behold a willing bride in me.” | |
| The boy knew nought of love, and, touch’d with shame, | |
| He strove, and blush’d, but still the blush became; | 55 |
| In rising blushes still fresh beauties rose; | |
| The sunny side of fruit such blushes shows, | |
| And such the moon, when all her silver white | |
| Turns in eclipses to a ruddy light. | |
| The nymph still begs if not a nobler bliss, | 60 |
| A cold salute at least, a sister’s kiss; | |
| And now prepares to take the lovely boy | |
| Between her arms. He, innocently coy, | |
| Replies, “Or leave me to myself alone, | |
| You rude, uncivil nymph! or I’ll be gone.” | 65 |
| “Fair Stranger! then,” says she, “it shall be so”; | |
| And, for she fear’d his threats, she feign’d to go; | |
| But hid within a covert’s neighbouring green, | |
| She kept him still in sight, herself unseen. | |
| The boy now fancies all the danger o’er, | 70 |
| And innocently sports about the shore; | |
| Playful and wanton to the stream he trips, | |
| And dips his foot, and shivers as he dips. | |
| The coolness pleas’d him, and with eager haste | |
| His airy garments on the banks he cast; | 75 |
| His godlike features and his heavenly hue, | |
| And all his beauties, were expos’d to view. | |
| His naked limbs the nymph with rapture spies, | |
| While hotter passions in her bosom rise, | |
| Flush in her cheeks, and sparkle in her eyes. | 80 |
| She longs, she burns, to clasp him in her arms, | |
| And looks and sighs, and kindles at his charms. | |
| Now all undress’d upon the banks he stood, | |
| And clapp’d his sides, and leap’d into the flood; | |
| His lovely limbs the silver waves divide, | 85 |
| His limbs appear more lovely through the tide, | |
| As lilies shut within a crystal case | |
| Receive a glossy lustre from the glass. | |
| “He’s mine, he’s all my own,” The Naïad cries, | |
| And flings off all, and after him she flies. | 90 |
| And now she fastens on him as he swims, | |
| And holds him close, and wraps about his limbs. | |
| The more the boy resisted, and was coy, | |
| The more she clasp’d and kiss’d the struggling boy. | |
| So when the wriggling snake is snatch’d on high | 95 |
| In eagle’s claws, and hisses in the sky, | |
| Around the foe his twirling tail he flings, | |
| And twists her legs, and writhes about her wings. | |
| The restless boy still obstinately strove | |
| To free himself, and still refus’d her love. | 100 |
| Amidst his limbs she kept her limbs entwin’d, | |
| “And why, coy youth!” she cries, “why thus unkind? | |
| Oh, may the gods thus keep us ever join’d! | |
| Oh, may we never, never part again!” | |
| So pray’d the nymph, nor did she pray in vain; | 105 |
| For now she finds him, as his limbs she prest, | |
| Grow nearer still, and nearer to her breast, | |
| Till piercing each the other’s flesh, they run | |
| Together, and incorporate in one: | |
| Last in one face are both their faces join’d, | 110 |
| As when the stock and grafted twig combin’d | |
| Shoot up the same, and wear a common rind: | |
| Both bodies in a single body mix, | |
| A single body with a double sex. | |
| The boy, thus lost in woman, now survey’d | 115 |
| The river’s guilty stream, and thus he pray’d, | |
| (He pray’d, but wonder’d at his softer tone, | |
| Surpris’d to hear a voice but half his own) | |
| “You parent gods, whose heavenly names I bear, | |
| Hear your Hermaphrodite, and grant my pray’r; | 120 |
| Oh, grant that whomso’er these streams contain, | |
| If man he enter’d, he may rise again | |
| Supple, unsinew’d, and but half a man!” | |
| The heavenly parents answer’d, from on high, | |
| Their two-shap’d son, the double votary; | 125 |
| Then gave a secret virtue to the flood, | |
| And ting’d its source to make his wishes good. | |
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