Ovid

“ Silent she views him still with softer Eyes.
Thoughts in her Breast a doubtful Strife begin,
If 'tis not happier now to lose, than win.
What God, a Foe to Beauty, would destroy
The promis'd Ripeness of this blooming Boy?
With his Life's Danger does he seek my Bed?
Scarce am I half so greatly worth, she said.
Nor has his Beauty mov'd my Breast to love,
And yet, I own, such Beauty well might move:
'Tis not his Charms, 'tis Pity would engage
My Soul to spare the Greeness of his Age.
What, that heroick Courage fires his Breast,
And shines thro' brave Disdain of Fate confest? ”

“ 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. ”

“ Too weak to bear a God's impetuous Storm:
No more against the dazling Youth she strove,
But silent yielded, and indulg'd his Love.
⁠This Clytiè knew, and knew she was undone,
Whose Soul was fix'd, and doated on the Sun.
She rag'd to think on her neglected Charms,
And Phœbus, panting in another's Arms.
With envious Madness fir'd, she flies in Haste,
And tells the King, his Daughter was unchaste,
The King, incens'd to hear his Honour stain'd,
No more the Father, nor the Man retain'd.
In vain she stretch'd her Arms, and turn'd her Eyes
To her lov'd God, th' Enlight'ner of the Skies. ”

“ Some their green tresses drying; others borne
By fish swift-gliding: nor the same all seem'd,
Yet sister-like a close resembling look
Each face pervaded. Earth her natives bore,
Mankind;—and woods, and cities, there were seen;
Wild beasts, and streams, and nymphs, and rural gods.
'Bove all the bright display of heaven was hung—
Six signs celestial o'er each portal grav'd.
The daring youth, the steep ascent attain'd,
O'erstepp'd the threshold of his dubious sire,
And hasty rush'd to meet paternal eyes;
But sudden stay'd: so fierce a blaze of light
No nearer he sustain'd. ”

“ And my prophetick Fears presag'd too true:
'Twas what I begg'd, when with a bleeding Heart
I took my Leave, and suffer'd thee to part;
Or I to go along, or thou to stay,
Never, ah never to divide our Way!
Happier for me, that all our Hours assign'd
Together we had liv'd; ev'n not in Death disjoin'd!
So had my Ceyx still been living here,
Or with my Ceyx I had perish'd there:
Now I die absent, in the vast Profound;
And me, without my self, the Seas have drown'd:
The Storms were not so cruel; should I strive
To lengthen Life, and such a Grief survive ”

“ One Draught as dear as Life I should esteem,
And Water, now I thirst, would Nectar seem.
Oh! let my little Babes your Pity move,
And melt your Hearts to charitable Love;
They (as by chance they did) extend to you
Their little Hands, and my Request pursue.
⁠Whom would these soft Perswasions not subdue,
Tho' the most rustick, and unmanner'd Crew?
Yet they the Goddess's Request refuse,
And with rude Words reproachfully abuse:
Nay more, with spiteful Feet the Villains trod
O'er the soft Bottom of the marshy Flood,
And blacken'd all the Lake with Clouds of rising Mud. ”

“ They felt, before they knew, the same Desires.
Equal their Flame, unequal was their Care;
One lov'd with Hope, one languish'd in Despair.
The Maid accus'd the lingring Day alone:
For whom she thought a Man, she thought her own.
But Iphis bends beneath a greater Grief;
As fiercely burns, but hopes for no Relief.
Ev'n her Despair adds Fuel to her Fire;
A Maid with Madness does a Maid desire.
And, scarce refraining Tears, Alas, said she,
What Issue of my Love remains for me!
How wild a Passion works within my Breast,
With what prodigious Flames am I possest! ”

“ And, what our just Resentment bids us, do.
⁠The Railers Laugh, our Threats and Wrath despise,
And clap their Hands, and make a scolding Noise:
But in the Fact they're seiz'd; beneath their Nails
Feathers they feel, and on their Faces Scales;
Their horny Beaks at once each other scare,
Their Arms are plum'd, and on their backs they bear
Py'd Wings, and flutter in the fleeting Air.
Chatt'ring, the Scandal of the Woods they fly,
And there continue still their clam'rous Cry:
The same their Eloquence, as Maids, or Birds,
Now only Noise, and nothing then but Words. ”

“ And when she sees the Goddess graced with beauty and with splendid arms, she groans, and fetches a deep sigh at her appearance. A paleness rests on her face, and leanness in all her body; she never looks direct on you; her teeth are black with rust; her breast is green with gall; her tongue is dripping with venom. Smiles there are none, except such as the sight of grief has excited. Nor does she enjoy sleep, being kept awake with watchful cares; but sees with sorrow the successes of men, and pines away at seeing them. ”

“ By chance Phœbus, and the son of Maia, returning, the one from his own Delphi, the other from the heights of Cyllene, beheld her at the same moment, and at the same moment were inspired with passion. Apollo defers his hope of enjoyment until the hours of night; the other brooks no delay, and with his wand, that causes sleep, touches the maiden’s face. At the potent touch she lies entranced, and suffers violence from the God. Night has now bespangled the heavens with stars; Phœbus personates an old woman, and takes those delights before enjoyed in imagination. ”

“ She will not come to you gliding through the yielding air; the fair one that suits must be sought with your eyes. The hunter knows full well where to extend the toils for the deer; full well he knows in what vale dwells the boar gnashing with his teeth. The shrubberies are known to the fowlers. He who holds out the hooks, knows what waters are swam in by many a fish. You, too, who seek a subject for enduring love, first learn in what spot the fair are to be met with. In your search, I will not bid you give your sails to the wind, nor is a long path to be trodden by you, that you may find her. ”

“ Never did the shrine of Phœbus Apollo, never did Jupiter Ammon, deliver surer oracles than the sayings chanted by my Muse. If the art which I so long have practised has aught of worth in it, then list to me; my words will not deceive you. So, then, my dear ones, feel the pleasure in the very marrow of your bones; share it fairly with your lover, say pleasant, naughty things the while. And if Nature has withheld from you the sensation of pleasure, then teach your lips to lie and say you feel it all. Unhappy is the woman who feels no answering thrill. ”

“ When his efforts were of no avail, and he saw the pyre made ready with the funeral fires which were to consume her limbs, then indeed—for the cheeks of the heavenly gods may not be wet with tears—from his deep heart he uttered piteous groans ; such groans as the young cow utters when before her eyes the hammer high poised from beside the right ear crashes with its resounding blow through the hollow temples of her suckling calf. The god pours fragrant incense on her unconscious breast, gives her the last embrace, and performs all the fit offices unfitly for the dead. ”

“ Now over the Ocean does she come from her aged husband Tithonus, who, with her yellow locks, brings on the day with her frosty chariot. Whither, Aurora, art thou hastening? Stay; and then may the yearly bird, with its wonted death, honour the shades 189 of thy Memnon, its parent. Now do I delight to recline in the soft arms of my mistress; now, if ever, is she deliciously united to my side. Now, too, slumbers are sound, and now the moisture is cooling the birds, too, are sweetly waronng with their little throats. Whither art thou hastening, hated by the men, detested by the fair? ”